The Awakening (7 page)

             
Abby had to physically restrain herself from jumping up and down and shouting.  She wanted to see Ben right then, to throw her arms around him and hug him and shout that it was a miracle, that somehow, some possible way, he had been healed.

             
Unfortunately, due to having had his skull cracked open, Ben wasn't in any shape to be thrown around and hugged at all.  Abby told the nurse she was heading back to her apartment and would be back in a few hours when Ben was up for visitors.

             
The cab ride was the fastest she had ever experienced, and she quickly threw together a small bag of things to do while she waited for Ben to recover.  Being out of the woods, she knew he would want her to get rest and stay home, but Abby couldn't do that, not until she saw him and confirmed that all was well.

             
She decided to drive her car this time, and threw her bag on the seat of the small vehicle.  As an afterthought, she dialed up Mark, but was unsurprised to hear it go to his voicemail.  “He's fine,” she blabbed as she sped off down the street at break-neck speed.  “The doctors are stumped, but that's not important.  You were right, and I don't even... I don't even know what to say, except thanks for keeping me sane for those horrible few hours.  I'll see you on Monday, talk soon.”

             
Abby hit end call, threw her phone into her purse and made it to the hospital in record time.  Ben was in transition from recovery to his own private room, so Abby choked down some horrendous hospital cafeteria food until Ben was ready for visitors.

             
He'd been moved up to the top floor, and when she walked in the room, the rather large windows overlooking the city, were slightly above the fog, and she could see the rain falling down below into the milky whiteness of the wet, sea air.

             
Ben was lying in a bed, his head bandaged, hooked up to monitors and machines, and a small tube was slowly pressing oxygen into his nose.  He groaned a little as she took the chair next to her, and one eye squinted open.

             
“Abby,” he croaked, his throat raw. 

             
“How are you feeling?” she asked quietly.

             
“Like I was run over by a car,” Ben said.

             
“The doctor said that your recovery shouldn't take any time at all,” she said, bursting to tell him the good news, but wanting to wait for the doctor, and for Ben to be a little more coherent.  “Hopefully you won't have to be in here long.”

             
“Mmm,” he said by way of response, and his eye fluttered closed again.

             
It didn’t matter that he wasn’t awake to see her and share in the immediate joy.  All that mattered was he was okay, she wasn’t about to lose her brother, and all felt right with the world.

Chapter
Eight

              Hours passed before the medication started to wear off and Ben became a little more aware of his surroundings.  When the nurse came in for his medication, she gave him something that didn't make him as groggy as before.

             
She helped him sit up a little in the bed, taking care to keep his head still and secure, but eventually he was able to look around a little, even if it was excruciating.  He saw Abby was still next to the bed, her bare feet propped up on the mattress, and she was pouring over a few textbooks she had procured from the church's library.

             
“Nerd,” he muttered to her.

             
Abby snapped the book shut and glared.  “Jealous that my intellect far surpasses your own? You might even have brain damage from the surgery, Ben.  I mean think about that, really.”

             
“You making a joke means I know everything went well, and I'll always be smarter than you, brain tumor or no.”

             
Abby’s face screwed up with the look she always got when she was holding in a secret, and she leaned forward, grabbing his hand.  “That would be the 'or no' option.  I spoke with the doctor and whatever was in your head, Ben, is gone.”

             
Ben blinked a few times, his dark brows knitted in confusion.  “Are they sure?”

             
“Benjamin, they were in your brain, with scalpels and everything.  Of course they're sure.  The doctor said he took a few tissue samples to send to the lab, but as far as he could tell, there's nothing wrong.”

             
“That's not possible,” Ben said.  “I mean, I was having seizures, visual disturbances.  Hell, even after this whole weird thing my vision is different.”

             
“Different how?” Abby pressed.

             
“I guess I noticed it after the church incident,” Ben muttered offhand, mostly to himself.  “I got home and my eyes were all fuzzy and odd, and when I took my glasses off, everything was fine.  It's like, it's like the tumor corrected my vision.”

             
“There is no tumor,” Abby reminded him.  “And what church incident?”

             
Ben rolled his eyes and grimaced at his pain.  “Oh just some whacko at Grace Chapel the other day.  Some homeless guy went crazy and threw some dude across the church.  I tried to help the guy get out, he was bleeding all over the place, and suddenly my head sort of went into a spin.  I thought I was having another seizure or something, and my vision went all white and my ears were ringing.  Next thing I knew... this,” Ben said, groggily waving his hand at his eyes. 

             
Abby was staring at him, her brown eyes as wide as they could possibly get, her mouth half-open.  “Oh my god,” she breathed.

             
“Oh no, no don't,” Ben said.  “It's not some weird churchy thing Abby.”

             
“No Ben, I'm serious!” Abby nearly shrieked.  She ruffled through her bag furiously, coming out with a scrapbook and turned it to a page where she'd pasted the article about the homeless man with Stigmata.  “Look!” she said and shoved the page in Ben's face.

             
He squinted at it, waving her away and groaning.  “Abby, for fuck's sake, please don't do this right now.  I just had my damn head cracked open and my brain prodded with needles and scalpels.”

             
“I'm not being crazy, Ben!  The homeless man suffered from Stigmata, the wounds of Christ!  It's been known to happen to people all over the world, and has been associated with miracle healings all throughout history.  I'm not being crazy!”

             
“Yes,” he insisted, “you are!  I don't believe in any of that crap, Abby, and my head was just cut open and they took out pieces of my brain, so I'm really not in the mood for this, okay?”

             
Abby snapped the book shut and shoved it back into her bag angrily.  “We're going to discuss this when you're feeling better, because this is an honest to God healing, Ben.  That man was there for a purpose, and that purpose was probably to heal you!”

             
Ben turned his head to the side and closed his eyes.  “Please, not now.”

             
Abby reined it in almost immediately.  Ben knew his sister loved him, and the moment she realized that he was in pain, when she remembered everything he’d gone through, she would back off.

             
She crossed her arms and sat back, her face relaxing into an expression of surrender.  Ben was able to breathe evenly again, his eyes closing as the drugs started to take effect.  As he dozed, he heard her rustle around in her bag and he was lulled to sleep by the sound of turning pages in a book.

Chapter
Nine

              Mark wasn't awake when the frantic knocking on his door sounded through the small apartment the next morning.  He'd been up late, doing some studying on some of the Church's older texts, and hadn't gone to sleep until well after midnight.

             
Groaning, Mark got up from the bed, having no time for his contacts, grabbed his pair of dark glasses he used as 'emergency shades' and crammed them on his face.  He walked to the door, opened it, and tried to look as though he didn't realize it was Abby.

             
“Yes?”

             
“It's me, hi,” Abby said, her voice breathy and excited.  “Oh no, I woke you.  I'm so sorry.”

             
Mark stifled a yawn and gestured inside; making sure his robe was securely wrapped around his midsection.  “It's okay.  Come in, how is your brother?”

             
“He's good,” she said, sweeping past him and making herself immediately at home in his kitchen.  Abby started a pot of coffee, which Mark was grateful for, and she spoke rapidly as she pulled mugs down from the cupboard.  “The surgery went well, and... and Mark, you were right!  You were so right.  They didn't find anything!”

             
Mark smiled as he sat down at his little counter and clasped his hands in front of him.  “Is he feeling okay?”

             
“He's hurting.  I mean, they cut into his brain, so he doesn't feel great, but I think he's pretty damn relieved to know he's not dying.”

             
Abby pressed the handle of the mug against Mark's knuckles and grabbed her own cup of hot, black, sweet coffee and sat down next to him.  She took a long drink, watching him gingerly sip on his own, and she let out a breath.

             
“I need you to come and see him.”

             
Mark turned his face towards her, his eyebrows knitted downwards in a deep frown.  “Why, if I may ask?”

             
“Remember that article I told you about?  The one at Grace Chapel where that homeless guy suffered stigmata wounds?”

             
“Yes, I remember,” Mark said slowly. 

             
“Ben was there,” she said slowly, her voice trembling a little.  “Ben touched that man, the homeless man.  He said that there was this flash of light, or something, and then when he went home, his eyesight had gotten better!  It's just... it can't be a coincidence.”

             
“Flash of light, you say?” Mark asked.  There was a bubble of anticipation and excitement rising in his gut, something he hadn't felt in a century and he had to keep his hands from shaking.  He gripped the coffee mug and tried to appear focused.

             
“Something like that, I mean, he was really drugged up when he told me about it.  He thinks I'm nuts, and honestly if I bring you in to talk about religious miracles, he might kill me, but... but you're the only one I know with any knowledge on these sorts of things, and I think maybe if you talk to him...” Abby’s rambling trailed off and she brushed a strand of hair impatiently out of her eyes.  “You just have a way about you, Mark.  I think he might be open to talking to you.”

             
This was the longest Mark had ever been able to actually look at Abby, and he found her bright, wide, brown eyes honest.  The very idea that she may have a possible connection to his lost companion sent his brain into overdrive, and he had to reign in his desire to take her hostage and use her to demand the homeless man’s location.

             
“Alright.  When do you think he'll be well enough to speak with me?” Mark finally answered.

             
Abby brightened with glee.  “Tomorrow, I expect!  I won't tell him, if I do he'll just ban me from his recovery room.  I'll call you tomorrow morning and I'll pick you up!”

When Abby left, Mark bolted his door, took off his glasses and sat down on the sofa.
  His trembling hands rubbed his eyes, trailing down his cheeks and cupped his chin as he rested his elbows on his knees.

Mark was daring himself to hope, letting
himself have that little bit, and it frightened him.  It had been so long, so damn long since he’d caught Yehuda’s spark of life and truth be told, he could feel something brewing somewhere out in the distance.  Something dangerous, something frightening, because things just weren’t the same anymore.  Mark had never felt such a pressing need to find his companion before, not even when Yehuda had been lost for hundreds of years.

Mark rose and started to pace.  He kept his eyes closed, trying to think, to reason and plan as he shuffled across the small area in front of his window.  With
his eyes closed he could feel the warmth of the sun’s rays as they shone through the window, the cold spots on the floor where the shadows fell, and it gave him something to focus on as his mind whirred and stomach flip-flopped with anticipation.

He couldn’t speed up time, nor could he force Abby’s brother to talk sooner than he was ready, but it
was the first time he had a real clue, some real evidence that he was, indeed, closer to finding Yehuda and closer to escaping to safety.