Five
1328 Words
It took Birdie three days to reach Midrand city on her bike. She was exhausted and in need of a shower. And a hot meal. She had been surviving on soda and chips for those three days. She knew it was probably unhealthy, but it was all she could afford and she was in a hurry to reach Midrand.
She was left with around two hundred fifty dollars. She used thirty to rent a room in a better looking motel where the receptionist turned his nose up at her and eyed her warily because she smelled like sweat and exhaust.
It was coming to four o'oclock in the afternoon. She had no time to waste, she took a bath and went out to buy a twenty-dollar decent dress, a syringe, glucose and small glass transparent bottles.
She prepared all she could and put in a call to Mr. Richards. To her joy, he offered to send a driver to pick her up and deliver her to the Essex hotel where he was staying with his family.
She accepted the ride because she was tired from the long trip she had made to get here and she also wanted him to trust her. He probably wanted to know where she was staying so that he could track her down if things went wrong.
Birdie loitered around in the parking lot of the motel as she waited for the chauffer. A couple of guys, probably truckers, she guessed, tried to hit on her. Some of them thought she was a prostitute and offered her money for s*x.
Some of the regular working girls in the area eyed her with jealousy. They did not welcome her invasion of what they considered to be their territory.
When the expensive Rolls Royce showed up, they all ran up to it happily. A fat client like this was not a common sight in such an area.
Birdie walked up to the chauffer and introduced himself. Pushing the overly eager whores aside, he opened the door and let her in.
The blonde w***e who had tried to run Birdie off earlier looked at her viciously, spat on the ground and called her a w***e.
Birdie laughed. The irony of the situation was funny. A w***e calling another woman a w***e as an insult was hilarious.
The chauffer offered her a complimentary water that she drank immediately. She was nervous and her palms were sweating.
The car ride was so smooth that the tired Birdie fell asleep before getting to the hotel. It took three tries for the chauffer to get her to wake up.
When she opened her eyes, the view outside the window was much different from where she was residing. The blue and white hotel was magnificent and large.
When she stepped inside, it was sparkling clean and smelled like vanilla. It was like a painting straight out of the Roman empire because of the exquisite marble statues.
She approached the front desk and asked to be directed to Mr. Richards room. She was expecting the receptionist to be unhelpful and rude like the last one at the Essex hotel in Skyview, but unlike last time, she received a smile and warm welcome. One of the receptionists made a gesture and immediately, a young man came over and introduced himself as his personal secretary.
She had to pretend not to know the young man whose phone she had hacked to get Mr. Richards number.
Like the professional he was, the young man did not chatter unnecessarily or ask her why she was there. Birdie appreciated such people. Clearly, he was a good employee because he knew when to keep his mouth shut.
The elevator went all the way to the presidential suite and the young man sent her inside the room and left.
The room was as large as an apartment in a fancy building where rich people live. She looked out of the window and the beautiful view was of shining lights from the city and a big water slide that led to a swimming pool down below.
"That looks like fun." her wolf said with envy. Birdie could picture the wolf sliding all the way into the pool. Humans would probably scream and run. She laughed.
A door from within the room opened and Mr. Richards stepped out. He looked exactly like he had appeared on television, distinguished, rich and well put together.
If one looked carefully, they could see the worry in his eyes from all the stress he was under.
"Are you the one who claimed that you could cure my son?" he asked directly.
"Straight to the point, I see," she replied.
She was hoping for a smile or some laughter when she said that, but he remained serious and stoic. Birdie composed herself.
"Sorry about that. I meant to say, yes I am."
"Are you a doctor?" he inquired?
"No," she answered.
"Then how are you planning to cure my son?" he asked.
Birdie stood up and picked up the bible which was placed on the glass table in the middle of the living room. "You prayed for a miracle from God, Mr. Richards." She paused and looked into his eyes, "I am your miracle," she said confidently.
Somewhere along the way, her nervousness had died away, she had children to protect. There was no time or room for weakness.
"You seem to be very confident. Normally, I would not meet with anyone like you because I have been to every hospital. I have paid every consultant and researcher I could find but no one has been able to find what ails my son. All they tell me is that his white blood cells are dying. His body cannot fight infections anymore and he is going to die soon. I have become desperate and you have given me hope. So I will warn you right now, young lady. If you fail to help my son, you will be buried long before he dies." His eyes were cold when he said this.
A little part of her was suddenly afraid. What if it didn't work?
"It will work," her wolf assured her. "If you die, I will die. And I would very much like not to die."
Birdie raised her head with confidence, "Three days. Your son will be cured in three days and if it doesn't happen then you can bury me."
"Very good. We have reached an understanding then." he stood up.
"Five million dollars, Mr. Richards. Thats my price." She reminded him.
"If you can save his life, I will double it."
"I should warn you as well, Mr.Richards, if I cure your son and you fail to pay me, I will take back his life." she lied. She could not make him sick again, but Mr. Richards didn't need to know that. If he was afraid, he would pay.
Mr. Richards led her into one of the bedrooms where his son was sleeping in a bed, connected to all sorts of tubes and machines. It pained her to see a young boy suffer so much like that. He was only five or six years old, not that much older than her sons back then.
Birdie placed her hands on her stomach and hoped none of her babies would suffer ever again. She reached into her bag and pulled out the syringe.
"What's that?" the boy's mother, who had been sleeping in a chair in a corner, woke up and asked. She had no idea who Birdie was or what she was doing in that room.
"Your husband should explain," she said softly to her. She was a mother that was worried about her son. Birdie could empathize with her.
"She is a doctor. She will cure our son." Mr. Richards held his wife's hand and comforted her.
Birdie injected her blood into the boy and waited for any changes to happen. Hopefully, positive ones.
- Writer
