An Interlude...

Wide eyes swivelled this way and that, filled to the brim with childlike inquisitiveness. To them the hustle and bustle of a hospital corridor was not a place of stark cleanliness and silence: each step and each door provided a gateway into another world. The sober efficiency of nurses at their station became the hull of a space ship in full voyage. The shuffle of patients in matching gowns, whose slippers had them appear as part of one giant sleepover.

To a little boy this was all very new and exciting, and the child couldn't help but wonder at everyone else's general gloominess. Were they not just aching with curiosity like he was? Didn't they just want to peer into all the rooms and investigate? Not to mention all the new people to talk to. The boy often found himself shy when around strangers, but that didn't seem to dull his idea's potential…

"Come along, Sweetheart." His mother urged, pulling on his hand as he lagged. The boy blinked twice and quickened his pace, two of his small steps for each of hers.

They were going to visit Granny, he'd been told, but the boy wasn't as excited about that: nervous, yes, but definitely not excited. Before they left, his Momma had sat him down sternly and made him promise to behave: he wasn't allowed to talk or touch anything, and he wasn't allowed to pester. He was to sit tight and not wander of again like he did sometimes at the park or the supermarket. He'd never had these rules when he went to see Granny before, and it made him anxious. So he followed along, clutching Momma's hand and trying to look everywhere at once until they got to Granny's room.

His Momma knocked on the door lightly, calling: "Patti? We're here to see you. Say hi to Granny, Sweetheart."

"Hello," the boy mumbled, feeling suddenly shy. The anxious feeling was back. Granny just stared at him blankly, and Momma sat him down in the chair by the door. She herself sat in the chair by the bed, taking Granny's hand in hers.

Granny didn't look like she normally did: she was wearing a gown like the others, but the boy thought it didn't suit her. He had never seen her without her spangled shawls and pearls and lipstick before. Instead her face was pale and papery, and more wrinkly than ever. She wasn't smiling at him, or talking and laughing loudly. She didn't even smell like Granny: that overpowering scent of lavender was gone, replaced with cold air and that airplane smell. But the worst were the wires: the boy almost couldn't tell where Granny ended and they began, and it looked as though she were drowning in them. In fact, she looked tiny compared to the rest of the room, with its mint green walls and flowery comforters.

The boy kicked his feet lightly. He wanted to save Granny from the wires, but Momma had told him not to touch anything, and Momma knew what she was doing. Right now she was talking calmly to Granny in her nightmare voice – it was the soothing one she used when he had bad dreams to make him fall asleep.

But it didn't seem right in this room, and it wasn't soothing at all. The boy didn't like listening to it here, and not to Granny when she looked like this. He could feel the anxious feeling getting worse, so he slipped out of his chair and waited in the hallway, where he couldn't see his Granny and he wasn't very scared. He sat down on the floor by the door - so his Momma wouldn't say he'd wandered off – and stared curiously down the hall at the people coming and going.

He could see doctors in white coats, like the ones on Momma's show, but he didn't recognise any of them and they didn't look friendly. Neither did the nurses for that matter; they were all just talking seriously and holding papers. It seemed boring, not like Momma's show at all.

The boy watched as an old man shuffled down the hall on a walker, wheezing slightly as he made for the lift. A nurse came over to help him, but he just waved her off and continued alone, grimacing as he went. He paused for a moment outside granny's door, right next to the boy, frowning and catching his breath.

He caught sight of the boy's wide eyes staring, and turned to face him.

"Who're you?" he asked, wheezing, "You lost?"

"No," said the boy, as nicely as possible, "I'm waiting for my Momma. She's just inside this room." He gave the old man his best smile, to try and cheer him up. The old man looked at him thoughtfully, before glancing into the room.

"Terrible business, all this." He said, more to himself than the boy, "Poor Patti was never the same after her husband died. I'm guessing you're her grandson?"

The boy nodded, too shy to find anything to say.

"Well," said the old man with finality, "You seem like a very good lad, you do. If you'll excuse me," and he continued on his way.

"Hey wait!" said the boy after a moment. Forgetting his mother's words, he hurried after the old man, who by now had reached the elevator. Before the man could move, he reached over triumphantly and pushed the call button, so the old man wouldn't have to stretch. It didn't look like he could've if he tried.

"Thank you, son!" The old man said, smiling a gummy smile. The boy smiled back, glad to have cheered him up. He watched as the old man coughed slightly, curious once more.

"Are you sick?" he asked, in the innocent way of a child.

The old man nodded indulgently and coughed again. "My lungs ain't what they used to be. It's what I get for smoking all those cigars."

"Cigars are bad for you." Said the child knowingly.

"I agree," the old man smiled, "that's why my lungs are so bad."

"I hope you feel better," said the boy, brows knitting into a concerned frown. He remembered last winter, how he'd gotten a cough and had to take that awful syrup. Know wonder this poor old man was sad; he was sad now too.

Wordlessly, the boy reached out a hand and rested it upon the old man's. His hands were warm against the wrinkled skin, the heat spreading into the old man's hand and into his veins. The lift pinged and slid open its doors and the boy let go of his new friend's hand.

"Thank you son," the old man said, smiling down at him kindly. His eyes seemed brighter, and his skin less sallow as he entered the lift and pressed the button. As the doors swept closed, he breathed deeply and was surprised to find he didn't cough…

Meanwhile, in the hall, the little boy felt suddenly dizzy. Very dizzy. Everything was moving and his stomach felt funny. He was scared to move, in case he fell or threw up, but he couldn't just stand in the hallway, and he was starting to feel scared. Stumbling slightly, he went to find his Momma.

He lurched into the room once more, where his Momma was still whispering to Granny. He tottered over to her chair and grabbed her sleeve, gripping it with all his might to keep the world from spinning.

"Not now, Sweetheart, Momma's talking," his mother began impatiently, shooing him back to his seat.

"But I don't feel well," the boy moaned, hoping that she'd hug him; he really did feel awful. The dizziness was clearing now, but he still felt weird and clammy.

"Who's this now, dearie? What's going on?"

His Momma looked at him, very upset, before turning back to Granny, "Nobody, Patti. I'll be just a moment."

But her son's head had cleared enough for the curiosity to return, and he asked: "what's wrong with Granny?"

"Nothing, Sweetheart, Granny's just a little ill. Go back to your-"

But the boy had reached over, frowning again as he grabbed Granny's hand where it lay on the bed. His skin was warm against hers, and the effect was instantaneous.

"Oh my!" said Granny, jumping and looking startled, blood rushing to her cheeks. "Lambie, is that you?" she asked, recognising her grandson.

At the same time, the boy let go of her hand, swept up in an overwhelming sense of nausea. Nobody noticed as he fell to the floor.

"Patti, are you okay?" said his Momma, surprised by her sudden lucidity.

"Of course I'm okay! Never better!" said Granny sharply, "In fact, I feel like a load of cotton wool just fell from my ears! It's the strangest feeling."

Momma looked shocked, and for her part so did Granny. They turned their attention then upon the boy, who groaned softly from the floor and rubbed at his head.

"Oh, Sweetheart!" gasped Momma, scooping him into her arms, "you must feel terrible! Come on, I'll take you home."

For some reason she felt shaky, like something strange had happened. It hadn't, obviously: her mother-in-law had surely just had a lucid moment, although they came few and far in between nowadays. It had been unexpected and it had unsettled her, was all. Nevertheless, she held her son close as she said goodbye to Granny and hurried down the hall.

On the ground floor she paused when she noticed an elderly patient surrounded by nurses, saying: "I'm cured, I tell you! I've never felt better in my life!" he was waving his arms emphatically, shoving away his walker in excitement, "I can breath!"

She froze when the man glanced her way and waved.

"Hello, my boy!" he called, and to her surprise, her son waved back.

Feeling panicky, she rushed out of the hospital and into the parking lot, stowing her son in the car seat and driving home as soon as possible. As she weaved her way through the busy streets, further away from that hospital, she felt her nerves calm again and put it out of her mind.

Or so she thought.

The doctors never could explain it, but Granny didn't get sick again. In fact, she was one of the most clear-headed people in the hospital. She could identify the nurses by name and shift, and even reminded them about meals and pills. After a full week of insisting, her very puzzled physician signed the release forms, scratching his head as he did.

But his consternation was nothing when compared to that of Momma's. She was a clever woman, and it only took a few more trips to the hospital with her son to figure it out. When her suspicions were validated, she felt a deep sense of dread, deeper and more fearsome than anything she'd felt in her life.

She knew all the punishments, and she knew what would happen if anyone figured it out. She couldn't tell a soul, not even her husband. Oh, her husband. What would he do if she did…

Nobody knew but her and Granny, who vowed to keep her secret. When her husband left for work the two of them sat the boy down, and told him the rules: He was not allowed to visit the hospital anymore - or any hospital ever. If one of his friends were sick, he had to stay away; germs were icky, and he didn't want to get a cough again, did he? In fact, stay away from sick people, or injured people, like Sammy Thornton when he'd broken his wrist.

If he broke any of these rules, Momma and Granny would be very disappointed in him, and something terrible would happen. The boy was a very good one, and he'd nodded emphatically. He wouldn't break his Momma's rules.

When he went out to play, Granny held Momma close while she cried, and whispered soothing words in her ear.

"He's a good boy, Patti. A good boy!"

"I know dearie, I know."

"They'll call him a monster! They'll try to hurt him, but he wouldn't harm anyone!"

"It's a cruel world, dearie. But lambie's a good boy. No one will find out."

"He doesn't hurt people! He heals them! He's not a monster, he's an angel!"

"I know, dearie. That he is."

The boy wouldn't remember, but it was from then on that his Momma stopped calling him 'sweetheart', and started calling him 'Angel' instead.