Chapter 60– Hera
Chapter 60– Hera
“She won't live past the age of twenty-one.”
It was at that exact moment that my eyes had slid open. But no one really noticed that I had come to, too preoccupied with the mini-conference they were busy having by my bedside.
My mother and father had been there, pensive looks on their faces as they talked with the two doctors dressed in casual wear, lab coats slung across one lower arm or shoulder. A figure had stood apart in a black suit and tie, crisp white shirt peeking out, hands nestled comfortably in his pockets. Said man had spent the whole time looking on like none of it was his business all the while following the conversation floating about religiously.
“There has to be something we can do,” my mother's voice came, tight– too composed– her face grim like this was just another lawsuit sitting on her desk. “Her father and I have explored quite a number of remedies ourselves but a new perspective won't hurt, seeing as the seizures are coming more frequently and we need all the help we can get.”
The taller one between the two medics had rubbed his mustache thoughtfully. “Your daughter as you well know is a very rare case. We don't have enough information on her unique circumstances which could have helped us prescribe solutions at this point. Perhaps with more time to study and understand her malady we can–”
"How long do you need? Days? Weeks? Months?” My father looked exhausted on the brink of flat-out swearing. "Because you just said it yourself that she doesn't have a lot of time left.”
"I'm afraid I can't place a figure on how long we need. Some research might take years as you well know–”
"Not. Good. Enough,” the man in a suit had said, interrupting then. But he hadn't been facing the doctor that was talking but my parents. He had then turned to the doctors. "Please excuse Mr and Mrs North while I have a word with them.”
Even I had noticed that the men were relieved to be discharged, like there was something vaguely threatening about the man and they didn't want to be close to it for too long. When the door had shut behind them it had done so with a slight bang, and a twist that ensured it didn't mistakenly open and then pull them back inside.
“Ludovic." The severe expression didn't leave the corporately dressed man’s face as he addressed my father by name. “Do you want your daughter to die?"
“We will find a solution," my father had answered curtly, bristling visibly at that word.
"Give her to us. We are in a better position to take care of her for you,” the other man had returned. "We have the equipment, manpower, years of research ahead of whatever specialist hospital you might like to take her."
“We can handle this ourselves, thank you very much." My mother’s tone had been a breath short of snappy. "Tell the leadership that as well. We plan to keep our child."
"In good health, I hope?" Suit-and-tie had answered.
“We have an agreement,” my father had snapped.
"To keep her with you safe and sound. She is your investment, your child. But to whom much is given much is equally expected.”
“She wasn't ‘given’ mind you. Certainly not by your leadership. She is our daughter. You know you can't take her."
“But if she comes searching for us, then there is no telling what we can or cannot do. The deal does not cover that, no."
“She won't go looking.”
“Yet if she does, she is ours."
A part of me wanted to get up, walk over and demand that they explain what on earth is going on and what I am doing in the hospital but I was just too weak. And I knew I wouldn't like what I would hear.
Ignorance, they say, is bliss. It's why the price of knowledge is so costly. There I was wanting to be knocked out so badly I couldn't hear a thing, especially not the kind of news that humbled a proud man like my father, reduced him to a pensive mess. I remember that evening at that suffocating private hospital in Los Angeles that he had turned to look at my bed with something of sadness in his eyes. I had shut mine as soon as his face towards me, pretending to still be under.
And while I knew that things were quite dire, I suppose it didn't matter because I was just too young to really understand the gravity of what was said. As time went on I began to forget, even thinking the experience a dream… a figment of my own imagination.
My parents never spoke about it; they never knew I heard what I did. And for a while I forgot…
Until almost a week ago, that is.
It came again. The thing. Violently this time like it would take my life with it faster than it promised. I couldn't go to school for two days. In fact, when Astrid’s “Are you okay?" had blinked my phone screen on, I hadn't been able to reply. Because it was one of those days I raided my parents’ underground cellar and then crashed cold on the floor. I hadn't woken up to the sound of the house settling or cold drafts whispering my name. No it had been a pair of worried, deep-brown eyes I had been just too relieved to see.
"Hera, what the heck? What's up with you?”
"I'm fine. What's the time?"
"Two fifteen, why?”
“I've been asleep for nearly six hours. That's crazy."