by Iris Kincaid
“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if I could pet you?”
Ping-Pong swatted Gemma on the chest. “Was that once for yes?”
*****
Ruby Townsend, Dr. Svenson’s loyal twenty-four-year-old assistant, was giddy with excitement. “What do you think she’ll be able to do?”
“I’m hoping that her muscles return to full function. That she will be able to use her arms and legs and head, that she’ll be able to sit and stand and walk. That her digestive system will work, unassisted. That is what I hope for. And that would be plenty.”
“Of course. Of course. That would be everything. Everything she could possibly dream of. And everything that we could really want for her. But . . . there’s going to be something else. You know there is. There’s always something else that comes with a Lilith Hazelwood transplant.”
“Whatever the side effects, they will be nowhere near as important as returning her to a normal life. Yes?”
“Yes. Absolutely, yes.”
“Then let us begin,” the doctor said. Gemma was now fully under anesthesia, and the doctor could start the operation.
To the naked eye, there were only two people in the room. But no transplant operation of Lilith Hazelwood’s organs occurred without the presence of the donor herself. No, the late Lilith Hazelwood was not resting in peace. Her ghost was present, and watchful, and about as ticked off as a ghost can be.
She had been killed at the age of ninety-two. Ambushed by a rogue thunderbolt. But no ordinary thunderbolt. It was the work of the dark arts, and there would be no resting in peace until she was able to identify her killer and inflict terrifying justice upon them.
But she could not do it alone, a humbling reality for one who had been the most powerful witch her community had ever seen. Unfortunately, she would need human assistance. And having had few allies in life, the job would fall to these wretched transplant beneficiaries who now walked around with her body inside them and who owed her their very lives. She intended to make use of them to attain her vengeance.
But, they were weak humans, and recruiting them was no easy task. This Gemma Keating had the most unpromising start of them all. A complete basket case, not able to move so much as a muscle. But, because she had begun in such a miserable condition, she was likely to be grateful—very grateful—to Lilith for her renewed vigor and enhanced abilities. Additionally, considering the young woman’s last eight years, her life would be completely free of distraction. No friends, no family, no man, and no obligations to society. She was practically a blank slate, on which Lilith intended to write her own agenda.
CHAPTER TWO
Gemma opened her eyes to find a very disorienting sight. For the past eight years, every morning began with a view of a large white expanse of ceiling. Today, she was looking at something very different. A side table. The glass of water and remote on it. Her head! Her head was turned to its side. Could she turn it to the other side? No sooner had Gemma had the thought than her muscles complied and she found herself looking at the other side of the room. She could move her head! Her muscles followed the command of her mind, an everyday miracle that all take for granted. A dream come true for her.
What about her hands? Just that thought, and her left hand lifted in front of her face. It was all too good to be true. Toes wiggling. Back muscles? She could tense them, she could stretch them. Would she ever be able to stand? Thought became muscle, became movement, became standing and walking around the room. And her dearest hope the previous day was that she would be able to use a wheelchair efficiently!
There was a sink and mirror against the wall in the middle of the room. She stopped before it and gazed at her reflection in wonder. There she was, a twenty-eight-year-old woman. The face was familiar, but much older than when she had last seen it. Older in a good way, not unsure or lost and helpless. She looked like an adult. In a very unstylish hospital gown. For the first time in many years, she wondered if she owned any clothes.
There was a toothbrush on the sink. Was it meant for her? She picked it up, ran her fingers along it, and was surprised to have it snap in two. That was odd. It had looked pretty sturdy. Did she just have some sort of weird muscle spasm that made her apply an unusual amount of force on it?
But she was quickly distracted by exploring and touching other things in the room. There was a closet door that she tried to open. Strangely, the doorknob came off right into her hands. Why were they so flimsy? Everything in the hospital was supposed to be in ship shape. So why were things breaking? Was she hallucinating? A cough at the entrance made her whirl around. It was Dr. Svenson, wearing a big, triumphant grin.
“Ms. Keating, am I to congratulate myself on a successful operation?”
Gemma looked at him in awe. “Dr. Svenson. I’m me again. I’m normal again. I mean, normal enough. I keep breaking things, but . . . look at me.”
Gemma lowered herself to the floor in a deep knee bend. And then she pushed herself back up and then did it again. Then she started doing jumping jacks. “Seriously. Look at me.”
At that moment, Bruce and Bethany burst into the room eagerly, and the sight of an energetic, jumping-jack performing Gemma drew gasps of complete shock. This wasn’t recovery. This was a gosh-darn miracle. Bruce believed in miracles. He had just never expected to witness one. He and Bethany hugged one another with joy.
Gemma pouted. “Where’s my hug?”
This led to an exuberant three-way group hug, which was heavenly to Gemma. It had been so long since she’d felt a human touch. Of course, she had been touched by the staff as they dressed her, carried her, and washed her. But she’d felt nothing. She couldn’t even feel it when Ping-Pong licked her hand. Now, she was basking in the warm embrace of the closest things she had to friends and family.
Bethany collected herself. “We thought you’d be in rehab for a few weeks. Or even a few months. This is so unbelievable. You don’t need rehab at all. Dr. Svenson, how is this even possible?”
The doctor shrugged. “As I mentioned before, it was quite experimental. I wasn’t terribly sure of the outcome. It was a gamble. And we won. We won!”
“I think she’s ready to go home,” Bethany said.
Home. The thought of going home was a fantasy that Gemma would often chide herself for indulging in. Not only because of her medical condition, but because she no longer had a home to go to.
“I don’t have a home, do I?”
“No. But I do,” Bethany said. “And I have a spare room. I’ve been cleaning it out. I just had a bunch of storage boxes in there. But I had no idea that you’d be out so quickly. There’s no furniture in it yet. I was going to go out this weekend—I get paid on Friday—and pick up some furniture at this discount place. Really reasonable prices. And I thought I’d have it all set up by the time you got out. I even tried to get an estimate for a wheelchair ramp. But look at you. You don’t need a ramp.”
Bethany was taking her in. Getting her body back had felt like everything that she could possibly hope for. But more and more wonderful things were being heaped on her. Dr. Svenson dug into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, and removed two cards. He handed them to Bethany.
“It’s my American Express and the business card with my cellphone on it. You use it to get that furniture. And if they give you a problem for using the card, tell them to give me a call. Go ahead. Get whatever you need. Clothes too.”
“Dr. Svenson! We can’t let you do that,” Bethany protested.
“Why not? I did it with my own daughters.”
Dr. Svenson was added to the group hug. Then Bruce very reluctantly had to return to work. The doctor left to fill out exit papers for Gemma. He also promised to retrieve Gemma’s only remaining personal property – a state driver’s license that she had gotten when she was eighteen. It still had four months until expiration. And Bethany went home to bring some of her own clothing that Gemma could wear right away. They were about the same size.
Gemma spent the follow
ing hour wandering around the hospital, almost in a daze. It was truly like waking up from a nightmare—the world’s longest nightmare. She was never going to be in that trapped cage again. Not that life-support room and not her lifeless body. But the thought of the life-support room reminded her of Ping-Pong. Oh, her sweet little friend. She had to find him and say goodbye.
Her recovery room was in a different part of the hospital, but she was able to ask directions and make her way to the life-support room. She never stopped marveling at her return to normalcy. She had just used her voice. She’d just asked for directions. Thoughts were no longer trapped in her head. They weren’t terribly profound thoughts, but what a relief to be able to get them out.
Ping-Pong howled with happiness to see her. Perhaps he was just as shocked as everyone else to see her standing on two feet. What incredibly soft fur he had. But, oh, she’d forgotten how rough and sandpapery cats’ tongues were. Gemma knew that she would think about him every day. Well, clearly, Ping-Pong wanted more than to be thought of every day because he followed Gemma right out of the life-support room, trotting behind her with determination.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to leave that room, Ping-Pong. And if you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, I'm so sorry, but I think you have to stay here and be their therapy cat, even though I’d love to have you come home and stay with me. With us, actually. I think that Bethany is very fond of you.”
That was pretty much all the invitation Ping-Pong needed to hear. He followed Gemma, Bethany, and Dr. Svenson into the elevator and right down to the reception area. The doctor explained Gemma’s recent and miraculous recovery to the nurses at the front desk. They marveled over her transformation and readily agreed that it would do Gemma good to take the cat with her.
“We can always go to the shelter and get another cat,” one of them pointed out.
“You should make it two cats,” Gemma said. “So, that they can have someone to play with.”
“She’s right. It ought to be two,” another nurse agreed.
And so, relieved of hospital duties, Ping-Pong was free to go. And fortunately, he wasn’t hurt in the little strange incident that occurred at the door. Gemma gave the revolving door a big push as she was making her exit, which sent it spinning out of control at high velocity. Was that the muscle spasm again? It couldn’t possibly be that everything around her was malfunctioning.
With Ping-Pong cradled in her arms, Gemma enjoyed the warm sun beating down on her as Bethany opened the passenger side door for them. Home. At long last. Home.
*****
Bethany’s apartment was on the small side, which was to be expected from someone with the humble salary of a daycare teacher. It might as well have been a palace. There was a modest living room in the front, with old worn hardwood floors, the long hallway behind it leading to a very small kitchen and two bedrooms in the back. It looked as if Bethany’s grandmother had taken charge of the decorations. It was cozy, old-fashioned, and perfect.
First order of the day was to eat. Dr. Svenson had tested Gemma out at the hospital with a small piece of fruit. Her digestive system seemed to be A-okay. And now she was good and hungry. Bethany bustled around, getting tuna sandwiches together.
“You like chopped egg in yours? Sweet pickles? How about celery?”
“It all sounds good. It sounds wonderful. Thank you so much for letting Ping-Pong come with us.”
“Oh, this cutie pie. No, we couldn’t leave him. I know he was meant to keep everyone in that ward company. But you are really the only one who was aware of him. He would have been so lonely if we’d left him there. Ping-Pong, eh? I always knew that you had given him a name.”
“Bethany, you really have been so good to me. I guess you already know that I have no job and no bank account and wouldn’t have had a place to go. I’m really so, so grateful to you.”
“Are you kidding? When I saw you standing there—jumping there, actually—I don’t think I’ve ever been happier. It’s going to be wonderful to have you here and to do anything I can to help you get back into things . . . into your life. There must be so many things you want to do.”
“You would laugh. You would think I’m seriously deranged. Or at least a pathetic underachiever. Right now, just the sound of my own voice makes me happy. And the things I can’t wait to do . . . I can’t wait to brush my teeth. I want to stand over a pan and make scrambled eggs. Or go to the bathroom by myself. Oh, TMI?”
They both burst into hearty laughter.
“I have wanted so badly to be able to laugh. I always had to keep everything inside, the good and the bad. I just want a normal life. It’s what I’ve been dreaming of the past eight years. A normal life.”
“Have you been dreaming of tuna fish sandwiches?”
“You know, I really have. And from the look on his face, so has Ping-Pong.”
They settled into lunch, with Gemma enjoying every long, slow, satisfyingly fishy bite.
“I want to know everything about you, if that’s not too nosy,” Bethany said. “What was your life like before you got sick?”
“Oh, that would be a very dull story. My life ended when I was eighteen years old. And up to then, all I knew was the life of a high school student. Then, two years of getting weaker and eight years of being a vegetable. Oh, can’t say vegetable. The staff was very sensitive. They would never use the word vegetable in the life-support ward. They would chat with me, and any time they would talk about something in the spinach family, they would call it greenies. Or orangies for carrots.
I did appreciate the fact that they knew that I still had feelings that could be hurt. But it wasn’t the word that would have stung. It was all the talk about families and babies, vacations, holidays . . . things I knew that I would never experience.”
“But now you will. You’ll be able to have all of that. Before you were sick, did you know what you wanted to do when you were older? For a job. For a career.”
“I haven’t been able to think about things like that in a very long time. I can hardly remember.”
“Don’t worry. You will have all the time in the world to figure that out,” Bethany assured her.
But to Gemma, it felt as if too much time had already been wasted. Whatever life had in store, she needed to meet it head on. There was no more time to waste.
*****
Bethany left quietly for her daycare center early the following morning, leaving notes telling Gemma to help herself to food and any clothes in Bethany’s closets, and to call her if she needed anything. Most generously, Bethany had an old used car that used to belong to her great aunt and hadn’t been sold yet, and Gemma was welcome to use it.
Gemma had spent the night on the sofa bed in the living room. They would soon go out and get her a bedroom full of furniture. Thank you, Dr. Svenson.
First order of the day was to get something to drink. The kitchen cabinets were filled with unmatched glasses and mugs. Gemma reached for a glass and wondered if there was any juice or milk in the fridge. Before she could find out, the glass shattered in her hand. Oh, no. How had that happened? It was a reminder of all the things that had broken at her touch the previous day.
She started to sweep up the damage, when the broom snapped in her hands like a twig. This was not a good way to make herself welcome in someone else’s home. But she knew Bethany was too good-natured and easygoing to mind. Still . . .Gemma carefully picked up the largest pieces of glass and used a wet paper towel to wipe away the stray shards of glass.
While they had spent the previous evening talking in the living room, Bethany had mentioned how this would be a nice time to have a fresh start for herself as well. She had been wanting to rearrange the living room furniture and do a little redecorating. But there was pretty heavy stuff there—the sofa, the armoire, a big flat-screen TV, some old solid wood cabinets. Even between the two of them, some of these things to be too heavy to move. Bethany was thinking about hiring someone to do it.
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br /> Just curious about how heavy the sofa was, Gemma gave it a little nudge. It moved as easily as if it was made of paper. It was the strangest sensation, because it certainly looked heavy. Now the armoire was definitely gonna require a mover. No way could she and Bethany combined even budge it. She gave it a solid push to confirm its weight. It slid easily away from her touch, as if it were on wheels.
It was just starting to dawn on Gemma that she was freakishly strong. Not just strong for a woman. Not just as strong as a man. But stronger than anyone should be. Unless they’ve trained to be an Olympic power-lifter. And even they would’ve grunted a little bit harder than she when trying to move the armoire.
She lowered herself into a plush velvet armchair, deep in thought. How did she go from being the most pathetic and weakest creature in the world to someone who could lift that armoire by herself? Well, she had only pushed it. She probably couldn’t actually lift it. That would be ridiculous. She leapt up, went back to the armoire, and lifted it. Into the air. Easily.
All kinds of weird and wild explanations started swirling around in her head. Most of them were far-fetched. But there was no such thing as a normal, rational, obvious explanation for what she was experiencing. Whatever the true answer was, she had better brace herself for something far-fetched. Time to have a chat with the doctor.
Gemma grabbed the car keys that Bethany had provided. She ran out to start the eighteen-year-old Chevrolet Malibu. But in her haste, she ripped the driver-side door right off. This was a nightmare. Not as bad as a trapped in your body kind of nightmare. But still, a kind of crazy Twilight Zone type of nightmare.
