Carl limped out of the hospital on crutches less than a half an hour later. Carl stopped to see if anyone was looking and quickly switched legs, realizing he'd been pretending to favor the wrong one. He managed to get that mistake past Jordan who continued to walk toward the car.
"How'd you manage to get out so quickly?" Jordan asked as he stepped toward the back of the car.
"I ran them out of excuses, and made an incredible ass of myself. They say doctors make poor patients, but apparently, med students can be just as bad. Oh no—" Carl exclaimed, stopping abruptly by the back end of the car. He set the crutches down and dropped into a crouch.
"Carl! You all right?" Jordan rushed over to him.
"Jordan! Look at what you did to the paint!"
"Paint? You son-of-a-bitch, you scared the shit out of me!"
Carl looked up at him. "You'll have to take the car in for a touch-up. This is horrible. Nicks all over." He appraised the fender. "Have you been scrubbing the wheel wells?"
"I'll scrub your fucking nose off your goddamned face. Get in the car." Jordan swung the passenger door open.
"You’ll have to take it in, you know," Carl stated reproachfully as he stepped into the car.
Jordan closed the passenger door and went around the car to the driver’s side. "I was in a bit of a hurry when I left the house." He started the car and pulled out of the parking spot.
"Watch out for the pothole!"
Jordan avoided the pothole and looked over at Carl. "Would you like your glasses?"
"Actually, I… Oh. That's odd."
"Your vision?"
"Yes."
"Sure as hell is. You're normally blind as a bat without your contacts or your glasses. I brought your glasses, but you never asked for them. And your leg is obviously not hurting," Jordan pointed to the way Carl had his right leg slung over the wounded left thigh. "What's the deal?"
"I don't know," Carl answered, trying to resist the urge to look at the wound.
"You recuperated awfully fast." Jordan turned onto the highway.
"Yes, I had noticed that, which is probably what distracted me enough that I hadn't thought about my vision. I forgot that I didn't have my contacts in."
They continued in silence, as Carl rubbed his chin.
Jordan cut through the quiet. “You know I had to give blood for you? The hospital staff told me I was saving your life. You hardly look like a man on your deathbed."
"I suppose not. Oh, by the way, you remember the blood tests we ran two weeks ago?"
"Yeah,” Jordan answered as he shifted down to go around a tight curve. "You said we'd run more in two weeks,” Jordan confirmed.
"Very good. I just thought I'd warn you."
Jordan scowled. "I just gave you a pint!"
"Why, thank you. I shouldn't need any more blood from you, actually, but I could use a hand in the lab. I've already set up the tests, and I'd like to dictate my observations."
"Great. Now I'm a secretary."
"That was in the job description," Carl answered as he succumbed to temptation, slid his jeans down and peeled the edge of the bandage back. He stared at it for a moment, then looked up. "Pull over, Jordan."
Jordan eased the car over to the shoulder of the road.
"Take a look at this," Carl continued, looking at the wound.
Jordan tried to keep his eyes on the road, scowled, then pulled the brake handle before leaning over to gape. There were several seconds of silence as they looked at the fresh pink scar tissue where the bullet wound had been.
Jordan finally spoke. "What does the doctor think of that?
"He neglected to check it before I left. He'd only bandaged it a short while earlier, and it hadn’t bled through. I told him the nurse had looked at it. I was trying to get out of there."
Jordan looked up at Carl. "Other than that, how do you feel?"
"Like I could run a marathon. I had to fake that limp. I'm ravenous, though. Could you stop at the store?"
Jordan looked up. "We've got food at home."
"I'm hungry now. Just swing into Rosie's, I'll get a couple of roast beef sandwiches and some bread."
"Bread! What's with the bread?"
"It sounds good. Humor me."
"I'd be glad to. Bread… " Jordan shook his head, hit the turn signal and pulled back onto the highway.
They picked up the food, and Carl ate voraciously through the half-hour trip home.
When they walked into the house, Jordan saw Diana came jogging out of the living room and down the hall to meet them, but she stopped halfway, looking at Eric. "What’s up?" she asked stiffly.
“Just getting back from a little jaunt,” Carl answered.
“Well,” she smiled, “I've been cooped up in the house all morning. I think I need to go for a walk."
Jordan nodded and watched her swift departure through the front door. He went into the den, where Carl was typing notes into the computer.
"Too bad I don't have a vision chart. I believe I’m twenty-twenty right now, but I'd like to check. Tell me, can you read this?" Carl got up and placed a magazine on the windowsill, then backed off. "I mean the third line, there to the left."
Jordan stood next to him. "Yes."
"How about below, under the picture?"
"Mmm, it looks like… something about… bacteria?"
"Hmm. What's your vision Jordan? Is it twenty-twenty?"
"Last I checked."
After a moment Carl asked, "Where's Diana?"
"She left."
"She left… really… " Carl tapped his fingers against his elbows. "Jordan, do you think… is it possible she's… a werewolf?"
Jordan eased into the chair next to Carl's at the computer. "That seems pretty unlikely. She’s a real estate developer, and she's also a werewolf who coincidentally ends up here? I doubt it. What makes you think so?"
"There’s something about her that’s off. I’m trying to place it. It alarms me, but maybe it’s just that I’m recognizing my own kind. It's nothing I can put my finger on, but I thought maybe I was picking up on something."
“And there’s been a female wolf when you wake up—"
“After I’ve changed back. So… if she were that werewolf, she should have changed back by then as well. If she’s a werewolf, she’s not that wolf. Unless, somehow the curse plays out differently in different people… I hadn’t thought of that… What would that mean?” Carl started pacing.
Jordan found that thought extremely disturbing. If what little they knew about this virus, or whatever it was, only applied to Carl, then they would have no clue what to expect from any other werewolf they might run into. “I’ll keep an eye on her, see how she responds to other things that affect you. Maybe there’s something that will give us a clue. If she’s a werewolf like you, she shouldn't be able to open the silver-plated door handles by herself, too, and she's had no problem with that."
Carl nodded. "And she's not much of a meat-eater, though she goes through a lot of carbs." Carl sat down in his chair and began to enter these facts on the computer's notepad.
Carl paused, his hands perched over the keyboard, then stood up and started pacing back and forth again. "What if these specific traits are unique to me? We have only a sample size of one. That hardly counts as useful data in the scientific community. We're assuming all werewolves are identical to me. But a virus that kills its host is an unsuccessful one, evolution favors a non-lethal parasitic relationship. Perhaps I’m the rare failure, and other werewolves have a different set of symptoms."
"Still, if she’s part wolf, wouldn't Daisy be afraid of her?"
"That's it!" Carl said excitedly. "Get her in the stall with the horse. If Daisy throws a fit, we'll have reason to confront her."
"And if not?" Jordan asked.
Carl stopped pacing and frowned, one hand in his back pocket and the other on his chin. "It won’t be conclusive. You can’t prove a negative.” He paced back and forth several times, then said, more quietly, “If she's not a werewolf, maybe she’s one of those demon hunters. We'll have to make sure we don't reveal my identity."
"Oh, Christ, Carl!" Jordan exploded. "You mean her ruse may be that she's here to kill you?"
"Or exorcise me," Carl continued dispassionately. "Not that there’s much difference, from what I hear." Carl kept pacing.
"How can you let her stay in this house if she's here to kill you?"
Carl grimaced. "We don't know that’s what she is. More likely than not she's just checking up on me for my father's sake."
"Hardly a pure motive."
Carl shrugged. "He's my father. He's entitled to his concern. I just wish it didn't interfere quite so much with my research." Carl would have to tread very carefully from here on. He wanted to run, get away from her, but he couldn't leave his lab, his studies. They were more important now than ever before.