by Jon Skovron
“If you take a deep breath and sit down,” says Jael, “I’ll tell you.”
“Okay. You’re right.”
Once he’s a little more calm, she tells him almost everything about last night. Maybe someday she’ll tell him the one missing part, but not today. When she’s done, he just gives her a satisfied smirk.
“Well, well, well. I don’t want to say I told you so,” he says.
“But . . .”
“Yeah, yeah, you were right all along,” says Jael. “Thanks.
For believing in me even when I didn’t. It means a lot.”
“You want me to fix those bandages?” he asks. “I mean, no offense to the Mummy King look, but your dad has no idea what he’s doing.”
“I don’t know . . . ,” she says. “They’re probably still pretty gross.”
“Bets, I’m a skater. I can handle a little blood. Trust me.”
“All right.”
His gentleness surprises her. He carefully unwraps the tangle of gauze that her father swathed her in. The wounds already look a lot better than they did last night. The frostbite on her hands and neck has settled into little more than a minor burn. Only her wrists still look raw and a little bloody.
“It’s the silver,” she says.
“I thought that was werewolves,” he says.
“There’s no such thing.”
“I’m not dismissing anything at this point.”
He puts new bandages on, and Jael has to admit they’re much more comfortable and functional.
“Thanks,” she says.
“Of course,” he says.
“I have a favor to ask,” she says. “I want to go visit Britt in the hospital.”
“Okay . . .”
“And, um . . . can you come with me? I would just . . . feel better.”
“Sure,” he says. “But I don’t really get what you’re worried about.”
“I don’t know how she’s going to react to me.”
“You saved her life.”
“I don’t know if she knows that. And anyway, I’m also the reason she got dragged into all this.”
“You can’t think like that,” says Rob. “You didn’t choose any of it.”
“But if I had disappeared, like my mom did . . .”
“He probably would have done the same thing or worse to draw you out anyway.”
“I guess . . .”
“No ‘I guess.’ Belial is a total ass-faced goon. It’s not your fault. Period.”
She looks at him for a moment. At his open, earnest face and his sparkling if somewhat scattered soul. And she smiles.
“Fine,” she says. “But will you still come with me?”
“If you want, I’ll follow you all the way to Hell,” he says.
“I really hope it doesn’t come to that.”
As Jael and Rob walk down the bright fluorescent hallways of the hospital, Jael keeps her bandaged hands deep in her pockets. Even though Rob did a good job on the bandages, they’re still obviously homemade, and Jael doesn’t want some nosy nurse looking too closely.
“Hospitals give me the creeps,” Rob says.
“Nobody likes hospitals,” says Jael.
“Doctors and nurses probably do.”
“You’d be a good doctor.”
“Nah. Western medicine is too invasive, you know? Drugs and surgery, that’s all they do around here.”
“So you’d rather be a . . . what?”
“A healer,” he says. “A magician. A shaman.”
She stops in the middle of the hallway and stares at him.
He chews on his lower lip, and looks everywhere but at her as a slow blush creeps on to his face.
“You’re dead serious, aren’t you?” she asks.
“Yeah,” he says.
“All the alchemy and chemistry stuff. That’s all for this, isn’t it?”
“There was just one thing I was missing,” he says. “One thing that stopped me from going any further. To be a real healer, or shaman, or whatever the hell you want to call it, you have to have faith. You have to believe in something. And I didn’t. Until I met you.”
“Whoa, whoa,” says Jael. “I’m not some kind of god or anything.”
“No, no,” he says. “I don’t want to, like, worship you or anything weird like that. But I feel, deep in my gut, that you are important. That you are doing something important. And it’s my job to help you do it.” He looks up at her now, and his hazel eyes are strong like she’s never seen before. It’s almost unnerving. “I believe that. Does that make sense to you?”
“God, you sound like my uncle! Do we have to do this in a hospital hallway?”
“Come on. I’ve been wanting to say that for a while, and I finally said it. Just give me an answer.”
His gaze is too direct, too honest. Now it’s Jael’s turn to avoid eye contact. “I get how you could think about it like that.
Maybe. But that’s not how I feel at all. There’s no grand plan.
No secret destiny that I’m supposed to fulfill. I’m just trying to survive without hurting people in the process.”
He shrugs, and that easy smile of his comes back. “Maybe that’s what I’m supposed to do. Help you believe too.” Then he just continues walking down the hallway to Britt’s room.
“Okay, the self-empowerment talk is really starting to . . .”
But then they’re at Britt’s room, and the words evaporate from her lips.
“I didn’t realize she was that bad,” whispers Rob.
Britt is asleep in bed. Bandages cover the top half of her head, and her face is a mass of stitches and swollen bruises. Her leg is raised in some kind of pulley contraption, with stabilizing pins protruding out of both sides from the middle of her shin to the middle of her thigh.
Britt’s mom sits next to her bed. Her own face and arms are covered in bandages. She looks up at Jael, her eyes red and raw and exhausted.
“Hi, guys,” she says. “Thanks for coming.”
“How’s she doing?” asks Jael.
“She’s stable,” says Ms. Brougher. “The thing they’re most concerned about is—”
“Jael?” says Britt, her voice cracking and popping like an old vinyl record. Her eyes are crossed.
“Yeah, Britt. I’m here.” She walks over to Britt’s bed.
“I need to get some fresh air,” says Ms. Brougher. “I’ll let you guys have some privacy.”
When Ms. Brougher is gone, Britt smiles faintly. “She’s been here the whole time. I don’t know if she’s even gone to the bathroom. . . .”
“So, how are you feeling?” asks Jael.
“The drugs they’ve got me on are pretty intense, so I don’t really feel much pain. But I can’t see too well right now. My eyes won’t focus.”
“Do you remember what happened?”
“I guess I got kidnapped by some cult. When I got here last night, I was pretty messed up and screaming about monsters and demons. . . .” She swallows and it sounds like it hurts.
“The police think they drugged both me and my mom. I don’t remember a lot. Some guy with these really intense blue eyes. A lot of time wandering around the city . . . and for some reason I remember the Mons, Father Aaron, and Father Ralph . . . but I know that can’t be true. It’s like a dream, you know? Most of it doesn’t make any sense.”
“Do the police know who did it?”
“I don’t know,” says Britt. “They don’t tell me much.” She squints toward the doorway. “Someone else here?”
“Hey, yeah, Britt,” says Rob, and he steps a little closer.
“Sorry, I just didn’t want to get in the way.”
Britt closes her eyes and smiles slightly.
“Rob McKinley and Jael Thompson,” she says. “I totally called that, like, a year ago.”
“So is there anything we can do?” asks Jael.
“I wish I could watch TV or read a magazine,” says Britt. “I wish I could see something clearly.
”
Rob nudges Jael’s foot. Jael looks back at him and he’s cocking his head toward Britt and mouthing silently, “Heal her.”
She mouths back, “What?”
He points at the spot between his eyes.
Jael looks at Britt, who seems to be falling asleep, then back at Rob.
He nods encouragingly.
She reaches out hesitantly and touches her fingertip to the same spot on Britt’s head. She asks Britt’s eyes to focus.
Britt’s eyes snap open. She sits up slightly in the bed and looks directly at Jael. “My eyes . . . ,” she says. She looks around the room. At Rob, at the machines in her room, and finally at her own broken leg.
“Thank God,” she says with a sigh. “That was the worst part. Not being able to see how bad it was. Anything would have probably been better than what I pictured in my head.”
“You can see fine now?” asks Jael.
“Yeah. How weird is that? Something must have just slipped back in place.”
“That’s great,” says Jael.
Britt leans back in her bed. “Ouch,” she says. “That was maybe a little more movement than I’m ready for.” Then she looks back at Jael and a frown rumples up the bandages and stitches.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” she says.
“What?” says Jael, unable to hide the panic in her voice.
“You dropped me at the hospital.”
“Oh,” says Jael. “Yeah.”
“I thought so, but I didn’t tell anyone.” She looks down at Jael’s bandaged hands. “They hurt you too, didn’t they?”
“Yeah,” says Jael.
“I’m sorry you got dragged into it.”
“No, it’s their fault. Those guys that did this to us.”
“They’re still out there, aren’t they?”
“No,” says Jael. “I . . . took care of them.”
“You . . . ,” says Britt. “How?”
Jael just continues to look down at her hands.
“I don’t want to know, do I?” asks Britt.
“No.”
Britt looks up at the ceiling and takes a slow, deep breath.
“Thanks,” she says.
Jael nods.
The little machine attached to Britt’s IV whirs as it dispenses medication.
“And thanks for coming to visit,” says Britt. “You too, Rob.
Nobody else . . .”
“Of course we came,” says Jael. “What are best friends for?”
“I remember . . .” Britt’s eyes are getting hazy and her voice sounds dreamy. Like whatever was just put into her IV is really knocking her out. “I said some stuff to you, didn’t I? Mean stuff.
I can’t really remember why, but . . .”
“It’s okay,” says Jael. “It’s over.”
“Yeah,” says Britt and her eyes close. “It’s over. Water under the bridge. Trip trap, trip trap . . .” Then she’s asleep.
“I can’t believe she forgot everything,” says Rob as they’re walking through the halls to the exit.
“She hasn’t,” says Jael. “I think she remembers all of it.
She just doesn’t understand or believe it.” Jael thinks of those memories she saw in Britt’s soul. “She’s really good at believing what she wants to believe and ignoring the rest.”
“I guess we all are, in a way,” says Rob.
“Not me,” says Jael. “Not anymore.”
They walk on in silence for a little while.
“How did you know I could do that?” asks Jael. “Heal her.”
“No idea,” says Rob with a shrug.
“Skater Zen,” says Jael.
They step out of the bright, harsh hospital and into the dark, wet night. The wind and rain greet Jael like eager puppies. She stops a moment and just stands there, breathing in a smell so fresh and alive that it washes away all her tension.
She looks up into the night sky at the endless expanse of stars that spreads in all directions. She feels it pull at her spirit.
This time she doesn’t fight it, though. She rides it like a wave.
She trusts that it won’t let her fall. It’s cold out there among the stars, and lonely. But that’s OK. She’s been both of those things and she knows it won’t kill her. Since she stays calm, she is able to see that it is terrible, but also beautiful. And when it’s time, she slips right back down to the ground and into her body where she belongs. She shivers and sighs.
“Uh . . . ,” says Rob. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” says Jael. “It is.”
They take the bus back to Jael’s house. When they’re at the door, Rob says, “I got to get home. You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah,” says Jael, and she smiles. “Thanks for coming.”
They stand there for a moment. Rob seems suddenly a little nervous.
“So. . . do you have any plans for Friday?” he says.
“Well, I was planning on kicking it with a few angels, but .
. .”
Rob stares at her.
“Kidding, Rob. Kidding.”
“Are angels real too?”
“How would I know?”
“I don’t know . . . maybe . . .”
“They probably do exist, but I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t be interested in hanging out with me.”
“Well, anyway,” he says. “Are you doing anything?”
“No, why?”
“My mom said I could borrow her car.”
“Wait, are you? . . .”
“A real date,” says Rob. “You know. Dinner, movie, the works. You can even pick the movie.”
“Like, a dumb romantic comedy?” she asks.
“The dumbest you can find.”
“How about a dumb, foreign romantic comedy?”
“I do not fear subtitles.”
“But I don’t want you to pay for everything,” she says.
“Pay?” he says. “I’m totally hurt. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s exploiting hookups from friends.”
“Right,” says Jael. “The amazing McKinley hookup.”
“Great,” says Rob. “See you tomorrow at school?”
“Yeah, I think I’m ready,” she says.
He steps in quickly and kisses her, soft and sweet. Their breath mingles and she leans into him, holding him, but not too tight this time. When she’s this close, she can feel the hum of his soul through his skin and it’s enough. It’s just right. They are together.
“Good night,” he whispers into her ear. He slips away, looking back at her with that smile, then walks down the street humming to himself.
Jael stands there for a little while, watching him go, his taste and smell still lingering. She’s beginning to understand that she has to savor these little moments, hold on to them for as long as she can. They always seem like they will last forever. But they don’t. So she has to take them as they come.
When Jael walks into the kitchen, she is greeted by an unexpected sight: Ms. Spielman sitting at the kitchen table with her father.
“Ah, Jael,” says Ms. Spielman as she stands up. “Your father said you’d had an accident and I wanted to see how you were feeling.”
Jael gives her father a look, wondering what kind of accident he told her about. He just nods encouragingly to her.
“Yeah, I’m feeling okay,” she says.
“Well, I know rock climbing is very popular,” says Ms.
Spielman, “but could you stick with the more moderate cliffs for a while?”
“Sure,” Jael says.
“Oh, good,” says Ms. Spielman. She turns to Jael’s father.
“Paul, see you tomorrow.”
“Of course,” he says, and smiles.
“Jael, I brought a get-well card signed by your class, but I must have left it in my car. Why don’t you come with me to get it?”
“Okay,” says Jael. As she follows Ms. Spielman out to the street, she says, “That was nice of everybody.”
“They do?”
“Certainly. It’s almost as if they can’t help themselves.” She hands Jael the card.
As Jael takes it, Ms. Spielman looks at her bandaged wrists.
“Yikes,” she says. “Looks like that hurts.”
“It does a little,” says Jael.
Ms. Spielman reaches out and takes hold of Jael’s wrists.
It’s so unexpected and it happens so fast, Jael doesn’t have time to react. But instead of more pain, she feels a sudden warmth, then all the pain is gone.
“What? . . .” she says as Ms. Spielman releases her wrists.
She rotates them experimentally, then opens up the bandages.
She is completely healed. She looks back at Ms. Spielman.
“How? . . .”
“Remember, Jael. There are many mysteries in life. And not all of them are monsters.”
Ms. Spielman winks at her, then gets into her car and drives away without another word.
Jael walks slowly back into the house.
“Dad,” she says. “You can do magic, right?”
Her father looks up from chopping vegetables at the counter.
“To an extent. Why?”
“Are there other mortals out there who can do magic?”
“There are all different kinds of people who do many different kinds of magic. Some priests truly have the power to exorcise demons, and sometimes other abilities as well. And then there are priests or ministers in other religions. For example, my friend Poujean is now a powerful and well respected bokur, or priest, in the Vodoun religion of Haiti. There are also mages, mortals with a demon familiar that they can channel magic through. That’s what I am. Or was, really. There are oracles, who can tell the future to a greater or lesser extent. Empaths can read spiritual auras. And of course a wide variety of witches and healers, all with varying abilities.” His eyes narrow. “Now, why do you ask?”
“Well,” says Jael, rubbing one of her wrists. “Either it’s those awesome smoothies you made, or else Ms. Spielman just totally healed my wrists.”
“I see,” says her father. “I had a feeling she was more than she appeared to be.”
