I watched as the lady in the candy-cane striped dress took the tray from the room. I waited long enough for her to get out and close the door before I tried for the chair with the wheels. It was my going home day, finally. I’d been stuck in the hospital two weeks to the day, and it was doubtful I’d be able to handle another second.

I whipped the blankets off and leaned over to grab the chair. Once it was close enough, I slipped into the seat. Then I wheeled over to the closet to look for the britches Chief had brought for me the night before. I found them in the closet, right along side of my sweater and T-shirt. Chief didn’t bother with socks seeing as my feet were still cocooned in bandages.

It was easier to start at the top, because of the way my feet were a bunch of scabs and stitches and Craig said I still couldn’t even try to walk on them. He said it would be a whole other week before I should make that attempt. I slid out of the hospital nightshirt and slipped my T-shirt over my head. After cramming my arms into the right holes I pulled the shirt into place. Then, I grabbed my britches from the closet and shook them out flat. I leaned way far over and hooked the leg holes around my feet, shimmied into the legs of the jeans and slipped them in place. I buckled them up and wheeled myself out of the room, down the hall to see Hank.

The nurse that had a desk at the door wasn’t there and I slipped right on by, straight over to Hank’s bed. He looked at me over his book when I got there.

“Hiya, Hank."

“Hiya back, little sis. What do you know?”

“I’m gettin’ out today.”

“Well it’s about time, isn’t it?”

“Uh-huh. What about you?”

He smiled and set down his book. “I’m going to be here a while longer, sis. They think they’ll be able to make me walk again, if I give it everything I got.”

I stared at him. It never crossed my mind that he couldn’t walk. “Don’t worry, Hank. You’ll do it. I know you will.”

“Coming from you, sis, that means a heap. So when’s the magic hour?”

“Not ‘till one-thirty.”

He smiled at me.“So what do you want to do until then?”

“Anything! I’m getting edgy.”

“I bet. How about a hand of gin rummy?”

Hank took out a deck of cards from the nightstand next to his bed. He lowered his lap table as low as it would go and pushed it in my direction, then pulled himself up in bed so that he could lean over to play.

He had just finished dealing out the seventh hand when a big man dressed in white, pushing a wheeled chair in front of him showed up. The muscles on his arms looked like the mountain range north of Middleton. 

“Oh-oh, sis. Looks like I have therapy. You’ll have to come visit me to finish this game.”

“He gonna make you walk?”

“He’s going to try.” Hank nodded at the man, “This is Sam by the way. “

Sam’s smile was friendly and he didn’t hold any of it back. “Sam Edison,” he said and nodded. 

“Kelly,” I said, and rolled out of his way watched him hand Hank his robe then help Hank into the chair.

“Can I go too?” I asked him. “I ain’t got nothin’ to do fer two more hours.”

Sam looked at me, then down at Hank. “S’all right with me. She might even encourage you.”

“Encourage? You mean embarrass me into improving.”

“Whatever works, partner.”

Hank shot him a look, his lips flattened into a straight line and his eyebrows lowered towards his nose. Then he sighed, his glare softening and he turned to me.  “Okay, sis. But no, and I repeat– no laughing.”

The room was bright, white and airy, with high ceilings and glaring sunlight that poured through several large windows covering one whole wall. The wall across from it was nothing but mirrors, bouncing the light around the room. Machines, some with metal doughnuts either scattered next to them on the floor, or fixed to bars placed on the machines lined the wall to the right. Others with wires, pedals and spinning wheels lined the left side.

“Wow! All this stuff will make you walk, Hank?”

“That’s the crazy notion Sam here, has, sis.” He eyed Sam. “Why don’t you get her set up on one of those first?”

“Me? I was just going to watch.”

“That’s no fun. Besides, I think I’d like it better if you were preoccupied when I start falling on the floor.”

I laughed. “Hank, you ain’t gonna fall.”

“You kidding? See those mats?” There was a set of bars that stood side by side in the middle of the room. A long mat lay under them. “They put that padding there just for me.”

At that, even Sam laughed.

“Put her on the leg press, Sam. She’s Middleton’s star short and she’s been sitting on her butt for the last two weeks.”

Sam pushed me towards the bench in the corner. “So, what are you in for?”

I didn’t want to tell him about the tiger, or Hank’s pa, so I said, “I ripped up my feet running through the woods. I suppose I should have been wearing shoes at the time.”

Sam stopped mid-way and stared at me. “What were you running from?”

“My old man,” Hank said. “If I’d have been as fast as that kid, I wouldn’t be sitting in this chair.”

“I see,” Sam said quiet-like, his attention sharpened. “So you’re the one.”

“The one what?”

He was giving me a long examining look. “Dr. Miller’s patient in room 421.”

“Only until one-thirty,” I straightened him out.

He smiled. “Well, then we’d better get to work.”

Sam plopped me on the bench facing the end with two bars hooked up to it, one hung low at my feet, the other went straight out, knee height. Both had pads wrapped around them.

“Here put your feet down here.” He pointed to the bottom bar.  “Now push up on the bar.”

When I tried, I almost flattened myself with the top bar.

“Slowly. We’ll start you out with ten pounds.” He reached down and grabbed one of the metal doughnuts and stuck it on one end of the bar with a screw. Then he did the same to the other side.

“There. Now see if that’s enough weight.”

I pushed the bar up with my legs slowly, like he said. 

“Do you think you can do twenty with that much weight?”

“Sixty easy.”

“Really? Well let’s add a few more pounds.” 

He went back to the rack and brought two more iron doughnuts and stuck them on the ends. “How does that feel?”

“This is fine.”

Sam pushed Hank to a long padded bench at the other end of the room and lifted him out of the chair as easily as he did me and laid him down on the bench. I was glad Hank was wearing regular pajamas and not those stupid no-back-having shirts I’d been stuck wearing the last two weeks.

Sam went about pounding the feeling up in Hank’s legs. First the back and then he rolled him over and started beating up the front of his legs. When he was through with Hank’s pounding, he grabbed Hank by the feet and pushed them forward, bending Hank’s legs at the knee.

“All right, Hank,” I heard him say. “Press against me.”

Hank pushed his legs against Sam’s hands until he started sweating. His hair was getting real damp from the fierceness of his concentration.

“That’s good,” Sam kept saying, but it didn’t look to me like Hank was moving Sam’s hands that much.

I pushed the bar at the end of the bench up and down. It wasn’t real heavy to start with, but started getting heavier after I hit number ten.

I was up to fifteen when Sam took Hank’s robe then pulled Hank off the bench and stood him up until they were facing each other. They were together at the arms, standing less than a foot apart like dancing partners at the church social. I got the feeling Hank was leaning on Sam, more than the bottoms of his feet. Sam walked backwards, slow-like, bringing Hank with him.

There was fierce concentration in Hank’s face. He was dripping after his third step. He also looked to be getting a measure of pain for his efforts.

“Keep going.” Sam walked him step-by-step to the two bars. When they were there, he took Hank’s hands and set them, one at a time, on the bars until Hank was standing between both bars, a hand on each.

“You’re on your own buddy,” Sam said.

Hank was facing away from me so I couldn’t see his face no more. His pajama top was more than damp from sweat and it stuck close to his back and shoulders. Each time he moved I noticed the strain his arms went under to try and push him forward. Hank's neck muscles bulged from carrying his weight and his neck was turning deep red. He moved slowly between the bars away from me, sliding his hands out first and pulling himself along, his feet barely kept up. Most of his weight was off them, his arms and the bars handling most of the burden; Hank was just going through the motions of walking, and his feet had a hard time keeping up.

“Remember what we were working on, HankYou need to think of walking differently than you used to. Concentrate.”

Hank kept moving towards the end of the bars. Inch by inch. He was halfway through when he made a loud smack on the padded floor. Boy was I glad they put the pads there!

Sam was at his side right off. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“You didn’t concentrate. You tried moving like you used to and your legs couldn’t respond.”

Hank pushed himself off the pads with his arms until he was sitting. His legs were off at crazy angles. They looked like the dough Maggy used for bread, before its put into the oven. Like all they could do was just lie there.

“What are we trying to do here, Hank?” 

Hank stared at him, his face red, and his eyes dark. “Walk goddammit,” he said in a quiet shout.

“Then get off your fat ass.” Sam backed away and I couldn’t see how Hank was going to be able to get up without help.

Hank reached above him and grabbed one bar, in his right hand, then he reached out his left hand for the second bar. He pulled himself up using just the bars and his arms. He heaved himself up, bending at the elbows until his head popped up above the bars, then he pushed up the rest of the way. He swung his legs under him again and started for the other end of the bars.

Hank made it to the end, dragging his feet along with him, then he turned around by leaning to one side and switching hands. He looked beat. His face was red and it dripped sweat. His pajama-top was drenched down the front as well, and small puddles formed on the mat under him.

He was all about to fall again when his eyes met mine. I held his gaze. His eyes were dark brown normally, but now they looked sharper and darker. I had just finished pulling my bar up forty times myself and I felt the salt of my own sweat burning my eyes. But I didn’t rub it away. Hank couldn’t rub his. 

We stayed that way, I don’t know how long. I willed Hank to put his feet under him again and move them; to take his weight once again. I willed it so hard that by the time Hank did get his feet back under him, I was tired and soaking. We were joined together, not on the outside, mind you, but on the inside in some way, by our thoughts alone. And I could tell he knew it too, for his eyes stayed on mine as he walked towards me, one step at a time. Only this time more of his weight was on his feet. Each step he took, I pumped the bar up once more with my own legs.

Hank made it to the end of the bars without falling. He grabbed the wood so tight that his hands turned red and his knuckles white. He was completely drenched and heaved air in as he leaned over the bars.

When I turned away I saw Sam staring at me. Then Sam turned to Hank. “Think you’re up to the rest?”

Hank faced me and smiled before turning to Sam. “That’s the farthest I ever got.”

“I know,.” Sam glanced at me.

“I’d like to keep going, Sam.”

A man walked into the room wearing a long white coat and one of those “step-scopes” around his neck. Hank had just finished his third “machine.” He was now finishing up another workout on his legs using the same machine I’d started with. Both Hank and Sam glanced up and watched him come closer.

“So how’s our boy doing?” he asked Sam. He looked familiar, but I had trouble placing him.

“Hey,” Hank said, pushing the bar out level, then letting it drift to the floor. “I’m not a boy.”

“Sorry, Mr. Blackney. Just an expression.” He raised a brow at Sam.

“He’s done real good today,” Sam told him. “He made it all the way down the parallels without a fall and I think this time he’s putting his weight on his feet.”

“How’s the control, Mr. Blackney?”

“Big improvement, Doc,” Hank said as he pulled up. The words squeezed through his clenched teeth.

He asked Sam, “How many more to go?”

“Just two machines, doctor. But he’s been pushing himself today.” Sam looked at me. “I think he’s trying to impress the little lady here.”

“Yeah, right,” Hank squeezed out between his teeth. “This is real impressive. She already did more reps than me already.”

The doctor smiled at me. “You’re Dr. Miller’s patient,.”

“Uh-huh.”

The doctor shook his head. “Thought so. He’s been searching for you for the last hour.”

“He ain’t worried, is he?”

“I’m afraid so.” 

I studied him pushing my memory. “I remember you. You came in my room when I was choking.”

“That’s right.”

“I heard you tell Craig I swallowed my tongue.”

“Correct again,” he said and smiled at me.

“How does a body do that? I mean swallow their own tongue. Isn’t it stuck to their throat?”

The doctor smiled at that and shook his head. “It’s kind of complicated. But for people going into convulsions, it’s not uncommon.”

I gave him the once over. He was older than Craig, closer to Miss Elly’s age. His hair was light brown and his eyes gray-blue… and there was something about him.

He held out his “step-it” scope. “Do you mind?”

“Sure, but if you find anything wrong, don’t tell Craig. I’m terribly tired of this place.”

His teeth were blinding when he smiled. “I can’t promise anything like that.”

He went about his examination- eyes, ears and throat. Then he pulled out his “step-it” scope and slid the metal part inside my shirt. He asked me to take deep breaths as he slid it around for a listen. He did the back first, then moved to the front.

“Amazing,” he said more to himself than the rest of us.

“What’s wrong?” Hank asked from behind him.

“Nothing. She’s completely recovered. A 504 count. That’s unbelievable.”

“What’s a 504 count?” Hank asked.

“The parts per million of poison in her system. Of that particular poison, a count of 302 is normally lethal.”

Hank stared at the doctor, his expression turning sharp, then shaking his head he said, “That’s another one, sis.”

“Another one of what, Hank?”

“Your lives. You better start taking better care of yourself, you’re running through them pretty quick.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asked.

“I saw the kid fall into a river last summer. During the 100-year flood. The water had to be going well over 150 miles per hour. She went under and no one saw her come up. We gave her up for dead. Then the deputy finds her huddled under a bunch of boards of a fallen house. She lives a charmed life. She survived my old man. I think she can survive darn near anything.”

“That’s good to know.” The doctor turned to me and Sam. “I better go let Miller know where she is. Make sure she doesn’t drop a dumb bell on her head, Mr. Edison.”

“Don’t worry about that, Dr. Reiner. I’ll take good care of her.”

“I expect the results of Mr. Blackney’s therapy to be on my desk this afternoon.”

“You’ll be impressed.”

*  *  *  *  * 

Dr. Miller  was at his desk on the phone actively deploying personnel to search for his missing patient. If there was one cult member employed by the hospital, there could be two, or even more. He didn’t want to think about the possibility of the child falling into the wrong hands, possibly kidnapped at the moment, just one hour before her release. He looked up when Reiner entered and motioned the doctor to the seat in front of him.

“I don’t care,” Miller said into the receiver. “I’m telling you she’s missing! I’ve been all over the hospital- no one’s seen her! I want personnel alerted.... Damn you! Need I remind you the child was almost killed last week! By hospital personnel, you moron! We’re responsible- Look. If anything happens to that kid I’ll personally come find your ass–”

Reiner reached over and pressed down the cradle of the receiver.

“What the hell did you do that for!”

“She’s downstairs in physical therapy,” Reiner told him, his own demeanor calm, reflective, a complete foil of Craig’s frazzled manner. “She’s with Sam. She’s all right.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Physical therapy? What on earth is she doing there?”

“Sam’s working with Mr. Blackney. She must have followed them down. Face it Miller, the little girl’s bored.”

Craig leaned back in his chair, his worry escaping through the pores of his skin. “Did Sam put her to work?”

“She was pressing fifteen pounds over her head when I was there.”

“Fifteen?” Craig said amused. “That kid’s something else.”

Reiner nodded. “It seems my patient–”

“Mr. Blackney?”

“Yes. He’s recovering at an astounding rate. The surgery was tricky. His improvement since last fall is astonishing. He’s gained considerable control.”

“That’s good.”

“That’s uncanny,” Reiner shot back. “Sam informs me he walked the length of the parallels putting most of his weight on his legs. He attributes his success to the girl. Says Mr. Blackney is working harder to impress her.”

“You don’t think so?”

“No. It’s something more. Much more. It’s like he’s...”

“He’s what?”

Reiner looked at the young doctor. His stare was severe. “It’s like he’s focused on his own problem and found a way to work around it. It’s more than just the training. The repetition. It’s more than his commitment to walking again, or his faith that he will. It’s hers as well.”

Reiner rose from the chair and went to the window. He looked out into the sunshine of the morning. “By the way, I checked her over while I was down there. She’s completely recovered. It’s amazing. They both are.”

“You mean her and Blackney?”

“Yes. He should not be doing as well as he is. It’s only been a week of therapy. He’s barely made it two steps between the bars. Now suddenly he’s able to walk their length. This kind of recovery takes months, if they recover at all. Hell, I thought for sure we’d be fitting him for a set of leg braces.”

“I should think you’d like patients that make our jobs so much easier.”

Reiner looked at him, his eyes narrowing. He removed himself from the window and made his way to sit across from Miller.

“What’s her history, Craig?”

“What do you mean? You want her records?”

“If I may.”

“Is that ethical?”

“It’s for professional reasons. They won’t be divulged if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I have a copy of her file in here,” Craig said, standing up. He went to the file cabinet and opened the top drawer. After extracting a manila folder he returned to his desk and handed it to his colleague.

Reiner took the file gingerly and set it down. His concentration on the file was only matched by the concentration of Hank Blackney on his recovery downstairs.

“Her mother died in childbirth,” Reiner commented.

“It was a complicated delivery.”

“May I see the mother’s file?” Reiner asked, his attention still on the file and his reading. When there was no reply, he looked up. Miller was staring at him, his eyes pierced.

“Exactly what is it that you are looking for?”

“I don’t know.”

“But there is something? It’s more than professional curiosity....  I don’t think this is a good idea, John.”

“What’s the matter? Don’t you trust me?”

“My patient was poisoned for Christ’s sake and now you’ve developed a sudden interest.”

“You said it was a cult member working at this hospital–”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Reiner looked sharply at Miller before continuing. “You don’t suspect me of being in the same cult, do you?”

“Are you?”

Reiner leaned back in his chair. He took a deep breath and let the air out slowly. “I don’t believe this. We’ve been friends for how long? Six years? I saw you through your first internship here. Ran interference between you and Burchfield. For god’s sake, I helped you save that kid. If it hadn’t have been for me getting on the scene in time, she would have choked on her own tongue.”

“And you just happened to be walking by.”

Reiner stood, shaking his head. “I don’t believe this.” He faced Craig, anger and indignation strong in his eyes.“If I was a member, she wouldn’t have let me close to her. Isn’t that right?”

“I guess so.”

“I was down there in physical therapy. I took her vitals, Craig. She didn’t mind, you can check this all out with Sam, if you don’t believe me.” Reiner sighed in exasperation. “If she trusts me, then why can’t you?”

Craig was quiet. “I’m sorry." 

Reiner nodded. “It’s all right. I guess under the circumstances I can understand you getting jumpy.”

“I can get you the file on the mother. It’s in records. And if you want, you can take this file,” he said. His manner relieved. He stiffened slightly, his eyes intent on Reiner’s. “I still don’t see why you want them. It seems more than professional curiosity to me.”

Reiner stood in front of Craig, his steel gray eyes focused intently on the bright blue of Craig’s. His hands rested on the desktop.

“Do you think it’s over?”

“What?”

“They tried to kill her once. Do you think they’ll try again?”

Craig stared.

“Under the circumstances, she may be cured. But is she safe? And where does our responsibility end as doctors? Your responsibility specifically, because she is your patient? Does that responsibility end when she leaves this hospital?”

“I think there’s a certain responsibility one retains when they’ve saved a life. Where are you going with this, John?”

“You’ve lost your professional detachment.” Reiner observed.

“So.”

“This child is more than a patient to you.”

“Maybe... maybe she is, what’s your point?”

Reiner shrugged. “Just a little observation.” He looked Miller in the eye. “If they’ve tried once, Craig. They’ll try again.” His eyes sharpened, then clouded in thought. He turned away again, this time devoting his attention to the file. “Aren’t you curious? As to why they want the child dead? Why does this child scare them so much?”

Reiner stood and crossed to the window. He gazed out into the courtyard. A reflex of bygone days. A sparrow flirted from the window sill and coasted to a group of hedges outlining the edge of the gardens. 

“The fact that she survived the first attempt makes me curious, but also worries me. Each attempt by a lunatic tends to be worse,” Reiner mused. “They started off pretty rough.”

Craig looked at the other doctor for a long time. Reiner stood his ground in front of the glass, the light turning him into nothing more than a silhouette making it difficult for Craig to read his eyes. “It’s why I haven’t returned the file. Yes, I’m curious, John. And yes, I would like to know what the deal is on the kid. And yes, again, I have lost my professional detachment. I want that kid to live to a very old age before that life is taken from her by natural causes–even if it means personal involvement from me. Any more questions?”

Reiner shook his head that he didn’t. “I’ll check out the file on the mother. If you have some time later, maybe we can go over it together. Maybe we can figure this out... save that kid.”

Craig nodded. “I’ll make the time.”

Reiner looked sharply at the young doctor. The dedication was puzzling– it went beyond doctor-patient relationship. Much the way his own did.

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