Balance by David Wood

  Balance by David Wood

  Copyright 2009, 2011

  Published by Gryphonwoood Press at Smashwords

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please visit Smashwords and purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Dan Lake leaned back on the bleachers and watched his son take a lead off of first base. Tyler danced off the edge of the bag, bouncing on the balls of his feet with an exuberance that only an eight year-old boy can muster. Dan smiled. Other parents didn't know how lucky they were. How to explain it to them? How to make them understand how it feels to be told that your little boy will never walk again?

  He checked his watch. The digital display revealed that it was two o'clock on the nose.

  Seventy eight days.

  Seventy eight days, twelve hours, and fourteen minutes to be exact, since the night that he had cradled his son in his arms, and shed all the tears that he had held in since the accident. The night that he cried out a challenge to the God that his parents kept telling him about. The God who had let one of his “flock” run Tyler down in the street.

  “Take it away from him! I dare you! Take it away!”

  That night, that very moment, Tyler walked. He cupped Dan's face in his little hands, and said, “It's okay now, Daddy.” With that, Tyler hopped down from Dan's lap, and walked out of his bedroom. Dan scarcely heard Kelly's bewildered sobs of joy and gratitude. He felt weak. Weak with joy, perhaps. Weak with confusion. He didn't know. God had taken it away.

  Tyler acted as though everything were normal. In fact, the boy was back to normal. Dan and Kelly had kept him awake that first night, refusing to be roused from what they both agreed must be a wonderful dream. It wasn't a dream. Tyler could walk again. He had wanted to go to school the next morning. What a kid!

  They had rushed him to the neurosurgeon's office, creating quite a scene when they demanded to be seen immediately. Three hour later, a pale and bewildered doctor gave Ty a clean bill of health.

  “Dan, Kelly, I just can't explain it. We severed nerves, fused vertebrae together. Now it's all back to normal, like it never happened.”

  Their joy over a return to a normal life was short-lived. Someone, maybe the doctor, maybe Ty's teacher, spilled the beans. A wave of media descended upon them. They were stalked. Tabloids offered them money for an exclusive story. Television crews camped in front of their house. Religious freaks begged Tyler to touch them. Some of them called him the “second coming”. Social workers checked up on them constantly.

  Dan and Kelly endured it, shielding Tyler the best they could. Riding a wave of euphoria, they rose above it all. Eventually, the media and all the other dirtbags proved themselves to have attention spans as short as pop culture. One by one, they forgot about Tyler, and moved on to some newer and more exciting story. Even the doctors lost interest. Most scoffed, insisting that the boy had never been paralyzed. Only one doctor didn't forget.

  Abraham Zeist, some bigwig at the local teaching hospital, had gotten hold of the story and would not let go. He had thoroughly researched Ty's situation, and knew for a fact that the boy's recovery was nothing short of miraculous. He wanted to know why.

  The hospital took them to court. Zeist wanted to study Tyler. He wanted to “understand” how this healing had taken place, so that “others could be helped in the same way.” He argued that the public had a right to know how Ty had been healed, and that the greater good could be served by studying this boy.

  Their attorney assured Kelly and Dan that it was ridiculous. No judge would give a hospital such power over someone's child. But they still had to fight it. They emptied their savings, paltry as it was. They took out a second mortgage. Kelly got two more credit cards and maxed them out. They did anything they could to keep the wolves at bay.

  Through it all, Dan grew weaker. He found it increasingly harder to work. Every day he grew wearier, until simply walking became a chore. Until the day he gave it away.

  One week. One week ago he had grabbed Zeist on the way into the courtroom. Gripping the man’s collar with both hands, he shoved the self-righteous bastard against the wall.

  “Leave my family alone,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Leave my boy alone. I wish that for one second you knew how it felt to be him.”

  The doctor crumpled to the floor. His legs were dead. “Spontaneous paralysis” they called it. No one knew what to make of it.

  No one, that is, except Dan. He didn't know how, but somehow he had taken it away from Tyler. Even more incredible, somehow, he had given it away to Zeist.

  The vibration of his cell phone against his thigh pulled him back to the real world. He glanced at the incoming number, but didn't recognize it. Kelly rolled her eyes as he put the phone to his ear. She hated that his work always seemed to interfere with family time.

  “Lake!” He barked.

  “Dan, it's Mom.” She paused, began to speak, hesitated, then began again. “Dad's in the hospital.

  “He's always had problems with migraines,” his mother explained. “We had no idea.” She turned away from the bed, arms folded across her chest. “The doctor says that there's no way they can get all of the tumor. They'll try radiation and chemo, but the best guess is that he's got less than a year.” She raised her hands to her face and sobbed quietly.

  Dan placed a hand on his mother's shoulder. First Tyler, then Dad. His heart groaned. He walked to the bedside, and took one of his Dad's hands in his own.

  “Dad,” he whispered. “I'm so sorry.” Tears streamed down his cheeks. He looked at his father, so pale, so weak, lying in the hospital bed, and wished with all of his might that he could take it away.

  Dan rubbed his temple, trying to relieve the headache that had gnawed at him all day. Dad was going to be fine. The tumor had vanished. Mom had praised God up and down. What--

  The shrill ringing of his phone interrupted Dan's thoughts, and sent a new wave of pain crashing against the inside of his skull. He jabbed the speakerphone button.

  “Lake!”

  “Detective, the suspect is ready in interrogation room two.”

  “Got it.” Gathering up the contents of the file he had been reviewing, he made his way down the hall to the interrogation rooms. He glanced at the top page. Adam Marsh. Real Estate Agent. During a traffic stop, the blues had smelled pot. A search of the vehicle had turned up a trove of kiddy porn, and a video of a faceless man getting jiggy with a seven year-old boy.

  Dan slammed the file closed with disgust. He could think of several suitable fates for this pervert.

  Reaching the interrogation room, he took a moment to collect himself. His head was killing him. What the hell was happening? Was it real? He shook his head. A uniformed cop opened the door for him, and he stepped inside.

  Adam Marsh was fortyish, balding, slightly overweight, and vaguely oily-looking. He greeted Dan with a smirk that just begged to be slapped right off his face. Dan gritted his teeth. That boy had been no older than Tyler. What he wouldn't give to put his fist… He paused. Could he possibly do it? Taking a deep breath, he offered his hand to the uncuffed suspect.

  “Mr. Marsh, I'm Detective Dan Lake.”

  Marsh scrutinized Dan's hand with a suspicious frown before clasping it in a tentative shake.

  Dan directed his thoughts at the man on the other side of the table. A slight tremor ran through him, and he felt a tingle in his hand. Marsh's eyes bulged and he tried to yank his hand away, but Dan held on. Another instant, and the tremor was gone.

  Marsh lurched backward, nearly falling out of his chair. His face was ashen.

  “What did you do to me?” he panted. He clutched at his head with both hands.

  “I shook your hand. Are you all right?”

  “I need a doctor,” Marsh said. His voice barely above a whisper. “What did you do?”

  Eastland Children's Hospital, room 417 was a familiar one. While a patient here, Tyler had befriended a young girl named Kim. Twelve years old, Kim had been infected by a parasite while on a church mission trip to Central America. The girl had melted away to almost nothing as doctors struggled in vain to find a cure.

  “Kim?” Dan was shocked to see how much the girl's condition had deteriorated since he had last seen her.

  “Mr. Lake. Is Tyler okay?” Kim echoed the question that virtually every staff member had posed to Dan since he entered the building.

  “He's doing great,” Dan said. “I just wanted to see how you were doing.” He took the girls tiny hand in his, and squeezed it gently. Would it work again? Could it?

  “Take it away,” he whispered under his breath. This time he felt not a tremor, but a stinging pain crackled up his arm, and spread into his abdomen. A wave of nausea swept over him, and he lurched forward.

  Kim did not notice. She sat upright, and looked around, her cheeks a healthy pink.

  “You know Mr. Lake, I feel pretty good,” she said. Her stomach growled. “Sorry. Got anything to eat?”

  “I'll tell the nurse,” Dan said. “I'm glad you're feeling better.” He patted her shoulder before leaving the room.

  His

stomach churned as he made his way down the hall. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He felt awful, but there was another patient he wanted to visit.

  A small group was gathered around Matthew's bed. Matthew's father glanced at Dan with tear-swollen eyes.

  “I was in the area and thought I'd check on Matthew,” Dan explained.

  Matthew's father, whose name Dan had forgotten, shook his hand, and introduced their pastor, and Matthew's doctor. Matthew's mother, whose name he had never learned in the first place, stared down at her son and did not acknowledge Dan's presence.

  “You came just in time,” the minister whispered.

  Dan reached down and took Matthew's hand. Another of Tyler's friends, cancer had ravaged his young body. Dan squeezed the boy's hand and willed the cancer to be taken away.

  Nothing.

  He tried again.

  Nothing.

  A loud sobbing broke the silence. Dan opened his eyes and looked around the room, momentarily confused.

  “He's gone,” the doctor said gently.

  The minister was hugging Matthew's mother. Dan mumbled his regrets, shook the father's hand, and made his exit.

  “You really late for work today, or really early for tomorrow?” the desk sergeant asked as Dan entered the precinct.

  “Just stopping in,” Dan replied. “Catch any bad guys tonight?”

  “Dontrelle Chaney.”

  Dan froze.

  “Don't get excited. Got him on a minor possession charge.”

  “Have we got anything we can make stick from the shooting at the middle school?” Dan asked.

  “Nah!” The sergeant shook his head. “Nobody'll give him up. They're all too scared. We've got him up in interrogation right now. Maybe they'll get something, but I doubt it. A guy like that doesn't crack.”

  Dan didn't say anything. He quickly found the proper interrogation room. The uniformed officer at the door let him in. Detective Rick Logan paused in his questioning of Chaney, and greeted Dan with a quizzical glance.

  Seated opposite Logan, Chaney, a dark-skinned black man with a shaved head and whiskey-colored eyes, ignored Dan completely, staring down at his carefully-manicured fingernails.

  “Sorry for the interruption. Just wanted to say goodbye to our friend Dontrelle.”

  “Man, y'all got two roaches in my ashtray that ain't even mine. Y'all think I'm going anywhere, you just think again.” Chaney still did not meet the eye of either detective, continuing to inspect his fingernails.

  Dan walked around behind the drug lord.

  “Think whatever you like Dontrelle.” He placed his hands on the black man's shoulders and squeezed. The now-familiar tingle ran down his hands. Chaney's only reaction was a twitch. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. Dan leaned down to whisper in the suspect's ear. “You're going away. I promise.”

  “Man, I need a bathroom.” Chaney's voice wavered.

  “In a minute, Dontrelle,” Logan said. “Tell me again about the drugs in your car.”

  “Man, I'm serious. I think I'm gonna’ be sick.”

  “Tell you what,” Logan continued. “As soon as you tell me about the shooting at King Middle School, we'll get you to a bathroom.” The interrogation ended there as Chaney lurched forward, spraying his lunch across the table.

  “I'll let you take it from here.” Dan ignored his colleague's upraised middle finger as he made his exit.

  Dan sat in his recliner, a bottle of scotch in one hand, a Bible in the other. Both remained unopened. He had given up trying to figure out what was happening to him. Obviously, God was messing with him. But why hadn't he been able to help Matthew? Why couldn't he take it away?

  He carelessly set the bottle down on the floor. It fell over with a crack that seemed much louder due to the quiet in the house and the lateness of the hour. It rolled across the hardwood floor, coming to rest against the grandfather clock on the other side of the room. Dan waved at it. He hadn't touched the stuff since Tyler got better. Why start now?

  “Okay God,” he whispered. “You did this to me. Tell me what's going on. Make me understand.” He ran his fingers across the black leather cover of the oversized Bible, a wedding gift from Mom and Dad. It had places in the front for weddings, births, and other family stuff, but neither he nor Kelly had opened the thing. His thoughts drifted to his teen years, and he chuckled as he remembered the “Bible study technique” that had driven Mom crazy. Why not?

  He closed his eyes and flipped the Bible open to a random page. Eyes still closed, he circled his index finger over the open book, gradually lowering his hand until his finger came to rest on the paper. He opened his eyes and gasped.

  The story was from the book of Mark, and told of a man possessed by many demons. Jesus called the unclean spirits out of the man. It was what he did with the spirits that caught Dan's attention.

  “Now a great herd of swine was feeding there on the hillside, and they begged him, 'Send us to the swine, let us enter them.' So he gave them leave. And the unclean spirits came out, and entered the swine; and the herd, numbering about two thousand, rushed down the steep bank into the sea, and were drowned in the sea.”

  Dan closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He understood. What is taken away must be given away. It was all about balance! He opened his eyes and smiled. If there was one thing he knew about, it was how to deal with swine.

  Dan poured himself a second cup of coffee. The muddy concoction was so strong that it stained the styrofoam cup, but he needed the caffeine. The last two weeks were a blur in his mind.

  Every spare moment had been given over to healing people and casting the “unclean spirits”, as he liked to think of them, into the swine that clogged the streets, jails, and prisons. It had been harder than he expected.

  Doing his work in a way that went unnoticed was the first challenge. He had to carefully plan the where, the when, and the how. If he healed too many people in one hospital, it would attract attention. If he gave it away to too many scumbags in any one place, that would attract attention as well.

  The question of who to heal had been equally draining. His first impulse was to heal all the kids in the children's hospital, but was that the right thing to do? What if the kid he healed turned out to be another Dontrelle Chaney? Why not heal an adult who had proven his or her value to society? Was it better to heal one kid, or heal a mother of three?

  He was physically drained as well. The work took a toll on his body. Any illness that he took away from someone affected him, but only in a very limited way, like a mild touch of whatever it was. Passing it along relieved him of the symptoms, but left him feeling drained. He knew he ought to rest, but his thoughts kept returning to all the people who needed his help.

  The strain was being felt at home as well. He was running out of excuses for being gone all the time. He wouldn't blame Kelly if she accused him of having an affair. He wanted to spend time with her and Tyler, but whenever he tried, he felt restless and guilty. Shouldn't he be out using his gift to help people? But what good was it to save lives if doing so ruined the lives of his wife and son?

  “Hear about the pervert?” Logan was all smiles as he burst into the break room. “Adam Marsh, the kiddy porn guy. He's dead.”

  “Really?” Dan didn't know what else to say.

  “Brain tumor. Doctors said they've never seen one so aggressive.”

  An interesting phenomenon had been that any condition that Dan passed along became exponentially more virulent. Dontrelle Chaney had died within twenty four hours of being infected with the same virus that Kim had battled for a year.

  “The real kicker, though,” Logan continued, “is that he's innocent.”

  Dan choked on his coffee. Logan slapped him on the back twice as he coughed the warm liquid out of his windpipe.

  “What are you talking about?” Dan gasped.

  “He and his wife are in the middle of a nasty divorce. She planted the stuff in his car.”

  Dan was speechless, his senses numbed.

  “It gets better,” Logan continued. “The uniform who pulled him over is her boyfriend! They planned the whole thing. Probably would have worked, but she got scared and spilled everything. Captain's suspended the guy until I.A. can investigate.”

 

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