The Healer: First Touch (2 page)

"Child, you need to break your fast from last night," she chastised with a twinkle in her eye and a smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

"I'll just take this banana," I answered, twisting off a banana from the bunch on the kitchen counter.

"Ok, hon. Have a good run," Oma said.

"I love you too, Oma," I answered. Kissing her once more, I started for the front door.

"If Em calls, tell her I'll call her when I get back," I yelled, stuffing the banana in my mouth.

"Sure thing, hon." Oma turned back to the stove to flip two more eggs. I wondered who she was making all this food for. It had just been the two of us living here since Opa Gill's death two summer's ago. Oma Clare had taken care of Opa Gill and me for as long as I could remember. I had no memory of my own parents as they died in a car accident when I was a baby. I had been in the vehicle as well but I somehow survived. After my parents' deaths, Oma Clare and Opa Gill cared for me as if I was their own child instead of their grandchild. I couldn't have asked for more caring parents than Oma Clare and Opa Gill. My heart filled with tenderness for this woman standing a few feet from me. Tears began to well up in my eyes and blur my vision.

"I can go for a run after breakfast, Oma." My voice cracked with emotion.

Without even turning, Oma quietly answered, "Child, go for your run before it gets too warm. Breakfast and I will still be here when you get back."

"Okay," I said, "Love you."

"Love you too," Oma responded as she flipped the eggs onto the plate sitting next to the stove. I thought her voice sounded different too. Wiping a tear, I turned and headed out the front door.

I bounded down the brick steps and began a nice, slow jog on the sidewalk towards town passing the nearly identical houses in my neighborhood. They were different colors of course, with varied lawn ornaments, but each small, two-story home was built the same.

I continued to run, feeling the muscles of my legs tighten and release with each movement as I concentrated on my breathing. In through the nose and out through the mouth, the crisp morning air filling my lungs with each breath. I loved hearing each step as my feet pounded rhythmically on the concrete sidewalk. I took in the scenery around me; every blade of grass, every bird's chirp, and the slight breeze hitting my cheek. My mind was clear. The dream forgotten. All that occupied my mind was the movement of my body and the sights around me.

I had just passed the town's only beauty salon and the library was coming up quickly on my left. I jogged in placed at the corner, waiting for the light to turn green. Mrs. Tender drove by in her silver mini van honking her horn and waving frantically at me. I waved back politely. Mrs. Tender and her daughter Evie were known as the town gossips. Evie was my age, but we were not friends. She and her mother were attention seekers, using other's circumstances and misfortunes to gain that attention. I tried to stay away from both of them, grateful for once jut to be ordinary. At least Oma Clare would know which route I ran this morning. I could count on Mrs. Tender to tell her she saw me.

The light changed, and I ran across the street toward the library. I allowed my mind to clear again, no longer thinking of the gossiping Mrs. Tender or her daughter. Instead, I marveled at the ornate architecture of the old library building. The building was made of stone of all shapes and colors that somehow fit together perfectly. The library always had a musty smell inside and I wondered if it was because of the stone façade. Jogging past, I looked at the top of one of the towers that lined the side of the building. Wrought iron spirals decorated the sides of the towers and sharp iron spikes lined the tops. Dark stone gargoyles held sentry positions atop the towers giving the library an eerie appearance. I continued ahead, rounding the back of the library towards the path that would take me down through the woods and out toward the boardwalk and sand dunes along the lake.

That's when I saw him; a man dressed in black, standing just behind the old oak tree next to the library parking lot. He was half hidden by the trunk of the large tree, just standing there staring at me. I turned my head focusing back on the path in front of me. Feeling my heart quicken, I looked toward the tree again. Relief flooded my body when I realized he was no longer there.

Shaking my head to clear the unnerving image of the unsettling stranger, I decided I had just imagined the man behind the tree. I continued down the path, leading into the woods. It was beautiful there. The leaves had really burst forth in the past week so the forest was full of green. I listened to the leaves moving and rustling in the wind while rays of light passed through the trees and lit the path in front of me. I breathed deeply again, smelling the earthy scent of dirt, pine, and rotting bark. I turned my head slightly to my right and focused on a large tree. Squinting my eyes, I tried to make out the something that was directly behind the tree, almost hiding.
What is that? Part of the tree?

I felt my heart jump, when I suddenly realized what it was. It was him. Panic filled my mind as I became too aware of my very quiet, very secluded surroundings. I began to run a little faster looking, away from the tree as I approached. I didn't want to see him staring at me as I ran by. I nurtured my flight instinct as I began to sprint, running past the tree as fast as I could. My mind began to race as swiftly as my legs.
Maybe I can out run him. If he grabs me, would I be strong enough to pull away? If I scream, would anyone hear me?
My mind filled with strategies to protect myself from this stranger stalking me.

I frantically looked ahead to see if anyone else was on the path or walking through the woods. That's when I saw him again. This time he was in front of me, but behind a tree on my left.
How did he get there?
I was running really fast now, but no longer really watching where I was running. I kept staring at the stranger and he kept staring at me.

Relief flooded over me as I realized I was close to where the path turns to boardwalk. The boardwalk marks the end of the woods and the beginning of the sand dunes leading to the big lake.
There should be more people on the boardwalk, especially on a beautiful day like today
. I tried to keep my rising panic under control.

Just as I left the seclusion of the woods, I stole one more glance to my left. He was still there, staring at me from his spot behind the tree.
Be careful,
my conscience warned me. As I looked forward to the openness and brightness of the dunes ahead, I felt my right ankle twist beneath me. Sharp pain shot up the outside of my ankle and through my calf. Gasping, I fell, putting my hands out to catch myself. As the rough wood of the boardwalk touched the palms of my hands, I felt more stabbing pain in my ankle.

I leaned on my hip and grabbed at my throbbing ankle.
What rotten luck. Sprained ankle.
My eyes started to tear up as the throbbing pain continued. Panic-stricken, I thought of my stalker. Is
he still there? Is he coming for me?
I didn't have to look. I knew he was. I could feel him coming.

Fear. Breath-catching, heart-pounding, sweat-inducing fear coursed through my tense body. I knew he was right behind me. I heard his footsteps stop just a few feet from where I was nursing my ankle on the boardwalk. They're right, you know. In times of intense stress and danger your senses are heightened. A defensive reaction, an instinctual way of protecting one's self. I heard everything even my own heartbeat. I heard the scratch of his shoe on the sidewalk behind me as he tentatively switched his weight. I heard his breath, slow and even. I suddenly became aware that I was holding my breath. I gasped as I took quick, rapid breaths. My lungs burned. My chest rose and fell in fast shallow movements with the quickness of my breath.

A slight breeze blew toward me and I caught a cool, musky scent. It reminded me of when Oma Clare would hang laundry outside to dry in late fall. She would make me bring in the dry, stiff clothing after it had been hanging outside in the crisp autumn air. I couldn't help but bury my face deep in the pile of clean clothing. The clothes were cool and clean but the fall air had mixed in aromas of dry leaves and sweet apples. I realized that the scent I smelled now was from him and my breath came in even faster gasps. My body tensed uneasily as I waited for his next move.

There would be no outrunning him now, not with this injured ankle. The throbbing was excruciating, occasionally sending stabbing pains up my leg. I placed my hands around my injured ankle. It was already swelling around my ankle bone and my shoe felt very tight around my foot.

If I scream, would somebody help me?
I looked around. There was no one on the boardwalk this morning.
Where is everyone?
I felt pangs of anger and irritation amidst the panic. Of course, there was just me and my stalker out here today.
Go figure.

I felt light headed and dizzy and blinked my eyes to clear my vision. I needed to be able to think clearly so I could react swiftly if I needed to. My head spun and my stomach churned. Was it the pain from my ankle or the fast breathing? Maybe both, but I thought I would just pass out. My ears were ringing, and my vision began to tunnel, darkening my peripheral vision. I could only see directly in front of me. He was close enough to touch me now. And then he spoke.

"You're going to hyperventilate if you keep breathing like that."

"What?" I said. My head snapped towards him. I no longer felt light headed. The shock of his voice and his unexpected words jolted my senses.

"You're going to hyperventilate if you keep breathing so fast," he said. "Take some slow, deep breaths."

I just stared up at him confused by what he had said to me. Is
he trying to tell me how to breathe? Is that what stalkers do before they attack?
I didn't remember that from any the movies I had watched.

He then began to breathe, slowly and deliberately. Cocking my head slightly to the side, I stared at him in bewilderment.
I think he's trying to show me how to breathe!

I must have been holding my breath, because he then said, "Hey, I told you to take slow, deep breaths, not stop breathing altogether." He smiled. I took in a deep breath. And another. And yet another. My heart began to slow and the ringing in my ears softened. "Good," he responded. "You should try a few more."

I stared up at him from my seat on the boardwalk. Dark jeans and a long sleeve black shirt graced his slender body as he stood with his hands on his hips. There was nothing threatening or menacing from his posture. I continued to breathe and found that I couldn't help but follow his instructions. His voice was deep and warm and he spoke softly. I knew, in an attempt to keep from startling me. There was nothing threatening about him. "Looks like you tripped. Is your ankle hurt?"

I continued to stare at him.
Did he just ask me another question?
I couldn't be sure. His voice was mesmerizing, so comforting...so warm....so familiar. Had I heard it before? His rich voice washed over me like warm bath water. Something in his voice calmed me.

Extending his arms towards me, he said, "May I take a look at your ankle?" I blinked in response. "May I?" He questioned again. "Please?" Raising his eyebrows, he held his hands out toward me, showing that he meant no harm. Still slightly confused, I nodded.

He knelt down on one knee next to me. Bending over me slightly he said, "Let's take a look at that ankle, shall we?" He gingerly took my ankle in his hands to examine it. As his hands cradled my injured ankle, I felt a surge of hot prickling current course over my skin. Reflexively, I pulled my ankle out of his grasp, gasping slightly. "I'm sorry. Can we try again?" he asked apologetically, grimacing slightly.

I nodded, very slowly placing my ankle in his open hands. I still felt the prickling sensation running across my exposed skin as he gingerly held my ankle. But I resisted the urge to pull away again. His hands were gentle, slowly turning my ankle and leg so that he could better examine it. The longer he touched my skin, the warmer and more soothing the tingling current was. His hands were very warm. A blush darkened my cheeks as I felt the intimacy of his hands on my skin.

I took another deep breath, attempting to calm my frazzled nerves. That same clean, musky smell filled my senses. Involuntarily, I closed my eyes, breathing even deeper. My heart slowed to a normal pace. He smelled so good and so familiar. I opened my eyes and stared at him.

"Does it hurt when I bend your ankle like this?" he said, putting pressure on the top of my foot while bending it down.

"Huh?" I stammered. I stared at him as he knelt beside me. I didn't hear the question because I was too busy looking at him. His skin was smooth and flawless, with a slight olive tone. His hair was short, but wavy on top, the color deep brown like dark chocolate. He even had a small mole behind his ear.

He looked at me and repeated his question while I stared directly into his eyes. They were a deep sapphire color framed with thick, dark lashes. I knew it wouldn't take much for me to get lost in those eyes. He cleared his throat and I blinked. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

He smiled again. "Does this hurt?" White teeth dazzled me as his lips turned into a smile.

"No. It actually feels much better now," I answered. It really did feel much better. The throbbing had dulled to an annoying ache. Even the swelling had reduced.

"Do you think you can stand on it?"

"Maybe," I answered, hopefully. I took the hand he offered me. His other hand he used to help me stand by placing it under my upper arm. Gingerly, I put a little weight on my injured ankle, testing for pain. "Ouch! That hurts." I picked up my right foot leaving all my weight on my left. I leaned on his arms, grateful for the support. "Great. How am I going to get home now?"

"I guess I'll just have to help you back home," he said. Narrowing my eyes, I searched his face looking for any signs of a deeper, more sinister motive. In what I could only imagine was his best attempt at an English accent, he joked, "Madam, I assure you my intentions are strictly honorable." When I didn't laugh, he did. "Come on," he said lightly, "Let's get you home." While I leaned on his arms for support we began the last half mile walk towards home.