Author's note:

Hello everyone, Thank you all for reading my first published fanfiction on this website. I hope you all enjoy and feedback is always welcomed. I also liked to give a special thank you, to LizzieBdarcy my beta reader.

Now on with the show...

And from my tortured shape
No comfort, no escape
I see, but deep within is utter blindness

Chapter 1: The unspoken truth.

New York ,1962

It had rained all day, but now there was a faint clearing. The red light that shone through the busy streets showed that the sun had already set in the west. Harlem always had been a rough place to live in. But as anyone who lived here would tell you, the longer you felt Harlem's embrace, the more village like it felt. Mothers were calling their young children inside; commuters coming in from work still greeted each other when they passed on the street. The city lights turned on and were gleaming in that early evening, an old bar at a corner street was slowly filling up with people that wanted to spend their day's pay on a cold beer and some company.

There was an old jukebox, in the corner of the bar; it filled the room with the sound of guitars. The soft chatter of voices and the clicking of high heels moving across the floor accompanied the soft strings of the instrument. A young couple talked nonstop, snuggled up in a booth near the jukebox, their hands folded together. Three men were sitting around another table, playing cards, they laughed loudly at something the waitress said when she placed a new round of beer on the table.

In the very back of the bar, hidden away in the shadows sat a young woman. The nervous tapping of her fingers on the old oaken table followed the rhythm of the rock song that thudded out of the jukebox. Eyes shifting to the entree of the bar each time the door opened, her tapping stopped and she took an inhale of breath before releasing it again when the new arrivals of the bar turned out not to be the one she was waiting for.

Dressed almost completely in black, the hood of the bomber jacket she wore pulled over her hair to conceal her even more from sight. Stray dark curls fell away from the tight knot she made and she brushed them out of her face as the door opened once more. Her eyes darted over to the scruffy looking man as he walked in and sat down at the bar, he nodded to the waitress behind it and she returned the nod with a smile taking out her notebook and pencil to take his order.

Cursing softly under her breath, she sat back against her chair and closed her eyes, letting a soft groan escaped her lips. The pain was becoming worse and she needed to find that fucking asshole before she succumbed to the torment. A stab in her stomach made her double over, placing both arms on the table to steady herself.

'Get yourself together' she whispered in her head, repeating the words over and over again until she was able to force herself to look up. One arm slid off the table and she wrapped it around her stomach, letting her hands slip beneath the cotton shirt she wore. Her fingers skipped over the naked skin of her stomach and she felt the tears beneath the skin deep inside her muscle.

"Fuck" she whispered softly leaning back and closing her eyes. Her brow furrowed as she tried to keep focus.

Get yourself together..

The doorbell rang again and her eyes snapped open to see who the new arrival was. "Finally..." she muttered tasting blood on her tongue with each laboured breath. Slowly she stood.

The man that had entered looked around the bar slowly, dark eyes surveying the room before him. He was thin, his greasy hair slicked back to cover up a bald patch on his head. He slowly walked forward and sat down in one of the booths just a few steps away from her. A hand was raised in an attempt to get the attention of the waitress and when she did not react quick enough for his liking, he grew belligerent.

"So what's a man got to do to get a fucking drink in here" He called out, slapping his hand back on the table. His speech was slurred and his eyes unfocused as he leaned back in his chair.

The waitress walked around the bar slowly, unruffled by his shouts and chewing a wad of gum loudly. "Whaddya want sugar?" she asked, her Texan accent stretching out the words.

"A beer hon" he said, an almost toothless grin at her wrinkling his face, "and make it snappy, I'm thirsty."

She wrote it down on the small notebook in her hand.

"Nothing to eat?"

He shook his head and rubbed his stomach.

"Already ate."

The waitress nodded and turned around, walking back to the bar with clicking heels to prepare the man's drink. His licked his lips, eyes following the sway of her hips before she disappeared behind the bar.

While he was distracted, someone sat down on the opposite side of the booth with a deep groan. It was a woman, her hood hiding her face from view. She was breathing heavily and both of her trembling arms were leaning on the table.

"What the fuck do you want?" He slurred as he leaned forward mimicking her and placing both his arms next to her on the table. "I'm not really in the mood for company, sorry babe. "

Instead of answering, she lowered both her hands to cover his larger ones. The moment skin touched skin he froze and his eyes widened as he felt something snap inside of him.

"Your son" she whispered slowly, ignoring his words as she raised her head to look up at him. "I saw them bring him in today." Drops of sweat trickled down her brow and blood dripped from her lips on to the table. Sickly pale, the white of her eyes seemed to almost glow from inside the darkness of the hood that still covered her hair.

He started to shake as a huge stab of pain split through him. Even as he tried to pull his arms away, her grip turned tighter. He coughed as more pain seemed to erupt from his lower intestines and he tasted blood.

"You hit him so hard that his spleen ruptured " She continued, beginning to straighten. She licked a drop of blood from her lips before leaning in closer. "You broke his ribs," she whispered the words slowly, "one of them punctured his lungs".

With each word, her breathing calmed and her grip grew stronger. He could feel the pressure increase in his chest, fighting to breathe his head raised to the ceiling in a futile attempt to suck in the sweet air around him.

Doubt crossed over her face and she bit her lip in concentration.

Just a few more seconds and he would be dead.

Her hands were shaking and she blinked away the tears that started to gather in the corner of her eyes. She raised her hands slowly, breaking the contact between her and the greasy man. The moment she let go of his hands, he wrapped them around his own throat, clawing at the skin trying to breath. He coughed more, blood splattering across the table's surface.

I can't do it...

Slowly she stood, letting her hands push away from the booth before letting them slide in the pockets of her jeans. "your son is death now" she said in a deep breath as she looked at the bar where the waitress placed the man's beer on a tray. Her eyes turned back to him

"You'll need a doctor" She informed him, tossing a dollar bill next to his still twitching limbs.

The man's head fell down on the table and he started to spasm, blood dripping from his nose.

He tried to reach out for her, but she quickly stepped away from him and walked to the door of the bar. She lowered her eyes when the waitress passed her with the beer he had ordered.

And before chaos erupted in the bar she had already closed the door behind her, walking into the cold air of a winter night in New York. People littered the streets returning to their homes, a few shops and stalls were still open. She kept walking quickly with her head down, tears came to her eyes sudden and hot, and she stared hard at her feet.

Someone bumped into her, causing her to stumble. Her hands scrambled to grab onto something to break her fall and she hit the icy glass window of a shop. She stayed there for a few seconds, leaning against the glass taking in deep breaths. Biting her lip trying to control the pain, pushing herself up slowly before the pain made her stagger, she placed one hand on the window. Blood was staining the glass where her hand lay. Hoping no one had seen it, with a painful whimper she raised her free arm, using the sleeve of her dark jacket to wipe the print away.

After making sure all the blood was gone,she continued on. She ignored the painful protest her body made, a stab in her rib cage almost making her stagger again. The bone was healing.

Forcing one foot in front of the other, she took in a deep breath and forced herself to keep moving. In the distance the sound of an ambulance was heard and the sound grew closer and closer. She dropped her head even more as the vehicle passer her with shrieking sirens.

Just a half hour more and she was home.

Slowly, she opened the door of her apartment and stumbled inside. Closing the door with a kick of her foot, she took off her bloodstained jacket and dumped it onto the wooden floor. Her small apartment consisted of a living room, kitchenette, a bathroom and a bedroom. Even so, there was very little furniture. The walls were left bare, not a single photo on a shelf.

Slowly she removed her shirt laboured breathing continuing. She dropped the bloodied grey t-shirt on her brown patched up couch before reaching back and undoing the clips of her bra. The cotton fabric fell to the floor and she in drew in a relieved breath. Standing up, she placed two hands under her breast and closed her eyes as she could feel what was going on underneath her skin; there still was a small hole in her lungs that was slowly closing.

Explained why breathing hurt like hell.

With quick precision, she undid the metal button of her pants and slowly slipped out of them, thanking herself quietly that she was smart enough to put on one of her baggy jeans instead of one of the tighter models that seemed to be in fashion now a days.

Stepping out of the puddle of her jeans she stumbled to her bathroom. She rested her head against the smooth cold surface of the mirror, a small whimper of pain escaping her lips as she felt the last crack in her rib heal slowly.` She placed more weight on her left arm and pushed herself slowly away from the wall. Her right hand skimmed over the warm skin just beneath her chest. The black and bluish bruises slowly faded away, until there was no sign of any injury anymore.

She spit the last taste of copper out of her mouth and let out a breath, standing up straight. Looking into the mirror slowly proved what she could already feel inside her body. Her skin was a healthy colour once more. The bruises had disappeared and the only sign of injury that was still left on her body was the dried up blood on her lips.

She was healed again.

With shaking hands she wiped at the dried remnants, turning the water faucet on and washing them in the bathroom sink. She cupped her hands together under the streaming cold water before bringing it to her lips, the water felt good in her empty stomach. Meanwhile the memory of what had happened a short while ago continued to play on mental repeat. Near naked in only white cotton panties, she felt almost, Dirty. The cold silver cross around her neck seemed to burn against the hollow of her neck. Two fingers found its way to the metal and a small grimace danced across her lips

"I'm such a failure James" she spoke, looking at her reflection in the mirror, " I couldn't even kill him" she released the cold silver of the necklace and slammed her hand back against the marble sink.

"I felt too guilty, I couldn't take his life even though he's a fucking -" she stopped, her mind going back to what had happened earlier that evening.

When she had first arrived in New York she was only 20 years old. It was to escape the past that seemed to haunt her ever since she had left her hometown of Chicago. She had come to New York without a plan, a job, or any money. When she first arrived, she only had the clothes on her back and a desperate need to disappear whenever she felt someone look at her.

Together with James.

That was 8 years ago, now she had an apartment and two steady jobs. Sure she had to work a lot and barely had any time off, but it kept her mind from wandering to things that could have been. She knew she could afford to live in a nicer neighbourhood if she wanted to but living in one of the worst neighbourhoods in New York gave her a strange sense of peace. It was never quiet; the hectic sounds of the city could always be heard.

She hated the silence.

She kept herself hidden in the shadows of the city and no one came looking for her or asked questions she couldn't answer. Even the jobs she had taken were low profile, during the day she worked in a nearby diner, washing the dishes in the kitchen and helping the cook during rush hour. Just working in the diner had been enough to pay for all her expenses, yet she had found herself applying for another job in the evening hours. She took that job out of the curiosity that had developed over the years and had felt the need to further experiment with the strange powers she had received years ago.

In the evening hours, she had been hired to help with cleaning up the bodies that had been brought in and prepare them for their final descent into the earth or into the flames.

She still remembered the first corpse she ever had to clean, it was the body of an 88 year old woman. She was brought to the hospital with heart failure and had died before they even had a chance to help her. The body was brought in on her first night and her new boss had just pushed her into a room with a vague description of what he expected her to do.

She had spent the first 10 minutes glued to the door, not looking away from the naked body on the cold metal slab. But as always, her own curiosity got too big for her to ignore and with slow careful steps she had reached the table in the room.

She remembered she stood there for what seemed like an hour, just looking down at the empty carcass on the table. The bright fluorescent light of the lamp that was hanging above had hummed softly, breaking the deadly silence that seemed to hang over the cold room. She had reached out, and with a single touch of warm fingers on cold skin she had seen and felt what had caused the woman's death.

Liver covered in scars... Drinker?

She could feel that the woman had broken her hip bone, probably caused by the trip she took down the stairs when her heart stopped. Closing her eyes, head tilting slightly she tried to reach even deeper. A blood clot had stopped her heart, she remembered feeling the sharp stab in her own heart as she tried to find the exact clot.

After that, all restrictions were gone and with each body that was brought in she went even further. It had started with seeing and feeling injuries. But soon she was able to heal small breaks and bruises with just one touch of her fingers. It was just a small transfer of her own energy into the body of someone else, and with a push of her fingers she could even heal the damaged bodies of those that had been killed in gruesome ways.

Of course she never took it too far. Questions would have been asked if a burn victim suddenly turned up without burns in the coffin. All she did was test to see how far she could take it with her strange powers.

Then one day she figured out how she could transfer injuries. Like a deadly trade, she found out she could heal the broken bodies quicker if she simple transferred the wounds to herself. The first time she transferred it was a difficult shoulder break. She had done it without even knowing that she could. A simple touch and she could feel her own bone crack while the shoulder of the young man that had died in a car crash healed beneath her fingertips.

It had hurt like hell at first, but even the feeling of pain could be kept under control if she just raised the adrenaline and endorphin levels in her blood. She grew bolder over the years and what had been occasional at first grew to be frequent. The more bodies that were brought in, the more she practised in transferring the bruises, broken bones and even potential causes for death. Her body seemed to even be capable of transferring a cancerous swelling and heal it inside her own body.

But something had changed the moment she had stepped into the cold morgue that evening. The body of a young boy, not even six years of age, was lying on her table. She had recognised the bruises immediately when she saw them on that small body.

In a city like New York, bodies that had died because they had taken a beating were unfortunately regularity. But to see those same wounds on the body of someone that young had made something snap inside her. Her heart rate had slowed down and she just stood in front of the table, looking down at the broken limbs and the little hands and feet.

A thought seemed to repeat itself inside her mind over and over again. If she could heal this body by using her own as a vessel…. Could she take it even further and transfer the injuries the boy had suffered to someone else?

She did not remember when she made the decision, but before her mind was clear she had already looked through the files in the office to find out the boy's name and home address. She had even spent money on a taxi to bring her there. Her mind was blurry with anger and hate. She had seen the drunken man behind the windows of his house, hitting a crying woman that was sobbing out the little boy's name over and over again. The man was even screaming that he had deserved it.

She had walked back slowly as the night deepened, with her hands stuffed into her bomber jacket and her eyes settled on the ground. With each step, her mind grew clearer and by the time she'd made the hour trek back to the morgue, she had made up her mind.

Transferring every injury on the child had been an easy process. But keeping it inside of her without dying had turned out to be more difficult than she had expected. The natural painkillers she had used to keep the pain away had run out quickly, her body seemed to protest her own decision to keep the injuries unhealed and she had to fight against her own healing ability which each breath she took.

Thankfully, she had found his regular bar quickly. And it had worked. She had been able to transfer every injury she had kept in her body, she had wanted to kill that bastard, and was ready to..

Or so she thought.

She had an imaginary gun pointed to his head, but she had failed to pull the trigger.

Weak.

Her mind was pulled back from the memory as her alarm went off; she walked out of her bathroom and into her small bedroom looking down at the alarm clock on the nightstand beside her bed. It was already eight and she had to be at her diner job in less than an hour.

Another night without sleep.

Swift footsteps brought her back to the bathroom, she pushed the mouldy shower curtains away and after waiting for a few minutes for the water to get warm stepped under the spray, feeling it ease the tensions in her body. All too quickly, she finished her shower turning the water off and groping blindly for a towel to dry herself.

Her tired mind took over and she dressed herself on auto pilot. Faded old jeans, a black t shirt with cut off sleeves and a grey t vest were on before she even noticed it. She turned to the mirror in the window and grimaced as she saw the bloodied handprints next to it. Making a mental note to clean up later, she focused on her own image in the mirror. The colour was back in her skin and she bit her lips as she brushed her fingers under her eye to wipe away smears of make up from the day before. Too tired to bother with anything else, she took the baseball cap that lay on her bed and placed it on her head. She zipped the vest up to her neck, snagged her keys off the coffee table and closed the door behind her without another glance back.