Its growl sends reverberations through the walls. Heat radiates from its body, and its breath is rank with blood and human flesh. Shannon runs her frightened eyes over its body and notes the torn flesh where the bullets have pierced.
Oh please don’t let him be hurt.
On the bed, Conchita flutters open her eyes.
“Anubis,” she whispers in a surprisingly clear voice, “have you come to take me?”
Shannon knows what she must do. She shakes the nurse’s grip from her arms and runs to the panther.
Hold tight, it seems to say to her.
With the blood rushing in her ears to mask out all other sounds, she leaps into the panther’s back and grips its thick black fur. Its sleek muscles bunch beneath her and it flies towards the open window. Shannon closes her eyes. Her mind is a void as her entire being is concentrated on just holding on and staying on the creature’s back.
The panther leaps out of the window and into the cool black night.
For one preternatural moment, Shannon is flying.
With a loud thud, they land on the ground three floors down. And then they are off, flying into the night and above the six foot wall with its barbed wire.
STORIES
It some ways, it is a catharsis for Shannon to be able to tell someone what happened. But she leaves out the part about the panther. That is not her story to tell but Jared’s.
Kirk listens avidly until their food arrives.
“We better get some chow in you,” he says.
Shannon eyes the spread. Sweet and sour pork is served together with a plate of stir fried vegetables. A bowl of steaming hot rice is laid down for them to help themselves.
“It smells very good.”
“It is very good.” Kirk picks up a pair of chopsticks. “Do you know how to use chopsticks?”
She shakes her head.
“Try it.”
She picks them up and fumbles with them. He laughs. It is a rich, hearty laugh, full of baritone and meaning.
“Here, let me show you how.”
Across the table, he gently takes her hand and positions the two sticks between her fingers. His hand is warm, and she suppresses the delicious but unbidden thrill running into her knuckles and palm from his contact.
Get real. He’s your boss. And you’re dating someone just as gorgeous, if not more.
At least, she thinks she is dating Lucien.
“There is an art to it,” he explains. “Some people end up holding them all wrong. The basic function of chopsticks is to shove as much food into your mouth as quickly as possible. That’s why rice is eaten off a bowl and the food on the dishes is already cut up for you.”
He demonstrates. She tries to follow, but ends up dropping her piece of pork on the table.
They both laugh.
Kirk signals for the waiter again. “Can you bring her a plate and a fork and spoon, please?”
“I’ll get it right,” Shannon avows.
As they eat, Kirk asks more about her powers.
“When did you know you were different?” he says.
“When I was twelve. I came into puberty. I had a cat named Marnie. She was bitten by a dog, and I was crying because I thought she was going to die – she was hurt so bad. So I didn’t know what to do, and I picked her up and held her and cried all over her. I felt this warmth in my hands, and suddenly Marnie was wriggling again and trying to get out of my grasp. The wounds on her back and belly were closed up.”
“Did other people know this about you when you were growing up?”
“Only my brother, Jared. I . . . I didn’t want to be different, so I told no one.”
She remembers going out into the woods, picking up small wounded animals to try to heal them.
“As I got older, I wanted to try my healing on different living things. And so I volunteered at a Hospice. I tried to heal all the old and sick folk there whom no one had any hopes for recovery. That is when I realized my powers had limitations. I can’t heal cancer. It takes too much out of me. I can’t mend strokes. I can’t make the crippled walk again. I am not God.”
“No, indeed,” Kirk murmurs.
“But I can definitely take away pain. I can cool down fevers and stop infections from spreading and inflammations from getting worse. I can knit bone – inch by painstaking inch. I can close up wounds and lacerations. I can make joint stiffness go away. I can make everything better, even though I can’t heal what is terminally ill.”
“You have a great gift, and you have chosen to make good out of it.”
She finishes her bowl of rice. Kirk was right. The food is incredibly good.
She says cautiously, “You mentioned earlier that you had personal experience with people with my kind of gifts, but they used them for anything but healing. What did you mean by that?”