“No, Cole. Meg is fine. She was a little beaten and bruised, but she’s already healed up. And hey, that’s kinda what I want to talk with you about.” Evan smoothly redirected the subject.
“Yes, Evan’s right. We need to talk about your rapid healing.”
Cole looked down at his body for the first time. He was wearing a sling on his right arm to help support his broken collarbone and there was still a cast on his right leg from where he’d shattered his knee when it hit the steering wheel on his way out the windshield. His ribs were and lacerated liver had responded beautifully to bed rest.
The look on his face was obvious.
“I know son. You’re wondering why it’s a bad thing that you’re healing so quickly.” Theo’s voice was hushed as he leaned in to talk.
“It’s not normal, you see?” He nodded, brows raised.
Cole’s facial expression was still confused.
“Humans don’t heal this fast,” Theo added with a nod.
“Ohh,” Cole’s eyes widened with realization.
“We need to figure out a way to get you out of here before the right people ask the wrong questions.” Theo nodded meaningfully.
“Yes,” Cole croaked, understanding the implications of someone learning he wasn’t exactly human anymore.
“And I can’t just discharge you without your doctor’s permission. If I tried, the police and CPS would be called.”
“Dr. Andrews, about that—I have an idea.” Evan motioned for Dr. Andrews to follow him back to the door so they could discuss his plan without upsetting Cole.
Cole stared up at the ceiling and took a deep breath. His eyelids felt heavy so he allowed himself to drift off, even as he tried to hear what Evan and his dad were talking about.
Chapter 23 Influenced
Cole’s attending physician, Dr. Joe Mastiff, was exhausted. He had been on duty since seven last night, and was supposed to be off at seven this morning. Just as he was about to leave this morning, he was paged to one of his patient’s rooms. The fifty-seven-year-old bus driver who had suffered a heart attack last night was coding again. Dr. Mastiff worked to try to bring the patient back for forty-nine minutes before calling it. Most other doctors would have a lot sooner, but Joe knew the man. He had been his own children’s school bus driver and a good, kindhearted man.
“Time of death,” he sighed, drained, “oh-eight-thirteen.” A nurse made a note of the official time and began cleaning up the room as the doctor dragged himself toward the door, removing his latex gloves slowly. He hesitated at the patient’s doorway, glanced back at the pasty, overweight body of the man who had happily spent his days driving children to and from school and enjoyed way too many fast-food stops.
He sighed deeply and chucked his gloves in the hazardous waste bin nearest him. He would have to have the nurses search for the next of kin in earnest. So far, it looked like the poor fellow was alone in the world. Now he was gone and no one was around to mourn his loss.
He walked away holding his pounding head knowing he now had a lot of paperwork to do. A never ending pile of red tape had to be dealt with every time a patient was lost.
He made his way slowly back to the office he was trying desperately to escape. He was already longing for the small bottle stashed in the bottom left-hand drawer. The headache was coming on fast and he needed to deal with it before it turned in to a full-blown migraine.
“Excuse me, Dr. Mastiff?” a voice came from beside him.
When he turned, he saw a pretty girl with attractive dark eyes framed by long, unpainted lashes looking at him with a tentative smile.
“Yes?” He sounded tired to his own ears.
“I won’t take but a moment of your time, doctor. I just need your signature on these discharge orders.” The girl smiled sweetly as she held a pen and a clipboard out to the doctor.
The doctor frowned at his hands as they reached out and took what was offered to him.
His head started to pound with more velocity. If he held really still, he could see his heartbeat pulsing in his eyes. This was going to be a bad one, he thought, looking at, but not seeing the papers in his hands.
“Whose discharge papers are these?” he asked, although if could see the fine print, he could read for himself.
“Cole Andrews, doctor.” The girl nodded and smiled as though completely confident in what she was requesting.
The doctor stared blankly at the clipboard still stupidly held in his hands. The pen, however, had slipped from his silent, loose grip and landed on the vinyl tile floor at their feet.
Both the girl and the doctor moved to reach for it at the same time. Their hands brushed. That was the final element the girl needed to make the exchange smooth and complete.
She held her hand against his and watched his gaze, forcing his eyes to focus on her.