My charge was either extremely low-maintenance or he hadn’t lived here very long. Given the tourism books in the living area, I decided to go with the latter conclusion. I figured he was a recent transplant to Chicago, and I wondered if he was planning on staying here or if he was just passing through the city.
I walked over to the dining room table and rifled through some of his papers, but discovered no additional information about him other than that he was working on some type of third-party investment portfolio. I turned on his laptop, but it was password protected.
Crap, I muttered to myself. This part of my investigation into his background would have to wait until I watched him log on to his computer.
Someone buzzed my charge’s loft from the lobby of the building. The noise startled me, and I jumped up so high my head almost hit one of the ducts suspended a few feet below the ceiling before I phased out of sight. I felt like I had been caught with my hand in the cookie jar, and my guilty conscience surfaced.
“Hey, Quinn!” I heard someone shout from the street curb as the front door buzzed again. The cell phone in his bedroom rang a few times, but Thayer didn’t answer it.
“Quinny! Dude! I thought we were going to the game today!” I looked out the open window to see a couple of guys decked out in Cubs gear shouting up at me. Well not at me exactly; they were looking for my human—or, at least, I thought they were.
Quinn? I repeated the name in my head. A queasy feeling began to stir inside me. After another minute, the two guys gave up and left.
Wait a minute. I’m supposed to protect someone named Thayer—not some guy named Quinn. Oh crap! Did I mistake this human for my charge? Did I save the wrong person? Confusion, panic, and horror flooded me. If this human wasn’t my assignment, then who was? More importantly, where was he? What had happened to him as a result of my careless blunder? I had to find Peter.
* * *
Peter was waiting for me in the Archives.
“I think I made a huge mistake.” I was totally freaking out. “That guy … that human that was getting mugged … his name is Quinn—not Thayer. I think I saved the wrong person!”
“It all makes perfect sense now,” I continued. “That Quinn-guy recognizing me and all. I mean, Teddy said I would never be paired with someone who knew me during my life. But if that guy I saved last night wasn’t really my charge, then that explains it, right?” I stopped to catch my breath and collect my thoughts while I waited for Peter to give me an answer, a look—any sort of response. But he just stood there silently for an uncomfortably long period of time.
“Eve,” he finally said after sighing heavily, “the human you saved is, indeed, your charge. His full name is Thayer McQuinn Harrison. Quinn is his nickname. You didn’t have a chance to read his file, but I did. Trust me—you found your sheep last night.” Peter flipped closed a thin brown folder, stood up, and handed it to me.
“But how is that possible?” I asked without even so much as glancing at the file in my hand. “Peter, I think my charge knows me. He called me “Evie.” Maybe that’s what everybody called me when I was alive—I don’t know; but it’s too close to be a coincidence, you know?” I was pacing back and forth. “Ugh, I should never have let him see me. None of this would have happened if I had remained invisible.” I could have kicked myself for being so foolish.
“Eve, you did the right thing. In fact, you really had no other choice given the circumstances and the time constraints. The truth is that sometimes we’re put in situations where we are forced to do whatever we can to protect our charges—even if it’s appearing in our human form. Believe me, it occurs more frequently than you might think. I probably would have done the same thing had I been in your shoes. At the end of the day, you saved your sheep, and that was the most important thing … But I have to say …” His voice trailed off as he looked down at the table and began leafing through another file.
“What? What do you have to say?” I demanded.
“Eve,” he took a deep breath and looked up at me. “I am unaware of any situation in the past where a Shepherd was paired with a human with whom he or she had ever come into contact, or with whom he or she ever could have come into contact, during the Shepherd’s life. Nevertheless, I have to agree with you—your charge does seem to think he knows you.”
“Well does he? Did he know me when I was alive? I mean, I have no idea who this guy is or why he thinks he recognized me. I have no memories of my life, remember?” I said, flustered. “Besides, I thought you guys had the proper safeguards in place to prevent this sort of thing from happening.”
“We do. And I can assure you that I am investigating this situation to find out what may have gone awry.” Peter began sifting through another pile of papers on the table. “But as of right now, I can find nothing in either of your files that would suggest that your charge and you ever actually met.” Peter seemed to be talking to himself. “Theoretically, I suppose it could be possible that a past meeting between the two of you was so inconsequential and brief that it would not have been recorded. But then you both should have forgotten each other, in which case, your charge shouldn’t have recognized you.
“So the only thing I can think of—” Peter closed a file and shut his eyes as if deep in thought.
“Is what?” I couldn’t handle the suspense. I wanted an explanation. Peter looked at me.
“Is that someone or something went to great lengths to erase any record of you from Mr. Harrison’s life. That could explain why your association with him went unnoticed—and why you were paired with him.”
“Why would someone do that?”
“I honestly have no idea,” Peter conceded. “It’s not anything I have encountered or heard of happening before. But whoever did it apparently didn’t go as far as to erase you from Mr. Harrison’s memory. Eve, if your charge did recognize you last night, that would complicate matters considerably. We have no protocol or guidelines for handling such a scenario. We would be venturing into uncharted territory. I must admit, I’m completely and utterly mystified.”
“Great,” I sighed. “Leave it to me to be the monkey wrench in the well-oiled machine.” My mind suddenly flashed to my charge’s deep blue eyes. Quinn—the name had a certain ring to it. Had I ever had heard it before? I quickly forced the thought from my head for fear that Peter was listening.
“Well, I’ll just have to be reassigned to someone else then, right?” I suddenly felt anxious, almost like I was afraid of getting in trouble were it confirmed that there was a connection between my charge and me. Like it would be my fault somehow. But how could I be blamed for something I had no control over? I knew I was being irrational. Just the same, I wanted to rid myself of this assignment as soon as possible and leave this mess far behind me.
“It’s not that easy, Eve,” Peter began. “First of all, the Rules are steadfast and firm. A case transfer must be approved, and Council members do not like making exceptions—regardless of how unusual the situation. One exception would lead to another and then another and so forth. The Rules soon would become wholly unworkable and useless. They would be reduced to nothing more than mere guidelines or suggestions from which Shepherds’ could pick and choose. The Council won’t stand for that.
“And second,” he went on to say, “I’m not sure that transferring you to a new assignment actually would do any good. I’m beginning to suspect your pairing was handpicked by someone other than us. It seems too uncanny that your training was cut short only for you to be prematurely rushed into an assignment to protect someone who knew you in life. It would seem that fate might have something … different in mind for you two, despite the fact that one of you is no longer living.
“So what do you suggest I do? Stay and protect him?” I snapped.
“Yes. For the time being, anyway. The Council has already been informed of your unique situation. I plan to consult with them later today,” Peter added.
“In the meantime, you need to go back to E
arth, back to your charge, and continue to carry out your assignment. Be mindful of your watch,” Peter directed. “Don’t let Incident Two catch you off guard. I’ll contact you when I hear of any developments.”
I nodded, making a mental note of Peter’s instructions, but my chest sank as I heard Peter’s words. I didn’t want to go back to my human’s apartment. I didn’t want to take the chance of having another close encounter with him. But I had no choice. I was solely responsible for his safety. And minutes spent up in the Archives were equivalent to hours on Earth—hours during which my charge was alone, injured, and vulnerable to another attack.
Reluctantly, I closed my eyes and was just about to teleport myself back to my human’s apartment when I felt Peter take my hand. I opened my eyes and looked at him.
“Eve, please be careful.” His eyes were so full of concern and compassion. “And please, stay out of sight. Do not have any additional contact or communication with Mr. Harrison if you can help it. If he knew you when you were alive, then chances are he also knows you died. I’m sure this goes without saying, but another chance meeting with him could very well open Pandora’s Box.”
* * *
Dawn lit up the sky early Sunday morning. I was back in my human’s apartment—Quinn’s apartment. He was sleeping peacefully in his bed, and I had the feeling he would rest for at least another couple of hours. I resumed my human form and curled up in the wingback chair I had sat in earlier. I absentmindedly traced the length of the brushed chrome frame of floor lamp next to me with my fingers and was soon lost in thought over what Peter had told me.
Could Quinn and I really have known each other while I was alive? If so, if our paths had crossed once before, how could they have crossed again now that I was dead? Could my assignment really have been destined to happen? But why? Why would someone go through all that trouble to devise such a bizarre chain of events?
I didn’t have the answers to these questions, and they only made me grow more restless. I stood up and began pacing, running my fingers over every surface of Quinn’s apartment—the brick walls, marble countertops, glass shelves, plush fabrics, wool rugs, and even his silk tie. I was still getting accustomed to my acute sensory skills, my tactile sense being the most perceptive of all, and I had a compelling desire to touch every different texture I could find. Eventually, I found myself wandering back into Quinn’s bedroom. I walked over to his bed to get a closer look at him. He was undeniably beautiful. I wanted to run my fingers through his thick, wavy black hair and caress his smooth golden skin. I wanted to feel how his soft lips were to the touch; but, of course, I didn’t dare. I just stood there staring at him.
I still knew so little about Thayer McQuinn Harrison. What was he like? What was he doing in Chicago? Most of all, I wondered how he had been able to recognize me in the alley. I tried to remember something, some morsel of a fleeting memory of him … of the life I used to lead. But it was of no use.
I knew this was a dangerous game I was playing. There was a reason why I didn’t remember my life. I had a job to do; I had to keep my charge alive. Investigating who I used to be would only distract me from my responsibilities. I knew I should heed Peter’s advice; I should focus solely on my assignment, see it through, and move on.
“Besides,” I whispered to myself, “you know what they say: ‘curiosity killed the cat.’” I choked back a chuckle. Yeah, but I’m already dead. As soon the words entered my mind, I grimaced. Standing there, staring at this insanely attractive, breathing human before me, I didn’t want to be reminded of how much I had lost the day I died.
Quinn shifted in his sleep, letting out a deep sigh. He looked as innocent and as perfect as an angel. The irony of my thought was not lost on me, and I smiled to myself.
16. Immaculate Recuperation
Several hours later, Quinn woke up still groggy from the codeine. He grimaced as he strained to sit, only to give up and lay clumsily back down. He reached over to feel his tender ribs and then felt the bandage on his forehead; I could tell he was in a considerable amount of pain. He stayed there for a good ten minutes before he managed to gradually get up out of bed and shuffle slowly to the bathroom. I heard him turn on the shower, and I decided to let him be. I was already invading his home by being there without him knowing. The least I could do was try to respect his privacy in its truest form. I even turned my back when he returned to his room, dropped his towel, and took an exceedingly long time struggling to put on a pair of boxers.
Only then did I dare to look at the extent of his injuries. I mentally winced at the sight of him. The entire left side of Quinn’s torso was covered in dark purple bruises. The left side of his forehead didn’t look much better; in fact, the stitches made his head wound look arguably worse. I watched Quinn survey the damage to his body in the full-length mirror in his bedroom and cringe. He went back into the bathroom and taped a new gauze bandage over his left temple.
Painstakingly slowly and carefully, Quinn slid his arms through the sleeves of a button-down shirt. After fastening only one of the buttons, he shuffled into the kitchen and poured himself a big bowl of cereal with milk and grabbed a can of Coke and both of the bananas left out on the counter. With breakfast in hand, Quinn maneuvered himself into the living area and eventually was able to lower himself onto the couch. He flipped through the cable channels until he settled on a movie and then ate his breakfast. Every time he laughed at a scene, however, he grimaced in pain, so much so that he took a couple more codeine and dozed off on the couch before the movie was over.
I hated sitting there watching him suffer, especially since I felt like I was largely to blame for his injuries. Guilt surged through me. If only I had been quicker. If only I had stopped the mugger sooner, maybe Quinn wouldn’t have gotten hurt at all. Hindsight was twenty-twenty, and it was a waste of my time to sit there playing the “would-have, could-have, should-have” game. Still, I wished there was something I could do to help him.
Then it hit me—there was something I could do; I could heal him. If my entire purpose for being here was to guard Quinn, to keep him safe from harm, then I shouldn’t let him suffer physically because I had failed to act fast enough. I should heal Quinn—and I would heal him while he slept that night.
The rest of the day was pretty slow going. Quinn woke up from his “nap” at around four o’clock that afternoon, only to order some Thai food for delivery and watch another movie. Other than ordering food, he didn’t make or accept any calls; although he did check his personal and work email accounts. Quinn also downloaded a few albums and a movie onto his laptop.
At around ten, he took a couple more painkillers and dozed off for the evening. He had set his alarm for six-thirty in the morning, so I assumed he was planning to go to work the next day. I knew that with the assistance of the drugs, Quinn would fall into a deep, sound slumber. An hour later, he started to snore softly.
Perfect, I said to myself. I materialized and tiptoed over to the side of his bed. Even though Agnes had told me that the healing process for animals and humans was basically the same, I was still nervous. My experience in this area was limited to healing one baby sea turtle, which was a far cry from healing a grown man.
Well, here goes nothing, I said to myself. I held my breath as I carefully unbuttoned Quinn’s shirt and peeled it away from his chest, revealing the bruises that covered the entire left side of his rib cage and abdomen. I positioned both of my hands an inch above his battered body. I could feel the intense heat radiating from the injuries and assumed it was a result of his body working laboriously to repair itself. A twinge of remorse passed through me again.
Don’t worry, Quinn. You’ll feel better soon. I focused my energy and my mind on his injuries. I recognized the amber-colored glow emanating from the palms of my hands and knew I was healing him. Quinn’s red-hot flesh was cooling down, and it wasn’t long before the left side of his torso reached the same temperature as his right side. He abruptly shifted in his sleep and arched
his back up slightly. Afraid we would make physical contact, I pulled my hands away, only to discover that all traces of his bruises had vanished—at least on the outside. I was surprised at the strength of my healing powers; I had no idea I could heal a human so quickly.
I smiled in satisfaction. My self-congratulatory pat on the back was cut short, however, when I suddenly realized how careless I had been. I shouldn’t have healed Quinn’s injuries completely. He undoubtedly would question what happened to him while he was sleeping.
Crap. Well, there’s nothing I can do about it now. No use in crying over spilled milk.
My only hope was that Quinn would chalk up his immaculate recuperation to nothing more than a codeine-induced lapse in both memory and judgment that had initially led him to believe his injuries were more serious than they actually were. Following that line of reasoning, I figured there was really no point in leaving his head wound to fend for itself. I would just have to be more careful this time around.
Quinn’s head injury was logistically a little trickier. First, I removed the tape and gauze to uncover the wound, causing him to stir. I froze and waited until he began snoring again.
If his torso had been red hot, his forehead was blazing. Using the same technique, I allowed my hand to hover over his left temple and watched the glow emanate from under my fingertips almost immediately. I lifted my hand up periodically to examine the status of my work, stopping when the wound looked to be about a week or so old and the biodegradable stitches had just started to dissolve.
I looked at the results of my handiwork with approval. Again, my moment of pride was interrupted. Only, this time, it was cut short by a whopping dizzy spell, one that was significantly stronger than the spell I’d experienced when I had healed the turtle. I felt drained and weak. Forget phasing out or teleporting myself anywhere; I couldn’t do much of anything except sit down on the floor next to his bed for fear of fainting. I felt utterly defenseless.
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