The Evil That Came

Part 8: Masterpiece

The days slipped by, and Greg maintained his vigil from the same corner chair, diligently jotting down notes each time Victoria stirred awake. Her annoyance with his unwavering presence was palpable.

"Must you sit there every morning?" Victoria's voice held a hint of irritation.

Greg's response was matter-of-fact. "Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I must watch your progress and assess how the treatments impact your body. Think of it as a controlled experiment—with fewer errors." He winked, attempting to lighten the mood.

Victoria scowled. "But you don't even know if this will work?"

Greg shook his head. "Trust me, Victoria. This medicine is tailored to your body type. It's like introducing a new friend to your system—one your body needs to recognize as an ally, not an adversary. The success hinges on your body's response."

Victoria nodded, absorbing his explanation.

"I've been monitoring your stats," Greg continued. "And it appears you're improving. Do you feel better?"

Victoria's affirmation was cautious. "Yes, overall, I do. But there's persistent pain in my abdomen."

Greg's gloved hands explored her abdominal area, finding nothing amiss. He retrieved a miniature X-ray machine, carefully shielding her midsection with a lead cloth before scanning the specific region. "Let's try an ultrasound. The gel might be a bit chilly." The wand glided over her belly.

"No abnormalities visible," Greg reported. "Perhaps some gentle movement would help. Have you tried walking?"

Victoria attempted to rise, but her legs betrayed her, and she stumbled. Greg steadied her.

"Walking isn't an option right now. Let me fetch you a walker."

He handed Victoria a compact metal walker with four sturdy pegs. Its handle featured an integrated screen.

"This is a walker," Greg explained. "It's designed for humans who struggle with mobility."

Victoria nodded, determination in her eyes. "Alright, Greg. Let's begin." 

For hours each day, Greg assisted Victoria in her walks. Their conversations flowed, laughter echoed through the room, and an unspoken bond formed. Yet, beneath the fun, Greg understood that Victoria's recovery was progressing—a sign that soon, she would be ready to leave.

As morning rays brushed Victoria's face, Greg regarded her as a masterpiece. Her brown skin held stories, her closed eyelids concealed sparkling lime green eyes, and her reddish-brown hair hinted at the passage of time—a dance of colors awaiting transformation to black.

"That's your daughter, Hyva," Greg thought, his heart swelling with pride.

Hyva's voice chimed in agreement. "Yes, she is, isn't she?"

Greg gently tucked Victoria into bed. "Sleep well," he whispered, knowing their journey was far from over.

Victoria's silent agreement was all Greg needed. He gently guided Matilda by the arm, leading her outside. The moon hung high in the sky, casting a white glow on the path ahead. As they approached the bustling area where the press conference would unfold, Greg's mind raced with anticipation.

The grandeur of the press conference loomed before Greg, a sea of faces and flashing cameras. He felt a mix of dismay and pride—dismay at the prospect of facing many reporters and pride in yet another achievement due to Victoria's near recovery. The public was interested in her recovery, and the anticipation in the air was palpable; this moment held weight.