17Chapter 14
The girl sat on the steps leading to the ordinarily-sized front door of the orphanage, idly tracing the Celtic-influenced designs of the ornamental balusters. She had been sitting there for nearly an hour, eyes fixed on the road in front of her, her head perking up at the slightest sound of a vehicle approaching. Today was the day she had been waiting all her life.
Today was the day she would finally be going home.
The purr of an engine caught her attention and she lifted her line of sight over the metal railings. Her shoulders slumped when the car wasn't the right one: a plain white MPV, driven by a young couple in their thirties. She frowned, but quickly put it away, telling herself to be patient. Her parents were not due to arrive for another ten minutes.
A creak behind her brought her attention to the woman in a brown habit, her body only half through the opening of the front door. Her face was etched with worry, which disappeared when her aging eyes settled onto the girl at her feet.
"Sister Helen," she said, standing up, "is something wrong?"
The woman laughed lightly, the crinkles around her lips dancing at the endearing act. "There is always something wrong with you, child. Come inside. You'll get a burn sitting out here for too long."
"Only ten more minutes." She glanced back at the road.
"You may have done the calculations, but things don't always go according to plan." Sister Helen gently pulled at her hand. "Come now. We have to make sure you've packed everything."
She was slow to move her reluctant feet. "I have. I've double and triple and quadruple checked my room."
But the head warden was kindly persistent, and in mere seconds, she was inside the cool of the old building, the sharp edge of the hall table stabbing into her back as she tried to give enough space to the other woman, enough for a fourth body in the narrow hall.
Sister Helen brushed at her hair and the collar of her shirt, tsking. "Look at you, all sweaty and red. That's no way to greet your parents."
The girl laughed. "Hey, this is much better than what I've given others."
"Oh, don't remind me." Sister Helen smiled, shaking her head. "The trouble you caused…"
"All for this day," she said.
The woman cupped her face in the palms of her soft hands. "All worth it." Removing her hands, Sister Helen gently pushed the girl toward the staircase. "Now, if you're all packed, go let Kara know then. She's still up in your room."
With a happy skip, she did as she was told, bounding up the steps two at a time. Her heart was beating anxiously; there were butterflies in her stomach. But they were of the good kind, this time.
This time, she wanted to go.
"Kara?"
Her friend peered up from the side of the single bed hidden from her view at the door. Swinging her arm over the bed, she patted the mattress twice. "Sheets. Laundry."
"Really?" The girl pretended to sulk, jumping onto the bed. "I'm about to have a moment of bliss in ten minutes and you want me to clean my room?"
"Someone's got to do it," Kara said. "You can't leave it for Sister Helen."
"Yeah, I know." She started pulling at the white cloth. "What are you doing?"
The older girl sighed, and turned a page in her book. "Well, I was supposed to help you pack, despite the fact that I have an important mid-term tomorrow."
"Oh yeah. Studied enough?"
She rolled her eyes. "I would have if you hadn't called me late last night to come over."
"Well…" The girl paused, cocking her head. "At least I finished all the packing by myself. You have time to study now."
"A lot of good that'd do me."
She frowned. "What's wrong?"
Kara closed the book, tossing it into her opened bag. "You should've told me earlier."
"That's not it."
"What's not it?"
She slid off the bed, sitting cross-legged on the floor. "You don't care about the test."
Kara scoffed. "I think you've finally lost your annoyingly accurate observation skills."
"You're afraid." She grinned.
"You're happy that I'm afraid," Kara said slowly, sounding confused.
She nodded, the smile still plastered on her face. She knew better; she could see past the façade of bravado.
"Oh god, you've lost your mind from the high."
"No." She chuckled, and jumped to her feet. Her stride was broken when she tried to remember where she'd put her bag, and then she dove for the unvarnished timber dresser, pulling the small backpack from under it. When she came back, there was an unstamped envelope in her hand.
"What's that?" Kara asked, reaching up to take it, but she pulled away.
"For the record, I'm showing you this now because you need a little pick-me-up."
"Whose record?" Kara took the thick envelope out of her hands, opening the unsealed flap.
"My parents." She leaned in close, watching for her friend's reaction as she read the three-paged content. "Or could I say…ours?"
Kara finally looked up at her, her mouth slightly agape. "What's this?"
"It's supposed to be a surprise," she said casually. "They wanted to tell you of their intentions themselves. That's why I called you to come in the end, I wouldn't have disturbed your studying otherwise. They only told me yesterday."
Kara continued to be in silent shock.
"It's only a sample petition. But they're serious about it." She tried to sound reassuring, but Kara's silence was starting to unnerve her. All her life, all she wanted was a family. No, not just any family. Her true one.
The one where the parents loved their child so much that they fought to bring their lives together so that they could regain their lost daughter. The one where the daughter dismissed all other potentially loving foster family in the hopes of seeing her parents again. And the one where she had her best friend, her protector…her sister—finally recognised as so.
"So…"
Suddenly, Kara was crying. And laughing. The combination of opposite emotions would have confused a lot a people, but the girl saw more. She could see deeper into the souls of people. Ever since she was young, she saw. Sometimes, what she saw pained her. Today, it made her happy.
She leaned her head against Kara's shoulder, taking joy in the small trembling of her body. Nothing could take this memory away from her now.
There was a knock at her door. Sister Helen stood at the opening, the same way she had been not fifteen minutes ago, with the same expression. Only this time, it didn't go away. The longer she stood there, thinking of the right words to say, the worse it got, the more came to add to it: pain, sadness, pity…
Grief.
The world swam around me.
At least, that was why my senses were telling me. Not that I could trust them much at this moment. I was pretty sure my eyes were closed and that I was on an oxygen-high, but the vertigo that played with the black clarity of my mind cast warning alarms—that sounded, strangely, like beeps.
I tried to open my eyes, but I was both aware and foggy at the same time. My whole body was numb, and though I thought to move my fingers, I couldn't feel them. Heaviness settled over me, becoming more as I gained consciousness, but never uncomfortable. It was coercing me back into the relaxing blackness. Tempted as I was, something else was pulling at me.
A voice. Soft, melodic.
And that annoying beeping!
I opened my eyes, slowly. For a long time, I just stared up at the ceiling, unable to move, not caring to move. Even though it was just a white ceiling, it was unfamiliar. Where was I?
Switching my line of sight to the left, I only saw an empty wall, with a couple of faded, but unsightly, stains. Only the sounds that penetrated my dazed mind could give me an indication of where I was: the constant rhythm of the monotonic beeps near my head, and the dripping of some sort of liquid. Drip, drip, beep…
I tried to speak. Maybe there was someone who could tell me where I was. It was then I realised that there was something lodged in my throat, long and snake-like.
If the numbness wasn't so prevailing, I would've panicked. As it was, I could barely bring myself to care, only able to sound out the smallest of groans.
A head popped over me. For a moment, I wondered if I was in space because heads shouldn't be able to be floating over me in that position. But no, I was lying on my back. And the head, with its long brown hair, bloodshot eyes, pale skin, belonged to Kara. She was crying. And smiling. The vision reminded me of my dream.
And then I remembered—Dom.
The machines beeped louder, faster. I tried to speak, but the breathing tube held my tongue. Kara placed both hands on me, her soft cooings calming my anxiety, telling me that I was safe, that everything was fine now.
He was gone.
My body was still very weak, though my mind was active. I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt this bad, if I ever did. Katie was always successful. But this time, she was helpless, standing by my bed, not knowing what to do. There were rules in her world, and one of them restricted her ability to heal the wounds that I brought onto myself—through 'magic' means.
The doctors told me I was lucky to be alive. Had the perpetrator pulled out the knife, it would have been near instant death. Having the blade lodged in kept me alive, blocking the bleeding until the paramedics arrived. The problem was: I wasn't the one who was stabbed.
If I weren't still dependent on the morphine and respiration machine, I would've immediately demanded answers. How? Just one of the five ways to ask a question.
How did the knife get in me?
Of course, no one could tell me. For the next two days where they continued to observe me in the ICU, all I could was to reflect over on the events of that day. No, not events. I was perfectly clear on the little assault in my own home. The confusion began at the knowledge that impossibly, a wound that was supposed to be unnatural had a natural cause.
The paradox nearly drove me mad—the boredom didn't help. I stabbed Dom. I threw the knife away. I healed Dom. I transferred his wound into myself. The wound manifested physically. I bled a lot. I lost consciousness.
I should've died.
So how was it that they found me lying with Tim's knife in my chest?
"Elena, are you listening?"
No.
The doctor continued on nevertheless. "So, just relax and try not to tighten your muscles. It'd be gone before you know it."
I could hear the gurgling sound coming out of my throat as they pulled the tube out. That damned doctor was a liar!
"Good, we'll move you out of the ICU now—"
Blah blah… I looked to the orderly getting ready to move my bed, asking for water. My voice was hoarse, unused for barely two waking days—and five comatose ones—but the nice man got the message. I drank greedily, spilling a little, but it was bliss; the refreshing elixir I needed to get my head together. Next was to figure out how to overcome the morphine without decreasing the dosage. I had a feeling that the hole in my heart wasn't a friendly one.
I was left alone in my new room for the latter half of the day. I didn't mind; I still needed the time to think. Even though I appeared to be the victim, it was a victim of attempted murder. Sooner or later, I'd be approached by the police. Now that I was no longer in critical condition, sooner was more plausible. From what I'd gather from Kara and chatty orderlies, only Chris and Tim were apprehended that day. There was no evidence of a third man.
To the eyes of outsiders, Dom had never been in my apartment.
Again, how?
Footsteps. Whistling footsteps.
I remembered now. There was another person in the room. A man, maybe. He walked with a light gait, with a deep clomping sound—leather shoes. A man who was fond of whistling an old folk tune. It sounded familiar. Everything about him was so familiar, even though I didn't see any part of him. How had he entered my home? Was he the one who took Dom away?
Was he the one who saved my life?
By sticking the blade into my chest, at the very precise depth and angle as I had stuck it into Dom.
I sighed, staring up at the ceiling. After all this half-drug-influenced contemplation, I wasn't sure if I wanted to get to the bottom of this problem. I had a nagging feeling that by getting answers, I'd be getting more than I was willing to accept: supernatural phenomena that went further than Katie's world.
A gentle sensation at the back of my hand brought me out of my desperate thoughts. Katie held my hand in both of hers, her eyes brimming red and teary-like, her lips curled in frustration and lost.
"Don't blame yourself," I said aloud, softly. "I don't."
She sunk even further into herself, avoiding eye contact.
"I don't regret healing him," I continued. "You felt it too, didn't you? He was running out of life."
This time, she looked straight at me.
That's right, I thought, it wasn't the wound that was killing him.
He was already dying.