Automatic Heritage

Chapter 7: Life

The doctor could not take Beryl in until the following morning, but this did not bother her. Her husband Whitney, however, was insistent that she was to get it done early even when she did not want to get out of bed the next day. When she showed no signs of budging he picked her up and carried her to her appointment.

Soon Beryl found herself on the surgeon's table, the drill noise not bothering her one bit. It was done before she knew it.

"And like that your foot is as good as new Mrs. Beryl. Give it a wiggle and tell me how you feel." Despite the surgeon's chipper attitude, the patient's mood did not change. She looked apathetically down at her new foot. Lying lazily on the slanted table she moved the tip of her foot by an inch and sighed.

Her husband looked up from his reading and set the Bible on the table next to his chair. His eyebrows crinkled as he looked from the doctor to her. He had seen that face on her many times, but this one seemed to bear a deeper sadness. Getting up, he walked over to her and took her hand into his, carefully stroking her fingers. He watched them curl around his own. "I'm glad you did not lose your hands," he said with a smile.

Beryl's speech was weak. "I want Cyan..."

The surgeon spoke up as he wheeled his stool to his desk, jotting something down on a clipboard. "Well, whether or not you actually use your foot, I know that it works. I pulled out all the stops on this baby. It's some of my finest work yet!" He patted the clipboard, and pulled out the paper to pin to a board labeled 'payment due.' "Looking forward to payment when you can Whitney, no rush."

Whitney flashed him a grin. "It's appreciated, Mike," Feeling a bump to his arm he looked down to see his wife had curled herself closer to him. Without hesitation, he bent down and kissed the top of her monitor. "God is watching out for her, don't you worry Beryl."

Beryl's screen was dimly lit, "I know, it's just... this is all my fault."

He lowered down to her eye level. "All you wanted was to discover something good, Beryl, that's all. Please focus on the positives for now my love."

Her mouth became a squiggle; she didn't believe him, but her gut told her she had to. There were too many times when he was right. "Okay." She softly replied.

Kissing the top of her head one more time Whitney scooped her to her feet, as well as did a little dance in the hope of making her smile. She did, briefly, then hid the smile in his shirt, holding him close.

He sighed. "Let's get going, we have a mandatory meeting soon."

"Before you go Whit!" Dr. Mike piped up, rising from his seat to reach for something on a high shelf. "I know now is probably not the best time to bring this thing out..." He pulled out a long black aluminum stick, decorated in red stripes. With two hands he presented it to Whitney.

The pastor took it in his hands, his wife still holding him close. "My hockey stick? Mike, you do remember that I just about killed..."

He raised his hand to silence him as he stowed his other in his pocket. "It doesn't matter. I found it where you last threw it. I figured if another incident like last night ever happened again, you are at least armed with the best tool you got. No sense in wasting multipurpose cleaner. Besides, you got that pretty wife to look after."

Beryl turned to glare at the doctor. Embarrassed, he looked away. "I know, I know! Don't worry Mrs. Beryl I still respect you. Not exactly the best habit to bring back up. Rest assured that you won't be seeing "dark" Mike anytime soon." He looked back to his friend. "But I wanted to give this to you because I know without a shadow of a doubt that the "Wolf of the Dead City" is never coming back. I know you are never going to think about bashing my lens in."