Dr. Arzt stood in front of the one patient he couldn't help, Heather Gesund. The poor girl was wasting away from some unknown, presumably incurable disease. All he knew for sure was that she would die. Once a bubbly blonde cheerleader, she was a shriveled, bald bag of bones barely held together by mottled flesh, hooked up to machines that only prolonged the inevitable.
Only her blue eyes retained any semblance of her former self. They stared at Dr. Arzt accusingly. Why can't you help me? She was too weak to talk, but Dr. Arzt was sure she'd want to say that if she could. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to be a mind trapped in a barely functioning body.
He imagined her voice in his head. Get me out of here! He had never actually heard it, but he could guess what it must have been like based on photos of her old self and on his stereotype of cheerleaders.
He sighed and put his hands in his pockets. I feel so helpless, he thought. And imagine how helpless she feels. I'm only feeling sorry for myself because I don't know the answer. The name of the magic cure. There isn't any. Just death. She knows it. I know it. All we can do is fantasize about what will never be.
As his fingers fumbled through his pockets, he clenched the stone and whispered to himself, "I wish you were a healthy girl again."
A flash blinded him for a moment. When the light from nowhere faded, he saw a perfectly healthy busty blonde teenager sitting on the edge of the bed. "I feel fine," said Heather. She sounded pretty much like he had imagined. "You think I can go home now?"
"Uh ... yeah ... sure ..."
"Are you okay, Doctor?" asked Heather.
"I'm fine. Tell your mom I said hi," he blurted.
"I will. Bye!" She walked out.
Dr. Arzt stared at the bed that had been surrounded by life-support machines and tubes only a minute ago. "This isn't possible ..." He took the stone out of his pocket. "But it obviously is. And this rock's got something to do with it."
He heard running behind him. A nurse panted as she stopped in front of the door that Heather had left open. "Doctor! Come quick! Ms. Goodbody! She needs you!"
"Ms. who?" asked Dr. Arzt.
"Come on!" The nurse grabbed him by the wrist. "Let's go!"
"Where?" Dr. Arzt could barely keep up with her.
"What kind of question is that!?" snapped the nurse. "She's dying!"
Dr. Arzt wondered who Goodbody was. The name sounded familiar. Wasn't that the name of the teacher who had come to visit Heather once? He was sure it was.
"Oh no." When he arrived at Miss Goodbody's room, he could diagnose her immediately. The hair loss, the emaciation ... "No!"
"Don't just stand there," shouted the nurse. "Do something!"
I already did something, thought Dr. Arzt. I made her this way. But how can I cure her without making someone else sick?
