No Good Doctor

by Nicole Snow

  There’re just trees, trees, and yup, more trees.

  Big piney trees sloping up, tall leafy trees sloping down, baby trees nipping at my ankles. I crash to a halt in a small clearing, leaning over and clutching my knees and panting desperately, rubbing at my sore ankle. My ears perk up, trying to hear the rest of the world around the dull roar of my own pulse.

  Quiet.

  I don’t think anyone’s following me?

  I don’t hear shouts or feet shifting the ground in pursuit, and I doubt that many men could chase me without making a sound. I’m still afraid, so afraid. My thighs are clenched up and my stomach tangles in knots, but I take a second to assess where I am.

  Running blind won’t get me anywhere.

  I have a choice. It’s up or down.

  Up could take me farther away from where I want to go and get me more lost than I already am. Or it could take me to the top of the cliff.

  If I made it, I’d at least get to a vantage point where I can see over the valley and the town well enough to reorient myself.

  Down, though...down could take me deeper into the valley, into the shade. A good place to get bewildered among the trees, though it’s also closer to the main highway.

  Down might just take me to the base of the path leading up the side of the cliff. Or it could bring me into the open clearing at the bottom of the valley, making me an easy target scurrying through the scrub brush in plain sight.

  Or – better idea! – I could stop being an idiot and just call Pam to help find me.

  As long as she’s been in Heart’s Edge, she could probably tell me exactly where I am just from the description of some leaves.

  Except I really am an idiot. I skim my hands over my skirt and top, and there’s no damn phone. I’d left it in the pocket of my lab coat – the same one I ripped off as I went tearing out of the office, trying to be Miss Super-Spy.

  Oh, crud.

  Okay. Crap. Think.

  I’m out here with no phone. Kinda sorta lost. With only two real options.

  I can go up or down; I just can’t keep going straight, or I’ll probably wander forever in circles. The town is up, the highway is down, and either way, I’m going to find a path back to civilization.

  My legs hurt too much to climb. Even if I don’t think my ankle is sprained, it’s still bent enough that putting too much strain on it will just make things worse. That’s why I let pain do the talking.

  Down it is.

  I start picking my way down the slope at a snail’s pace, careful in my strappy summer sandals. At least I didn’t wear wedges today, just flats, or I’d really be in trouble and probably in danger of a broken leg.

  I take it slow. I don’t want to slip and end up sliding dozens of yards down the rocky slope, but I also don’t want to miss the sound of someone creeping up on me through the trees. Even going slow, even telling myself those men weren’t there for me – they’d actually seemed confused to find me there – I just can’t shake the constant sense of fear riding my back.

  Every leaf fluttering as a bird takes off, every bouncing branch as a squirrel goes bounding across it, every dang rabbit I startle into rocketing off into the brush makes me jump, makes me nearly scream, shocks the breath out of me. I’m worried I’ll have a heart attack before I make it anywhere.

  I don’t know how long I’ve been out here by the time I’m ready to collapse.

  No one tells you that nonstop terror is totally exhausting. And paired up with a major gauntlet to run, it’s practically deadly.

  It’s hard to tell time by the light shifting through the canopy of leaves overhead, filtering the sun. It makes it hard to see where it is in the sky, and after so much tedious, monotonous climbing down and down and down, my legs are aching and I feel like I’ve been out here for hours.

  But that’s not possible, is it?

  Yes, these mountains and the forests stretch on for hundreds upon thousands of acres, but in the landscape around Heart’s Edge, it seems like it’s impossible to go very far without breaking out into an area cleared by logging, open for the highway, or with some kind of path leading into town or into the clearing, easily passable areas of the valley.

  And when I realize the light filtering through the trees is starting to turn bluish-purple, my heart stops. Crap times a hundred.

  The sun is setting. It’s turning into twilight, and I’m no closer to finding my way out of here. My brain goes into overdrive with questions I hate asking.

  Do people still get lost in the woods and die in twenty-first-century America? It’s the era of always-on pinpoint GPS, phones that are powerful microcomputers, satellites able to look down and see a dime on a sidewalk...and I’ve got none of those backing me up.

  I don’t even have a compass. It could be the twenty-first century or the first as far as I’m concerned. But I guess if it was the first century, I’d probably be wearing furs and would at least know how to hunt with my knife and find food and water.

  The thought of myself as an ancient woman skulking around in the woods makes me giggle, before I choke it back with a soft near-sob. God. I’m really losing it.

  I’m going hysterical, marooned out here and scared out of my wits, my ankle hurting more and more with every step. My laughter trails into a whimper, then a sniffle. I wrap my arms around myself, looking up at the hints of deepening sky I can see through the trees.

  Almost night. That’s when the hunters come out. Cougars, wolves, shady people with devious intentions – and I know these woods are crawling with them.

  I have to keep moving and just hope anything out here stays the hell away because even as short as I am, I’m still bigger than they are.

  Unless it’s a bear.

  I really hope I don’t run into a bear.

  My legs are numb save for the one aching part I wish would catch up to the rest of me, but I keep walking anyway. Numb sounds better than the biting soreness that makes me want to drop where I stand. I’m dirty, sweaty, hungry, thirsty, and officially miserable.

  It’s going to be the dehydration that kills me if I’m out here too long, really.

  Dehydration, or bears.

  It’s not long before twilight fades to night. Then it’s all haunting shadows and panicked shivers as I try not to read anything into every sound, every whisper of the breeze over my shoulder. The last thing I need to do is start conjuring up ghosts to go with the very real dangers out here.

  No one ever said the forest around Heart’s Edge is haunted – only the old mine.

  Maybe I’ll be the town’s first ghost. Or maybe that monster, Nine, will materialize out of the darkness and carry me away to his demon lair.

  I know, okay? But being morbid is the only way I can keep from freaking myself out until I’m paralyzed.

  At one point I stop, sit down in the middle of a clearing, and just bawl my eyes out. It’s less fear and hopelessness and more frustration. There’s still some part of me that believes it’s just not possible for me to die out here like this, and I just have to keep trying.

  So I let myself have my cathartic pity cry, then make myself stop so I’m not wasting precious fluid, and get back up and try.

  I’ll only fail if I give up.

  So I can’t.

  Though I’m starting to wonder if I should maybe try to sleep for a bit and keep going in the morning when I’m rested, and I can see straight. Maybe if I just get a pile of leaves together and burrow down into them, maybe curl up against the trunk of a tree, I’ll be fine. I might even climb a tree so I’m far off the ground, away from any predators that might trip over me in the dark. But just as I start thinking about looking for a good spot to bed down, I see it.

  Light through the trees. Several bright, gleaming, unmistakable lights.

  Flashlights, I think, sweeping back and forth.

  My first thought isn’t that it’s a rescue party.

  Not when no one knows I’m out here, and no one would even think to look. I live alon
e, my mother’s staying in her own separate cabin, and there’s no reason for Doc, Pam, Felicity, or anyone else to think Hey, I haven’t seen Ember in a few hours, let’s mount a search party in the woods.

  My first thought is it’s those men, coming back to finish the job. Men with guns.

  The panic that had dulled to a quiet ache flares up again. I stumble a few steps back, barely breathing, then turn and plunge away through the trees, shoving at branches as fast as I can.

  I don’t care about being quiet anymore.

  I care about getting away, and sobbing breaths rise in my throat as I fight my way on mindlessly. I’m almost drained, run so ragged with panic and stress it’s hard to even care anymore.

  I’m so tired, I can’t think, and it seems like a small mercy.

  All I can do is run, struggle my way past the fear threatening to swallow me. Those men are going to shoot me, or worse. They’ll capture me, tie me up, do their worst, frantic for info on Doc because they think I know things I can’t possibly know. And they won’t take no for an answer.

  I shouldn’t have ever gotten involved in the secrets surrounding Doc.

  I shouldn’t have ever tried to learn more about him.

  I shouldn’t have ever gotten involved in his past.

  I should’ve left well enough alone.

  Because I couldn’t stay away from one man and his secrets, because of my own insatiable curiosity and desperate need to know that attractive, infuriating enigma of a man, I’m here. Doomed to die alone in the woods.

  And no one will even mourn me except Mom and maybe Felicity.

  Adrenaline floods everything, ice cold fear like water sloshing in my veins. I’m whimpering, careening back and forth, stumbling, my weary legs threatening to collapse under me. But when a huge, lumbering shape steps out of the woods in front of me, I still find it in me to swerve away, screaming as I spin, fall to my knees, scramble forward with my hands digging into the fallen leaves, then thrust myself forward and away.

  Only for thick, cruel arms to wrap around me from behind, trapping me.

  This is it.

  I’m done.

  Screaming, kicking and twisting, elbowing, I fight as best I can. Those arms are thick and immovable. There’s a voice growling something at me, but I’m too far gone. Nothing makes sense anymore, and I just don’t want to die—

  “Ember!” Doc repeats, tightening his grip on me, his voice dark and urgent in my ear. “It’s me. It’s me, calm down. I’ve come to take you home.”

  That’s when it hits me. I know that voice.

  Him. Doc. Gray.

  He came to find me, to save me.

  Those flashlights were people trying to bring me home safe, Doc out here with them.

  Just twelve hours ago, that would’ve taken my breath away and made my hopeless crush kick into overdrive.

  Just twelve hours ago, I’d have killed to feel his amazing arms around me the way they are now, so wonderfully tight with his body pressed hot against my back, enveloping me.

  But just twelve hours ago, I hadn’t seen Fuchsia drawing blood from some strange man. Right before half a dozen men with guns stormed in and scared me out of my mind.

  It was just something interesting, something fun, before, even if Fuchsia creeped me out.

  But the blood, the guns, the running...they made it far too real.

  She saw me there. I know she did. She probably thinks I know something now.

  Those armed men saw my face, too.

  If they think I could tell their secrets, whatever they’re hiding, trying to cover up, what chance do I have? What would they do to keep me quiet? How could I ever have a normal life again without being someone’s target?

  God. I should’ve left well enough alone. Some secrets are better off buried.

  And now I’m beginning to understand just what Doc was trying to protect me from.

  14

  Hounded (Doc)

  Ember and I are goddamn lucky that Pam’s much smarter and perceptive than she generally lets on.

  She sees a great deal at the clinic and says very little about it, and I should’ve known she’d have picked up on the fact that Fuchsia Delaney was a.) trouble, and b.) hanging around The Menagerie with dire intent, even if I was stonewalling and intending to shut her out.

  I also should’ve known she’d have picked up on Ember’s fascination with my own tragic backstory, and the lengths she might go to dig up the parts I’m not telling her.

  So when Ember went tearing out on foot right after Fuchsia just spent another morning casing the office, I’m grateful someone noticed.

  It’s a good thing Pam put two and two together, or we might’ve never figured out where Ember vanished until it was too late, and the search and rescue dogs were sniffing at her bones.

  I barely take a moment to let Blake, Warren, and a few other helpful souls know that I’ve found her – that she just got lost. I’m too busy wrapping her up in my coat and bundling her into my truck. It worries me how silent she is, how she lets me maneuver her like a doll as I tuck her into the seat belt, how she avoids looking directly at me, and flinches when I touch her.

  Fuck.

  She’s shaking.

  She’s shaking her little heart out, and everything in me says I’ve got to do whatever it takes to make her know she’s safe. She’s safe again, dammit, and I won’t let anything happen to her again.

  I can’t take her back to her place in this state. It’s not secure, what with all those windows and doors with the glass insets. I’d rather have her somewhere I know has been vetted and locked down.

  That leaves one option: my place.

  “Ember?” I say as I shut myself in the driver’s side and start the engine. “I’m going to take you home with me. Is that all right?”

  She says nothing. Just stares blankly out the window, the tracks of tears dried beneath her eyes.

  Fuck me.

  I need to find out what happened to her. What did she see?

  If she’d just gotten lost, she wouldn’t be in this kind of shock. She wouldn’t have been so terrified when I found her. And with Fuchsia involved, I know it might be a minor miracle I’ve got her back alive.

  There’s no telling what Ember saw, what she was subjected to. The very thought makes me white-knuckle the wheel, my jaw pinched in fury.

  I hold my tongue until we’ve made the drive back to my place. Even though I know it’s secure and nothing’s tripped the alarms, I tell her, “Stay here, I’ll be right back.” I do a quick perimeter search around the yard, my hand hovering loose at my side, ready to go for the gun tucked in the back of my jeans.

  Coast clear.

  No sign of surveillance anywhere. No hint anyone’s been tampering with anything enough to bug or trap my house.

  It’s as secure as it’s going to get.

  I return to Ember quickly. I don’t feel right leaving her alone for more than a second, though I’m not sure how much comfort my presence is to her right now. I pull the passenger door of my truck open and reach in to unbuckle her, then take one of her cold, limp hands.

  “I’m going to pick you up, all right?”

  Still, she says nothing. Just looks at me, her pale-blue eyes haunted.

  For a second, my balls crawl up my stomach. I’m worried the ghosts of my past have shattered that innocence, that sweetness, that light.

  Slipping my arms under her, I lift her against my chest and squeeze. She weighs practically nothing, this beautiful wisp fluttering against me, limp in my arms. I carry her into my living room and then bend to set her down on the couch, sitting her carefully upright.

  She won’t quite look at me, staring down at her lap, her hands. I clasp her fingers, gripping both hands in mine, and sink down to one knee in front of her, looking up.

  “Ember,” I coax, trying to bring her back to me. “What happened? How’d you get lost?”

  She doesn’t say anything, but after a long pause, her gaze drags to me
, flickering as her eyes focus before shuttering over again.

  “Fuchsia,” she whispers, the first word she’s said since I found her and she stopped screaming, stopped crying.

  Black clouds boil inside me, and I squeeze her hands tighter. Fuck, if that demon hurt her, I might end up like Nine. A rampaging outcast hellbent on revenge, on justice.

  “Did she hurt you? Did she threaten you?”

  “I...I don’t know, Gray.” Her voice is so small, practically disappearing as each word drops past her lips. “She was with this man. A tall, huge man. I think he was burned.” She stares at my hands; at my scars. “It was like an exam. They were in this old cabin that was falling apart. She took his blood, and then...and then these men came out of the woods with guns.”

  Everything in me goes tense. I squeeze her hands tighter. “They attacked you?”

  “N-no.” She shakes her head woodenly. “I think they were after Fuchsia. I just...ran. And then I got lost.”

  I frown, unsure what to think. Armed men after Fuchsia? Or were they after someone else?

  The man she was with, maybe, who could only be one person.

  Nine.

  Our local legend made flesh.

  And once upon a time, one of my best friends, when he had a different name.

  Considering his fugitive status, it makes a horrific kind of sense. What doesn’t make sense is Fuchsia Delaney taking Nine’s blood in the middle of the goddamn woods – and Nine letting her.

  I never thought I’d see the day where he’d ever cooperate with Fuchsia again. Not after the pure, dark hell he suffered partly at her hands.

  Which makes me think I’m missing a crucial piece. There are stakes in this fucked up game I don’t know about. Something reeks, and I may just have to grant Fuchsia’s requests after all if only to stay informed and keep her meddling out of this town. Assuming I can even find her again. Assuming she hasn’t been captured herself.

  Shit. Were those men with Galentron? With Peters?

  Or is it someone else, vigilantes finally trying to capture Nine and bring him to their so-called justice?