Redemption

Chapter Nineteen: The Vision

The sun had begun to set when Micah put the last pile of dirt on Otis's grave. Fletcher was still in the truck cab, alive, but oblivious to the world. Neither Micah, nor myself, had the heart to wake him, to tell him that his best friend was no longer there.

Micah and I stood under the large oak tree where Otis was buried, his name etched into the tree's trunk. I placed a small bouquet of white lilies on the grave, tears pouring down my cheeks.

"He was special, wasn't he?" a deep and solemn voice resonated behind us.

Micah and I jumped in alarm, turning to see Fletcher staring at the mass of dirt. He was pale and shaky.

"After I lost my powers and was banished from Tueri, I was depressed for a long time. It wasn't until Otis came along that I felt some sense of happiness again," Fletcher said, a tear slipping down his weathered cheek.

"I'm so sorry, Fletcher," I said, giving him a hug.

I couldn't help the guilt running through me when I saw his pain. This entire thing was my fault. If I hadn't used magic, the Malin never would have tracked us. Otis died because of her foolish actions.

"We'll give you some privacy, Fletcher," Micah said, motioning for me to follow him.

"Do you think he's going to be okay?" I asked, watching Fletcher as he kneeled by the grave. I knew it would be hard for him to say goodbye. It made my  heart ache to know he had lost his best friend. 

I hobbled to a nearby tree trunk, sitting down painfully as Micah walked to the front of the truck and began assessing the damage.

"He'll be upset for a while, but protectors are resilient. He'll be okay- in time," Micah said, propping open the truck's hood.

He bustled around for several minutes, tinkering with the truck's mechanics.

"Well the radiator's busted and the drip pan is cracked," he said with a sigh. "We won't make it very far in this. Maybe a couple of hours, but then we're going to have some serious walking to do. How badly are you hurt?"

Knowing it would do no good to hide my injury, I lifted my faded blue jeans to show my leg. My knee was abnormally large, swollen to the point that it resembled a grapefruit. Cuts and scrapes covered my leg from my thigh to my ankle. It was already starting to bruise, showing a rainbow of colors as splotches of green, purple and black began to decorate my ivory skin.

Most shocking of all was seeing that my kneecap no longer appeared to be in the correct spot. It was now located disproportionally inward, almost touching my inner thigh.

Micah let out a high-pitched whistle. "Wow," he said, his eyebrows furrowing as he examined the injury.

"You should talk," I muttered, eyeing the wound on his shoulder where the firebomb had hit him. I could see through his scorched shirt to a deep red wound decorated with angry blisters and oozing pus.

"This is nothing," Micah said, waving the air in a dismissive gesture. "What we really need to be concerned about is your leg. You need to be able to run in case we're attacked."

He probed the swollen area of my knee with his fingers, causing me to wince and jerk away.

"It looks like it's dislocated," Fletcher said, walking over to help examine my leg.

Micah and I glanced at each other, neither knowing what to say to provide him with comfort.

"I'm fine... Really," he said, giving them a small, watery smile.

He turned my knee gently from side to side; even the smallest movement made me grimace.

"Can you fix it?" I asked through gritted teeth.