Jessie stared at the door; it didn’t open. She took a sip from a nearby thermos. The door still didn’t open. She sighed and picked up her pen and pad.
A half-finished story fluttered on her page, as a ribbon held by one end would do in the wind. She mentally rummaged through her thoughts and memories for an ending to pin the other end of the story down on the lined paper. She then started writing. Midway through her third sentence, she heard steps outside her door. Jessie scribbled a quick note in the margin to anchor her thoughts, and then called for whoever it was outside to enter.
Jessie’s father opened the door, his large and thoughtful face peeking round the door. She gestured for him to enter. He did, and sat down on her bed after carefully covering her frail-looking feet with the end of her blanket. He didn’t speak for a minute, and then picked up her writing pad from her lap and read out loud: ‘”Anne jumped. Her assailant applauded roguishly, and then jumped onto the low wall top supposedly defending the town from invaders, beside her.” Honey, you’ve got to get this stuff published someday.’
She ignored his comment – she’d heard it so many times before. Jessie asked what the doctor’s news had been. Her father frowned and shifted his position. She later assumed it was to hide any tears he might shed.
Later that week, in a vomit-green walled hospital room, Jessie stared at her long, thin legs on the bed before her. It seemed as though the disease in them mocked her, daring her to get up and run. She lay back in bed and closed her eyes. It wasn’t fair, she reflected; she was only sixteen. There was, however, a chance this surgery would work. She concentrated on that. Half an hour later, she fell asleep.
∽
She jumped over a low attack from her adversary, delivering a punch filled with controlled power to the stomach of the attacker. It laughed: a cruel, low and guttural sound that found its way to the oldest, primeval part of her mind. Run, her instincts suggested. She did so, not sparing the time to look behind her. The hunt was on. She ran fast and freely, trying to put as much distance between her and the attacker as possible. Finally, she tripped over a tree root and spun as she fell, knowing she was going to face the creature that was her fate one more time. It swung an arm, that she now noticed was winged, and there was a flash.
Her heart beat erratically, and she sat up. There were white things covering her legs, and light green walls behind the people in white cloaks surrounding her. For a moment, she thought one of them was the horrific creature who had been chasing her.
Memory flashed through a collection of pictures and words. One of the figures said something, but it wasn’t in her language. She recognised one of the words: ‘Jessie?’
She crinkled her brow, pushed the covers back, revealing her skinny, pale and weak-looking legs. She stared at them a second, and then jumped from the bed, running from the place, and then running along the grey dirt that was too hard. When she reached a tame-looking, deteriorated forest she threw herself down under a tree and hugged her knees. People wearing weird clothing and speaking in strange languages not so different to her own, old Celtic, looked at her curiously and she blinked at them.
Who was this new visitor in her memory, this Jessie? She seemed to share the memory of this person, though the winged creature was at the forefront of her mind. And why wasn’t she in her own, normal body?
Slowly she fell asleep, dreaming of Jessie.
∽
Her legs worked! She dived at the legs of the creature in front of her, causing it to fall over, and ran. She did not look back for the creature. She ran, marvelling at the real-ness of this apparent dream. A person stood outside the open door of a hut. When Jessie reached her, the wizened old woman hugged her ferociously. That’s my Grandma! The words found their way into Jessie’s mind, and she blinked. What? She shook her head, and nodded politely at the lady before being pushed off towards where the creature had been.
That looked like a banshee. Grab it by the neck and snap the miserable thing. She nodded at the instructions, not pausing to wonder where they had come from, and prepared to do as the voice had suggested, looking around cautiously. It swooped down from above, landing her on her back. She followed the advice, and snapped its neck. There was a flash.
∽
Keeley hurriedly pushed the body of the banshee off her, and ran towards her home. She didn’t understand what had happened, but didn’t care much.
∽
Jessie scribbled frantically on her pad two hours later. After finding herself back in her own body, though in the park a couple of doors away, she had found her way home, her gait slightly clumsy. She’d taken her time to feel the concrete with her toes, reveling in the new found feeling. When she had got home, her father had told her Doctor Keeley and the rest of the team were worried. Jessie had laughed, given her father a hug and walked up to her bedroom.
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