[Photo by Cory Mogk from Unsplash]

Topher

I glance at the passenger seat, timing it with a passing street light so I might get a clearer read on Leni's mood. She's still staring straight ahead, face blank, posture rigid.

This is madness.

"Leni, I can see you're uncomfortable. If you'd like more time to think about—"

"No." She brands me with an expression I have yet to experience and cannot interpret. It doesn't quite correlate with her commanding tone. But still, I guide the Jeep into the left turn lane.

I circle to the rear of the hospital and back into my usual parking space, but leave the engine running. "I owe you an apology," I say, at the same time Leni blurts, "I'm sorry."

She groans. "Sorry again."

"I can't imagine why you believe you owe me the apology. This is entirely my fault. I should have told you my intention last night, given you time to think it through—time to find a polite way to tell me to bugger off."

The last bit is meant to add levity, but Leni's not having it. She's studying the building now, squinting as if the fading light has compromised her vision. But then her eyes grow wide. "You're taking me through the employee entrance?" she asks, her tone bordering on panic.

"We don't have to go in at all."

She responds with a sigh which is clear exasperation. Message received: she has not changed her mind.

"Or," I amend. "We could use the main entrance if you prefer."

"But there are cameras there too, right? At all the entrances?"

"Yes, and many more inside. There's no way to avoid them, nor is there reason. We're not breaking any rules—hospital or otherwise. This isn't the first time I've popped round to check on a patient. It isn't even the first time I've visited Emma."

Leni nods, gives the hospital another suspicious glance and then, determinedly, begins rummaging through her purse. She comes up with a rubber band, which she holds between her teeth while she rakes her fingers through her long, spiraling hair. It's divided into thirds and those strands are deftly twisted into a long braid. "Better?" she asks as she secures the end.

Better? Is she asking if I have a preference? "It's lovely either way."

She rolls her eyes. "Is it less conspicuous?"

"Oh. Yes, I suppose?"

"Good. Let's get this over with."

In the time it takes me to sort it—Leni's concern about the cameras, the reason for her less conspicuous hairstyle and her blind resolve to get this over with—she has the door open and one foot on the asphalt.

I cut the engine and unbuckle myself. Slam my door after exiting—although not intentionally. It's my need to rush, an attempt to get ahead of a situation gone out of control. And, gah, this thick pocket of humid air isn't helping. It's a sharp contrast to the onshore wind that hastened our nearly silent trek from the restaurant.

"Why are you so stubbornly determined to go through with this?" I ask when I catch her up in front of the Jeep.

"Do you want my help or not?" she snaps.

"Not if it's to be like this." I thud a fist against the weight in my chest. "Godsakes, Leni. It's painfully obvious you don't feel safe here. I'm not keen on feeling as though I'm escorting you to the guillotine."

She closes her eyes and takes a long, deep breath, an attempt to calm herself. And so I do the same.

It doesn't help.

"Hospitals make me nervous," she says. "This hospital makes me think of my father."

"Oh, Leni. I'm so sorry. I'd no idea."

Her closed lids flinch before she opens them. "He didn't die here, but we spent a lot of time... Enough to make an unpleasant association."

"That sounds like a bit of an understatement."

"Yes. But. You asked for my help and..."

In the pause I register a softening. In her posture, her eyes.

"I trust you, Topher."

The last time she said this it felt like a victory. Now the words leave me gutted. If I deserved her trust she would already know my true intent. I should tell her now—say it before I take her inside.

She starts off across the car park, mumbling indiscernibly, before I can muster the words. I curse to myself and follow.

Once inside the building, my guilt is quelled. Or more likely, squashed by anticipation. My heart is thrumming with my need to know the truth, one way or another.

I summon the nearest lift and while we wait, Leni inches toward me—near enough for her arm to touch mine in a way that feels intentional, like she's seeking comfort. So when the door slides open, I take her hand, threading my fingers through her long, slender ones. And I'm reminded of the child-sized version pressed into the concrete stepping stone.

Tiny hands that could already heal arthritis?

The back of my neck prickles—seemingly in sync with the chime signaling the lift's arrival. We step inside and the metal door that closets us reflects a distorted image. Would Leni be holding my hand if she knew I'd brought her here to perform for me?

"What happens if we see someone?" she asks. "A nurse or...anyone."

"Nothing. Or...well. If it makes you feel better, a story? I'm looking in on a patient and you were gracious enough to accompany me?"

"Why didn't I just wait for you in the car?"

"You're obsessively curious about me," I say—meaning to be witty and ironic because obviously, I'm the one who's obsessed. But Leni simply nods. And then the ride is over and the lift opens to the harsh florescent glare of another hallway.

I give her hand a squeeze and guide her straight into Emma's room. I leave Leni just this side of the closed door, giving her a moment to adjust or process. Or flee.

The light is subdued and it takes a moment for my eyes to register the details of Emma's face. She is gratifyingly serene in sleep. Even though there are still signs of pain—despite the narcotic, a prescription I'm not keen on sending her off with. But if not I, then I reckon some other provider will in time. What choice will they have?

Leni's arm brushes against mine. Although, not intentionally this time it seems. She distances herself quickly, whispering, "Should you lock the door?"

"Hmm." I can't come up with a believable reason I might give if a nurse were to find myself and my dinner guest locked in a room with a patient. "I'm afraid that would add an element of suspicion where normally... Wait, what am I to expect when...if you decide to..." I can't even say the word aloud. "Will there be chanting or some ethereal glow?"

Leni's frown communicates an appropriate amount of disdain. "Sorry," I say. "I'm nervous and not terribly funny—even on my best day."

"It's fine. Tell me more about Emma's condition. Her hands don't look...I mean, it was really obvious with my mom. Her knuckles were really swollen."

"Emma doesn't have Rheumatoid. But she does have arthritis and her bones are very fragile. She fell several days ago and broke her left hip." I ramble on in too much detail, naming medications I've tried, the ones I'm avoiding. "The next step is skilled nursing care, which... Please understand I'm not bashing these facilities—they can be quite beneficial. But staffing shortages are the norm in that industry and Emma has no family to fill in the gaps. I don't mention this to illicit sympathy. It is merely fact."

Leni turns to face me, hands fisted, arms rigid. "If I do this, the change will be noticeable."

I have to swallow this—both literally and figuratively. "There's no one to notice. This is Emma's second trip to the hospital. She's never had a visitor."

"Emma will notice."

I smile. "That's the easiest part, I suspect. Emma's the religious sort—and I mean that with the greatest respect. Her faith is admirable. She's been praying for a miracle for years. If that prayer were suddenly answered, I feel certain she'd not question it."

"What about the nurses, the rest of the staff?" Leni asks.

"Too over-worked to be anything but thrilled by the empty bed. And already convinced of my brilliance." I cup a reassuring hand around Leni's elbow. "No one in this hospital will be looking for a beautiful, mysterious woman with healing abilities, Leni. What you can do...a person would have to see it to believe. Right?"

She nods. But it's quick, an appeasement. Not acceptance of my vague confession.

"The heart monitor could be a problem," Leni says, pointing.

The steady beep had not registered for me before now. "What sort of problem?"

"It only happened once. I was trying to relieve Pop's pain and his heart rate spiked and set off an alarm. He wasn't sedated, though. And I know from experience that unplugging the machine also gets you a quick visit from the nurse."

"As it should," I say, feeling prickly all over now. It seems my doubts are on thin ice.

"Think up a story just in case."

"Yes," I agree, although it's not likely to happen. My brain is entirely occupied with the understanding that Leni has made her decision. All that's left is for me to watch, enthralled by the certainty of her movements as she pulls back the covers, layers her hands over Emma's hip and closes her eyes.

I move to the end of the bed so I can study Leni's face. But there is nothing to see. She is silent and serene—and then her eyes open and she says, "I think the bone was partially healed already. It wasn't as difficult to heal as your arm was."

My heart reacts to this in much the same way it did when I viewed the x-ray of my healed bones. "You're finished?" I ask, glancing at the wall clock. Unfortunately, I'd not thought to do this as she began and so I can't be sure how much time has passed.

"Or," Leni adds, eyes still on Emma. "Maybe it wasn't a clean break?"

It wasn't, but stunned as I am, I can only confirm this with a nod. Which Leni does not see.

"Partial fracture?" she asks, turning to me.

I nod again, clearing my throat. "Femoral neck. Very common in older adults."

"Okay. Where is the arthritis?"

"All of Emma's joints are affected."

Leni grimaces and as she goes back to work, I note the time: 9:51. She makes her way down Emma's body, stopping at each joint to administer...what? There's no indication of the connection between healer and patient—and thankfully, only a slight change to Emma's vitals. But I cannot deny what I'm witnessing. Emma's face softens by degrees until there's no longer a hint of tension, no trace of the pain she's never been able to mask. Her entire body goes loose and pliable under Leni's touch.

I join Leni at the left side of Emma's bed, unable to resist an impulse to gently prod each of Emma's knuckles. There's no lingering evidence of stiffness or swelling. The cartilage and ligaments are restored and fully functional. It's just...bloody impossible. Isn't it?

Her hand twitches and I pull mine away, checking that her eyes are still closed. They are but the fingers I just examined curl in on themselves and open. Twice in succession, as if she's testing them out. It's the most beautiful, amazing—God, I want to wake her, to celebrate with her. I swear, I will burst clean open if I don't...

I turn to Leni and she's bursting with it too, this need for exultation. Her eyes are brimming. "Leni, I—"

"I know," she says, throwing her arms round my neck.

But she doesn't know. Can't possibly. I don't even know myself.

Or do I? I pull her against my body, hold her tight even though I'm already having difficulty filling my lungs with air. I brought Leni here because I needed proof and now I have it. Indisputable proof of a wondrous thing for which there is no scientific explanation. I've just witnessed a bloody miracle.

Leni is the miracle.

She pulls back to wipe her cheeks and I'm done under. I've registered gratitude in the eyes of patients and their families—the kind that seems to exceed the limit of spoken word—but the warmth in Leni's is that and more. I hope like hell it means she's falling as hard as I am.

"We should go," I say, wanting desperately to be alone with her.

"Oh." Leni glances round the room like she's forgotten where we are. "Yes, please," she says, in a whisper tinged with anxiety.

And all at once it registers: a sobering understanding of how this situation I've idiotically lured Leni into could put her at risk. Her brother-in-law should absolutely kick my arse.

I open the door, glance up and down the corridor and place a hand on Leni's back to urge her forward. But she gasps and... "Bloody hell!" I yank my hand away. But the reason, the searing pain, is... "Did you feel that?" I ask. But I already know she must have done. She gasped at the exact moment.

How is there no evidence of a burn on my palm? No blister—or even a red mark. And how in the hell... "Leni? What just happened?"

"Let's get out of here first. Then I'll explain it."

"You can explain it?"

"Shhh! I—not exactly. Just please, get me out of this hospital."

I lead her back to the lift, my heart pounding louder than our footsteps. When the door is closed I say, eyes trained on her back, "You must have some idea."

"Not. Here," she says, emphatically.

The metal door slides open to a familiar face. A bloke from maintenance. A night-shift regular. Not Martin but... "Marshal," I say. "Hello."

"Hey, Dr. Thompson."

Leni darts past him. I give the man a shrug—and a smile I don't feel—and plod after her.

She pushes out of the employee door, stalks across the car park and waits beside my Jeep, shoulders slumped, arms wrapped protectively around herself. She steps back, giving me an excess of space to open the passenger door. Keeping her gaze away from mine. I sigh loudly before I walk around to the driver's side. It's not fair of me, I'm sure. What exactly am I protesting?

I take my place in my seat and grip the steering wheel with a force that makes my arms ache. "Leni, what—"

"It's something I have to show you, Topher. And I will, as soon as we get to your house."

"Right." I take a breath—deep but ineffective—crank the car and navigate out to Highway 12.

It's something she has to show me. Some thing on her body that burned my hand? Do I even want to see it? I can't begin to imagine what it is. Certainly nothing biological—nothing found in human biology. Because human beings don't require ocean water and they don't miraculously heal crippling diseases.

Oh, so now I've reached the conclusion that Leni isn't human, have I? Or perhaps, I'm simply losing my mind?

"Please just answer me this," I say. "Did I even feel what I think I felt?"

"Yes."

That single, pitifully-uttered word jolts me out of my selfish-arsed state. All of that glorious joy Leni was radiating after healing Emma has gone out like a snuffed candle. But it's more than that, isn't it? Abject misery and possibly, humiliation—and who could blame her? I'm reacting as though she's an alien.

I reach for her hand and bring it to my lips. "Leni, I'm sorry."

"Don't say that."

"I overreacted."

She laughs, forced and cynical. "I don't think anyone would agree with that statement."

I open my mouth to contradict, but she makes a valid point. It's a legitimate shock all right. I tighten my affected hand round the steering wheel. There's no residual pain, so it couldn't have been a burn. But it was something—she admitted that much.

But then, I also watched her eradicate all evidence of a crippling disease from a woman's body with just the touch of her hands. So I'd bloody-well better learn to expect the unexpected.