The Almighty Convict's Revenge

08

Coraline Parsons had never been one to hold her tongue. The bluntness landed like a slap across Alfred Parsons' face, and the room seemed to tighten around it. He shot her a hard look, the kind meant to silence without words.

She caught it, shrugged it off with a slight purse of her lips, and let her gaze drift sideways toward Curry. Her eyes moved over him slowly, cataloging the cheap fabric of his clothes, the unremarkable way he stood there, the absence of anything that might justify his presence in this room. After a moment, the corner of her mouth curled into something between amusement and contempt.

"If you're running a con, you'd better pick a different mark. Our family's money isn't easy pickings, and people who try tend to get burned."

"That's enough," Alfred snapped, his voice carrying the weight of a man who had spent decades giving orders. "Watch your mouth."

Curry said nothing. He hadn't looked at Coraline once since she'd started talking. His attention remained fixed on the old man lying in the hospital bed, studying the shallow rise and fall of his chest, the grayish pallor beneath the fluorescent lights, the slight tremor in the fingers resting atop the thin blanket. Everything he observed confirmed his initial assessment. The root cause was muscular atrophy compressing the meridian pathways, choking off proper circulation. That explained the nighttime episodes of coughing blood, the arms locking up like rusted iron.

Alfred moved closer, lowering his voice as though proximity might coax a more hopeful answer. "Can you tell what's wrong?"

He still believed, or at least wanted to. Hope was a fragile thing in this room, and Curry was the only one offering any.

"It's not fatal," Curry said evenly. "I can treat it."

"Oh?" Coraline crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her chin upward, her tone dripping with theatrical interest. "You can treat it. By all means, enlighten us. How exactly do you plan to do that? I'm all ears."

"Silver acupuncture needles to open the blocked channels and restore flow. Once circulation returns, the atrophy reverses."

She spat the sound like she was flicking away something unpleasant. Words were cheap. Anyone could string together medical-sounding nonsense. But in the real world, how many people actually understood acupuncture at a level that mattered?

"Ms. Parsons, are you here?" A weathered voice echoed down the corridor, and Curry turned to see a man standing in the doorway. He looked to be in his early sixties, carrying a medical case in one hand. Despite his age, his frame was solid, his posture military-straight, radiating the quiet authority of someone accustomed to deference.

"Master Vance! You made it!" Coraline's entire demeanor transformed in an instant. She practically jogged to the entrance, her face splitting into a warm, deferential smile that hadn't existed thirty seconds ago.

"Mm. Let me see your father." Sheldon Vance nodded once and moved past her to the bedside with the ease of a man who had stood over a thousand such beds.

He rolled his shoulders, loosened his wrist, then extended his right hand and placed two fingers against the old man's pulse point. The room fell silent. Seconds stretched. A minute passed, then two, and gradually the lines on Master Vance's forehead deepened into furrows.

Coraline felt her stomach drop. She wiped a bead of sweat from her temple. "Master Vance, what... what's the verdict?"

"Quiet. Let him work." Alfred cut her off without looking at her.

After roughly five minutes, Sheldon Vance exhaled and lifted his head. His expression was grave. "Your father's condition is serious. The muscular atrophy has progressed to its most advanced stage."

"Master Vance, is there anything you can do?" Alfred seized the old physician's arm with both hands, his composure finally cracking. "Whatever it costs. Name your price. We'll pay it gladly."

The desperation wasn't theatrics. Sheldon Vance was one of Bayhaven's Four Grand Healers. If he couldn't help, the other three likely couldn't either. And if none of them could, then there was nothing left but to watch his father waste away in this bed. Alfred refused to let that image fully form in his mind.

"I'll try," Master Vance said after a moment of consideration. "It should be possible." He reached into his medical case and produced a needle roll, flicking his wrist so it unfurled across the side table. Row upon row of silver acupuncture needles glinted under the harsh hospital light.

With practiced precision, he plucked several needles between his fingers and sent them driving into the old man's body at various points in rapid succession.

"Wait."

The single word cracked through the silence like a gunshot. Master Vance's hand jerked involuntarily, and two needles nearly pierced the wrong locations entirely.

"What the hell are you screaming about? Get out!" Coraline whipped around, her face twisted with fury.

Curry didn't flinch. His voice was steady, absolute, carrying the weight of certainty rather than opinion. "If those needles stay where they are, your father won't improve. His condition will accelerate. Within a day, he will meet his end."

Coraline's face drained of color, then flushed crimson with rage. She jabbed a finger toward his nose, close enough that he could feel the displaced air. "How dare you! You're cursing my father to die? You must have a death wish!"

Before the last syllable left her mouth, the sound of synchronized footsteps filled the corridor. Seven or eight bodyguards in black suits poured through the doorway, filling the room with muscle and menace.

"Break both his hands," Coraline snarled, "and throw him out."

"Stop."

The command came not from Alfred, but from Master Vance himself. He raised one hand, palm outward, and the guards froze mid-step.

The old physician turned his gaze on Curry, and there was no warmth in it. Only the cold pride of a man whose expertise had never been questioned in half a century of practice. "You're the first person who has ever dared challenge my skill. Fine. Stand there and watch. Learn something."

Curry let out a quiet sigh. He had said what needed to be said. There was nothing more he could do if they refused to listen.

Master Vance resumed his work, his right hand guiding needle after needle into the old man's body with fluid, sweeping motions. Each silver filament caught the light as it arced through the air, tracing elegant curves before finding its mark.

"Unbelievable," Coraline muttered under her breath, glaring at Curry. "Some people don't know their place. Questioning Master Vance of all people."

Curry watched in silence, his brow creasing further with each passing second. He could see it clearly. Every motion was technically flawless. The angles were precise, the depth controlled, the rhythm steady. Sheldon Vance was undeniably gifted.

But he was applying that gift in exactly the wrong direction.

Every single needle was hastening the old man toward death.

When the final needle was placed, the old man's complexion seemed to warm. A faint blush crept into the papery skin of his cheeks. The monitors beside the bed beeped reassuringly as readings climbed back toward normal ranges.

Master Vance withdrew his needles one by one, tucking them back into the roll with ceremonial precision. He regarded Curry with an expression of supreme satisfaction. "Did you see clearly, boy? Not everyone is yours to question."

Curry met his gaze without a trace of emotion. "All you've done is borrow against his remaining life force. Tomorrow, you will regret everything you did here today."

"Enough!"

Coraline slammed her palm against the bedside table so hard the water glass rattled. Her voice came out raw, shaking with fury. "Get him out of here! Now!"