Destiny's Revenge (Destiny Series - Book 2)

by Straight, Nancy

  Rewsna and I spent the rest of her visit on subjects that were far less frightening. We talked about the weather, about my rehabilitation, about stocks and bonds (her idea, not mine). We talked about everything under the sun except this evil Beast. Being clairvoyant must be a real asset because as soon as our conversation changed from general topics to impending doom, she must have known I was ready to shut down. She quickly changed the subject to nothing important and kept on talking.

  It isn’t that I wasn’t interested in this beast thing - I think it was just too much to process. She avoided the whole subject of Max, too. It isn’t like she didn’t know about him. She knew all about him before we ever met: she knew how he used to visit me in my dreams telling me about our destiny together. But having now been awake for weeks with no word from Max, I was appreciative that she avoided mention of him.

  Shortly after Rewsna departed, my friend Rachael stopped by to see me. My brother Steve made an appearance on his way home from work. Seth stopped by with a vase full of flowers. Conversation with each of them was easy, and they were as insightful as Rewsna by not asking if I’d heard from Max yet.

  The next morning I looked at my wheelchair and started to reach for it when it hit me, it wouldn’t do me any good, and I wouldn’t get out of here any faster by taking it easy. I shoved the wheelchair out of the way and reached for the walker that was placed on the other side. Balancing the best that I could with part of my weight on the table, I extended my arm and pulled the walker to me. Up until now I had only used it a few times just to steady myself from the wheelchair to the parallel bars. Today was a new day. I was going to see Max soon, really see him – not some phony dream. When I did, I would be on my own two legs. I stood up from my bed and started making my way out of my room. I got as far as the doorway and could see a chair ten feet down the hall. Though my legs ached both from doing nothing for a couple years and from the physical therapy I’d been going through, I was sure I could shuffle through the ache.

  I made it to the chair and sat down. Collapsed into the chair might be a better description. The blood rushing to my feet was an awkward sensation. There were so many things, little things that I had taken for granted, I actually found myself pleased with this minor accomplishment. I sat in the chair for at least ten minutes. Looking further down the hall and another twenty feet away set an identical chair to the one I was seated in. Summoning all the strength I had, I pulled myself up from the chair so I was upright behind my walker again. The shuffling of my feet wouldn’t look like a major achievement to most, but I was walking, I was moving on my own, and I didn’t need anyone’s help. I made it to that second chair and was starting to feel a little cocky, looking for another chair that might be strategically placed a little further down. When I didn’t find one, I decided not to risk it and sat down for another breather.

  This repetition took place all the way until I reached the dining area. I looked at the clock on the wall: 7:40. It had taken me over thirty minutes to walk a little over a hundred feet. This didn’t bother me a bit when compared to the distance I had walked over the last two years. As I sat at the dining table, a staff member asked what I would like for breakfast.

  A voice to my left warned, “Don’t get the sausage biscuit. It tastes like leather, and you’ll need a laxative to get it out.”

  The dining facility staff member glared at the man’s advice, but I laughed. She must be responsible for more than just getting the residents’ food from the kitchen. Enjoying this man’s humor, I asked, “What do you recommend?”

  “McDonalds’ down the street, but if we left now I don’t think either one of us could make it there before lunch.”

  This guy was a riot. I guess once you hit a certain age you just speak your mind instead of sugar-coating anything. He had snow white hair, silver-rimmed glasses and a scowl that had probably been there for decades.

  I asked the lady for toast and jelly, she turned around and headed for the kitchen. Then the old man claimed, “I should have had you order some for me, too. She spits on all my food.”

  “How about when she comes back I’ll split mine with you, then if we’re still hungry, I’ll ask for some more.”

  “Sounds like a plan. The food here is shit: overcooked, cold, and for added fun - pureed. Say, you’re a little young to be hanging out in this place. You got a thing for old men?”

  “Yeah, especially the ones that hike the waist band of their pants up to their boobs; that’s a real turn on for me.”

  The man laughed so hard his dentures came loose, and I thought he was going to fall out of his chair. The scowl on his face evaporated and he lit up. He stuck out his hand, “My name’s Joe. Sure is nice to have someone around here with a little spunk again! What are you in for?”

  No one had asked me this before. Not wanting a lot of questions that I wasn’t prepared to answer, I just told him, “I was in an accident.”

  “What did you say your name was?”

  “I’m Lauren.”

  In a louder than necessary voice, he asked, “Loraine?”

  “No, my name’s Lauren.”

  “Well, Loraine…that’s a beautiful name. How about after breakfast we go for a walk in the garden?”

  “Joe, are you kidding me? You’re old enough to be my grandfather.”

  “Get your mind out of the gutter, sweetheart, I just want to go outside to smoke. I had both hips replaced, and I can’t smoke in this God-forsaken place. I’m not allowed on the grounds without an escort. I can’t stand the staff; they all just lecture me about how much better my health would be if I quit. Obviously, I’m older than dirt, so whatever I’m doing is working for me.”

  “Maybe you didn’t see me walk down here. I’m not all that mobile yet.”

  “Then I’ll be your escort and you can be mine. Fresh air will do you good.”

  Just like that I had a new best friend. Joe was eighty-two, a smoker, an avid-reader, had run marathons, had fought in World War II, outlived two of his children and his wife, and was quite likely the funniest person I had ever met. He told me story after story about his life: the crispness of his memory was nothing short of amazing. I think his hearing was going, though, because no matter how often I corrected him, he was sure my name was Loraine.

  It turned out he smoked every couple hours, and that first day it took me thirty minutes to walk from the recreation room to the outside and another thirty minutes to walk back in when he was done. By the end of the week I had shaved ten minutes off my speed each way. With each trip outside, I could feel my body getting stronger and my fondness for Joe increasing. He told me he was going to go home in another couple weeks, so that was my new target. I didn’t want to try to make a new friend in this place because most of the people here weren’t like Joe and me. This was a last stop before they cashed in their chips.

  Joe and I spent most mornings and early afternoons together. The only time we were separated was when one of us was in physical therapy. My visitors arrived most evenings around 5:30. We were falling into a pretty comfortable routine when at the end of our first week together I realized he hadn’t had any visitors at all. He never mentioned it, and tried to make himself scarce when my family and friends arrived. It’s not that they didn’t welcome him - I think he just felt a little self-conscious around them or something.

  My room was becoming more and more homey. My mom brought in pictures and knickknacks from my bedroom at home. Every night when she came in, the first thing she said was that she still hadn’t heard from Max, but she was sure he would call soon. The first few nights I nodded, believing that whenever he got the message he would call immediately. But as the days drew on and no call, text, or e-mail arrived, I wondered where Max was, and knew if he had gotten any of the messages, he would have found a way to get in touch with me.

  An odd sensation rocked me for a second as I thought about Max. I had a feeling that he was okay. I didn’t know where he was, what he was doing, but somehow I knew he wa
s okay.

  Chapter 4

  The days began to run together, so I got a calendar for myself on the wall. By the forty-second day after I awoke I had made serious progress. Instead of walking behind a walker anymore, I had graduated to a cane and hadn’t used the wheelchair for weeks. I was feeding myself, to include cutting some of those sausage patties at breakfast time that were the consistency of a shoe ’s sole. My coordination wasn’t all there yet, but I was less reliant on the staff and caught myself being hopeful that I might be finishing my recovery from my parents’ house rather than this nursing home.

  At the end of the day, when I was by myself, my thoughts lingered on Max until sleep found me. I knew I was dreaming, but this dream was different from all the others. The sights, smells and sounds all around me were foreign. The sun shone bright in a clear blue sky, with nothing to filter the piercing rays beating down on me. Making it worse was a rocky landscape. The sun-baked terrain had long ago lost all its colors except beige. The terrain reflected the sunlight back at me, blinding me from both directions.

  It was a dry heat, well over the hundred degree mark. As I looked in the distance, I could see the heat in the air with its ripples trying to trick me, trying to make me think even the heat itself was a mirage. I was standing on the side of a mountain, near the top and well above the shrubs that could offer some form of shade. I could see fires and smoke in the distance and nothing but fields of rocks and spiny desert vegetation around me. I’d never been here before. I’d never seen terrain like this. It looked nothing like the lush forests enveloping the mountains on the east coast or even the snow covered caps of the Rockies.

  I looked in all directions trying to figure out what I was doing there. There were no people, nothing was happening; it just felt as though I were in an oven, slowly baking.

  Off in the distance where I saw the heat waves emanating from the rocky ground, I could see a black plume of smoke. As I concentrated on this solitary vision, I looked to the left and right and saw a few other plumes of smoke. I stood there for a long while. I tried to force myself to wake up, but I was unable to. As I stared again into the distance, I could still see the smoke, but not what caused it. I didn’t see a fire, but smoke doesn’t just appear without a reason.

  I took in a deep breath and could smell death all around me. The stench of rotting flesh, coupled with the absence of a breeze to dilute it, was overpowering. The stench made me feel faint, as if my legs were unwilling to hold me in place any more. This dream was vivid, making me question whether I was truly there, wherever there was.

  Hearing footsteps behind me, I wheeled around quickly, only to see a family of mountain goats making their way to what little shade this mountain could offer. I watched them, but they paid no attention to me, my presence insignificant to their mission. The longer this dream continued, the more vivid the sights and smells became. I began to question what would happen if I attempted to touch the goats. They looked so real, but I knew I was still in the nursing home, still gaining strength before I could go out into the world again.

  A dust trail appeared at least five hundred feet below me on the mountain. I looked down the treacherous terrain to see what had disturbed the earth. It was a man in full-combat gear, dragging another man up the mountain. I called out to them, but my voice was muted. I tried to clear my throat to yell again, but I made no sound at all. I squatted down to the ground and ran my fingers over the terrain. I felt the smoothness of the rocks, the warmth emanating from the ground and the sand all around, but I was unable to disturb it. It was surreal.

  I continued watching the two men. One was injured, lying on his back as the second man, wearing two packs of gear on his back, was dragging him one step at a time, up the mountain. This scene went on for what felt like an hour before the men were close enough that I could hear one talking to the other.

  “Hold on, Ski, almost there, just a little bit further.” The man doing the talking was hunched over with his back to me, but his voice unnerved me the second I heard it. I listened closely for another couple seconds. I could hear him grunt each time he pulled the other man’s weight. He paused for a second, stood upright, removed his Kevlar helmet and wiped the sweat from his brow. His back was still facing me, but even at fifty feet and only seeing him from behind, I knew exactly who I was looking at.

  I screamed with every bit of force I had, “Max!” Again, no sound escaped me. I sprinted down the mountain to where he stood. He drank water from a canteen then leaned down and poured some in the other man’s mouth. Max replaced the canteen into his pack and again reached down to the man and began pulling him up the mountain.

  He was really here: Max was right in front of me. He didn’t see me, and he couldn’t hear me. Could he feel me? I reached for his arm closest to me, and just like the rocks and sand I had touched, I could feel him, but my touch didn’t so much as ruffle his shirt sleeve. I foolishly tried again to talk to him, but no sound came out.

  I realized it was no use. I was dreaming. I had known that from the very beginning. This was such a realistic dream. I walked in lock step with Max the whole way up the mountain. He was moving to the shade that the goats had occupied. Every couple minutes I could hear him speaking words of encouragement to Ski. The man’s leg was caked with dried blood and soaked-through bandages.

  Once Max and Ski were both in the shade, I sat on the ground next to Max. He was exhausted, his hands covered in dried blood, his face unshaven for a week. I kept trying to touch his face, tracing the lines of his face, touching his lips. I tried to hold his hand, but there was no recognition that he even knew I was with him. I stayed with Max from the time the sun blazed directly overhead until it had passed over the mountain. He had dozed off a few times, only to wake himself up a few minutes later. As the heat of the day began to subside, I found the clear images of everything around me beginning to fade in front of my eyes. I reached out to touch Max’s face: my fingers felt the coarseness of the stubble on his cheek, the warmth of his skin, and the dryness of his chapped lips.

  My vision of Max in the middle of nowhere on a desolate mountain faded into nothingness. I awoke in my room at the nursing home. As I looked at the clock, it was 7:00 a.m. - time to start my day. I thought about my dream of Max for several minutes before I forced myself to get up and get moving. It felt like I had really spent several hours with Max, but I reasoned that I had just watched one too many war movies, and so desperately wanted to hear from him, that I made myself believe that I was with him in a war zone.

  The morning of the forty-third day the nursing home administrator stopped by and told me rather than them keeping me in my current room, they were going to move me to the assisted living wing. This didn’t seem like much of a difference, but, boy, was I wrong. This was where all the old retirees went to hang out. Joe requested the same move, and we were both routed to our new rooms.

  Although not as lavish as a cruise ship, this assisted living area was awesome. There was only one nurse in the entire wing, everyone else were just staff members. These staff members could be compared to that really cool babysitter you had when you were a kid. We played shuffle board, there were two jazzercise classes each day, a book club, bingo, backgammon tournaments, and endless choices for entertainment. The residents were much more upbeat in this area, and most still had their own cars.

  Joe was really in his element here. If he had not had me tagging along with him everywhere, there were at least five women who were all pretty sweet on him. My novelty still hadn’t worn off with my family, but they all had jobs to get back to, so my string of visitors was limited to evenings.

  Rewsna was the only exception. She arrived every day promptly at eight a.m. I had my first real milestone before her arrival on the forty-fifth morning. I had woken up, showered, dressed, gone to breakfast, and brushed my teeth without any assistance. I had seen Joe at breakfast, but there was a lady, Ruby, who was desperate to spend time with him, so I made my way to a table off in the corner in l
ieu of my usual seat beside him.

  Rewsna seemed genuinely glad to see me and just as thrilled as I was with my progress. We settled into the pseudo living room in my mini-apartment. Neither of us were tremendous at small talk, but it made me feel good all the same that she would come to see me and pretend that she was interested in the weather and the Riverdogs baseball team.

  Rewsna casually took my hand and caught my eye when she asked, “Have you heard from Max yet?” I could hear a hopefulness in her voice that made my heart spasm. She always seemed to know way more than she let on, so I had hoped she would be able to give me some information on him.

  I shook my head that I hadn’t, “No, I wish I could just know that he was all right. I understand being in the middle of nowhere, but at some point he has to come back to his base, right?”

  She nodded in agreement and told me how sorry she was, but she was sure he would contact me soon.

  It was easy to be open with Rewsna; whether I said things out loud or just thought them was irrelevant to her. That dream I had of Max climbing up a mountain had haunted me, and I thought it was worthwhile to share. “The funny thing is that for years I always had the same dream about Max. You know the one, where he comes to me and tells me he’s my destiny, that I have to be courageous to find him?” She nodded that she knew what dream I was talking about. “A couple nights ago I had a really strange dream, completely different. I could see him but he couldn’t see me. I could feel him but he couldn’t feel me touching him.” Rewsna eyed me carefully but didn’t interrupt. Remembering the dream so vividly, I’m sure I was broadcasting it to her, “It was kind of comforting in a weird way, because it did seem real, but it was frustrating, too. I mean, if I’m going to dream about him, you would think that it would be a little more rewarding.”