The Healer

A number was scrawled in gold ink on the small slip of paper that the gloved hand slid across the table. A one with a half dozen zeros trailing behind. Two commas, no dots. This number, it represented six tenths of his liquid assets. Over half of what he had in the bank.

Hugh sat quietly and licked his lips for a moment. “that is a lot of money you're demanding of us.” His wife wailed. The Healer only shrugged. Was that a shrug? Perhaps it was laughing silently. His fist clenched around the slip of paper and he started to sputter. “Blackmail. Just because you think that we can afford it, you're gouging us...” His wife's keening grew louder bringing him up short. It was a lot of money, but what it would buy was worth the price. Even for twice that sum. “You'll get your money.” He whispered. His head fell into his hands and he began to sob.

The small, shrouded form sitting at the table across from him nodded and slid over a file. Hugh didn't read it. He just opened the file and signed on the dotted line and slid the packet of papers back over to the Psychic. He knew what he was getting into, he had done his research on the freak of nature that sat before him.

Relief and anger mixed. The Healer. Hugh had read all about the creature sitting across from him. He had spent dozens of hours in research before entering his plea. Nobody had seen Its face. Never. Was the Healer a man or woman? The color of its skin and hair? Nobody knew. Did it have hair. There were some, at the very fringe, who said that the Healer was from a different galaxy and had set down on our lonely backwater for reasons of its own. All that they knew for certain was that the Healer was small, about the size of a child. That didn't seem to make any of this better.

Many millions believed IT to be the second coming of Christ. Only twisted to reflect a world so focused on the material and driven by greed. Some of the world's churches had embraced the enigma wrapped in the black robes, and taught that this was Christ's new teachings, to trade services for money. Greed was the new Love. The Healer could command millions from Its patrons, and often did.

The rest of humanity's self-described Shepherds had denounced the creature. Though only after IT had turned away from their embrace. They called the Healer the Devil Incarnate.

And they were all right. As far as Hugh could tell.

The Healer would charge what the market could bear. For some the fee was as simple as a meal. For those like him, the cost was much IT required vast wealth. No matter, the price was always dear.

None of this mattered to him as he ordered the check to be drawn. What mattered was that IT was The Healer. IT could mend broken bodies and nurse the barest spark of life back to a blazing bonfire once more. And if IT didn't? No, that wasn't an option. Not for one million dollars it wasn't.