[Healer 01.0] The Healer

by CJ Anaya

  I kept at it anyway. I wasn’t going to stop trying until I figured out what was preventing me from being successful.

  My attention snapped to the present when my father suggested I call it a night and head for home. I nodded, getting ready to walk my weary frame out the door when a thought hit me.

  “Were there any other people hurt in the accident?”

  He looked at the floor and swallowed.

  “Dad?”

  I moved directly in front of him so he couldn’t avoid my gaze. He let out a loud sigh and sat down in one of the chairs.

  “John’s office aid, Sarah. She was in the car with them.”

  I looked down at the floor feeling unreasonably angry.

  “You were just going to let me go home without even allowing me to assess her situation? She’s the closest thing to a mother that Eve’s got.”

  “Hope, just walk away from this one,” he pleaded a bit desperately. “She’s an adult. It will be too difficult for you to connect with her, and there’s nothing you can do. I don’t want you internalizing that. I don’t want you comparing this situation to what you’ve already been through with…” he stopped talking before the thought could be vocalized.

  My father rarely touched on the subject of my mother. All it ever did was leave an uncomfortable silence in its wake. Then he’d be withdrawn and pensive for the rest of the day.

  “Just let this one go, okay?”

  I shook my head, refusing to look at his pained expression. I didn’t want him suffering due to my decisions, but I couldn’t walk away from anyone. Not if there was a chance I could help. Being acquainted with Sarah didn’t make the situation any easier. I wasn’t close to her, but I knew Eve couldn’t lose another mother.

  “You know I can’t do that. I have to at least try. For Eve’s sake, I have to try.”

  “I promise there’s absolutely nothing you can do, and I didn’t get access to her records in time. Her situation is known amongst all applicable staff. There’s really no changing this one, Hope.”

  “Can I just see her?”

  He ran his hands through his hair and let out a frustrated sigh.

  “Only if Betty’s working this shift. I won’t be able to sneak you in if the nurse on call is anyone else.”

  Betty was the head nurse at the hospital. She tended to turn a blind eye to my sporadic interference because she respected my father and she was religious enough to believe that my “healing influence” was a direct gift from god. That’s what she said, anyway. If she suspected what I was really capable of she never let on.

  Even though my father was Chief Surgeon at the hospital, he still needed to be careful and follow protocol as much as possible, but his status made it much easier for me to maneuver my way around, healing whomever he allowed me to heal.

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” he grumbled as he reluctantly stood up. “I still think this is a bad idea.”

  I pushed my overprotective father out the door and followed him down the hallway.

  Betty, a slender, middle-aged, black woman, turned from her work and met me with a sad smile.

  “Hello, Betty,” I said. “How’s the patient doing?”

  “She’s in a coma. Not sure there’s anything we can do except make her as comfortable as possible and pray to the Lord Jesus that some kinda crazy miracle takes place.” She grabbed the tiny gold cross around her neck and kissed it quickly. She was always tugging and kissing on that thing. I found it endearing. “Sometimes, though, your presence seems to be all people need, girl. Maybe you could work your crazy mojo on this one and everything will turn out just fine.” Her smile brightened a bit.

  I smiled back, feeling a special kinship with the wiry woman.

  “Has her condition changed at all?” my father asked.

  The nurse shook her head. She had thick black hair that looked as if someone had sprinkled powdered sugar on it. It was pulled back into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. I’d always thought she was a natural beauty. The light graying in her hair managed to make her look younger rather than older.

  “No, Dr. Fairmont, nothing has changed. I’m hoping she’ll pull through, though. It’s gonna be hard on the mayor if she doesn’t.”

  I didn’t respond. I was too busy studying Sarah and pushing away that familiar sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, the feeling I always get when I recognize there’s nothing I can do. My father must have noticed my distress.

  “Betty,” he said, “might I have a word with you outside?”

  He gave me an encouraging smile, knowing that I needed to be alone for this one, and quickly guided her out of the room.

  I sat down next to Sarah and placed my hands on either side of her head. My heart lurched as I connected with her more quickly than I’d anticipated. That kind of thing didn’t usually happen. It tended to take much longer for a connection to occur with an adult. The intense pain her body suffered caught me off guard.

  A different kind of emotion gripped me as I realized, with certainty, there was nothing I’d be able to do for her. Sarah was meant to die. No matter how hard I tried, and I would try, her life force would be unable to respond to any instructions I gave it.

  Tears formed quickly, tracking silent paths down my cheeks. A tiny spark of anger rippled through me.

  No! Your life force must stay. Do you understand? I can save you. I can keep you here.

  I sent image after image, begging and pleading with Sarah’s life force to begin the healing process. I focused on the cells that were most badly damaged within the brain and showed them what needed to be done. I focused on the broken bones, the damaged tissues, anything that might elicit a response from her. Over and over again I tried with dogged determination, but I could feel no response from the woman’s spirit other than the overwhelming feeling that it would be departing soon.

  Let me go, Hope.

  I was so startled by the voice sounding within me, I nearly dropped her head and lost the connection altogether. In all the years I’d been healing, I’d never actually had anyone communicate with me.

  Let me go, Sarah said again.

  I recovered from my surprise.

  I can’t save you unless you fight. You must try harder.

  I was frantic for her to understand the seriousness of her situation. Something was different this time. If I could actually communicate back and forth with her, instead of simply sending images and instructions, then maybe Sarah could be saved despite how sure I felt that she had to depart.

  You were never meant to save me, Hope. My death will not be your fault any more than your mother’s.

  My confusion grew at the mention of my mother.

  Sarah, I don’t understand what you’re talking about. What do you know about my mother?

  I’d always blamed myself for my mother’s death, but no one other than my father knew anything about that.

  You grow more powerful every day, she continued. You’ll have the answers you’re looking for. Now please, Hope. Let me go.

  The feeling became more urgent. I nodded and tried to ignore my own heartbreak. Salty tears continued to slowly travel down my stricken face. I released Sarah’s head and broke off the connection between us. The hospital monitor beeped slow and deliberate. I watched as Sarah’s heartbeats grew fewer and farther between until nothing remained but one long, uninterrupted line.

  * * *

  I sat in the hallway outside the intensive care unit thinking how unusual it had been to actually talk with Sarah. I had no idea what it meant or how it was possible. The life force of a person acted as more of a conduit to the human subconscious. It was always aware of what happened within the body and sent me images of exactly what needed to be fixed. I could usually feel a person’s pain, but beyond that there was no other connection that might have led to a two-way conversation.

  Deep in thought, I didn’t sense my father’s presence until I felt him wrap an arm around my shoulder. I onl
y hoped my eyes weren’t too puffy. I knew he’d worry and tell me I should quit my job at the hospital or something equally ridiculous.

  “I’m so sorry, Hope,” he said as he eased back in his seat and rested his head on the wall. “I really wanted to spare you the heartache.”

  “I know, but I’m glad I did it. Something different happened this time.” I kept my voice lowered.

  “What? What do you mean?” He sat up and leaned forward.

  “I mean, Sarah’s life force actually spoke to me.”

  Shock spread across his face. My dad may not have understood exactly how I managed the things that I did, but even he knew that kind of communication was unusual.

  He looked around carefully and whispered, “You better not tell me about this right now. Why don’t you get home and get dinner started, and I’ll be there in about an hour. We can talk about what this might mean then.”

  For some reason I had this crazy desire to continue talking about my powers as loudly as I possibly could. Keeping everything a secret had always been difficult, but right now it felt stifling. I wanted to talk about who I was and what I could do without constantly looking over my shoulder.

  I knew anonymity was a frustrating must when it came to the amazing miracles that occasionally happened at the hospital. I understood that, but my father wanted me to remain anonymous in almost every way imaginable. I couldn’t have a Facebook, Twitter or email account. I couldn’t blog, and I was barely allowed a cell phone. He didn’t want any of my personal information on the Internet.

  A year ago, I’d gone online to order a copy of my birth certificate so I could get my driver’s license, and I couldn’t find anything. No record of my birth anywhere. I mentioned it to my father and he told me he’d take care of it. Eventually he did, but it felt like we were hiding from someone specific instead of the whole world in general. It still felt that way.

  “Do you want lasagna or meatloaf?” I asked a little louder.

  “Lasagna will be fine. Be sure to go straight home, Hope. It’s already dark out.”

  “Dad, we live two blocks away. It’ll be fine.”

  Sometimes my father’s overprotective nature felt like incessant nagging. He just smiled at me and shook his head. I stood up, gave him a big hug, and then walked down the hall toward the elevators.

  I waited for the dilapidated machinery to make its way to the second floor. The elevator and I had a love-hate relationship. I hated that it made me wait longer than was necessary, and I was convinced it loved making me wait.

  I had plenty of time to think about Sarah again. Not only was I confused about the strange way in which I’d managed to communicate with her, but the remarks she’d made about my mother left me feeling unsettled and anxious.

  I don’t know at what exact moment I decided to go visit Kirby, but I found myself getting off the shaky elevator onto the third floor and hanging a right toward the children’s cancer wing.

  Turning into the first room on the left, I found Kirby lying on his bed reading The Maze Runner. His level of reading was exceptional for a boy his age. His vocabulary wasn’t half bad either. He immediately dropped his book on the bed as soon as I entered the room.

  “I was wondering if you’d get a chance to visit me today,” he said, smiling brightly.

  “That desperate for entertainment, are we?” I gave him a big grin and sat down on the bed next to him. He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed tight. I hugged him back, sensing there was something bothering him.

  “The TV’s boring, and I’ve read all of these books at least ten times. The most exciting thing that’s happened to me all day was the card I got in the mail from my mom.”

  Ah ha. His mother was definitely a sore spot for him.

  “You’re kidding!” My eyebrows rose in disbelief. “She sent you a card?”

  “I kid you not. I even saved it just in case you came by so we could both have a moment of silence to commemorate this rare, almost nonexistent occasion.” He slowly reached under his mattress, creating a moment of unbearable suspense before unveiling the object of interest. “Pause for dramatic effect and voila!” he said as he produced the card and proceeded to open it with an equally dramatic flourish.

  I chuckled softly.

  “The card reads, and I quote, ‘Dear son, so sorry I missed our little visit last week. Busy making millions. Please let me know if anything changes. Warmest wishes. Sincerely, your loving and devoted mother, Sylvia. P.S. Please tell Nanny May to go buy you whatever your heart desires for your birthday this year.’”

  “Oh, Kirby! I can’t believe that woman isn’t even going to be here for your birthday! She is absolutely heinous.”

  “And yet, so predictable. I kind of like knowing where I stand with that pariah. Wouldn’t you?”

  Kirby’s smile was infectious, but I could see the hurt in his eyes despite the brave face he wore.

  Sylvia Herrington was a successful actress who’d never had much time for Kirby to begin with, but pulled away from him entirely when he was diagnosed with leukemia two years ago. When I’d first met Kirby, I found him to be wary and distant, unwilling to trust anyone or let anyone in. I’d also sensed his pain and heartbreak as if it were my own, and continued to visit him daily, reading to him some of his favorite books and short stories.

  Kirby’s tastes in literature were pretty surprising for a ten-year-old. He loved Tom Sawyer and The Chronicles of Narnia but his favorite book was Treasure Island. He eventually began to thaw toward me, and within a couple of weeks we were good friends. My desire to heal him was inevitable, but I knew from the beginning I’d never be able to do so. It didn’t stop me from attempting to heal his broken heart, however. At least in that I felt like I’d been somewhat successful.

  Kirby had grown up very independent for such a young child. With a mother like Sylvia, he absolutely had to. His sweet brown eyes may have held pain, but they also held maturity and a surprisingly positive outlook on life even though he didn’t have much of it left to live.

  “Something’s wrong, Hope,” he said.

  Kirby read my moods as well as my own father.

  “It’s nothing. I think I’m just tired and overloaded with homework from all of my antisocial school teachers.”

  He shook his head and grabbed my hand.

  “You don’t get to do that you know. It’s me.” He held my hand in his frail, tiny fist. His gaze locked with mine and he gave me an encouraging smile. “It’s just me.”

  His skin was paper thin and translucent. The tiny bones in his hand felt fragile in mine. I held it gently, afraid to break him.

  “My father called me in to help with Eve. She’d been in a car accident.”

  “You couldn’t save her?” he asked in a small voice. Kirby didn’t know Eve personally, but he knew how upset I got when I failed to heal someone.

  Telling him about my healing capabilities had been unintentional. The first time I ever tried to heal him happened about a week after I began visiting him. It was late at night and he was sleeping, or so I thought. I’d sat down next to him on the bed, connected with his life force, and decided to ease his pain since there was nothing more that I could do. His joints were aching and his stomach was upset from the chemotherapy he’d received earlier that day.

  The minute I finished, Kirby’s dark brown eyes opened slowly, and the smile he gave me seemed to brighten the darkness of his hospital room. He wanted to know how I’d been able to make him feel so much better, and for some reason I decided to tell him. It was the first time in my life I’d ever discussed my gift with anyone other than my father. I’d never even told my best friend, Angie, about it, and she was the first person I’d ever healed. She was the reason I’d discovered my abilities in the first place. I’d told Kirby, though, and had felt good doing it.

  “No, I was able to save her. I just couldn’t save Sarah.”

  Kirby grabbed my other hand and made me look at him.

  “The mayor’s off
ice aid?”

  I nodded.

  “I know you feel responsible, but there was nothing you could do. You know this. When it’s a person’s time to go, you can’t save them.” He spoke quietly now, knowing that no one else should hear this conversation.

  “There are so many good and wonderful people in this world who deserve to live. They deserve to stay.” I lowered my eyes and whispered,

  “You deserve to stay.”

  “This is really about me, isn’t it?” he asked.

  I bit my lip, struggling to choke back so many unwanted emotions.

  “Hope, you’ve been trying to heal me at least three times a week for a while now. It sucks that it isn’t meant to be, but there must be a reason for it. Instead of fighting it, just be happy that you got the chance to try. Being told no doesn’t have to be so sad. Dying doesn’t have to be so final.” Kirby shrugged his shoulders. “I’m just moving on to the next phase of my journey a little earlier than most people do.”

  “First of all, what ten-year-old talks about his death as if he were Gandhi or Obi Wan Kenobi, and who says I have to sit back and accept it?” Tears began their slow descent down my cheeks.

  He pulled my hands to either side of his face. His eyes were filled with love and concern.

  Concern for me.

  He was dying from leukemia, and instead of feeling sorry for himself he was trying to console me.

  Typical Kirby, I thought.

  “Check again, and tell me whether or not you can heal me.” He closed his eyes and waited for me to try.

  I breathed in deeply to steady my emotions and reached out for Kirby’s life force. It wasn’t hard to find. Connecting to it was even easier, but I knew the answer even before I saw it. Abnormal blood cells were deep in the bone marrow and multiplying at a rate that not even chemo or a bone marrow transplant could prevent.

  Kirby was supposed to die.