Godspeed

Chapter 9

“I am to die, then?”

He tilted his head thoughtfully and ran his hand back through his stubborn, silver hair.

“We are all to die, girl. The question remains just when.” He frowned now and sat taller in his seat. “What I meant was that your heart cannot stand, even still, the continued jolts from this improved, less violent device. You need something so small, so intricate, and yet so dependable that it can fortify the strength of your heart to beat on without assaulting it in the attempt to render aid.” He waved beyond the machines to the bookshelves lining the far wall. “I am working on that. In the meantime, I hope you will gain strength, and I will have enough time to refine the device that will truly make you as well as you can possibly be.”

He stood up and moved closer to the table. He grasped hold of his nearby listening scope and applied it to my chest. His touch, even in this simplest fashion, made every emotion within me swell like shifting seas. I tried to still myself from shaking as he listened and nodded.

“While I cannot be certain of it, because there can never be absolute certainty in something like this, I believe the time has come to try. “ He roped the length of the scope around his neck and returned his eyes to mine. “Are you ready?”

“I am ready to live or die, sir, but one thing I am not ready to do is to continue to merely exist in the nothingness between. Do what you must.”

He nodded again, this time in approval. “So I shall.”

He turned away and began switching, one by one, dials and levers on the panel to their off position. The whirring hum of each mechanism slowed and was finally snuffed into silence, and in the newly quieted room I could hear the sound of his rapid breaths and knew he was, beneath his calm exterior, anxious just as I was.

Each in turn, he disconnected the leading wires on my chest from the larger machines and attached them instead to the smaller device, which was about the size of a ladies’ train case but apparently much heavier, given the effort it took him to move it.

When all was done and finished, he again wiped the perspiration from his brow and focused on me intently. His eyes questioned if I was ready to see what would happen next; his head moved up and down to convey that he was.

I mirrored his motion and then closed my eyes.

“Breathe steadily,” he instructed. “I know the instinct is to hold your breath, but that will only complicate matters.”

I clasped my lower lip between my teeth for an instant, then realized I should not; if the machine should immediately fire a shock, I might impale it. I released it and inhaled as deeply as I could.

My heart had already started to slow, and I braced myself for the charge I was certain would come the moment he turned the device on.

Indeed the charge did come, but this one was, as he’d planned, much less abusive to my body as a whole.

When it was over, I reluctantly opened clenched eyelids. I blinked once, twice, three times.

I inhaled and exhaled again, and for the first time in a very long time, the act felt almost a natural thing. My eyes instantly filled with tears at the realization, and in response Quinn emphatically slammed a fist onto the top of the table beside me.

“Yes!” he exclaimed. “Yes, I knew that you would be able to…” He stopped and suddenly glared at me; leaving me bewildered, forced to wonder what could have prompted the instantaneous change in his demeanor.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, truly terrified. He turned away. His hands moved with furious motions as he began to coil up strands of loose wire, efficiently taking up and securing the slack.

“I…” he began, stopping to clear his throat. “I have never seen you smile before.”

I had not realized that I had done so, and could think of nothing to say in reply.

I watched his every motion closely as he moved, tidying everything and stowing away instruments and devices that he felt, at least for now, he would not need to use on me again. With each item’s disappearance, I felt a little more human than I had the moment before.

By the time he finally finished his work and turned back to me, we heard a single knock at the door. Without waiting, Schuyler came through it. His face registered his surprise as he saw I was free — at least more so than I’d been since the night I first arrived.

“Success?” he gasped, hurrying toward us.

“Success,” Quinn replied. His jaw set and his eyes took on a defiance that I had seen in him only once before, when he spoke about attempting to best Death this time.

Schuyler suddenly seized hold of Quinn by the forearms, color rushing to his face as he gave an excited, yet incredulous laugh.

“Yes?”

“Yes, Schuyler.” Quinn quickly extricated himself from Schuyler’s grasp and took a step closer toward me. “I told you it would work.”

Schuyler’s expression soured, but he seemed to try, at least for my sake, to recover quickly. “What wonderful news.” He patted me gently on top of my head, and as he withdrew his hand his attention was drawn to his fingertips. “Good Lord…”

I had no idea what troubled him so, until I realized that his hand had taken away a long lock of my hair as he’d pulled it back. Even as gently as he’d touched me, it was enough to snap strands that had become unnaturally brittle and cause them to fall.

“Control yourself, Schuyler.” Quinn warned, as he locked his eyes on to mine and held my gaze. “It’s but a minor side effect, purely cosmetic in nature. As lucky as you are to be alive, it should be of no consequence at all.”

“You have never been a young woman, Quinn,” Schuyler rebuked him, and then took hold of my hand and squeezed it. “We’ll deal with this, do not you worry your pretty head a bit about it.”

I nodded, wondering when the end would come to the indignities that illness had wrought.

“We have much more important things to do,” Quinn replied, folding his arms. He rocked his weight to and fro upon his boots. “How would you like to sleep in a real bed tonight?”

“Really?” I could hardly believe it was possible.

“Really. Your own bed, in your own room.” He moved toward me and my heart nearly stopped again as I realized he was about to pick me up and carry me, just as I had earlier wished he would.

Something in my eyes, however, or perhaps the change in Schuyler’s expression, gave him pause, and he stopped before his arms closed around me. “Schuyler, if you would be so kind as to pick her up, I will carry the box.”

I was certain my face betrayed my disappointment; Schuyler’s a relief so pure that if spoken, it would have been screamed.