Free Archetype by M. D. Waters Page A

somehow had not noticed before. “Yes?”
    “I’m afraid I’m going to have to escort you back to your section of the hospital.”
    “I am waiting on Dr. Travista.” I cannot let this man take me back when I am so close.
    “I’m only doing my job, ma’am. Please come with me.”
    Squaring my shoulders, I begin to refuse a second time, but behind me, the hospital room door slides aside. Dr. Travista begins to exit, his head bent to look at a tablet computer he holds. I look past him to the woman sitting in a wheelchair and bite back a gasp. She looks a lot older, her brown hair streaked with gray, but I have stared and stared at her picture for months.
    Jodi. The woman Dr. Travista said died, or so I thought. His exact words were “has been gone,” but how else was I supposed to interpret that? And maybe he had not lied, because she sits limp in a chair, jaw slack, her stare devoid of life.
    I shift my focus to the red coat, who refuses to leave, the moment I see Dr. Travista raise his head in my peripheral.
    “Emma?” He is quick to steer me away by the elbow. “What are you doing here?” He waves off the disgruntled red coat as if batting at a fly.
    “I apologize for bothering you,” I say. I am finding it difficult to focus on the lie I have devised, but I manage what I hope is an apologetic smile. “I saw you enter this room and tried to catch you. Was it okay that I waited?”
    He glances between me and the now shut room. “Of course. What can I do for you?”
    I lift my right hand. “My wrist has been aching a little. From painting, maybe. I was hoping for a pain reliever?”
    We stop in the epicenter. The male staff flow around us like water around rock. I let Dr. Travista examine my wrist, which is perfectly fine, watching him carefully through my lashes. His expression gives nothing away, so I imagine he does not feel caught in his lie. This can only mean I have been successful in fooling him, which is surprising considering I am screaming on the inside. The woman he claims to love, Jodi, is
alive,
and I am dying to find out what has happened to her.
    Dr. Travista releases my hand. “There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong, but we could take some images—”
    “It is only a little throbbing.”
    He studies me for a protracted moment, then nods. “All right. Pain reliever it is, then. But if the pain persists, I will have to insist on images.”
    I nod. “Yes, of course. Thank you.”
    Dr. Travista leads me down the hallway toward his office, and we pass the same lounge with the same beige furniture and red pillows, but one thing is not the same. A girl with a man I have never seen before. She stares out the window over the snow-white day with blank eyes. Her cropped blond hair is short like a man’s and she is very, very thin. I think she is no more than skin over bones.
    Whoa,
She says.
Somebody needs to feed the waif.
    The man wears a nice suit like one Declan might wear. He is not as tall as my husband but is just as well groomed. His face is set into hard lines and every part of me wishes to run, but I am frozen by the sight of yet another woman. After all this time of seeing not a single woman outside my dreams, I see two in one day, and neither of them seems capable of interaction.
    “My name is Chuck,” the man says. “I’m your husband.”
    She does not respond, and his face flushes a deep purple. He slams a palm to the table between them and she does not blink. She only stares.
    Orderlies rush by me, grazing my shoulder, followed soon by Dr. Travista. They move as if I do not exist.
    “Patience,” Dr. Travista tells this man. “You can’t rush her progress, and you must take special care not to frighten her.”
    The orderlies lift the woman from her chair and lead her away.
    A hand slips into mine and I jump. “Declan,” I say breathily, holding a hand over my drumming heart. “When did you arrive?”
    “A little while ago.” He answers me but watches the scene inside