Chapter 7

The next day, Frank and Maggie were with me behind the refuge. They had setup a makeshift shooting range, and were trying to teach me how to use a weapon.

I stood there, with the gun in my hand pointed at the ground. “Tell me again why I need to do this?” I asked.

“Because, whoever tried to kidnap and kill you is still out there. We don’t know who it is, and until we do, you need to know how to protect yourself.” Frank replied.

“You can’t rely on having us around all the time,” Maggie added, “not that we’re planning to leave you alone or anything, but sometimes things happen.”

I sighed, faced the target again and went through the motions of taking aim, and then firing. We made sure ahead of time that beyond the target was free and clear - we weren’t going to be irresponsible like the little shit that caused my first trip into A&E at the beginning of this adventure. I relaxed my posture, two hands on the weapon, finger resting on the trigger. Safety off, breathe in, aim, breathe out, squeeze. The weapon fired, and a hole appeared in the target at the end of the temporary shooting range. Not anywhere near the bullseye, but at least this time it hit the paper. I’m sure someone’s going to have some questions when they find bullets in the mounds of dirt behind where the target was setup!

“Getting better!” Said Maggie encouragingly.

“Yeah, at this rate of improvement I’ll be able to hit a stationary target dead-on in about 2 years time.” I grumbled. “I really suck at this shooting thing.”

“You’ve only been practicing a short time - you can’t expect any accuracy at this point.” Frank said.

“We’ll run out of bullets before I get even close.” I complained. “Anyway - I’m a lover, not a fighter!” I turned toward Frank without thinking, weapon still raised. He saw my movement, then placed his hand on top of the weapon and pointed it to the ground. Just as well that I have patient instructors!

“Careful with that!” Frank exclaimed. “Just remember, the weapon is always loaded. Even if it isn’t!”

“Weapon’s always loaded. Got it.” I mumbled, embarrassed that I didn’t think about the potential of harm I held in my hands if I wasn’t careful.

“Back to it - try again.” Frank said, stepping behind me, and pointing me toward the target again. “You need to keep at it a little longer.”

I sighed. This morning was taking all week!

After the morning’s painful training session out on the shooting range, it made me think seriously about my situation.

Two questions I needed to figure out: how did I get this gift, and who is trying to kill me? Neither of these had easy answers.

Was I part of some kind of weird experiment, some experimental drug or technology? If so, how could that happen without me knowing? Surely I would’ve remembered someone approaching me and saying “Hey, how would you like to have the supernatural ability to heal people?”, or even “Hey, how would you like complete strangers inject you with their weird untested prototype drug where you could end up dead if it fails?” Somehow that didn’t sound right to me. That’s so far fetched, it sounds like it came right out of some rubbish scifi show.

But what was the alternative? That somehow I have some sort of latent ability that was triggered by the original accident? I’m some kind of mutant that has the ability to heal? I’ve been watching too much X-men - I’m sure that’s an actual plotline in a scifi movie somewhere!

Somehow the second option, as implausible as it is, seemed the most likely scenario. I tried to think back through my life to times where I was sick, and nothing came to mind. The more I thought about it, the more I realised that I’d never been sick in my life - not flu, not injured, not even a hangover after a heavy night partying. Maybe I really did have this ability naturally, and I’d never really noticed it. I just put it down to good fortune and healthy living.

So, why does someone want me dead? If it was an experiment gone awry, then I’d imagine they’d want to kill me to contain it. If it’s a latent ability, I still didn’t understand why someone would want to kill me for it. I could understand that someone would try to capture me - could they figure out why I can do what I do, and then duplicate it for themselves? My brain hurt trying to think about the implications of that.

I knew I needed to keep digging for answers, so we could all be sure that the threat against me - and indirectly against everyone else - was over. Somehow we needed to figure how the ‘who’, and from that we could work out the ‘why’.

That evening we had a visitor. Judy and Anita were in the kitchen preparing dinner, when Carol came in the front door, with a slightly older woman following behind her.

Carol said “Paul, I’d like you to meet Trish. Trish, Paul. Trish is the manager at the clinic we went to the other day. We became friends while I was studying nursing, and we’ve kept in touch ever since.”

“Hi” I said to her as I reached out my hand to her in greeting, but then I noticed that her attention wasn’t on me, but rather on Anita.

Trish walked over to where Anita was standing in the kitchen, and said to her “Anita - are you OK? Are they holding you against your will? Are you hurt? Do you need help?” The look of concern on Trish’s face was evident.

“I’m OK. I am here because I choose to be. I am well, thank you for asking.” Anita replied. “It’s OK - they rescued me from him, and I’m better now than I have ever been! I can’t believe how much better I feel than before, it’s a miracle!”

Trish took Anita’s hands, and pulling her sleeves up, seemed to examine both arms for injuries. She carefully ran her hands around Anita’s wrists, probing for any breaks, lumps or tenderness. Anita just stood there with a calm and peaceful smile on her face.

“You won’t find anything, because Paul made me better.” She replied. “The bruises, the scars, the breaks - they’ve all gone. I couldn’t believe it myself, but it’s true!” She pulled away from Trish’s hands, lifted her arms and waved them over her head, rotating her wrists in every direction. “See! I can move without hurting - it really is all gone!”

Trish stood there, slack-jawed. “But ... how? How could this be? How did this happen?”

“It’s a miracle, a gift! A gift from God - you don’t ask ‘how’ or ‘why’ - you just accept it for the miracle that it is!” Anita replied. “All I know is that when Paul touched me, all my pain went away.”

Trish turned around to face me. “You? You did this?”

I reached out to touch her, and she shrank back from me. “Stay away from me!” Trish said abruptly. She started backing away from me, and I could see that she was agitated. I took a step toward her, arms still outstretched, but lowered so not to spook her anymore than she was. I started projecting peace toward her.

“Shhh,” I said, lowering my voice so I could coax her to calm down. “It’s OK, no-one is here to hurt you. You’ll be OK, this is a safe place.” I started repeating over and over in a low, gentle voice. I moved over to the lounge chair and sat down. I gestured toward Trish to join me. “Why don’t you sit down with me, and you can tell me your story, hmm?”

Trish looked at me, looked at the lounge, looked at Anita. Anita nodded ever so slightly, and looked toward me with gratitude and peace in her eyes. That seemed to be the reassurance that Trish needed, so she slowly made her way to the couch and sat next to me. Her hands were in her lap, and she sat rigidly on the edge of the couch.

I held out my hands to her, and said “May I?”. She looked at my hands, and after a few moments reached out and touched my hands. The moment we touched, I was overwhelmed by pain. It was like my whole body was on fire, and every muscle was complaining. I moaned, and shuddered like something heavy had hit me broadside. I closed my eyes to try and regain some composure, and as I did, I could see Trish. Her gauge was running on empty, and I could see black spots all over her body. I could see bright red dots that I somehow knew were her ovaries, and they seemed to pulse with radiant pain.

I took a breath, and started concentrating. I pictured the pulsing red disappearing, and the black spots fading away. I could feel energy flowing from me to her, and slowly her outline started to change colour to a pure white. I was so intently concentrating I wasn’t aware of my surroundings, but in the background I could hear someone weeping, and other voices of concern and care.

Soon, her gauge started to move from empty, toward being full. The pulsing red dots were gone, and the black spots were now just grey shadows. I knew that Trish would be OK, so I let go of her hands, and I could feel consciousness fade from me and I fell to the floor.

When I came to, I saw everyone had gathered around me. Anita was there, holding my hand, a look of concern and worry on her face. Trish was gone. Maggie was sitting on the opposite chair looking at me with a smirk on her face. “You really got to stop doing that!” she said.