The Evil That Came

Part 8: Masterpiece

The days slipped by, and Greg maintained his vigil from the same corner chair, 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 held a hint of irritation.

Greg's response was a matter of fact. "Yes."

"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. "But you don't even know if this will work?"

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."

Victoria nodded, absorbing his explanation.

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

Victoria's affirmation was cautious. "Yes, overall, 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.

"No abnormalities are visible," Greg reported. "You are probably sore. Some gentle movement would help. Have you tried walking?"

Victoria attempted to rise, but her legs betrayed her, and she stumbled. Greg steadied her.

"Walking isn't an option right now. Let me fetch you a walker."

He handed Victoria a compact metal walker with four sturdy pegs. Its handle featured an integrated screen.

"This is a walker," Greg explained. "It's designed for humans who struggle with mobility."

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 soon she would 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 gently guided Matilda by the arm, leading her outside. The moon hung high in the sky, casting a white glow on the path ahead. As they approached the bustling area where the press conference would unfold, Greg's mind raced with anticipation, but something else lingered in his mind as well. He was mean to Matilda a few weeks ago. He misplaced his anger towards Matilda, which was meant for someone else. Greg grabbed her by the hand gently before stepping out of the H.U.V car. "Matilda, I know this is probably not the right time to say this, but I am sorry. We haven't talked about the moment I yelled, but it was unprofessional of me to speak to you that way. I am hardly ever angry with you. You have been a pleasure to work with. I just want you to know I understand if you may be looking elsewhere for work."