Lion's Pride (eBook)

Chapter 6

Saint Bernard – Evelina London Children’s Hospital: London, UK

11 Years Later (The October before
the meeting at Lion’s Buckhead estate)

For some unknown, canine reason, my sense of smell always seems to pick up the nastiest, most repugnant odors in hospitals. A gastrointestinal bleed down the hall, gangrene, the morbidly obese, pseudomonas, whatever. My only relief comes from the flask at my side.

I catch my breath here in the chapel. It is free of the smells of death. The peace is interrupted by a husband-and-wife approaching the altar. As they kneel, I see the shoulders of the man heave with sorrow and pain. I sip my whiskey. Its burn reminds me that I am still alive, still trapped in this world of pain, loss, and disease. I am Saint Bernard, and I can cure it all. I am not Jesus, not even close. The healing that Christ wielded was a weapon against the harm and damages caused by sin. The healing I provide is a weapon used against me. How does a person decide who lives and who dies? Do they say, this person is good, they live, this person is old, they die?

I sip the flask again. Just look into a dying child’s eyes and tell me who gets saved! See a mother lose her only son and tell me about my power! No! My blessing is a curse. I must hide it from mankind lest they call me the Second Coming. I am not the Second Coming. Hell, I’m not even sure of my faith. On more than one night I raged against God for giving me this curse. How many deaths do I preside over? How much is enough? I have tried to kill myself on more than one occasion. I healed as fast as the damage was inflicted… aspirin overdose, shooting myself (though if I were a better marksman maybe I would succeed). None of it worked.

The mother wails as the father screams at the altar. “Why are you taking her?! WHY?! We are Christians, we pray! Yet you are taking our little girl!” The man shakes his fist at the large crucifix. If the man knew who I was, and what my power was, how would he speak to God then? Hmm, I bet he’d be humbler, and more respectful to the Almighty, to be damn sure.

I sip another drink. My buzz thankfully is starting. God knows I won’t die of cirrhosis. I can’t even keep a buzz. I stand and slowly approach the couple. I need to know an answer to a question, and I need to know where their daughter is.

My question is the same for every family. “Have you accepted your child’s death?” If you have, I leave you to grieve. If not, I heal their child. I am close enough to read the man’s mind, I know where their daughter Emily is. “I apologize for interrupting you,” I say.

They both turn, tears streaming from their eyes. They have not accepted Emily’s diagnosis. “Leave us,” The man yells!

“Very well, I am sorry.” I bow and turn. As I leave, a tear falls from my eyes. The girl has been diagnosed with a rare disorder affecting the nervous system. They have been told the girl will be dead before she is twenty. Before that will be seizures, blindness, and years of suffering.

My power is a curse. I can heal her; I can save young Emily. To do it, however, I need to be in front of the girl, to look her in the eyes and feel her fear, her sadness. Some say that every blessing carries a curse, our duality some say; sinner and saint. I know my blessing, and I know my curse.

***

It is laughably easy for me to get past hospital staff. With telepathy and empathy, combined with the sexiness of my canine essence, I enter the ward. I’m a natural.

I open the girl’s door and she looks up at me through tired eyes. The five-year-old girl is adorable. My heart breaks as images of her in a coffin flip through my consciousness. Somehow, I know this girl will be dead in less than three years.

“Well hello Emily,” I say softly.

She smiles politely as she replies. “Hello, sir.” She twitches slightly from a spasm affecting her head and neck.

I can tell that my essence, what makes girls go all coddling with puppies, is at play here. I sip from my flask and enter the room.

“Emily, do you know what Saint Bernard’s are?”

“Oh! They are the big brown and black and white hairy dogs! We have one, well, he’s part… I think.” Her excitement brings a smile to my face. This girl deserves to live.

“Emily, you are correct. Long ago they were used to save people lost in the mountains. They were a rescue dog.”

Her eyes grow wild. “Oh! Like those shepherd dogs the police use?”

“Not really. Those shepherd dogs can be mean, they have bad breath too,” The girl giggles at my childish humor. “I can see that you love dogs. You are a very smart little girl. All smart people love dogs.”

Her smile grows and I enter her mind. Emily fears death or the uncertainty of it. She fears pain and she is deeply saddened by her parent’s mourning over her condition. She knows what blindness is but doesn’t know that she will experience it. She does not know that she will never see her tenth birthday. The stories given to her by Christianity have painted a joyous view of the afterlife. That may be, but this girl will feel the burn of hell on Earth before she feels the joy of Salvation. I cannot allow that… not to this little girl. I will fight this girl’s destiny; I will NOT allow her to suffer and die at such a young age! I am Saint Bernard, and I will do it.

I hush my voice as I approach Emily’s hospital bed. “Emily, I have a secret to tell you. It is the best secret that you will ever hear in your life. Would you like to hear it?”

Her smile opens to an open-mouth expression of excitement. She looks like a child on Christmas morning. “Oh, I love secrets, yes.”

I touch Emily’s soft, warm hand. “Emily, the secret is that I am Saint Bernard, and I am now going to cure your sickness.” I release my full power. The connection is made in an instant. The girl’s pupils dilate, then return. A sliver of spittle leaks from her open mouth as I feel her skin shiver and turn goose bumpy. I love this girl, and she feels my love.

Her eyes well with tears as she stares at me. “I’m scared,” she says, unsure of what happened.

I remove my hand and take a sip from my flask, it’s nearly empty. “Scared? Emily, you no longer have that bad disease. You will no longer have those spells. You won’t get this sickness ever again.” She wipes her eyes as she looks at me in wonder. “Emily, this is between us, okay? You can tell the adults that you are healed. Please do not tell them it was me, okay?”

Her hand darts out and grabs mine. She lifts herself and hugs my arm. In an instant, I have a premonition about Emily’s life. Unless a tragedy happens, Emily will die at the age of eighty-seven. It will be a peaceful death; she will be surrounded by her children and her grandchildren. She will die of heart failure.

I pull free of Emily as I turn to leave. “I love you, Saint Bernard,” the girl shouts.

I smile and empty my flask. “I love you too, dear Emily.” I leave the room. I healed the girl and have given her a life. I have grown to love her and have only spent moments with her. I will never see Emily again… I am cursed with this power. I lose loved ones every time I use it.

***

The bustle of the streets and shops of London comforts me. I stop on Westminster Bridge, on my way to Soho to contemplate my next curing, my next meal.

The few bills in my pocket are not enough for any meal of substance, and I’m out of whiskey. A sense of doom washes over me as I turn to the east, the direction from which I came. An Indian girl, no more than fifteen, stands there, staring at me. She is standing as if to strike me. She is like me but is very different.

“Who are you!?” She yells, her Indian accent is laced with the English flavor, a first-generation Brit to be sure.

“I’m just a dog standing on the bridge, who are you, dear,” I reply?

The girl slowly walks forward as my vision shifts. Before me, approaching slowly is a great Cobra, its hood spread, threatening me.

I laugh out loud as the image leaves me. “You’re wasting your talent on me, love. I bet that you never expected to run into the most feared of all drooling canines. Dear, I am Saint Bernard and there isn’t enough harm, or hallucination, in your pretty soul to kill me. My greatest weapon is my loving soul, and my sexy persona.” I go back to looking at the river Thames.

She walks to me, still watching me. “Do you fear me,” she asks meekly?

I chuckle, “No, I fear that I’m out of booze. I fear that I won’t get a decent lunch today, and I fear a case of the ass-quake without any lavatory paper.”

The girl chuckles as she stands by my side looking at the river. “What are you? You aren’t like me, I feel some loathing for you, but I feel love also.”

I turn to face the girl and smile. “I am a Psychokinetic. You are a Timere. We are very similar in our nature, though different in our powers.”

The girl extends her hand. “I am Navya Patel; it is a pleasure to meet you. I dreamt of Cobras.”

I grab the girl’s hand and shake it. Instantly, I know this girl has a small lump of cancer in her right breast. “I am Trevor Blythe, Saint Bernard.” I release her hand and I lower my eyes in sadness.

“What is it sir,” she asks?