Page 32 of Once Bitten, Twice Mine

“Which is what I wish to avoid. I want to find the cause of the illness so we can eradicate it.”

The doctor replaced the glasses on his face, and with that, she saw the man replenishing his shields. “Good. For now, I need you to meet with the patients and interview them as you did with those in your household. Not everyone is lucid enough for this, but you will be able to figure out who is useful. Once you’re finished, find me so we can go over your findings.”

Caroline nodded before going to the other room to drop off her purse, removing her pencil and notebook. Her eyes caught on the aprons the nurses hung on hooks along the wall. This was the room where she usually dropped her belongings when she volunteered, but she never grabbed an apron before. She never needed to, as her usual duties were folding linen or delivering soup, but it seemed like a good idea now that she would be interacting with patients. She prayed no one got sick on her. She had little medical experience, but even less experience with someone getting sick on her. It sounded like a nightmare. Not even when she had her own children would she have to worry about one of them getting sick on her. That was what nannies and governesses were for.

She was still tying her apron strings when she got to the patients’ ward and stopped in her tracks. Even with the warning that many new patients had arrived overnight, she was still shocked to see half of the dozen beds filled. This was the final ward, one she had never seen anyone in before. Not even when consumption ripped through the town the previous year. There was a chance the whole ward would be filled tomorrow—and that was only if matters didn’t grow worse. She didn’t even know where the new patients would go once they were out of beds.

Rolling her shoulders back, she straightened. Dr. Murnau had tasked her with an important job. She would help him diagnose the malaise of her village before more people died.

“And when did your symptoms come on?” Caroline very patiently asked a young man writhing in his cot. He was one of the few in active pain. It reminded her of visiting Nelly the other day when sweat dotted her brow. His skin was a little pink, but she wasn’t sure if that was his natural complexion.

“I don’t—I’m not sure. It hurts.”

Caroline frowned. This was the most difficult part of her job. Not the incomplete answers, but witnessing their pain and knowing there wasn’t anything she could do. At some point, nurses would come by with a small dose of laudanum, but they were very careful not to give too much. Caroline thought they could be a little more liberal with the medicine, but they stated that the doctor doesn’t want any of the patients to become dependent on it for pain relief.

“Any detail can help; no matter how small.”

She had been interviewing patients for hours, but hadn’t gotten much useful information. Sunset rapidly approached, and she didn’t want to have to return to the doctor without anything to show for her work.

“It hurt. Oh lord, it hurt.” The man whimpered. She didn’t care what the nurses said; it was inhumane to keep people in pain. She would make sure he got a dose of laudanum no matter what.

“What hurt?” Caroline looked up from her notes. The man had fallen unconscious again, not even babbling anymore. The tension on his brow loosened. Carefully, she placed her hand on his forehead. He was sweating, but his skin was cool.

A sharp cry sounded from the next cot and her eyes flicked over to see the poor man’s face contorted in pain. A ray of late afternoon sunshine shone over his face, highlighting another spasm of pain. Caroline frowned. It was as if the sunlight was hurting him. Her hand only trembled a little as she pulled the rough brown curtains shut. The loss of light was sudden, but she could almost feel the relief of the sick men she stood between.

They were suffering from sun sickness. Perhaps if she waited around until after sunset, they would be perfectly fine. Just like Valeria.

The man in the other cot was sleeping soundly, but beads of sweat dotted his brow. Horror spread within her as she realized she knew him. It was Tommy Palmer, the son of her family’s old groundskeeper. Mr. Palmer retired a few years before to live with Tommy’s sister in Darbyshire once the arthritis in his hands made it too painful for him to keep working. Caroline hadn’t seen Tommy much since then, but she attended his wedding a few months ago. Edgar had sat beside her, and she allowed him the liberty to place his leg against hers during the ceremony.

“How are you feeling?” She asked in a low voice. “When did your symptoms begin?”

It felt silly to keep up her questioning when she hadn’t had any success, but she needed to do something, and she didn’t know any other way to help other than discovering the root of this illness plaguing their village. She couldn’t let Tommy Palmer befall the same sad fate as Nelly.

Tommy’s lips moved as if he was trying to speak, but no words came out.

“What are you trying to tell me?” Her own voice was barely over a whisper as she leaned over him.

“Latch the window.”

Caroline frowned as she stood up. The window was latched; she noticed that when she closed the curtains. Likely his babbling was from an illness-based delusion, but it was also the most coherent sentence she had gotten from anyone.

“I swore I latched it, but it opened.” His breath rattled, but his voice was stronger as he continued. “That’s how she’s getting in.”

Caroline felt her breath rush from her as if she had been hit in the stomach.

“Who?”

Tommy didn’t respond, but his breath evened out, and he fell back asleep. She wanted to scream and shake him until he woke up so he could give her the answers she so desperately searched for. She. He couldn’t just say that and then fall asleep. Not when this was the closest she had been to an answer in days.

Caroline looked around the ward. The only nurse was busy administering laudanum to a patient on the other end of the floor. Caroline hadn’t been instructed not to touch the patients, but she felt like they wouldn’t take too kindly to it if she did. Though they would have to catch her first.

Her fingers shook as she pulled down the collar of his sweat-soaked shirt. She needed to see if he had the same marks she had seen on her father and Nelly to be sure they were all suffering from the same illness. That whatever Tommy Palmer had—what she had done—was different. On the top of his chest beneath his clavicle were the same two puncture wounds in the exact spot.

Leaning down, she examined the wound. They were two perfect circles. The smooth edges were pink, like the scars had been healing for days, but the middle of the wound was scabbed over. This close, she was able to see what she couldn’t see when she had examined her father and Nelly. Between the two perfect circles were four indents that looked like little slashes.

Teeth marks.

Her fingers shook as she measured the distance between the puncture wounds with her fingers before holding them up to her own teeth. It wasn’t a perfect match, but it was close. So close it had to be a bite mark, even though she had never seen human teeth that shape. It was closer to the sharp teeth of a canine, but a dog—or wolf’s—bite wouldn’t be nearly as clean.