5. Bella’s First Afternoon
Chapter five
Bella’s First Afternoon
I finish unpacking my one suitcase and investigating the comfortable quarters.
Each room is homey and welcoming. Victorian look and feel.
A big antique dining table in the middle of a dining room by the open kitchen.
A spacious living room with television and comfy furniture I will surely sink into.
A hallway to the main bedroom and three more bedrooms and bathrooms on the floor, each cuter than the next.
Charlie follows me to each room, sniffing and wagging his tail in approval.
Yeah, I can get comfortable here. And it’s sure better than the small apartments I’ve lived in since I left home.
I freshen up, change into my doctor garb and make my way downstairs to take Charlie out back with his favorite ball. He races after it with absolute commitment.
At last, he says, panting happily. Land worthy of dramatic running. I forgive you for the ferry.
“That’s generous.”
I remain emotionally scarred. Charlie laughs and then launches himself through the grass with reckless joy.
Then he pauses suddenly near the back fence. Still. Listening. Something out there watches us, Bella, he says quietly.
“You’re imagining things,” I say.
Well, it’s better here than the woods, he decides. Let’s go in, I’m tired.
We head inside.
Now I look closer at the clinic—exam rooms, small ward, a cabinet that looks like it hasn’t been properly organized since the Reagan administration—when the front bell rings with a sharp, impatient clang.
The clinic bell doesn’t ring so much as announce itself—a sharp, old-fashioned clang that echoes down the hall like the house is reminding me it has a job to do.
Charlie lifts his head from the doorway of my new office, supervising with professional intensity. His ears prick forward, then swivel, catching something I can’t.
I smell trouble, he says.
“Stay here,” I tell him, because I have no idea what’s coming through that door and I’d prefer not to triage a patient and my dog at the same time.
He hesitates but obeys, settling into a low, watchful crouch.
I open the door.
Finn is back, at the door with a man slumped between him and another man. The man’s boots drag across the threshold, leaving faint, wet smears on the worn wood.
“Doctor,” Finn says, “thought we’d christen the place. This is Silas, and his friend Fred.”
“Okay, let’s get him inside.” I step aside immediately. “Take him to the first exam room on the left.”
They maneuver him past me. Up close, the smell hits—salt, sweat, whiskey and blood that shouldn’t smell this strong.
“Careful,” I say, guiding them to the bed. “On three. One, two—”
They lower him, not as gently as I’d like, but he’s on the table, breathing, and that’s what matters.
“Out,” I tell the second man named Fred. “Thank you, sir.”
The man lingers for a second, eyes flicking between me and Finn.
“She’s the doctor,” Finn says, a shade softer. “Go on. Let the doc look after him. I’ll call you later.”
The door clicks shut behind him.
I’m already moving—gloves on, light angled, fingers finding a pulse.
“Sir? Silas? Can you hear me?”
His eyelids flutter. There’s a moment where nothing connects, then his gaze sharpens just enough to find my face.
“Yeah,” he croaks. “I hear you.”
“Good. I’m Dr. Russo. Arabella. I’m going to take a look at you.”
“Bella,” Finn adds, like he’s doing me a favor. “Call her Bella. Easier to shout. Less syllables.”
“Thank you, Finn,” I say with a wry voice as I examine Silas.
“Anytime, doc.”
I glance down at the man’s chest, at the dark, blood-soaked fabric around his collar. I notice his silver necklace, the style the island all apparently wears.
“Okay, Silas. Stay with me.”
I gently peel back the stiff fabric at his neck. And pause. It takes effort not to react immediately.
There are two distinct punctures just below the line of his jaw, close together but not perfectly symmetrical.
The surrounding tissue is bruised and torn and bloody, but not in the way I’d expect—too diffuse, the color bleeding in various directions under the skin in a way that feels …
off. His veins are deeply colored, expanding from the wound.
“Did you take a fall?” I ask, because that’s the story I was half-expecting. The mayor said he probably took a drunken fall. I smell a little whiskey. Maybe that’s it.
Finn snorts. “You ever see a fall that looks like that?”
“I’ve seen people fall on worse,” I say, though even as I say it, I know this isn’t an injury from a fall.
“When did this happen?”
“Last night. Made it home and Fred helped me in. Gave me some whiskey for the pain until we decided to come here. He poured some on the wound, too.”
I press lightly around the wound. Silas flinches, a sharp intake of breath.
“Sorry,” I murmur. “I know.”
“It’s fine,” he says, which is clearly a lie.
Finn hands me a piece of gauze and alcohol, and I press it to the punctures.
Blood wells up immediately—dark, thinner than I’d expect—and soaks through faster than it should.
“Huh,” I say, before I can stop myself.
“Huh good or huh bad?” Finn asks, already moving to the cabinets for more gauze.
“Huh interesting,” I reply. “Which is usually code for ‘I don’t like this.’”
“Fantastic.”
“I need to disinfect this wound. Make sure there’s nothing inside the wound like a claw. And do we have saline? IV kits?” I ask.
“Define ‘have,’” Finn says, yanking open a drawer. “Because we’ve got things that resemble those.”
“Resembling is a strong start.”
He brings me a kit. “Best I can do on short notice, Doc.”
I work quickly, cleaning the wound and setting up an IV line. My hands settle into rhythm—muscle memory taking over where thought tries to wander.
“Silas, I’m going to start fluids,” I say. “Your blood pressure’s low.”
“Feels low,” he mutters.
“Good diagnostic instinct.”
His lips twitch. I slide the needle in, secure it, watch the line. Fluid begins to drip, slow and steady.
“Okay,” I breathe. “That’s good.”
I change out the soaked gauze, press fresh pads into place.
The bleeding … doesn’t quite behave. And why is he still bleeding? It’s not spurting, though the injury was from last night. But it’s not slowing the way I’d expect either. It should have clotted up last night. The injury seeps, almost—like the clotting cascade is lagging behind where it should be.
I frown.
“Silas, how long ago did this happen?”
“Last night.”
“Where?”
“The Wilds,” Silas murmurs, eyes still half-closed. “Like I said, after I was attacked, I made my way back to my place, barely. Was lucky, I suspect.”
Finn glances at him. “You were in The Wilds? At sunset? Are you mad?”
Silas looks at him.
“Doing what, for God’s sake?” Finn asks.
Silas’s brow furrows, like the question is harder than it should be. “Getting new lines for my boat from the old storage shed,” he says finally. “Couldn’t wait ‘til morning.”
“We need more information. Like what kind of animals are found in The Wilds,” I say. “Like what could do this to you. We might need to worry about rabies.”
“It wasn’t an animal,” Silas murmurs, eyes closing.
“Don’t encourage him,” Finn adds. “He’ll start telling stories. Long fairy tales. He excels at them.”
“I like stories. You can glean information from them.”
“Yeah, you’re new, doc.”
I press more firmly on the wound, watching, thinking. “Have you had anything like this before?” I ask Silas. “Bleeding issues, I mean? Are you on any medications? Blood thinners maybe?”
He shakes his head, then winces like even that was too much.
“Healthy as they come, New England island stock,” Finn says. “Stubborn, too. Should help.”
“Stubborn doesn’t fix clotting factors.”
“Give it time, doc.”
I glance at him. “You’re very calm about this.”
Finn lifts one shoulder. “We get … interesting cases here, Dr. Russo.”
“I see.”
I reach for a small tray, draw a quick sample of blood to test, more out of habit than expectation. We don’t have a full lab here, but I can at least look. Do some rudimentary tests with the old microscope. Maybe send samples to the mainland in a week on the ferry.
I hold the vial of blood up to the light.
The color is off—not dramatically, not something I’d call out in a textbook—but there’s a faint sheen to it, like the surface is catching light differently.
I tilt it.
For a second, it looks like it separates. Not cleanly. Not in layers. Just a suggestion.
I blink and it’s gone.
“Okay,” I murmur. “Maybe odd.”
“Talking to yourself already?” Finn says. “You’re settling in fast, doc.”
“I’m thinking out loud. Do it a lot,” I mutter, thinking of my talks with Charlie.
I set the vial down, not quite ready to decide what I saw.
Silas’s breathing has evened out a little. Color is still poor, but he’s more stable than when he came in. At least his wound is cleaned and dressed. I cleaned his elbow and knee, too, scraped and slightly bloody. Finn got an ice pack for his bruised cheekbone.
“Okay, Silas, that’s better,” I say. “We’ll keep pressure on the wound, monitor fluids. You’re not going anywhere for a while. You need rest and observation.”
“Wasn’t planning on going anywhere, doc,” he murmurs.
“Good.”
The bell at the front door clangs again.
Finn grins. “See? We’ve been waiting for you.”
“Apparently.”
I peel off my gloves, replace them with a fresh pair. “Stay with him, please,” I tell Finn. “If his blood pressure drops, call me immediately.”
“You got it, boss.”
“I’m not your boss.”
“Give it a week.”
I head for the front with a small smile.
Charlie is already there, like a welcoming committee.
“Hey,” I say softly, resting a hand on his head. “Thanks, boy.”
Welcoming committee, right? She smells weak through the door, Bella.
I open the door quickly. A woman stands there, mid-thirties maybe, with wind-reddened cheeks and a tight grip on the edge of the doorframe like she’s holding herself upright.
“Sorry,” she says quickly. “I heard—there’s a doctor now?”
“There is. That’s me,” I say. “Come in. I’m Dr. Russo. What’s going on?”
“I just … I don’t feel right,” she says, stepping inside. “I thought it was nothing, but it’s been days now and it’s getting worse.”
“In what way?”
“Dizzy. Tired. Like I can’t catch my breath sometimes. And—” she hesitates, embarrassed “—I bruise if I look at something wrong.”
I gesture toward the exam room across the hall from Silas. “Let’s take a look.”
“Nice dog,” she says as she passes. Charlie’s nose lifts, sniffing the air around her.
I guide the woman into the second room, help her onto the chair. “What’s your name?” I ask, reaching for my stethoscope.
“Lena.”
“Okay, Lena. We’ll figure this out.”
I check her vitals. Pulse slightly elevated. Skin pale under the flush. I notice she does not wear a silver necklace.
“Any recent illnesses?” I ask.
“No. I mean, nothing serious. Just … this.”
“Appetite?”
“Normal. I think. But I haven’t felt like eating much.”
“Sleep?”
She hesitates. “Not great.”
“Why not?”
She shrugs. “Just don’t feel rested. Have nightmares. I’m tired even when I wake up.”
I nod, filing it away.
“Let me see your arm,” I say.
She extends it. There are bruises along the inside—small, scattered, not in a pattern that screams trauma. Just … too many. I notice a bandage wrapped around her wrist.
“Have you been injured recently?” I ask, gesturing at her wrist.
“No. Just a … scratch from the other day.”
“Let me see.”
She hesitates and then let’s me take the bandage off. There’s not much there, just the remnants of two marks on her wrist, mostly healed.
“We’ll put a fresh bandage on that.”
Lena seems uncomfortable but nods.
“Any new medications?”
“No.”
I press lightly over one of the bruises. She flinches.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
I step back, thinking.
“Finn,” I call, raising my voice just enough.
“Yeah?” he answers from the other room.
“Once Silas is stable, I’m going to need to run basic bloodwork on Lena.”
There’s a beat of silence.
Then, “Define ‘basic,’” Finn calls back.
“Whatever passes for it here.”
“Ah. So we’re improvising.”
“We’re improvising,” I say.
“Now you sound like one of us. On the first day, too. Impressive, doc.”
I give Lena some water and ask her to relax, then look back toward the doorway that leads to Silas.
Two patients.
Two very different presentations. Are they somehow related? I shake the thought away before it fully forms.
“Okay,” I say, turning back to Lena with a small, reassuring smile. “Let’s start with what we can see. I’ll take your full medical history. You might have anemia but I don’t want to guess. We’ll go from there.”
Behind me, in the other room, I hear Finn’s voice drop lower, something in it less joking, more focused.
I don’t catch the words. But I feel it. That same subtle change in the air I noticed when I stepped off the ferry.
Like something is just slightly out of place.
And I’m the last one to know it.