by Jean Davis
.
HEALER
First published in Acidic Fiction: Corrosive Chronicles 2015
Jillian breathed deep through her nose and focused on the young man on the hospital bed beside her. His breathing remained troubled even after the two-hour healing session she’d just performed. Doctors and nurses hovered in the hallway, poking their heads in to check on her progress from time to time. The pleading eyes of his wife on the other side of the bed and the photo of their two children on the bedside table wouldn’t allow her to give up.
She took a few moments to focus on the room, giving her body time to regroup. The remaining session would drain her, but she was so close with Mike that she didn't dare stop now.
He needed her. Someone always did. The next patients on her list would have to hold on another day.
The television was silent but photos of missing children flashed by behind the program host. She secretly wished someone would steal her away. To be free of obligation, guilt and constant fatigue… Jillian sighed.
She again rested her hand on her patient’s cool, clammy arm, reforming the lifeline that linked them together. Jillian summoned the gift within her.
A tingle rose in her chest, building, and then flowing upward into her shoulders. It shot down her left arm and swelled in her hand. There the tingle coalesced until it gathered heat.
Jillian let go of her body, knowing it would sit there in the chair as if she were asleep, waiting for her return. Her awareness seeped through the palm of her hand and into the arm of the man on the bed. His heartbeat became hers as she traveled along his arm, winding, twisting her way toward his chest. The heartbeat grew louder, accompanied by the droning of rushing blood.
Somewhere in the room, people were talking--probably the attending doctor checking in again. The sound reminded her of when she was younger, listening to her mother chat with her friends in distant, muffled voices while Jillian and the other children played tag underwater in the neighbor’s pool. Those pleasant, lazy days were long gone.
She spread herself through the body, seeking out the black shadows of illness and burning them away with her heat. With all sign of the shadows vanquished elsewhere, she focused on the stubborn ones in the body’s lungs.
She knew she was making progress because the body now insisted that its name was Mike. He hadn’t been aware enough the last few times to put up an internal fight. Now he attempted to push her away.
She pressed her thoughts on his defensive force. “I’m trying to help.”
Sometimes bodies were receptive to her presence, talking with her and allowing her control of their muscles and functions when she needed it. But most men didn’t seem to like her female presence. Perhaps it was too foreign to them.
Mike fought, using his precious energy to oppose her rather than rest. Muscles bunched up, squeezing and shifting, escaping her calming control and dividing her focus.
Jillian didn’t want to find out what would happen if a patient were to die while they were both entangled in a healing trance. Would she die when her lifeline collapsed, or become a passenger stuck in someone else’s body? If he became too aggravated, she’d have to abort her mission or risk finding out.
The shadows taunted her, dark and boiling with malignant energy. These were the times Jillian wished she had a weapon other than willpower and heat. But swords or handguns couldn’t follow her into a patient’s body and medicine had failed. This was a war she had to fight alone.
Jillian gathered her being into a cloud that rivaled the size and mass of the shadows. The tingle’s energy crackled within her. Heat pulsated, growing and glowing a deep red at the edges of her hazy vision.
For a moment she swore she saw white eyes glaring at her from within the shadows. Then they were gone, and like the other times her imagination had played the same trick on her, a chill ran through her being, disrupting her focus.
The shadows formed a wall. The line of war had been established.
Jillian let her heat build until her exit path began to tremble. If she let go of the path, she’d have no way back to her own body. She considered calling off her efforts for the day and coming back tomorrow recharged, but the thought of Mike dying while she rested peacefully goaded her onward.
The healing heat rose until she could hold it no longer. She hurled it at the shadows. They absorbed the heat and extinguished the faint nebulous glow.
Shaking with exhaustion, Jillian backed away. Instead of growing and coming after her as she feared, the shadows began to pulse. They lost a shade of black, fading to deep grey. Then they grew lighter and lighter until they dissipated entirely.
Relief washed over her as she drifted away. Unable to muster any energy of her own, she let the faint lifeline return her to her own body.
Jillian gasped as her awareness synced with the breathing of her own lungs and beating of her own heart. Her eyes squeezed shut against the bright hospital lights. She dropped her head into her hands and wished nothing more than to be in her bed at the hotel across the street.
“You did it! Just look at him, he looks better already,” an exuberant voice informed her. Arms wrapped around Jillian’s shoulders and squeezed her tightly. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“It’s okay, really.” Jillian resisted the urge to push Mike’s wife away. She needed space. She needed sleep.
Mike’s wife clutched his limp hand while beaming at her as if she’d just performed a miracle. “Your gift is precious. Don’t pay any attention to those doubters. People can’t just jump up from terminal cancer and go about their lives as if they’d suffered nothing more than a mild headache. True healing takes time. You make that time possible.”
She reached out and took Jillian’s hand, forming a chain between the three of them. “I would be happy to stand by your side and tell the world how wrong they are.”
“That’s not necessary.” Jillian mustered a weak smile. “I just want to help where I can, and remember, you signed the contract.”
“I know, but you could help so many more people if they truly understood.”
Jillian slipped her hand from the woman’s loose grasp. “This hospital, these doctors, they support me well enough. I’m not looking for fame.”
She was only one person and she could only do so much. Her energy wasn’t infinite. People wouldn’t understand that any more than the fact that she could aid in healing, but not offer instant recovery. She’d had enough of the public ridicule and reading dueling stacks of hate mail and desperate pleas for her help. That’s why she was here, hiding behind a wall of confidentiality contracts in a hotel.
Doctor Kellar entered the room and went directly to Mike’s side. He checked Mike’s breathing and his pulse. He turned to smile at Jillian. “We’ll have to run tests, of course, but from what I can see here, his condition has vastly improved. Thank you, Ms. Baare.”
Jillian nodded.
“Would you like someone to bring you to your room?”
“That would be wonderful, thank you.” As tired as she was, the walk to her hotel room across the street seemed like a trip to another country.
Doctor Kellar left, and moments later, an attendant came in, pushing a wheelchair. He wheeled it next to where Jillian sat. “Do you need help?”
She shook her head. Her hands and arms shook when she grabbed the arms of the wheelchair and swung herself into it. Her behind dropped into the seat with an unceremonious thump.
Mike’s wife hovered over him, still holding his hand and grinning from ear to ear as tears slipped down her cheeks. She met Jillian’s gaze. “Thank you. I wish there was more I could say.”
“I wish there was more I could do.”
“I wouldn’t ask it of you even if you could. You’re exhausted. Go, rest.” She offered her benediction with a smile and shooing motion.
Jillian nodded to the attendant, who pushed her out of the room and down the hall to the elevator. “You did a good thing in there,” he said.
“Thanks.”
They always had kind words for her after the fact. It was the begging and pleading beforehand that rubbed her nerves raw. Then again, after a healing session, her nerves were raw too. Couldn’t she just teleport to her room so she didn’t have to talk to anyone else? That would be a handy gift to have.
Jillian realized the attendant wasn’t heading for the hotel. “Where are we going?”
“Cafeteria. You made me promise to bring you there before we returned to the hotel last time I helped you. You told me not to take no for an answer because you needed to eat. Excuse me for saying so, but you look three times worse today. You’re going to eat something.”
She couldn’t help but smile. The staff did take good care of her despite the fact that she tended to attract unwelcome attention from reporters and naysayers no matter how many aliases she used or how low a profile she kept. “Thank you.”
After managing to devour a ham and cheese sandwich without ever really tasting a bite of it, Jillian sat back. The attendant resumed their trip back to the hotel.
With her stomach full, the bright overhead lights blinked on and off as her eyes sagged. Waking glimpses of white hallways lined with multicolored stripes informed her that she was nearly to the tunnel that went under the busy street between the hospital and the hotel. The whirring of the wheels changed tones as they entered the tunnel, echoing off the tile walls. A mother scolded a child in the distance. A conversation about an ailing grandmother and who was covering the insurance deductible grew in volume and then faded away. She pried her head off her shoulder when her chair came to a halt.
“Ms. Baare can’t be bothered right now. No. She doesn’t do interviews. Please excuse us.”
The chair set off with the rhythmic steps of the attendant again lulling her to sleep. The ding of the elevator brought her around again. Within seconds, the attendant delivered Jillian to her door.
A woman in scrubs approached them. "I'll take her from here."
"I'll be fine," said Jillian.
"Oh nonsense. You're tired. It's plain to see. You work so hard here, let me help you." The woman waved the attendant away.
Jillian fumbled in her pants pocket for the keycard. The woman took it from her and slid it through the lock. The door clicked.
"There now. Let's get you inside and into bed." She rolled the chair into the room.
Jillian tried to see the name on the ID card hanging around the woman's neck. Usually using their names got made them feel acknowledged and they'd leave her be. She kept moving, adjusting the chair alongside the bed and then helping Jillian to her feet. She gave up trying to be polite and snapped, "I'm fine now, really."
The woman left her side and went to the door. The lights went out. The lock clicked. Jillian let herself relax and sank back onto the bed.
Just as she was drifting off to sleep, the door opened. "Who's there?"
"Stay where you are."
The lights came on. Jillian blinked. The woman stood there with a young child in her arms. She rushed to the bed and place the girl next to Jillian. Then she pulled a gun from the back of her waistband.
Sweat broke out on Jillian's brow and her hands grew clammy.
"Heal her."
She’d seen many horrible diseases in her years as a healer, but none of them struck her as deeply as the sight of the bloody two-year-old in a yellow sundress with a bullet hole in her abdomen.
"I can't."
"Don't lie to me. That man confirmed who you were in the tunnel. I know you can. Maybe you just don't want to." She leveled the gun at Jillian. "How about now?"
“I’m sorry.” She looked down on the pale face of the little girl and felt within herself, checking her energy. It wasn’t enough. She’d drained too much on Mike. It would be another full day before she was ready to face her waiting list. "Bring her across the street. The doctors can fix her."
"No. I can't. You do it."
"Why would you wait here for me? There's a hospital right there. What kind of mother are you?"
“You don’t understand.” The woman’s shrill voice rose to a wail. “If you don’t save her she’ll die. My baby will die.”
“Keep your voice down.” The last thing she needed was more attention, for the media to grab onto a story, drag her through the mud again and bring a host of desperate people to her door. She’d have to find a new hospital to work with. A whole new raft of agreements and contracts floated before her eyes, blurring the view of the girl bleeding on her bed.
The mother waved the gun at her, moving closer. "I don’t care what it costs. You will heal my daughter. Now.”
“Please, put that away. I’ll do what I can for her. You’ll have to take her to the hospital as soon as I’m done. I won’t be able to do more than stabilize her.”
“I can’t go to the hospital.”
“Of course you can. If you don’t have money, they’ll work with you. They’re not heartless.”
“They’ll find out. They’ll take Emily from me. I can’t let them do that. I can’t.”
Jillian ignored the woman’s ranting and sunk deep into herself. The only way to get the gun out of her face and help Emily was to travel into her.
She melted inward, leaving Emily’s mother behind. The room dimmed and her vision took on a red tinge. The familiar tingle within grew, swelling until it pushed her into the little girl’s body.
Emily’s pulse was faint. The shadows had a firm hold on her young body. Pitch black clouds surrounded the bullet hole. Greyness pulsated everywhere she looked.
There was so much to fix, so many shadows. Jillian faltered.
The distant muffled voice of the woman rose higher. Jillian began to wonder about the safety of the body she’d left behind. Would the woman shoot her, thinking she’d fainted? She’d had no time to explain the process.
Determined to at least make an honest effort, Jillian concentrated her heat on the vital organs. The shadows surrounding the girl’s heart ebbed.
Jillian pulled back into her own body. Her voice trembled with exhaustion. “I’ve done all I can. You need to get her to the hospital now.”
“I won’t let them take my baby away.” Emily’s mother leveled her gun at Jillian.
She held up her hands as if skin and bone could shield her from a bullet. “I wish I could do more. I’m very sorry, but I really need to rest now.”
“No.”
“Lady, you won’t have a baby to lose if you don’t get her to the hospital immediately.”
“I’ll kill you if you don’t heal her.”
“A lot of good that will do. Your daughter and I will both be dead.”
“I don’t have much choice. You know my secret.”
“Look, whatever your secret is, you know mine too. Please, your daughter will die if you don’t go.”
“They’ll find out she isn’t mine.” The woman fired the gun.
Jillian’s heart forgot how to beat. She screamed. The room dimmed and then got brighter again. Bile rose in her throat. Then she realized she wasn’t hurt, though she still had the urge to throw up.
“Are you insane?”
“Don’t call me that!” The woman took aim, clearly not meaning to miss this time. “Help her!”
Jillian drew a deep breath and gathered her scattered nerves. She sunk back into her healing trance, centering her awareness and seeping back into Emily.
The little girl had already slipped backward during the time Jillian had been gone. She didn’t have the strength to overpower the armed woman or to carry Emily to the hospital herself. She could only hope she had the strength to face the shadows again and that the woman would see reason this time. She gathered her heat and battled the shadows.
Emily’s eyelids fluttered.
“Can you hear me, baby?” Mona cradled the bloody little girl in her arms.
Emily’s blue-green eyes opened. Tears welled in them and spilled down her round cheeks. “Mommy?”
“Yes, baby. You’
re going to be okay now.” She hugged the little girl to her chest.
Emily clung to her, chubby little fingers digging into her shoulders. Mona didn’t mind at all. She rubbed her cheek against the baby-soft one, reveling in the warmth she again felt there.
“Do you hurt anywhere?”
“No. Sleepy.”
“Okay. Let’s get you out of that dirty dress and find some pajamas. Then you can take a little nap.” Mona kissed Emily’s forehead. She held the little girl tight as she stood.
The healer lay still on the bed. Mona nudged the woman with her knee. Nothing. At least she’d healed Emily before passing out.
Mona went into the bedroom. Ms. Baare had to have something Emily could use. She couldn’t very well carry her around in bloody clothes. People would ask questions and questions could attract the police.
She set Emily on the bed and undressed her. A warm washcloth from the bathroom helped to remove the bloody nightmare from Emily’s skin. Two more finished the job. Mona threw the soiled washcloths in the corner. She didn’t want any reminders of the drive-by shooting that had nearly taken Emily from her. They’d never go to a playground near a busy street again. Or any playground. The image of Emily falling from the swing right in front of her, bloodied and bawling would be forever etched in her memory.
Thanks to the healer, Emily was whole and healthy and still with her. Nothing could change that now.
Mona rooted through the drawers and found a white t-shirt. She slipped it over Emily’s head. “There you go, baby. You look just like a little angel.” She ran her fingers through Emily’s blonde curls. With Emily in her arms, she went back to the living room.
Emily twisted in her grasp. “Who that?”
“Nobody, baby. She’s just taking a nap. Shall we go home now?”
Emily stared at the woman on the floor. “Down.”
“No. We need to go home now.”
“Down,” Emily insisted.
Mona sighed. The nagging feeling in the back of her mind told her that she needed to check the woman anyway. She couldn’t very well leave the healer alive to talk to the police. All the damned missing child posters in the post offices and supermarkets were bad enough.
