L.L. Foster - The Awakening

He needed to follow what few clues Gaby had given him. He had to keep her safe.

Damn it all, he had to find a bogeyman.

Knowing Luther wouldn't be far behind her, Gaby dragged Morty along the white halls of the cancer ward. She shouldn't have told him anything.

She shouldn't have… well, more or less asked for his help.

She worked alone, damn it. Always had.

That's how God had designed it.

So why the hell did she still have Mort in tow?

"What are we looking for, Gaby?"

For some lame reason, Mort's presence brought her comfort in the memory-laden section of the hospital. Her body, her mind, recognized the smells, the sights, the auras and the emotions. Mort, with all his newfound gallantry, blunted the cutting edges of desolation.

She wore the yoke of his friendship, accomplishing much, and bearing the burden. "I'll let you know when I see it."

Ambling along, Gaby peered into each room, and eavesdropped on each conversation. Every nurse, doctor, and patient received her sharp appraisal.

"What are we doing here, Gaby?"

Pausing near a nurses' station, Gaby waited as two doctors approached. Voice low, she explained to Mort, "There's a thick tide of sickness caged in here, ebbing and flowing with no place to go. There's choking depression and a dark, heavy emanation because of it."

Mort stared at her wide-eyed.

Disgusted, Gaby said, "Don't let it spook you."

"It's not. But you're freaking me out."

He looked freaked, causing her to lock her teeth. "You weren't afraid of me earlier."

"I'm not afraid now. Just worried. But this isn't anything like earlier. You were hurting then. I could tell." He chewed his lower lip. "Can you tell me now what was wrong, what happened to you? I think I understand most of it. But you… you looked so different—"

"I didn't!"

At her angry retort, Mort jumped a foot. "Okay, okay," he soothed. "You looked the same—"

Sickened at herself and the growing stain of reality, Gaby dropped back against the wall. "Did I?" She turned her head toward him. "Did I look the same, Mort?"

Apologetic, Mort shook his head. "No."

"Fuck."

"Shhh. The nurses will hear you."

Reminded of her purpose, Gaby turned her body to face Mort as if in close conversation. "Be quiet so I can listen in."

"Listen in on what?"

To him, to a plain, mortal of a guy like Mort, the low voices of the doctors and nurses would be insubstantial. But for Gaby… "Just hush."

"Okay."

The conversation was a mere drone at first.

Until Gaby concentrated.

Then she heard them as clearly as if they addressed her personally from only a foot away. Another God-given talent.

Super ears—when need be.

"Ms. Davies has taken a turn for the worse. When I visited with her this morning, I couldn't get any response at all. Her vitals are weak. I don't think she's going to make it much longer. She's barely hanging on."

A female voice said, "I thought she was better yesterday."

"She's dying," said a male voice. "How much better did you think she'd get?"

Annoyed but attempting to hide it, the female said, "I'll check in on her now, to see if I can ease her in some way."

Gruffer and filled with impatience, the man growled, "It's a waste of time, Dr. Chiles. You're here to doctor her. Her family and friends should be soothing her."

"She has none."

"Perfect. So we're supposed to pick up the slack?"

"I thought—"

"I know what you thought. But you have other patients to see today, patients who are coherent, who have a chance. They need your care. Let Ms. Davies pass. We're short on beds anyway."

"I'll see to all my patients, Dr. Marton. But I won't let Ms. Davies suffer needlessly."

"If there's no response, what makes you think she's suffering?"

"Cancer has taken her, and it seldom does so without a great deal of pain."

"Hell." Gaby heard the pause, and then: "Fine. Do what you want. But she'll hardly know, now will she?"

Out of the corner of her eye, Gaby watched as the male doctor, Dr. Marton, stormed past. He was big, and though he tried to conceal it, he was furious.

At himself? At Dr. Chiles? Or at the hopeless situation in the cancer ward?

Behind Gaby, the nurses held silent, but Dr. Chiles said, "He's tired. Too many long hours and too little hope."

Then she too, walked away, releasing the nurses to gossip freely.

"God, he's a coldhearted bastard."

"I'm surprised he didn't have Ms. Davies moved out of here as he usually does with the indigent patients who can't pay for hospice."

"That horrible place where he sends them…" A shudder of revulsion broke the voice. "Can you imagine dwindling away in that cold, dreadful place, all alone and in so much pain?"

"At least he makes routine visits there to help treat them."

"If you call his brand of doctoring real treatment."

Like magnetized puzzle pieces clicking together, awareness, realization, and suspicion all formed an image of possibilities.

Dr. Marton.

Terminal cancer patients.

Indigent patients, all alone, without family or friends.

Each abomination Gaby had faced had an evil past, a past that had alienated them from family and friends, leaving them alone with their tragic fates.

Dr. Marton sent them somewhere, and then treated them there.

Where?

"Come on, Mort." In a hurry to investigate, Gaby had taken three steps before she realized Mort didn't follow. She turned back and saw him staring into Ms. Davies' room.

Retracing her steps, she paused beside Mort and followed his gaze into the room. The nurses and Dr. Chiles congregated around the sick bed.

Voice stricken, Mort whispered, "What's going on do you think?"

"She's dead."

He fell back a step, but couldn't alter his stare from the scene. "But… how can you tell for sure? She could be sleeping…"

"She's not."

"'Maybe…"

"No." Anxious to drag him away, Gaby took his hand. His fingers curled around hers, warm and secure and again, comforting. "Trust me, Mort. She's gone."

If he saw enough dead people, he'd learn to tell the difference between a sleeping body and a hollow shell. After death, the remaining flesh and bones held only a dark chasm instead of a vibrant soul.

She didn't want Mort to learn about that. She didn't want him to become familiar with death.

Not the way she had.

He grew winded trying to keep up with her. "Where are we going now?"

"Out of here. I can't breathe in here."

His hand tightened on hers, slowing her down. "You know something, don't you?"

"No." What she knew, she couldn't share. Not with a simple fellow like Mort. Regardless of his recent stoicism, he'd never understand what she did.

He'd never understand who she was.

"You can trust me, Gaby."

That deserved no more than a snort.

"C'mon. Tell me. Before I noticed everyone going into that poor old lady's room, I saw you…"

With the suddenness of a stroke, his voice died.

"I what?" Gaby asked.

"Nothing."

He stayed silent, and Gaby stopped, jerking around to face him. "What, damn it?"

She watched as he resigned himself to giving her a straight answer. "You looked funny again. Not as much as in the alley, but… sharper." His gaze searched hers. "More dangerous."

It had happened again, and over something so simple, something so ordinary? Jesus, did she run around shifting all the time?

Maybe.

For two heartbeats, Gaby could do nothing. Then she exploded. "Fuck, fuck, fuck ."

And from behind her, Luther tsked . "Gabrielle Cody. You really do need to learn to curb that foul mouth of yours."

Hands fisted and teeth sawing together, she pivoted around to face her newest nemesis. "So, cop, you were faking?"