The Healer: A Young Adult Romantic Fantasy (The Healer Series Book 1) (3 page)

My confusion grew at the mention of my mother.

Sarah, I don’t understand what you’re talking about. What do you know about my mother?

I’d always blamed myself for my mother’s death, but no one other than my father knew anything about that.

You grow more powerful every day,
she continued
. You’ll have the answers you’re looking for. Now please, Hope. Let me go
.

The feeling became more urgent. I nodded and tried to ignore my own heartbreak. Salty tears traveled slowly down my stricken face. I released Sarah’s head and broke off the connection between us. The hospital monitor beeped slow and deliberate. I watched as Sarah’s heartbeats grew fewer and farther between until nothing remained but one long, uninterrupted line.

* * *

I sat in the hallway outside the intensive care unit thinking how unusual it had been to actually talk with Sarah. I had no idea what it meant or how it was possible. The life force of a person was more of a conduit to the human subconscious. It was always aware of what was happening within the body and would send me images of exactly what was wrong and what needed to be fixed. I could usually feel a person’s pain, but beyond that, there was no other connection that would’ve led to a two-way conversation.

Deep in thought, I didn’t realize my father had sat down next to me until I felt him wrap an arm around my shoulder. I only hoped my eyes weren’t too puffy. I knew he’d worry and tell me I should quit my job at the hospital or something equally ridiculous.

“I’m so sorry, Hope,” he said as he eased back in his seat and rested his head on the wall. “I really wanted to spare you the heartache.”

“I know, but I’m glad I did it. Something different happened this time.” I kept my voice lowered.

“What? What do you mean?” He sat up and leaned forward.

“I mean, Sarah’s life force actually spoke to me.”

I saw the shock spread across his face. My dad may not have understood exactly how I managed the things that I did, but even
he
knew how unusual that kind of communication was.

He looked around carefully and whispered, “You better not tell me about this right now. Why don’t you get home and get dinner started, and I’ll be home in about an hour. We can talk about what this might mean then.”

For some reason I had this crazy desire to continue talking about my powers as loudly as I possibly could. Keeping everything a secret had always been difficult, but right now it felt stifling. I wanted to talk about who I was and what I could do without constantly looking over my shoulder.

I knew anonymity was a frustrating must when it came to the amazing miracles that occasionally happened at the hospital. I understood that, but my father wanted me to remain anonymous in almost every way imaginable. I couldn’t have a Facebook, Twitter or email account. I couldn’t blog, and I was barely allowed a cell phone. He didn’t want any of my personal information on the Internet.

A year ago, I’d gone online to search for a copy of my birth certificate so I could get my driver’s license, and I couldn’t find anything. I mentioned it to my father and he told me he’d take care of it. Eventually he did, but it felt like we were hiding from someone specific instead of the whole world in general. It still felt that way.

“Do you want lasagna or meatloaf?” I asked a little louder.

“Lasagna will be fine. Be sure to go straight home, Hope. It’s already dark out.”

“Dad, we live two blocks away. It’ll be fine.”

Sometimes my father’s overprotective nature felt like incessant nagging. He just smiled at me and shook his head. I turned away and walked down the hall toward the elevators.

I waited for the dilapidated machinery to make its way to the second floor. The elevator and I had a love-hate relationship. I hated that it made me wait longer than was necessary, and I was convinced it loved making me wait.

I had plenty of time standing there to think about Sarah again. Not only was I confused about the strange way in which I was able to communicate with her, but the remarks she’d made about my mother left me feeling unsettled and anxious.

I wasn’t sure at what exact moment I’d decided to go visit Kirby, but I found myself getting off the shaky elevator onto the third floor and hanging a right toward the children’s cancer wing.

Turning into the first room on the left, I found Kirby lying on his bed reading
The Maze Runner
. His level of reading was exceptional for a boy his age. His vocabulary wasn’t half bad either. He immediately dropped his book on the bed as soon as I entered the room.

“I was wondering if you’d get a chance to visit me today,” he said, smiling brightly.

“That desperate for entertainment are we?” I gave him a big grin and sat down on the bed next to him. He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed tight. I hugged him back, sensing there was something bothering him.

“The TV’s boring, and I’ve read all of these books at least ten times. The most exciting thing that’s happened to me all day was the card I got in the mail from my mom.”

Ah ha. His mother was definitely a sore spot for him.

“You’re kidding!” My eyebrows rose in disbelief. “She sent you a card?”

“I kid you not. I even saved it just in case you came by so we could both share a moment of silence to commemorate this rare, almost nonexistent occasion.” He slowly reached under his mattress, creating a moment of unbearable suspense before unveiling the object of interest. “Pause for dramatic effect and voila!” he said as he produced the card and proceeded to open it with an equally dramatic flourish.

I chuckled softly.

“The card reads, and I quote, ‘Dear son, so sorry I missed our little visit last week. Busy making millions. Please let me know if anything changes. Warmest wishes. Sincerely, your loving and devoted mother, Sylvia. P.S. Please tell Nanny May to go buy you whatever your heart desires for your birthday this year.’”

“Oh, Kirby! I can’t believe that woman isn’t even going to be here for your birthday! She is absolutely unbelievable.”

“And yet, so predictable. I kind of like knowing where I stand with that pariah. Wouldn’t you?”

Kirby’s smile was infectious, but I could see the hurt in his eyes despite how brave he was trying to be.

Sylvia Herrington was a successful actress who’d never had much time for Kirby to begin with, but pulled away from him entirely when he was diagnosed with leukemia two years ago. When I’d first met Kirby, I found him to be wary and distant, unwilling to trust anyone or let anyone in. I’d also sensed his pain and heartbreak as if it were my own, and continued to visit him daily, reading to him some of his favorite books and short stories.

Kirby’s tastes in literature were pretty surprising for a ten-year-old. He loved
Tom Sawyer
and
The Chronicles of Narnia
but his favorite book was
Treasure Island
. He eventually began to thaw toward me, and within a couple of weeks we were good friends. My desire to heal him was inevitable, but I knew from the beginning I’d never be able to do so. It didn’t stop me from attempting to heal his broken heart, however. At least in that I felt like I’d been somewhat successful.

Kirby had grown up very independent for such a young child. I was sure he had to with a mother like Sylvia. His sweet brown eyes may have held pain, but they also held maturity and a surprisingly positive outlook on life even though he didn’t have much of it left to live.

“Something’s wrong, Hope,” he said.

I was always surprised by how perceptive he was. He read my moods as well as my own father.

“It’s nothing,” I said. “I think I’m just tired and overloaded with homework from all of my antisocial school teachers.” He shook his head and grabbed my hand.

“You don’t get to do that you know. It’s me.” He held my hand in his frail tiny fist. His gaze locked with mine and he gave me an encouraging smile. “It’s just me.”

His skin was paper thin and translucent. The tiny bones in his hand felt fragile in mine. I held it gently, afraid to break him.

“My father called me in to help with Eve. She’d been in a car accident.”

“You couldn’t save her?” he asked in a small voice. Kirby wasn’t as close to Eve as I was. Barely knew her, really, but he knew how upset I got when I failed to heal someone.

Telling Kirby about my healing capabilities had been unintentional. The first time I’d ever tried to heal him was about a week after I’d begun visiting him. It was late at night and he was sleeping, or so I thought. I’d sat down next to him on the bed, connected with his life force, and decided to ease his pain since there was nothing more that I could do. His joints were aching, and his stomach was upset from the chemotherapy he’d received earlier that day.

The minute I’d finished, Kirby’s dark brown eyes opened slowly, and the smile he’d given me seemed to light the darkness of his hospital room. He wanted to know how I’d been able to make him feel so much better, and for some reason I decided to tell him. It was the first time in my life I’d ever discussed my gift with anyone other than my father. I’d never even told my best friend, Angie, about it, and she was the first person I’d ever healed. She was the reason I knew about my abilities in the first place. I’d told Kirby, though, and had felt good doing it.

“No, I was able to save her. I just couldn’t save Sarah,” I said ruefully.

Kirby grabbed my other hand and made me look at him.

“The mayor’s office aid?” I nodded.

“I know you feel responsible, but there was nothing you could do. You know this. When it’s a person’s time to go you can’t save them.” He spoke quietly now, knowing that no one else should hear this conversation.

“There are so many good and wonderful people in this world that deserve to live. They deserve to stay.” I lowered my eyes and whispered,

“You deserve to stay.”

“This is really about me, isn’t it?” he asked.

I bit my lip, struggling to choke back so many unwanted emotions.

“Hope, you’ve been trying to heal me at least three times a week for a while now, and it simply isn’t meant to be. There must be a reason for it. Instead of fighting it, just be happy that you got the chance to try. Being told no doesn’t have to be so sad. Dying doesn’t have to be so final.” Kirby shrugged his shoulders. “I’m simply moving on to the next phase of my journey a little earlier than most people do.”

“First of all, what ten-year-old talks about his death as if he were Gandhi or Obi Wan Kenobi, and who says I have to sit back and accept it?” Tears began their slow descent down my cheeks.

He pulled my hands to either side of his face. His eyes were filled with love and concern.

Concern for me.

He was dying from leukemia, and instead of feeling sorry for himself he was trying to console me.

Typical Kirby
, I thought.

“Check again, and tell me whether or not you can heal me.” He closed his eyes and waited for me to try.

I breathed in deeply to steady my emotions and reached out for

Kirby’s life force. It wasn’t hard to find. Connecting to it was even easier, but I knew the answer even before I saw it. Abnormal blood cells were deep in the bone marrow and multiplying at a rate that not even chemo or a bone marrow transplant could prevent.

Kirby was supposed to die.

“Well?” he whispered as I continued to go through all the images his life force was willing to show me.

“I can’t.” I could barely get the words out. They felt awful passing through my lips.

“Then stop blaming yourself, and start accepting what is.” He brought his hands up to cover mine. “I’m not afraid to die, big sister. Plus, I‘m totally jazzed to meet Elvis when I get to the other side.” His smile was bright and contagious.

I focused again as I sensed more of his emotions.

“Kirby, you’re in pain. Why didn’t you tell me it was so bad when I came in?”

“You’re tired. It’s just my joints acting up again. All the doctors have pretty much given up on chemo. You can help me some other night.”

I shook my head stubbornly. “No, just relax, and I’ll take care of this so you can sleep tonight.”

“Hope, you’re tired,” Kirby repeated as he tried to push my hands away. “You’ve had to do this several times already. How will you ever be able to walk home?” He looked out the window and narrowed his eyes. “The fog is starting to roll in thick.”

We lived in a small city along the northern coast of California called Eureka. It was beautiful country. You had the ocean to the left and redwoods to the right. The only downside this far north was the weather. It was either chilly or freezing, and it rained all the time. The fog wasn’t my favorite either. Driving in the fog at night was a pain, but I wasn’t worried about walking in it.

“I’ll manage.” I closed my eyes and began the process of easing

Kirby’s pain before he could voice another protest. I could sense his body relaxing, so I slowly lowered him back on his bed and pulled the covers over him.

“Thanks, big sis,” he said gratefully. He reached for my hand as his eyelids closed.