Page 60 of The Alien's Private Redemption

This time, it wasn't just the guard, it was someone dressed in a white labcoat, with a badge on the pocket. It looked like the kind of badge that should have had a name and picture on it, maybe with a title and a facility name but it was turned around so the only thing she could see was the laminated white card.

The temperature in the cell seemed to drop as he approached. He was tall and lean, with dark hair that curled above his ears and to either side of his forehead. A hint of grey at his temples indicated he might not have been as young as his face suggested but he moved with a grace she didn't see often. His charcoal grey slacks would have been a match for Dr. Phillips but for the hint of a blue pinstripe that matched the blue button up he was wearing.

When he moved, she realized she could smell the guards aftershave and deodorant but not his. He must have gotten thememo about not wearing strong scents. In fact, if she wasn't looking at him, she wouldn't have smelled him at all. A hint of dirt came from the sole of his shoes but there wasn't anything else. Angela didn't like it and couldn't say why. Even the most careful person carried some scent - soap, laundry detergent, the natural oils of their skin. His complete lack of human smell made her hackles rise.

The guard took her tray and nodded to the doctor.

Angela watched them warily as the guard left and the doctor pulled Zoric's stool over. The grating of the legs along the concrete floor irritated her, and Angela watched with her arms folded over her chest while the doctor made himself comfortable. The fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across his face, making his features sharper, more predatory.

"Hello, Private McBride," the doctor said with a smile that made her grit her teeth. His voice was melodic, almost hypnotic, and entirely wrong for the setting.

"I can't read your name tag," Angela told him. Something about the doctor set her teeth on edge and she found herself reaching out for Zoric. Whether she wanted comfort, acknowledgement, or backup, she didn't know.

Zoric acknowledged her without question and her hackles relaxed.

"I'm Dr. Torres," the man said, though he didn't make a move to fix his name tag. "Would you be willing to answer some questions?"

Angela studied him with a frown. "Why are you here? This isn't the interrogation room."

"And this isn't an interrogation," Dr. Torres responded. "In fact, I've been told that I'm not allowed to interrogate you the way I'd like so I'm just going to ask you a few questions, if that's acceptable?"

"What kinds of questions?" She didn't trust him and he seemed to be amused by that.

"I'm a neurologist," he started. "And there are some anomalies in your MRI from yesterday that I was hoping you could explain for me."

Panic shot through her for a quick moment, faster than the doctor should have been able to register, but Zoric reached out to help her calm down. She felt his desire to hug her and it kindled something warm inside.

"I'm not a doctor," Angela explained slowly. "I don't think I can tell you anything about an MRI. That seems to be the kind of thing you'd want to ask another doctor about."

Dr. Torres smiled at her like she'd said something clever. The hairs on the back of her neck rose and the voice in the back of her mind screamed that she was in danger.

"I have spoken to other doctors about you, Ms. McBride," he said. "And they've all come back to me with more questions than answers. Especially one of them who has worked in a rather remote emergency room in East Tennessee for the last twenty years."

She shrugged and waited for him to continue. When she didn't ask him any questions, he frowned and pushed on.

"You see, for as rural as that emergency room is, it tends to be the closest one to some of the families that live up in the mountains. It was the first one in a wide radius to get some of the more expensive medical equipment, usually paid for by a generous, if anonymous, benefactor. He recalls seeing a scan very similar to the one I sent him."

She knew the hospital he was talking about. It was the only one her family thought was safe. They were suspicious of outsiders, most of the families back in the holler were, and it took a lot to get them to go into town, much less the city. Heck, the road totown hadn't even been paved until recently, and the dirt track her parents home was on still didn't show up on any maps.

Angela held her breath, her entire body still while she waited for him to continue. She knew the doctor couldn't help but notice her body language, and he smiled at her.

"Oh, yes, I think you know what I'm talking about. The funny thing is, he told me that the scan had been replaced minutes after he'd looked at it, with one that looked the way he expected it to. And, sure enough, when I went to dig deeper into the scans from our MRI, they looked exactly like a healthy, normal human brain."

"I don't know why that's odd," Angela said, her mind spinning. The voice in the back of her head was calculating ways to kill Dr. Torres on the stool, or to lure him forward so she could rip his throat out. "I am a healthy, normal, human woman."

She emphasized her words, struggling to get them out past the voice in her head and the constriction in her throat.

"I mostly agree," Dr. Torres said. "Except for the whole trying to die for no apparent reason thing, you are very healthy. The jury's still out on the 'human' part, and you are anything but normal."

"What am I, then?" she asked.

"Fascinating," the doctor responded, and she could see the avaricious gleam in his eyes. "Absolutely fascinating."

Chapter 8

It took Zoric more than half the meeting to realize he was mimicking some of Angela's habits. While he'd been confident in his role as Captain of the Guard, he'd been less confident as a diplomatic liaison for his people. His Bond with Angela had given him an almost instinctive insight into the humans in the room.

Zoric found himself catching nuances in human expression he'd never noticed before. The slight tightening around Dr. Phillips' eyes spoke volumes about her discomfort, while Colonel Schuh's measured breathing betrayed his growing concern. Through Angela's understanding, these tiny human gestures had become as clear as the chemical signals his own people used.

---