The Healer(The Healer Series Book 1)

by C. J. Anaya

Chapter Nine

  “Your birthday is coming up soon,” I reminded Kirby. “How are we going to celebrate?”

  He gave me a tired smile. I was surprised by how much his condition had worsened since last night. There were deep smudges under his eyes, his skin was a sick, waxy color, and his already bony frame looked more frail than ever. I gave him a cheerful smile. What I really wanted to do was wrap him in my arms and cry like a baby.

  “My birthday isn’t for another two weeks.” He lowered his gaze and pulled at the fabric of his hospital gown. “Besides, we don’t really know how much longer I’m going to be here. No need to plan for something that may not even happen.”

  I’d never told Kirby when he would die. It would have been the worst possible news I could have given him, and I didn’t want him to give up. I sat down next to him and cradled him in my arms.

  “None of that, you hear me?” I scolded. “You’ll be here for your birthday. I can promise you that.” I felt my eyes begin to fill with tears, and I was grateful Kirby had rested his head against my shoulder. I had to be strong for him. I couldn’t let him see me fall apart.

  “I just don’t see the point. I just…” Kirby stopped speaking abruptly. I heard him take a deep breath and let it out slowly. I hugged him even closer to me and wondered at the very depressed mood he was in. It was so unlike him.

  I let go of my surprise and reminded myself that even though Kirby acted like a mature adult he was still only ten years old. He was just a boy, and his mother’s absence was painfully noticeable.

  When I’d first arrived at Kirby’s door I could sense how much this latest infection had frightened him. His eyes had taken me in almost desperately, and his need for human contact with someone who really cared seemed to radiate off him in waves. Talking to Kirby about my insanely nerve-racking day had been forefront on my agenda, but after finding out about his pneumonia, the first thing I did upon entering his room was plant myself on his bed and place both hands on either side of his head.

  I’d felt his body sink into me as I’d instructed his life force to quickly and efficiently handle the infection that had taken root in his system. Once his fever broke and the infection healed, the poor thing had wrapped his arms around me tightly and sobbed softly into my shoulder. We’d been snuggling on his bed ever since.

  “It’s especially important that we celebrate your birthday this year,” I said in a firm voice.

  “Why?”

  “Well, it’s one more opportunity to be grateful that you’re still here with me. You’re still alive, sweetheart. You’ve fought so hard for so long.” I swallowed a lump forming in my throat before continuing. “Don’t give up on me now, Kirby.”

  “Hope, do you think my mom is going to miss me when I’m gone?” His voice sounded small and unsure.

  I silently cursed his mother. I had suspected he was more upset by her pathetic attempts at parenting than he’d let on.

  “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “You’re right. I still need to visit Disneyland.” He sounded more upbeat this time, more like himself.

  “And I need to let you rest.” I moved to lay his head on the pillow, but Kirby clutched at my arms.

  “Can you just stay with me for a little bit? I don’t want to fall asleep without you.” His large brown eyes looked sad and defeated.

  “Of course I can. I’ll even tuck you into bed.”

  I set about covering his tiny frame with his white, hospital blanket. I tucked both edges under either side of him, and then sat down, rubbing his arms softly as his eyelids reluctantly lowered. Within minutes he was sleeping soundly.

  I sat there watching, wondering at the unfairness of such a sweet young boy being given such a debilitating disease. Bad things happened to good people. My father reminded me of this almost daily. It builds character, makes us grow.

  One thing was certain. If I had been God, I think I would have come to the conclusion long ago that Kirby’s character and maturity had been tested enough. It was time for him to be whole.

  I was frustrated that his life force allowed me to help heal his infection, but it wouldn’t allow me to heal his leukemia. On an impulse I put my hands on either side of his head and connected with him. I sensed the overwhelming amount of mutated white blood cells being produced within the bone marrow and tried to show his life force how to relay the appropriate signals that would prevent his body from producing so many white blood cells.

  I received no response. I tried again and still nothing happened.

  My frustration was building. I decided to attack it from another angle. Instead of sending instructions to slow down the white blood count production, I wanted to show his life force how to heal the mutated white blood cells from the inside out. The images I sent were detailed and vivid. I wanted to make sure my intentions, rather, my demands at this point, were being understood.

  My desperation would have been hard to miss and might have had an effect on an entity capable of feeling compassion, but a life force wasn’t concerned with a person’s wants. It was solely concerned with what was meant to be. I knew this. I already knew all of this. For reasons beyond my ability to understand, Kirby’s time on this earth would be coming to an end very shortly, and there was nothing I could do about it.

  Still, I tried, and I waited.

  And nothing happened.

  This whole scenario was unacceptable. I was no longer willing to sit there and let unseen forces dictate to me who I could and couldn’t save. Taking a deep breath, I tuned out all of the hospital noises, the monitors, the occasional intercom messages, the traffic of nurses and doctors just outside the doors, and focused solely on the sounds of Kirby’s heartbeat, his easy breathing, and the pumping of blood throughout his system. If his life force wouldn’t relay my instructions, then I would do it myself.

  Instead of communicating with Kirby’s spirit, I tried sending messages directly to the mutated, white blood cells. I was mentally jerked backwards as my mind hit an invisible wall. The impact was so jarring, I could actually feel pressure building inside my head.

  Instead of conceding defeat, I became even more determined to succeed. My anger and desperation fueled me forward, and I pushed against the unknown obstacle before me. The more mental power I threw at it the more I felt it waver, and the more my head felt ready to explode. I thrust my will forward looking for any weakness, any opening. I wasn’t sure how long I’d be able to continue this particular course of action. My mind was feeling a bit combustible, for lack of a better word. I was worried I might pass out. To my relief, the wall started thinning out and became more pliable. Pushing against it now felt like pushing against the plastic wrap on bottled water cases.

  I continued my efforts, barely noticing the sweat beginning to drip down the sides of my temples or the way my body shook. After several seconds of literally forcing my mental energy through the weakening barrier, I felt myself break through with an abrupt snap. The snapping noise seemed to vibrate through every inch of my body, but the pressure in my head immediately ceased. Though my breathing was shaky and uneven, I wasn’t about to give up now. After getting past that mysterious barrier, I focused all of my mental energy on convincing Kirby’s mutated blood cells to heal from within.

  I waited.

  I wanted to pound my fists into the bed when, for the first ten seconds, nothing happened.

  Then something did happen.

  One random, microscopic blood cell began to heal. I nearly cried out with excitement, but instead, I mentally held my breath and waited to see if anything else would happen….and it did. Several white blood cells were beginning to change, to morph into healthy contributing members of Kirby’s body.

  I could feel tears slowly slip from my closed lids as more and more immature cells responded to me. I sensed his life force in the background, a silent observer to the events taking place. I was certain this form of healing was completely unorthodox, and his life force knew it. The slight une
asiness I felt concerning the method I was using became overshadowed by the simple fact that I was succeeding. I was healing Kirby’s body.

  I continued to give specific instructions to as many mutated blood cells as I could, but I was definitely getting tired. I wanted to keep going, but my strength was swiftly ebbing away. I stopped my instructions, and after a few minutes the healing stopped as well. I waited to see if any other white blood cells would jump on board even though I was no longer showing them how to do it.

  Nothing else happened, but I was by no means discouraged. I was completely elated. I couldn’t believe it had worked. In the last ten minutes I’d been able to show over one thousand mutated cells how to heal themselves. Another thousand cells had actually terminated themselves, lowering his white blood count considerably. I’d been able to play the role of Kirby’s life force, and I couldn’t have been happier.

  I took my hands away from Kirby’s head and opened my eyes. The harsh hospital lighting made me wince, and my headache returned in full force. I knew my body would heal itself soon, but I wasn’t interested in sticking around until it did. I needed a bed, and I needed it now.

  Kirby had a private room, so finding an extra bed next to him wasn’t an option. I stood up weakly and immediately grabbed my head with both hands as a brilliant streak of white light shot behind my eyes and hammered into the back of my skull. I managed to make it out the door, but I practically had to drag myself to the elevator. My vision was blurry, and the pain was increasing with every step I took.

  By the time I was able to hit the elevator button and lurch past its quivering doors, the pain was so unbearable I immediately fell to the floor. I wasn’t sure how the elevator made it to the first floor, and I didn’t care. As soon as the doors opened I heard a loud commotion, and then a warm hand touched my forehead. I winced and cried out in pain.

  “Hope, what happened? Are you all right? Did someone hurt you?”

  The voice sounded familiar.

  “Vict…?” I tried to say his name, but forming small noises let alone complete words was becoming an overwhelming task.

  “Move over, Vicky,” said another familiar voice. I felt two sets of hands placed against either side of my head. “This shouldn’t be happening. We have to fix this now.”

  “We can’t fix it in front of all these people, Tie.”

  “She doesn’t have much time left!”

  Their voices sounded distant, muffled, and laced with panic. I might have been able to reassure them that I was okay if my tongue hadn’t felt so swollen. All I really wanted them to do, at this point, was beat me unconscious with a sledgehammer.

  I felt myself being lifted off the ground. I let out an agonized scream, barely recognizing it as my own. The next few minutes were a blur of head shattering noises, jarring movements, and an occasional human being talking so loudly it sounded as if they were yelling through a microphone inside my head. I thought I heard my dad’s voice at one point, but my uncontrollable screaming began to overshadow everything else.

  After a few more minutes of endless noise, pain, movement, and screaming, I was lowered down onto something warm and soft. It was incredibly painful. My arm began stinging and then magically grew warm. The warmth spread up my arm, towards my head, down my spine, and out through my toes. The pain abruptly ceased.

  I wanted to stay awake. I needed to figure out why my body hadn’t healed itself. My life force had never allowed me to experience debilitating pain for any real length of time. I tried to open my eyes and take in my surroundings, but they refused to cooperate. All I could see in front of me was blessed, pain-free oblivion. I stopped fighting and embraced it wholeheartedly.