The Healer: First Touch (10 page)

"Why?"

He uttered two words. "The Fury."

"Oh, yeah," I said, quietly.

"Can I ask you another question?"

He laughed. "Of course."

"What's that on your arm?" When he had touched my hand, I noticed black markings on his arm. He appeared to have a black tattoo that started at his wrist and snaked up his arm, disappearing under the sleeve of his t-shirt. It was thick, traveling around his arm. It reminded me of similar tattoos I had seen worn my Maori tribesmen in New Zealand or Samoan warriors in Hawaii.

"This?' he held out his left arm for me to see.

"Yes."

"The mark of a Protector," he said, turning his arm and looking at his own tattoo. "All Protectors have the same tattoo. It starts on our chest and runs down to the wrist, always the left arm," he continued.

I waited. I knew there had to be more. I was right.

"Always the left because it is closest to the heart. That's why the mark starts on the chest, just above the heart."

I nodded in acknowledgement.

He turned his arm so I could see all the way around it. The tattoo covered the underside of his arm too.

"Wow. Did it hurt?" I asked naively.

He snorted slightly. "Not really." But by the grimace on his face, I could tell he was lying.

Cocking my head to the side, I raised my eyebrows at him accusingly.

He noticed my accusing stare and smiled lightly. "Okay, yeah it hurt. Pretty bad. When a Protector salidites, the tattoo is burned on the arm. For the most part the pain is bearable until it gets close to the wrist."

"That word, salidites. What does it mean?" I stumbled over the strange, new word.

"Sorry. I'm forgetting that you do not understand the language yet. When a Protector is...uh...born, the process is called Salidites. It happens when the Healer is born. The Protector salidites at the same time. But I wasn't born like you."

"What do you mean?"

He explained that he had no mother and no father, that he literally just breathed his first breath at the same moment that I did. However, where I was a tiny, newborn infant, he appeared as he is today.

"So you see, Jacey, I've been watching you, protecting you, ever since you were born."

I stared at him in disbelief.

"Okay, remember when you were seven and you and your family were tubing on the Muskegon River?"

"Yeah..."

"Well, remember when you fell through the tube and were being swept into a small whirlpool by the current?"

I did remember. The memory was a frightening one. I had almost drowned. But for that nice guy pulling me from the depths of the river and up to the shore, I would have...realization flashed upon my face as the memory solidified.

"Yes, Jacey. That was me," he said, smiling. "I've been here with you the entire time, protecting you. I've been the hands pulling you to safety or the voice sending you down a different, safer path. All to protect you."

That explained why his voice was so familiar. I knew that voice. How many times had that rich, warm voice warned me not to get in a car that later I found out had been in an accident? Or told me not to run a certain path and instead take a safer route? I had heard that voice many times growing up, always mistaking it for my own conscience. His voice. The entire time it had been his voice.

"Every joy, every pain, every thrill, I felt too," he added, softly.

Taking a deep breath, I moved closer to him. Facing him, I grabbed his left hand. The sparks I felt earlier I felt again when my fingers wrapped around his hand. With my finger, I lightly traced the dark, thick lines of his tattoo. I felt him breathe in sharply at my touch on his arm. I looked at him to make sure he was alright. A lopsided grin met me.

"You said the pain of your marking was bearable except when it reached your wrist. Why?" I said quietly, very lightly running my fingers over the etchings on his wrist.

He answered slowly, using great control over his voice and words. "Every Protector has the same marking on their arm until it reaches the wrist. At the wrist, it becomes unique for each Protector." I continued to trace the lines at his wrist, cradling it in my other hand. "That's because the markings at the wrist identify the Healer that the Protector is connected to. The same mark is etched on the heart of the Protector. This is your name," he said, quietly, using his own finger to trace the marks on his wrist. "The same is etched on my heart."

I looked at him when he finished. His eyes were bright but filled with pain. The responsibility I felt before came crashing down on me again. Somehow, I felt the same pain, a feeling of sadness, hopelessness, as if we were trapped in a tightly sealed box with no chance of escape. I felt an intense urge to release both of us from this overwhelming burden.

"I don't want you to feel this pain that is somehow associated with me. I didn't ask for it and neither did you. Can't I release you, release both of us from this burden? Tell me how?" My voice was thick and husky with emotion.

He offered a half smile. "Thank you, Jacey. That's the kindest thing anyone has ever said to me. But, I don't want that. I live for this pain. I already told you. I am a Protector. I exist because you exist."

"Have you ever protected anyone else?" I asked. I wasn't sure I really wanted to know the answer. I felt a very strong feeling of jealousy at the thought of him being so closely connected to another person.

He laughed lightly. "No. A protector only ever has one Healer. Ever."

I sighed, releasing the jealous feelings in my heart. I felt guilty over the hold I apparently had on him. But, at the same time, I didn't want him attached to someone else. knew it was madness. The worst part was I didn't care how maddening it seemed. I was so drawn to this mysterious man. Although he'd answered so many questions, there were so many more to ask. I knew I needed him. I needed him to protect me, but it was more than that. His hold on me was just as powerful as my hold on him. I needed him to breathe, to live, to exist. I was afraid if I let him go, he would disappear and me along with him. Not because I couldn't live without him, but because I wouldn't want to. My strong feelings for this stranger surprised and scared me. I held his hand with both of mine, savoring the current passing between us. We were quiet for a moment, just sitting together. Birds chirped around us and a breeze blew the tiny tendrils of hair around my neck that had escaped by messy bun. I didn't want to break the silence between us, but there was one more burning question.

"One more question."

"Yes," he whispered. "Anything."

"What's your name?"

"My name?" he asked, sounding surprised.

"Yes," I said, looking up. "Your name. You do have one, don't you?"

He smiled. "Yes, I have a name."

"Well, what is it?" I pressed.

"Varick. My name is Varick," he answered.

"Varick," I repeated slowly. I allowed his name to roll off my tongue smoothly.

"Yes, Varick," he repeated, "It's Germanic for Protector."

I looked back at his wrist, retracing the lines making my name there with my finger.

"And your name means Healer in Greek," he added softly.

"Healer," I repeated, just as softly.

"Healer," he whispered in return, looking at me.

Suddenly, I felt like we were not alone anymore. I looked toward the house. Standing on the back deck was Oma, all dressed for church. I wasn't sure, but she looked horrified as she stared at us. But my gaze did not stay on Oma long, because there was another person that caught my attention. On the grass next to the wooden deck where Oma was standing was Jamie. He was holding the plastic container with my cinnamon roll and my cup of coffee that, in my haste, I had apparently forgotten in his Jeep. His eyes were wide with surprise, his mouth open in shock.

I looked down at my hands holding Varick's. I glanced back to Jamie. His expression changed from surprise to hurt and disappointment. He quickly turned away from Varick and me and walked back up the steps to where Oma was standing. Without even looking at Oma, Jamie handed her my cinnamon roll and coffee. He continued towards the sliding door leading to the house.

"Jamie!" I yelled, quickly letting go of Varick's hand and jumping to my feet.

He heard me. I saw him hesitate slightly before opening the slider door.

"Jamie! Wait!" But he opened the slider and passed through, without looking back at me.

I stood there staring at the closed door where Jamie had been. My friend was gone. My very hurt friend.

I stared helplessly after Jamie. I could imagine how he felt seeing me sitting so close to Varick, holding hands in the same manner I had held his just moments before. I hadn't intended to hurt him. I knew I needed to go after him and make it right. I turned to face Varick, who had stood when I did. I searched Varick's face. I didn't want to leave him either, though. I had just found him.

Varick saw the desperation and helplessness in my expression. "Go after him, Jacey. He's your friend. He needs you."

"But what about you?"

"I already told you. I'm not going anywhere. I'm always watching out for you, never far away."

I hesitated, searching his eyes.

"Go," he nodded toward the house. "I'll be around. We've just begun." A reassuring smile broke out across Varick's face. "Go."

I turned and sprinted over the back lawn to the deck. I stopped briefly when I reached Oma. Tears were streaming down her face. She was wringing her hands together at her waist.

"Jacey..." she sobbed

"Oma," I said, my voice full with emotion. I placed my hands on her upper arms. "I will be right back to explain everything. I need to talk to Jamie." She nodded in acknowledgement, tears still running down her cheeks. I reluctantly let go of Oma and followed the path Jame had taken. He was sitting in the driver's seat of his Jeep, his head resting on the steering wheel. He hadn't yet started it.

From the porch, I called out to him. Surprised, Jamie looked up. He quickly started the Jeep, preparing to leave.

"No, wait!" I ran down the porch steps to the Jeep. I stood in front of the vehicle, my arms spread wide to prevent him from leaving.

"Move it, Jacey."

"Please. Wait. I can explain. I want to explain." The words tumbled out of my mouth.

"Not now, Jacey. I need to go."

"Please Jamie. Please."

He hesitated, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. The pain was evident in his eyes. Dropping my hands, I pleaded one more time. "Please."

Jamie relaxed. His shoulders dropped and his grip loosened on the steering wheel. He turned off the Jeep, opened the door, and stepped out. I walked slowly toward him, meeting him at the door. He kept the door open, keeping us slightly separated.

"Jamie," I started.

"No, Jacey. I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head. "You don't owe me any explanations. None."

"But Jamie, I...I do."

"No, you don't," he insisted. "We're friends, Jacey. Just friends. Friends don't have to give each other explanations, for anything."

I swallowed hard, to prevent the tears from welling up and escaping. I didn't deserve Jamie's friendship. He was a true friend. That was evident in his words. I felt bad, guilty for treating him so poorly, especially after the tender moments we had shared together earlier. Ashamed, I looked down at the ground. I kicked at a rock that was stuck to the pavement.

"Look," he started. "Something pretty incredible happened between the two of us this morning. I don't know what it was or how it happened. I just know it was incredible, unbelievable." I looked at him, focusing on the smokiness of his eyes. A few strands of his long hair had escaped his ponytail. He pushed them back behind his ear impatiently. He continued, "I want to know everything, I do. But I want you to want to tell me. I'm not going to force you or push you. Friends don't do that, okay?" He bent his head down, trying to look into my down turned face. I nodded. Jamie slammed the Jeep door. "Come here." I went to him and he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me in close. I accepted his hug eagerly and nuzzled my face into his warm chest, finding comfort in his forgiveness.

"Thank you, Jamie." My words seemed silly and childish compared to his stirring speech. I wanted to say more, but I was afraid of the emotion that would follow. Jamie sighed in response. He placed a gentle kiss on the top of my head. I snuggled in closer and squeezed a little tighter.

"Okay, okay, okay," Jamie chuckled, peeling me off him. "I've got to go. And you, little lady, need to get ready for church. Oma's ready, ya know." He poked me lightly in the chest as he spoke.

I nodded again. Jamie was so understanding. I was lucky to have him. I lightly traced one of the blood stains on his shirt with my finger. Jamie shivered involuntarily in response. "I guess I need to treat those stains, don't I?"

I half smiled at his attempted joke. I continued to trace the blood stains with my finger. So much blood. The injury to Jamie's forehead was serious. He should have had a concussion and stitches. I didn't want to think about what else could have happened. I shuddered.

"Jacey, don't torture yourself," Jamie said, grabbing my hands with his to stop me from touching the stains on his shirt. "I'm okay and that's all that matters, right?" He searched my face for an answer.

"Yes," I mumbled. I weaved my fingers with his, grabbing his hand more tightly. I brought it to my chest, close to my heart. "I'm thankful for that, Jamie. Truly grateful."

Jamie sighed again. We stood in silence for a moment, Jamie looking down at me and me holding his hand close to my heart. Grudgingly, Jamie broke the silence. "You need to go. I think Oma is pretty worried about you. I mean, who is that strange guy?" I opened my mouth to start an explanation, but Jamie cut me off. "Never mind. I don't want to know," he said, shaking his head. I winced at his statement.

Jamie released my hand, untwining our fingers. My hand was cold without Jamie's warm touch. He got back in the Jeep and started it up. As he buckled the seatbelt, I closed the door gently.