Darkness
Chapter 55

Gregor

He’s right, of course. There is no feasible way to save Smith. I know the disease will take him without my intervention, but I can’t touch him long enough to heal him. He’ll fight me every time he becomes aware of me, and I don’t particularly care to get another busted lip for my effort.

And all humans die. I can postpone it maybe, but not prevent it. Honestly, too, Smith is a miserable excuse for a human being, even if he can’t help it, even if he doesn’t understand it, even if he can scarcely be blamed for it. I am not the only person who has suffered at his hands. Sarah flashes into my mind, and with that I am resolved. Let nature take its course. I will do nothing else to prevent the inevitable in Smith’s case.

These others, though, I will help. It brings me joy to do it, not only for their sake, but to help my friend Samuel. I have felt more fulfilled over the last couple of years than in the previous couple of centuries, and knowing that I am bringing healing and well-being to the people of this town is a huge part of the satisfaction I feel in being a citizen here.

So, as Wolk tells me that Samuel is resting in Ben’s arms, I continue my work here. I am happy to be doing it.

A couple of hours into the evening, I ask Wolk, “How is Smith doing?” I have not changed my mind, but I do think that I should track the situation, if for no other reason than to be able to offer a report to Samuel.

“His condition has deteriorated. He is sleeping, but the fever is returning.”

Well, it is as expected, then.

But soon, something happens that I do not expect.

“Darling, I have received an unusual request,” Wolk tells me in a tone of surprise as I am leaving a patient room.

“Really? What do you mean? Has Rosalind asked for something?” She should be asleep, it is very late.

“Not Rosalind. It is Smith’s Guardian.”

“I … what… I don’t understand.”

“Smith’s condition has rapidly deteriorated over the course of the last hour, and it appears clear that the end is approaching, as we have discussed. But his Guardian has requested that I ask you to intervene.”

What on earth? A Guardian has contacted Wolk? “Has that ever happened before?”

“No, darling, only the Guardians of other Seers, Yosh and Ayola, have initiated such conversations, and now Rosalind’s Guardian often relays messages from her. I have occasionally spoken to other Guardians at your request, but this is the first time that another Guardian has approached me to ask for help.”

“We’ve already discussed it, though, and decided that I can’t do it.”

“The glamour which hides your thoughts prevented the Guardian from hearing our earlier discussion about how it is impracticable for you to attempt further healing of Smith. I have briefly explained this, however.”

“I still don’t understand why the Guardian would ask? Why try to talk to you? I thought Guardians would never do that.” I am very perplexed.

“It is because of what happened when his Guardian witnessed Smith whipping you.”

Ugh. That. I still can’t seem to put that incident behind me.

Wolk goes on. “At that time, as you know, all nearby Guardians became aware that you are a Seer. Most of them have continued observing you since then. You have been clearly demonstrating your ability to heal, even during the whipping with Tiger, and earlier this evening with Smith. His Guardian does not wish for this life to end, wishes for Smith’s life to continue, and hopes that you will agree to utilize your skills to make that happen.”

I wander out of the hallway, and plunk down into a chair in the parlor. This is an overwhelming thought. Smith’s Guardian wants me to try to heal him? Even after Smith made it so clear that he hated me and wanted nothing to do with me? Why would a Guardian want to go against the wishes of their own Guarded? I scarcely know what to think.

Wolk waits, to see if I have other questions of him. It takes me a few minutes, and eventually I address Smith’s Guardian directly. I whisper, “I understand what you want me to do, but Smith already rejected my help. Shouldn’t I honor that choice?”

Wolk provides me the Guardian’s response. “Smith is not making a true choice, because he misconstrued your actions. If he knew you can heal him, his Guardian believes he would accept it.”

I waver for a moment, because I had thought this exact thing myself. He didn’t understand what he was rejecting. All of my reasoning earlier with Wolk seems questionable now. I shake my head. I’m not going to spend the rest of the night debating this. No more wasting time. “Fine, I’ll try once more,” I tell them both.

“His Guardian is deeply grateful, and deeply emotional, almost reverent,” Wolk tells me.

Ugh. That nearly changes my mind. I want nobody’s reverence. But I said I’d do it, so here I go.

This time I arm myself, trying to find a way to make it look less alarming to Smith if he wakes up again. I bring a wet cloth with me, to press to his forehead, just like other health workers might do. I quietly enter his room, where he is again shivering on his bed, looking much like he did when I first saw him tonight.

I suppress my distaste at the idea of touching him again, and sit down next to him, with one hand on his shoulder, and one hand pressing the wet cloth to his forehead.

Wolk sends me his energy, and I concentrate on healing, also feeling self-conscious to know that Smith’s Guardian is watching closely.

“It is helping again, but more slowly this time. The disease has progressed further. His Guardian does not wish to admit it, but I believe it is too late.”

Well, he’s probably right, but I’m committed now, so I renew my efforts, and focus, and touch, and heal.

A few minutes later I feel him stirring under my hands, and he opens his eyes. He looks at me with loathing just as he did before. But this time he is too weak and ill to react violently. My touch revived him, but it is not curing him, and he obviously feels completely awful. He was happier asleep, I believe. My touch isn’t doing him any favors, it’s just making him more aware of his misery as his health declines.

“I told you to leave me alone,” he rasps out, weakly, unable to push me away.

I leave the cloth on his forehead, but take my hands away. “I’m just trying to help get your fever down,” I tell him. “The wet cloth can help.” I don’t try to explain anything else. I’m just glad he’s not currently punching me.

But I’m not glad about what happens next. His eyes fill with tears, and his mouth quivers under his beard, and he says, “Just go away,” in a quavering voice. He turns his face away from me. It is so pathetic, so excruciating to watch his dismay as he recognizes his weakness, his helplessness, his inability to make me leave. He obviously doesn’t care whether or not I am genuinely trying to help him. His notions about me, as a person he loathes, are all he can think about. Having me here, while he is so very sick, is just making him feel worse.

It reminds me of how I felt tied to the whipping post, trying frantically to make Rosalind go away. My feelings about her were the opposite of course, I wished her to go because I loved her and didn’t want her to suffer through watching me be hurt. But Smith’s sense of being helpless to make someone leave, for whatever reason, is just as devastating to him.

Coming back in here was a mistake. Inflicting my presence on him is making his final hours even more excruciating. I feel more compassion for him in this moment than I would have thought possible.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper to him. “I’ll go.”

As I am closing the door behind me, Wolk tells me, “His Guardian realizes the truth now, and deeply regrets that this situation ended in causing more pain to Smith.”

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper to the Guardian. “I’ll leave him in peace now. I know you’ll be with him.”

“The Guardian thanks you, and is very grateful for your efforts and your understanding.” Wolk pauses for a moment, then continues, “There is no way to convey the depths of the Guardian’s despair, over not only the ending of Smith’s lifetime, but over having disturbed his final moments, which in the end will only prolong his suffering.”

I sigh. I really am very sorry about all of it. But there is nothing left for me to do. I am truly done.

Samuel Duncan

My eyes open in the dark, my limbs still entangled with Ben’s. I take a deep breath, and wonder how long I have been asleep. It must have been a while, I feel refreshed. And wonderful, I think, remembering everything that we did before we dropped off to sleep.

I manage to extricate myself from the bed without waking him up, and am very glad for it. I tiptoe around the room getting dressed, without his help sadly, and am able to check my pocket watch.

Goodness gracious, it’s after midnight again.

I close the door very silently behind me, then head down the stairs, and down the hill.

Gregor is in one of the patient rooms when I arrive, and he comes out into the hallway to greet me.

“Get some rest?” he asks, with just a hint of a smile, and I get the impression that he suspects just how well rested I am.

I smile and nod. Nothing needs to be added to that. “How are things here?” I ask.

“As well as can be expected,” he says, with a sigh. “The patients mostly seem to be feeling all right. I suspect this place might start to empty out in a few days.”

“What about the patrolman?” I ask. I don’t want to mention that I have realized who the man is, and what their relationship is. What an awkward topic.

But he sighs again, and says, “He was awake shortly after you left, but he objected to my presence, and ordered me to stay out of his room. I can’t really blame him for not wanting to see me, after what happened in March. I tried once more a while ago, but he told me to leave again.”

I should have expected that Gregor could not be ignorant of who the patient is. My goodness, he is taking this calmly. I would have thought that Gregor would be the one objecting to the patrolman’s presence. He adds, “He seemed to be healthy enough to express himself quite forcefully earlier, but he had deteriorated again by the time I returned. I have obeyed his wishes and not gone back in there for the past hour.”

I feel bad to have put them both in such an uncomfortable situation. Gregor would have been within his rights to refuse to help the man who had tormented him, but he tried anyway. And the patrolman rejected him anyway. It’s a sad business all around.

“I’ll go in and check on him,” I tell Gregor, and he nods, and stands in the hallway watching as I enter Smith’s door.

It is as I feared. I am going to lose this patient. His breathing is quick and shallow and labored. His skin is clammy and grey. I see that he has vomited, soiling the side of his pillow with a dark matter like coffee grounds, and that is the true indicator that he is close to the end. That is caused by deep internal bleeding, the sign of fatal organ failure.

There is nothing else I can do for the man. I am glad that he is unconscious, so that he is at least not awake and suffering. I do not try to clean him or make him more comfortable, since he seems unaware of his circumstances, and moving him might be disturbing. I am just going to leave him be, and hope that he slips away peacefully without awakening again.

I return to Gregor, pull the door only partially shut, and shake my head. I can tell that he already knows. “I am sorry,” he says.

I shrug. “It’s not your doing. And it won’t be the first time that a doctor has lost a patient.” I remember Stephen’s mother-in-law who died last year. He nods, and I get the sense that he is thinking the same thing.

“Well,” I tell him, “you might as well go on home. There’s nothing else that can be done for him, and I assume the other patients are all sleeping.”

He nods, and doesn’t argue with me this time. He seems more tired than usual, not physically, but just exuding a sense of deep weariness. I think interacting with the dying patrolman has probably been a real trial for him. “The men from the duty roster will arrive to help you after sunrise,” he says. “I’ll come back later in the day. I plan to spend the morning running some errands with Rosalind, obtaining supplies for the wedding of Moses and Dalila on Tuesday.”

“Get some rest, my friend,” I say, laying my hand on Gregor’s shoulder, as I have often seen him do to others. He looks at me, gets the glimmer of a smile on his face, and heads out the door.

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