They called her names. They flocked her. They idolized her. Loved her and worshipped her. I let them. That was probably my first mistake. I should have stopped them and I could have. I could have hired guards, barricaded roads or just moved away with her. I could have tired something but I didn’t want to. I planned it that way. I am to blame.

I could have tried to stop her. Stop her from meeting them. Stop her from holding hands and talking. I could have but I instinctively know I would have failed. There was no way I could talk her out of it. “If I can help someone, why should I not?” she would have argued back. I could not have won that battle and I really did not want to win that one either.

I try to recall when it started and how. I cannot. Is my memory fading? Is it a symptom? A sign of the end? I wonder. How did it begin? The whole farce. Yes – I still consider it a farce. A fluke. A chance that grew into something untamable. I feel a clammy hand on my forehead. It must be her. Small, delicate, warm and mucid hand. She lays her hand on my forehead and waits.Like she has been waiting for years – for answers.

I want her gone. Gone from this place. This place swarming with germs and viruses unknown. I don’t want her next to me. I don’t want the comfort of that small hand on my forehead. I want her out. I tried to tell it with words that refused to come out. I tried to indicate with my hands – hands that were immobile. I want her gone. I don’t believe in the vulnerary powers of leaves and berries. I don’t believe in her powers to heal me.

She is whispering as she presses something on my forehead. I am sure it was some kind of leaf. I strain my ears to hear her words. “Are those magic words? Pagan prayers? “ I wanted to ask her the questions she had been asked by others. Numerous times. By people who doubted, questioned and demanded. The questions never fazed her like it did me. I had the same questions but I kept them to myself. I was a doubter myself.

A doubter but a calculative one nonetheless. I knew I had a hen that laid golden eggs and I devised a marketing strategy. Was it wrong of me? I don’t think so. I used the opportunity. I am that kind of person you see – the kind who asks for a bar of soap when he falls into the well. I have memoir written and ready for publication with clear instructions. “My Journey with a Healer” – Stretching the Truth would have been a better title but I knew I had a best seller in my hands.

You call me avaricious? I agree. I am. I like the comfort that money brought into our lives as we discovered her powers and skills in extracting the vulnerary powers. I am sure she does enjoy it too. No more daily existence. No more rat races. No more promotions, deadlines and backstabbing. I left it all and turned our lives around.

And today here we are, 10 years down the lane. Sitting on my bedside, she was trying in vain whispering “One last time”. I knew she wanted answers – answers that will not give her back her lost childhood, education, friends and dreams. I changed her from a 8 year old to a healer overnight. I exploited her. I used her.

She was revered, respected and doubted. She was hailed as the future and stoned for being a witch. She took it all for 10 years and now she sought answers – answers sealed within me. I lay in that hospital bed, with her next to me – healing me.

This post is a part of the April A to Z challenge. 26 days, 26 letters and 26 short stories. Come back tomorrow for more.