Of Phantasm and Fury

Of Wellington and Wilderness

32 Of Wellington and Wilderness

"...For the wild has been at work here..." -E.H. Hanson

Day 5, continued

Attic, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington

Jordan had learned a great many things serving in the armed forces.

How to tourniquet the shoulder of an amnesiac.

How to alleviate a medication allergy.

How to address a seizure-prone pedestrian.

However, staring at the scene before him, he'd never learned how to meet the needs of a 1940s-era amnesiac, a seizure-prone woman, and the ill effects of magical balm...at the same time.

Stroking his goatee, he groaned. "How did this happen, Harry?" as the man before him exhaled sharply.

"My name isn't Harry, it's Jimmy!" came the indignant reply.

Ok Jordan, he told himself. Let's start over. "Lemme get this straight—Macy took some of that—" pointing at the blue goo, "then rubbed some on your forehead, and it bounced her—" waving about, "here?"

"Yes, that is correct. It appears to have backfired—" Please let this sweet, beautiful woman be alright! Harry (amnesia in full force) ran his hands through his chestnut hair. He couldn't fathom that anyone so lovely would even deign to want to save him—a sniveling snitch, a pathetic excuse of a Manchesterian—Jimmy Westwell.

Ixnay on the blue oogay, Jordan told himself. Who knew what powers it held? Recalling his training, he prioritized the person whose medical emergency was deemed the most critical—in this case, the female unconscious before them, whose seizing had stopped a few seconds after he'd arrived. When he heard Harry's bellowing voice through her smartphone, he knew something terrible had to have happened.

"You've gotta heal her, Harry!"

Harry frowned, ignoring the fact this tall, well-muscled twenty-something youth had called him 'Harry' rather than 'Jimmy.' Perhaps when this is all over, I'll legally change my name to match this Harry fellow's, and have his luck too—

"How?" Jordan made motions with his hands for Harry to follow as the Whitelighter normally would when healing the Charmed Ones, but the man shook his head, increasingly confused.

Running through his list of options, Macy's breath growing increasingly labored, Jordan turned to Harry with a particularly fierce gleam in his eye, having had an epiphany of sorts. "Your ear—that cut looks recent—" Immediately, memories of cyber training flashed before his eyes. Microchips included. "I need to cut that out of you—"

Harry scrunched his mouth. "I beg your pardon? Cut what out of me?"

"The microchip the Faction probably implanted—it's the only way you'll remember—to save Macy—"

They paused mid-conversation, as Macy's exhalations turned to a fast-fading rattle.

"Ok, I'll do it—"

Whoa, seriously, dude? That wasn't as hard as I thought that'd be, mused Jordan with surprise.

"Hurry on, get it over with, before I change my mind," added Harry. Whatever it took to save this exquisite angel of sun-kissed hue who possessed the prettiest melanin curls he had ever seen in his life. Please do not perish on my account—"Macy," he ended in the barest of whispers.

Attic, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington

Several sharp and agonizing seconds later, memories flooded his subconscious—