“At least he’ll be alive,” I said harshly.
“He’s HIV positive, too.” That was no longer a death sentence I had learned. I looked at the doctor and made a crazy statement out of the blue, out of the cornucopia of experience my brain had lived through. “Give him some of my blood.”
“Why?” the doctor asked and the Queen hushed him, stared at my eyes and nodded.
“Khalil Omar called me the Angel of Life,” I said faintly. “I hope that’s true. It seems death follows in my footsteps.”
They did as I requested and we waited, me in a chair next to Khalid holding his hand. They had taken two pints and wouldn’t let me get up because I was feeling faint. Any more, I would be in danger myself.
He slept through the whole thing, didn’t wake up even when they pulled blood and did more tests.
My blood turned out to be an unremarkable A+ and to no one’s surprise, nothing unique in its quality under a microscope. They took a buccal swab and that made me nervous. No one had my fingerprints or DNA and I wanted to keep it that way.
Khalid woke me from a disturbed sleep. I groaned, as I was stiff from sleeping in the armchair. He looked different, healthier, his skin tanned and glowing with life. He leaned over the bed and poked me. “Hey, you were having a bad dream. Shouting.”
I rubbed my eyes and looked around the room. No one was with us, which puzzled me.
“They went for coffee. What were you dreaming?”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember.” The feeling of impending doom remained when the details faded.
“Someone’s going to die? Me?”
Horrified, I stared at him. He seemed calm, almost complacent. “No. Not you.” Of that, I was suddenly certain.
“Whom? Where?”
Frustrated, I snapped, “I don’t know!” Leaping out of the chair, I paced. “I don’t know. I never know in the beginning.”
“How many times has it happened?” he asked calmly and it settled me.
“Three.”
“You’ve seen three people die?”
“I’ve saved three from dying,” I returned grimly. “I’m the one that dies. In their place.” I told him the whole story even down to my home in Cornwall where my parents existed unaware I was still alive. He was curious why I hadn’t gone home and nodded when I told him how I’d tried.
“My mother said you gave me a transfusion.”
“An irrational idea but a powerful hunch. I always listen to my hunches. This one says I have to go back, Khalid. Somewhere, I’m supposed to be somewhere in England.” I was suddenly certain of that.
“I’ll tell my dad,” he said. I stared at him.
“You’ll be alright?”
He smiled a smile of great sweetness and I loved him for it. “You made sure of that, Aidan. Go home, that’s where I am. I know you’ll have one, too. That’s my certain conviction.”
He made my trip back happen.
Chapter 39
As soon as my feet touched English soil, I felt a tremor run through me. My face must have paled because Khalil Omar grabbed my arm and held me. He’d insisted he accompany me home and Khalid had seconded it. The Sheikh and Lady Noori had made me take money but I’d drawn the line at a bank account. I wasn’t sure if I would wake up to remember or use it. Cash was easier not to track, too.
“Are you okay, Aidan?” his concern was embarrassing. I shrugged him off and sat down in the plastic seats of the concourse while he went in search of his luggage. All my worldly possessions were in my backpack. I didn’t have a passport, I’d flown both out and in under the Sheikhs diplomatic immunity.
Omar came back pushing a cart with two large cases and a porter. “Hungry? We can go to the VIP lounge.”
“MacDonalds,” I said and nearly laughed at his incredulous look. “Less chance of someone noticing us. And it’s cheaper.”
“I have never;” he drew himself up tall, “Eaten at a MacDonalds.”
“I’ve never been to Dubai or flown on a Lear jet,” I came back. “So, we’re even. Both of us have new experiences.”
We walked the concourse until we found the golden arches and I stood in line to order. They were serving breakfast. I ordered tea, a big breakfast and a McGriddle. He said he’d have the same and paid with an American Express card. He was stunned when it came to less than ten Euros.
We ate at the tables and I spent my time watching the caliber of people in and out of the airport.
“I want to take you home to the school, Aidan. I’m not just dropping you off somewhere.”
“I know my way home. You can leave me at the tubes on Harrowsgate.”
“No. My uncle gave me direct orders to return you to Mr. Compton-Baird and Dean Posthwaite personally.”
“I’m not going back to school, Omar,” I insisted.
“Please don’t make me fail in my duties to both a Sheikh Rashid and Khalid, Aidan,” he said quietly with great force.
“I love Khalid, Omar. He’s one of my few real friends. I don’t have many because of my life.
“Keep him safe. I think he’ll be fine, I don’t have dreams about him, and if I did, they are not the kind that worries me. Nor did my dreams mark any of your family. I did dream of something bad happening here and it will haunt me until I figure out what and where it is. I told your aunt that time is a river and my eyes could see it. More than that, I am an unwilling passenger on its tides and must ride it wherever it goes. You must allow me to go my own way. Angel of Life. Angel of Death. I have been both.”
I got up, stared at him with my darkened violet eyes and disappeared into the crowds.
I didn’t look back but I could feel the weight of his gaze long after he was gone.
I took the shuttle to the tubes and was encased in a bubble of frost that no one neared or approached. It didn’t dissolve until I reached my hammock in the movie studio and climbed in, closing my eyes. I waited for the dreams.
Nightmares. In the morning, I knew why.
The End.
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