Destiny's Revenge (Destiny Series - Book 2) (2 page)

She must have known that this was an answer I needed to give someone. She patted my hand, “I know, Lauren, I know.”

We sat in silence for a short while. Previously, when we were silent on the outside, she and I were carrying on a conversation telepathically, but today her mind was not filled with questions or advice of any kind. I finally broke the silence with, “Thank you, Rewsna. If it weren’t for you, I would still be locked up inside myself.”

She nodded understandingly. “I was surprised you were able to summon me at all. He had you so tight in his grips that no one had been able to reach you.”

Cautiously I asked, “Who was
he
?” The curiosity of what exactly had happened to me had been eating at me since I woke up. Rewsna was the first visitor who wasn’t so preoccupied with the fact that I was awake, and she may be the only person on earth who could give me any answers at all.

“Not
who
, Lauren, the correct question is, w
hat
was he.”

I waited for her to answer as she sat on the bed staring off into the distance. Finally she shared, “We have had many names for his kind over the years. The Council thought his species had been obliterated decades ago. The one that found you was unknown to us. We couldn’t see him until he had taken you. You must know that I would have prepared you had I known it was a possibility.”

“Prepared me? You mean this wasn’t some random attack? But what was he?”

“He doesn’t have a real name because there is no creature in folklore or mythology that you would have heard of. Well before my time, the Council determined this was a creature they did not wish for humans to know about. Every writing, hieroglyph, story, that could have been passed down from one generation to the other was destroyed. The Council had attempted to erase the Beast from existence. You, Lauren, are the only one outside of the Council that has ever freed yourself from one. It is a dangerous beast that can camouflage himself as human, shifting his shape into nearly any animal he chooses, feeding on others’ misery until he completely extinguishes them.”

“So this monster that just happened to find me in the middle of nowhere – you are saying he was feeding on me?”

“Not physically, but he fed on your life force - that which makes you who you are, your soul. He dimmed yours badly for a period. The entire Council came to your side to try to reach you, but you were lost in him. The thought was that our combined abilities all touching your lifeless body might have been able to draw you from him. We were disheartened to know that our combined strength could not overpower his hold on you. He had lain dormant for so long that we foolishly thought his kind was extinct; he was gaining strength, becoming more powerful than those of us who should have been able to come to your aid.”

She had to have anticipated my question, but I asked it anyway, “Why me?”

“Because of your potential, Lauren. He targeted you because he too sees what you are capable of, as well as your untapped potential.”

Questions started forming in my mind, and I could see her reaction as she heard them.

She began answering before I was able to speak them aloud. “The Council has had many names over the years. We do not interfere with the population. We do not wish to impact anyone’s destiny, as lives are mapped, and challenges are selected from each person’s beginning. Although some people select very difficult lives, many ultimately require a small nudge in the right direction. That is where we come in. Many times we are that voice of reason, or a conscience when someone has to choose a path for their life. We have been called guardian angels, we are seen as kind strangers, we have been many things to many people.”

“So you are my guardian angel?” Astonished at the thought, I was disappointed to see her shake her head.

“Lauren, it is not like that. I do not watch over you
per se
. But an evil so vile attacked you that it altered your course in life. It was not supposed to exist, it was not supposed to attack you. Because the Council was unaware of the Beast’s existence, it was allowed to feed from you and change your path. I will stay with you and watch you, not because I have wings or have been sent from anywhere – I am with you because we cannot permit that evil to attack again. It was unsuccessful in extinguishing you – it views you now as a threat, rather than an accomplishment. I warn you, Lauren, the Beast will return.”

Horror gripped me from the inside out. My stomach knotted as her words sunk in, “He’s coming back for me?”

Rewsna nodded. This time you will be prepared; this time you will be ready. The Beast will not be able to take you by surprise again, and when he faces you head on, you will have the power of the Council supporting you.” Her words of encouragement did nothing to unknot the fear I felt. She must have felt now was not the right time to go into the details of exactly how. She had given me enough of a warning that I knew the hardest part was far from over.

Rewsna and I spent the rest of her visit on subjects that were far less frightening. We talked about the weather, about my rehabilitation, about stocks and bonds (her idea, not mine). We talked about everything under the sun except this evil Beast. Being clairvoyant must be a real asset because as soon as our conversation changed from general topics to impending doom, she must have known I was ready to shut down. She quickly changed the subject to nothing important and kept on talking.

It isn’t that I wasn’t interested in this beast thing - I think it was just too much to process. She avoided the whole subject of Max, too. It isn’t like she didn’t know about him. She knew all about him before we ever met: she knew how he used to visit me in my dreams telling me about our destiny together. But having now been awake for weeks with no word from Max, I was appreciative that she avoided mention of him.

Shortly after Rewsna departed, my friend Rachael stopped by to see me. My brother Steve made an appearance on his way home from work. Seth stopped by with a vase full of flowers. Conversation with each of them was easy, and they were as insightful as Rewsna by not asking if I’d heard from Max yet.

The next morning I looked at my wheelchair and started to reach for it when it hit me, it wouldn’t do me any good, and I wouldn’t get out of here any faster by taking it easy. I shoved the wheelchair out of the way and reached for the walker that was placed on the other side. Balancing the best that I could with part of my weight on the table, I extended my arm and pulled the walker to me. Up until now I had only used it a few times just to steady myself from the wheelchair to the parallel bars. Today was a new day. I was going to see Max soon, really see him – not some phony dream. When I did, I would be on my own two legs. I stood up from my bed and started making my way out of my room. I got as far as the doorway and could see a chair ten feet down the hall. Though my legs ached both from doing nothing for a couple years and from the physical therapy I’d been going through, I was sure I could shuffle through the ache.

I made it to the chair and sat down. Collapsed into the chair might be a better description. The blood rushing to my feet was an awkward sensation. There were so many things, little things that I had taken for granted, I actually found myself pleased with this minor accomplishment. I sat in the chair for at least ten minutes. Looking further down the hall and another twenty feet away set an identical chair to the one I was seated in. Summoning all the strength I had, I pulled myself up from the chair so I was upright behind my walker again. The shuffling of my feet wouldn’t look like a major achievement to most, but I was walking, I was moving on my own, and I didn’t need anyone’s help. I made it to that second chair and was starting to feel a little cocky, looking for another chair that might be strategically placed a little further down. When I didn’t find one, I decided not to risk it and sat down for another breather.

This repetition took place all the way until I reached the dining area. I looked at the clock on the wall: 7:40. It had taken me over thirty minutes to walk a little over a hundred feet. This didn’t bother me a bit when compared to the distance I had walked over the last two years. As I sat at the dining table, a staff member asked what I would like for breakfast.

A voice to my left warned, “Don’t get the sausage biscuit. It tastes like leather, and you’ll need a laxative to get it out.”

The dining facility staff member glared at the man’s advice, but I laughed. She must be responsible for more than just getting the residents’ food from the kitchen. Enjoying this man’s humor, I asked, “What do you recommend?”

“McDonalds’ down the street, but if we left now I don’t think either one of us could make it there before lunch.”

This guy was a riot. I guess once you hit a certain age you just speak your mind instead of sugar-coating anything. He had snow white hair, silver-rimmed glasses and a scowl that had probably been there for decades.

I asked the lady for toast and jelly, she turned around and headed for the kitchen. Then the old man claimed, “I should have had you order some for me, too. She spits on all my food.”

“How about when she comes back I’ll split mine with you, then if we’re still hungry, I’ll ask for some more.”

“Sounds like a plan. The food here is shit: overcooked, cold, and for added fun - pureed. Say, you’re a little young to be hanging out in this place. You got a thing for old men?”

“Yeah, especially the ones that hike the waist band of their pants up to their boobs; that’s a real turn on for me.”

The man laughed so hard his dentures came loose, and I thought he was going to fall out of his chair. The scowl on his face evaporated and he lit up. He stuck out his hand, “My name’s Joe. Sure is nice to have someone around here with a little spunk again! What are you in for?”

No one had asked me this before. Not wanting a lot of questions that I wasn’t prepared to answer, I just told him, “I was in an accident.”

“What did you say your name was?”

“I’m Lauren.”

In a louder than necessary voice, he asked, “Loraine?”

“No, my name’s Lauren.”

“Well, Loraine…that’s a beautiful name. How about after breakfast we go for a walk in the garden?”

“Joe, are you kidding me? You’re old enough to be my grandfather.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter, sweetheart, I just want to go outside to smoke. I had both hips replaced, and I can’t smoke in this God-forsaken place. I’m not allowed on the grounds without an escort. I can’t stand the staff; they all just lecture me about how much better my health would be if I quit. Obviously, I’m older than dirt, so whatever I’m doing is working for me.”

“Maybe you didn’t see me walk down here. I’m not all that mobile yet.”

“Then I’ll be your escort and you can be mine. Fresh air will do you good.”

Just like that I had a new best friend. Joe was eighty-two, a smoker, an avid-reader, had run marathons, had fought in World War II, outlived two of his children and his wife, and was quite likely the funniest person I had ever met. He told me story after story about his life: the crispness of his memory was nothing short of amazing. I think his hearing was going, though, because no matter how often I corrected him, he was sure my name was Loraine.

It turned out he smoked every couple hours, and that first day it took me thirty minutes to walk from the recreation room to the outside and another thirty minutes to walk back in when he was done. By the end of the week I had shaved ten minutes off my speed each way. With each trip outside, I could feel my body getting stronger and my fondness for Joe increasing. He told me he was going to go home in another couple weeks, so that was my new target. I didn’t want to try to make a new friend in this place because most of the people here weren’t like Joe and me. This was a last stop before they cashed in their chips.

Joe and I spent most mornings and early afternoons together. The only time we were separated was when one of us was in physical therapy. My visitors arrived most evenings around 5:30. We were falling into a pretty comfortable routine when at the end of our first week together I realized he hadn’t had any visitors at all. He never mentioned it, and tried to make himself scarce when my family and friends arrived. It’s not that they didn’t welcome him - I think he just felt a little self-conscious around them or something.

My room was becoming more and more homey. My mom brought in pictures and knickknacks from my bedroom at home. Every night when she came in, the first thing she said was that she still hadn’t heard from Max, but she was sure he would call soon. The first few nights I nodded, believing that whenever he got the message he would call immediately. But as the days drew on and no call, text, or e-mail arrived, I wondered where Max was, and knew if he had gotten any of the messages, he would have found a way to get in touch with me.

An odd sensation rocked me for a second as I thought about Max. I had a feeling that he was okay. I didn’t know where he was, what he was doing, but somehow I knew he was okay.

The days began to run together, so I got a calendar for myself on the wall. By the forty-second day after I awoke I had made serious progress. Instead of walking behind a walker anymore, I had graduated to a cane and hadn’t used the wheelchair for weeks. I was feeding myself, to include cutting some of those sausage patties at breakfast time that were the consistency of a shoe ’s sole. My coordination wasn’t all there yet, but I was less reliant on the staff and caught myself being hopeful that I might be finishing my recovery from my parents’ house rather than this nursing home.

At the end of the day, when I was by myself, my thoughts lingered on Max until sleep found me. I knew I was dreaming, but this dream was different from all the others. The sights, smells and sounds all around me were foreign. The sun shone bright in a clear blue sky, with nothing to filter the piercing rays beating down on me. Making it worse was a rocky landscape. The sun-baked terrain had long ago lost all its colors except beige. The terrain reflected the sunlight back at me, blinding me from both directions.