[Jonah] A Story of Healing
I wander up and down the rows of the Downtown Market until it has closed and the vendors are packing up. I look down at my list; all of the lines are crossed off but two. I think the store I need is on this block, but I’m not sure. The air is growing chilly and I shiver.
I stand outside of a storefront, wondering why it is closed when a man nearly runs into me. He comes to an abrupt stop in front of me, eyes wide. “Whoops! Sorry lady!” He pivots around me and someone else comes running up in jeans and cowboy boots. He’s angry, shouting at the first man. He pulls a large knife and the first man picks me up and sets me out of the way, yelling, “Shit!” I watch as the knife slices into his back over his shoulder blade. He whirls on his attacker, spares a glance to me. “Fuck, fuck... Lady, get the hell out of here!”
I shrink against the building wall’s brick façade, clutching my bag to my chest. I should do something, need to do something, but I don’t know what. He bellows at me again, “Jesus Christ you stupid bitch! RUN!” His eyes blaze blue in the way that only our kind do. Lost.
Cowboy Boots kicks Lost, sends him to the ground. He tries to right himself and another kick drops him again. Cowboy Boots looks at me and I see something in his eyes that scares me and I start running.
He chases me, but not for long. I hear him hit the pavement and Lost shouts, “You sonuvabitch! Your fight’s with me you fucking tweaker!”
I slow and turn, watch with fascination while Cowboy Boots stabs at Lost and how
Lost intercepts the knife with his forearm, sliding through to the hilt. He rips his arm and the knife away and Cowboy Boots just stares.
“I'll give you a chance to run, and I'll try, really hard, to not just chase you down. But you get one chance.”
I round the corner, peer out from behind it. Cowboy Boots takes a swing at Lost. Lost catches his arm and tosses him neatly into the trash bins lining the street, a loud pop from the dislocated shoulder. I gasp and duck back behind my corner, but when no other sounds of fighting can be heard, I look back. Lost spits on Cowboy Boots and wrenches the knife from his arm before I can stop him.
“Are you all right?” I call.
He moves towards me, but I’m not afraid of him. He pulls his hood up. “Aside from the stab wounds? Peachy.”
He’s a big man, well built with smooth skin and pointed ears. I can see the pain in his face and look down at his arm. “You’re hurt.”
“Yeah, I am,” he agrees, grinning through the pain. His eyes are very, very blue.
“May I see?” I ask. I don’t know why I know these things, but I do. I can help him, need to help him.
He glances around. “How about not here?”
For a moment I don’t understand and he gives another significant look around. Suddenly, I understand. Public. Blood. “Oh. Of course.” I look down and realize I still have my list clutched in my hand. Two more things. The store’s right there. The store is closed.
“Hey, tell you what, you can go finish your list, I can handle myself, okay?”
I look up into his very blue eyes, see the pain there. “You need help. I can help.” I fish around for my phone to call Melody, push the button. It’s a child’s phone, it only has one phone number and three buttons. She gave it to me, afraid that anything more complicated would be too hard.
She answers on the first ring. “Can you come?” I ask. “I have a new friend.” When I hang up, I look at lost and smile. He returns it tightly, clutching his arm tightly to his stomach. It must hurt a lot.
Melody comes. “Come,” I tell him, climbing into the back seat. I gesture to the passenger seat, next to Melody. “Come.” He finally gets in, wrapping a bandana around his arm, and then his sweater around that.
They talk a bit and I watch the buildings of downtown pass by, and then onto the freeway. Melody says my name and I look up, try to recall what she asked me. List. I had it before we got in the car. I had it when the men fought. I find it in my pocket, vaguely remember putting it there. “Everything but two. I got distracted.”
Lost sounds contrite. “Yeah... sorry... about that.”
“It's not the first time. I'm Melody.”
Introductions are coming and I give up. It’s easier if I don’t try to remember their names in the first place. I hum the song in my head and look up when the car stops in front of the Garden. Lost bolts from the car, muttering something and vomits in the juniper.
I follow him, tasting the alcohol on him and blood. I put a hand on his shoulder as he wretches again and spits. “’M okay. Just need some water.”
I nod, keep my hand on his shoulder. “Come inside. We'll get you taken care of." His shirt and sweater are soaked through with blood; I can feel my stomach twist in sympathy. “Come inside,” I repeat and lead him into the house.
“Careful, don't want to get you messed up.” He smiles, but the pain renders it sad. “That water though... that'd be helpful.”
I lead him through the foyer, down the hall and into the kitchen. It smells like chicken and herbs; I sigh contentedly before going to work, watching him out of the corner of my eye as he sits down at the table, lowering himself gently into the chair. I give him water from the tap, and then rummage through a basket of fruit for the berries I picked… this morning? Yesterday? I can’t remember, exactly.
His gargling makes me look up; he’s still wearing his shirt and I don’t know what it will take to patch him up yet. “Will you take your shirt off?”
He hesitates. “I… fine.” He pulls it off revealing a thick, muscled chest and stomach, bisected by a scar that runs over his stomach. The twist of scar tissue covers the place where his navel would have been.
I approach, extend my hands. “May I?” I ask, remembering my manners for once.
He closes his eyes, nods. I inspect the wound on his back, wide and jagged. I can see white bone and sinew. I’ll have to stitch it, but want to see if the fruit will do any good first. “I don't have amaranthine here. I could go looking for some. Blush berries I have, though. Picked this morning. Wasn't sure what I'd use them for. And when all else fails, we have a needle and yarrow.”
“I am not in a position to be picky...” He smiles weakly as I go to the counter and find the blush berries. I take up some towels, a bowl of water and return to him, putting everything to the side. I reach for his arm, still covered in the bloody bandana. “Let’s take a look.”
He hisses a little but lets me see the wound. I turn his arm, looking at the damage - not as bad as it could be, not good, either. I wonder if I will have to call for my Doctor Boy. Not yet, I decide. I put a towel to his arm. “Eat the fruit, let's see where it puts us. We can harvest in the morning if we need to.”
I leave him to eat, start making tea. Mint, I decide, to settle his stomach. The berries won’t do an ounce of good if he just throws them up. I put the pot of tea on the table, two mugs. “Let’s see.”
He leans forward obligingly, shows me his arm, his back. The bleeding has stopped and he’s gained some color, the flesh has started knitting itself back together. It’s not enough, though. “We should put something on this and bandage it for the night.”
Mint wafts from the pot and I contemplate its scent. I love mint tea. I realize that he is talking again and I look up.
“The one on the back will be harder to get, but yeah, sounds like a good idea.” He offers a grin. “I'm sorry for yelling at you earlier.”
I check the tea, lifting the lid and peering inside. “Did you yell at me earlier?” Melody brought him… or, no, that’s not quite it.
“To get you away from that guy, yeah.”
I try to find the memory, give it up as a bad job. I shake my head of the attempt. “Oh. Alright.” I’m willing to agree with him. It probably happened. I put the lid back and pour for us. Mint steam curls elegantly from our mugs. “The tea will help settle your stomach a bit.”
“Yeah…” He watches me and I know precisely what has flitted through his mind. He nods, and I can see him label me. I am a child to be protected, witless. “So... I owe you.”
I return his gaze, measuring him. “You will find a way to repay us,” I say with confidence. His type always does.
He begins to say something and then he stops and frowns. He lifts his mug and nods. Recognition? Salute? I’m not certain.
I find my kit in a drawer, carefully labeled. I return to the table, open it. Inside is a well-stocked first aid kit - it was one of the first things I made when I came here, even before I came to own this place. Sometimes I don’t remember how I came here, but I remember this.
I move behind him again, prod his shoulder. “This probably won't be pleasant,” I warn him.
“Yeah, I know.” He swears softly, eyes clenched shut as I begin to clean the wound, carefully. I wish there were another way, but there isn’t, not now. When I’m finished cleaning it, I prod him again. If he doesn’t move much, I won’t need to stitch it. I apply a salve, yarrow and comfrey, then the bandage. I wrap gauze around his chest and the opposite shoulder, holding the pad in place. I tuck the ends in, check the tightness. When done, I round him, hook a chair with my foot and pull it across from him.
“Here now, that was the hard part. Let’s take another look here.” I pull his right hand and he draws a deep breath.
“Yeah, this is gonna suck.” He looks away, at a point directly over my left shoulder, and I repeat the process. Twice, I have to pick debris from the wound, but he doesn’t move; only a slight change in his breathing.
The process is long, but I find solace in it. For a moment, I’m not a broken victim of a mad, ineffable creature. For a moment, I am simply me, not who I was or what I became, solely, completely me.
I bandage his arm and look up, startled to realize that I don’t recognize the man in front of me. He is broad, handsome in a craggy sort of way. His ears are pointed. I remember the bandage, but not him. One of his hands loosely holds a mug of tea, mint. “Drink more tea. It will help. And then you should eat.” I pour us both more tea.
“Yes’m.” There’s a note of teasing in his voice, of familiarity.
“Tea is important. It helps to fix things in the mind.” I say the words because they are familiar.
“I think we'll disagree.”
I cock my head sideways. He’s not one of my boys. I taste the air around him, try to remember. Blood and vomit and rain. I know it’s not raining. “Why?”
“Not much of a tea drinker.” He laughs but it hurts and he stiffens. “Mmph. Mostly water.”
“I like tea. There's infinite variety. And each signifies something different. Mint is soothing, helps stomach ailments. Mint tea with some licorice is good for the throat, reminds us to speak.” I putter with the kit, close it up.
“Well, I do drink alcohol, but I am good at moderating that.” He smiles faintly as he watches me work. “Though I do like this tea.”
I can’t stand it any more. “You aren't one of my boys. Why are you here?”
He pauses and his eyebrows knit together. He doesn’t exactly understand what has happened and I can’t explain it, not right now. “You brought me here. I hurt myself, fighting a guy, who I had pissed off, and he started to go after you.”
I look at the bloody towels and his soaked shirt, the bandages. “Oh, right.” I don’t remember, but that will hurt him, I think. It makes sense, though. “You haven't eaten, yet, have you?”
“I ate earlier, but I could have more.” His brows are still knitted together, trying to make sense of me. I gather up the soiled cloths and toss them in the hamper to be cleaned, serve the soup that is on the stove. I hand him a bowl, a spoon.
“We serve breakfast and dinner,” I say, falling into old patterns. “You're on your own for lunch, but there's always food here.”
He takes up the spoon and the bowl, setting it on the table next to him. I sit down with my own bowl. “Well... I have to get my stuff, but that's not an issue. I am good with my hands, and I can help do some work around here.”
I nod and smile. “We always need help. I have a list.” The words are rote, I can’t forget them. I rely on them.
“Not a problem, and I can help in foraging out in the Hedge.”
I wish they would wait until I’ve had a chance to get my list. “We always need help,” I repeat. “I have a list.”
He looks at me and again, I can see the thought, but instead of voicing it, he nods. “Yeah.”
I’m grateful when we turn to our bowls, eating companionably. I am nearly finished when he speaks again. “So, the memory thing?”
I don’t… I don’t even know how to explain it and I can’t, not right now. Too much has happened. “I’m not…” I put a hand to my temple, trying to make the words come, but they won’t. “It’s… I’m…” I look at him, willing him to understand that I can’t.
“I'm sorry, I get it, I just... ah, shit.” He reaches out to touch my hand and I freeze, staring at it. Memories swirl, none of them fit here. “Didn't mean to cause you any distress, Tanis.”
He is warm, blessedly warm. I want to slither up to him and wrap my body around his. And then, I realize that I’m still holding my spoon to my head and that it’s dripping. I put it down, remind myself to breathe.
“Sorry.” He sets his bowl down. “I'll just, ah, take a shirt if you have it, and be on my way...”
I put my other hand on top of his where it covers mine and close my eyes, reveling in him for a moment. “You’re warm.”
“Yeah... kinda always been that way...”
I open my eyes and look at him. “I'll find a bed for you. We've got plenty.” I glance at the bandages, nod to them. “Remind me to take a look at those tomorrow,” she nods to his bandages.
“No problem. I'll remind you about the list too.” The air around him shimmers like heat on the stones.
“Thank you,” I say. I’m glad that he will stay.
He pulls his hand from mine slowly. “No, thank you.”
I rise, hesitantly. “I’ll have Melody find a room for you. You will still be here tomorrow?” I want him to stay, need to make certain he will. I don’t know why.
“I'm kind of on a vision quest, but I guess I am here, laid up until I heal. So yeah I'll be here.”
I nod. “Good.”
I flee through the garden doors, run into Melody in the garden. She doesn’t say anything, but nods. I go to my tree, hug the trunk, and curse the Fae.
I stand outside of a storefront, wondering why it is closed when a man nearly runs into me. He comes to an abrupt stop in front of me, eyes wide. “Whoops! Sorry lady!” He pivots around me and someone else comes running up in jeans and cowboy boots. He’s angry, shouting at the first man. He pulls a large knife and the first man picks me up and sets me out of the way, yelling, “Shit!” I watch as the knife slices into his back over his shoulder blade. He whirls on his attacker, spares a glance to me. “Fuck, fuck... Lady, get the hell out of here!”
I shrink against the building wall’s brick façade, clutching my bag to my chest. I should do something, need to do something, but I don’t know what. He bellows at me again, “Jesus Christ you stupid bitch! RUN!” His eyes blaze blue in the way that only our kind do. Lost.
Cowboy Boots kicks Lost, sends him to the ground. He tries to right himself and another kick drops him again. Cowboy Boots looks at me and I see something in his eyes that scares me and I start running.
He chases me, but not for long. I hear him hit the pavement and Lost shouts, “You sonuvabitch! Your fight’s with me you fucking tweaker!”
I slow and turn, watch with fascination while Cowboy Boots stabs at Lost and how
Lost intercepts the knife with his forearm, sliding through to the hilt. He rips his arm and the knife away and Cowboy Boots just stares.
“I'll give you a chance to run, and I'll try, really hard, to not just chase you down. But you get one chance.”
I round the corner, peer out from behind it. Cowboy Boots takes a swing at Lost. Lost catches his arm and tosses him neatly into the trash bins lining the street, a loud pop from the dislocated shoulder. I gasp and duck back behind my corner, but when no other sounds of fighting can be heard, I look back. Lost spits on Cowboy Boots and wrenches the knife from his arm before I can stop him.
“Are you all right?” I call.
He moves towards me, but I’m not afraid of him. He pulls his hood up. “Aside from the stab wounds? Peachy.”
He’s a big man, well built with smooth skin and pointed ears. I can see the pain in his face and look down at his arm. “You’re hurt.”
“Yeah, I am,” he agrees, grinning through the pain. His eyes are very, very blue.
“May I see?” I ask. I don’t know why I know these things, but I do. I can help him, need to help him.
He glances around. “How about not here?”
For a moment I don’t understand and he gives another significant look around. Suddenly, I understand. Public. Blood. “Oh. Of course.” I look down and realize I still have my list clutched in my hand. Two more things. The store’s right there. The store is closed.
“Hey, tell you what, you can go finish your list, I can handle myself, okay?”
I look up into his very blue eyes, see the pain there. “You need help. I can help.” I fish around for my phone to call Melody, push the button. It’s a child’s phone, it only has one phone number and three buttons. She gave it to me, afraid that anything more complicated would be too hard.
She answers on the first ring. “Can you come?” I ask. “I have a new friend.” When I hang up, I look at lost and smile. He returns it tightly, clutching his arm tightly to his stomach. It must hurt a lot.
Melody comes. “Come,” I tell him, climbing into the back seat. I gesture to the passenger seat, next to Melody. “Come.” He finally gets in, wrapping a bandana around his arm, and then his sweater around that.
They talk a bit and I watch the buildings of downtown pass by, and then onto the freeway. Melody says my name and I look up, try to recall what she asked me. List. I had it before we got in the car. I had it when the men fought. I find it in my pocket, vaguely remember putting it there. “Everything but two. I got distracted.”
Lost sounds contrite. “Yeah... sorry... about that.”
“It's not the first time. I'm Melody.”
Introductions are coming and I give up. It’s easier if I don’t try to remember their names in the first place. I hum the song in my head and look up when the car stops in front of the Garden. Lost bolts from the car, muttering something and vomits in the juniper.
I follow him, tasting the alcohol on him and blood. I put a hand on his shoulder as he wretches again and spits. “’M okay. Just need some water.”
I nod, keep my hand on his shoulder. “Come inside. We'll get you taken care of." His shirt and sweater are soaked through with blood; I can feel my stomach twist in sympathy. “Come inside,” I repeat and lead him into the house.
“Careful, don't want to get you messed up.” He smiles, but the pain renders it sad. “That water though... that'd be helpful.”
I lead him through the foyer, down the hall and into the kitchen. It smells like chicken and herbs; I sigh contentedly before going to work, watching him out of the corner of my eye as he sits down at the table, lowering himself gently into the chair. I give him water from the tap, and then rummage through a basket of fruit for the berries I picked… this morning? Yesterday? I can’t remember, exactly.
His gargling makes me look up; he’s still wearing his shirt and I don’t know what it will take to patch him up yet. “Will you take your shirt off?”
He hesitates. “I… fine.” He pulls it off revealing a thick, muscled chest and stomach, bisected by a scar that runs over his stomach. The twist of scar tissue covers the place where his navel would have been.
I approach, extend my hands. “May I?” I ask, remembering my manners for once.
He closes his eyes, nods. I inspect the wound on his back, wide and jagged. I can see white bone and sinew. I’ll have to stitch it, but want to see if the fruit will do any good first. “I don't have amaranthine here. I could go looking for some. Blush berries I have, though. Picked this morning. Wasn't sure what I'd use them for. And when all else fails, we have a needle and yarrow.”
“I am not in a position to be picky...” He smiles weakly as I go to the counter and find the blush berries. I take up some towels, a bowl of water and return to him, putting everything to the side. I reach for his arm, still covered in the bloody bandana. “Let’s take a look.”
He hisses a little but lets me see the wound. I turn his arm, looking at the damage - not as bad as it could be, not good, either. I wonder if I will have to call for my Doctor Boy. Not yet, I decide. I put a towel to his arm. “Eat the fruit, let's see where it puts us. We can harvest in the morning if we need to.”
I leave him to eat, start making tea. Mint, I decide, to settle his stomach. The berries won’t do an ounce of good if he just throws them up. I put the pot of tea on the table, two mugs. “Let’s see.”
He leans forward obligingly, shows me his arm, his back. The bleeding has stopped and he’s gained some color, the flesh has started knitting itself back together. It’s not enough, though. “We should put something on this and bandage it for the night.”
Mint wafts from the pot and I contemplate its scent. I love mint tea. I realize that he is talking again and I look up.
“The one on the back will be harder to get, but yeah, sounds like a good idea.” He offers a grin. “I'm sorry for yelling at you earlier.”
I check the tea, lifting the lid and peering inside. “Did you yell at me earlier?” Melody brought him… or, no, that’s not quite it.
“To get you away from that guy, yeah.”
I try to find the memory, give it up as a bad job. I shake my head of the attempt. “Oh. Alright.” I’m willing to agree with him. It probably happened. I put the lid back and pour for us. Mint steam curls elegantly from our mugs. “The tea will help settle your stomach a bit.”
“Yeah…” He watches me and I know precisely what has flitted through his mind. He nods, and I can see him label me. I am a child to be protected, witless. “So... I owe you.”
I return his gaze, measuring him. “You will find a way to repay us,” I say with confidence. His type always does.
He begins to say something and then he stops and frowns. He lifts his mug and nods. Recognition? Salute? I’m not certain.
I find my kit in a drawer, carefully labeled. I return to the table, open it. Inside is a well-stocked first aid kit - it was one of the first things I made when I came here, even before I came to own this place. Sometimes I don’t remember how I came here, but I remember this.
I move behind him again, prod his shoulder. “This probably won't be pleasant,” I warn him.
“Yeah, I know.” He swears softly, eyes clenched shut as I begin to clean the wound, carefully. I wish there were another way, but there isn’t, not now. When I’m finished cleaning it, I prod him again. If he doesn’t move much, I won’t need to stitch it. I apply a salve, yarrow and comfrey, then the bandage. I wrap gauze around his chest and the opposite shoulder, holding the pad in place. I tuck the ends in, check the tightness. When done, I round him, hook a chair with my foot and pull it across from him.
“Here now, that was the hard part. Let’s take another look here.” I pull his right hand and he draws a deep breath.
“Yeah, this is gonna suck.” He looks away, at a point directly over my left shoulder, and I repeat the process. Twice, I have to pick debris from the wound, but he doesn’t move; only a slight change in his breathing.
The process is long, but I find solace in it. For a moment, I’m not a broken victim of a mad, ineffable creature. For a moment, I am simply me, not who I was or what I became, solely, completely me.
I bandage his arm and look up, startled to realize that I don’t recognize the man in front of me. He is broad, handsome in a craggy sort of way. His ears are pointed. I remember the bandage, but not him. One of his hands loosely holds a mug of tea, mint. “Drink more tea. It will help. And then you should eat.” I pour us both more tea.
“Yes’m.” There’s a note of teasing in his voice, of familiarity.
“Tea is important. It helps to fix things in the mind.” I say the words because they are familiar.
“I think we'll disagree.”
I cock my head sideways. He’s not one of my boys. I taste the air around him, try to remember. Blood and vomit and rain. I know it’s not raining. “Why?”
“Not much of a tea drinker.” He laughs but it hurts and he stiffens. “Mmph. Mostly water.”
“I like tea. There's infinite variety. And each signifies something different. Mint is soothing, helps stomach ailments. Mint tea with some licorice is good for the throat, reminds us to speak.” I putter with the kit, close it up.
“Well, I do drink alcohol, but I am good at moderating that.” He smiles faintly as he watches me work. “Though I do like this tea.”
I can’t stand it any more. “You aren't one of my boys. Why are you here?”
He pauses and his eyebrows knit together. He doesn’t exactly understand what has happened and I can’t explain it, not right now. “You brought me here. I hurt myself, fighting a guy, who I had pissed off, and he started to go after you.”
I look at the bloody towels and his soaked shirt, the bandages. “Oh, right.” I don’t remember, but that will hurt him, I think. It makes sense, though. “You haven't eaten, yet, have you?”
“I ate earlier, but I could have more.” His brows are still knitted together, trying to make sense of me. I gather up the soiled cloths and toss them in the hamper to be cleaned, serve the soup that is on the stove. I hand him a bowl, a spoon.
“We serve breakfast and dinner,” I say, falling into old patterns. “You're on your own for lunch, but there's always food here.”
He takes up the spoon and the bowl, setting it on the table next to him. I sit down with my own bowl. “Well... I have to get my stuff, but that's not an issue. I am good with my hands, and I can help do some work around here.”
I nod and smile. “We always need help. I have a list.” The words are rote, I can’t forget them. I rely on them.
“Not a problem, and I can help in foraging out in the Hedge.”
I wish they would wait until I’ve had a chance to get my list. “We always need help,” I repeat. “I have a list.”
He looks at me and again, I can see the thought, but instead of voicing it, he nods. “Yeah.”
I’m grateful when we turn to our bowls, eating companionably. I am nearly finished when he speaks again. “So, the memory thing?”
I don’t… I don’t even know how to explain it and I can’t, not right now. Too much has happened. “I’m not…” I put a hand to my temple, trying to make the words come, but they won’t. “It’s… I’m…” I look at him, willing him to understand that I can’t.
“I'm sorry, I get it, I just... ah, shit.” He reaches out to touch my hand and I freeze, staring at it. Memories swirl, none of them fit here. “Didn't mean to cause you any distress, Tanis.”
He is warm, blessedly warm. I want to slither up to him and wrap my body around his. And then, I realize that I’m still holding my spoon to my head and that it’s dripping. I put it down, remind myself to breathe.
“Sorry.” He sets his bowl down. “I'll just, ah, take a shirt if you have it, and be on my way...”
I put my other hand on top of his where it covers mine and close my eyes, reveling in him for a moment. “You’re warm.”
“Yeah... kinda always been that way...”
I open my eyes and look at him. “I'll find a bed for you. We've got plenty.” I glance at the bandages, nod to them. “Remind me to take a look at those tomorrow,” she nods to his bandages.
“No problem. I'll remind you about the list too.” The air around him shimmers like heat on the stones.
“Thank you,” I say. I’m glad that he will stay.
He pulls his hand from mine slowly. “No, thank you.”
I rise, hesitantly. “I’ll have Melody find a room for you. You will still be here tomorrow?” I want him to stay, need to make certain he will. I don’t know why.
“I'm kind of on a vision quest, but I guess I am here, laid up until I heal. So yeah I'll be here.”
I nod. “Good.”
I flee through the garden doors, run into Melody in the garden. She doesn’t say anything, but nods. I go to my tree, hug the trunk, and curse the Fae.