MARIEL

2 ~The Healing~

He was staring, staring with intensity that would scare the average person. He knew he had been staring at his hand for an hour, maybe more. In fact, he had not even broken his gaze to wipe the sweat that had formed on his pale forehead. The wound had stared back, but nothing had changed since its gaping ugliness had closed before his eyes.

"Mr. Jameson?"

Phil kept staring at his palm. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple, trickled over his cheek, and then plopped gently on the desk before him.

"Mr. Jameson."

"Huh?" He looked up and met the eyes of his broad-shouldered, large-breasted, middle-aged, brown-haired assistant standing at the front of his desk.

"Are you okay?"

He wiped his face again. "Yeah, yeah. Sorry. What do you want?"

"To go home. It's after 5 and I wanted to beat traffic. Looks like that won't happen now," she said curtly.

Phil, who was usually fiery in his responses when a person (especially of the female breed) talked to him with disrespect, wet his lips and cleared his throat. "Yeah, Nancy, go on. See you tomorrow."

She turned towards the doorway, then looked back. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Dumbly, he nodded.

Nancy shrugged and left.

His mouth was dry. Phil smacked his lips a couple times and looked at his watch. 5:07pm. It was too late to beat traffic, indeed, and his stomach growled with abrupt hunger at the thought of sitting in a line of slow moving cars. He stood up and the black, leather office chair squeaked a little. His eyes lingered on the pocket knife that he had left flipped open in front of his desktop computer. Some of the blood from his hand, proof that a wound had occurred, lingered on the knife. Phil looked at his palm again, and then glanced behind to look through the large glass windows that overlooked the city of Chicago. Snow flickered lazily from the sky. He continued looking outside for several minutes, as if searching the city and the skies for answers. None came.

Then, he had a fear. His usual fear. The fear that kept him searching the Holy Bible to make sure he was all good and holy with God. Had he just committed heresy? Maybe that voice had not been God, but Lucifer telling him to commit a sin he could not receive forgiveness for. Maybe it was a test from God to see if he would deny a temptation to try something as evil as magic. If that's what it was.

Phil straightened his shoulders. No. He was a blessed man, a very blessed man. God had blessed him and would continue to bless him. Why? Because he, in a way, was a savior. He saved the children every Sunday school class he taught, he saved the criminals he defended in court (he always purchased a Holy Bible as part of his package deal to give to a new client), and, most importantly, he saved his wife Carolyn and his daughters by leading them as Christ lead His Holy Church. No. Today, a miracle had happened and he could not be happier. In fact, he wanted to do it again, but maybe not today. He did not want to abuse his new found, God-sent, power.

With sudden excitement, he grabbed the pocket knife from the desk, snapped it shut, and gathered his briefcase. It was going to be a great evening.

When he arrived home, the sun had already dropped below the horizon on the cold evening. He parked his black, 2017 BMW in the garage next to the red 2008 Ford minivan that belonged to Carolyn. Shivering, Phil stepped from the car, closed the garage door with his remote control, and then entered his home.

"Carolyn, home!" His nose flared at a welcoming, delicious smell drifting from the kitchen. When he received no response, he yelled again. "Carolyn! I am home!" Annoyance formed on his brow. Usually, she was waiting for him when he arrived home, eager and ready to see him. Phil wandered into the kitchen, scanning the room. The light was on, and it was evident that the crockpot was switched on as well. The bamboo cutting board rested on the crisp, white counters. A steel kitchen knife lay on the board surrounded by onion peel and bits of tomato. He approached the crockpot and opened the lid. Hot steam moistened his face and he blinked furiously to clear his eyes. Chili bubbled lazily in the pot. Phil breathed in the fumes and his stomach growled in response.