The Cardinal’s Fortuity

CONTENT WARNING: violence, terminal illness, suicide mentions.

What are you so afraid of?

Battles are fought in classic legends of good and evil. In movies in a compact theater, filled with the smell of popcorn and sweaty feet. Battles are sword fights and fire-breathing dragons.

Battles are fiction.

I shouldn’t have been sitting in a hospital bed at nineteen years old, my life barely begun — I shouldn’t have been paralyzed out of fear from the inside out. Absolutely terrified for the doctor’s return, where I would receive the worst news of my nearly twenty years of life.

“You have end-stage renal disease.”

The confusion hit me harder than a bus would, I’m sure of that. I didn’t understand. It felt so sudden. Sure, I felt sick most days. The frequent nausea and sudden sharp pains were unpredictable and frightening. However, this felt a bit extreme. The thought I had something so… terminal… made my heart skip a beat.

I wanted to scream and shout my lungs out. How could this happen?

What was worse, was I could do nothing to fix it. A transplant was necessary to keep me alive, and yet those were expensive. Out of the question for a college student struggling to get by. It wasn’t as if I could turn to my parents, either. I had run off from home the moment I was old enough — got a new phone — and cut all ties.

Some days, I didn’t know why. 

Then again, others I did. Mother and Father were benign to me, but that didn’t mean my days were easy. The lack of emotion within our home was startling. I never saw a glimpse past the rocky wall Father had created around himself. Even when Mother sobbed to him, I saw no glimmer of anguish in his dark eyes.

He taught me that men had to be strong. 

Fear was for the weak-hearted, those who couldn’t handle themselves. Father could handle himself. And as his son, I had to, too. It was simply part of the family — even apart from them, I had to keep up that reputation. After all, now the tears just wouldn’t come.

I hadn’t cried in years. No amount of death or break-ups or even sad dog movies could lull the tears from my eyes. It felt like a trick — sadness. Just trying to swoon me into letting my guard down. Well, I wouldn’t fall for it. I was a man.

I was just a child, Father.

There it was. That little voice inside of me. The child I once was — not Daniel Henson. No, I had once followed a name that matched my endearing grin of naiveness.

Danny.

Even now, he sobbed inside of me, clawing at my heart in an attempt to let him out. To let the tears out. I sat in that hospital room, speechless, staring at the doctor with an expression of disbelief. I clenched my fists, turning my gaze to the window. Anything that would distract me from the pitiful gaze of the white-coated man.

The trees were bare, the wind harshly striking the few leaves that dare remain. The world was cold and desolate — a perfect picture of the wintery time of death. In a sudden blur of red, a bird swooped from the sky to land on the branches. A splash of color in a scene of bleak shades of gray.

The cardinal stared at me with its dark, expressionless eyes. 

As if taunting me.

I tore my eyes away from the foul creature, even as it teetered forward on the branch to stare further into my room with an almost curious approach. As if a bird could even have such feelings. Needless to say, no bird could save me from my fate. Inhaling, I spoke through gritted teeth.

“I’d like to be discharged.”

As the winter turned to spring and the spring to summer, no grand donor stepped forward. No hero came to my aid or offered to help me fight this impossible battle. Even as the flowers bloomed and excitement sprung, it felt as if I was simply wilting away. Maybe the world wasn’t gray anymore, not to them.

But inside, it was still a desolate winter. An endless snowstorm.

I couldn’t stop getting lost in it.

The park was my favorite place to be. The constant commotion distracted me, and there was little time to think about anything every time a golden retriever nearly barreled into you, or an advertiser shoved their face into yours. Chaos, but not the bad kind — not the kind of knowing that in less than a year, you’d be buried six feet under.

Chaos as in bicycle bells ringing through the sidewalk. Chaos as in the smell of fresh churros, or watching a kid drop their ice cream cone. Chaos as in the park.

The wonderful park.

I found myself roaming the pathways for hours at a time, until the sun set, and I was left alone. I didn’t like to be alone — but I had no-one else. I debated adopting a dog, but I knew how selfish such an act would be. To love an animal only to leave them abruptly.

I sat down on a bench, left with my thoughts alone. In a streak of red, a bird landed close to me. It perched on the opposite end, staring at me with dark eyes. The cardinal was taunting me.

He’s just being curious, Danny whispered inside me. He isn’t doing anything wrong.

Don’t be naive.

“Shoo!” I flicked my hand towards the avian, but it remained relentless. It reminded me of the fate I wished to deny. I wouldn’t let fate capture me. I wouldn’t let it take me.

In the park, in the darkness of the quiet night, I made a decision. One I wish I hadn’t made — but nothing could change my mind. No-one was going to save me.

So, naturally, I was going to save myself.

Research consumed my life. I spent my days busy on my laptop — looking at everything that had to do with end-stage renal disease. It was simple enough to understand. Kidney failure, solved only by a kidney transplant. However, few wanted to help a random nineteen-year-old boy. No-one even noticed my absence, skipping classes and spending days at a time in my dorm room.

Until they did.

Knock, knock, knock.

I pushed myself to my feet, shutting my laptop closed. My dorm was small — I had opted for a one-room, informing the school that it was important due to my condition. I was a freshman-year student, taking an English major. I wanted to be a writer someday. I was determined to make it to that point.

“Hello?” I inquired, opening the door to find a tall, older man standing outside of it. He had glasses and a nice plaid shirt, his white hair smoothed down. One of the heads of the school. “Dr. Dalton!” 

“Daniel, do you have a moment?” Dalton stated, and I understood it was not a question. Allowing him inside, I seated myself on the edge of my bed. “I’ve noticed you’re skipping classes. I know your illness is a struggle, but we cannot continue to provide education that you will not take.”

Defeat overwhelmed me. “I’m sorry, Dr. Dalton. I’ll do better.”

“You’ve said that before, Daniel. Perhaps… it would be best to spend your time with your family, instead.” He countered. “I’ve already talked with your parents. They’re looking forward to your return home.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that you are no longer a part of this school, Mr. Henson.”

I did not go home like the professor suggested. I took my belongings — everything that could fit in my bag — and left that night. Leaving whatever I couldn’t carry behind. Everything was crashing down around me. I had nowhere else to go. I slept in the park, listening to the low croaks of the ravens and the ear-piercing squeals of the bats. It was better than the cardinals.

Even when I woke as the first light shone through the trees, exhaustion weighed heavy on my feet. I needed to act fast, before I was too far gone to be fixed. How? The question was simple enough, and the answer likewise. I needed a kidney. The complexity of the situation was getting it.

I tried everything. Went door-to-door, begged for money on the streets, called donor after donor. I became a charity case that no-one wanted to spend a penny on. I wasn’t some sad sob story; I was a foolish kid who was too stubborn to ask for help from his family.

Despite knowing they’d give it to me.

However, my pride was more important than my own blood. So, with every rejection, something burned inside of me. Frustration, anger, spite. Every failure, I once again saw a little red bird watching me — I began to think it was just my eyes playing tricks on me.

My mind, with my body, was deteriorating.

One day, the answer came. Her name was Maisey Rogers.

I was standing in a phone booth, dialing the forty-seventh number on my donor list; I lost my phone and a quarter of my allowance from a pair of crooks that had cornered me in an alleyway.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” Nervousness pricked my gut. “My name is Daniel Henson. I saw that you are willing to donate your kidney free of charge to a special cause. I think you’d be interested, if I told you, my story.”

“Hi Daniel. I’m Maisey Rogers, it’s nice to meet you. I’d love to talk about it… maybe over coffee sometime?”

“I’d love that. What are you doing on Friday?”

I dressed myself in the nicest clothes from the thrift store and made my way to Smooth Brew, a small cafe on the edge of town. I waited patiently for my expected guest to arrive and was absolutely stunned when a young woman walked through the doors and made her way towards me.

“Hi. Are you Daniel?”

I stood to my feet to shake her hand, absolutely beyond words. Maisey had dark golden, braided hair, and captivating ocean-blue eyes. Her hands were soft, and her skin was smooth, and she seemed to be in perfect health. Why did such a beautiful woman want to help me?

She’s so pretty, Danny giggled.

I snapped back into focus, realizing I still had Maisey’s hand locked in my own. I cleared my throat, releasing it. “Uh — oh, yes. That’s me. Daniel.”

“So… Daniel. Tell me about yourself. You seem pretty young to have ESRD.” The young woman stated, taking a seat on the chair opposite to me. I sipped from my cup of coffee, examining her thoughtfully.

She was wearing a short sundress, and a discreet shiny necklace that complimented her collarbone. Her cheeks were a rosy color, dotted with faded freckles. I realized she was a complete opposite of my darker eyes and hair, and black wrinkled shirt. I didn’t understand why she wanted to even consider helping someone like me. I found myself telling her everything. From my childhood to the events of the realization of my disease — even my relationship with my parents. And she listened. She sat there with an understanding expression and eyes wide with wisdom, nodding as I rambled on and on.

Something settled in my heart. I wanted to know why she was so kind.

When I was finally finished, silence enveloped us momentarily. I lifted my dark gaze to hers and murmured, “Tell me about you.”

Maisey had just turned twenty. She was a sophomore student at a nearby college and wanted to be a pediatrician. She loved children and couldn't wait to one day have her own — while she wasn’t dating anyone, she was alright with the absence of a lover. Instead, she wanted to help someone. She had had a little sister who passed away from cancer and wanted to make a difference in someone’s life… since she couldn’t have done much to help her. She loved helping people.

That’s why she wanted to help me.

When we parted ways several hours later, Maisey agreed to keep in touch. After that exciting, hopeful day, I waited to call her. Exhilaration fueled my every move. Finally, things could change!

I called eighteen times in five days.

She didn’t answer once.

Seven days after my time with Maisey, I made my way to the local library. I searched her up on an accessible computer — writing down any information I could find. She didn’t have many socials, but I did find her parents’ numbers. Perhaps she was hurt or lost. That’s why she didn’t call me back.

It felt a little wrong, I must admit; but I had a good reason for my actions. After all, I wasn’t stalking. She had promised to call me back. Well, she didn’t promise. She agreed. I slept in the subway that night, and first thing in the morning, made my way back to the phone booth.

I dialed the number and waited nervously. 

After three tries, the phone finally picked up. “Hello?”

“Hi,” I swallowed my hesitation, and took a deep breath. “You’re Mr. Rogers, right? Maisey’s father?”

“Yes. Who is this?” The man on the other line grumbled.

“My name is Daniel. I’m a friend of Maisey’s. I just wanted to know if she’s okay… I’ve tried to call several times, and she hasn’t responded.” 

“She said you might call.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Well, where is she?”

“If you must know…” Mr. Rogers paused. “Maisey is recovering from a kidney transplant. She’s fine.”

“A transplant? For — who?”

“Some little girl named Sophie. Sweet kid.” He replied. “Anything else?”

I hung up.

Having no idea how to feel, I dropped to my knees and buried my face in my hands. I felt awful… I felt betrayed. She agreed. She promised.

Sophie probably needed it more, Danny reasoned. I scoffed.

No, naive little boy. It doesn’t matter who needed it. Nobody cares about you anyway. 

I was going to make them care.

So, I made a vow I intended to fulfill — without missing a beat, I took my things and went from hospital to hospital, searching desperately for any sign of Maisey. I eventually discovered she had been transported back to her parent’s house and returned to the library to do more research. I began to use the phone booth more and more. Calling Maisey’s friends, family members, anyone who knew her. No-one cracked.

Until they did.

I eventually found her family’s address from an ex named Christopher, the house being an hour west of my location. I scraped together whatever savings I had left, traded a shady dealer for a well-crafted knife, and hitchhiked my way all the way to my destination. As I sat in the back of a truck bed, I fiddled with the blade in my fingertips. It had a wooden handle and a sharp silver edge — it felt perfect in my hands.

Using a stone, I carved a hawk on the edge of the handle. The cardinal's most feared predator.

The car stopped, and I jumped out of the back, thanking the drivers quietly. Movement caught my attention, and I turned to find a cardinal watching me from the safety of a branch. Bitterly, I muttered, “See what happens when you leave that safety.”

Night had fallen, and I made my way around the house, careful to avoid any cameras or lights that may give away my position. I needed to act quickly. I located her room on the lower floor and peered through the window. She was sleeping. Appeared so peaceful.

Did she know how much she ruined my life? Well, it didn’t matter.

Either way, I was about to ruin hers.

I smashed my elbow into the glass, heaving my exhausted body through the window, landing quietly onto the carpeted floor. I must’ve disturbed Maisey, because she lifted her head drowsily.

Drawing my knife from my pocket, I leapt forward, slapping my hand over her mouth.

“Not a word, Maisey Rogers.”

I looked into her eyes, wide with distress and confusion.

And felt nothing but burning hatred for the girl who betrayed me.

“Why’d you do it, huh? Why’d you lead me on only to break my heart?” I hissed through gritted teeth. I cared not for romance, despite the sentence being confusing without much context. “That should’ve been my kidney, not some little girl’s.”

A single tear drizzled from the young woman’s cheek.

Anger washed over me in waves so overwhelming, for a moment, all the pain I ever felt disappeared. I lifted my hand, clenching my fingers tighter around the knife — and I stabbed her, right in the chest. Maisey jerked upwards momentarily, screaming into my hand, before collapsing.

Dead.

Lights in the hallway flickered on, and I sliced open her torso, eager to obtain my prize. Whatever it takes. Whatever it takes. When I saw what was contained under her ribcage, my heart sunk. My vision blurred.

Two kidneys.

I looked again to the woman’s eyes, olive-green and dull with death. A realization struck me. This wasn’t Maisey. Christopher lied. He gave me the wrong address. I had killed someone — it was nothing of revenge, it was murder. ]

You’re a monster! Danny screamed inside me, and I let him. Tears pricked my gaze and I sobbed into my hands, hearing the familiar flutter of wings and the red bird landing on the windowsill. It stared at me silently.

“You win, dumb bird.” I cried. “You win.”

I heard sirens blaring outside, grabbed the knife, and made a new vow.

I wouldn’t let anything take me. Not kidney failure, not the police.

Guilt took me instead. My own hands. My own knife. The last thing I ever saw was that cardinal, the same one that contained my father’s eyes. I wondered if he would miss me.

I’m sorry.