Continuation of part 2.
It had occurred to me immediately upon being shot how I might save myself. I, after all, had an ability. I had a gift. I had quickly put it out of my mind, though, because even to save my own life, I could not do it. I had hoped that Kent wouldn't realize what it was. I knew that if he didn't realize it, he wouldn't hesitate to offer if it was needed to save me. I was asking for too much, hoping that Kent wouldn't remember what by ability was.
Many of us have gifts. I’ve met three people now who can do amazing, superhuman things. I know you have a gift as well, Jessica. I had known about my own gift for a year or so. Kent somehow found out about it a few months later. My gift was that I had some control over pain, injury, and healing, both in myself and in others. I knew how to dull pain in someone, and could accelerate natural healing somewhat, but wounds, particularly bullet wounds, were something altogether different. Once I got a nasty cut and had attempted to completely remove the wound using my gift. It's hard to describe, but in order to heal the cut I had to draw from the health of someone else nearby. I hadn't meant to, but I ended up transferring the wound to a family member who was sitting in the next room over. A bullet wound would be much worse. I was getting better at using my ability, but beyond somewhat dampening the pain, which I had already been doing, the only other way I could help myself was to transfer the wound entirely to another person. I didn't know how or why this worked, but those were the facts. Unfortunately, Kent had realized this.
"Do it." Kent looked sternly down at me.
I pretended not to know what he was talking about. I hoped that I didn't – that he had something else in mind. "Do what?" I groaned from the pain.
"Use your ability." he said. "Save yourself."
"No." I wanted to shout it to him, to further get across my point. To further get across how wrong and unfair his suggestion was. Not unfair to me, but unfair to him. But I couldn't shout. I couldn't do much at all. As what little blood left in me did its best to drain out onto the pine needles, it was all I could do to just keep talking.
"You have to." he said. Kent looked earnest, pleading.
"Don't ask me to do that."
"If you use your ability, you can save yourself. Give your injury to me."
"If I do that, you'll die."
"I suppose I could."
"You will. There's no way you could survive this." I nodded toward my stomach. The wound really was a mess. I didn't know how I had survived so long.
"So what?" His head was just inches above mine. A tear dropped from his face and fell onto my cheek. He hadn't stopped brushing my hair.
"It'd be trading one life for another. I could never do that. It's genuinely kind of you, but I could never accept."
Kent was determined to save me. He had found a way to do so – the only way he could. He was begging for me to use my ability, but I could not. Though my pain would cease and I'd be left with only a scar, I could not make that trade.
"You're special." he pleaded. "You're not like anyone else. You're gifted. You can save lives." Kent paused to look down at my wound. It was a miracle that I hadn't already died of blood loss. It was probably only because of my ability. Still, my body was very weak and my pulse was faint. He continued, "You're gonna do so much good for the world. I can't let you die. I can't rob the world of your talent."
"It's not your responsibility."
"But I'm the only one around who can help. It has to be me."
"You're valuable too." Kent just barely heard me; my voice had grown so weak that it was hardly a whisper.
"Just do it, Joyce." He spoke softly. "It's okay. It's what's best."
"No."
"Let me save you."
"I can't –"
"Do it Joyce!" Kent sobbed as he pleaded for me to save myself. "Do it!"
Words couldn't come to my mouth. I was weak. I wasn't in my right mind. I couldn't argue any longer. I just barely squeaked out my final decision.
"Okay."
Continued in part 4.
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