Arc Angel (13 page)

So she needed to see Dr. Harris and tell her story one more time. But this time she didn’t expect a protector or a hero. She knew she was on her own now. She just wanted information. So she’d go in there and get it.

But then she was going home, and not with Bryce. She’d e-mail the cab company to come pick her up. She’d had enough of teamwork.

“Miranda…” Bryce climbed out of the car and walked up to her.

“W-where’s Dr. Harris’s office?” She looked straight at the building, trying to still the tremors in her hands. She did not want to talk him. Not anymore. He’d had plenty of time in the car to talk.

“Third floor. Look, Miranda…”

But Miranda didn’t look. Instead she strode over to the building, yanked open the glass door and stalked inside. She decided to take the stairs, hoping the exercise would burn off some of her nerves and her anger.

She opened the stairwell door onto the third floor and headed for the office at the end of the hall labeled simply “Daniel Harris, MD, EP.”

What does the EP stand for?

She didn’t see Bryce anywhere, but she didn’t wait.

Dr. Harris’ office looked like what she’d expected: full of soothing colors and comfortable furniture and so clean that she could almost smell the antiseptic. But Dr. Harris himself surprised her.

She’d been expecting a kind, older man, maybe with grey hair and a beard, who’d pat her hand and give her a lollipop. Instead, Dr. Harris looked more like a hot young surfer than a grandfather. His blond hair flopped over his forehead and almost into his twinkling blue eyes. The smile that appeared on his face was bright as the summer sun. Miranda hadn’t thought too much about what specific tests the doctor would want to run, but the idea of having to put on a paper gown in front of this man suddenly horrified her.

“You must be Miranda,” he said, standing up from the chair in the waiting area where he’d been paging through a magazine. He held out a hand for her to grasp but didn’t miss a beat when she did her usual “tuck hands in pockets” routine and let his hand casually drop to his side. “It’s nice to meet you. Bryce said you have a rather… unique issue that you’d like me to help with.”

Miranda nodded.

“Where is Bryce, anyway? I thought he said you two were driving—and here he is now!”

Bryce pushed open the office door and headed straight for the doctor, giving him a hearty handshake.

“I’d have been here sooner if your damn elevator moved faster than plate tectonics.”

Dr. Harris laughed. “Sorry about that. They say the slower kind are safer—no risk of it falling or something. So how are you, Bryce? Everything going okay? Medication still helping?”
Relieved not to be the center of attention for a few minutes, and still trying to avoid Bryce, Miranda had wandered over to look out the window when she caught the doctor’s question to Bryce. What medication? Bryce was taking medicine?

Come to think of it, she did remember him swallowing a pill at their first meeting, though she had no clue what for. She’d thought Bryce looked a little weaker than he had a few years ago, but she hadn’t realized that he might actually be sick. It had been all over the message boards that he partied hard, lots of expensive food and booze. Had the excesses finally taken their toll? If so, it had happened awfully fast. He couldn’t be much older than 30.

Miranda squashed the tendrils of sympathy that were trying to grow up inside her. Who cared if he was sick? Who cared about him at all. She wanted nothing more to do with Bryce Campion.

She stayed at the window, but turned slightly toward the men to be sure she didn’t miss any more information about Bryce. There wasn’t much to hear.

“Now Dan, we’re not here to talk about me. We’re here for Miranda.”

“Of course. You said something on the phone about an electrical issue.” He turned to Miranda, flashed his boyish grin and said, “I can’t wait to hear more. Why don’t we ditch this guy and head back to my exam room.”

She tried to smile back but could only muster her usual one-sided twitch. She followed the doctor as he set off down the hallway, but before she could pass Bryce, he stepped into her path. She jerked to a stop before any part of her touched any part of him, but his nearness still overwhelmed her. She wanted to turn and run out the door and get away from this man. Instead, she stood, frozen, inches from him.

“Miranda, I know you don’t want to talk to me. And I know you need to go with Dan right now. But before you go in there, I wanted you to know that I’m sorry for the way I acted in the car. I got a little freaked out, okay? But it’s just—”

“No more apologies.” Anger broke through her chaotic swirl of emotions and rose to the surface. “That’s all I hear from you: I’m sorry this, I’m sorry that. Enough. Now please get out of my way. Leave me alone.”

Bryce’s eyes snapped with heat, but after a few seconds, he stepped out of her way. Miranda brushed past him on her way to the exam room, but before she had taken more than a few steps, he called after her, “I’ll wait for you. When you’re done, I’ll be here.”

That was exactly what Miranda was afraid of.

Chapter 11

“Come on in.” Dr. Harris ushered Miranda into a sparkling clean exam room. The doctor thoughtfully ignored the confrontation he couldn’t have missed a few minutes earlier. Miranda perched on one of the comfortable patient chairs as Dr. Harris sat on a rolling stool and slid up to the table next to her.

The doctor gave her a smile probably meant to reassure her and then started tapping away at the keyboard in front of him. Miranda watched him out of the corner of her eye. He seemed like a nice man, honestly he did. But that could all go to hell in an instant. Bryce had freaked out the minute she’d mentioned what she’d turned into. Imagine how a man who would have scientific proof of her freakiness would react.

And then she started wondering how exactly the doctor would obtain that proof. Bryce had said Dr. Harris would run some tests, but what would they involve? Miranda hadn’t been to a doctor in years, if you didn’t count Dr. French, but she’d bet a hundred bucks that exams tended to involve the doctor touching the patient. She wrapped her arms around her torso, shivering in the temperate room.

Even if she could get through the tests, and the touching, the mystery surrounding any actual results still hung over the proceedings. Maybe there
was
a scientific explanation for what had happened to her. Although she couldn’t imagine a scientific explanation for Bryce dreaming about her becoming Arc Angel. Or for the consciousness that had started popping up inside her head.

Even worse, maybe Dr. Harris wouldn’t be able to figure out what had happened to her. But if he couldn’t determine the source of the problem, how could he help her make it stop?

Her heart started to pound in her ears, and breathing became a voluntary action. Miranda tried to tell herself that everything would be okay. Even if the doctor couldn’t help, it wouldn’t hurt to have him take a look. Though of course if he took a look, he’d be able to tell she was a complete freak.

No, everything would be fine. Bryce said this guy wouldn’t tell anyone about what he found, wouldn’t even let anyone know he’d seen her. Then why didn’t he stop typing? Miranda had a sudden image of an article in some scholarly journal entitled “The Effects of Lightning and Social Anxiety Disorder on Young Female Computer Nerds.” She didn’t know what exactly he’d find with his tests, but whatever it was, she knew she was the discovery of a lifetime. Who would even want to resist an opportunity like that? Miranda’s head swam, and she closed her eyes to try to quiet her inner turmoil.

So let’s see, she was worried about the exam itself, panicked about what he was going to find or not find, and apoplectic that he might tell someone about her. Best doctor’s appointment ever.

“So, Miranda, are you ready to get started?”

Miranda cautiously opened her eyes and looked at Dr. Harris. He’d finally stopped typing and sat smiling at her. Did she trust that smile or not? It didn’t really matter. She needed to know more, and right now, Doctor Surfer was her best option. She inhaled a rush of air and tried to exhale her worries out with the breath.

“I wish we could jump ahead to the fun part, but I don’t have any type of medical record for you, so we need to build that up a bit first. When did you last see a doctor?”

Miranda calculated mentally. “F-five years ago.”

“When you were…?”

“Eighteen.”

Dr. Harris turned back to his keyboard and started typing again. Not looking away from the screen, he asked, “And your current height and weight?”

“F-five two, 105 pounds.”

More typing. This wasn’t so bad so far. Maybe she would survive.

“Great. Now how about we take your blood pressure?”

Miranda hesitated as she tried to remember what that involved. Dr. Harris pulled out the arm cuff from a drawer and held it out toward her. Okay, it was only a piece of vinyl, wrapped around her arm. She could do this. She cautiously held out her arm.

“Could you roll up your sleeve? Thanks.”

Okay, it was only a piece of vinyl wrapped around her
bare
arm.

She paused. No, she could do this. If she wanted answers, she had to do this. She pushed up her right sweatshirt sleeve past her elbow. Dr. Harris deftly velcroed the cuff around her arm and pumped the bulb, pushing in air pressure. He checked the attached gauge, announced, “115 over 70,” and ripped open the Velcro, freeing her arm. Her arm went back around her chest as he went back to typing more notes on the computer.

“Let’s get your pulse real quick.”

He reached out for her arm, but Miranda froze. She knew how he would take her pulse. He’d put his bare fingers on her bare wrist. And unless she calmed down and made it clear to her alter ego that he was a good guy, odds were that Arc Angel would appear and zap the poor sucker.

“Miranda, I’m not going to hurt you.”

But I might hurt you.

“I know, b-but…”

Dr. Harris dropped his arm and sat back on his stool. “Miranda, I’d like to help you, and I believe that I can. But you’re going to have to trust me a little for that to happen. Do you want to talk about it?”

“T-talk about what?” That she could accidentally kill him in an instant?

“The anxiety.”

Oh. That. He did have a medical degree. It made sense that he would pick up on it. Though considering how well she could hide it, Helen Keller could probably pick up on it.

Logically, she knew her SAD should be the least of her worries, but it had been weighing her down for so long; it was like she was so used to being slowly smothered by a pillow that she couldn’t seem to care that her bed was on fire.

“Social anxiety disorder is very common. More than 19 million people suffer from it at some point in their lives.”

She stared at the floor, not sure what to say.

“Have you seen anyone for it? Therapy can be quite helpful.”

Still looking down, she said, “I s-saw a doctor. Once. It didn’t… I couldn’t go b-back.”

“Did he give you any medication? Zoloft and Paxil have been proven to lessen symptoms.”

Miranda shook her head. “He w-wanted to try therapy f-first.”

“Would you like me to write you a prescription?”

While Miranda didn’t know all the medical facts about Zoloft and Paxil, she did know they somehow affected the chemicals in her brain. What would altered brain chemistry do to Arc Angel? Make her go away, or piss her off? Miranda wasn’t ready to find out.

She shook her head again. “N-no thanks. I’ll be okay. I think I m-m-may actually be getting a little better lately.” When the fire on the bed lapped at your feet, you could forget the pillow, at least for a few seconds at a time.

Dr. Harris looked at her thoughtfully for a moment and then nodded. “You did seem like you interact fairly well with Bryce.”

Well, even doctors were wrong sometimes. Though she did have to admit that her SAD symptoms had been lessening around Bryce. Well, until the whole “incident” in the car. That had ratcheted her back up to full-on panic mode around the man.

“You’re sure there’s nothing I can do for you? I really do want to help you.”

He seemed so sincere. Despite her failing grades in reading body language, she truly believed that he had her best interests at heart. She wished everyone had to take the Hippocratic Oath.

She shook her head again, but this time she maintained eye contact and even managed to eke out a smile. He smiled back with his own wholehearted grin.

“Alright. Now, are you ready to let me help you with your current problem?”

Miranda nodded, but when Dr. Harris started rolling toward her on his stool again, she held up a hand for him to wait.

“Before we go any further, I think I need to tell you what happened.”

She rushed through the story as quickly as she dared, explaining how the lightning had struck but she hadn’t been injured, and how she now had the ability to conduct electricity. She didn’t bring up Arc Angel or Bryce, but apparently the good doctor knew his comics, because he instantly made the connection.

“That explains the hair. And Bryce’s involvement in this whole thing.”

Miranda almost fell off her chair.

“Wha…?” Of all his possible reactions, unconditional acceptance ranked dead last on her list of predictions. She sat there, her mouth agape, so flabbergasted she didn’t have a clue what to say.

He relaxed back on his stool, smile still comfortably in place. “Arc Angel, right? I’ve been reading her since I took Bryce on as a patient. It’s a great title.”

Miranda’s continued gaping silence didn’t seem to bother Dr. Harris.

“I know I’m an odd juxtaposition,” he continued. “A scientist who believes in something that science can’t prove. But that’s actually the best part of science: investigating things that you previously thought impossible. It’s probably the reason I enjoy Bryce’s comic books so much. They take current science and push it further and further, showing what could one day be possible. It fascinates me.”