The Evil That Came

Part 8: Masterpiece

The days slipped by, and Greg maintained his vigil from the same corner chair, his stylus scratching against an archaic digital tablet, diligently jotting down notes each time Victoria stirred awake. Her annoyance with his unwavering presence was palpable.

"Must you sit there every morning?" Victoria's voice was raspy, laced with the irritation of a caged bird.

"Yes." Not looking up. Greg's response was matter-of-fact. 

"Why?"

"Because I must watch your progress and assess how the treatments impact your body. Think of it as a controlled experiment—with fewer errors." He winked, attempting to lighten the mood.

Victoria scowled, her green eyes flashing. "But you don't even know if this will work? And that laser pencil thing is annoying."

Greg shook his head. "Trust me, Victoria. This medicine is tailored to your body type. It's like introducing a new friend to your system—one your body needs to recognize as an ally, not an adversary. Success hinges on your body's response. And it's a stylus, not a laser pencil...It's old."

Victoria nodded, absorbing his explanation.

Matilda often watched them through the glass window of the examining room. She saw the way Greg's face softened when he tucked Victoria in, the way he laughed at the girl's stubbornness, and the gentle way he guided her on the walker. A sharp, unfamiliar yet familiar sting of jealousy pricked at Matilda's chest. She knew Greg's affection was fatherly—purely protective—, but she couldn't help but crave that level of unwavering focus for herself. She wanted to be the one he watched with such dedication. Am I asking for too much?

"I've been monitoring your stats," Greg continued. "And it appears you're improving. Do you feel better?"

"Overall, yes," she admitted cautiously. "I do. But there's persistent pain in the back of my legs."

Greg's gloved hands explored the back of her legs, finding nothing amiss. He retrieved a miniature X-ray machine, carefully shielding her legs with a lead cloth before scanning the specific region. The bones were dense—denser than a human's—but clear. "You're just sore. You need movement. Let's try the walker."

He handed Victoria a compact metal walker with four sturdy pegs. Its handle featured an integrated screen that displayed her vital stats floating in the air.

"This is a walker," Greg explained. "It's designed for humans who struggle with mobility. You have been sick for a while now. Months ago, you were bedridden, and my team and I turned you over to keep blood circulating, but now, you are too weak to stand. Are you ready to get walking again?"

Victoria nodded, determination in her eyes. "Alright, Greg. Let's begin." 

For fifteen minutes each day, Greg assisted Victoria in her walks. Their conversations flowed, laughter echoed through the rooms, and an unspoken bond formed. Yet beneath the fun, Greg understood that Victoria's recovery was progressing—a sign that she would soon be ready to leave.

As morning rays brushed Victoria's face, Greg regarded her as a masterpiece. Her brown skin held stories, her closed eyelids concealed sparkling lime green eyes, and her reddish-brown hair hinted at the passage of time—a dance of colors awaiting transformation to black.

"That's your daughter, Hyva," Greg thought, his heart swelling with pride.

Hyva's voice chimed in agreement. "Yes, she is, isn't she?"

Greg gently tucked Victoria into bed. "Sleep well," he whispered, knowing their journey was far from over. Victoria's silent agreement was all Greg needed. He walked out the door, gently guided Matilda by the arm, and led her outside.