Soul Redemption

by PJ Sharon

Chapter 3

  Lily and I had to cut our chores short once a clap of thunder and a jagged bolt of lightning signaled the approach of a vicious storm that forced us inside. The smell of coffee and bacon filled the kitchen as she and I tugged at the same towel, arguing about who would dry off first.

  “You two knock it off and have a seat.” Sam set plates in front of us. Lily tossed the damp towel at me and I dried my face and hair. “Will you listen to that rain come down? Too bad we can’t send some out west.” Sam looked thoughtfully at the ceiling as if seeing the dark sky above. He removed a disreputable-looking hanky from his back pocket, wiped his nose, and sat down. His hand shook as he lifted his coffee cup.

  “You should have waited for me to cook breakfast,” Lily said, her eyes taking on a worried look. Even though he was only in his forties, Sam’s health had been declining since Doc Stone from the next town had diagnosed him with liver cancer several months before. When he started to get sick, I wondered if I was responsible, but we ruled that out. Something in our shared DNA seemed to make us immune to each other’s abilities. If Lily couldn’t cure his cancer—and it was painfully obvious by now that she couldn’t—then it was also a good bet that Sam was impervious to my life-taking powers.

  “I’m not helpless, Lily,” Sam said, barely hiding his irritation. “I can still cook a meal.” Sam ate oatmeal every morning with whatever berries we had. He stirred the stiff gooey cereal. Over the top, he drizzled a big spoonful of honey from our hive.

  I stuffed a crispy piece of bacon in my mouth and gulped down half a glass of milk, avoiding becoming part of a conversation that would likely end with Sam blowing up, an occurrence that was happening more and more.

  “I didn’t say you were helpless, but you shouldn’t be exerting yourself. You need to conserve your energy.”

  The arguing portion of breakfast ended abruptly when a loud bang on the door sent Sam rocketing out of his chair. We all jumped. I ran for the weapons closet, ready to arm myself with the Remington. Sam peered out the curtained window into the torrential rains and then called out, “It’s just Mr. Higgins.” He pulled the door open and ushered the dripping visitor in from the porch.

  Mr. Higgins, a squat man with a fringe of graying hair around his head, was the owner of the market in town. I’d never seen him so shaken. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but I needed…” his eyes shot to Lily. “It’s Mrs. Higgins…she’s sick. She’s had a high fever going on two days now. I’ve tried to bring her temperature down with the medicines at the store, but we’ve got nothing to fight infection and I think she’s caught a nasty bug.” He glanced from Sam to Lily and back. “I wouldn’t ask, but…well…I’d like to pay you…”

  “No need.” Lily cut him off and handed Mr. Higgins a towel to dry himself as her gaze went to Sam, her mind already made up. “I’d be happy to help.”

  Sam sighed. Lily’s good hearted nature was much more likely to be our downfall than my lack of self-control. He removed a rain jacket from a hook and handed it to Lily. “You go and come straight back, understood?”

  Lily slipped into the raincoat, pulling her hair up into a long pony tail and tying it in a knot on her head. She tugged on her wide brimmed hat, looking ready for a mission of mercy with her bright green eyes shimmering. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back before dark.”

  “Can I come with you?” I asked, knowing Sam was likely to say no, but wanting to go into town in the worst way. Although living out in the woods might be safer, boredom and loneliness dampened my spirits far worse than rain.

  Lily spoke up. “I think it would be good for Zeph to come. He won’t cause any trouble. Will you?” She sent me a sharp look.

  “No. I swear.” I put my hand over my heart and gave Sam an innocent smile.

  Sam and Mr. Higgins shared a brief nod, a silent agreement forming between the two. “If the boy agrees to stay at arm’s length, I have no problem with him coming along.” Not an overwhelming invitation, but at least Mr. and Mrs. Higgins didn’t treat me like I was a monster.

  A few minutes later, we were spinning our tires through the mud in Mr. Higgins’ old pick-up. Mrs. Higgins must be in dire straits for him to come all the way up the mountain. Biodiesel was expensive and I knew he only kept the truck for emergencies, much like anyone else around that had a motorized vehicle. Solar cars were undependable during the rainy season when the sun could stay hidden behind the clouds for days.

  We bumped along down the timber trail road, barely avoiding a mudslide into the ravine at the bottom of the hill. Mr. Higgins face was gray with worry by the time we pulled up behind the small two story building. As one of the townspeople who understood the consequences of letting the secret get out that a healer lived in Stanton, he would make our presence as inconspicuous as possible. We all knew the danger of mass hysteria. Besides, if anything happened to Lily, who would neighbors count on when a family member or loved one got hurt or really sick? He unlocked the back door and led us up the stairs to an apartment above the store.

  The scent of eucalyptus and camphor hit me as we crossed the threshold and entered into a spacious living room which opened to a kitchen and a small dining area. The heavy drapes blocked out what daylight there was, and the apartment was eerily silent.

  “Gladys?” he called out. A weak reply from the next room had Mr. Higgins rushing toward the sound, Lily at his heels.

  I followed behind slowly, checking out the faded photos in gold frames set along the fireplace mantel. I studied the faces. A girl who appeared to be about my age bore a strong resemblance to Mrs. Higgins—the daughter they lost during the plagues. I understood Mr. Higgins’ fear of his wife’s high fever, certain that it must bring back the memory of being helpless to stop his only child from burning up inside and losing her to the ugly death that followed. I had no memory of those times, but I’d seen pictures and heard stories of the bodies stacked up in piles on the streets waiting for sanitation trucks to come and take them for incineration. I ran a finger along the photo’s edge and wandered on, examining other photos of dead relatives. Mr. and Mrs. Higgins only had each other from what I understood. All the more reason he was desperate for Lily’s help.

  Down the short hallway, I heard Mrs. Higgins cry out. Finding my way to the open door of the bedroom, I saw Mr. Higgins sitting in a chair on the far side of the bed, pressing a wet cloth to his wife’s head and whispering soft assurances to her as Lily sat beside her. My sister’s hands were already awash with a glow of golden light. She moved them over the woman’s body slowly, drawing deep breaths and letting a whisper escape her lips. “Just relax. Think of something nice. Maybe a place you feel safe or a beautiful memory that brings you peace.”

  Mrs. Higgins closed her eyes, her face a pallid gray other than two bright red spots on her cheeks which signified her bodies fight against some invisible intruder. Her skin glistened with sweat and her hair lay unkempt and matted. Normally robust and full of life, she now lay weak and decaying, on the brink of death—a state that I found both disturbing and fascinating.

  My fondness for the woman aside, her weakened condition gave me a strange urge to push her over the edge, to take her hand and help her to the end. Whether it was because her suffering made me face the frailty of humanity—a reality that I had less tolerance for as my abilities grew—or because I craved the remaining life force that kept her hanging on, I couldn’t be sure.

  The question had me frozen in the doorway, torn between excitement and disappointment. Excitement at seeing Lily bask in the glow of power which radiated from her hands in sparks of white light. Disappointment in knowing she would likely succeed in healing the woman and I would leave angry at my sister for her having used her gift so freely, while I was left with a hollow well of frustrated hunger. I was happy for Mr. Higgins, yet I was supremely disappointment in myself for wishing I could have what was not rightfully mine—an innocent woman’s life. I turned away in fear and disgust.