Ravenwild: Book 01 - Ravenwild (4 page)

There was another pause as each man again thought his private thoughts, and Corey said, “Well, thanks again, Doc. That was scary.”

“I’m sure it was, my friend, but as I always say, my kingdom for a happy ending.”

“So are you going fishing?” Corey asked him.

The phone crackled. “Hello … Hello?”

“Nope,” Blake replied. “I’m going to take a nap. Then Orie and Stephanie both have games. Jessica’s going to Stephanie’s and I’m going to Orie’s. Both teams are undefeated, so it should be an absolute hoot.”

“That’s great, Doc. Have fun and tell the kids I said good luck. And thanks again.”

“You’re welcome again. But the real ‘thank-yous’ should be going to A.J. and Jeanette. They deserve them far more than I do.”

“I hear you, Doc. I’ll call them later. I promise.”

“That’d be great. Okay, guy, I’ll catch up with you. I’ll look in on Suzie first thing in the morning. Bye now.”

“Bye Doc. Thanks again.”

He clicked “End” on the cell and thought, “Isn’t it the way. The Doctor gets all of the credit …” When really, he had done very little. A.J. was the man of the moment, not him. Cripes, he had not only gotten the tube in to breathe for her, he had handed him the diagnosis on a platter. So he hadn’t even had to think about it. And Jeanette had once again proven that under the absolute toughest of circumstances in the critical care arena, those being life-saving interventions on a friend, that she was simply the best IV starter in the history of modern medicine. You couldn’t do better than that. He hoped Corey called them. That would mean a lot to A.J. and Jeanette. Prehospital people and nurses hardly ever got the credit they deserved. Wasn’t fair. Oh well.

He slowed down for the exit and turned right onto Route 11. His thoughts turned to the games this afternoon, both against Westerly. These were the big matchups and he could hardly wait. He wished he could go to both games, but since the kids’ games were always on the same day, Jessica and he each alternated so that one parent was at each game. He knew both kids would be pumped. Nothing like the big game to get the old adrenaline going.

He took the exit onto Route 11 at 70 mph or so. He felt the suspension on the Acura tighten as he started into the sharp portion of the curve. “This is a good car,” he thought, “I’m glad we bought this car.”

He bumped it up to 85 as he came out of the curve. Soon he was cruising at a comfortable 90. Nothing but straight, empty highway between him and home now, one of the distinct advantages of practicing in rural Connecticut. No traffic, at least on this particular stretch of road. He zipped under the old railroad bridge on cruise and flipped the radio on. He thought he might catch some news on the recent elections. The preliminary results showed overwhelming defeats by the Republicans, and the Democrats were screaming foul play, of course. After a few moments of boring advertisements, the announcer came on, and he started to pay attention in earnest. It was then that he saw it.

Not good.

Definitely not good.

A motorcycle down, with a rider who had obviously launched and landed face down in the breakdown lane. Dr. Strong was going too fast to be able to note whether or not the rider was breathing, but he definitely wasn’t moving. He checked the rearview and braked hard, but traveling as fast as he was, he was easily a hundred yards beyond the accident scene before he managed to stop. He put it into reverse, all the while eyeing the rearview, and began to back up. It was then that he noticed that the radio had quit. “That’s odd,” he thought. Back he went, as quickly as he could. Back … back … back. “Man,” he thought. “I must have been flying. I thought for sure I would have gotten there by now.” He continued backing up. Nothing. “What the heck?” he thought. He continued back. Nothing. He passed back under the old railroad bridge. “Oh, this is too bizarre,” he said out loud. “I went right by it! I know it was after the bridge.”

It was then that he noticed the odd static coming from the radio, kind of a high-pitched whine. He clicked the radio off, eased it into drive, and started forward again, slower this time. He pushed the “On” button for the radio absentmindedly; same high- pitched whine, otherwise, nothing. He clicked it off again.

“There it is,” he thought. He could see it now, same motorcycle about 30 yards ahead. He gunned it hard and within seconds was at the scene, except the driver, who moments before had been face down in the breakdown lane, was nowhere to be seen. “Oh, come on,” he thought. “Now where the heck did he go?”

It was strange, in that he felt relieved that he really had seen an accident and it was not his mind playing tricks on him because he had been up all night in the ER, but at the same time it bothered him that he had managed to back right by it in broad daylight. And now he had to find the missing driver.

“Hey
!” he called out loudly. “
Can you hear me
?” No response. “
Hey
!
I’m a doctor. I’m here to help you. Is anybody there
?”

Nothing.

“Time to call for some help,” he thought. “If he was well enough to crawl away, I can take the time to call the ambulance.” He scanned the scene while he punched in the speed dial for the hospital on his cell phone. To his surprise, when he put the phone to his ear, all he could hear was the same sound that he had heard seconds before coming from the radio. He tried again. Same thing.

“Oh come on now,” he thought. “Now I have to search for this guy.”

He got out of the car and walked past the demolished motorcycle towards where he had seen the driver down. For the third time all he got on the cell phone was the same static. It was then that he saw the blood. He quickened his pace and soon was standing over an ominous looking pool of bright red blood. He called out again; still no answer. He spied the trail, leading away from the highway, and followed it down into the drainage ditch. It was muddy at the bottom, but across from the muddy spot he could see a clear trail leading up over a small rise and into the woods beyond. Spots of blood dotted the trail as far as he could see.

“Poor guy has a head injury and is disoriented,” he thought. “I hope he isn’t combative. That would be very bad.”

Soon, the going got rough as the trail led into some seriously thick brambles. He was forced to crawl. On his hands and knees, he pushed onward as thorns and such clawed at his face, almost as if they were trying to hold him back.

“Gosh
dang
it,” he cried out as a particularly nasty one ran its way across his cheek, adding a drop of his own blood to the mix. At least it was an obvious trail. He wondered how far this poor fellow was going to lead him off the road. “If this doesn’t beat all heck,” he muttered.

The brambles thinned out and he was able to stand, but the trees were clustered close together, and the going was slow as he focused so as not to lose the trail. He called out again. Silence. He kept onward.

He found himself at the edge of a clearing, and to his amazement, at the far side stood what could only be described as a wizard, dressed in a plain white robe painted with all sorts of strange symbols on the sleeves and front, complete with a long white beard and flowing white hair. He looked as thin as a stick. The wizard spoke first.

“There has been no accident, Doctor,” he said, “I’m sorry to have had to stage that, but I’m afraid it is absolutely necessary that we speak in total privacy. ”His voice had a soft quality, slightly accented. It sounded almost British, or perhaps Australian.

“First of all,” Dr. Strong responded, “who the heck are you, and what the heck are you talking about? I know what I saw, and there surely has been an accident. I just followed a very clear blood trail of the victim up over that hill, and he is obviously seriously disoriented and in need of emergency medical attention. Second, I don’t know where you escaped from, but you had better either point me in his direction, or help me find him, or you’re going to be in serious trouble.”

“To answer your first question, sir, my name is immaterial. You may call me Hemlock if you like. Hemlock Simpleton, even. To answer your second question, ‘What the heck are you talking about?’ it is as I have said. There has been no accident. I repeat, it was all staged so that you and I could speak in private about a matter of the utmost importance. Please believe me. Many, many lives depend on us, on
you
really.” Almost as an afterthought he added, “And on Jessica as well.”

At this point Dr. Strong realized he was going to get nowhere with this nutcase and he called out again,
“Hello! Can you hear me? I’m a doctor. You need help!”
He heard nothing.

Hemlock spoke again. “Doctor. Please. Two things: First, I beg of you to not call out again. There are ears who might be listening whom we cannot afford to have hearing us speak. Second, if you would please look at your feet. You'll notice, I’m sure, that the blood trail, indeed the trail itself, ends where you now stand.”

And then there was what might best be described as a flash, although there was no light, and the world went black.

It was the strangest thing. He was wide-awake, but he could see nothing in the total and complete blackness that surrounded him. He tried to touch his finger to his nose. Oddly, he felt like he was moving normally, but he felt nothing.

“Hemlock,” he said. “Are you here?”

“I am,” came the reply.

“Do you mind answering my second question again?”

“You mean, ‘What the heck are you talking about?’”

“Very good,” said Dr. Strong. “That was indeed my second question.”

“Well, that is sort of complicated.”

“Okay, then, let’s start by you telling me where we are,” he said. “This is all starting to tick me off.”

“I don’t think you’ll believe me,” said Hemlock.

“Try me.”

“We are in an acorn.”

“Now what the heck does that mean?” barked Dr. Strong.

“Exactly what I said,” replied Hemlock. “You recall that the clearing in which we were standing was surrounded predominantly by oak trees? Well, that being the case, I had a pressing need to hide us from the owner of those same ears about whom I spoke a minute ago, and one of the acorns that happened to be lying about was the most expedient means to that end.”

There was a pause in the conversation. This was too extraordinary for Dr. Strong to get a handle on. The accident, the radio malfunction, then the cell phone, the wizard, and now this, the darkness, trapped in some cosmic void with seemingly no body, with a most bizarre individual who referred to himself as Hemlock Simpleton. It was too much, way too much. Being an Emergency Room physician, he had found himself in the company of some very strange characters and situations over the last ten years, but this was so beyond anything he had ever experienced; he found himself incapable of any further speech until his intellect could make some sense of it all. Yet, try as he might, he could not. He again tried to move. This time he chose his arms, and while it felt like they were moving, the simple act of bringing his hands together elicited no sense of touch. He tried to put his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Nada.

“Hemlock,” he finally said. “I can’t feel anything. I mean, it’s like I have no body.”

“I know,” Hemlock replied. “And you must believe me when I tell you that you’re handling it quite well. By way of explanation, let me say that, for the moment, you don’t, at least in the conventional sense. As I said, we are in an acorn. I have temporarily stored your body in another place. Now please do not be nervous. It is a temporary circumstance.”

“Can you please tell me how you have done this?” he asked.

“That, I’m afraid, would take considerable explanation, far too lengthy that one. I’m afraid we don’t have the time, Doctor.”

“Well, can you tell me why an acorn?” he asked.

“Yes, but again, the explanation would take up far too much of the time we have at our disposal.”

“I see,” he said.

“Now that,” Hemlock chuckled. “Now that really
would
be strange.”

There was another long silence. This time it was Hemlock who broke it.

“Your name is Dr. Blake Lee Strong. You were born in Thayer Hospital, now known as the Mid-State Medical Center, in Waterville, Maine on December 2, 1970. You did your undergraduate studies at Colby College, also in Waterville, Maine, despite the fact that your parents had moved to Massachusetts when you were three, right after your father completed
his
undergraduate studies, also at Colby. You have a brother, Daniel, eighteen months your senior, who currently resides in Woburn, Massachusetts. He is married to his second wife, Jocelyn. You also have two sisters, Susan and Jane. Susan is older. Jane is younger. Shall I go on? I can, you know.”