Page 8 of Outside the Veil
Rodney’s laugh boomed deeper than his voice. “True to form, our Diego—” He cut off abruptly, and his hand shot out to seize Finn by the forearm. “But where did you come from? You don’t belong here.”
“Please…” Finn pulled back, his pale complexion edging toward gray.
“I know you. You’re one of them. From the Other Place. But not one of the Dark. No. You’re different. Stay out of the tunnels. They lurk there. They’ll eat your soul. Drink your songs into blackness. Not from here. They’d want you…”
“Rodney, let him go!” Diego said in alarm, as Finn dug his heels in and struggled backward.
Finn jerked away and backpedaled to the mouth of the alley, panting.
“Maybe not the best way to make friends.” Diego shook his head. “Scaring the hell out of people.”
“He needs to be scared,” Rodney declared, and disappeared into his home.
“Finn?”
He stood with his arms wrapped around himself and backed away another step as Diego approached. For a moment, a trick of the light made those black eyes gleam red, anger and suspicion radiating from them.
“I’m sorry,” Diego offered, hands spread. “He’s not having one of his more lucid days. He’s not dangerous, though. He wouldn’t hurt you.”
Finn relaxed with a slow intake of breath. “No, you couldn’t have known. I forgive you.”
They endured the usual hour wait at the clinic, but Finn behaved, amusing himself with magazine pictures, asking Diego for explanations from time to time. He knew nothing about the trouble in the Middle East or U.S. politics, and the entire concept of ‘movies’ had to be explained when he reached a picture of Cate Blanchett.
“We need a last name for you,” Diego murmured, as he struggled through the necessary forms for Finn, who seemed illiterate. “If you don’t want to give me your real one, fine. Make one up. Maybe the name of the town you came from or something.”
Deeply engrossed in a full-page ad for Calvin Klein underwear, Finn needed a nudge and a repetition of the request.
“Shannon,” he said, rolling the word out, unmistakable longing in his voice. He stared across the room, thousands of miles away, then shook his head and returned to his pictures.
Shannon, Finn,Diego wrote in the appropriate spaces. For address and phone number, he filled in his own. Finn pretended incomprehension regarding date of birth, so he concocted one of those as well, estimating Finn at about twenty-eight or so. Social security, insurance information, previous address and medical history all remained stubbornly blank. With a mental shrug, he turned the form in at the front desk.
A few minutes later, a nurse in powder blue scrubs emerged from the back holding a chart and shaking her head. “Now tell me how I knew this was one of yours, sugarpie.”
Diego smiled as he rose. “Hola, Rita. You recognized my handwriting?”
“More like the pitiful white spaces on the forms. At least this one’s cleaner. You staying with him?”
“If I could, please.”
“I don’t know how that skinny body of yours has room for your heart. Come on back.”
She showed them to an examination room and had Finn strip to the waist. The first sign of trouble came when she tried to strap on the blood pressure cuff. Finn yanked his arm away and scooted toward the wall.
Diego put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right. Rita just wants to measure how well your heart’s working. Rita, Finn seems to be stuck in the wrong century. Maybe if you tell him what you’re doing beforehand?”
“Here, hon, give me your arm. Attaboy.” Rita tried again with better success.
“You have the most lovely skin,” Finn told her. “Like mahogany. Like the finest river loam. Could I touch it?”
“You are touching it, Casanova,” Rita answered, eyes on the blood pressure dial. “Behave.”
“Casanova?” Finn shot Diego a questioning glance.
“Famous lover.”
“Ah. A compliment?”
“Sarcasm.”Please don’t make me explain sarcasm.
