by S. L. Naeole
I’m sure the doctor had already come to that conclusion after man-handling me, but just to placate him, he pulled out an object that looked like a reflex hammer with a ball at the end and rolled it across my forehead and down my neck. After glancing at its reading, he looked at me and said, “It looks like you have a nice little fever, dear. We’re going to get you some Tylenol to try and bring it down, okay?”
I nodded, not too concerned about the fever at all. Not with my own little miracle sitting just three feet away from me.
Dad, on the other hand, wasn’t going to accept just Tylenol as the solution. “Don’t you think you should see what’s causing the fever? She might have an infection! We have Tylenol at home. She’s in a hospital, for crissakes! Don’t you have stuff here that’s stronger? Faster? If all you’re going to give her is Tylenol, I could go home and get some right now so that I won’t have to see the $25 charge for two pills.”
I sat there, gaping. Dad wasn’t always the most patient, but I had never seen him act like this before. To hear him go off on the doctor was scary.
You just saw my birth, and you think THIS is scary?
I looked at Robert sitting peacefully in his chair and frowned. He wasn’t helping. “Dad, it’s okay. Tylenol is fine. It’s probably just stress or something.”
He looked at me and shook his head, not accepting that as enough. “Look, baby, I already lost your mom and I came pretty damn close to losing you tonight. I know how these things work. One minute you’re fine, and the next, you’ve got a fever, and then you’re gone. I won’t let that happen.” He was gripping my shoulders, the strain and terror on his face was hard to stomach.
“Dad, this isn’t like mom. I was hit by a car, but I’m fine. A few broken bones, some bruises, but I’m fine. It’s going to be okay, Dad.” I tried to reassure him.
Robert stood up and placed his hand on Dad’s shoulder. It appeared to be a comforting gesture, but I knew what Robert was doing before he had even raised his hand. He had told me silently, warning me not to interfere. In an instant, Dad collapsed, Robert catching him under his arms.
The doctor rushed quickly to see to him, checking his vital signs while pressing the nurse call button on the side of the bed. Soon, the room was filled with people who were not interested in how I was feeling at all, fever or no fever. Instead, Dad was taken to a room of his own to be treated for exhaustion and dehydration caused by stress.
You’re good. I looked at Robert and his smile told me he agreed.
As soon as everyone else had cleared out of the room, Robert returned to the edge of the bed. As much as I wanted him to hold me again—and I so wanted him to hold me again—he had yet to answer my question…one of many. But, before that, I wanted an answer to a very simple question.
“Did you cause me to have a fever?”
The smile on his face couldn’t have been any more smug. “Yes.”
“Why?”
He reached out and grabbed my hand, brought it to his face. “So that I could be alone with you.”
My heart started racing, but then he let go of my hand and reached for the rolling table, pulling it between us and grabbing his coke.
“You’ve got questions that I have the answers to, and I didn’t want to answer them while your father was here, so I had to give him something to get worked up over. It only took a little nudging on my part with his emotions—and your fever—but as soon as he hit that pivotal point, I knew I could easily have him pass out without causing any suspicion.” He sounded like some war strategist. It might have sounded so simple to him, but to me it was all too complex. The what-ifs would have driven me crazy before a single step had been taken.
I watched as he opened the bottle and took a long swig. “Now, you had some questions?”
I had to blink a few times before I remembered what it was that I wanted to ask. “You never answered my first question. Are you an angel?”
He knew what I was going to ask, knew what I wanted to know, and his answer was well prepared, almost rehearsed. “Yes, although what I am differs depending on which country you’re in. Aren’t you going to eat?” He gestured towards the food on the tray, the burger and fries that Dad had gotten for me now semi-cold, the grease congealing before our eyes.
I shook my head at the food, too busy digesting what he had just confirmed for me. An angel—I was actually friends with an angel—was sitting on my bed and talking to me and…drinking a soda in front of me. It was all too surreal. Gathering my thoughts back up I looked at him and took a deep breath—probably the last one I’d be able to take if he smiled at me again—and began. “You showed me your…birth…but the woman who took you away and called you her son killed your mother. Why?”
I had started with one of the most difficult questions, I know, but if we could get through that one, asking the rest would be a lot easier. I waited patiently for him to respond. After what seemed like an eternity of listening to the two of us breathe, he started.
“The woman that you saw carrying me in her womb was not my mother. She was a vessel, an incubator, what would be called a surrogate in today’s time. My mother, the monster that you saw attack her, was doing her a kindness. I know it’s hard to understand, what with such visible violence and seeming cruelty, but the fate that awaited that woman for bearing me was far worse.
“Her name was Hanina. She was a farm worker in the fields owned by my mother. She was loyal, devoted because she knew what my mother was, knew that the blessings of God would be upon her for being obedient and kind.
“ She had been married for several years to a very cruel man. He had beaten her after she failed to become pregnant with a child within a month of being wed, and beat her every month following for seven years. She never told anyone. She endured the beatings, endured his rage against her body, and rage against her female flesh. She had vowed to God that she would be a dutiful wife, and so she was in everything except bearing him his heir.”
“Why didn’t your mother know about what was happening to Hanina? Couldn’t she read her mind? Read the mind of her husband?” I asked, not understanding why she did use her gift.
“My mother has always been particular about the minds she delves into. After centuries of seeing the sick and depraved thoughts that humans were capable of having, she simply stopped altogether unless it was absolutely necessary.”
I nodded, knowing that if I had the ability to look into the mind of someone like Mr. Branke, I’d need to boil my brain in vinegar. “Sorry about interrupting. Please continue,” I said.
His lips formed a grim line at my thoughts, but went on, “After one particularly bad beating, she was late to the fields. Hanina’s husband had told my mother that she was probably sick, being bellyful. My mother went to Hanina’s hut to see for herself, having known that Hanina would never be late just because she was with child. She found Hanina lying on the ground, barely breathing, her weak heart sending out the drumbeats to call forth the archangels who would carry her home. My mother, never having been attached to a human before, recognized the loyalty that Hanina had shown, and asked her what would she like most in the world before she was to join God.
“Hanina said, quite simply, ‘to have a child is all I want’. My mother didn’t understand this. Hadn’t Hanina’s husband just told her that she was pregnant? But my mother could tell that Hanina was no more pregnant than she was as soon as she touched her womb. She could also feel the many other wounds that she’d endured, hear her body’s tale in the song that her blood beat out. She was so loyal, so devoted to God, husband, and to my mother that she had endured in silence the misery that her marriage truly was. It angered my mother. She became enraged.
“She summoned Hanina’s husband to the hut where she demanded he answer for his crimes. He spat at the two of them, called them horrible names, and cursed them with the very name of God on his lips. Hanina had been cursed—there was nothing that could be done for her now. But Hanina’s husband had dared to curse
one of God’s angels. His curse became an invisible noose around his neck and he choked on it. His dying thoughts were that my mother was a witch and that he’d see her in Hell. It was one of the last times she ever listened to a human’s thoughts.
“Hanina was now doomed, but my mother, feeling it her duty to see that she be allowed at least her dying wish after failing to keep her safe, blessed her barren womb with a child. This was a compromise between angel and human; that Hanina would carry in her a child that my mother could not.
“Hanina spent the next nine months living very happily. Her hands never left her belly, and she never cowered at what was growing beneath them, even when I started to talk to her in her dreams. She saw through me the death that was her husband’s curse. But never did she stop loving me inside of her. She would sing to me the psalms, and tell me of the joys I would experience as God would surely bless me for being her salvation.
“The moment of reckoning finally came one night when a fire broke out in the fields. My mother didn’t need the crops to survive—it was a trivial thing, that farm—but she had chosen to live as peaceful and human-like a life as she could, and she knew that simply letting it burn would destroy what peace she could find amongst humanity, so she went to fight the fire alongside her servants.
“Hanina had smelled the smoke from her hut, and ever loyal, she went to try and fight the fire, too. She did not know that the fire had been intentionally set by those who wanted to harm her for what they believed had led to her widowhood and the perceived bastard inside her belly.
“They beat her, raped her, and were preparing to set her body on fire when my mother appeared. My mother’s gift, her unique ability is to change forms, any form she wishes, and so she changed into the creature that is most comfortable for her—that of the she-wolf—so that she could hunt down the ones who had tried to destroy her child.
She killed all of them and relished it, but by then it was nearly too late. The flames were nearly upon Hanina, the air around her being sucked away like a vacuum—no human would be able to survive that. Hanina asked my mother to kill her quickly, mercifully, so that no suffering and no harm would come to me.
“You asked why my mother killed Hanina. The answer is, because my birth required her death. Had she not taken it, I would have in a very violent and unforgivable way. Without truly realizing it, my mother’s blessing was fulfilling the curse that Hanina’s husband had made.”
Robert paused. He seemed to be going over something in his mind, and I wished that I could hear the thoughts running through there just as easily as he could mine. Finally, he started again.
“Hanina’s death heralded my beginning, while my birth heralded her end. But it also brought with it the end to my mother’s time on earth as she had known it. The farm workers had seen her change. They had seen her walk through fire to kill Hanina, seen her rip me out of Hanina’s womb, seen far too much and my mother knew she had to leave. But, she couldn’t leave all of those people with the knowledge that they now possessed.
“My mother did something that night that she’s never forgiven herself for. She descended upon the people like a plague, killing them all as quickly and as mercifully as possible. She had no other recourse. Her secret was now my secret, too, and she had to protect it. The farmers’ deaths were blamed on the fire, and no one could find fault in that excuse since crop fires spread very quickly, and usually every single slave was sent to try and put the fires out by their masters.
“My mother killed all of them because of me. Her desire to reward a servant and to have a child cost the lives of over a hundred people. So much death—right from the beginning—all caused because of my birth. My mother says that because of that, I was blessed with my ability to heal, to atone for the sacrifices made so that I could survive.”
When he stopped, I took a moment to process all of the information that he had shared with me. That he would trust me with all of this, knowing what price it had cost so many, was intimidating and…terrifying. Would he kill me the same way his mother had killed all of her servants? Could he?
My thoughts caused his eyes to widen, his face to grow pale. No. Of course he couldn’t. He was no killer.
He closed his eyes quickly before I could continue to study their reaction and reached for my neck, his hands caressing my shoulders, my throat. He pressed his forehead against mine once more, our two minds touching in more ways than one.
Impossible.
BLIND
I was able to leave the hospital after only two days. The doctors were amazed at how remarkable my recovery had been. Walking with the aid of crutches? Able to grasp things with my right hand? It was all attributed to my youth and stubbornness, the doctor told Dad, and prescribed me pain medication “for later”.
I was wheeled out to the car by a nurse who had requested a double shift just so she could stare at Robert for a little while longer. He said the thoughts she had about him were borderline criminal. But, he obliged her as much as possible. He allowed her to stare at him holding my hand, whispering in my ear, kissing my forehead, kissing my palm. I had no problem with that.
Those chaste kisses though had a way of healing the injuries that were the most visible. My left leg’s puncture wound had completely closed and the bruises on my face were a faded yellow around my eyes. I left the hospital the victim of a hit and run but I looked in better condition than Dad did—although I was still confined to the casts. The night he spent asleep in a hospital room of his own had done him some good, but his concern over me, coupled with the fact that the police were nowhere near close to figuring out who had hit me, was taking its toll on him.
Janice came to pick the both of us up, spending as much time fawning over Dad as she did me. It felt nice, I had to admit, having that maternal attention directed towards me after being without it for so long. She also acted as a buffer between Dad and Robert, whom Dad had decided was spending way too much time with me for someone I had just met in school less than a month ago.
She kept him occupied while Robert helped me into the back of the little SUV, and then distracted him even further when he kissed the top of my head before telling me that he’d see me at my house before shutting the door. When we arrived home she suggested that Robert, who had beat us there on his motorcycle, help carry me inside the house so that I wouldn’t need to use the awkward crutches to hop up the porch steps.
Then, just before Dad was about to object, she pretended to get dizzy so he would focus his attention on her. I only found out about the fakery afterwards when Dad was helping Janice up the stairs to their room. Robert had propped up my useless casted leg onto a pillow on the couch, and then sat beside me, guiding me to lean back against him.
He patted my hair, rubbed my shoulders, and shared his thoughts with me. I had begun to appreciate this part, when we were communicating like this, our two minds touching each other; it felt like my mind was overcome with a strange sense of peace, all my previous annoyance at such a thing a distant memory. We were still in this position when Janice and Dad came back down the stairs twenty minutes later to discuss lunch.
Robert immediately offered to help make it with Janice, and left me with one thought before leaving for the kitchen. He cares about you. Almost as much as I do.
Dad sat down near my propped up foot, touching the toes that peeked out from the cast, and sighed. “How are you feeling, kiddo?”
“I’m fine, Dad. More than fine, actually,” I said honestly. “I’m not in pain, I’m not being forced to eat vile hospital food, and I don’t have to be poked and prodded anymore. I’m great!”
Dad nodded, somewhat convinced, but it appeared as though something was weighing on his mind. Oh, to be able to read his mind so that I would know what to say when he finally said it!
He patted my good foot, sighing once more. “Grace, Graham is coming over in a few minutes. He wanted to see how you were doing. He heard about the accident and is very worried.”
I didn’t k
now what to say. The cynical part of me said he was coming over to see the freak in a cast. The hopeful part of me said he was coming over to say how sorry he was for hurting me, and that he wanted to be friends again, and more, if that’s what I wanted.
I wasn’t going to play the surprised fool at that admission. I had genuinely loved Graham, and still did. The seventeen-year-old girl I was felt thrilled at the idea of him possibly realizing how close he came to losing me and wanting to never take me for granted again.
I quickly went over in my head what I was going to say if he were to indeed express any type of remorse, twirling my fingers around each other in an effort to calm my nerves. There was a knock on the door and I took a deep breath while Dad got up and answered it. I could feel the nervousness in me vibrate up and down my body, and a pained, pinched feeling started to bubble in my heart; the memories of that Monday just one month ago was still fresh and new, much to my disappointment.
Dad walked into the living room followed by someone. I looked up from my fidgeting fingers to smile at Graham, rather than grimace like I wanted to, but it wasn’t Graham who stood behind my father. It was a girl. One that I had never seen before, but whose face was so familiar I would have had to have been blind to not know who she was.
“Um, Grace, this is Lark Bellegarde. She says she’s Robert’s sister. Their mother sent her over here to see if she could fetch him,” Dad said to me while staring in awe at the beautiful girl standing next to him. If ever a face could be used to illustrate the definition of angelic, hers was it. If she smiled, I would have had no doubt that I’d hear music in my ears. This was the same girl whose birth Robert had aided in his vision, I realized.
In that flash of recognition, she hissed at me. It wasn’t audible. It was in my mind. She could read and project thoughts like Robert could. Of course she could! The look on her face was cold, contemptuous. She was no fan of mine. Join the club.