12. Bella
Chapter twelve
Bella
“Home sweet haunted medical facility,” Finn says, pushing the door open.
“I didn’t call it haunted,” I reply automatically.
“Give it time.”
Charlie comes trotting out from the back hallway like he’s been waiting for us specifically. The moment he spots Finn, his tail starts wagging hard enough to qualify as weather.
“Well,” Finn says, sounding deeply pleased with himself, “clearly I’m the favorite now.”
You have strong snack-provider energy, Charlie informs him generously.
Charlie ignores me completely for a moment, circling once around us before pressing briefly against my leg.
You were gone too long, he says. Something in my chest softens instantly.
“Missed me?”
Moderately.
“Liar.”
Emotionally attached creatures often accuse others of dishonesty, Charlie replies wisely.
Finn snorts. “I don’t know what’s happening right now, but I support it.”
“Good talk, Charlie,” I laugh.
The clinic smells the same as this morning—clean, faintly antiseptic—but there’s something else under it now. Not stronger. Just … noticeable.
I can’t place it.
“Silas?” I call, stepping into the exam room.
Betty steps out of his room. “He’s doing well but is stubborn, as usual.”
“Thanks for staying with him.”
“He’s awake and crochety.”
Sitting up a little more than when I left him, one hand braced against the mattress, the other resting loosely at his side.
“That was quick,” I say, moving closer. “You weren’t this vertical a few hours ago.”
“Don’t like lying down,” he mutters. “Feels like … a sinking ship.”
“That’s not a medical term I love.”
“Didn’t say you would.”
I check his pulse again.
Steady. Stronger, even. Stronger than expected or than it should be in his condition. His color is back, too.
“You’re improving faster than I’d expect.”
He shrugs, then winces. “Island air.”
Finn snorts from the doorway. “Yeah, that’s definitely it.”
I turn back to Silas, gently peeling back the edge of the bandage.
The wound looks … very much better. Cleaner. Less inflamed.
But, I lean closer.
“Hold still,” I murmur.
The edges have shifted. Not dramatically. But enough that I know I’m not imagining it. The tissue looks like it’s begun to close—but not in the slow, predictable way I’d expect.
“What is it, doc?” Finn asks.
“Either he’s healing at a remarkable rate, or I misjudged the severity of the wound.”
Finn raises a brow. “Which one do you think it is?”
“I don’t misjudge wounds,” I say.
“Then congratulations, Silas,” Finn replies. “You’re remarkable. I had no doubts.”
Silas huffs a weak laugh. “Always knew it.”
I straighten, pulling the bandage back into place. “Any dizziness?” I ask.
“Less.”
“Nausea?”
“Gone.”
“Cold?”
He pauses. “Not as much.”
I nod slowly, filing it all away.
He’s better. That should make me feel good. But something is odd.
“Rest,” I say, stepping back. “We’re not pushing anything yet. I want to see how this holds.”
He nods, settling back against the pillow.
As I turn away, something catches my eye. The tray with the blood sample. I move toward it, picking up the vial again.
“Tell me this is normal,” I say, holding it up to the light.
Finn joins me, leaning in. We both go still. The sheen is still there and it’s more noticeable now.
I tilt the vial slightly.
This time, there’s no question.
The contents shift. Not separate. Not fully.
Just … lags at its own pace, defying gravity. Like part of it is moving at a different speed than the rest.
“Okay,” Finn says quietly. “What the heck are we seeing?”
“I’m not sure.”
I lower the vial slowly, setting it back down like it might react to being handled.
“Lena,” I say. “We should check her blood again.”
Finn nods. “Yeah.”
“If this is connected—”
“We don’t know that,” he cuts in.
“I know,” I say. “But if it is—”
“Then we’ve got a bigger problem than one fisherman with bad luck.”
I exhale slowly. “I need better testing. Real labs. Equipment.”
“Supplies come with the ferry,” Finn says. “Once a week.”
“Of course they do.”
Charlie lets out a low sound from the hallway. It’s a little whimper, not a growl or bark. Just an alert.
“What is it?” I ask.
Charlie is standing near the front door, ears forward, body angled like he’s listening to something outside.
“No knock,” Finn says. “No bell.”
Charlie takes a step closer to the door. Then his tail lifts and starts to wag slowly.
A sad friend, that’s all. No worries, Bella.
I move toward the door, a prickle of awareness sliding up my spine.
“Maybe it’s Molly,” I say. “Or a new patient…”
I open the door. But no one’s there. The porch is empty. The street beyond is quiet, the fog hanging just far enough back to leave everything in that same muted clarity.
I step out, scanning left, then right. Nothing.
“Love a mystery visitor,” I mutter. Charlie steps onto the porch beside me, nose lifted, sniffing the air.
Then, he looks up. Not at the street. Not at the square. Up. Toward the cliffs.
I follow his gaze.
The estates sit high above, distant but unmistakable. One of them catches the light. A window. For a moment, I think it’s just reflection.
Then a figure shifts behind the glass. Too far to make out details. Too still to be casual. Watching.
I narrow my eyes, trying to focus. The fog moves. The light changes. The window goes dark. It’s gone from my vision.
I say slowly. “Now we’re officially in unsettling territory.”
Charlie’s tail keeps moving, slow and steady. Like he recognizes something I don’t. Just a protective thing going on, Bella. Mysterious, too.
“Come on, Charlie,” I murmur, stepping back inside and closing the door. I lock it again, out of habit now more than anything.
Finn watches me from the hallway. “You see something?” he asks.
“Probably nothing,” I reply. “Which seems to happen a lot.”
“Welcome to Bloodhaven Cove, doc.”