A/N: Thanks for the reviews ShiningxXxShadowxXxThief, ShearViscosity, and Roxy87! And just another reminder. The August fanfiction challenge at The Hallow Lodge is now open. Feel free to enter and participate in any plot or discussion threads :)
Chapter 11
Helen did not believe in the supernatural.
No magic. No spells. No nonsense.
That's why she couldn't allow herself to believe the impossible suspicion embedding itself in her mind that her dreams weren't really dreams at all. She obsessed on the possible explanation behind the state of her slippers all day and then couldn't sleep that night. Her conclusions were: a.) She had been sleep walking outside and down the drive, b.) Her brothers used them in some strange scheme or prank, or c.) She wasn't dreaming and really did go to the hospital that night with a strange man wearing a mask who performed magic.
But she wouldn't think about any of that. After an exhausting night of jumping at every creak in the floorboards or gust of wind passing the window, she was ready to thrust the ideas from her mind and get back to reality.
As she strolled down the sidewalk in the village the next morning, Helen noticed Alberta Elliot up ahead in her crisp nurse's aide uniform chatting animatedly with a man whose back faced her.
Mel Aganir had danced with Alberta five times at the ball. Helen wondered if she had spoken to him since. But then she remembered that she wasn't supposed to be allowing herself to think about him.
As she approached, bits of Alberta's conversation became clearer.
"...told me it was the most incredible film she ever saw," Alberta was saying. "It's finally playing at the movie house out here. The houses in London haven't even got it yet because they're all closed cause of the bombings."
The man she was with turned, his eyes glancing at something across the street.
Helen stopped short. The man was Jack Richardson, his hair shined a coppery red in the sunlight. The young woman had spent part of the afternoon with his younger sister, Lucy, in an attempt to spend more time with people her own age, but had found her just as daft as her own younger brothers.
"Really?" he said, replying to Alberta without even the smallest crumb of enthusiasm. "That's swell."
"Well, do you- I mean, are you going to see it?" she asked.
"Dunno," he said. "Maybe you should ask that Mel Aganir fellow. After the way the two of you got on a few days ago, I think you'd be engaged by now. Or haven't you seen him since the ball? No one else has."
Alberta smiled, even hard than before, but this time, her eyes didn't shine as bright. "Don't tell me you're still upset about that. It was nothing. You weren't in any shape to dance with your sling and all. I don't care one bit about that man. I barely know him. Now stop talking rubbish and take me to the pictures."
"So the bloke has gone completely reclusive again," Jack mused. "Interesting. Have a nice day."
He turned away from Alberta completely and Helen found herself face to face with him just as she was about to pass by the pair.
"Miss Kirk!" he cried out in surprise before smiling. "Hallo! I didn't expect to run into you today."
"Mr. Richardson, Alberta," she said with a nod at each. "I was just on my way to the hospital, if you'll excuse me."
"Wait a bit." He placed his free hand on her arm as she began to walk past. "I'd like to talk to you about the other night."
Alberta's brown eyes narrowed. She was already clearly upset by Jack dismissing her and this just set her off even more. "So you go off to war, fight a few battles, and I'm suddenly not good enough for you, is that it?"
"He's talking about a family dinner party," Helen tried to explain, but she was already charging down the street in a huff.
"Oh, Berty, don't be so dramatic," Jack said drying to the back of her blond head as she charged off down the street. "Really, it's as though dolls these days want to repel men." He glanced over at Helen who glared him. "Present company excluded, and all that."
"Of course," she said in a chilled tone as she started walking away herself. "Like I said, I'm on my way-"
"To the hospital, yes, I remember. Let me walk you there."
"No, thank you. I know the way."
But he was already walking beside her. "You take your Florence Nightingale role very seriously, don't you? Is that why you visit that Marak fellow so often? You like to seek out the wounded?"
"If that was the case, I would be seeking you out instead of just enduring your company," she replied.
Jack raised his eyebrows. "Aren't you a saucy one."
"Who told you I visit him?"
"Your brothers."
They walked in silence for a few moments before the hospital came into view. Helen stopped before they got much further.
"Is there anything else, Mr. Richardson?" she asked.
"Yeah, will you be seeing- ah!"
A group of children chasing a large white cat ran by, ramming Jack and his injured arm hard against the corner of a shop. He stumbled back, clutching his slinged arm.
"Bloody brats," he cursed.
Instinct kicked in and Helen rushed to check his arm.
"Don't, I'm fine."
"You might have reopened that bullet hole Lucy and Pete are always bragging about," she said.
"I'd rather have a doctor or nurse look it over," he said.
"Good luck with that," Helen said. "Maybe in a few days, someone will be able to fit you in right after they're done with all the amputees and other patients who are in more serious conditions than you. They'll probably hand you over to an aide anyway. Maybe Alberta."
Jack looked around as if assessing his options before finally agreeing.
It only took a moment to see the crimson stain already seeping through the bandage.
"Let's go into the hospital," she said. "There'll be supplies there."
As they made their way into the building, Helen hardly noticed the same children rushing past them again, this time faster than before and without any quarry to follow.
Nurses scribbled on clipboards, giving orders to their aides. Doctors roamed from room to room, giving attention to only the most severe cases. More patients flocked in, though the building couldn't support many more beds to accommodate the influx.
In short, it was a typical day at the hospital.
Seeing the place in the full bustle of the day felt so strange after the haunting quiet of the dream that took place there.
Forcing down those thoughts, she assisted her patient.
"These bandages are fresh," she noted, peeling them off.
"Constable Wentworth's wife changed them for me this morning," he said. "It opened while I was over at his house."
"What diagnosis did your doctor originally give?" she asked, examining the arm.
"It hit the brackle artery-"
"Brachial artery," she corrected.
"Yeah, thanks a ton." He rolled his eyes. "If I regain the use of the arm and hand, it won't completely recover."
The bitterness in his voice planted a seed of compassion for him. Nineteen and already losing so much quality of life. Waiting, not to get back to normal, but to find out exactly how much ability was lost.
Unfortunately, Jack managed to kill that compassion with his next words.
"Hopefully, I'll get well enough to hold a gun again," he said.
"Why do all you boys want to be killing each other?" she asked.
"If we 'boys' weren't trying to kill each other, you wouldn't have anyone to nurse," he pointed out. "By the way, are you visiting your Mr. Marak today?"
She gently smeared salve on the wound, contemplating the possible reason behind his question. In her mind, she imagined the artery coursing down his arm to where the bullet punctured his flesh. The pictures in Mr. Marak's books helped create the image. Damage to the brachial artery would harm the median nerve too, which in turn limited his mobility. As she pictured these mending in her mind's eye, the cream warmed and tingled under her fingers. With a jolt she pulled away.
"No," Helen said absently, staring at her fingers in confusion. "No, not today."
Jack too examined his arm. He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped. His brown eyes studied her now.
Helen pushed away any concerns she had and finished reapplying the bandage and slinging the arm, quickly sending him on his way.
With him gone, Helen studied her hands again. They felt cool, not even the slightest sign of heat or tingling from them.
"Just my imagination," she whispered.
"What?" an older nurse, Mrs. Sharp, asked beside her. "Oh, never mind. I need you."
Nurse Sharp set her to work at various tasks, filling the morning with comfortable monotony. Counting out pill dosages and fetching supplies for nurses left her less time to ponder over the strangeness seeping into her life from every angle. It wasn't until she reached Henry Doyle that her mind allowed anything not work related to enter her thoughts.
Seeing him there sitting up in his bed, sent Helen straight back to that dream. Her breath caught in her throat as he glanced up and smiled at her.
"Hallo!" he greeted her cheerfully.
Helen tried to match his upbeat attitude, but failed. Her heart sank even lower when she unwrapped the bandages around the stub of his arm.
"I dreamed about you the other night," he said.
Her heart started beating faster, thumping all the way up to her ears.
"Really?" she quickly went about her tasks making sure the wound was clean and applying salve.
"Yeah, it was at night and we were in here," he said. "And you had a-"
He stopped, glancing down at what was left of his arm.
"What?" Helen asked anxiously. "Was there someone with me?"
"Is this new stuff? It feels warm and strange, like it was sinking through me."
Helen looked down at where her hand was applying the salve. In her anxiety over the dream, she hadn't realized the hot, tingling feeling had returned to her hand. She backed away from him quickly.
"Something wrong?" Henry asked, alert and alarmed for the first time since she met him.
Maybe it's the salve, she reasoned to herself.
"Does it hurt?" Helen dampened a cloth and began dabbing the salve off of him. As she did so, she uncovered skin. Just skin. Smooth, unblemished, unscabbed, unwounded, unscarred skin.
Helen closed her eyes and then opened them again. The sight remained the same. The wound she just got through cleaning was now gone, replaced by perfect skin.
The heart in her chest pounded like thunder in her ears.
The memory of Mr. Aganir rushed over her.
"What could beauty offer this poor girl?" he had whispered. "Nothing but a distraction, just some fun." He had squeezed her hand in both of his. "There is something beauty can do for you."
"Beauty," she murmured.
"Good health and happiness make life beautiful," he said. "I will give you the power to bestow those gifts on others."
She had been groggy, almost ready to fall over into sleep... because she hadn't been dreaming. Not yet. She had been seconds away from falling into sleep when the hand he held began to tingle like sand was coursing through it.
He wasn't a dream. He was real. He was really visiting her at night. And he could perform magic. But not just that. He gave her magic.
She could heal with her hand.
Henry was still talking to her. His lips moved to form words, but Helen couldn't hear any of it. Just the pounding in her ears and her own shaky breathing.
She had to get out of there, she needed answers, she had to find Aganir and make him tell her what was going on.
Before she registered what was happening, her feet were carrying her out of the room, through the front doors of the hospital, and out into the damp streets with the freshly falling snow.
