Rafe’s model double helix was finished and sat once more on top of his desk next to his Titans football signed by Steve McNair. They usually watched TV on Friday nights. It was a treat for the boys since he had a no-TV rule during the week.
Rafe fell asleep in the middle of Law & Order, his head on Dix’s leg. Rob, sixteen, long and skinny, was slouched in his favorite chair, snoring lightly. His hair was as black as Dix’s but his eyes were his mom’s blue-green. I’m the old man here in the room, Dix thought, and I’m the only one awake. It made him wonder what the boys had been up to today to wear themselves out.
He got the boys off to bed at ten o’clock and took Brewster out for his night run. Since the snow had only just begun to fall, he didn’t have to worry about Brewster sinking in over his head and getting himself in trouble, a very real concern in the winter. He let him down on the front porch and watched him leap joyfully off the top step and race into the yard, barking and yapping. He twirled back around, bouncing like there were springs on his back legs, trying to catch the snowflakes with his front paws, his fluffy little tail wagging frantically.
Dix walked down the sidewalk and raised his face to the sky. The snow was so lacy and soft it dissolved the instant it touched his face. He stood silently, smiling at Brewster, letting the cold night air fill his lungs. He realized he felt good, felt more whole again than not, and that was surely a step in the right direction. Brewster yelped three times at him and took off toward the woods.
“Brewster! Come back here, you know the woods are off-limits!”
But Brewster had the scent of some animal and wasn’t about to give up the chase. Dix headed after him, pulling on the gloves he’d pushed into the pockets of his leather jacket as he walked. There were lots of feral animals in the woods, 99 percent of them bigger and more vicious than Brewster. Dix called the dog again and again, but all he heard were Brewster’s yelps, growing more distant. He kept talking to Brewster, following the sound of his barks. He’d found something, perhaps an injured animal.
The night sky hung heavy, fat, bloated clouds waiting for some internal alarm to dump their snow, and no more of this penny-ante stuff. “Brewster!”
More yelps cut the night silence, not so distant now. Had Brewster trapped an opossum?
The snow was coming down a bit heavier now, but the trees were thick, shielding them. “Brewster!”
Brewster was barking madly at a dark hump on the forest floor, something that wasn’t moving, something that looked human.
Dix grabbed up his dog, stuffed him inside his jacket, and zipped it up. “Calm down, Brewster, and don’t pee on my shirt.” He looked down at a person lying in front of him, unconscious or dead. Dix fell to his knees and turned the person over. It was a woman, her face covered with blood. He pulled off his gloves, scooped up some snow, and lightly rubbed it over her face. The blood came off easily. He saw a gash on the side of her head, bleeding sluggishly. He touched his fingertips to the pulse at her throat. It was slow and steady. Good. He leaned into her face. “Hey, can you hear me? You need to wake up.”
Her lashes fluttered.
“That’s it. Open your eyes, you can do it.”
She didn’t open her eyes but she moaned low in her throat. Dix methodically felt her arms, her legs, her torso, and nothing felt broken. Not that that meant anything. He pulled his gloves back on. Brewster poked his head out the top of Dix’s jacket. Dix carefully lifted the woman in his arms. She was tall, lanky and heavy enough. He was afraid to carry her over his shoulder because she might be injured internally, so he cradled her in his arms.
As he walked out of the woods, the clouds let loose and the wind came to vicious life and blew blinding snow in his face. By the time Dix got back to his house, it was snowing so hard he could barely make out his porch light.
He stomped the snow off his boots and got himself, Brewster, and the woman quietly into the house.
“Okay, Brewster, you hit the floor and I’ll get her onto the sofa.” She wasn’t particularly wet so he spread two afghans over her, unlaced her boots, and pulled them off her feet. She was wearing thick wool socks, which were still nice and dry.
He pulled his cell out of his pocket and dialed nine-one-one. His dispatcher, Amalee Witten, answered. “
Yo, Sheriff, what’s up?”
“I found an injured woman in the woods by my house. I need the paramedics as fast as you can get them out here, Amalee.”
Amalee was fifty-two years old and weighed 211 pounds, but when it was urgent, she could move out faster than Rob when it was his turn to clean the bathroom. “Hold tight, Sheriff.”
“Hey, Dad, is she going to be all right?”
“I don’t know, Rob, I can’t get her to wake up. Go make some hot tea. Let’s see if we can get it down her.”
Not five minutes later, his son came into the living room cradling a cup of tea between his palms. “It isn’t too hot so she won’t scald her mouth.”
“Good.” Dix lifted her, pressed the edge of the cup to her bottom lip. “Come on, smell that Lipton’s, best tea in captivity. Rob made it just right so you can open up and take a big gulp. It’ll warm your insides.”
To his surprise, her mouth opened and she sipped it. She opened her eyes, looked at him, and drank more tea.
“Are you in pain?”
She slowly shook her head. Her voice came out thin as thread. “Only my head.” She tried to raise her hand, but Dix held it down.
“You’ve got a cut on the left side, above your temple. I’m going to leave it for the paramedics to do it right.”
Brewster jumped onto the sofa and hunkered down next to her. “This is Brewster and he found you in the woods just before the snow started coming down hard.”
“Brewster,” she said, reaching out her hand to his little face, “thank you.”
“I’m Dixon Noble, sheriff of Maestro. The guy who made the tea is my son Rob. Can you tell me your name?”
“I’m…” She nuzzled her chin against Brewster, who was licking her. “This is very strange,” she said after a moment, turning back to look up at him. “Do you know, I really don’t have a clue.”
Dix stood slowly. She looked suddenly scared and the last thing he wanted was for her to freak out. He said calmly, “Whatever else happened to you, you got a big whack against your head. Maybe that could account for you not remembering. The doctor can tell us what’s going on. I’m sure it’s temporary, so try not to worry, okay? Let me check the pockets of your jacket for ID.” He heard the ambulance sirens in the distance. “You don’t seem to have anything at all in your pockets. Did you have a purse or a wallet with you, do you remember?”
He saw her eyes were dilated and that concerned him. “Don’t worry about it. Maybe you’ve got something in your jeans pockets. They can check at the hospital. I don’t want to move you around. Tomorrow I’ll check the woods for a purse.”
“This is nuts,” she said, and he saw her wiggling beneath the afghans. She was obviously searching her jeans herself. Then she lifted her hand and checked the jacket herself. “I can’t find anything. That doesn’t make any sense. Where’s my cell phone? Did I have a purse? No, that’s not likely. I never take a purse.
”
He waited patiently.
“Never.”
“But you know you had a cell phone?”
“Yes. Oh dear, I think so.” She started humming.
Rob said, “Why are you humming?”
“I don’t like to curse so I hum when I’m unhappy about something.”
“That’s cool,” said Rafe, who was standing behind the sofa, looking down at her.
“That’s my other son, Rafer. Okay, things are coming back. Don’t push it. There’s always an explanation for everything.”
“What you just said—that sounded really familiar, like I say that to people.”
The paramedics followed Rob into the living room. Ten minutes later, Dix and the woman were in the ambulance headed to Loudoun County Community Hospital, some twelve miles away. It was snowing really hard, so it took a good thirty minutes to get there. She was pale and her eyes looked glassy. He held her hand. She wasn’t
