Page 4 of Bound By Destiny

I bury my head in my pillows, wishing tomorrow would come a little sooner. Piles of data and blueprints await me on my desk at the office. Right now there’s nothing I’d welcome more than pouring myself into complicated problems so that my head aches rather than my heart.

* * *

Unfortunately, when I wake up the following morning, I’m not feeling better. If anything, I’m even worse off.

My back is killing me, and there isn’t an inch of my body that isn’t sore in one way or the other.Is it because we made love last night?I frown in consternation. Judging by Caleb’s reaction, things were so dreadfully tame he felt compelled to break up with me. But it’s not like I’ve had too many torrid affairs to compare. For all I know, we were way too rough.

I shake my head.You’re letting your anxiety carry you away again.But just as I sermon myself, a sharp pang in my back makes me double over. Beads of sweat trickle down my temple as I wait for the worst of the pain to die down.

It feels like I’m burning up, I think as I pass a hand over my forehead – only to jerk it away in shock. I could fry an egg up there.Panic makes my pulse race.Am I overreacting… or am I on the verge of dying right now?

I do my best not scream as I trudge to the bathroom in agony. By the time I find the thermometer, most of my medicine cabinet is on the floor. I’mneversick. Healthy as a horse, my dad would always say.

Yet I nearly faint when I read the digits on the little screen: 106°F?Oh my god. I’m actually dying right now. I’m not imagining things. I’m really dying.

Just to make sure, I try again. A shaky laugh escapes me when the thermometer flaunts an impossible 106.1°F. It’s that extra ‘point one’ that’s my undoing.

With shaky fingers, I dial my doctor’s number to make an appointment. When that’s settled, I call the office to utter a sentence I never said in ten years of employment:

“I’m going to have to take a day off.”

* * *

That one day off turned into six. Almost one week since I’ve been cooped up in my little apartment, suffering from an illness that mystifies even Dr. Rodriguez. Like every few hours, his name flashes across the screen. I pick my phone up in a heartbeat, nearly slipping over a pile of unopened mail in my precipitation.

“What’s wrong with those locos in Phoenix?” I grumble as I peer down at the dozens of letters from something called thePhoenix Guild of Reinsertion and Resurrection. Probably a strange sect trying to scam me, as Phoenix is only about a two hour drive from Catalina Foothills, where I live.

“There’s been a breakthrough,” the doctor says immediately. “One of my contacts responded.”

I sag onto my sofa in relief. Even since I checked into his office, he’s been sending out my symptoms and scans to a variety of doctors across the country, experts in diseases that make me shiver with dread. Dr. Rodriguez’ first guess was that the two strange bumps forming on my back are tumors – but the scans say they’re not. Apparently my alarming levels of fever can’t be explained by the most common types of infections either.

All answers have come back negative… which only makes me wonder if what affects me isn’t even more serious.

“Can it be treated?” Is the first question that escapes my lips.

To my horror, Dr. Rodriguez doesn’t respond right away. He clears his throat in hesitation. Not a good sign.

“It looks like all along you just haddorso ala auis regenerationis ignissyndrome,” he says brightly, though I can detect the false confidence in his voice even over the phone.

“Okay,” I press cautiously. “Will I get better?”

“You aren’t alone, Mrs. Evans. You’ll be accompanied through this no matter what.”

I have enough energy in me to punch a pillow. Useless, but the dread that has been festering within me for days has become unbearable.

“Please. Just be clear with me,” I mutter in frustration. “What is thisdodo–”

My head swims at the long-winded name of what ails me, but Dr. Rodriguez quickly intervenes.

“Dorso ala auis regenerationis ignis,” he corrects with the utmost professionalism, only to lose his assurance the second after. “It’s a… condition.”

I screw my lids tight and barely repress the urge to swear out loud. There’s only so much suspense I can take. The doorbell chooses that moment to chime, making my ears ring.

“And?”

He sighs heavily. “Look, Mrs. Evans. The fact is, I don’t know what it is.”

My eyes fly open in alarm. “What do you mean, you don’t know?!”

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