Healing and Dealing

Karma had forsaken her.

           The thought echoed in her head as she paced across the living room, certain that the carpet would soon dissolve beneath her. She wanted to think Drs. Parkins and Bellinger quacks; or that both of them, or both of their labs, had happened to slip up on the same patient. But logic wouldn’t allow it. She had no options, no treatments, no hope of seeing the next year.

           Unless…

           It seemed a long shot, at best, but even the dingiest house looked like home amid an otherwise-empty wasteland.

Eddie had explained how things worked when he’d hired her. He approached her at the mall and asked whether she had children. Thinking it a strange question, she didn’t answer at first, but he assured her that he’d asked for good reason, and she said no. He asked whether she wanted children. Again, she questioned him, he insisted, and she said no. Seeming pleased, he explained that he’d approached her because she had “potential”—potential that only he and very few others could see—and told her that he had a job for her. Though skeptical, she figured that it wouldn’t hurt to hear him out, so she followed him to one of the food court’s tables, where he informed her of the nature of his work: the impossible. Some people, he said, had abilities beyond what most thought lay within human capability. In their hands, wounds closed; bones mended; viruses and bacteria and cancers vanished as if they’d never existed at all.

           Of course, Julianna found this hard, if not impossible, to believe. He then reached into the pocket of his slacks, withdrew a pocket knife, and sliced his arm. She cried out as the blood expanded, certain that she’d attracted not only a loony, but a danger to himself. He told her to calm down and explained a procedure that he said would fix it. She still didn’t believe him, but desperate, she followed his instructions. The blood converged, then disappeared; the wound’s edges rejoined and melded, leaving not so much as a hair’s-width reminder of its existence. She stared at him, eyes bulging, jaw nearly resting on the table. How did she do that? she asked. Eddie didn’t know; he couldn’t explain it scientifically, or logically. But she’d seen the proof, so, unless she wanted to think herself, too, mad, which she didn’t, she had to believe him.

           He explained his offer. Clients would pay him; he would pay her. He drew said clients by word of mouth, and, though he had other employees, she wouldn’t meet any of them, for “security reasons,” meaning, he said in a whisper, “big brother.” She told him that she’d need to think about it. He handed her his card and told her to call when ready. Before he left, she asked him, Why the inquiries regarding children?

           Children were sponges, he said, even more so in regards to abilities like these. Once a healer had a child, their power would migrate, leaving them barren. He also mentioned that healers couldn’t heal other healers—the claim that troubled her today. She didn’t think that he had reason to lie about that. But she didn’t know, and thought even a miniscule chance better than no chance at all. She just needed a plan.

           She made one.

*         *         *

           She entered his office, a glass cube that allowed inhabitants to see out but offered passersby only their own reflections. She found him at his cherry wood desk in the lobby, trying to squeeze the last dregs of glue from its bottle and onto a paper before him. Upon seeing her, he abandoned his task, jumped to his feet, and approached, footsteps clacking on the white marble floor. “Hey, Julianna. What can I do for you?”

           She forced a breath into lungs as stiff as a painter’s canvas. “I was hoping for a little motivation.”

           He squinted at her.

           “I mean, I wanna feel good about what I’m doing, but it’s hard sometimes. I was hoping, maybe, you could get me a list of all the people I’ve helped?”

           The creases beside his lips deepened. “That’s gonna take a minute.”

           Perfect.

           “I’ll wait.”

           He headed to the back office, and she plunged into action. Heart thumping like a license plate stamper, she strode to the desk. Careful not to make even the slightest creak, she opened the top drawer and withdrew the object of her search: a brown leather ledger. After a peek over her shoulder, she opened it and flipped the pages until she found the staff list. She slipped her phone out of her purse and, on mute, photographed its entirety. She stuffed the ledger back into the drawer, closed it, and returned to her spot in time for Eddie to emerge with the list she’d requested.

           One step down.

           Tons more to go.

*         *         *

           Phone in hand, displaying the photo she’d taken of the ledger, she opened her laptop, summoned Google, and started typing. The first name brought something unexpected: The man, though only twenty-seven, had died three years ago. A chill washed over her, but she shook it off.

           The second name yielded a similar story: twenty-eight years old. Deceased, six months ago. She felt as if she’d stuck her fingers into sewage.

           The third name, too, produced an obituary. This one had been forty-three—not young like the other two, but too young, nonetheless. Her heartbeat quickened to a Mozart-worthy pace, her every cell trembling. She glanced at the phone and then back at the computer screen. Nausea rolled her stomach. It didn’t make sense, she thought—or, rather, she didn’t want it to.

           But she had no choice. She had to know the truth. She considered trying to find loved ones of the deceased, to ask them about the circumstances surrounding their deaths. But that would prove difficult, so, first, she’d try a few more names.

           She typed in the next.

           Bingo.

           Twenty-eight-year-old Trista Fairfield lived about thirty minutes away.

*         *         *

           She reached her destination, a ranch sporting chipped white siding and purple shutters. She sensed that the grass jungle separating it from the street had gotten that way due not to indifference, but to desire to let it to run wild and free. She parked at the curb, left the car, and headed to the porch. Taking as deep a breath as her lungs allowed, she pushed the doorbell.

           Footsteps. The door opened, revealing a young woman whom she may once have found beautiful but now sported sunken eyes, hollow cheeks, hair like straw, and skin as pale as a lye.

           “Trista Fairfield?”

           “That’s me…” Her brows furrowed. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?”

           “No. But you work for Eddie. So do I.” She extended a hand. “Julianna Maitland.”

Understandably warily, Trista shook.

“I…I need to ask a favor.”

           She half-expected Trista to slam the door in her face; who in their right mind would entertain the request of a stranger? But, instead, Trista invited her inside, into a living room where, at Trista’s invitation, she took a seat on one of the corduroy couches sagging beneath terry throw blankets. Closing the door, Trista offered food and drink. She declined.  

Trista took a seat on the other sofa and asked, “What’s up?”

           Steeling her shoulders, Julianna explained her diagnosis. Trista’s face crumpled; sadness, but also something else, something she liked even less, tinged her expression. When she’d finished, Trista didn’t speak for what seemed a very long time. Finally, she said, ‘Eddie must’ve told you I can’t help you. Healers—“

           “Can’t help other healers. I know. I just…I’m desperate. Can we try?”

           Trista shifted; Julianna sensed something nudging her, not knowing whether it wanted to stay in or move out. Julianna had a feeling that she’d prefer the former. However, she knew better to think that she could afford to let that happen.

           “What’s wrong?” she asked.

           “It’s just…weird this’d happen to you. I’m going through the same thing—eight months, they told me, if that.”

           Her jaw nearly hit her chest. No. Not possible. The odds seemed astronomical; the conclusion, more horrible than any she could’ve imagined.

When finally able to speak, she told Trista what she’d found online. Though she hadn’t thought it possible, Trista grew even paler. “Oh my God,” she said. “Are you serious?”

           “I wish I wasn’t.”

           Trista stared at her as if hoping that she’d recant, that she’d declare all of this a sick joke. Then, her expression hardened, and she said, “We’ve gotta talk to Eddie.”

           She cringed, sure that that would accomplish as much as trying to pull a stray thread from a sweater; the longer they’d try, the more the garment would unravel.  

           Then again, what did they have to lose? Did they want to go to their graves ignorant, or at least have the closure of knowing the truth?

           Without a word, they rose and headed for the door.

*         *         *

           She wriggled in one of the leather chairs facing Eddie’s desk, feeling as if he’d cranked the thermostat to a hundred degrees. Trista sat beside her, liable to shatter at any moment. Eddie perched like a king in his seat, hands folded on the desk, expression looking as if carved in granite. Finally, he asked, “What’s going on?”

           She told him what she’d found on the internet, and what she and Trista had shared. His face went so pale that she could nearly see the blood pulsing through his veins. After a long silence, he said, “You know, ladies, nothing comes without a cost.”

           Though she’d known as much, it hit her like a battering ram. She took a moment to catch her breath as Trista demanded, “What’d you do to us, Eddie?”

           “I didn’t do anything.” He sighed. “Didn’t you ever stop to think that you’re putting out something here—That it has to come from somewhere?”

           Julianna shook her head. “You didn’t tell us—“

           “Because I know how people are. I know you wouldn’t’ve agreed to it if it meant consequences for you.” He shook his head. “I’m just trying to help the most people possible—for every one of you who sacrifices, dozens of lives are saved. I’m sorry it has to be this way, but please, for the good of everyone, keep this between us.”

           She stared at him, wanting to say something, feeling like she had to say something, but not knowing how to articulate it. Not knowing that it would do any good if she did.

           Trista, too, looked conflicted but rose. Julianna followed suit, and they headed for the entrance. Eddie called after them, again asking them not to tell anyone. They didn’t answer—They just kept walking, to and through the door, striding into sunshine made warmer by the knowledge that they wouldn’t get to enjoy it much longer.