The Sight
By
Nick B

 © Nick B 2008

An excellent bit of fettling by Gabi here folks, so give her a nice big, warm, round of applause

“Do you want to be a girl?”

“You know, before I had the accident, there were times when I wished I was . . .

---

Two hours before Darryl’s move, Ron was just mooching around. It was a bright Sunday morning without anything much to do. He had made no plans at all for the day for once and that was just how he wanted it–nothing planned. He decided to go for a jog down to newsagents on the sea front and get a paper to read with his morning coffee.

As he was stood in a queue waiting to pay for The Observer, he noticed the headline on the front page of The News of the World and nearly fell through the floor seeing a picture of Darryl featured there.

“It’s a sad state of affairs when they can let someone like him stay in a normal hospital isn’t it, Jack?” the man in front of Ron said to the man behind the counter as he slapped his paper down and prodded Darryl’s picture aggressively.

“Too right,” Jack replied, tutting loudly. “’e should be locked up–after ’e’s told us where them other girl’s are. It’s people like ’im what make me feel that they shoulda kept the death penalty.” Jack added, counting out the change.

Ron mentally bit his lip and hoped he could remain invisible to these two. He had recently been in the papers–maybe even on the evening news, so it wouldn’t be at all surprising if they recognised him.

He couldn’t say anything as he knew it would cause all sorts of arguments. Instead, he kept his patience and his profile low, paid for his paper–plus a copy of the offending “rag” and headed back home.

He could feel his blood pressure rising as he finally made his way up the short hill towards his house, trying hard not to explode as he stumbled along, reading the article.

The phone was ringing when he opened the front door.

“Hello?” he answered, curtly.

It was the station. There was disruption at the hospital with people turning up shouting about Darryl and phoning too. They had sent several uniformed officers down there to try and restore some order outside, but the main worry was for Darryl, not to mention the other patients as well as the staff inside.

He arranged to go down as soon as he had showered and changed. Shaking his head solemnly, he walked away from the phone. “Another Sunday up the spout,” he said aloud.

Ron was at the hospital in under forty minutes and although he had been given a verbal appraisal of the situation, he had no idea it would be so bad. There was what amounted to a protest going on right outside the front entrance, and the uniformed Bobbies tried desperately to keep the unwanted out and let the needy through. Ron flashed his warrant card and immediately went inside.

He was met by a flustered-looking man–a Mr. Jacobs, who seemed to be on the verge of panic. They talked about Darryl as they rushed up to his ward and it transpired that although letting Darryl go would be best for the hospital, it wasn’t what was best for him.

“Some of the calls have been really bad,” Jacobs said. “People have even threatened physical violence. Are you sure he hasn’t done anything? That article seems pretty convincing.”

“I know, I read it on the way back from the newsagents, but believe me, I can vouch for the kid–he’s clean as a whistle. Can’t we move him out of the way somewhere, just temporarily?” Ron asked. The flustered hospital official looked at the ward Sister.

“I’ll see,” she replied.

---

Darryl was, needless to say, confused.

He sat, or rather reclined, on the bed as two nurses and Sergeant Cummings hurtled down the corridors. As they went up to the next floor, he was relieved to hear that “The girl from Ipanima” wasn’t being piped through speakers in the lift.

“What’s happening?” he asked, but either those there were studiously ignoring him or they simply didn’t know. As far as he could tell, each of them there was just under orders to move him to room such-and-such on level so-and-so and that was that.

They manoeuvred him into position and the nurses made an exit, leaving Ron and Darryl alone together.

“It’s got a bit complicated, Darryl,” the officer said. “You haven’t seen today’s papers obviously,” Ron said.

“No, you know I haven’t.”

“Perhaps you ought to see this then.” The policeman said as he handed Darryl his copy of the News of the World.

The headlines read: ‘Are our hospitals safe?’

Darryl’s eyes nearly popped out of his head as directly beneath the screaming headline was a picture of him. It was grainy and not at all flattering, showing him sitting in bed in the ward he had just come from.

“How did they get this?” he asked, poking his finger roughly at the picture as tears started to well up in his eyes. “I’ve just been trying to help–that’s all.”

“We don’t know. It was obviously taken here, but that’s all we can tell.”

He read no more than the first paragraph and realised that the article was asking the question of whether he was involved in the abduction of those women and subsequent murder of Suzie Croft–even going so far as to insinuate that he might be behind it.

“Absurd!” he spluttered. “This is, like, a joke, right? Surely they can’t print something like this, just because they say it’s an opinion?”

“I’m afraid it’s no joke, Darryl, and yes, they can. They’re allowed to print it because of that.”

“That’s unreal,” Darryl said, shaking his head.

“I know. What’s worse is that the hospital has been receiving calls about this since early this morning. Some callers have even threatened to come and remove you themselves if the hospital didn’t do it first.”

“But I haven’t done anything. What happened to innocent until proven guilty?”

“Apparently it doesn’t apply where the newspapers are concerned,” Ron said resignedly.

“What do I do?”

“You don’t do anything, Darryl. According to the doctors, the cast on your broken leg will have to stay on at least for the next month, but more importantly, the gash in your leg will be healed enough within the next couple of days, then we can get you out of here.”

Darryl slept fitfully that night. He would have liked to have had a chat with Mariella, but for some reason, he couldn’t get hold of her.

The next day, his mother arrived.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“A little out of sorts to be honest,” he replied.

“I know. It must be hell after that newspaper shit.”

“Actually, it’s not that that’s bothering me.”

He didn’t know quite how to broach it, but he felt as if he’d gone mentally deaf.

“Well, there’s some good news at least,” said Gemma. “They’ve started you on some tablets to get you back to the way you were. They don’t think it’ll take long and think the pills they’re giving you might help kick-start your body into righting the old hormone levels again. They didn’t want to, bu–“

“They’re doing what?!” Darryl exclaimed, sitting upright and glowering at his mother whose face went white. She blinked a couple of times, obviously not knowing what to say or do as Darryl sat there, fuming.

“I had them start you on something to help you get rid of those breasts and get you back to normal.”

“You did what?!!” he almost shouted, shaking his head incredulously. “You bloody idiot. Do you know what you’ve done?”

“Well–I’m sure I don’t know what you mean and if that’s the kind of thanks I get . . .”

“Just forget it, Mum. Alright?” he said sullenly and turned away from her. Moments later he felt a hand touch his shoulder–which he shrugged away from and heard his mother’s footsteps as she walked away from the bed out of the room.

He slept in silence. In fact the whole day had been completely silent–as far as his abilities were concerned and it preyed upon his mind.

The nightmarish dreams were graphic and disturbing. The images of Suzie that he had already seen were bad enough, but they were followed by the other four women meeting horrible deaths, over and over again, while he looked on, powerless to do anything to help.

These were all mixed up with images of himself some four years previously, wanting those platform shoes, only this time he got them and instead of being ridiculed for what he was wearing, the other girls like Lisa and Jane, were interested–envious even.

And it didn’t stop there either.

The images tumbled seemingly end over end through the night as he tossed and turned restlessly trying to fathom what he was supposed to do and wondering why he couldn’t get his Gran to help now of all times and that was when it hit him.

---

Annabel was the first person Darryl saw the next day.

“How’s my favourite patient?” she asked brightly.

“Go away,” Darryl muttered, turning away from her.

“What’s wrong?” she enquired, sitting beside him on the bed. “It’s not like you to be like this.”

“It’s not everyday you get your abilities taken away is it?” he pouted.

“What’s happened?”

“My Gran told me that The Sight–as she calls it, it given to the first girl and that would be me.”

“But you’re not a girl,” she replied.

“I know and that’s what I said too. Then in between the first time I came here and this time, these started to appear,” he said, doing his best to heft his two swollen lumps.

“So?”

“Well it got me thinking. Suppose I should have been a girl, but, instead, had developed into a boy? Suppose my body was trying to right itself and that’s why I got the ability.”

“That’s a fair thought. It’s unlikely, but fair.”

“Yeah, well it doesn’t matter now does it?” he said, his lower lip trembling and for the first time since this all began, he wished he’d said something to someone other than his Gran about all this. Perhaps if he’d spoken to his mum and made her understand . . .

Now it was too late.

It was too late to decide whether to take up the challenge. Too late to accept his new role as a girl–a psychic girl at that and however alien the concept may be it was too late to help those women and that was the bit that really hurt.

In truth, he was sensible enough to know that being a girl would be a difficult change to make, but he realised that this wasn’t being offered, it was a calling–a gift and whilst at first the idea of how to react to having the weight of such responsibility on his shoulders was hard, not having it and not being able to help was harder–much harder.

Now it had been taken away, he felt such a wrench, such a gut-churning emptiness that he wondered how he was going to go on without it.

“What do you mean, Darryl?”

“They’ve put me on some kind of medication and now The Sight is gone.”

Annabel sat there, not knowing quite what to do. Every time she thought of something to say, she seemed to think better of it and it all went quiet again.

“I can’t do anything for those poor women and I know time is running out. What can I do?” he said, tears flowing like waterfalls from his eyes, his lips quivering and his body shaking. “Oh, Annabel, I’ve ruined everything–everything.”

He flung himself at the young doctor, wrapping his arms around her and burying his head in her shoulder and crying his eyes out.

---

To say that Annabel was taken by surprise was possibly an understatement. It was just as well this lad wasn’t one of her patients, or there could be questions being asked, but he wasn’t. In fact, for some strange reason, as little as she knew him, she felt he was a friend–a real friend.

She sat there as he cried what must have been a river of tears and didn’t know what to do. Finally as the sobbing started to subside, she peeled him off of her and dabbed at his eyes.

“It’ll be alright, Darryl. Try not to worry about it,” she said, softly. “The most important thing at the moment, is for you is to get well.”

“How do you know. You don’t have the lives of four women hanging over you, or the death of one on your conscience,” he replied, regretting his outburst almost immediately.

“Oh don’t I?” she retorted, turning and facing the young man, a fire burning dangerously in her eyes. “Don’t I?”

Darryl didn’t answer. He just tried unsuccessfully to avert his eyes from her stare.

“Let me tell you, Darryl Groves. I have people relying on me in life and death situations all the time. If I’m off form or not well and I make a wrong diagnosis, what do you think that means?”

“I’m sorry, Annabel,” he said in a very small voice.

“What?” she asked, her eyes still flaring.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I just felt that I could help and now I can’t.”

“You don’t know that,” she said, her face softening slightly, though anger was still very much apparent. “You don’t know that at all. You can’t give up just because you’ve hit a hurdle. You have to pick yourself up and try again, but try harder.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I don’t know for sure . . .” She was right, of course. He wasn’t the only one whose life was filled with the unknowing of whether what he did was going to make everything alright. Annabel had to live with it everyday, as did all the others in her field.

“But how do I get it back? I mean, Gran didn’t think that I’d keep it if I were a boy.”

“But you are a boy.”

“Only sort of. I mean what boys have these?” he asked pointing once again at the still-forming breasts.

“Breasts don’t make you a girl, Darryl,” she pointed out.

“No, but the other thing I have doesn’t work and hasn’t since the accident, so I figured that was my body righting itself again,” he said, shrugging.

Annabel thought for a moment. “Do you want to be a girl?”

“You know, before I had the accident, there were times when I wished I was; that I had the chance to wear some of the neat clothes they get to wear and stuff, but now all of a sudden I have to be one and I’m not sure.”

“That’s not the attitude to have though is it?” she sat beside him again. “If you really want to be a girl, there’s a lot that needs to change and it’s not just dressing up either.”

“I know–operations and that.”

“That’s part of it, yes. Does that bother you?”

“Not half as much as I thought and since I had my picture plastered all over the paper, I’m not sure Darryl the boy would be particularly well-received.”

“That’s probably true, but don’t you think that that’s the wrong reason to want to change?”

“No, but if it meant I could get to keep my abilities and help those women too, I think it’s a small price to pay.”

The door burst open and two people barged in, trying their damndest to wriggle and squirm out of the clutches of two of the biggest coppers Darryl had ever seen.

“I told you, we’re his grandparents!” the short, dark-haired woman snarled.

“I don’t care if you’re the bloomin’ queen of Sheba,” one of the grappling policemen gasped.

“But they are,” exclaimed Darryl, wide-eyed.

---

To be continued . . .

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