Later that Friday morning, Sarah stared at her reflection in the mirror above the bathroom sink. Two pumpkin-orange eyes stared back.
"You all right?" came a voice at the door.
Sarah rubbed her aching tail bone and turned her head towards her husband. "I'm fine."
"You still look a little pale."
Sarah turned away from the mirror. "I don't know why I reacted so badly earlier. Laura didn't have that strong an aversion to the smell of cooking meat at this point."
"Well, the sausages do smell kind of strong when they're frying," said Harold.
"You may have to take over part of the cooking for now," said Sarah. "I'd consider just dropping meat from the menu completely, but I don't want to deprive those who can still eat it."
"At least for as long as they can," Harold murmured.
"I feel most sorry for you. You love steak so much."
"Not that we've been able to afford it lately, so maybe it kind of works out."
"I wish I could look on the bright side of things as much as you do."
Harold rubbed the back of his neck. "Not so much looking on the bright side as being practical."
Sarah glanced at herself in the mirror. "And me wanting to leave town is not practical," she said in a flat voice.
"I never said that."
"Not directly." Sarah stepped closer to her husband. "You're right, anyway. It's not practical."
"My point is that any place is as good as any other," said Harold. "Yeah, okay, I found out that was wrong about a hospital turning us away. I feel stupid about that."
Sarah shook her head and stepped past Harold into the hallway. "It's fine, you had a lot of other good reasons."
Harold stepped behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. "If I thought going somewhere else would help, I'd do it in a heartbeat. I'd do anything to figure this out."
Sarah took a deep breath. "I know why I wanted to leave town. I wanted to run away from the problem. That's all I have been doing. I've been running away from all of our problems."
Harold gently squeezed her shoulders. "Sarah, stop."
"It's true. I run off to digs whenever I feel pressured by family. I immerse myself in my career and let you handle the children."
"I think you're being too hard on yourself," said Harold.
Sarah turned to face him. "But you've seen it, too. You've all but come out and said that I inject too much of my career into family matters."
"Maybe I have said stuff like that before," said Harold. "But what happened that's made you start worrying about it so much?"
Sarah hesitated. "It's Laura. I put too much responsibility in her hands."
Harold gave her a perplexed look. "How do you figure that?"
"Look what I did concerning Jenny! Instead of dealing with her issues myself, I foisted her off on Laura. I didn't consider how Laura might feel. I made the assumption that she'd keep being the good little responsible daughter. I didn't even stop to ask if I was imposing on her."
"I did wonder why you changed what we had originally agreed upon for Jenny's punishment," said Harold in a delicate voice.
"I felt that grounding her was a lame punishment considering what she had done," said Sarah. "But what I came up with was worse. I should be the one supervising her, not Laura."
"Or you could've asked me to do it."
"I didn't want to take you away from trying to connect with Bob. That's important to you."
"Except Bob doesn't want to connect with me, so it's a moot point," said Harold.
"Regardless, this should be my responsibility," said Sarah. "It took Laura crying her eyes out when she woke up with a tail to make me realize that. Even then, I was so proud of her for insisting on going to school anyway! She needed comforting more than she needed to be responsible."
"I think you're mistaking a coping mechanism for a problem," said Harold. "Ever since that tornado years ago, she's ... hang on a sec." He pulled out his vibrating cell phone from his shirt pocket and stared. "The hell?"
"What is it?"
"It's ... it's my Dad."
Sarah's eyes widened. "Well, answer it, for God's sake!"
Harold turned away from Sarah and thumbed the answer button, bringing the phone to his ear as he retreated into his office. "Uh, hello?"
"Son," said a deadpan voice at the other end of the line.
Harold's hand tightened around the phone as he closed the door to his office. The single syllable seemed to settle around his shoulders like a lead weight as he fell into his chair. "Hi, Dad," Harold said in a neutral voice.
"I'm gonna get right to the point," said George Tanner. "You gotta get out here."
Harold shielded his eyes with his hand. "We've been over this, and if you had actually read my last letter--"
"Just shut up for two seconds and listen to your father."
Harold's jaw tightened. "Fine. What is it?"
When George spoke again after a pause, his voice was less combative. "Your sister Mary is down with the flu. So are most of the hired hands. I got almost no one here."
"Did Mary tell you anything about the last time we talked?"
"Yeah, she did," George said in a wary voice. "What of it?"
"Did she tell you that I'm dealing with a situation concerning my family?"
"What, you mean that stupid hair thing?"
Harold frowned. "It's a lot worse that that."
"Then why the hell hasn't there been shit about it on TV?"
"It's all over the internet," Harold said.
"Maybe I'm a little dumb when it comes to using computers, but I'm smart enough to steer clear of that porn-infested cesspool."
"There has to be something about it on the news!" Harold exclaimed.
George paused. "Maybe there was a bit piece on it," he said in a lower voice. "But all they can talk about is the damn flu, and I don't need some dumb blond reading a teleprompter to inform me about that."
"Then I guess it just hasn't made the big news yet," said Harold in exasperation.
"Uh-huh. Tell me another one."
"Dad--"
"No, you listen to me, son," George declared. "If I don't get people here helpin' me, this farm is gonna go under."
"So is that the only reason you called me after refusing my calls and returning my letters?" Harold said. "To beg for help?"
"I'm not begging!" George thundered. "A Tanner man doesn't beg! I'm remindin' you of your responsibility."
Harold ran a hand through his hair.
"I'm not asking for much," George said. "Two weeks, three tops. Mary will be back on her feet by then, and so will most of the hired hands. If I don't come down with this flu crap myself, that is."
"You're asking for more than you think," said Harold in a low voice.
"You telling me you've gone so soft you can't handle an honest day's work?"
"That's not what I mean."
"Then explain it to your poor country hick of a father."
Harold forced himself to remain calm. Blowing up at his father was not going to get him anywhere. Could he trust what George was telling him? Was his father really in such dire straits, or was this just another sympathy ploy?
Harold glanced at the returned letter, his teeth grinding. He had tried to explain everything in that missive, how he was still dealing with lingering guilt over leaving the farm years ago, and that returning for even a short time would not help. He wondered now if it had been a lost cause from the start; his father was not stupid, but his view of the world was simplistic.
Harold knew he had to take that step eventually, and under other circumstances, this would be an opportunity. He could claim he had to go, simply because he didn't want to see his father's farm fail. "Dad, almost my whole family here is affected by this. We don't even know how far it's going to progress or what it's going to do to us."
"How the hell is a change in damn hair color--"
"I told you, it's more than that!" Harold curled his fingers into his blue hair. "I'm affected by this as well. I have no idea what kind of shape I'll be in to do any work after I'm out there."
Harold shuddered as he realized he could not look into the future as far as a week and make any definitive statement about the well-being of his family.
"You don't sound sick to me," George said.
"That doesn't change the fact that I'm not going to leave my family in a lurch like this."
"Why the hell not? You did it before. What's one more time?"
"This is not the same situation, not by a long shot."
"If you're so worried about your family," said George. "Then bring them with you. I don't have a lot of room here, but if they bring camping gear, they can make do."
His heart ached as he thought of Laura. From colored hair to a tail in only a week. What was going to happen to her tomorrow? Or next week? "I'm sorry. I just can't do it."
"Son, don't abandon your father again."
If the statement had come with the vitriol which usually accompanied it, Harold would have been justified in telling his father off. Instead, it had come as a soft plea.
Yet didn't George still have neighbors? Surely the other farms and ranches had people to spare. Or was his father still too proud and stubborn to ask for that sort of help? Harold tried to tell himself what Sarah would say: his father's attitudes were not his problem.
"Dad," Harold said in a soft voice. "If things were different, if I even knew what my kids were going to look like in the morning, I'd--"
"What the hell are you talking about?" George demanded.
Harold wanted to believe he sensed some genuine concern behind the incredulity. "Laura is worst off. She has a tail."
"A what?"
"A tail," said Harold. "And a person who got this before her may have some sort of ... of animal ears. That means it could happen to Laura next. We--"
"What kind of shit is this?!" George shouted. "If you're gonna make up some excuse not to help me, at least make it believable! What kind of fool do you take me for?!"
"I wish I were making this up!" Harold snapped. "I'd love to wake up in the morning and find out this was some sort of gag and that everything is back to normal."
"I should've known this was useless," George grumbled. "And you know what? If you're not gonna be a proper son, you're useless, too."
The line went dead.
Harold clenched his teeth until his jaw ached. The plastic of the cell phone casing made a slight crackling noise as his trembling hand gripped it like a vise until he forced himself to relent. He stared at the cell phone for a long moment before shoving it back in his pocket.
Harold clenched a hand into a fist and resisted the urge to bring it crashing down on the top of his desk. He instead set it down with only a dull thump. "I am not useless," he murmured, but he had only to reflect on what was happening to his family to rattle his confidence in that statement.
He took a deep breath and bolted out of his chair and into the hall. Sarah emerged from her office. "Harry? Are you okay? I heard you yelling--"
"I need to go out," Harold said in a curt voice. "I need to clear my head."
"Can I come with you?"
Harold's first instinct was to refuse, but he cast that to the wayside when he saw the pleading look in her eyes. "Sure," he said in a softer voice. "I guess we could both use some air."
Heather paused a moment to steel herself before picking up the phone. "Doctor Conner's office, please hold," she repeated several times as she cycled through each incoming line before returning to the first. "Thank you for waiting. What can I do for you?"
A nervous male voice answered, "You can tell me what's really going on with old man Turner."
Heather assumed her best diplomatic voice. "If you're referring to Mr. Fred Turner, that's not information I can give you."
"The news is all over town! Why can't you just tell me if it's true?!"
"Sir, regardless of what you may or may not have heard, I cannot release medical data on other patients without proper authorization."
"They're calling him 'horse-man' Turner. Is that what he really looks like?"
Heather hesitated as compassion warred with protocol in her head. "Once again, I cannot comment on another patient's condition. HIPAA regulations are very clear on this point."
"Oh, to hell with regulations! I have two boys with tails. My wife is getting frantic."
"I am truly sorry to hear that, sir, but--"
"Can you at least tell me what to expect?" said the man, his voice now more pleading than angry. "Are ... a-are they actually going to get hooves??"
"We are still trying to figure this out. We cannot make any definitive statements on the course of this condition." Heather had made it a point since these calls started to be careful with her terminology. Despite the state referring to it as a "disease," she specifically used more innocuous sounding words like "condition."
"But it is going to get much worse, isn't it?"
"We don't know that."
"Then why would the police start enforcing a curfew? Do they know something we don't? Do you??"
Heather let out a sigh through her nose and hoped it didn't get picked up over the phone. "You know as much as we do at this point."
"Can you at least tell me what's okay to feed the boys?" the man said. "They can't eat meat anymore. One of them tried a bit of chicken last night and just barfed it back up. I don't want to risk poisoning them!"
"Doctor Conner's recommendation is not to feed them anything they have a strong aversion to. Most patients with meat aversion report being able to eat eggs and cheese so long as they didn't have any existing allergies or intolerance. Besides dietary advice, we can also help patients choose mineral supplements to make up for any other losses. That's all we can do right now."
"This is just so confusing. They don't even feel sick. None of us do."
Heather tugged one of her own crystal cyan curls into view before saying in a softer voice, "That's something you can focus on now. Other than these odd symptoms, everyone with this seems to be healthy in most other respects."
The man sighed. "It's just hard to talk to my wife about this when she keeps asking what we should do to fix this or stop it."
"The best thing you can do right now is to remain calm. There's no need for panic. We have physicians at the state level looking into this intently. They've promised us help."
"I really hope that help comes soon," the man said in a forlorn voice.
"I'm sure it will," said Heather in as optimistic a voice as she could muster. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"
"No, I guess not. Thank you for your time."
"Good day," said Heather before hanging up. She glanced at the lights for the lines on hold before lifting her gaze to the waiting room. A few people suddenly looked away, but the worried look on their faces was still obvious. She heard the distant sound of a door closing. She rushed to the back and intercepted Kevin as he headed to his office.
"I'm seeing more of those additional symptoms that seem to be unique to certain patients," said Kevin as he entered his office. "Three more with upper back and shoulder pain, two more with headaches, five more with neither."
"Kevin, we may have a problem," said Heather.
Kevin fell into his chair. "You mean besides having more patients than we can handle who we can't do a damn thing for?" he said in a slightly sour voice.
"I've been fielding calls all morning from people wanting to know if they're going to start looking like Turner soon."
Kevin paused as he was about to slip on his reading glasses. "I beg your pardon?"
"They're even calling him 'horse-man Turner'. Someone must've seen him yesterday."
"It couldn't have been more than one or two people, not with as quickly as Janet had shepherded him between the car and the office."
"Perhaps, but in a small town like this, that's all it takes," said Heather. "I'm trying to talk them down, but it's getting harder." She summarized her most recent call. "I'm thinking that the curfew is scaring folks."
Kevin leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. "I wonder if I was mistaken in going to Chief Barrows. He seems like the sort of person who would take a cannon to a duck hunt."
"We're going to have to do something," said Heather. "Even if it's just to record a new greeting message to give people some sort of reassurance. Maybe it will cut down on the number of calls."
Kevin nodded. "All right."
"And another thing," said Heather. "Maybe we should say that if they don't have anything more than the known symptoms that they should just stay home."
"That sounds like triaging," Kevin said in a wary voice.
"Well, I guess in a way, it is."
"We're not an emergency service, Heather. I prefer not to discourage anyone from seeing me."
"But do you really need to see your umpteenth person with a tail when we already know that's a symptom? All you can do is confirm, yep, they have a tail and send them on their way unhappy that you can't do anything for them. You've already sent in a dozen more hair and blood samples. Why not tell them to wait until they have a new symptom?"
"And have them be even less happy if they can't see me at all? Especially with the hospital and clinics backed up?"
"But what are you really offering them?"
"Maybe a chance to talk to a human being who cares about their predicament," Kevin snapped. "That has to count for something!"
"I just don't want to see you either frustrate yourself or stress yourself out."
"I am not stressing out!"
"Yes, you are," Heather said. "Just the fact that you raised your voice to me is proof."
Kevin stared at her for a moment before rubbing his temples. "I'm terribly sorry, Heather," he said in a more contrite voice.
Heather smiled faintly. "I can take people yelling at me, it's just very unusual to hear it from you. Even at the height of the flu outbreak, you managed to keep your spirits up."
"It helped I was dealing with something familiar."
"Not to mention that we knew about when it would be over." Heather paused. "I'm sorry I suggested triaging."
Kevin stood and shook his head. "No, I understand where you're coming from. I'm hoping we need to hold the fort for only another day. Once a public health emergency is declared, we'll get an influx of physicians who can take some of the load." Kevin smiled. "Maybe we'll even get a day or two off."
Heather slowly smiled. "I could use it, believe me."
Harold led Sarah on a largely silent romp through many of the nature trails and hiking paths surrounding the town despite the blanket of wet snow that had fallen the night before. Sarah had tried not to complain; Harold needed to work off his head of steam. A panting Sarah finally leaned her back against a tree and called out. "Harry, please, I have to stop, my legs ache something awful!"
Harold turned around, snow crunching as he walked over to her. "What, already?"
Sarah stared. "Seriously? It's been over an hour."
"It has?"
"You're not the least bit winded tromping through all this thick snow?"
"Not really, no."
Sarah grinned. "And here I thought being cooped up in the house would've made you soft."
Harold frowned.
Sarah's grin faded. "Sorry. Did I hit a nerve?"
"Sort of. Not your fault."
"Care to tell me what happened with your father?"
Harold rubbed the back of his neck and stepped closer to his wife. "I know you said you're tired, but let's walk back to town. We can go slow if you want. I'm just still too restless to keep standing still."
Sarah sighed but nodded as she pushed herself from the tree. "Please, talk to me."
Haltingly, Harold summarized the conversation with his father.
"If it helps any, I think you made the right decision," said Sarah.
"I'd like to think I did," Harold said in a neutral voice.
"Of course, you did. You can't leave your family at a time like this. I'd have something to say about it if you had decided otherwise."
"But we could've all gone together," said Harold.
Sarah frowned. "When I said I wanted to leave Lazy Pines, it was to seek treatment, not be conscripted into manual labor."
"You and the kids could've gone into a hospital. I could stay on the farm and help Dad."
"No, Harry."
Harold said nothing, and for a while the only sound was their feet crunching on the snow.
"First of all, we have no idea if this condition is going to do something to us to make us unable to ... to do things," Sarah said, waving her hand vaguely. "He also had no business telling you that you're useless. Just on that alone, I wouldn't want to set foot in his house."
"I didn't care for it much either," said Harold in a low voice.
"And you don't believe him, do you?"
"I'm trying not to." Harold looked at Sarah. "I'm mostly succeeding, but I still want to help him. If he really doesn't have anyone, I want to do something."
"Harry, you don't have to--"
"No, Sarah, I said want to, not have to," said Harold. "I'm going to try to find out who his neighbors are and contact them. I'll ask them if they'd be willing to help my Dad."
"And if he won't accept their help?"
Harold's words were a bit forced as he said, "Then his attitude is his problem."
They continued in silence until they reached the edge of town. "We should swing by the grocery store," said Sarah. "We're running low on vegetables."
"Right."
As they reached the denser part of town, Sarah looked around with a mix of concern and bemusement. More people than not had some form of discolored hair, and she suspected some had tails; either they wore long coats to cover it, or walked oddly, or had a telltale bulge in the back of one pant leg.
Those that did not have the condition were more noticeable, and not just for their lack of symptoms. Many walked slightly hunched, arms pressed tight to their bodies, often their hands thrust into their pockets. One such person appeared ahead, walking towards them. He looked up, hesitated, then ducked his head and crossed the street.
"Did you see that?" Sarah said.
"Huh?" said Harold. "See what?"
"The fellow who was walking towards us. I think he deliberately avoided walking near us. Does he think we're contagious or something?"
"Maybe not everyone's heard Doctor Conner's theory."
Sarah was about to reply when she spotted a group of people clustered on a street corner. All had discolored hair, and one had a tail hanging down from a notch cut in his pants. A van with a satellite dish atop it was parked just around the corner. The group slowly broke up, revealing a man with dark hair and no obvious symptoms. A lighter-haired man stood near him carrying a large video camera.
"Harry, wait," Sarah said as she slowed. "Look over there."
Harold stopped and turned. The group had thinned enough for them to see the logo emblazoned on the side of the van: "9News Denver". The dark-haired man pointed at Sarah and Harold and said something to his cameraman before they both started jogging across the street.
Sarah's eyes widened. "Harry, maybe we should just continue on our way."
"Excuse me, ma'am, sir?" the man called out.
"I'm not sure we should do this," Sarah murmured.
"Why not?" said Harold. "Maybe if this gets picked up nationally, my father will actually believe me."
"I don't want that to be the reason we--" Sarah started, but she fell silent as the two men reached them.
The dark-haired man smiled. "I'm Bruce Donner with 9News in Denver. Would you folks be kind enough to agree to be interviewed?"
"Hey, Jenny, wait up!"
Jenny had just stepped away from her locker and turned to head to the exit when she whirled around at the sound of the familiar voice. She smiled as she brushed strands of pink hair from her eyes. "Finally, you have to catch up with me for a change."
James smirked as he approached. "Very funny."
Jenny grinned. "I should've just kept going and made you run after me."
James rolled his eyes. "I'm not doing any running with this damn tail stuffed down my pants."
"It's grown longer, huh?" Jenny said in a softer voice. "Same thing happened to Laura."
"After having it tug on my tail bone one too many times earlier, I was tempted to take a pair of scissors into the bathroom and just cut it off," James muttered.
"Laura had cut all of it off just before going to bed last night," said Jenny. "It all came back this morning."
"I heard some other girl tried to shave off all the hair on her head."
"Yeah, that was Josie. It all grew back the next morning just as purple as it was before."
James' eyes widened. "That's beyond weird."
"You mean weirder than the idea we're turning into ponies?" said Jenny.
James scratched his head. "I kinda wish I'd never brought that up."
"I kinda wish you hadn't, either."
James frowned but said in a low voice, "Sorry."
Jenny sighed and shook her head. "No, forget I said that. You just repeated the same rumor everyone else did. It doesn't matter. It's not gonna happen."
James' eyebrows rose. "And you're so sure of that?"
"Yeah, I am."
"Why?"
"Because it's stupid," Jenny declared.
"Jenny, things don't fail to happen just because you think they're stupid."
"No, you don't get it. It's stupid because the world is not supposed to work like that."
James gave her a perplexed look. "I don't follow you."
Jenny hesitated. "You remember what I told you once, about how the real world is boring, and that's why I do what I do?"
James remembered the exact day she had told him. He had felt it was a sort of milestone in their budding relationship. "Yeah, I remember. I thought you'd want the world to be a little more interesting."
"Not in that way!" Jenny snapped. "It's fun when it's just in my head. It's not supposed to be real. It can't be real."
James heard the quaver that crept into Jenny's voice, and his expression softened. "I'm sorry, I didn't know this was frightening you."
"It's not! I'm not frightened. Are you?"
"Yeah, a little," said James. "The world was already a scary place before this, but--"
Jenny waved her hands. "No, don't talk to me about things like politics or world events. Maybe other people think that makes the world scary, but I don't see the point of worrying about that sort of stuff."
"I don't claim to lose sleep over it," said James.
"But other people do, and I don't want to be one of those people."
"It kinda sounds like you want to wish this away."
"No, it's not that." Jenny hesitated, as if searching for words. "It's more like I don't want it to affect what I like to do."
"Is that why you've been using what's happening as inspiration?"
Jenny shrugged. "I always get inspired by stuff around me. I just don't like reality getting too close to fantasy."
James glanced at the clock on the wall. "I hate to cut off this deep discussion, but I still have to head straight home from school, and I wanted to talk to you about something."
"Sure, go ahead," said Jenny, eager to change the topic.
"I have an idea how we can hang out together tomorrow."
Jenny slowly smiled. "Really?"
"I'm planning on telling my mother that I'm going to spend part of the day with my friend Ken playing video games," James explained. "I got Ken to swear up and down that I'll be there."
"What if she tries to call Ken's house to check on you?"
"Ken's going to claim I'm in the bathroom and that he'll have me call her back," said James. "Then he'll call me to let me know, and I can call Mom back on my phone."
"What if your mother insists on waiting on the phone for you to get out of the bathroom?" Jenny asked.
"Then Ken will go to his backup plan and claim his battery's low."
"I'm not sure that's going to fool her."
James grinned. "My mother is a little technology-challenged, and I'm taking shameless advantage of it."
Jenny smirked. "So you're starting to think like me."
"Oh, I hope not!"
Jenny playfully punched his arm. "Oh, sure, you arrange for a secret rendezvous with the peasant girl and then you insult her. Some hero you are."
James chuckled. "So you think you can meet me at the park around ten without Laura in tow?"
Jenny looked thoughtful. "Let me see what I can do. The peasant girl will have to avoid the watchful eye of the evil sorceress while she tries her wiles on the knight."
James smirked. "Translation: you're going to bypass your Mom and sweet-talk your Dad."
"Pretty much, yeah."
"Well, I wish you luck with that," said James. "I better get going. I'll see you tomorrow."
Jenny smiled. "See you."
As dusk deepened to twilight, Kevin yawned and stretched his neck before opening the door and returning to his patient. A young woman sat at the end of the examination table, playing nervously with a lock of magenta hair. Kevin eased himself into a chair, trying not to look as tired as he felt. "So I did receive a copy of the ultrasound you had."
Carol forced a small smile as she lay a hand on her swollen belly. "They, um, said it was normal."
"Yes, your son appears perfectly healthy."
Carol's eyes looked slightly distant. "That was done a week ago."
"The hospital is a bit backed up, and paperwork is not quite a priority right now."
"That's not what I mean, Doctor Conner," Carol said in a flat voice.
Kevin had anticipated and dreaded this conversation the moment he saw Carol had made an appointment. While he had taken a rotation in obstetrics and gynecology during his medical training -- like most physicians specializing in family medicine -- he preferred that his pregnant patients see an OB/GYN, but Carol's was out of town on vacation that week. He assumed she came to him not so much for medical reasons as emotional support.
"I didn't have these weird symptoms then," said Carol in a quavering voice. "I-I wouldn't have worried about it, but then I heard about Turner, and when I woke up with a tail this morning, I--"
Kevin stood and placed his hand over hers. "Carol, it's okay, I understand. A lot of people are worried about this."
Carol took a deep breath. "I was so freaked out when I came down with the flu. Now I want to laugh at how upset I got. It's almost nothing compared to this."
"As far as we know, this is not adversely affecting anyone's health. Even the aversion to meat can be compensated for in the diet by--"
"That's not really what I'm concerned about. I'm only four months along. What am I going to become when I'm ready to give birth? What am I going to give birth to?!"
"Your son," said Kevin firmly. "Nothing more and nothing less."
Carol hesitated, her eyes glistening. "But ... what if ... what if this changes us so much that I can't care for him? Or that I won't even know how to care for him?"
The honest answer was that he didn't know, but he knew that's not what Carol wanted to hear. "Help will be on the way long before then. I've already spoken to state officials myself. I'll make absolutely sure they understand your situation."
Carol shuddered and let out a ragged breath. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "S-sorry, Doctor Conner, my husband told me this wasn't going to accomplish anything but ... I had to talk to someone about it. He keeps avoiding the subject."
Kevin squeezed her hand. "I know you're scared, but it won't do you or your child any good to panic. Are you having any difficulties specific to your pregnancy?"
She shook her head. "It's going really smooth, actually." She managed a tiny smile. "Kinda nice considering this is my first. I just hope ... when I give birth that ... he'll still be ... um ..." She bit her lip. "Never mind. You're right, I have to keep calm."
Like Heather earlier, compassion battled responsibility in Kevin's head. The Department of Health would want data on how this may be affecting unborn children, but Carol's ability to cope seemed to be hanging by a thread. "When does your obstetrician get back?"
"Monday," said Carol. "I already made an appointment with her."
Kevin would let her OB/GYN order another ultrasound. By then, the state would likely be more directly involved, and she could get the procedure in a more reasonable amount of time than Kevin ever could. He could live with that compromise.
"I just got a little spooked when I heard about Turner." Carol sighed. "Okay, a lot spooked."
"Take rumors with a grain of salt," said Kevin. "I always find that to be sound advice."
Kevin hated how close to outright lying that sounded to his ears, but the last thing Carol's baby needed was for her mother to be constantly stressed. He was rewarded with a small smile. "Thank you, doctor, I really appreciate this. Sorry if I had to keep you so late."
Kevin smiled gently. "You're my last patient, if that helps any."
After finishing up with her, he headed back to his office and to the mountain of data he needed to sift through for his next report to the Department of Health.
Heather knocked softly on his door before letting herself in. "I was going to head out if you didn't need me for anything."
"I should be okay," said Kevin in a listless voice.
"You sure?"
Kevin smiled wanly. "Not really, but nothing can be done about it."
"Do you need help entering data for your last patients?"
"I don't have much to enter for Carol. All she really wanted was reassurance." Kevin frowned. "What little I could give her."
Heather placed a hand on his shoulder. "Kevin, you did your best. You sure you don't need help?"
"All I have left to do is report my latest findings to the Department of Health."
"Promise me you won't work past eight?"
Kevin opened his mouth to protest, but softened his gaze. "I promise."
Heather gave him a small smile. "Thank you. Good night." She started out of the office, but paused and sighed. "Oh, for heaven's sake."
Kevin looked up. "What is it?"
"Janet Turner just walked in."
Kevin leaned back in his seat. "Send her in, please."
"This time of night?"
"It's likely about her father. Send her in, and you can head on home. And, yes, I promise not to stay up too late."
Heather headed away. Kevin heard muffled conversation, then heeled shoes approaching his office. Janet poked her head in. "Kevin? I'm really sorry for how late it is, but--"
Kevin shook his head and gestured for her to come while he suppressed a yawn. "It's okay, though I do wish you had contacted me earlier."
"I had planned to," said Janet as she sat down. "But I spent a chunk of the afternoon playing phone tag with my lawyer and talking to the police. I started feeling so fatigued I had to lie down for a bit."
"We're all starting to feel a little frayed around the edges," said Kevin. "What did the police want?"
Janet frowned. "They wanted more details on his mental state. I think they're looking for an excuse to take him into custody." She sighed. "I know they're just doing their job, but I don't want to see my father get hurt."
Kevin could appreciate Janet's worry, but as he had with Carol earlier, he had to find a way to balance sympathy with his responsibilities to the public. "Did you have a chance to look in on your father today?"
"For a little while this morning, before he became agitated and asked me to leave."
"What's his condition like?"
"He's a little more hunched over. He had some fur on his arms. His hands looked like they were a bit stiff, but that could've been just his arthritis acting up." From Janet's shudder, it was clear she didn't believe that last part.
"How's his mobility?" Kevin asked.
"I'm rather surprised and a little frightened by how well he can get around on those hooves."
Kevin scrubbed his face with both hands. He had not realized how tired he was until he was forced to focus on this. "Janet, I really wish I could just call for an ambulance and admit him to the hospital, because right now that's his best bet."
"But that's the problem, Kevin," Janet said. "If he doesn't want to leave, there's almost no way to get him out of there without hurting him."
"He's not going to have a choice," said Kevin. "The state wants him in a proper medical facility and have the legal weight to back them up."
"His place is fortified. He claims he has booby traps everywhere. His air is filtered, and he has enough food and water to last a month long siege, and that's even taking into account the food stores he can't eat anymore. I need to get him out of there under his own will."
"He can be isolated in-house," said Kevin in an exasperated voice. "He just needs to let physicians examine him and--"
"He won't, unless he's forcibly restrained, and there's still the problem of getting to him. That's why I came to see you."
"What can I possibly do?"
"Would you come and see him? He might let you examine him."
"What gives you that idea?"
"Because he holds some measure of respect for you," said Janet.
"He didn't show it in the office."
"It was something he said to me later when I brought him home. He said 'I could almost believe he was telling the truth.'"
Kevin managed a small smile. "Not exactly a ringing endorsement, but better than I was expecting."
"He respects you because you showed him nothing but the utmost respect, even when he was raving at you," said Janet. "He hasn't seen that from anyone in a long time."
"All right, say I do go see him," Kevin said. "What do you hope to accomplish?"
"If he lets you examine him, maybe you can gain his confidence and try to convince him to seek help," said Janet. "If he goes willingly, then no one has to force him out of there."
"I suppose anything is worth a shot, but as much as I would want to do it now, I am absolutely exhausted."
"So am I," said Janet. "And my father retires early and gets up before the dawn, so tomorrow morning would be better anyway."
"I'm planning on keeping just my normal afternoon Saturday hours tomorrow, so my morning will be free. Should I meet you at your hotel?"
"Yes, please," Janet said. "We should head over in my car so he sees something familiar on the surveillance cameras." She smiled. "Thank you for doing this, Kevin. You can't imagine how much I appreciate it."