Broken Souls (Broken Realms, #2)

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 17The corners of Melanie Proctor’s eyes crinkled with kindness as she walked over, carrying an old athletic bag, to where Bohannon sat on the bricks. She knelt next to the detective and set down the bag. From it she took a bottle of water and a towel, and wiped at Bohannon’s head. He was a mess. Blood had matted his hair and was beginning to dry on the side of his face. But he didn’t seem to be in any pain.

He pulled back from the attention, and the movement caused the cast to open and fall away from his leg. “You don’t have to do that,” Bohannon said to Mrs. Proctor. He looked up to Mara. “Could you fetch my crutches for me?”

Mara jogged up the wide stairs to retrieve the crutch Bohannon had tossed during the altercation.

“I don’t think you will be needing your crutches anymore,” Melanie said, continuing to wipe at Bohannon’s head. She tilted her head toward her husband who had returned to the gathering. “He usually does a thorough job of fixing up people.”

Bohannon persisted in pulling away.

“Young man, stop fighting me. I am trying to clean you up so you won’t scare people away. You don’t strike me as the type who wants to be making a scene now, are you?”

Bohannon relented. “No, but it’s obviously a scratch, so I’d like to get my crutches and get going.” He leaned forward in an effort to get up, and a wave of nausea swept over him.

“Don’t be silly. It was much more than a scratch. You were bleeding out before Denton got to you, although I get the feeling that young lady may have helped out. I’m not sure why though,” she said.

Mara returned with the crutch and stood next to Ping. “Here you go,” she said, holding out the crutches.

Melanie ignored the offer and said, “The two of you get on that side of him and help me get him to his feet. He’ll probably be dizzy for a little while. Let’s walk him over there and sit down for a spell.” She nodded to a spot on the curving steps toward the center of the square several yards away from the gathering. “We can finish cleaning him up, and he can get some air.”

Ping and Mara took his arm. Melanie counted to three and said, “Okay, now stand.” Bohannon rocked forward, favoring his good leg but could not lift himself even with three assistants. Melanie paused and stood back to assess the situation. She bent over, grabbed the fractured cast that still clung to Bohannon’s leg, broke it completely in half and tossed the pieces behind her. “Now this time I want you to use both legs, got it?”

“I don’t know, ma’am,” Bohannon said.

“Give it a shot. I’m not calling an ambulance for you when you’ve got two perfectly functional legs.”

Bohannon glanced up to Ping, who nodded and said, “We’ll be here to give you balance, just in case.” The detective allowed them to take his arms, and he gingerly tried to lift himself on both legs, expecting pain to shoot up his thighs any second. The pain never came. Some stiffness, yes, but no pain. Relief swept across his face as he realized he was carrying his own weight. After a moment, he took a jolting step forward and wavered as dizziness swept over him.

“Slowly, your legs aren’t your biggest problem at present,” Melanie said as she walked him over to the spot on the stairs away from the crowd. “Now sit down, and let me finish getting that blood off you.”

Mara looked at the pieces of broken plaster sitting on the bricks and glanced back at Bohannon’s exposed pasty-white leg because his pants leg had been sliced open to accommodate the cast. “That’s amazing. He not only healed his head but his leg as well. Unreal.”

“Do you understand the process by which he accomplishes this healing?” Ping asked.

Melanie looked up from her ministrations and said defensively, “It’s not my place to explain Denton’s gifts.”

“I meant no offense, Mrs. Proctor. I too was a passenger on Flight 559, so I’m aware of the incongruencies that you and your husband must have experienced since the crash. I was interested in understanding if the healing was a biochemical process or something a little more ephemeral.”

Melanie looked surprised. “So you are like us? Not really from this place, even though you recognize some aspects of it?”

“That’s correct. I too crossed over from an alternate realm during the incident on the plane.”

She finished wiping Bohannon’s head and said to him, “And you? Were you on the plane?”

“No, not me. I’m me, not an alternate me,” he said, rolling his eyes and glaring at Mara. “I’m starting to sound like you now.”

“It’s a little disconcerting when you end up talking about this stuff in everyday conversation like it’s normal,” Mara said, smiling.

“You were on the flight?” Melanie asked.

Mara nodded. “But I was born here, in this realm.”

“So the flight didn’t affect everyone? Denton and I had discussed seeking out other passengers, but part of us thought that maybe we were brought here to help people. I guess we aren’t so special after all.”

Ping said, “Oh, I would not underestimate the uniqueness of your position, even if all of the passengers crossed over. Mara is the only exception that we have encountered, and, because of the circumstances that triggered these events, I suspect she may be the only person from this realm who actually survived the crash.”

“The others did not survive, our—what would you call them?”

“Our counterparts,” Ping said. “No, they did not survive. I probably should be more careful about discussing that.”

Melanie put the cloths she used into the athletic bag, pulled out a granola sports bar and another bottle of water, and handed them to Bohannon. “Eat this. It will help you get some of your energy back after losing all that blood.”

“I was wondering if perhaps we should get him checked out at a hospital,” Mara said.

“If it will make you feel better, by all means, but I think you’ll find that, in a few minutes, he’ll be better than new,” Melanie said.

“No hospital. I’m fine,” Bohannon said.

“Well, let’s sit here for a while and watch Denton do his thing. It is quite remarkable, you know.”

* * *

Denton Proctor stood before the crowd of about fifty people and said, “If one of you has an ailment you would like help with, please come closer, and I will do my best.”

A large woman—with a red rash that ran up from the neckline of her dress, wrapped around her throat and marred the left side of her face—stepped forward within the crowd and said, “What exactly is it you do, mister?”

“I simply touch you, hold your hands, and my body’s regenerative abilities help to heal your body. It does not hurt or cause any discomfort at all,” Denton replied and held out a hand. “Please, let me show you. I promise you will come to no harm.”

“Getting people’s hopes up is harmful, mister,” she said. “I’ve had this skin condition since college, and nothing the doctors have given me has worked.” She looked down at herself and raised her inflamed, scaly arms. “Have you ever healed something like this?”

“I’ve encountered many skin conditions in my time. Many of them are caused by autoimmune disorders in which your own body’s defenses turns on itself. Let my immune system boost yours.”

She limped forward a couple steps and stopped. “It’s more serious than that now. It’s not just my skin. It has begun to attack my joints. Some days I cannot even walk without extreme pain.”

Denton came toward her, closing the gap between them so she would not have to endure the extra steps. As he approached, she subtly leaned away from him. He smiled and said, “Take my hands. What harm can that do?”

The woman’s eyes watered as she screwed up the courage to reach out to him. Denton stood with his hands offered to her and waited. After a few moments of anticipation, the woman clasped his hands. He closed his eyes and bowed his head. Despite his earlier claims of professing no religion, he appeared to be praying or at least meditating. The woman followed suit, lowered her head and said, “What the hell? I’ve tried everything else.”

The woman’s hands trembled, and Denton tightened his grip, pressing his fingers into the backs of her hands. From those points of pressure, the woman felt waves of tingling warmth flow through her hands, up her arms and throughout her body. She held her breath, instinctively tightened her own grip and surrendered to the sensations that washed over her.

Lost in the experience, she didn’t notice the soft murmuring of the crowd around her. The spell was not broken until a woman to her right exclaimed, “Oh, my God, look at her face!” Excited chattering from the crowd overwhelmed the murmuring, and then enthusiastic clapping snapped the woman from her reverie. She opened her eyes to Proctor’s friendly smile. She looked down at her hands, her unblemished hands. Trying to say something, she caught her breath, raised her right hand to her cheek and felt smoothness. Letting out a quiet gasp, her eyes widened, and her tears began to flow.

The crowd tightened around Proctor as more people stepped forward.