The Prophecies Trilogy (Omnibus Edition): A Dystopian Adventure

by Linda Hawley

  Again I was distracted by a desire to look behind me. As my shoulders began to turn to the side, he said, “Use the Herkimer’s power.”

  Still filled with serenity and joy, I turned my head around. This time, he didn’t call me back. My eyes set upon a body lying in a hospital bed. Something seemed slightly familiar to me, but I was detached from the grotesque-looking figure. I studied the body for some moments.

  Oh no, I realized as I began to speed towards it, as though I were on the wrong end of a camera’s zoom lens.

  It’s me!

  * * *

  My pain returned, and I felt myself moving in and out of consciousness. I tried to open my eyes and speak, but I couldn’t quite fully wake up. Concentrating, I attempted to move my hands, which felt very heavy and bulky.

  Let me try this first, I thought, as I struggled to wake from the darkness.

  As I clumsily flexed my hands, testing my skill, I felt someone take one of them gently.

  “Ann,” he said softly.

  I struggled to force my eyes open to see him, but could not. Feeling a sense of panic at the darkness, I willed my head to move.

  “Your head is bandaged. Do not move it,” he said in answer to my attempted motion.

  Finding my voice, I heard myself croak, “Chow?”

  “Yes, I am here,” he said emotionally, squeezing the hand he held.

  Is this real?

  Involuntarily recoiling in shock, my body responded with an intense spasm of pain that ran through my head, threatening to drag me back into the quiet place from where I had come.

  “Be still,” a soft female voice instructed as she touched my arm.

  Is that a French accent?

  Stilling myself until the physical distress passed, I tried to take inventory of my situation. My senses were dull, but as the newest pain eased, I used my hands to slowly explore my face. It was covered with bandages, along with the rest of my head. Unable to breathe through my nose, the only senses I retained were hearing and touch. I was breathing through my mouth, so my throat was very sore.

  “Water,” I said roughly.

  A straw presented itself to my lips, and I sucked greedily.

  “I thought you were dead,” I whispered in the darkness. “Your pulse…”

  “I am fine,” Chow gently interrupted. “I will explain it all when you are feeling better.”

  Hope flickered in my heart as I let it sink in that my friend was alive. I listened for sounds to indicate where I was, but being used to relying on sight, I was sensory deprived without it. I needed more information.

  “Where am I?”

  “In a French hospital.”

  France?

  “How long?”

  “One week.”

  I’ve been unconscious for seven days?

  “Injuries?”

  “We can talk about that later.”

  Now! I silently demanded.

  Chow was resolutely mute. I squeezed his hand with all my strength—which probably wasn’t much at all—trying to convey my need to know.

  He got the message.

  “The doctors have operated on you. It will take some time to heal, but I will be here with you,” he said tenderly.

  There was a sound to my right, a slight creak, like a door.

  A boisterous man’s voice announced, “You’re awake.”

  Who are you?

  “Ann, this is Doctor Alfred Dreyfus. He operated on you.”

  I sensed Chow rising from my bedside. He passed my hand to the doctor, who firmly held it while seating himself on the edge of my bed.

  “My injuries?” I questioned him.

  He gave my hand a little squeeze, then declared, “Ma chère, you are a modern miracle.”

  What?

  He continued, with the tone of his voice changing to a gritty, low note. “With the force of the blow to your face, your nose was severely broken. You have fractured facial bones, and you sustained shock trauma, causing hemorrhaging within your brain.”

  Oh no.

  He paused.

  On the opposite side of the bed, Chow took my other hand, squeezing it gently.

  The doctor continued. “I left a shunt draining the fluid from your brain, but that will come out in time…”

  “Brain surgery?” I asked reluctantly.

  “I merely released the pressure on your brain,” he said, downplaying the act. “You did sustain Commotio Retinae, which is an injury to the retina of the eye. Think of it as bruising, although of course, the eye does not actually bruise…”

  “Can I see?” I interrupted, fear taking hold of me in my darkness.

  “Usually, the condition only lasts a few days. Now that you’re awake, tomorrow I will remove the bandages from your eyes, and we’ll test your vision.”

  “Take them off now,” I demanded. I needed to learn my fate.

  “Ann, it’s important that you rest. I’ll give you something to sleep now, and we’ll remove the bandages tomorrow,” the doctor said definitively.

  He said something in French to another person—I assumed it was the woman who’d spoken to me before. I sensed someone moving toward me. As I began to formulate my protest, the fuzziness of my brain returned, and I was quickly cocooned in a pharmaceutical hold.

  * * *

  I had no sense of how much time had passed. As my mind began to clear, I brought my hand up to my face to find that it was still fully bandaged.

  My hand was gently captured, pulling it away from my face. “Hello, Ann.”

  Chow.

  Anticipating my need, he moved a straw to my lips, and I drank in the cool liquid as though I’d walked a hundred miles in the desert.

  With my throat lubricated, I told him, “I want the bandages off.”

  My voice was still gritty and rumbling; I had to clear my throat several times.

  “The nurse has gone to get Doctor Dreyfus. He will be here soon to take them off,” Chow reassured me.

  As the clarity of my mind returned, along with the remembrances of Barcelona, I said, “Tell me what happened. Your pulse…I thought you were dead.”

  “It was you that was near death, not me,” he said quietly. “I was knocked out cold, but I was just unconscious.”

  “But your pulse…”

  “Of course you did not feel it, you were beaten up pretty badly,” Chow said, then paused. “I nearly lost you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. He then took my hand to his lips and gently kissed it.

  His gesture warmed my heart, and I did not feel alone in the darkness.

  I heard the commotion of someone entering the room. “Aha, I see you’re awake,” the doctor announced loudly.

  “Yes,” I said quietly. “Take off the bandages s'il vous plaît,” I said, throwing in the bit of French that I knew to try to persuade him.

  “Aha, you remember your French,” he said with jubilance. “This is very good. The nurse is bringing everything I need, and then we’ll get started. I can see that you’re eager.”

  I was scared; to lose my sight would devastate me.

  I sensed someone joining us, and the doctor said, “Here she is. Let’s get started, then. Ann, after I remove the bandages, I want you to keep your eyes shut. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I nervously uttered, trying to slow my pounding heart.

  As he removed the bandages, I remained motionless as time stood still.

  When he was finished, he said, “I want you to open your eyes. Tell me if you have any pain. Take your time. We’ll go slowly.”

  Trying to mentally prepare myself for the possible outcome, my lids rose. Through the haze, I could barely make out the outline of the doctor’s coat.

  “Tell me what you see,” he instructed.

  “I see your white coat.”

  He chuckled as my eyes adjusted further. I could see him flash a smile filled with white teeth.

  He has a lot of hair.

  “Do you have any pain?” he asked me.

&nb
sp; “A dull ache, like…if I’d looked directly at the sun.”

  “That’s perfectly normal,” he replied, then waited patiently.

  As my vision began to resolve itself, I saw Chow sitting on the other side of the doctor. I was overjoyed at the sight of my friend. His face betrayed his concern for me. The clarity of my vision increased further, and I could see the dark bruises on Chow’s face.

  “How is your focus?” Doctor Dreyfus asked.

  “Improving.”

  “I want you to follow my finger and tell me if at any point you feel any pain.”

  As he conducted the tests, my 20/20 vision rapidly returned, along with my sense of humor. The doctor resembled a clown, with the top of his head bald, massive amounts of hair sticking out the sides, and a wide smile with full lips. If I were feeling better, I might have giggled.

  I followed his finger with my eyes, up, down, and side to side. He asked me to identify things in the room. I seemed to score one hundred percent, and I was filled with immense relief, knowing I could still see.

  “Only time will tell, ma chère…” he said cautiously, “but your vision looks very good. Tomorrow I will do more extensive tests. You do have broken blood vessels in your eyes, but that will disappear within another week or so.”

  I nodded slightly. “What about the rest of me?”

  “All of your limbs are working fine. You do have some bruising in your right hand. We did x-ray it, and all the bones are intact…”

  “I punched him,” I said in explanation.

  “Where?” the doctor asked.

  “In the sweets,” I said quietly.

  A look passed between him and Chow, which I thought was amusing.

  “Then the bruises on your hand are well earned,” he said, matter of fact. “As for your other injuries…we did, of course, rebuild your nose.”

  “I noticed,” I said with slight sarcasm, still breathing out of my mouth.

  He chuckled. “The good news is that all of your teeth are intact, which is quite an accomplishment, considering the trauma you endured. You did have three teeth that were slightly loose, but they have held and seem to be just fine.”

  Thank goodness.

  He continued, “When you arrived, your lips resembled a fish,” he said with an obvious attempt at humor. “They are much improved since then.”

  His bluntness shocked me, and my hand went to my lips to feel them.

  They’re huge!

  “Your lips are still bruised and swollen—they are cut from the inside—but they will return to normal as they heal,” he explained.

  Unexpectedly, my mind flashed back to crawling on the ground, mumbling, desperate to find Chow in the alley, and how I had felt my lips swell.

  “Are you okay?” Chow blurted out as he suddenly stood.

  Tears escaped my eyes as I looked at him, remembering the despair I’d felt, thinking he was dead.

  Reaching out, he embraced me ever so gently. “Shhh. You will heal. You will heal,” he said, trying to reassure me. He slowly pulled away, looking into my eyes. “You will heal,” he said a third time, as he wiped the tears from my face.

  I didn’t correct him.

  Eager to leave the memory of Barcelona behind, I steeled myself. I looked at the doctor and asked, “What else?”

  “Your internal injuries are bruising only. None of them required surgery. In time, I expect them to fully heal. Your most critical injury was to your brain, and we’ve been successfully treating the swelling.”

  “Why am I in France?”

  “After the breach of security in Spain, we needed to ensure your safety, so you were flown here. Luckily for you, I was here,” he said with a wide smile. “I’m in the family. Luckily, I also know a discreet plastic surgeon, who brilliantly rebuilt your nose. You shall look as beautiful as ever.”

  “Thank you,” I said sincerely, grateful that he was both a skilled brain surgeon and GOG. They would have never flown me here if it weren’t safe.

  “I would have liked to have taken my scalpel to the dog that did this to you, but you have already taken your justice.”

  “I killed him?”

  “Yes,” Chow spoke up.

  Good.

  “You really must rest now,” the doctor encouraged.

  My Herkimer, I thought suddenly. My hand flew to my chest, searching. When I didn’t find it, panic began to rise in me. Somehow understanding what I sought, Chow pressed the crystal into my hand.

  Breathing out in relief, I thought, it protected me again. I pulled the Herkimer close to my heart and reveled in the reassurance it gave me.

  “How long before I leave?” I asked the doctor.

  “She wants to leave already?” he said to Chow rhetorically, looking at him.

  He looked back at me.

  “You’ll likely be here a month. We need to ensure that all your injuries are nearly healed before you leave.”

  “Okay.”

  “Any questions?”

  “No. Thank you, Doctor,” I said, grateful to him for saving my life.

  He squeezed my hand. “You’re welcome, ma chère.”

  Chapter 2

  PARIS, FRANCE

  The Year 2015

  It was the dark of night when I awoke. I turned on the light that shone above my bed and saw that Chow was still at my side. The sterile, whitewashed room was empty, except for the two of us. The only sound was the medical machinery. He was slumped in the lounge chair, fast asleep. He stirred and then looked over at me.

  “You are awake,” he said groggily.

  “You looked so peaceful. I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “I have had enough time to sleep in the past week,” he said, retrieving the cup from the table and bringing the straw to my lips.

  Still needing to lubricate my throat, I drank deeply. Since leaving America, we had spent so much time together that we seemed to be subconsciously connected, and Chow could anticipate my needs.

  “Where exactly are we in France?”

  “Paris.”

  Paris? “What hospital?”

  “Pitié-Salpêtrière Hospital,” Chow replied in perfect French.

  I remember this place.

  When Armond and I were on our honeymoon, we had a French guide show us the City of Light. He told us the history of the infamous hospital, which sat beside the River Seine. The building was originally a gunpowder factory, and then it became a prison for prostitutes and the insane. In the 1600s, King Louis XIV had the building transformed into a hospital. In 1792, the hospital was stormed in the chaos of the French Revolution to release prostitutes that were detained here. For the following two years, it was a large brothel. I found it ironic that I was brought to this historical place as I fought my own battle for human rights.

  “Are we safe here?” I asked Chow, concerned about being able to defend myself in my current condition.

  “Absolutely. The doctor is one of us, as are the staff on this floor. I checked out the security myself. After what happened to you in Barcelona, I will be more careful from now on,” he said resolutely.

  “Chow…all is well now. I can see…”

  “You were nearly killed,” he interrupted.

  “Don’t forget what The Prophecies revealed to us. There have been protective ceremonies for the Guardian of Time going on for over a hundred years—it’s been going on for my defense. Plus, I have this,” I said, holding up the Herkimer.

  “With no help from me,” Chow said, clearly ashamed of himself. “A simple kick to the face, and I went down…”

  “I saw it, Chow. That was no simple kick. Shubham was strong—look what he did to my face. He kicked you with that same power while you were distracted. You went down because you turned in concern for me. There’s no need to berate yourself. Okay?”

  Chow’s eyes returned to mine, and he nodded slightly.

  “Besides, I got a great new nose out of the whole thing,” I announced with a smile, trying to lighten his moo
d.

  Chow forced a slight smile in response. “You did not need a new nose, Ann. Your original was perfect. But I know what you mean.”

  “I’m glad we’re both alive, my friend,” I said.

  “I am too,” he said quickly.

  With that behind us, I could ask the other questions pressing in my mind.

  “What exactly happened in the taxi? My memory’s a little fuzzy.”

  Chow paused for a moment. “The agents—in their big SUV—rammed our taxi, aiming for the driver to prevent us from getting away.”

  “My goodness. I wondered if it was a missile, the way the whole front of the car exploded. I never saw the SUV. Did you?”

  “If it were a missile, we would certainly be dead. In my peripheral vision, I saw something rushing towards us just before they hit. That is how I was able to pull you down behind the seat in time…”

  “But you barely had time to duck down yourself. I remember how bloody you were when you rushed me out of the taxi.”

  “My reaction time was limited. I can heal. It was more important to protect you.”

  I squeezed his hand gratefully.

  “The taxi driver…he was an innocent victim, wasn’t he?” I asked, unsure whether I wanted to know.

  Chow was quiet for a moment. “Ann, I understand why you ask. Yes, he was just a taxi driver. I have already come to his family’s aid…as much as money can help.”

  “Thank you. I hate to see civilians killed when they were just going about their normal day. That was not his fight in Barcelona.”

  “I agree. That is why I did what I could.”

  We were quiet for a minute, as I digested the images in my mind.

  “I haven’t asked about your injuries. How are you feeling?”

  “I am fine,” he said chivalrously.

  “Tell me. I can see for myself that you’re not fine,” I said.

  He sighed, giving in to my persistence. “When I arrived here, I had a concussion. I was unsteady for a few days, but my mind was quickly put to right. As you can see, my face is bruised, but I have no serious injuries.”

  “How’s your head now?” I asked.

  “I am well enough. Now…rest. In order for you to heal, you need to rest.”

  I looked down at the hospital bed, thinking.