Author's Notes: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the first chapter! I got a few reviews and they were all positive so I decided to keep going. So after you read, please review. It means so much to me.
~*~
He starred at the rustic screen door, the loud slam of wood against wood. His mind still couldn't fully comprehend what he had just experienced. It was her; the same empty brown eyes, the same undeniable features. He looked back at the man standing next to him, worry etched on his face. The only emotion he himself held was awe. The man shot him a cautious look as he shot past him and out the door. He was essentially rooted to his spot. No amount of force would be able to shift him from his standing position. The bags he held felt like they weighed tons. He placed then on the rotting floor. There was nothing good here. The village was in ruin. He scanned the room again. His body was subconsciously moving, yet it hadn't steered him out the door. This was the world of the living dead. He couldn't understand why she would put herself in this hell. She had never seemed like the person to be charitable with her time. She had loathed the idea of going off with him to Africa years before. He leaned down and picked the second set of drugs off the floor. He started toward the cooler he had seen her previously place the first set into.
He had to walk over bodies; every bed was filled. Patients littered the floor, gasping for air; they seemed to be pleading for death. The room seemed to be divided into sectors, he was realizing this as he followed a path. To the left, the men; to the right, the women. The children were scattered around the room. The most critical patients were in the darkest sector of the room, separated by a threadbare curtain. Every body was emaciated; shutting down from lack of nourishment and the wrath of disease. This wasn't the Congo. This was worse. He reached the counter and began to empty the supplies. None of the items he unpacked could make a difference for the people lying at his feet. It was beyond hope.
The coughing in the room seemed to come in a steady chorus; it never ceased. He could see the multitude cringing in pain. This could be hell on earth. He wanted to do something, but everything seemed out of his control. No amount of medicine could help these innocent people. He didn't know where to start. He had to wait for her. She had been here for three years. How had she made it for so long? The man had told her a brief history about the woman he would be working with. He knew little, or so he thought. She had volunteered after finishing her second year of residency in the states. The village had accepted her, and she was the only doctor they trusted. She knew the language and customs. The words of advice he had received seemed ironical now. "Stay on her good side unless you would care to be killed."
He heard the door swing open. The rain was still pouring heavily. The thatched roof provided little shelter from the wet of the outside world. He looked up and saw the man leading her into the room. Her hair was matted down to her face and shoulders. Her clothes were soaked to the core; he could discern her ribs outlined in the thin white shirt. He could still see the figure of the woman he had known before. The woman he had held in his arms and made love to. Currently she looked like a shadow of that woman. The rain only highlighted her exhaustion and fatigue. She appeared like a patient, rather than the care giver. The man bustled around her, giving her a towel which she threw around her shoulders. She was handed a pair of dry scrubs, but she only placed them in her lap. She gazed lifelessly around the room. She had been affected much too deep by the harsher reality of life: death.
He observed as the man walked to the cooler. He did it in an almost sympathetic way. He stopped by the few patients he knew, exchanging little words, but the emotions were evident on his somber face. He got to the cooler and opened the black door, quickly shifting through a few boxes, and finding what he was looking for. He grabbed a needle from the counter, and retraced his steps back to the woman. He filled the needle with the drug and shot it into her left arm. She barely twitched, her eyes were closed now and her body was shivering. He watched another woman from across the room get up. She was tall and built, but the effects of starvation were visible nonetheless. Her skin was a deathly black, a native of the area. Her thin dress flapped carelessly as she walked toward the invaders. They were essentially invaders, disrupting life for the masses of people.
The black woman walked over to the white woman. Two different races, two different lives, yet both shared a common bond: they had seen death before. The black woman kneeled before the white, her hand running gently over her face. The two women said nothing, but it seemed like they managed to alleviate each other's pain. Slowly, he watched her break down, falling into the open arms of the black woman. She must hold some authority here, the mother of all. The black woman whispered something to her. She nodded her head, and the women separated. The black woman got up, leaning over and placing a kiss on the white woman's head. He saw how closely knit the community was. When one person suffered, everyone suffered. Racial divides were erased here, the only thing that mattered was respect.
The woman got up from the chair, wiping away the last tears from her face. She ran the towel through her hair, and put it back down on the chair. She placed the scrubs on the towel and turned around. She started to talk to the man, who nodded at her sympathetically, but got down to business a few seconds later. He was leaving the village. He was only an escort. She gave him a tight hug and a quick kiss. He heard something said to her about taking care of herself. She nodded her head, but he knew she dismissed the thought altogether. There were people here in worse condition than she was.
He focused on her. She watched the man exit through the screen into the pouring rain. Her hand was running over the spot where she had received the injection. She scanned the room, looking over her patients. She saw something, taking a gentle step around bodies. A few moments later he saw her pick up a body from the arms of a father. The baby was screaming; the father did not know what to do. She rocked the baby in her arms. It looked like a doll rather than a human being. She scanned the room again, a different perspective being given from that point. He met her gaze for a second; she quickly diverted all contacts. With the baby in her arms, she began to walk toward him. He saw the respect and admiration the people had for her. Everyone knew her; she was their last hope. They knew death was inevitable, but the passage is easier with compassion and love. The two things that most people earned for, the same two things she offered them.
She made her way toward him, checking vitals on her way there. The room was cramped and overcrowded. The people had no where else to go. He stood right next to her. She still hadn't looked up at him. The coughing overtook her body once more, and he took the baby from her arms. He held the little boy in his arms, watching her gasping for air. After a few seconds, it passed. She took the boy from his arms and looked out at the screen.
"When it stops raining, we need to go triage."
Her voice was more raspy than he remembered, but she had changed. This was a permanent change; no one went to the ends of the earth and came back the same person. Her manner was delicate and compassionate. She knew the fate that awaited her. He watched her hand the sleeping child to another woman, who gently embraced the baby. She trudged over to the door, opening it and standing on the shielded porch. Her arms were wrapped around her body; he was instantly pulled toward her. He ignored the threatening glances from the patients around the room. They were protective of her. He opened the wooden door slowly, a cool gust of wind hitting him, cooling his body down. He stepped out on the tattered floor, making his way toward her. She stood with her back to him. He was close enough to hear her heart beating, yet far enough to not hear her screaming for help. His hand went upon her shoulder. Her flesh was warm under his touch. She snapped away from him, moving forward.
"Abby . . . "
His voice cracked under the weight of her name. It had been almost four years since he said it last. He dug his hands into his pockets, unsure of what to do. He stood watching her, the most beautiful woman on the face of the earth. She slowly turned toward him, fear and regret etched on her worn face.
"Forget the past."
She walked past him, going back into the shelter of the clinic.
~*~
He starred at the rustic screen door, the loud slam of wood against wood. His mind still couldn't fully comprehend what he had just experienced. It was her; the same empty brown eyes, the same undeniable features. He looked back at the man standing next to him, worry etched on his face. The only emotion he himself held was awe. The man shot him a cautious look as he shot past him and out the door. He was essentially rooted to his spot. No amount of force would be able to shift him from his standing position. The bags he held felt like they weighed tons. He placed then on the rotting floor. There was nothing good here. The village was in ruin. He scanned the room again. His body was subconsciously moving, yet it hadn't steered him out the door. This was the world of the living dead. He couldn't understand why she would put herself in this hell. She had never seemed like the person to be charitable with her time. She had loathed the idea of going off with him to Africa years before. He leaned down and picked the second set of drugs off the floor. He started toward the cooler he had seen her previously place the first set into.
He had to walk over bodies; every bed was filled. Patients littered the floor, gasping for air; they seemed to be pleading for death. The room seemed to be divided into sectors, he was realizing this as he followed a path. To the left, the men; to the right, the women. The children were scattered around the room. The most critical patients were in the darkest sector of the room, separated by a threadbare curtain. Every body was emaciated; shutting down from lack of nourishment and the wrath of disease. This wasn't the Congo. This was worse. He reached the counter and began to empty the supplies. None of the items he unpacked could make a difference for the people lying at his feet. It was beyond hope.
The coughing in the room seemed to come in a steady chorus; it never ceased. He could see the multitude cringing in pain. This could be hell on earth. He wanted to do something, but everything seemed out of his control. No amount of medicine could help these innocent people. He didn't know where to start. He had to wait for her. She had been here for three years. How had she made it for so long? The man had told her a brief history about the woman he would be working with. He knew little, or so he thought. She had volunteered after finishing her second year of residency in the states. The village had accepted her, and she was the only doctor they trusted. She knew the language and customs. The words of advice he had received seemed ironical now. "Stay on her good side unless you would care to be killed."
He heard the door swing open. The rain was still pouring heavily. The thatched roof provided little shelter from the wet of the outside world. He looked up and saw the man leading her into the room. Her hair was matted down to her face and shoulders. Her clothes were soaked to the core; he could discern her ribs outlined in the thin white shirt. He could still see the figure of the woman he had known before. The woman he had held in his arms and made love to. Currently she looked like a shadow of that woman. The rain only highlighted her exhaustion and fatigue. She appeared like a patient, rather than the care giver. The man bustled around her, giving her a towel which she threw around her shoulders. She was handed a pair of dry scrubs, but she only placed them in her lap. She gazed lifelessly around the room. She had been affected much too deep by the harsher reality of life: death.
He observed as the man walked to the cooler. He did it in an almost sympathetic way. He stopped by the few patients he knew, exchanging little words, but the emotions were evident on his somber face. He got to the cooler and opened the black door, quickly shifting through a few boxes, and finding what he was looking for. He grabbed a needle from the counter, and retraced his steps back to the woman. He filled the needle with the drug and shot it into her left arm. She barely twitched, her eyes were closed now and her body was shivering. He watched another woman from across the room get up. She was tall and built, but the effects of starvation were visible nonetheless. Her skin was a deathly black, a native of the area. Her thin dress flapped carelessly as she walked toward the invaders. They were essentially invaders, disrupting life for the masses of people.
The black woman walked over to the white woman. Two different races, two different lives, yet both shared a common bond: they had seen death before. The black woman kneeled before the white, her hand running gently over her face. The two women said nothing, but it seemed like they managed to alleviate each other's pain. Slowly, he watched her break down, falling into the open arms of the black woman. She must hold some authority here, the mother of all. The black woman whispered something to her. She nodded her head, and the women separated. The black woman got up, leaning over and placing a kiss on the white woman's head. He saw how closely knit the community was. When one person suffered, everyone suffered. Racial divides were erased here, the only thing that mattered was respect.
The woman got up from the chair, wiping away the last tears from her face. She ran the towel through her hair, and put it back down on the chair. She placed the scrubs on the towel and turned around. She started to talk to the man, who nodded at her sympathetically, but got down to business a few seconds later. He was leaving the village. He was only an escort. She gave him a tight hug and a quick kiss. He heard something said to her about taking care of herself. She nodded her head, but he knew she dismissed the thought altogether. There were people here in worse condition than she was.
He focused on her. She watched the man exit through the screen into the pouring rain. Her hand was running over the spot where she had received the injection. She scanned the room, looking over her patients. She saw something, taking a gentle step around bodies. A few moments later he saw her pick up a body from the arms of a father. The baby was screaming; the father did not know what to do. She rocked the baby in her arms. It looked like a doll rather than a human being. She scanned the room again, a different perspective being given from that point. He met her gaze for a second; she quickly diverted all contacts. With the baby in her arms, she began to walk toward him. He saw the respect and admiration the people had for her. Everyone knew her; she was their last hope. They knew death was inevitable, but the passage is easier with compassion and love. The two things that most people earned for, the same two things she offered them.
She made her way toward him, checking vitals on her way there. The room was cramped and overcrowded. The people had no where else to go. He stood right next to her. She still hadn't looked up at him. The coughing overtook her body once more, and he took the baby from her arms. He held the little boy in his arms, watching her gasping for air. After a few seconds, it passed. She took the boy from his arms and looked out at the screen.
"When it stops raining, we need to go triage."
Her voice was more raspy than he remembered, but she had changed. This was a permanent change; no one went to the ends of the earth and came back the same person. Her manner was delicate and compassionate. She knew the fate that awaited her. He watched her hand the sleeping child to another woman, who gently embraced the baby. She trudged over to the door, opening it and standing on the shielded porch. Her arms were wrapped around her body; he was instantly pulled toward her. He ignored the threatening glances from the patients around the room. They were protective of her. He opened the wooden door slowly, a cool gust of wind hitting him, cooling his body down. He stepped out on the tattered floor, making his way toward her. She stood with her back to him. He was close enough to hear her heart beating, yet far enough to not hear her screaming for help. His hand went upon her shoulder. Her flesh was warm under his touch. She snapped away from him, moving forward.
"Abby . . . "
His voice cracked under the weight of her name. It had been almost four years since he said it last. He dug his hands into his pockets, unsure of what to do. He stood watching her, the most beautiful woman on the face of the earth. She slowly turned toward him, fear and regret etched on her worn face.
"Forget the past."
She walked past him, going back into the shelter of the clinic.