The Healer: A Young Adult Romantic Fantasy (The Healer Series Book 1) (17 page)

“Hallucinations cannot be your ‘go to’ diagnosis for every weird thing I say or do, Dad. You were there. You were standing in our house, right there in the hallway, looking at me as if you thought I might be able to heal you but you really weren’t sure. I swear it.” To my own ears, I sounded a bit desperate. I needed him to believe me. I needed something in my day to go right for me.

My father looked worried. I didn’t think he knew what to believe.

“Well, I was definitely here while you were getting ready for school, and I have the patient files to prove it. So the way I see it there are only two scenarios that are even remotely possible at this point. One, you’re having some very strange lapses in reality or two, someone broke into the house posing as me. The resemblance had to have been uncanny in order to fool you, though, and what would the purpose of that be?”

I could feel my heart drop in disappointment as I realized that the first scenario seemed the more likely of the two.

“I can’t imagine what the purpose would be. All you asked me to do was heal you.”

I nearly jumped out of my skin as my father grabbed me by my shoulders and pushed me back into my chair. He knelt down at eye level, and grabbed both my hands in his.

“You didn’t do it, did you, Hope? You didn’t heal me or act as if you actually could heal me, did you?” His eyes looked pleadingly into mine, and it dawned on me what he was getting at.

“You think the person in our house was testing me, trying to see if I was capable of healing him,” I said completely horrified.

My father nodded, his own expression registering a healthy amount of fear.

“You’ve already had two classmates at school attempt to trick you into revealing what you can do. What if this other guy was doing the same thing?”

“Why? Are Tie and Victor working with other people? How in the world could that man have looked so much like you? He even sounded like you.”

As I considered the possibility that I’d actually been in my own home with a complete and total stranger, a stranger whose sole purpose was unearthing my well-guarded secret, my pulse quickened.

I wasn’t convinced that Tie and Victor were working with this impostor, though. The man posing as my father had left me feeling uneasy. I hadn’t taken the time to examine my feelings because I’d believed the person in my house to be someone I loved and trusted, but looking back on it now, I realized I’d sensed some very dark vibes coming from him. It was completely different from how I’d felt around the two cousins.

My train of thought was broken as my father stood up and began opening and closing filing cabinets in quick succession.

“Dad, what are you doing?”

“I’m looking for a key,” he said, continuing his frantic rummaging.

“A key to what?” I was totally confused. It wasn’t exactly the kind of response I’d been expecting from him.

“A key to a safety deposit box. Inside it there are fake passports, ID’s, and birth certificates so no one can track us. It’ll be like Hope and James Fairmont never existed. I’ve also got a very large sum of money that should keep us comfortable until we’re settled in our new home.” He was dead serious.

Okay, this was the kind of response I was expecting from him.

“We can’t just leave!”

My father stopped digging in his desk to gap at me in surprise. “Are you kidding me? There’s someone waltzing around this town looking so much like me not even my own daughter can tell the difference. There are at least three people we know of who are doing their very best to prove you’re not exactly the most average of teenagers.” He slammed a drawer and opened another. “We don’t know who they are. We don’t know if they’ll hurt you, but breaking into our house is crossing a line that is hell and gone from my comfort zone. We’re leaving just as soon as I book the next flight to Germany.”

“Germany? Are you insane?” I ran over and slammed the latest drawer he’d been searching through, nearly smashing his fingers in the process. “We don’t speak German. The only experience I’ve had with a foreign language was two years of Spanish, and that isn’t even remotely close to German. If you’re going to completely uproot us from everything we’ve ever known and all the people we’ve ever loved, you could have at least picked a European country where my Spanish might have come in handy. Was Italy too expensive for you?”

“Italy? They don’t speak Spanish in Italy.”

“Well, they don’t speak Spanish in Germany either. There is no way I’m moving to a country so totally devoid of nice, handsome looking Latinos.”

“What are you talking about? I’m sure there are plenty of good looking Latinos in Germany. People are migrating everywhere these days.” My father stopped what he was doing and stared at me. Pinching the bridge of his nose he said, “I can’t believe I just let you suck me into such a ridiculous argument.”

We stood there in silence for a few moments, neither one of us willing to back down.

“We’re not leaving. We’re not running away. I want to know who these people are and why they’re looking for me.” My father started to say something, but I quickly held up my hand to stop him. “I won’t leave Angie. Can you imagine what the fallout from leaving her behind would be like? I won’t leave Kirby, either. So unless you plan on flying a very sick cancer patient and my wacky best friend to Germany, you can forget your relocation plan, for now, anyway.”

My father shook his head in frustration. He knew I wasn’t going to allow him to ship me off to some foreign destination.

“There’s too much we don’t know yet. Let’s just wait this out and see what happens,” I said attempting to appeal to his sense of reason.

“I’m not happy about this, but I’ll agree to it on one condition. The minute I think your life is being threatened in any way, the minute this becomes dangerous, we take what’s in that safety deposit box, and we don’t stop running until we know it’s safe.”

“That sounds fair,” I replied grudgingly.

My father sank into his desk chair and placed his shaking hands on the table.

“You better go heal Kirby.”

I walked over to where he was sitting and wrapped my arms around his drooping shoulders.

“I just want you safe,” he whispered.

“I promise I will be.”

I gave him a kiss on his cheek and squeezed his shoulders. Then I walked determinedly out of his office toward Kirby‘s room, where I hoped I wouldn’t be too late.

Chapter Nine

“Your birthday is coming up soon,” I reminded Kirby. “How are we going to celebrate?”

He gave me a tired smile. I was surprised by how much his condition had worsened since last night. There were deep smudges under his eyes, his skin was a sick, waxy color, and his already bony frame looked more frail than ever. I gave him a cheerful smile. What I really wanted to do was wrap him in my arms and cry like a baby.

“My birthday isn’t for another two weeks.” He lowered his gaze and pulled at the fabric of his hospital gown. “Besides, we don’t really know how much longer I’m going to be here. No need to plan for something that may not even happen.”

I’d never told Kirby when he would die. It would’ve been the worst possible news to share with anyone, and I didn’t want him to give up. I sat down next to him and cradled him in my arms.

“None of that, you hear me?” I scolded. “You’ll be here for your birthday. I promise you that.” I felt my eyes begin to fill with tears, and I was grateful Kirby had rested his head against my shoulder. I had to be strong for him. I couldn’t let him see me fall apart.

“I just don’t see the point. I just…” Kirby stopped speaking abruptly. I heard him take a deep breath and letting it out in a slow hiss. I hugged him even closer to me and wondered at the very depressed mood he was in. It was so unlike him.

Dispensing with my surprise, I reminded myself that even though Kirby acted like a mature adult, he was only ten years old. He was just a boy, and his mother’s absence was painfully noticeable.

When I’d first arrived at Kirby’s door I sensed how much this latest infection had frightened him. His eyes had taken me in almost desperately, and his need for human contact with someone who really cared radiated off him in waves. Talking to Kirby about my insanely nerve-racking day had been forefront on my agenda, but after finding out about his pneumonia, the first thing I did upon entering his room was plant myself on his bed and place both hands on either side of his head.

I’d felt his body sink into me as I instructed his life force to quickly and efficiently handle the infection that had taken root in his system. Once his fever broke and the infection healed, the poor thing had wrapped his arms around me tightly and sobbed softly into my shoulder. We’d been snuggling on his bed ever since.

“It’s especially important that we celebrate your birthday this year,” I said in a firm voice.

“Why?”

“Well, it’s one more opportunity to be grateful that you’re still here with me. You’re still alive, sweetheart. You’ve fought so hard for so long.” I swallowed a lump forming in my throat before continuing. “Don’t give up on me now, Kirby.”

“Hope, do you think my mom is going to miss me when I’m gone?” His voice sounded small and unsure.

I silently cursed his mother. I’d suspected he was more upset by her pathetic attempts at parenting than he’d let on.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

“You’re right. I still need to visit Disneyland.” He sounded more upbeat this time, more like himself.

“And I need to let you rest.” I moved to lay his head on the pillow, but Kirby clutched at my arms.

“Can you just stay with me for a little bit? I don’t want to fall asleep without you.” His large brown eyes looked sad and defeated.

“Of course I can. I’ll even tuck you into bed.”

I set about covering his tiny frame with his white, hospital blanket. I tucked both edges under either side of him, and then sat down, rubbing his arms softly as his eyelids reluctantly lowered. Within minutes he was fast asleep.

I sat there and watched him, wondering at the unfairness of such a sweet young boy being given such a debilitating disease. Bad things happen to good people. My father reminded me of this almost daily. It builds character, makes us grow.

One thing was certain. If I’d been God, I think I would’ve come to the conclusion long ago that Kirby’s character and maturity had been tested long enough. It was time for him to be whole.

I was frustrated that his life force allowed me to help heal his infection, but it wouldn’t allow me to heal his leukemia. On an impulse I put my hands on either side of his head and connected with him. I sensed the overwhelming amount of mutated white blood cells being produced within the bone marrow and tried to show his life force how to relay the appropriate signals that would prevent his body from producing so many white blood cells.

I received no response. I tried again and still nothing happened.

My frustration was building. I decided to attack it from a different angle. Instead of sending instructions to slow down the white blood count production, I wanted to show his life force how to heal the mutated white blood cells from the inside out. The images I sent were detailed and vivid. I wanted to make sure my intentions, rather, my demands at this point, were being understood.

My desperation would’ve been hard to miss and might have had an effect on an entity capable of feeling compassion, but a life force wasn’t concerned with a person’s wants. It was solely concerned with what was meant to be. I knew this. I already knew
all
of this. For reasons beyond my ability to understand, Kirby’s time on this earth would be coming to an end very shortly, and there was nothing I could do about it.

Still, I tried, and I waited.

And nothing happened.

This whole scenario was unacceptable. I was no longer willing to sit there and let unseen forces dictate to me who I could and couldn’t save. Taking a deep breath, I tuned out all of the hospital noises, the monitors, the occasional intercom messages, the traffic of nurses and doctors just outside the doors, and focused on the sounds of Kirby’s heartbeat, his easy breathing, and the pumping of blood throughout his system. If his life force wouldn’t relay my instructions, then I’d do it myself.

Instead of communicating with Kirby’s spirit, I tried sending messages directly to the mutated, white blood cells. I was mentally jerked backwards as my mind hit an invisible wall. The impact was so jarring, I actually felt pressure build inside my head.

Instead of conceding defeat, I became even more determined to succeed. My anger and desperation fueled me forward, and I pushed against the unknown obstacle before me. The more mental power I threw at it the more it wavered, and the more my head felt ready to explode. I thrust my will forward, looking for any weakness, any opening. I wasn’t sure how long I’d be able to continue this particular course of action. My mind was feeling a bit combustible, for lack of a better word. I worried I might pass out. To my relief, the wall started thinning out and became more pliable. Pushing against it now felt like pushing against the plastic wrap on bottled water cases.

I continued my efforts, barely noticing the sweat dripping down the sides of my temples or the way my body shook. After several seconds of literally forcing my mental energy through the weakening barrier, I broke through with an abrupt snap. The snapping noise vibrated through every inch of my body, but the pressure in my head immediately ceased. Though my breathing was shaky and uneven, I wasn’t about to give up now. After getting past that mysterious barrier, I focused all of my mental energy on convincing Kirby’s mutated blood cells to heal from within. I waited.