The Remedy

Sensitive content; illness and disease.

The heat of the fireplace felt like it had doubled from where I sat in a velvet vintage armchair, the right side of my face flaming with heat - and I admit, nerves. In addition to the heat, my body felt shaky and damp. I was sitting across from the man I had always feared, admired. He had peppery hair, a nicely groomed beard, bushy eyebrows, a finely lined face and intelligent eyes. The sort of eyes that could look through you as easily as looking through glass. He now looked at me, his eyes held mine with gentle intensity. I gulped.

"Dr. Hazelwoo-," I began, desperation leaking through my voice.

"You've come to ask something of me, haven't you, Miss Hale?" Dr. Hazelwood inquired, his tone low, curious, almost amused.

"Errrr..." I stalled, my voice seemed to fail me. I swallowed and drove the word out of my mouth. "Yes."

"And what is it you ask of me, Miss Hale?" Dr. Hazelwood asked, leaning forward in his armchair, his hands peaked into a mountain on his knees.

My breath caught, a lump bulged in my throat, tears threatening to sprout. Emotions suddenly rolled through me at the question that would bring out the painful truth. The question would reveal the fact that my twin sister lay at home, in our cottage in the woods, suffering through a severe stroke while I had left and fractically knocked on Dr. Hazelwood's door at 2 in the morning. My twin's stroke had come abruptly, as she was in her room getting ready for bed. I had heard the thump of her body hitting the stone floor from mine. I had never felt so lost, so hopeless as I had tried to shake her awake.

"How do you know my name?" I demanded instead, momentarily forgetting my worries. I hastily ran a hand over my cheek, checking for tears.

"You've made quite the name for yourself in this town, Miss Hale. You've helped so many, along with your twin sister," Dr. Hazelwood explained, a hint of emotion in his voice.

I couldn't discern it, especially since the mention of my beautiful sister felt like a wrecking ball had rammed itself into my chest. I couldn't hold it in any longer. I burst into tears.

"She's only 46, Dr. Hazelwood, 46!" I cried through heavy sobs, slipping off the armchair and onto my knees.

"I know." His response sent a shock through my limbs. I looked up and found his eyes filled with grief and empathy.

"How did you know?" I whispered, my chest constricting with soundless wails, my vision blurred.

Dr. Hazelwood chuckled softly. It should've enraged me in this situation, but instead it calmed me. "Did you really expect a man like me not to have a knowing in such a matter?" He asked delicately.

I chuckled feebly.

"It is why you came to me in the first place, isn't it? You knew I could help. I have a gift, Miss Hale. You of all people should know, you're gifted as well. You can feel more energy than most do, you have a strong gut instinct and a strong heart. And don't get frustrated because you didn't become aware of your sister's condition earlier. You must understand that the mind is so fear-oriented that it has the power to push away any feelings that will benefit yourself and others. Your feelings gave your sister's condition away to your mind and it immediately shut the feeling down out of mere fear and denial. Until it already happened. But there's still time to help your sister, there's always time."

I clutched my hands to my chest and blew out a shaky breath. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet, Miss Hale, we still have a lot of work to do. Quickly now, come along, let's not waste any time," Dr. Hazelwood urged, taking my hand in his and pulling me to my shaky feet. He led me out of the sitting room and through a door to the left of the mantel. It was a room which I presumed was his office. It was very old fashioned; dark wooden floors and walls, a massive bookshelf that occupied the opposite wall with a mahogany desk that sat in front of it, a arrangment of fine leather seating with a coffee table dividing the space between leisure and business. Elegant cabinets and drawers lined the wall on the right with portraits and paintings adorning the space above, illuminated by the moon that shone through the French doors in the left wall. They provided a glimpse into the vast expanse of exquisite gardens through which I had run to knock on Dr. Hazelwood's door. I looked back at the wall where the door to the sitting room was and took in the minimalistic decoration.

Without stopping once, Dr. Hazelwood dragged me past the furniture and to a door which I hadn't noticed before. It hid in the shadows of the corner to the right of the bookshelf, designed to be discreet. From the outside it looked like a plain wall, but my perseptive eye caught the faint lines that ran down the edges of the door, and the tiny hole the right of the edge that I assumed was the keyhole. We stopped in front of it and Dr. Hazelwood drew a small, intricate key from his waistcoat pocket and promptly inserted it into the keyhole and twisted. The door popped open, revealing a dark space, stone steps leading down into the unknown. Not letting go of my hand, Dr. Hazelwood marched us down the steps in the dark. He seemed to know the slope and width of the steps like the back of his hand, skipping down them like he didn't have a care in the world. Whereas I, I stumbled down, step after step, dragging behind, Dr. Hazelwood was now far below.

While I still hurriedly fell down the stairs, I glanced up to see a warm yellow light flicker on, illuminating a cave-like space, cluttered with shelves and cabinets, chock-a-block full with tintures, salves, elixirs, potions and creams of every sort possible. The remainder of the shelves contained old, worn books, countless notebooks and journals. The cabinets, I noticed as I finally stepped into the light, were filled with utensils such as bowls, flasks of every possible type, mixing tools, burners and pipettes. This room was clearly in the "basement" realm of the manor; there was a small, grimy window straight opposite of the stairs, that barely let any light in.

I stepped forward toward the large wooden table that occupied the centre of the space, where Dr. Hazelwood was already fussing about with his utensils and numerous potion bottles.

"How can I help?" I asked frantically, wringing my hands.

"Hold this, Miss Hale," Dr. Hazelwood instructed, handing me a small bottle that was filled with a hazy blue substance. "Uncorked it when I tell you to and then tip it into here." He pointed to a small pot that was patiently sitting on the flame of the burner it was sitting on. I wish I was that patient.

I took the bottle from Dr. Hazelwood and got ready to oncork it, while he measured and squeezed several drops of tinctures into the pot, nimble hands steady. Dr. Hazelwood indicated for me to pour the contents of the bottle into the pot. My hands shook as I dumped the liquid in. The both of us stood and watched as the mixture turned into a murky green, steaming slightly.

After several minutes of restless waiting (on my side), Dr. Hazelwood took the pot of the heat and poured the remedy into a vial the size of a small hot sauce bottle. He held it out to me. "It's ready for your sister. Use the whole bottle when you give it to her, but dilute it in a bowl of broth, or hot liquid. It should be potent enough to get her through the worst of the stroke. She might struggle with things like reading, writing and speaking, so come and see me if that's the case."

I took the bottle from him. His hand lingered for a second. "Thank you, Dr, Hazelwood," I whispered, tears swimming in my eyes. "I can't express how much this means to me."

"You're very welcome, Miss Hale. I know it'll all be alright. Your sister is strong." Dr. Hazelwood offered me a kind smile, his eyes sparkling. "Now, hurry to your sister."

Together we rushed back up the stairs, Dr. Hazelwood's palm like a whisper of reassurance against the small of my back. He led me to the front door of his manor, opening the door for me. I thanked him again and ran out into the dark night.

Behind me, I heard him call into the night. "Be strong, Miss Hale!"

I burst through the front door of the cottage, windswept and rattled. I ran down the hall and into my twin's room and knelt down next to her bed where she lay, where I had left her. Her chest was rising and falling regularly, but sweat beaded on her forehead and her eyes rolled in their sockets.

"I'm here, Maya, I'm here. I'm going to heat up some broth for you now and you'll be right in no time. I'll be right back, my love," I whispered to her, stroking back her greying brown hair. I set down the remedy on the night table and charged into the small kitchen and whipped up the quickest broth I had ever made.

Within ten minutes I was back at Maya's side, the bowl of broth set next to the remedy on the table. I emptied the murky green remedy into the broth and gently shook Maya. Slowly, she began to murmur wakefully and opened her eyes, which were foggy with confusion. Yet, as I tenderly lifted her head to the bowl of broth and tipped some of it into her mouth, she miraculously swallowed every bit that I gave her without fighting.

After a good while, the bowl of broth was empty and Maya's eyelids were heavy with sleep. I stroked her cheek with the back of my hand and murmured reassurances until Maya fell into a deep slumber. Barely holding back my drowsiness, I carefully climbed beneath the covers and wrapped my arms around slim shoulders. Without another thought, pure exhaustion running through my body, I passed out with Maya in my arms.

About a week had passed since that night and Maya had slowly but surely came right. She was still confused and flustered and got overwhelmed easily. Maya remembered most important things, but struggled with the little things, like where she put her keys or glasses. She also sometimes struggled to find the right words when talking to me, or struggled with some more complex words when she read. But it was safe to say that Dr. Hazelwood's remedy had worked miracles on Maya.

The following day, I left Maya in her favourite armchair by the fireplace and headed over to Dr. Hazelwood's manor. I knocked on the door and was greeted by his exquisite eyes and a big smile. Without hesitation, I threw my arms around his strong neck held him close.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you Dr. Hazelwood! I can't thank you enough, you worked a miracle!" I gasped into his shoulder, tears dripping from my eyes. I stepped back and wiped my eyes. "How can I possibly repay you, Dr. Hazelwood?"

For a moment time seemed to come to a standstill as Dr. Hazelwood took my hands in his and looked me dead in the eye. My stomach jumped. His eyes, my God.

"Come inside and have a cup of tea with me. That's what you owe me, Miss Hale. And please, call me Max," He said, his eyes never leaving mine.

A giddy giggle bubbled from my mouth. "Ok then, Max. And please, call me Amy."

THE END