The Tragedy of Power

by Ian Withrow

  Allison was still lying in the hospital bed while John napped on the couch. As she flipped through channels on the old, box-style television that was sitting on the bureau across the room from her, she was barely paying attention, preoccupied with thoughts of her newborn baby girl and the mysterious events of the morning. In her left hand, she held the remote loosely and clicked through the channels absentmindedly, but in her right she held a feather.

  It was the strangest thing, a small, ivory feather; the doctor said it looked like a dove or sparrow feather. The real mystery on her mind was how it had gotten into the operating room to fall onto the table during her surgery. It was, after all, impossible that it had been inside her, right? It wouldn’t be the only impossible thing that had happened that morning, she thought to herself, glancing at the unbroken forehead of her slumbering husband.

  “... We bring you this special report, a woman has given birth to a miracle child at St. Mary's hospital in Galesburg, Illinois..”

  The TV blared a familiar voice, her eyes snapped into focus just in time to catch the beaming, saccharine face of Kent Dailey.

  “Let's roll the video.”

  A moment of static was followed by a security camera feed of the hallway outside of the newborn room. She saw John walk into the frame, the large cut on his head clearly visible, accompanied by the nurse, Peggy. They spoke quietly for a moment, and then Peggy went inside, returning a moment later with Lauren in hand. John gingerly took her from the nurse. Allison chuckled, he looked so nervous yet so at home with her in his arms. Suddenly she saw Lauren's tiny hand emerge from the blankets and touch John. A small shimmer of light shone from John’s forehead and she watched as his cut rapidly faded away.

  Allison’s jaw popped open; their faces were plastered all over the news. She sat up quickly in bed, letting out an involuntary cry of pain as her stitches pulled tight. John woke instantly at the sound of his wife's pain and rushed to her side.

  “What's wrong baby? Are you ok, do I call a doctor?”

  Allison couldn't speak, the pain was incredible. All she could do was point at the television. The clip was replaying, with commentary from Dailey and his co-anchor, some ditzy brunette who usually did the weather and was likely chosen for her looks.

  “...There you go, folks, you saw it here first. Our very own miracle, right here in Galesburg. More at eleven! For now, let's head over to sports, Mark?”

  It took less than a day for the story to spread, and by the next morning reporters from several major news networks were outside the doors of the hospital, begging for interviews.

  More startling were the dozens of sick and injured, alongside a small horde of other people who crowded the parking lot. Allison and John had spent the entire morning receiving visitors to their hospital room. It started with a few extra nurses showing up to make conversation, but by mid-morning there was a knock every few minutes.

  “I'm tired of it, Allie,” said John as yet another knock came to the door. “They shouldn't be pestering us, we're no different from anyone else in this damn hospital. We deserve some privacy!”

  John walked to the door and yanked it open, fully intending to give the offending staff member a scathing rebuff. To his chagrin, however, the person at the door was a frail man, startled nearly to falling over by John's sudden and forceful opening of the door.

  John gaped, with words stuck in his throat as he was totally off guard. The man before him looked to be in his early thirties. Rail thin and bald, he stood shakily in a hospital gown, one hand using his IV pole for support. A stiff breeze could well finish him off, it seemed.

  “I'm very, very sorry, sir,” began the man. “My name is Eric. I--I've been here a while and I heard about your daughter.”

  Unsure how to proceed but feeling awkward for having scared the man, John let him continue.

  “It's just that... I'm told I don't have much longer,” Eric continued, emboldened slightly by John's silence.

  “It's cancer, got my dad, too. But here I am, at the end of my rope, and the doctors say my best bet is to get doped up so as to have a 'peaceful transition.'”

  He let out a scornful, barking laugh.

  “As if that was supposed to make me feel more, I don't know, comfortable with it.”

  John was not a man who enjoyed awkward conversations, and for some reason, the cold, grim acceptance that he felt from this man as he callously discussed his imminent death put him even less at ease than usual.

  “I'm, ah, very sorry for you,” he said, kicking himself immediately for how flat and forced it must have sounded.

  “Don't be,” said Eric. “I brought it on myself, I smoked my first cigarette at eleven years old, I drank myself to sleep every night since I was nineteen. I've wasted my life, what little of it there was, anyway. I'm not even sure why I came up here, I just... I always wanted kids, and when my girlfriend left after I got sick...”

  He trailed off a bit, the last bit of light in his eyes dulled as he spoke of his misfortune.

  “I,” he paused, “I don't suppose you'd like to come in for a moment,” John offered, motioning to the room behind him.

  “Do you suppose it would be ok?” Eric asked quietly. “It's just that I've never been a part of anything, never seen anything big. I never saw the states, I never traveled overseas or met nobody famous. I guess, maybe I thought if I could just see her, maybe it might give me a sense of having done something before I go.”

  “John. Let him in, come on over here, Eric, it's a pleasure to meet you,” Allison spoke from the bed, Lauren bundled in her arms.

  Always the kindest woman, John thought. How could he not be in love with her, with a heart so warm?

  Eric gingerly approached the bed, his steps unsteady and slow. As he got near, Lauren let out a coo and reached out with both hands in the air, causing the three adults to chuckle unanimously at her antics.

  “She truly is beautiful,” Eric began, “may I?”

  He slowly reached a finger out towards Lauren's outstretched hand when Allison nodded her approval.

  Eric felt Lauren's tiny hand wrap around his outstretched finger. She was warm and had a surprising strength to her. When she opened her eyes, they were like fresh-forged gold, with a depth beyond her age. As she held his finger, he felt renewed, at peace. His cares and worries slipped away and he felt strengthened. He didn't know what it was he had been searching for, whether something to hope for or a way out, but he knew he had found it. She had given it to him.

  John watched carefully.

  From a few feet away he could see the change overcome Eric as Lauren gripped his hand. His complexion regained a healthier flush of pink, his back was less bowed, and his eyes seemed brighter.

  “Thank you, I'm sorry to have bothered you. I don't even know what I came here to find,” stammered Eric. “I'll leave you two alone, they'll be wondering where I ran off to.”

  John nodded, his mouth slightly agape. He was mystified at the change that had overcome the stranger.

  As Eric left, he said, “The doctors say I have a couple of weeks left, if... if you wanted to drop by. I don't have any family or friends really, I'm in 116...”

  He was clearly embarrassed as he ducked out of the room. John noticed that his steps had more energy, the pole was less for support than it had been, and he seemed to move with a new purpose.

  “Did you see that,” breathed Allison, her eyes wide.

  She spoke to her husband in a voice barely above a whisper. The two stared at their young child, in awe of the effect she’d had on the man.

  The Corvidaes spent the next week shut in at the hospital, hoping to wait out the storm of media outside. Eric stopped by several more times during their stay. Miraculously, he had been declared cancer free just four days after his first meeting with the family. He claimed Lauren was the reason, given the circumstances Allison and John had no doubt he was right. He came in to share the news with them, bringing with him a bottle of champagne, for which
they were scolded by an irate Peggy. He was so grateful in fact, he had tried to offer the family money, but they declined. He swore to pay them back somehow, someday.

  Finally though, Allison was healthy and whole and they could find no further excuses to stay inside. Far from having abated, the crowd had swelled as rumors flew from nurses who had handled Lauren.

  As they stood in the waiting room, staring out the large plate-glass windows at the crowd, Allison snaked her hand out and gripped John's.

  “What have we gotten ourselves into here, John,” she said, her voice laced with worry.

  “How can we raise a child like this?”

  John felt the concern in her voice tighten around his heart with vice-grip. He felt the same. Outwardly though, he stayed strong, flashing a smile at his wife, he said in as comforting a voice as he could muster, “One day at a time, dear, one day at a time.”

  Chapte r Two:

  The last few years had been a whirlwind. It was hard to believe Lauren had just turned eight years old a month ago. In her short life, she had probably traveled more of the United States than anyone her age. Her popularity was higher than ever, and why shouldn't it be? She was received with fervor everywhere she went, providing hope in a dark world, as the tabloids said.

  Her abilities hadn't diminished, and over the last few years there wasn't a malady she'd run into that her touch couldn't heal. She had led a charmed life, like something out of a fairy tale. She had never broken a bone, never even gotten so much as a paper cut or a bruise without it healing almost instantly.

  There had been a learning curve, certainly--raising a child as...unusual as Lauren hadn't been easy. They had been thrust into the limelight instantly: meeting visiting heads of state, local and national religious leaders, making the news every time they turned around.

  Allison scowled slightly. The news hadn't always been kind to them, often passing judgment on their lives from afar. John had to quit his job within a year. Thankfully, Lauren’s gifts, and the kind donations of her supporters, had more than covered their bills. Allison and John had refused to charge the desperate people that sought their daughter’s gift. Somehow it hadn’t seemed right, like they would be taking advantage.

  If it wasn’t for the difficulty they had with traditional employment, they wouldn’t have accepted anything at all.

  For their part, they had tried to ensure that Lauren was raised in as normal an environment as possible. They'd met with mixed results. Especially since the public relentlessly sought her gift, which the Corvidae's did their best to share as best they could.

  “We're on in five, Mrs. Corvidae.”

  Allison snapped out of her reverie, looking down at Lauren, who was quietly reading a book on the carpeted floor of the waiting room. She had grown more beautiful with every passing day. Short for her age, she retained a very young appearance, and her face beamed innocent joy and brought smiles to everyone who beheld her. Her blonde hair fell like spun gold, though on this occasion it lay down her back in a neat little braid.

  “You ready, sweetie?”

  Lauren looked up, nodding at her mother. She looked back to her book almost immediately.

  Am I ready? Allison asked herself silently. She reached into her purse, feeling the smooth glass of the tiny bottle within. She glanced again at her daughter. I have time.

  Three minutes later, she emerged from the bathroom backstage, her lips and throat tingling with the slow burn of bourbon. The drink did the trick: she could feel her nerves ease almost immediately.

  Lauren approached her, towed by a stage-hand. The no-nonsense woman in her dark blue skirt and blouse spoke quickly and curtly.

  “Ok, remember you'll have about fifteen minutes with Mr. Dailey. he'll give you the signal and then it's off stage left.”

  Allison hoped this was a good idea. The family agent had been adamant about it.

  Allison had her doubts. She remembered, none too fondly, first meeting Kent. His rise had been meteoric. After breaking the story about Lauren, he had been catapulted into the national news anchor scene. By continuously covering her exploits, not always to Lauren's benefit, he had secured himself a late night talk show less than a year later. So a reunion was unavoidable, at least according to their agent.

  “Ok, showtime folks,” the bossy stagehand said.

  Allison put on her best smile and gripped Lauren's hand. They strode out into the blinding lights of the stage together. The stage was massive, dominated by a large wooden desk and tall halogen light fixtures. Kent met them on the floor. His arms wide, he went in for a hug, wrapping his arms affectionately around Allison. She resisted the urge to flinch at his unexpected gesture, but as soon as she began to awkwardly hug him back, he let go, turning his attention to Lauren.

  “Hello, young lady! You likely don't remember me, but I certainly remember the day we first met.” He used a slow, "kid-friendly" tone, and flashed a conspiratorial wink at Lauren.

  “Actually, I do,” Lauren said in even, friendly tones, like a diplomat might. “You haven't aged a day.” She returned his wink and he seemed shocked at her precociousness.

  “We'll, aren't you precious!”

  The audience laughed appreciatively at the unexpected charm of the girl. Kent led the two to a pair of oversized, leather-clad chairs next to his desk. After they took their seats he took his own.

  “So, let's get down to brass tacks,” he began, leaning forward slightly as he spoke. Something in his voice, some latent aggression caused Allison’s neck hairs to stand on end. But she knew she was trapped.

  “There's been a lot of arguing, these past few years.” Kent indicated a large screen behind him. It displayed video footage of religious protests around the world, including several that had turned violent.

  “Almost every major religion has claimed that you are a sign, specifically, that their religion is true and that all others are false.”

  Kent ended the statement in a questioning tone, and looked expectantly at the pair. Lauren looked up at her mother, who usually handled the hard-ball questions. The family had always been very careful not to speak about religion during interviews.

  Allison shifted in her seat, her lips set in a thin frown.

  The silence lengthened and Kent finally broke in again, saying, “Well, maybe we can't say that, but at least we ought to be able to say what religion you follow, Mrs. Corvidae?”

  Allison hesitated a moment before giving as diplomatic a reply as she could manage.

  “I--I'm, uh, well I was raised Catholic--”

  “Catholic!”

  “Yes, but-”

  Kent's loud voice drowned Allison out.

  “We'll have to call the Pope and congratulate him. Sorry, folks, if you didn't choose Catholicism it might be time to reconsider!”

  The crowd laughed appreciatively, and Kent smiled his biggest smile.

  Allison's and Lauren's discomfort deepened.

  “Seriously, though,” his tone changed once more.”I think there are a lot of people out there who have some real questions that I think it's about time we answer.”

  Lauren sensed her mother's worry, and sought to put her at ease, answering before her mother had a chance.

  “Well, Mr. Dailey, I don't have all the answers, but shoot.” She tried to smile as big and as friendly as she could.

  “That's the spirit.” He made a show of checking some papers on his desk before addressing Lauren. “Can you tell us your favorite place you've visited and helped people?”

  “I think my favorite was the Grand Canyon. It was beautiful at sunset, and sunrise, especially.”

  Kent nodded. “And did you heal lots of people there?”

  “Well, there were a few yes, but I think in some ways the Grand Canyon heals people, too. Getting that close to nature has to be good for you.”

  Kent smiled and exclaimed to the crowd, looking directly into one of the cameras. “Well, I don't usually take health advice from kids, but in this case I mig
ht make an exception!”

  His remark was met once again with dutiful studio laughter.

  “And have you encountered anything you couldn't fix? Any person you can't cure?”

  Lauren nodded, a hint of sadness in her face as she replied.

  “I can't heal my mom, or her daddy, my grandpa. Those are the only two people that have gotten sick I haven't been able to help.”

  “And why do you suppose that is?”

  Lauren shrugged and looked at her mother, who took this question for herself.

  “Well,” began Allison, “as far as any doctors have been able to tell us, it's impossible to heal anyone the way Lauren does, so we're just grateful that it works on most folks.”

  Kent nodded again, but he seemed more to be waiting for another opportunity to speak, rather than truly listening.

  “So, if you can heal anyone, uh excuse me almost anyone,” he led into the question softly, but his tone sharpened like a blade as he finished. “Will you be travelling overseas at some point?”

  “What do you mean?” asked a surprised Lauren.

  “Well, with your incredible gift, you've done no work outside of the United States, arguably the place that needs your gift least of all in the world.”

  Allison was taken aback, it wasn’t really something the family had avoided intentionally. She racked her brain for a good answer, and Kent caught scent of her indecision immediately.

  “I guess the question is, why haven't you and your daughter spent time in Southwest Asia or Africa? Certainly funding isn't an issue, I understand you've done quite well for yourselves utilizing your daughter’s talent?”

  As Kent spoke, the large television screens hanging above them changed to short clips of humanitarian aid workers and doctors treating masses of the sick and dying in some of the most impoverished nations. The atmosphere in the room darkened, and grumbling began amidst the studio audience.

  “I--I'm sorry, I've been trying real hard, and I think I'm helping people--”

  Lauren was stammering, her face red with embarrassment.