“What’s the best-case scenario?” She placed the cloth on his head.
“Best-case scenario, the wound heals without complications, and he lives his life with a little chunk of metal in him.”
“And the worst-case scenario?” She lowered her voice.
“The fact that there’s no exit wound makes me wonder what kind of bullet is in there. If it’s a normal hollow point, it just expanded, spreading out like a hand.” He held his open palm out to illustrate. “Another possibility is that it was a frangible AET round.” Vincent walked over to the counter and pulled out a can of coffee grounds, shaking some into the percolator. “People are using them because they’re safer.”
“Safer is good, right?” Jillian stood up to stretch her legs. “It doesn’t do as much damage?”
“Frangible bullets are considered safer because there’s less chance of them going through your target and hitting someone on the other side by accident.” Vincent retrieved his blood-pressure cuff from his medkit and secured it around Finn’s arm, puffing it up with the little balloon pump. “They explode on impact, fragmenting through the flesh of whatever they hit. In which case, I don’t care how supernatural we are. No one comes back from that.”
“What about getting to the ranger station, they could get a helicopter to take him to the closest hospital.”
“Shifters and anesthesia don’t mix.” Vince ran his hands through his hair. “It’s why we don’t keep pain killers in the cabin. It’s why when we drink; we only do one shot.”
“I don’t understand.” Jillian shook her head. “The pain alone could be putting his body under unnecessary stress.”
“Unnecessary?” Vincent raised his voice but then closed his eyes, swallowed hard, and continued. “His bear could come out and maul a bunch of nurses. Not only would that expose us, but it could mean a lot of innocent people getting hurt. I know Finn wouldn’t want to risk it.”
“I hate feeling like there’s nothing more we can do.” She looked back at Finn. “I knew something was wrong last night. I sensed it.”
“I should have listened.” Vincent hung his head.
“You couldn’t have known.” She sighed. “It’s hard to tell how much of what’s bouncing around my head is important. Every time I get a weird thought, I have to ask myself if it’s my imagination or if it’s a message coming from somewhere outside of myself.”
“It’ll take time to master your gifts.” He kissed her on the top of the head. “We all have our journeys to take. Sometimes, if we’re lucky, we don’t have to take them alone.”
Vincent gave Finn an injection of antibiotics, checking his pulse and blood pressure every so often throughout the day and night. But as the hours slipped by, his condition only declined.
Jillian got up to find Vincent sleeping in the armchair with a cup of coffee in his hand.
“Hey.” Setting the coffee aside, she rubbed his thigh. “Vincent.”
“Yeah.” His bloodshot eyes popped open, and he sat up, blinking aggressively. “I was just closing my eyes for a second. I’m awake.”
“I know.” She put her hand in his. “Do you think I could sit in here with him for a while? I’ll come to get you if there’s any change.”
The poor guy was beyond exhausted, and she knew the only way he would leave Finn’s side as if she asked to be alone with him.
“Yeah, I guess that would be okay.” He cleared his throat and got to his feet before heading back to his room.
Jillian scooted the armchair closer to the couch and kissed Finn on the cheek. His eyes fluttered open, focusing on her.
“Oh my God, you’re awake.” She breathed, kneeling beside the sofa. “That’s got to be a good sign.”
“Goldie…” He smiled. “I had a crazy dream about you.” His voice was barely audible.
“Why do you call me that?” She cocked her head to the side. “Just because of my hair?”
“It’s going to sound stupid.” His voice sounded scratchy, and every word sounded forced. “When I was a kid, one of my foster families took care of this old man. His room smelled like piss and stale cigarette smoke. He was bedridden and didn’t say much. His TV was one of those big boxy ones, and he had a collection of VHS tapes.”
“That sounds like something out of a horror movie.” Jillian leaned in, taking his hand and rubbing her cheek against the back of it.
“Nah, he was cool. Those VHS tapes were recorded episodes of this 1940s private eye named Goldie West. You look like her to me. Every episode, she’d solve a new case, shoot some bad guys, and save the day. Sitting in there with that old guy was one of my better childhood memories.”
“Why didn’t you stay there?” She frowned.
“The old guy died. Didn’t stop them from collecting his social security checks.” A tear rolled down his cheek. “He couldn’t talk much, but I felt like he was my only friend. I figured if I ran away, they’d keep collecting on whatever they were getting paid to take care of me. No one ever came looking for me, so I guess I was right.”
“What was your dream?” She changed the subject.
“My what?” He started to close his eyes again.
“You said you had a dream about me.” She rubbed his cold, clammy hand, trying to think of anything that she could say or do that would keep him awake.
“Oh yeah. It was a good dream. You, Conner, and Vincent were traveling through the woods to a new place. You had a baby in one of those carriers strapped to
