#earthcursed

The patients are supposed to socialise together in this room, but on good days, Lali just sits on her chair and stares at the television. She tried, at first, but almost everyone here is older than her, and most of them have family that come visit. Plus, a lot of them die. This being a hospice.

Nurse Daniel is playing bridge with two of the old guys. She doesn’t know how he stands it. Mrs Galloway is asleep on the sofa, and Nurse Brigit is trying to get her up and to her bed. Nobody bothers with Lali. She still has enough good days that she doesn’t need constant vigilance. She’s allowed to just come out and sit, and as long as she doesn’t try to do anything taxing, she’s part of the furniture.

Today, though, someone does sit down opposite her. It’s Nurse Fatima, one of the good ones. She’s one of the sweetest people Lali has ever met, she always goes the extra mile, and she’s great to vent to. Lali has spent so much time at the hospice with her, it makes her feel better just to be near.

There are rumours about Nurse Fatima as well. One or two patients swear that her favourites get better care. That once, there was a miraculous recovery that nobody could explain.

People spend a lot of time trying to win over Nurse Fatima. The dying believe all kinds of bullshit. But Fatima seems interested in Lali and nobody else, and it makes Lali feel pretty damn special after it all.

“How are you feeling today, Lali?”

Lali realises she’s been staring at Nurse Fatima this whole time, and looks down at her teacup instead. “Fine. Everything hurts but nothing more than usual.”

Fatima nods. She has round glasses and her caring frown appears just above their bridge. “Have you eaten much today?”

“What’s the point?” Lali shrugs. “I ate what they gave me. And I’ve got cake.”

“But if you’re not in a social mood—”

“When the fuck am I, Fatima?”

The corner of her mouth lifts in sympathetic humour. “I was going to say, if you don’t want to be around the others—”

“Sorry. Shouldn’t have complained. Nothing against the others, honestly, I just…” She sighs, and though she trailed off, Fatima doesn’t speak. Lali takes a breath, and the ache spreads through her whole body like a burn. “I’m meant to be accepting. Everyone else is. But I’m not.”

Fatima seems unsurprised and understanding. “I noticed that. I actually wanted to talk to you about it.” She leans back, and for a moment, her eyes flicker across the room. Nobody is near Lali’s usual corner. “I’m not supposed to be telling you about this. But there’s actually an experimental treatment for your condition that’s being practised in the south. I know because I’ve got a friend who works at the clinic, but… I can’t take you there as a hospice nurse. I’m not allowed.”

For a moment, all Lali can do is blink. “Wait. You mean there’s – there’s another treatment I could get?”

Again, Fatima’s eyes scan the room from behind her glasses. Her voice lowers. “You could. But you’d have to discharge yourself from here. I can take you down, get you there, but… I can’t do that for everyone. I could lose my job. I’m offering it to you because – I think you want it.”

“I want it,” Lali breaks in immediately. “I definitely want it. God, Fatima, to have hope again… I’d do anything.”

Fatima’s smile is warm and proud. “I thought you would. But, listen. It’s a private clinic, non-profit. They have rules about who they’ll treat.”

“Anything,” Lali repeats, her pulse quickening. “This is my life. I have to.”

-

Lali comes to the clinic in Fatima’s car. She doesn’t expect Fatima to have such a nice car, and it makes for a comfortable journey, even with all of Lali’s medical equipment. The building is neat and modern, and as they step inside, it greets them with the sharp, clean scent of lime and sterility.

Lali arrives without any of her worldly belongings. She arrives without telling anybody where she is going. She arrives with her eyes downcast, her hands folded, shepherded in by Nurse Fatima like a supplicant. She initially balked at not bringing anything with her, but Fatima explained: this place is exclusive, a closely guarded secret, and they have to be careful. They have been threatened, even attacked, after people broke confidentiality agreements. The founder gave everything to keep it alive after that, and still works tirelessly to keep the clinics open. Her sacrifice saves lives every day. Lali found it inspiring to hear about, especially coming from Fatima, who never spoke in such admiring tones about anyone.

Lali’s heart is heavy with gratitude. Being received as a patient is a literal fucking lifeline. When Fatima introduces her at the desk, she almost cries to see the welcoming smile from the receptionist. The person who takes her to a treatment room smiles in the same way. Everyone seems so genuinely happy that she is here, that they can help her.

“We can begin immediately,” the doctor says. His smile is so kind. “We can help you, Ms Ahmed. By joining us, you’ll always have access to the care you need.”

He presents her with forms to sign. She puts her name on them all. She would pay for any health insurance, any private fee. She has nothing left to lose and everything to gain.

The contracts are taken back. She is instructed to change. She surrenders her clothes, her jewellery, even her hair tie. “You’re really strict on security,” she observes.

The doctor accosts her with a disapproving frown. “We have to be, Ms Ahmed. Was that not already explained to you?”

She flushes. She shouldn’t be stupid now, when she’s so close. “Yes. It was, I’m sorry.”

He nods. He puts her old clothes into a plastic bin and leads her to the next room, deeper into the building. They do not pass any other patients on the way. Lali was the only one in the waiting room who wasn’t already wearing the plain cotton clothing, loose and comfortable, almost like scrubs.

Fatima is in the next room already, with Lali’s forms and a smile.

“First round, then you’ll be with others in patient accommodation. There’ll be orderlies there to make sure you’re doing well. You’ll also have the chance to learn more about what we do.” Fatima explains this while the doctor reads her medical history, and Lali sits on a padded table and shivers in her new clothes. “And this is a lifetime commitment to treatment, so you’ll always have a place to stay if you need to, even after this bit where we keep you for observation.”

Lali nods. It sounds reasonable enough. Cancer doesn’t just go away forever when you fix it.

“It will be good to meet people like you,” Fatima adds. “People who didn’t give up, who wanted more and fought for it. You’ll understand each other and support each other. Most of them will have been here longer too, so they’ll help you find your way around.”

“Okay.” It feels like so much. Lali keeps her eyes on the doctor. He’s extracting something from a vial, mixing something…

“I’m so glad you came, Lali,” Fatima tells her. “I’m so, so glad you joined. It’s the start of your new life.”

Life, Lali thinks. What she’s been missing all this time.

The doctor turns with a small plastic cup in his hand. Lali accepts it from him and looks down, but it just seems like slightly cloudy water.

“You won’t see a difference straight away,” Fatima explains. She sounds so excited for Lali’s sake. “But over time, you’ll heal. You’ll recover, Lali, we can help you recover. All you need to do is drink.”

It feels so easy. She feels so damn lucky. She raises her cup. “Here’s to life.”

To that, she drinks. It tastes of nothing, but a metal aftertaste lingers on her tongue when she puts the cup down.

Amina’s head tilted, silver piercings in her ears and nose catching the light. “Don’t be stupid,” she said, her voice deep and coarse like unmilled grain. “You fucked up good, for sure, but you didn’t ruin everything. You always think in extremes.”

 Jhazel frowned, her nose scrunching a little. It was true, and she had heard it from Amina before. Once, as an apprentice, she got all but one of her hazelnuts to flower, and she deemed it a failure. Amina talked to her at length about increments before she acknowledged it as a partial success.

 “You laid a curse because of what, this thing about your brother moving out? Falling out with you, wanting space, getting involved in crime? He was a teenager, Zel, you idiot. Teenagers do that. That’s what they do. They’re dumb shits and they do dumb shit and you tried to stop him, so he just got even more dumb. It didn’t need the nuclear option. You didn’t need to break the guy’s life.”

 “He took my brother—”

 “No,” Amina cut in. A potato thumped into the bowl at her feet. “Nobody took your brother. He’s eighteen. He made his own choice. You disagreed with it, sure, but he still made it. Marius isn’t the witch in this equation.”

 Jhazel went stiff, hands tightening. “No, I didn’t change his choice, I – I didn’t do anything! I swear, I never used my magic on him, not after – never again. He made the decision himself and I let him, I tried to understand, I tried to talk to him and he – he...he didn’t have to leave.”

 The peeler glided around the potato like a journey around the world. “He didn’t have to leave or stay. He had to choose.” Amina’s voice is level and ruminative. “He chose. Your responsibility was to support him in his choices, even if you thought they were mistakes.”

 “I can’t! How can I support him going to – to be a criminal’s accountant?”

 “You support him, Zel. You look after him. You catch him when he falls.”

 “Do I catch him when he dies?”

 Amina’s next words died on her lips.

 Small on the bed, Jhazel stared at her hands fisted in her lap, and shook with repressed emotion. “He’s dead,” she stated, voice quieter but no less desperate. “Marius took him for a lookout, and there was a gunfight. Denny was, he was the – he was the only casualty.”

 Death was natural. It was part of life, the counterpart of life. Amina had taught Jhazel to accept and even treasure deaths in nature. They had watched the dead rot and return to the soil, and seen how that could nurture new growth. Jhazel had watched the wolves hunt their prey and kill it, and had nodded sombrely at the way of it. It was normal.

 Guns, shoot-outs, and the murder of an eighteen-year-old apprentice accountant were not normal.

 “I raised him f-for six years,” Jhazel said, her voice sharp. Her breathing was speeding up. “I did it alone. Six years, from when he was twelve, he needed me. Then he – I watched him go. I waited, I tried, I thought he’d realise and come back or at least reach out to me. I was patient, I swear. It was – it was almost a year of waiting before I heard, and by that point h-h-he’d been dead for months. Fucking months, because Marius didn’t want the police involved, he just didn’t t-tell me and my brother’s-s dead, he’s dead...”

 The peeler fell into the bowl with a clang as Amina moved forwards. She wrapped the younger woman in a hug. For several minutes, Jhazel only shook, like the last leaf of autumn being shaken from its branch.

 “I’m sorry,” she murmured in Jhazel’s ear, the way she’d done when her mother had died.

Denny plays with the crumpled bus ticket in his hoodie pocket. He kicks his feet against the corner of the stone step that leads to the water. He looks from one gate to the other, and considers the trees.

Gunshot.

Denny turns, eyes widening. He isn’t meant to look but he can’t help it – that noise cracked the night in two like a tectonic plate shattering. For a petrifying moment he can’t see what happened – but the moonlight comes to his aid, and he sees Marius on one knee, bent forwards, and the other man gone.

Denny runs. “Hey, h-hey, Marius,” he says, grabbing the older man’s shoulders. “Hey, I – you, y-you hurt?”

Marius only grunts. “Worry about me later. We’ve gotta run, kid.”

“Run?” Denny echoes in confusion, as Marius pulls him by the wrist towards the car. “We – we gotta?”

It feels wrong. Marius doesn’t run, he’s always the one on the winning side, the predator, the one who stands and grins while others flee and hide in their bolt holes. He’s the one who has the group of friends who can back him up whenever he wants, he’s the one who can take anyone in a fight. Marius doesn’t run and Denny almost feels insulted that he’s being dragged along on a coward’s retreat.

But he can’t object with Marius bouncing him down the path at a breathless pace. He tries to keep his feet moving under him and his ears alert for pursuit. That must be why they’re running – but who would chase them? He doesn’t know. His feet slam into the ground, shoddy trainers letting through every pebble and sharp stone, but he can’t stop. His lungs burn and his vision starts to blur with the exertion, but he can see Marius, black on black in the darkness, and he gives chase like a disappearing dream.

For his part, Marius doesn’t slow. Even when he hears the telltale thinness to Denny’s loud panting, even when the kid starts to fall behind as the asthma takes hold of his airway and squeezes. The kid has to push through it like he always does. He’ll do it. He’s always done it, for Marius. Anything, for Marius.

A crack snaps the air, and a crumpled thud follows. Marius doesn’t look around until he realises he can’t hear the wheeze. Denny’s footsteps are no longer pounding alongside his. He turns his head, gasping air over his shoulder. “Kid?”

He can see Denny on the ground.

He comes to a sharp stop, turning, even as his eyes cast around for his attackers. He keeps his voice low. “Kid, wake up. Get up, c’mon.”

Denny doesn’t move.

There’s nothing he can do. If they catch up to him, it’s over. He has to keep running.

“Wake up. Wake up.” His voice doesn’t waver, insistent and low. “Get up, kid, you’re fine, get up.”

He can’t stop. It’s not worth it.

There’s nothing he can do.

The speaker is a heavy-set, hairy sort of dude, wearing a rumpled white shirt and ruddy-cheeked. He's dangling a bottle in the air between two fingers at the neck. "I'm empty."

Denny blinks for a second, and then realises why he's being told this. He sets down the cardboard in his hands and scurries to the kitchen, where he grabs another bottle from the fridge and heads back, picking his way between discarded jackets and bags to deliver it to the stranger's hand.

The man uses a pocket knife to open the beer, and Denny flinches when the lid pings in his direction before dropping to the floor. The man laughs, and he's not the only one, and a blush creeps up the back of his neck.

"Aw, don't mind them," the man says, as if he wasn't the first to chortle. "You're a good kid."

Denny blinks in surprise. "Uh, thank you, sir."

All at once, they're laughing again. "I'm not - ha - I'm no 'sir'," the guy says, wiping a hand over his flushed forehead. Denny's eyes drop and he counts the bottles at the foot of the armchair. "Kid." Fingers snap, and Denny looks back up. The man is grinning. "It's Bill, kid. You don't gotta call a scumbag like me sir."

Relief brings a retuning smile onto Denny's face. "Oh, uh, okay. Thanks."

"No problem."

"You assholes playing nice with my protégé?"

Denny smiles for real at Marius's voice cutting across the gathering, followed by a chorus of half-sincere protests and promises.

Marius's laugh is booming. "That's what I thought. Grab me a beer, Denny. Bill, get outta my chair."

Denny goes back to the kitchen, and this time, opens the beer before bringing it out. Marius is in his armchair, and holds up a hand for the bottle without looking around. He's listening with a cocked brow to someone's story, looking amused and sceptical simultaneously. Denny dithers for a moment when his task is done, but decides not to go back to the pizza boxes - Marius doesn't recycle and laughs at him for trying. Instead, he gets one of the rickety dining chairs and pulls up beside, and slightly behind, Marius's chair.

Marius notices him again, reaches out to ruffle his hair roughly. "This one," he tells the group, "promising kid. Got away from his clingy-ass sister, works for me now. Good at the accounts, too, keeps my files straight."

"He's a skinny lad," someone calls mockingly.