Everything

Freya tossed her backpack onto the ground and sat with her back against the abandoned car. She peered around the front of it, her eyes scanning the city skyline. She couldn’t help noticing the gaps where buildings had collapsed. It reminded her of a toothless grimace.

She pulled up her pant leg and studied the tattoo on her calf. It had cost her a pretty penny. At that she half smiled. Money wasn’t worth shit now. Maybe someday people wouldn’t even get the reference to “a pretty penny”. Everything was done now through bartering. You were only worth as much as the stuff you accumulated. She hadn’t minded giving up the ammo. Afterall, she was better in close, with a knife, or an ice pick, or any sharp object for that matter. But she was bummed about the extra pair of boots and the canteen it had cost her. It’ll all be worth it, she told herself.

Freya focused again on the tattoo. To anyone else, it just looked like a rose and a butterfly but drawn into its intricate pattern was a map. She had it tattooed so she could not lose it. And she hid it within the flower so no one could find him. She needed his help, but she would not put him in jeopardy. She traced the line with a dirty fingernail. Yes, this was it. The city where she would find him. She pulled the pant leg back down over the tattoo and took a swig of water from her canteen. She looked at the sky. The dusky glow of the sun beyond the ashen haze was low in the sky. Soon it would be nightfall. She rested her head against the car door and closed her eyes.

She woke up with a start. She looked around trying to remember where she was. It all came back to her. She sat quietly for a moment, listening. Had something awoken her or was it just her internal alarm clock telling her it was time? After a time, she did not hear any sounds or sense any movements. She stood and threw her backpack over her shoulder. She picked a random building as her focal point and began jogging toward the city.

In no time at all, she came upon a bridge. In the dark of night, she could not tell if it was still intact. She walked to the right, heading perpendicular to the bridge looking at it from the side. It looked like it spanned the whole distance. She jogged back to it and began walking across. She felt vulnerable–out in the open and yet trapped by the confines of the bridge. Her head swiveled on her neck back and forth looking for movement of any kind. She hurried forward, anxious to get into the city and the safety of cover. Safety, she thought. Now that’s funny.

As she neared the end of the bridge, she crouched down close to the wall on the left side. She moved as quickly and as stealthily as she could. She paused behind a concrete barrier while she assessed the scene in front of her. The streets were quiet and although riddled with debris seemed deserted. She noticed the door of a building not far from her was slightly ajar. It could be a good place to lay low, or it meant that someone was already in there. She scanned the other buildings. Windows were broken, some boarded up. She had no way to know what the vibe was here. She contemplated her options. Should she hole up and see what daylight brought or venture further into the city under the cover of night. She wished she could look at her tattoo again, get a sense for where in the city she entered. She had a small pen light but didn’t dare shine it out here.

“Guess it’s the building then,” she said quietly to herself. She adjusted her backpack and half walked half ran in a crouched position over to the building whose door was ajar. She flattened herself against the side of the building and listened and watched. She edged closer to the door and peered inside. It was black as could be. She listened intently for breathing or the slightest whisper of movement. She heard nothing. Then she dug deeper. It had been a long time since she had used her gift. She listened for a heartbeat, blood rushing through arteries and veins, lungs filling with air. Intestines digesting food. Nothing. She breathed a sigh of relief. She entered the building and crept to a far corner. She placed her backpack on the floor, reached into a pocket, and pulled out the pen light. She lifted her pant leg and shined the light onto the tattoo. She thought she knew where she was but couldn’t be sure due to the darkness and felled buildings. Given the distance, she figured she could make it to the magic bean in about an hour provided there were no major detours. Thinking about time prompted her to wind her analog watch. Marking time was one of the things that kept her sane. She ate a few bites of a candybar she pulled from her stash, relieved herself, and then set out to find the magic bean.

The magic bean was a huge sculpture. She didn’t know if it was called the magic bean before or after the event, but it was called that now because through it all, as the buildings collapsed, and the earth shook, the bean remained where it was, a bit dusty, but basically unscathed. Her source had said to find the magic bean and then he–the person she was looking for–would find her. A bit cryptic, but she had no doubt that that’s how it would happen. And as hope swelled in her chest, she cautiously made her way across the city.

Freya stood staring. The magic bean. It had taken her a little longer to get there due to a few detours around piles of rubble, but she was thankful to arrive without incident. She approached the bean and although it was dust-laden, she could still make out her warped reflection. She stood there a moment, barely recognizing the woman staring back at her. She looked thin in her jeans and hoodie, but she knew there was a well-muscled body under the clothing. Her face had aged significantly. She looked ten years older than her 23 years of age. Her hair was short and choppy, obviously cut by her own hand. “Come on,” she willed. “Work your magic.”

It was then that she noticed another reflection in the bean–a man. She turned to her right to look at him. He was elderly and quite wrinkled, with white wisps of hair floating up from his mostly bald head. He wore an oversized jacket that made him look slim. He stood tall and when he looked at her there was a brightness to his eyes that gave a hint of a more youthful spirit than his body depicted.

“Are you the Healer?” He asked.

“Are you the Seer?” She asked back.

He clasped his hands behind his back, smiled, and nodded.

“Then yes,” she replied. “I am the Healer.”

The elderly man nodded again. “Come,” he said. “Let’s walk.” Without another word, he turned and began to walk. Freya fell into step beside him. For quite a while he said nothing.

“You’ve come a long way,” he said.

“Yes, I have.” Freya confirmed.

“What is so important?” he asked.

“Not a what,” Freya said. “A who.”

For a while the man stayed silent as they continued to walk.

“And who is this person to you?” He finally asked.

“Everything,” Freya said softly without hesitation.

At this, the man stopped. He looked at Freya as if searching her face for something. Then he began walking again.

“And you think I can help you find this person.” he stated more than he asked.

“You’re my only hope.” Freya confided. A long silence passed.

“Why do you need a healer?” Freya asked.

“Like you, I have a person who is everything to me.” He stated.

“Are they sick or injured?” Freya asked.

“She is suffering the worst pain of all,” the old man said gravely. “She is heart-broken.”

At that Freya came to an abrupt halt. The man took a few steps then stopped and looked at her.

“What is it, child?” he asked.

“I, I am a healer of the physical body.” Freya stammered.

“Is the heart not of the physical body?” he interrupted.

“Yes, but,” Freya shook her head.

“You can heal her,” the man said, leaving no room for doubt.

For the first time since setting out on her journey, Freya felt confused and anxious. She needed this man to help her, but what if she could not give him what he required?

“We are here,” the old man announced as he disappeared into an alley. As Freya followed him the hairs on the back of her neck began to prickle.

The old man unlocked a door, stepped inside, and gestured for Freya to follow. He walked down a narrow corridor and into a small room with a chair and small table and nothing else. He pointed to the chair and Freya sat.

“So what item have you brought me to use as a beacon to find your everything?” The old man said gently as he smiled at her.

Freya reached into the neck of her hoodie and drew out a necklace with a heart-shaped locket. The man’s face seemed lit from within as he gazed at the necklace. Freya reached around the back of her neck and unclasped the necklace. She gathered it in her hand and placed it on the table.

“Inside this locket is a picture of a woman I need to find,” she said earnestly.

“May I?” the old man asked as he gestured toward the locket. Freya nodded. He carefully picked up the locket and opened it. As he looked at the picture, his eyes shone with tears.

“I most certainly can help you,” he said softly. Freya felt a wash of relief flood over her. But then she remembered what the old man was asking for in return.

“I wish I could say the same,” she said sadly. “I don’t know that I can heal a broken heart.”

“My dear,” the old man said as he took her hand in his. “You are the only one who can.” And he placed something in her hand.

Freya looked at the object not quite understanding. She looked at her locket on the table and then looked again at her hand. In it was a locket exactly like hers. She searched the old man’s face, a question in her eyes. The old man motioned for her to go ahead. With trembling fingers, she opened it. And there, inside that locket, was a picture of her person–her everything. Tears pooled in her eyes. She tried to speak, but words would not come out.

Just then, there was a noise from the hallway.

“Papa? Are you here?” a voice asked. And then the person who belonged to the voice walked through the door. She stopped abruptly and drew in a breath. Freya stood so quickly the chair fell over backwards. The two women just stared at one another in disbelief.

“Is it you?” The man’s daughter asked. “Is it really you?”

“Yes, yes, Mia! It’s really me!” Freya said excitedly as the tears streamed down her face. Mia flew into her arms, and they held each other for a long time. When they finally pulled apart, they turned to the old man, but he was gone. And on the table were three lockets. One had a picture of Freya. One had a picture of Mia. And the third locket had a picture of the old man.