by B. N. Toler
HEALER
Copyright 2013 Brandy Toler
www.bntoler.com
All Rights Reserved
This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means without prior written permission of the authors, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.
ISBN-13: 978-1490491967
Cover Design: Amy Jo Banton-Newsome, One Josie Photography and Design
Interior Design: Ellen C. Maze, The Author’s Mentor, www.theauthorsmentor.com
The following is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, to factual events or to businesses is coincidental and unintentional.
PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
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dedication
For my beautiful Beebo.
You were the grandmother every child needs,
the mother you didn’t have to be,
and the friend I could always turn to.
You are truly missed.
.
one
Present
The road which has led me here has been long and tiresome. I wonder sometimes if I could have changed my path or if my journey was predetermined. Was it fate? Fate is such a funny word. Some may see it as a romantic, whimsical term, but I see it differently. For starters, if fate is real, then we really don’t have any control over our own lives. I try not to think of it that way, but where I come from it seems real. For being twenty-four years old, I probably sound pretty cynical, and I guess I am to some degree. I was forced to learn hard truths early in my life. I’m talking about truths that would rock some people to their core. Truth. That’s another funny word. Some would say the truth will set you free. That’s just funny.
Past
My aunt’s yellow station wagon backfired as I pulled into the parking lot of the Dollar General. Two girls about my age pointed and laughed as I drove by them. Bitches. I parked the yellow beast, as my brothers and I called it, in the back of the lot, away from other cars, partly out of embarrassment and partly because I had a hard time parking the damn thing.
I emerged from the car, checked my back pocket for the five dollar bill Lucy had given me to purchase poster board for an English project, and smiled at the little girl bouncing a big pink ball on the sidewalk. There are moments in life that occur in the blink of an eye, yet as you watch them; it seems they play out in slow motion. I heard somewhere that when something crazy is happening, such as an accident, a brain area called the amygdala, thank you Discovery Channel, becomes more active, making us believe it happens in slow motion.
I was frozen as I watched the ball escape the little girl’s reach, her step off the sidewalk after it, and the green F150 slam her down like a deer on a back country road. In my mind, I yelled to her, to stop her, but I can’t be sure if the words really came out or not. I was somewhat in shock and somewhat annoyed. I hate impromptu healings. I can’t deny, a large part of me wanted to get back into my car and leave, but I couldn’t. Not when such a young life hung in the balance.
I ran to the girl and fell to my knees beside her, glancing up momentarily to see her mother on the other side of her, lost in a fit of sobs and tears. The girl’s body was twisted, her face pale, and her pigtails lay perfectly fanned out against the pavement. She looked as if she were made of porcelain—a fragile, empty vessel made of clay. I focused, closed my eyes and listened for her energy. The sound of vibrations and pitches immediately filled my ears, and I heard her energy fading. Healers, like me, can hear energy through vibrations and pitches. The two were consistent, which told me she could be saved.
I darted my eyes in every direction, focused on the hunt for a source. Every face my eyes met, I zoned in and listened to the energy that radiated from them. Healing at the snap of a finger is tricky, especially given her level of injury. To heal a person, I have to pull energy from someone and transfer it. When I pull energy, I must find the perfect source to pull from. Ideally, I would keep a young, healthy sixteen to twenty-five year old in my back pocket at all times, but unfortunately, I can’t do that.
I stared down at the small child, while I assessed the nearby energy sources. The child’s mother buried her face in her hands, lost in despair. She looked about thirty-five, but I eliminated her as an option because the little girl would need her when she came to. The young driver who hit the girl looked fairly young, strong, and strapping; I wagered he was maybe twenty.
My soon-to-be energy source and I set about gently stretching the young girl’s limp body out as I listened for his energy. How could I touch him subtly, so I could assess a connection? It doesn’t take a constant touch to make a connection, just a simple touch. I could have pulled energy without touching him, but that would’ve required too much focus, and I would have wasted crucial time establishing a mental connection.
I was about to touch the young man, when he touched me, very briefly on the shoulder. Our eyes met, and I felt a connection, but not one I had made. Suddenly, I felt as if my energy was being sucked out of me through a vacuum tube. This had never happened to me.
I was momentarily paralyzed with shock, unable to react in any way as panic ran rapid within me. I watched the young man touch the girl and I could hear her strength start to regain.
He was healing her. He was pulling from me and saving her. I was the ideal source.
He pulled fast and strong. Way too fast. Maybe he was a rookie or panicked, as he was the one who hit the little girl.
Dizziness swarmed my head like a hive of bees, so I pulled back as hard as I could, afraid he may drain me unconscious.
His pull snapped like a rip cord. His head whipped towards me. His eyes rounded, and his mouth opened in shock. Our eyes met, and an eternity seemed to pass as we recognized each other for what we were.
I tore my eyes away, returning my attention to the small child who lay still as a lake after a storm. I immediately regretted cutting the connection. Without another thought, I grabbed the girl’s arm and pushed my own energy into her.
My body lurched forward as I began to black out, and I hit the concrete with a thud. As I lost consciousness, I remember thinking; Lucy is going to kill me.
When I woke up, I lay on a gurney in front of an ambulance. Someone held my arm and vibrations tingled through my body. The man who had tried to steal my energy held a firm grip on my arm. A slight smile played on his lips as he stared down at me with his rich brown eyes. He was healing me, or more like re-energizing me. Out of sheer shock, I jerked my arm away. He recoiled.
“Ma’am, please lay down. Your blood pressure is very low.” The hefty black paramedic pushed slightly against my shoulders.
“No. I’m alright. It’s normally low, and I get woozy around blood. Is the little girl okay?”
“She will be,” the energy thief reassured me, speaking to me as if he knew me. We eyed each other briefly as we tried to size each other up, but the paramedic interrupted by demanding my attention again.
“Yeah, she’s going to make it. She’s on her way to the hospital now. Please lay back down.”
“No, really; I’m fine.” I threw my legs over the side of the gurney and slid off.
“She’s good; trust me,” the handsome young man assured her.
“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes and wheeled the gurney away.
I turned to address the young man, but before I could, a tall female officer approached me with questions. Twenty minutes later, she released me after I had answered all of her questions and provided all of my contact information.
Feeling so weak a light breeze coul
d have blown me over, I slowly dragged myself to my car. I could get the poster board later. I climbed into the driver’s seat and shut the door. Leaning my head on the steering wheel, I collected my thoughts. The afternoon’s events left me fatigued, but much to my surprise, I was also excited. I had met another healer. Well, technically I didn’t meet him, but I knew for sure that other healers existed. I never knew anyone else like myself or my family. It never even occurred to me there could be someone like us, despite my Aunt Lucy’s stories about our people. I don’t know why, it just didn’t. I guess I thought we were like The Last of the Mohicans or something.
I sat up and thought about the young man’s gorgeous brown eyes. I needed to know him, but how? I didn’t even know his name.
“That was interesting.”
I jerked back to find the young man in the backseat of my car. Out of sheer panic, I connected to him mentally and pulled from him, scared he was going to attack me. While connected, I fumbled with my door handle, desperate to escape, when my pull snapped.
“Easy. I’m not going to hurt you,” he laughed.
“What are you doing in my car?” I hissed as my hands frantically pushed against the car door.
“I’m sorry I scared you. Please calm down.”
“What do you want?” I roared annoyed with the yellow beast for being an old piece of junk with a door that occasionally jammed. “You back to finish me off?”
“I wasn’t going to kill you.” He pressed his lips together as if trying to muffle his laughter.
“Sure felt like it.”
“I didn’t know what you were.”
“What am I?” I played dumb.
“I’d hope you’re smart enough to know it’s too late to play dumb.” He leaned forward and extended his hand out to me. “My name is Thomas.”
I eyed his hand cautiously and decided not to take it. “Nice to meet you.” I faced forward and abandoned my attempt of escaping.
“You won’t tell me your name?” he snorted.
“My name isn’t important.”
He climbed up to the front seat, and his scent consumed me. He smelled like heaven. My body tensed as my stomach seemed to flip backwards into my throat. I had never experienced such a foreign sensation and I tried to will it away.
“Your name’s important to me.”
“Aldo,” I sighed, too tired to fight his persistence.
“That’s unique.”
“You don’t say?” I sneered sarcastically. If I had a dollar for every person who had said that to me.
“Does it mean something?” He turned his body towards me, resting one arm over the seat, ignoring my obvious contempt.
“Yeah. It means Killer in Greek.” I rolled my eyes. I hoped he was smart enough to know what a bold-faced lie I just fed him.
He exploded with laughter. It took a solid minute for him to get his laughter under control before he spoke again. “Yeah, you look like a real killer to me.”
“Things aren’t always what they seem.” Coining one of my Aunt Lucy’s odes of wisdom she loved to share.
“No. You are right about that.” He nodded. His eyes ran up and down my body, and a rush of heat covered my cheeks.
I rolled my window down, heated by his stare.
“Look at me,” he demanded, his tone serious, free of any hint of the humor it held only moments before.
I wanted to continue staring straight ahead, but a part of me needed to look at him. He was the same as me, a healer, yet seemed so different, like some exotic creature from a foreign land. I slowly met his gaze.
His eyes were a brilliant mahogany brown and seemed to tear into me, trying to discover every secret, every fear, and every desire.
“Well, it was nice to meet you, Aldo.” He nodded once before tearing his eyes away, and opened the car door. “I’ll see you around,” he smirked as he closed the door and trotted to his truck on the other side of the parking lot.
That was weird. I sat confused trying to understand what had just happened. What did he mean he would see me around? He doesn’t even know where I live. After a moment, I started the yellow beast and rolled my eyes when it backfired.
When I got home that night, I managed to make it to the bathroom without Lucy seeing me. A bath would calm my nerves. I submerged myself into the water grateful for a hot bath. Should I tell Lucy about meeting Thomas? She could be extremely paranoid. We spent a great deal of our lives moving around like gypsies to keep from being found. I was never entirely sure what we were hiding from, but we listened and did as she said. This was the first time in our lives she had ever agreed to let my brothers and I stay in one place for an entire school year; did I really want to set her off by telling her about Thomas?
I washed and rinsed my face as my shoulder angels battled for my decision: to tell or not to tell. The right thing to do would be to tell her, but I already knew what that would set in motion. For seventeen years, my only friends had been my brothers, Whit and Hudson. Being a trio with my brothers was easy as we are triplets, but I craved some other form of companionship. A girl can only take so much of her brothers. Finally, after years of begging, we all had a chance to experience the riveting, yet useless things most teens do.
No, telling Lucy was not an option. My decision was made.
I squirted body wash onto my loofa while Thomas’s intense stare replayed in my mind and I tried to determine why. I was very attracted to him. I couldn’t deny he was gorgeous, but I refused to allow myself to believe good looks could sway me in any way. Moving around so much had limited any chance of dating, rendering me extremely inexperienced in the love department. In fact, I was convinced I would die a spinster.
I drained the tub and refused to think of Thomas anymore. I knew one way for me to discover more about him. I had another gift, in addition to healing.
My secret weapon.
My dreams.
After eating dinner with my family, I couldn’t wait to go to sleep. Exhaustion from sharing my energy with the young girl made my bones ache. When I finally lay down, I wondered what information about Thomas I would discover in my dreams.
.
two
Present
It’s been over six years since I met Thomas in the parking lot of that Dollar General. I could never have imagined how our meeting would change my life so dramatically. The last few days have been harder than usual, and I can’t stop thinking about Thomas or my family. I try to find comfort by bringing them into my dreams, but not even that seems to be working.
I lean back in my chair, enjoying having the dressing room all to myself for a moment. I find an odd kind of peace here sometimes. It’s a small room with mirrors lining the walls, bulbous light bulbs above them, and feather boas of every color hanging everywhere, making the atmosphere seem a little brighter. I close my eyes and try to envision my brother’s faces. In my dreams, they look exactly like they did the day I left them almost six years ago.
I open my eyes, and stare at myself in my bureau mirror, reminding myself that I work here because I have to. I push away the thoughts of how upset my family would be if they knew I was stripping. I can only imagine. I’d be scolded for wasting my gift and for using my body this way.
I roll my eyes at my own reflection in the mirror at the thought, adjusting my blonde wig.
Lucy used to remind me constantly my gift of controlling my subconscious wasn’t meant for self-entertainment. Using my dreams to comfort myself would surely have earned me a lecture of great length.
At one time, I believed controlling my subconscious was more of a curse than a gift. I didn’t know I could absorb information from those I touched until I was fourteen, right around the time Lucy started trying to help me master my gift of healing. Discovery of my new gift was not something I welcomed initially because that was when I learned my gift of healing was limited.
Heidi Martin was thirty years old, a mother of three, dying of stage four breast cancer. Desperate to halt her impe
nding death, she requested an appointment with Aunt Lucy as a last resort. When Lucy told me she was taking me, I thought it was a lesson on actually healing, not one about the limitations to our gift.
Even as a healer in training, my youth and lack of experience rendering me so, I knew Heidi couldn’t be saved. I did as Lucy told me and shared energy with Heidi, knowing it would be of no help. I was so angry with Lucy for taking me. I said good-bye to Heidi that day, a smile plastered on my face, but inside I was drowning in a river of guilt. I didn’t speak to Lucy all the way home, and I skipped dinner, going straight to bed.
That night, I dreamed about Heidi Martin. I saw her memories, her face, her children, and her fears. I woke up crying, but dismissed it as guilt over not being able to save her. The dreams continued for several nights and I would wake up covered in sweat, face soaked with tears.
Heidi died two weeks later. We went to her funeral where I saw her children. I had never seen photos of them, but somehow I knew their faces. That is when Lucy and I figured out I had the gift to absorb information. I often wonder if Lucy knew how hard I would take Heidi’s death. It still haunts me to this day.
“Aldo. You’re up.” Esther’s beady eyes peer through the curtains that separate the dressing room from the hall that leads to the stage.
“Coming,” I sigh, trying to shake the thoughts of my family that have haunted me all day.
I glance at myself one last time in the mirror and notice a picture of Alina’s daughter, Ella, on her bureau. I pick it up and my heart aches as I run my finger over Ella’s sweet and tiny face. I place the photo back where I found it, and wish I could heal Ella’s leukemia so Alina wouldn’t have to work here anymore. Alina has never invited me to her house, so I haven’t been able to meet Ella in person. Guess I can’t blame her; I’m not sure I’d bring home my stripping co-workers either.
