Unwilling (Book One of the Compelled Trilogy 1) (6 page)

Rowan tried to scramble from her bed only to tangle in her blankets and go sprawling along the floor. The front door banged open and Rowan heard the pounding of footsteps on the gravel running from the house, as if their life depended on it, which perhaps it did.

“Elias!” Rowan screamed, disentangling herself from her blankets and staggering to her feet. She unlocked her window and threw it open, the cold winter air slammed into her lungs, stealing her breath. “Please Elias, do not leave me! ELIAS!” Rowan shrieked, but already the footsteps were no more than a memory, a whisper in the night. A shadow that had once held her brother. Even if he had been lost this past week, she still loved him, she could have gotten him back.

Now, the last person Rowan loved in this world was abandoning her also, without a second look back. Rowan slid down the wall, her heart collapsing into a dusty misshapen pile of broken dreams and a life outside this house and hundred million things she would never get to say to Elias. One by one, the stars overhead winked down, the moon smirking as though it and her mother had won the war, Elias was gone, and Rowan might as well be dead for all the feeling that remained in her limp, shivering body.

FOUR

SEVEN MONTHS AGO- JANUARY

Vordis looked around him at the empty beds with crisp white linens, at the sterile walls and worn wood floor. A deep silence penetrated his ears as his blurry vision focused on a stethoscope hanging on the wall, his own heart beating slowly, so slowly, struggling to find a reason to even do that much.

Incompetent.

To old.

Not good enough.

Vordis harrumphed, praying a kid with a broken arm would walk through his practice door, or a laboring mother, at this point he would take a case of the sniffles.

Inept.

His hands shake so badly now, he sliced open Daniel Murphy’s leg, he needed six stitches.

Not good enough.

He could hear the whispers of his fellow townspeople as they hurried by his building, laughing at the old doctor who dwelled inside, his hearing was shot to hell, but when the people around you made no effort to disguise their mockery, it wasn’t that hard to hear them anyway. Vordis clasped his hands in front of him to keep them from shaking, but no matter how hard he squeezed, he could still feel his leathery, veiny, hands trembling.

Clumsy.

He walks with a hunch like some kind of freak.

Not good enough.

Vordis tried to sit up straighter, but pain started leaking down his spine until he hunched back over with a sigh, turning his head down to the floor.

Incompetent.

To old.

Not good enough.

Not good enough,
he thought to himself sadly. Maybe it WAS time to retire. He had had a good run, 30 years as a doctor; it was more than most had gotten.

He knew he would never retire though, he could never give up the thrill of a diagnosis, the look on a face when he cured someone, that adoration, that gratefulness, he lived for it. He had been born to be a doctor, he was useless at anything else, empty without a stethoscope in his hand.

Vordis looked around his practice again. He hadn’t had a patient for weeks, the little bell over his door hanging unwrung, except for when he himself had to leave; he ached to hear the obnoxious tingling that he normally hated. He could dust. Again. He could scrub the floors. Again. His back twinging in pain as he bent over, wiping the coarse brush across the wood. He could straighten his medical tools. Again. Though he knew that they were already lined up, sanitized with no use, gleaming under the sunlight begging to be held in his wrinkled palm, feeling as useless as he did.

Vordis rubbed his soft fingers over his watery eyes. Who was he kidding? He had dried up months ago, ever since damned Daniel Murphy. Word had spread fast after he had sliced the kid’s leg open, like wildfire, and its implications; that he was too old to practice medicine, had devastated his business.

Vordis wobbled to his feet, his back crying out in pain as he did so. Hunching, he walked to the back of the large house where he lived and treated – used to treat- patients.

I’m closing my doors,
he thought with disbelief, even as he began writing out a sign with shaky handwriting.

Incompetent.

To old.

Not good enough.

It had become his litany over the last month, wrapping around him like an old familiar blanket but with all the comfort of a pit of poisonous vipers.

The bell at the front door jingled and Vordis frowned. His hearing might not be up to par but he wasn’t so far gone as to be imagining things in his head. Was he? Vordis turned slowly, which was how he did everything now a days, slowly, and with pain.

A young pair stood just inside his doorway, the girl looking uncomfortable, the boy, just behind her, examining his office, his eyes finally resting on Vordis himself. Vordis straightened his back under the newcomers’ scrutiny. Holding his head high, he smiled at the pair as he made his way toward them, trying not to shuffle his feet and hunch back over though his back was screaming at him to do just that.

Vordis expected the boy to speak, but the girl addressed him instead. “Are you the doctor? Dr. Vordis Hamlin?” She asked, her voice soft and fragile, reminding him of his own daughter who was grown and moved to Fedway with her husband.

“Yes, that’s me, how might I help you?” Vordis tried to speak without rasping, but he found he was a little short of breath these days, he looked them over for any sign of injury or illness but they both appeared to be healthy.
Damn.

The girl looked back at the boy, her black hair swinging around her shoulders. The boy smiled encouragingly at her, his eyes lighting up when he looked down at her. The girl turned back to him, “Well, I had a… um, a proposition of sorts, that I would like to discuss with you.”

“Oh, yes?” he stopped to take in a ragged breath, “why don’t we all go upstairs and I’ll put on a kettle of tea.”

“Of course.” The girl smiled, “I’m Rowan, by the way, Rowan Chase. And this is Jace Tarrow.” The girl, Rowan, said.

“It’s a pleasure,” he said, “to meet the both of you, this way, up the stairs.” Vordis turned, hoping they were following him as he made his way to the back of his medical practice where a set of creaky narrow steps led up to the second floor. He started up them, each step announcing the ascent into his tiny cramped home.

At the top of the stairs was a heavy door that he pushed open, the bottom scraping the wood floor. Vordis scanned the small one room to make sure it was suitable for guests. He had a few dishes sitting on the counter, and a pot hanging over his wood stove from last night, and his bed was unmade, his blankets sitting in a knotted heap atop his rock hard bed, but it was acceptable. After all this was a last minute invitation, had he known he would have company he would have hidden his dishes and at least straightened out his blankets.

Vordis turned around, pulling out a chair from his tiny table. “I’m sorry I only have the one chair…” Vordis trailed off, suddenly feeling self-conscious about the small room where he lived.

Incompetent.

To old.

Not good enough.

Vordis shook his head, trying to banish the vicious whispers from his thoughts.

“That’s really alright, we can’t stay long.” Rowan smiled at him kindly, but her eyes looked tired, weary, sad, and for the first time Vordis really took in her appearance. Her black hair was slightly tangled, blue bags under her eyes, her dress hanging slightly baggy on her slim frame. Vordis had looked much as she had after his wife had left him some years ago; he recalled the sleepless nights, the tasteless food, the memories sitting bitterly in the pit of his stomach.  He wondered who had left her.

“Have a seat child.” Vordis offered with a gesture of his hand, looking longingly at the chair for a moment. Rowan slid into the chair gratefully with a small smile. Vordis looked at Jace; he could see the worry, the concern, etched into his face as he placed a hand on the back of Rowan’s chair. He could see the love shinning out of his eyes and Vordis wondered if Rowan even knew how much the boy behind her loved her, though it seemed so obvious to his more experienced self. “You said you had a proposition?” Vordis supplied into the air, placing his hand on the table, more for support to remain upright than any other reason.

“Yes,” Rowan replied, “I am currently in travels to find my brother, and it has been brought to my attention that my group and I could use a doctor to aid us in my journey, and I was hoping that you would be such a doctor. I’m not sure of the length of my travel’s, as I have a hard time pinpointing my brother’s location, and the journey thus far has been slightly rough, were not staying in inn’s and we do a lot of our own hunting. I don’t have much money to pay you, I could give around 100 coins to you upfront, but I’m sure I could give you more later on.” Rowan said steadily, though Vordis could tell that she was uncomfortable, barely meeting his gaze her eyes focusing on a small stain in the wood table, her eyes flicking up to meet his then swooping back to the table as if she was afraid to make eye contact.

Vordis’s first thought was to decline, after all he could barely walk from one end of the room to the other without being short of breath.

Incompetent.

To old.

Not good enough.

And here was this girl offering to prove them all wrong on a silver platter. “How many do you have in your group?” Vordis asked though he already knew he had made his decision.

“Well there’s me and Jace, and then there’s Barton, Pickard, and Mills.”

“Don’t forget about Jonquil.” The boy said softly behind her.

“Oh yes, and Jonquil, he just joined us a few days ago. So six of us total.” Rowan corrected herself.

“All men?” Vordis asked, finding it hard to keep the judgment out of his tone,
how improper.

“Yes, all men.” Rowan replied unashamed, “I need an accompaniment and they volunteered.” Vordis swallowed his comments. Jace’s knuckles tightened on the back off the chair.

“100 coins you said?” Vordis asked though the money was inconsequential to him.

“Yes, I wish I could give you more, but that is all I have right now.” Rowan replied, “and we would be leaving right away, I’m not sure if you have a wife… or children…” Rowan trailed off, sounding uncertain, her eyes scanning his tiny house made up of mismatched old furniture with hardly any personal affects to be seen. To anyone other than him it would appear as if Vordis had only lived there a short time, not nearly long enough to settle in and display his possessions. Vordis knew the truth. He had lived there near fifteen years now, and all his personal mementos reminded him of Haley, his ex-wife, or his daughter, both of whom had left him here to grow old and rot by himself.

“No. No. Well, one daughter, but she’s moved away.” Vordis replied, once again looking around his small threadbare home, the silence from his practice below practically emanating up through the floorboards to mock him. No, no one would miss him here.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Rowan said softly, Jace placed a hand on her shoulder and she jumped lightly, barely noticeable, but relaxed, a content look passing across her face at his touch.

“Don’t be, she’s much happier where she is.” Vordis replied with a wave of his hand. “Your proposition sounds intriguing, how long would I have to get ready?”

“So you will join with us?” Rowan asked, not bothering to hide the grin that had broken out across her face.’

“Yes I think I might.” Vordis answered, unable to stop the infectious smile that had spread to him.

“Oh, thank you!” Rowan exclaimed, standing from her chair. “You don’t know how much I appreciate this!” Behind her Jace was smiling at her joy. “Would an hour be sufficient enough time to pack all you need?” Rowan asked, still smiling.

“That should be plenty, I think.”

“Perfect, we will meet you back here within the hour.” Rowan said, shooting a quick glance at Jace.

“I will see you then, allow me to walk you to the door.” Vordis rasped, trying hard to stand straighter, trying hard not to let the whispers in.

Rowan and Jace left him to suffocate in the silence as they made their way down the creaky stairs, Vordis stood still until he heard the doorbell jingle to indicate that they had left, only then did he allow his shoulders to hunch with a gasp.

He stood, his hands braced on his knees a moment, wondering what kind of insane adventure he had gotten himself into, before hobbling to a small wardrobe on the far side of the room. He pulled open the double doors and rifled around the bottom for the large, worn, bag his wife- ex-wife- had given them on their first anniversary. That day seemed a lifetime ago.

The bag was a faded blue now; its once vibrant color muted and turning gray, much like himself. Vordis pulled his few clothes into the bottom of the bag, saving most of the room for his tools and tinctures. Vordis hobbled down the stairs stopping at a small cabinet that held his medicines and herbs. He piled the neatly labeled jars and containers into the bag, wrapping the glass jars in his clothes so they didn’t crack and spill their healing contents. Lastly he placed in his tools; his otoscope, his scalpel, a sphygmomanometer, meant for check blood pressure
,
a new thermometer he had just bought for the patients he didn’t have, an old worn reflex hammer, the leather straps fraying, lastly his stethoscope.