Page 19 of Evermore

The ten minutes it took River to drive from his cottage felt like hours while Finn sat carefully still in his reading chair, afraid that moving around might trigger more changes.

River listened without judgment, asking practical questions about what he was seeing and how he was feeling, his calm presence providing the only anchor Finn had to consensus reality.

When River arrived, he took one look at Finn's terror-stricken face and immediately wrapped him in protective arms that felt like the safest place in the universe. “Tell me what you're seeing,” he said gently, his hands smoothing down Finn's back with careful tenderness.

“Everything's almost right,” Finn said against River's shoulder, breathing in salt water and something purely comforting.

“The mug's the wrong color, Maya's wearing the wrong sweater in the photo, the book covers are different.

It's like someone took my life and made tiny adjustments that only I would notice.”

River looked around Finn's living room with the careful attention he brought to scientific observation, then back at Finn with gentle confusion. “Everything looks exactly like it did yesterday. Same mug, same photos, same books you showed me when you were deciding what to lend me.”

Finn pulled back to stare at him, then at the objects that looked completely wrong to his eyes but apparently normal to River's. “You don't see any changes?”

“No changes at all. Everything's exactly where it was before.”

The reality that River couldn't see what he was experiencing hit Finn like physical pain. Either he was losing his grip on objective reality, or the episodes were becoming so severe that they were affecting his visual perception of his environment in ways that weren't externally observable.

“I'm losing my mind,” Finn whispered, the words tasting like defeat and terror.

“You're not losing your mind,” River said firmly, his hands coming up to cup Finn's face with infinite gentleness. “You're experiencing symptoms of a medical condition that we're going to figure out and treat. But you're not crazy, and you're not alone.”

They spent the night on Finn's couch, River holding him while he tried to reconcile the visual input his brain was providing with the logical knowledge that his apartment hadn't actually changed.

River stayed awake, monitoring Finn's condition and providing the kind of steady presence that made the impossible feel manageable.

By morning, the visual distortions had faded, leaving Finn's apartment looking exactly as it always had. But the memory of seeing changes that weren't there remained vivid and disturbing, evidence that his condition was progressing in ways that defied medical explanation.

“We need to document this,” River said over coffee, his scientific mind already organizing the information into patterns that might yield understanding.

“Everything you experienced, how long it lasted, what might have triggered it. If we can establish patterns, we might be able to predict episodes or find ways to manage them.”

Finn nodded, grateful for River's logical approach to something that felt completely beyond rational understanding. “You really think this can be figured out?”

“I think everything can be figured out if you gather enough data and ask the right questions,” River said with conviction that made Finn feel less alone with his terror. “We just need to find the right experts and the right approach.”

Three days later, Maya called with news that made Finn's chest tight with hope and apprehension in equal measure.

“I got you an appointment,” she said without preamble, her voice carrying the satisfaction of someone who'd fought bureaucracy and won. “Dr. Elena Voss at Mass General. She specializes in unusual neurological conditions, and she had a cancellation for next week.”

Finn felt his breath catch. “That fast? I thought you said it would take weeks to get in with a specialist.”

“It would, normally. But when I described your symptoms to her office, Dr. Voss specifically requested to see you. Apparently your case fits a research interest of hers.”

“What kind of research interest?”

“Memory disorders that don't fit standard diagnostic categories. Young adults developing sudden cognitive changes.” Maya's voice carried cautious optimism. “She's published papers on atypical neurological presentations that sound similar to what you're experiencing.”

River looked up from where he'd been pretending to read while obviously listening to every word of the conversation. “That's good news, right?”

“I think so,” Finn said, though something about the timing felt almost too convenient. “What did you tell her office about my symptoms?”

“Just the basics—memory gaps, episodes of confusion, acquisition of knowledge during altered states. I may have mentioned that you're demonstrating expertise in fields you've never studied.” Maya paused. “Why? Are you having second thoughts about seeing a specialist?”

“No, I want to see her. It's just...” Finn trailed off, unable to articulate why the idea of someone specifically requesting to see him based on his symptoms felt unsettling rather than encouraging.

“It's just that you're scared,” Maya said gently. “Which is completely understandable. But Finn, we need answers. Your episodes are getting more frequent and more severe.”

The appointment was scheduled for the following Tuesday, giving Finn a week to worry about what kinds of tests Dr. Voss might want to run and what those tests might reveal. River offered to drive him to Boston, an offer Finn accepted with relief that surprised him with its intensity.

“You don't have to take a whole day off work for my medical appointment,” Finn said, though privately he was desperate for River's presence during what felt like a potentially life-changing consultation.

“I want to be there,” River said simply. “Besides, someone needs to take notes and ask the scientific questions you might forget to ask.”

The drive to Mass General passed in tense conversation about what they hoped to learn and what they feared they might discover.

Finn found himself cataloging all the ways his episodes had changed over the past weeks—becoming more frequent, lasting longer, involving more complex knowledge that he couldn't explain.

Dr. Voss turned out to be a sharp-featured woman in her forties, with silver hair and intense blue eyes that suggested intelligence and curiosity in equal measure.

Her office was filled with medical journals and case studies, but also with books on topics that seemed unrelated to neurology—maritime history, folklore, psychological research on memory and identity.

“Mr. Torres,” she said, extending a hand with professional courtesy. “Thank you for coming. Your sister described symptoms that fit a pattern I've been researching for several years.”

“What kind of pattern?” Finn asked, settling into the chair across from her desk while River took detailed notes.

“Complex neurological phenomena that don't fit standard diagnostic categories.

Episodes involving apparent access to information or skills that the conscious mind hasn't acquired through normal learning processes.” Dr. Voss opened a thick file and pulled out several research papers.

“I've documented similar cases in other patients—young adults who develop sudden expertise during altered consciousness states.”

River leaned forward with obvious scientific interest. “How many similar cases have you documented?”

“Twelve, over the past eight years. All involving individuals between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-five, all presenting with memory gaps and episodes of confusion, all demonstrating knowledge during episodes that they don't possess when fully conscious.”

Finn felt his heart rate accelerate. “And you have theories about what causes this?”

“Several theories, though nothing definitive yet. Some cases seem connected to emotional trauma or significant life changes. Others appear linked to specific geographical locations or family histories.” Dr. Voss studied Finn's face with clinical attention.

“Have you noticed any patterns in when your episodes occur? Specific triggers or circumstances that seem to precipitate them?”

“Emotional stress, sometimes. Being near the ocean.” Finn glanced at River uncertainly. “Strong feelings, whether positive or negative.”

“Interesting. And the knowledge you demonstrate during episodes—does it relate to any particular field or area of expertise?”

“Marine biology, mostly. Underwater research techniques, diving protocols, ecosystem restoration.” Finn felt heat rise in his cheeks. “Things that connect to River's work, even though I've never studied them formally.”

Dr. Voss made notes with obvious interest, her attention shifting between Finn and River in ways that felt calculating rather than purely medical. “Mr. Hayes, you're a marine biologist, correct? Have you noticed correlations between your research activities and Mr. Torres's episodes?”

“Some,” River admitted reluctantly. “Finn has demonstrated knowledge of my specific research projects during episodes, including details he shouldn't know.”

“Fascinating. This suggests a level of cognitive connection that exceeds normal information sharing between partners.” Dr. Voss gathered her notes with obvious satisfaction.

“I'd like to conduct some specialized testing to understand your brain's unique processing patterns, Mr. Torres. Nothing invasive, just some neuroimaging and cognitive assessments.”

The offer felt like a lifeline thrown to someone drowning in confusion and fear. After months of doctors dismissing his symptoms as stress, here was someone who not only understood what he was experiencing but believed it could be studied and potentially managed.

“What would that involve?” Finn asked, torn between desperate hope and growing unease about Dr. Voss's particular interest in his case.

“Standard neurological imaging, some specialized memory tests, possibly some experimental approaches to help you gain more conscious awareness during episodes.” Dr. Voss stood and moved to her bookshelf, pulling out a journal article.

“I've been developing therapeutic techniques specifically for cases like yours.”

She handed Finn the paper—a research study on “Anomalous Memory Access in Young Adults with Neurological Episodes.” Reading the abstract, Finn felt his breath catch as he recognized symptoms and experiences that matched his own almost exactly.

“Other people are experiencing this?” he asked, scanning the case studies described in the research.

“More than you might expect. Though most cases are misdiagnosed as stress-related disorders or early-onset dementia.” Dr. Voss returned to her seat with obvious enthusiasm for her subject.

“I believe we're looking at a distinct neurological phenomenon that mainstream medicine hasn't recognized yet.”

River examined the research paper with obvious skepticism. “These are pretty extraordinary claims. Have these findings been peer-reviewed?”

“Some aspects, yes. Others are still in the preliminary research phase.” Dr. Voss's expression suggested she was accustomed to skepticism from the medical establishment. “Which is why I'm particularly interested in documenting Mr. Torres's case thoroughly.”

Finn looked between Dr. Voss and River, seeing hope and caution warring in equal measure. “If I agree to participate in your research, what exactly would that involve?”

“Regular monitoring of your episodes, some experimental therapeutic approaches, comprehensive documentation of your case for the research literature.” Dr. Voss's smile carried satisfaction that felt slightly unsettling.

“I think you'll find that understanding your condition changes everything about how you experience it.”

They left the appointment with plans for follow-up testing and a thick packet of research materials to review.

Finn felt hope mixing with apprehension in his chest—finally, someone who might be able to explain what was happening to his mind, who might be able to help him regain some control over his own consciousness.

But River's expression remained troubled during the drive home, his scientific skepticism clearly activated by Dr. Voss's research claims and immediate interest in Finn's case.

“What are you thinking?” Finn asked as they crossed the bridge back into Beacon Point.

“I'm thinking her research is intriguing, but I want to verify her credentials and look into her published work before we commit to anything experimental,” River said carefully. “Some of her claims about memory access and cognitive connections sound more like parapsychology than neuroscience.”

“But she's the first doctor who's taken my symptoms seriously. The first person who thinks this might be treatable.”

“I know. And I want to explore every possibility that might help you.” River reached across to take Finn's hand. “I just want to make sure we approach this carefully.”

As evening light slanted through Beacon Point and the lighthouse beam prepared for another night of steady rotation, Finn realized he was standing at a crossroads that would determine everything about his future.

Trust Dr. Voss and her experimental research, risking unknown consequences for the possibility of understanding and control.

Or continue living with episodes that were becoming more severe and frequent, watching his grip on reality erode gradually.

Either choice carried enormous risks. But for the first time since his symptoms had started, Finn felt like he had options beyond slow deterioration and growing confusion.

Even if those options led him into territory more dangerous than anything he'd experienced so far.