07-28-2018, 08:46 PM
The request struck Jensen nervous. ”I don’t know, Cruz. I’ve never tried anything like that before.”
He wanted to help. The more than others could learn, the more people they would help. Jensen had to wear a hat and sunglasses just to buy groceries. He’d wear his motorcycle helmet around the clock if it was possible.
Cruz argued that Jensen give it a try. It sounded so simple, but he had no idea how to even go about considering such a request. ”You see, there’s an element of connection that appears when the healing begins, almost like its required for the gift to settle. I think that the motions without the recipient of a human soul would be useless and indecipherable.”
A woman’s scream ripped the air. Those men in the gray uniforms rushed forward. Others retreated the other direction. Those like Jensen, drawn to scenes of accidents for one reason or another, pushed through to the forefront.
Once, while zipping along Interstate 635, he bore witness to a motor vehicle accident when two vehicles collided during a lane change. It was later at night than he was normally out, and the freeway was mostly unoccupied at the time. It was later determined that alcohol was a contributing factor, but Jensen stopped to assist anyway. The airbags in both vehicles deployed, the drivers slammed around inside. One car landed on its side in the median, the other spun nearly to the opposing strip of traffic. There had been little he could do for the injured then besides call for emergency medical service and keep both talking and calm.
He understood the threat of injury. How the spike of adrenaline tensed every muscle in your body, even if it was narrowly avoided. A man cradled a woman. The smear of blood touched both. Fingers pointed at the surrounding glass with caution. Others erupted in their explanation of events as they witnessed it. The man used the powers of Jensen’s gift to attack the woman. Jensen felt no such thing, but like the men in gray ordered, the power was already relinquished by then. There would be nothing to feel.
Then his eyes beheld a sparkle of light, barely visible but for the facet of glowing reflection as it pierced his field of vision. He gasped. He was no doctor, but a stiletto of glass in anyone’s throat was moments from fatal.
He swept in, heedless of those that might warn him away. He fixed a stern glare at the men in gray. They had their assailant, and Jensen had no interest in tending to him. Except for the moment that he did a double-take. He barely remembered the face of man that drove him to the hospital that grave night, being so preoccupied with the matter at hand. He tried to silently tell Ivan that he knew him, had a possible ally in this, for Jensen found it unlikely that the kind officer in that car could stab a woman in the throat with glass on purpose. Accidents happened, after all. The demon of a murdered man still haunted his own guilt.
He knew the woman couldn’t speak, nor did he want her to. So he looked to the one that seemed to care for her most. “Let me? I can heal her, please.”
For once, he actually hoped the man recognized him. Likewise, so much as a flaring of her eyes would satisfy his need for consent.
He wanted to help. The more than others could learn, the more people they would help. Jensen had to wear a hat and sunglasses just to buy groceries. He’d wear his motorcycle helmet around the clock if it was possible.
Cruz argued that Jensen give it a try. It sounded so simple, but he had no idea how to even go about considering such a request. ”You see, there’s an element of connection that appears when the healing begins, almost like its required for the gift to settle. I think that the motions without the recipient of a human soul would be useless and indecipherable.”
A woman’s scream ripped the air. Those men in the gray uniforms rushed forward. Others retreated the other direction. Those like Jensen, drawn to scenes of accidents for one reason or another, pushed through to the forefront.
Once, while zipping along Interstate 635, he bore witness to a motor vehicle accident when two vehicles collided during a lane change. It was later at night than he was normally out, and the freeway was mostly unoccupied at the time. It was later determined that alcohol was a contributing factor, but Jensen stopped to assist anyway. The airbags in both vehicles deployed, the drivers slammed around inside. One car landed on its side in the median, the other spun nearly to the opposing strip of traffic. There had been little he could do for the injured then besides call for emergency medical service and keep both talking and calm.
He understood the threat of injury. How the spike of adrenaline tensed every muscle in your body, even if it was narrowly avoided. A man cradled a woman. The smear of blood touched both. Fingers pointed at the surrounding glass with caution. Others erupted in their explanation of events as they witnessed it. The man used the powers of Jensen’s gift to attack the woman. Jensen felt no such thing, but like the men in gray ordered, the power was already relinquished by then. There would be nothing to feel.
Then his eyes beheld a sparkle of light, barely visible but for the facet of glowing reflection as it pierced his field of vision. He gasped. He was no doctor, but a stiletto of glass in anyone’s throat was moments from fatal.
He swept in, heedless of those that might warn him away. He fixed a stern glare at the men in gray. They had their assailant, and Jensen had no interest in tending to him. Except for the moment that he did a double-take. He barely remembered the face of man that drove him to the hospital that grave night, being so preoccupied with the matter at hand. He tried to silently tell Ivan that he knew him, had a possible ally in this, for Jensen found it unlikely that the kind officer in that car could stab a woman in the throat with glass on purpose. Accidents happened, after all. The demon of a murdered man still haunted his own guilt.
He knew the woman couldn’t speak, nor did he want her to. So he looked to the one that seemed to care for her most. “Let me? I can heal her, please.”
For once, he actually hoped the man recognized him. Likewise, so much as a flaring of her eyes would satisfy his need for consent.