Annie crouched down by his arm and gave him her green-eyed version of the assessing stare he was starting to hate. “You don’t know how you lost consciousness?”
I had a paranormal encounter with my dead brother, and it momentarily broke my brain. He’d rather cop to extraterrestrial abduction. “I don’t know. But I know it wasn’t aliens,” he quickly added when Wing opened his mouth to say something.
“Sometimes they wipe the mind,” Wing whispered, and moved his hand like an eraser in front of his forehead. Jorg nodded.
Annie offered him a gentle smile that didn’t fully disguise her worry. “I’m pretty sure it wasn’t abduction by time-warping, three-titted aliens,” she said. “They’d never give you back if they managed to get you aboard. But I think we should take him to Dr. Devan.”
“No, really, that’s not—”
It was like he hadn’t spoken. Somehow, between Wing and Mad, he was on his feet, down the hill, and in the passenger seat of Lenna and Tom’s minivan before he could dig his heels in. Lenna took the wheel. Mad, Wing, and Tom piled in the back. “You call Dr. Devan,” Rose instructed Tom. “I will call Isabelle and tell her to meet us there.”
Shit. “No, Rose. Don’t do that.”
She said something in Tlingit that might have meant, loosely translated, “Blockhead,” and retreated to her Captivity Inn 4x4, where Annie and Jorg already waited. Lenna started the van, pulled out of the gravel parking lot, and he immediately realized the moving scenery did nothing for his equilibrium. He closed his eyes, rested his head against the seatback, and accepted the inevitability of the next hour—hopefully no more. Circumstances had slipped out of his control.
Maybe when Izzy showed up, she could spring him from the clutches of his well-meaning friends. Then he could spend the rest of the afternoon wrapped up in her, slowly—or quickly—fucking the residue of whatever the hell had happened in the woods completely out of his mind.
…
Izzy hurried into Captivity Medical Clinic and made a hard left through the small, empty waiting room occupied only by the staring eyes from a wall mural of Indigenous totem poles. She bypassed the vacant check-in window at the reception desk and followed the sound of voices through a narrow door, past the also vacant check-out side of the reception desk, to a curtain-partitioned room with a narrow, central corridor. The curtain to the first treatment area was pulled back to reveal Annie, Rose, Wing, Mad, a middle-aged couple she didn’t recognize, and a tall, pretty woman wearing a white coat and glasses, with short, blond hair pulled back into a smooth ponytail. The doctor, Izzy deduced, since she also had a stethoscope slung around her neck.
She skidded to a stop, and all eyes turned to her. “Hey, hi,” she said, a little out of breath, and then lost it again when the crowd parted to reveal Trace propped up in, basically, a hospital bed. She didn’t remember moving, but must have, because in the next instant she was at his side. He looked uncharacteristically pale, but otherwise… She scanned his face, his body, and felt relief loosen her clenched stomach. Otherwise, he looked unhurt. All Rose could tell her was that Trace had fallen in the woods, likely passed out, and she should meet them at the clinic.
Going on unchecked impulse, she smoothed his hair off his forehead and gently kissed his lips. “How are you feeling?”
“Better now.” He took a handful of the front of her sweater and pulled her in for a longer, deeper kiss.
When her sense of decency finally coaxed her to end the kiss, she risked a self-conscious glance around the room and nervously licked her freshly kissed lips. “What happened?”
“That’s what we’re trying to determine,” the doctor said, and offered a calm smile. “I’m Dr. Devan. You must be Isabelle?”
“Yes. Sorry. Nice to meet you.”
“You, as well. The rest of the crew here”—she gestured to the group—“were just about to fill me in, and then I’m going to ask everyone to step out to the waiting room while I make sure Trace is good to go.”
“I’m good,” he insisted. “I just—”
Pounding footsteps cut him off, and then Bridget flew through the door and came to a stop at the curtain. Her pallor made Trace look hale and hearty. He sat up quickly and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I’m fine, Bridge.”
She stayed where she was, breathing heavy, then bent, braced her palms on her thighs and drew in slower, deeper breaths. When she looked up again, twin flags of red rode high on her cheeks. “What the fuck happened? I just landed and Lilah called and told me you’d blacked out while clearing the trail and were on your way here.”
“I’m going to find out what happened,” Dr. Devan said as she gently pushed Trace back, so he reclined in the bed, “but for now, why don’t you sit?” She snagged a wheeled stool from a corner of the “room” and put it in motion. Annie intercepted and rolled it over to Bridget, who sat heavily. “I’ll get you some water,” Annie murmured, rubbed Bridget’s shoulder, and slipped beyond the curtain.
“Okay. Who found him first?” Dr. Devan asked.
Mad raised his hand. Then Wing.
She pointed at Mad. “Tell me what you saw.”
“I—”
Wing thumped him on the shoulder.
“Sorry. We were sawing trees a ways up the trail when I—we—heard Trace call out. We rushed down, saw him laid out on the forest floor, not moving, eyes open but half-mast, if you know what I mean. I called his name and kind of…uh…slapped his face.” He glanced at Trace. “Sorry. I guess I freaked out for a second. Anyway,” he addressed the room, “nothing from Sleeping Beauty, so, then Wing’s like, ‘Is he dead?’ and I said, ‘For fuck’s sake, he’s not dead—’”
“Christ’s sake,” Wing corrected. “You said Christ’s sake.”
“For Christ’s fucking sake, that’s not an important deal,” Mad retorted, “and only a numbskull would mention it.”
“How soon after you tried to rouse him did he regain consciousness?” Dr. Devan asked.
“Immediately,” Mad replied. “His eyes sort of snapped back online, and he asked us what happened. We still don’t know, but—”
“No bumps on the head,” Rose interrupted. “He carried on a conversation, as much as he ever does.”
The group mumbled their agreement. Annie returned with water for Bridget and added, “His pupils were responsive, best I could tell.”
The doctor nodded.
Izzy sensed no urgent concern coming off the woman and relaxed a little more. She squeezed Trace’s hand. He squeezed hers back, then threaded their fingers together and drew her closer until she rested a hip on the bed. Dr. Devan directed her attention to Trace. “What were you doing right before things get fuzzy?”