From the Edge
Please see the disclaimer on the Synposis page.
Strange and powerful smells came out of the kitchen. The ancient looking Chinese and his younger companion worked in silence as they made their preparations. Paul was almost startled out of a year's growth when the old one spoke because he had nearly drifted off to sleep.
"Has he vomited?"
"Huh? Oh, yes. About three or four times," Paul replied. "Each time there was less liquid."
"That is good. Now he must be wrapped in hot sheets soaked in a special mixture of herbs. That will induce sweating to remove the rest of the toxins in his system. The hot sheets will also draw out any infection from his wounds. Also he must be given this tea. He must drink it four times a day. This will also purify and rebalance his chi." The old man handed Paul a small bag containing some dried herbs. My companion and I will assist you in wrapping Peter in the sheets."
After the sheets were soaked, they were carried into Peter's room in a large basin. Annie assisted Paul in undressing their son. Then each sheet was tightly wrapped around Peter's body. The warmth from the sheets caused Peter to stir, but his mind was still hazy from exhaustion. He stared into faces that he thought he knew. One face in particular had very familiar features.
"Ping Hai, what are you doing here? "Where is my father? Did he get out?" Peter questioned the apparition but it did not answer. For a moment, Peter had gone back to his childhood just hours after the temple had been destroyed. "No, it can't be Ping Hai. He's dead. I must still be dreaming," Peter said. His words were slurred. He fell back upon the bed and promptly returned to whatever dreams he had been having.
When Peter stirred, the ancient Chinese stopped and stared at the young man. He had not intended to be there if the young man should wake. The best he could do was become still. His face had a sad expression upon it. He could not answer the young man, no matter how much he wanted to. He had to remain in the background, as if he was a ghost from the past. Some day the young man would know the truth, but not today.
"Who is Ping Hai?" Annie questioned.
Paul shrugged his shoulders and turned toward the old man. He in turn shook his head. It would be best if they did not know as well. He would have to reveal what he knew and that might have dire consequences later.
It wasn't long before Peter was showing more signs that the toxins were loosing their hold. The whiteness of the sheets was now marred with a yellow substance that seemed to have been drawn out from every pore of Peter's body. Again Peter stirred, but now he was more alert.
"Mom? Paul, what's going on?"
"Here, you need to drink this," Annie held out the cup and Peter brought out a hand and brought it to his lips.
"Upon tasting the bitter brew, Peter sputtered and coughed. 'What is this stuff? Tastes like something my father would have given me at the temple. Why do I have to drink this?"
"Because you had been drugged by Doctor Randell," Paul replied. "He made you addicted to morphine, and then nearly succeeded in killing you."
"Why? What did I ever do to him? Where did you get that tea?" Peter asked. "I swear it's just like something my father would have given me at the temple when I was sick."
"The Ancient gave it to us to help rid your body of the drug," Annie stated.
"Who is the Ancient?" Peter questioned.
"He's right here . . ." Paul turned around, but the old man and his companion were gone.
End of Part 14
Alisa Joaquin Copyright@2001.
This story cannot be reprinted or sold in any other form without strict permission from the author. It is being distributed here solely for your enjoyment.
Synopsis / Epilogue
Back to Temple Tales / Contact
Alisa