Edgewood Series: Books 1 - 3 (90 page)

Mr. Bernstein stood up to greet us. I’d seen photos of him many times, but never looking like this. His eyes were puffy from lack of sleep and he had an overall rumpled appearance like he’d slept in his clothing. His hair too, looked like it could use a combing. And his eyes and nose were red as if he had a bad cold or had been crying. When he caught sight of me, his expression turned to one of hope. “You’re the one who’s going to heal my wife?” he asked, clasping my arm.

“I’m going to do my best, sir.”

Dr. Karke regarded me warily. “This is Russ Becker, his sister Carly, and one of my colleagues, Dr. Wentworth. As I told you before, there are no guarantees—”

“No, no, no.” Mr. Bernstein wagged a finger in his direction. “I don’t want to hear it. I
refuse
to hear it. We must stay positive.”

Mr. Bernstein spoke directly to me, “You, young man, what have you done?” Seeing my puzzled expression he clarified. “When you healed other people. What problems did they have?”

“What he’s done before is really not relevant to this case,” Dr. Karke said. “Medically this is a difficult situation and I don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

“Why not?” Mr. Bernstein said sharply. “All I’ve got right now is hope. Why would you take that away from me?”

Dr. Karke exhaled and looked down at the president’s immobile body, slowly shaking his head. “I’m not taking anything away from you, sir. Just advising you to keep your expectations realistic.”

“Could you please do me a favor?” Mr. Bernstein said. “Could you please take your realistic expectations and leave the room while the boy works on my wife? I don’t want your negative energy anywhere near her.”

The room filled with awkward silence until Dr. Wentworth said, “I’ll be here to cover for you.” Dr. Karke took his clipboard and left, his hard-soled shoes clicking against the linoleum as he went out the door.

“Now I will ask you again, son, what other healing have you done?”

You know how sometimes you meet someone and you like them right away? I mean like within two or three minutes? That is exactly how I felt about Mr. Bernstein. I wasn’t expecting to like him because his daughter was kind of a snob, but I’m guessing that was no reflection on him. He seemed like a good guy, a man who loved his wife, and someone who knew his own mind. I said, “I’ve healed bullet wounds, teething pain, electrocution, skin cuts, an intestinal problem on an infant, and I once revived an elderly woman from near death after a heart attack.” There might have been more, but those were the ones that came to mind.

“Really?” Mr. Bernstein said with enthusiasm. “Very good. A regular miracle worker you are.” He gripped my shoulder. “And now you are going to heal my wife.”

“I’m going to try my best, sir.”

Dr. Wentworth said, “Russ was here earlier and said it might take a few times before we see results.” I could tell she was trying to do the same thing Dr. Karke had done—let him down gently. She had a better way about it though.

Mr. Bernstein nodded. “Of course. I understand. But before you begin, may I ask a favor of all of you?” He waited until we’d all responded affirmatively and then held out both arms. “Would you join me in prayer?”

On the other side of the bed Carly reached over and took his hand, and indicated with a nod of her head that I should take the other. Dr. Wentworth looked a little uncomfortable, but must have decided to go with it. When we were all joined there were two of us on each side of the bed, our arms linked over the president’s body.

Mr. Bernstein prayed for his wife’s recovery, he prayed for the safety of the nation and for world peace. “And last, but certainly not least,” he said, “If it’s your will, please help Russ Becker to do your good work.”

Mr. Bernstein’s eyes were closed and it was quiet for a minute until Carly said, “Amen,” more out of reflex than anything else, I think, because she hadn’t been inside a church in years. Dr. Wentworth repeated, “Amen,” and then we let go of each other’s hands and the praying was done.

Mr. Bernstein said, “Go ahead, Russ. Do what you need to do.”

Nadia

When we got home from the hospital I dug out the business card PG officials had left behind the day they’d tried to get my mother to listen to their presentation. My mom had thrown the card out, but I’d retrieved it from the trash and hidden it in my sock drawer. No one ever looks underneath the socks, at least not in my house.

The card looked official, embossed and glossy. At the top it said: National High School Student Initiative – Rewarding High School Students for Distinguished Academic Achievement. Underneath was the guy’s name, “Preston Moore,” along with his number and email address. The NHSSI website address was at the very bottom. I flipped over the card and read where someone had written, “We’d love to provide Nadia with the opportunities she deserves—completely funded by the NHSSI of course.”

I don’t think my mom had even glanced at it before she tossed it out, but I’d read it over dozens of time. Read it and wished I could go on the trip and be with Russ. And now I could.

When I ran downstairs to give the card to my dad I found him sitting quietly on the couch, the television remote in one hand like he was considering using it. I handed the card to him and he set the remote down to look. “Very good, Nadia. I’ll call in the morning.”

I plunked myself down on the other end of the couch. “Thanks, Dad.” My mom’s cat, Barry, walked into the room, let out one lonely yowl and then went into the kitchen and did the same thing, then moved on to the next room. Yowl, move, repeat. Calling for my mom.

Dad looked in the direction of the yowling, sighed heavily, rested his head in his hands and closed his eyes. “What a nightmare this has been.”

“I know.” I knew where he was coming from, but I wanted to say that I thought it was good my mom was getting help, that things had been going downhill for a long time and it was too much for him to keep on top of, but I sensed he wouldn’t agree with me. He liked saving her, being the one to keep things steady. And he loved her too, crazy as that sounded, even to me. She wasn’t always so mean and unbalanced. Sometimes she could be sweet and thoughtful. The problem was that you never knew which side of her was going to pop up until after it came out. And it could switch just as quickly.

He opened his eyes and held the card between two fingers. “You don’t mind going away? I don’t want you to feel like you’re being banished. None of this is your fault, you know.”

“No, I don’t mind,” I said. “You know Mallory? She’ll be there.”

He nodded. “Nice girl, that Mallory.”

“And I have a good shot at getting a scholarship through this organization. That would be good.”

“You deserve a scholarship. You work hard, always studying and learning. I am so very proud of you, Nadia. I know I don’t say it often enough.”

I didn’t remember him ever saying it, but this didn’t seem like the right time to bring that up. As I watched he rested his head in his hands again and began trembling ever so slightly. And then the trembling became shaking. I realized with horror that my father was crying. I had never seen him cry and it was unsettling because he was supposed to be the steady, strong one. If he fell apart, what would happen to me and my mom?

I slid next to him and put my arm over his back. “It’ll be okay, Dad, you’ll see.”

He coughed. “You think so?”

“We’ve been on a downward slide for awhile now. Once Mom is on the right medication and she sees I can leave the house and not have anything catastrophic happen, she can relax and maybe let go a little bit. Who knows, maybe I can even go out with friends or have them over here. We could be like a normal family. Wouldn’t that be something?”

Dad looked at me amazed. “Would you even want to have friends come over?”

“Well sure. Of course.”

“Really?”

“Well yes, you know that.”

“But your mother always told me…never mind, it doesn’t matter.”

“No, keep going. What did she say?”

“I was under the impression that socializing was extremely stressful for you. That you felt safer at home with all the alarms and everything. So nothing could get to you.”

“Oh Dad.” I rested my head on his shoulder. “Have you ever known a girl my age that wanted to hang out with her parents and the cat night after night?”

“I guess not.” His voice was sad. “It’s just after you were attacked on the bus, you seemed to prefer to stay home. Right?”

“That was four years ago, Dad. And since then I’ve been to—” I stopped to think, almost saying ‘Peru’ but catching myself, “Miami and coped just fine.”

“Yes, you did.” He set the business card on the coffee table. “First thing tomorrow we’ll see if the offer still stands. If it does, you will go on this trip. That will give me time to figure out what your mother needs. You’re absolutely sure you don’t mind going?”

“I’m sure.”

Russ

I leaned over the president and held my palms over her head, trying to get a reading on what was happening underneath the dark hair, pale skin, and the hard shell of her skull bone. I sensed that beneath the layers, she was more aware than the doctors gave her credit for. She’d heard her husband’s prayer and drawn comfort from it, and even added a prayer of her own. Mentally she’d been able to tabulate who was in the room and where each person was located. There was nothing wrong with her brain, it just wasn’t able to send signals to the rest of her body just yet.

I was hyper aware of my surroundings as well. When I heard Mr. Bernstein say to Carly, “Is there something we should be doing to help?” I sensed the slight shake of her head, as if the movement created a stir of air which then radiated out to me.

I closed my eyes and willed my energy to enter the president. I pulled the love I felt from her husband and directed it toward her, so that the damaged areas were bombarded with positive rays. Mr. Bernstein hadn’t been too far off making Dr. Karke leave the room. There was no time for negativity here.

Normally if you hold your arms out zombie-like, they eventually get tired, but when I was doing the healing work it was another thing altogether. Hard to put into words. I almost felt like I was channeling energy from somewhere else and it was just coming through me. Maybe the lux spiral was the originator and I was the connection. My arms didn’t get tired because they were being held up by energy from outside of my body. The energy radiated off my hands and jumped the gap between me and the president. All of her muscles, tissue, blood vessels, and bones, were waiting to be nourished, and the places that needed it the most absorbed the energy and went to work repairing the damage. I felt a sigh coming from the president. At first I thought it was just a thought in her head, but when Mr. Bernstein gasped, I knew it had been audible.

“It’s working,” he said excitedly. “She’s coming to.”

Dr. Wentworth tried to shush him, but he wouldn’t be quieted. “Hang in there, dear,” Mr. Bernstein said, “we’re coming for you.”

It was funny he phrased it that way because that’s exactly how it seemed to me too—that her essence had fallen into an abyss and needed a hand up.
We’re coming for you
. Metaphorically she grabbed his words and my energy and it became the rope she needed to claw her way to the surface. It took everything she had, but with great effort, she was able to open her eyes. For a moment, I saw the room as she did. Everything bleary like she was looking through a windshield smeared with Vaseline. When she located her husband, her heart surged with joy.

Mr. Bernstein kept talking to her, holding her hand and weeping with happiness, but I didn’t stop. I moved slowly over the rest of her body, pausing when I sensed there was a need, covering every single damaged inch, until finally my bucket was empty. When I was done I stood up straight and shook out my hands.

“Finished?” Dr. Wentworth asked and when she saw my answer was yes, she pressed a button above the bed. “I need the entire team in here stat.”

Dr. Karke, who must have been right outside the door the entire time, came running in first. Instinctively, Carly and I moved back to make room for the doctors and nurses who rushed in. They exclaimed over the fact that President Bernstein was awake and responsive and began talking medical speak.

“BP one ten over seventy.”

“Pulse is steady and normal!”

“Temperature ninety-nine degrees.”

The staff surrounded her, checking her reflexes, calling out vitals, and generally just examining her like she was an unusual specimen. Her husband had been pushed back, his spot claimed by a white-jacketed woman who was placing a stethoscope on the president’s chest. “Steady heartbeat!” she proclaimed, as if she was adding something of value to the dialogue.

Dr. Karke got out a small flashlight and checked the patient’s pupils, then raised his pointer finger. “Madame President, can you follow the movement of my finger?” He went from side to side. “Very good.”

I knew what a gargantuan effort it took just to open her eyes. I’d felt how she’d heroically struggled to the surface when it would have been so much easier for her to stay submerged. And I instinctively knew that at this moment all this commotion was way too much for her. “Enough!” I said. “She needs to rest.”

Dr. Karke turned his head and frowned at me. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Becker. We’ll take it from here.” Just like that, the guy totally blew me off. I stood there, with my mouth open thinking:
you’ve got to be kidding me
. They’d had the president for three days and there had been no change in her condition. I had two short sessions with her and she was on the road back to recovery. And he was telling me they’d take it from here?

My back had been against the wall but now I stepped forward and forced my way into the inner circle. “Stop! All of you need to stop right now!” I held my hands over the patient and got a small faint feeling of gratitude, confirming my hunch. “This is too much for her. If you keep going, you’re going to slow down her progress. Her body needs quiet time and rest to repair itself.”