Page 32 of Evermore

Desperate Measures

River

R iver paced the emergency room's waiting area like a caged animal, his sneakers squeaking against linoleum that smelled of disinfectant and despair.

Six hours. Six fucking hours Finn had been unconscious, and the doctors kept running tests that told them absolutely nothing useful about why his brain had decided to check out of reality for an entire afternoon.

“Mr. Hayes?” A tired-looking doctor in scrubs appeared, clipboard in hand and the expression of someone about to deliver news that wouldn't make anyone feel better. “We've completed the initial workup on Mr. Torres.”

“And?” River stopped pacing, his heart hammering with equal parts hope and dread.

“All the scans came back normal. Blood work, EEG, MRI—everything looks completely typical for a healthy twenty-six-year-old male.” The doctor flipped through pages that apparently contained a whole lot of nothing. “There's no medical explanation for the extended unconsciousness he experienced.”

River felt the ground shift under his feet. “What do you mean no medical explanation? People don't just lose consciousness for six hours for no reason.”

“Sometimes neurological events can occur without showing up on standard testing. We'd like to keep him for observation, run some additional tests?—”

“He's awake,” River interrupted, because he could see through the glass doors into Finn's room where the man he loved was sitting up in bed looking confused and fragile. “Can I see him?”

The doctor nodded, but River was already moving toward Finn's room, driven by the need to touch him, to confirm he was really back and coherent.

“Hey,” River said softly, settling into the chair beside Finn's hospital bed. “How are you feeling?”

Finn looked at him with eyes that seemed slightly unfocused, like someone trying to bring the world into proper alignment. “Tired. Confused. Like I've been dreaming for years and just woke up.” His voice was hoarse, uncertain.

“You collapsed in the kitchen while we were talking about...” River hesitated, not sure if mentioning the wedding conversation would trigger another episode. “You just went down. Completely unresponsive.”

“The wedding,” Finn said quietly, and River's heart sank because apparently the conversation was still vivid in Finn's memory. “I was talking about our wedding that's never going to happen because it only exists in my head.”

Before River could respond, familiar voices echoed from the waiting room—multiple voices, heated discussion, the kind of family drama that meant someone was either very pissed off or very scared.

Maya appeared first, like an avenging angel in scrubs, her dark eyes blazing with fury and terror in equal measure.

But she wasn't alone. Behind her came a man River had never met but recognized immediately from Finn's bone structure and auburn hair—Captain Torres, looking uncomfortable in civilian clothes and carrying himself with the military bearing that never quite went away.

“Where is he?” Maya demanded, her voice carrying across the emergency room with enough authority to make nurses look up. “Where's my brother?”

River stood up and left the room, preparing for the confrontation he'd been dreading, but his attention was caught by Captain Torres, who was studying the hospital environment with the careful attention of someone evaluating a potentially dangerous situation.

“I called Dad,” Maya said, noting River's surprise. “Figured if Finn's having episodes this severe, maybe it's time for family medical history that might actually be useful.”

Captain Torres stepped forward, extending a hand to River with formal courtesy that didn't quite hide his obvious discomfort. “You must be River. I've heard... some things about you.”

“Sir,” River replied, accepting the handshake while wondering what exactly Captain Torres had heard and from whom.

“The doctors said there's no medical reason for him to have been unconscious for six hours,” Maya continued, her psychology training evident in the way she'd clearly gotten a full briefing.

“Which means this was psychological. Which means his condition is worse than either of you have been admitting.”

“Maya—”

“Don't 'Maya' me. I told you this relationship was moving too fast, that the emotional intensity was making his symptoms worse.” Maya's voice was getting louder, drawing attention from other families dealing with their own medical crises.

“And now he's having episodes so severe they require emergency intervention.”

River felt guilt and defensive anger war in his chest. “You think this is my fault?”

“I think a man with a rare neurological condition shouldn't be in a relationship that's clearly triggering more severe episodes.” Maya stepped closer, her protective instincts on full display. “When's the last time Finn had a normal day?”

But Captain Torres was frowning, his attention caught by something Maya had said. “Did you say neurological condition?”

Maya turned to her father with obvious exasperation. “Yes, Dad. The condition Finn's been dealing with for months. The memory gaps, the confusion, the episodes where he loses time.”

Captain Torres went very still, his face cycling through emotions River couldn't identify. “Episodes where he loses time and seems to be somewhere else mentally?”

“You know about this?” River asked, something cold settling in his stomach.

“I know about something that sounds very similar.” Captain Torres looked toward Finn's room, his expression troubled. “Your mother had episodes like that. Before the diagnosis they gave her, before the doctors decided it was dementia.”

Maya's face went white. “What are you talking about?”

“Your mother didn't have dementia,” Captain Torres said quietly, the admission clearly costing him. “She had something else. Something the doctors didn't understand and couldn't treat. Something that made her mind... slip between different times, different realities.”

River felt the world tilt sideways.

“Why didn't you tell us this before?” Maya asked.

“Because I hoped it wasn't genetic. Because I hoped Finn would be different.” Captain Torres ran a hand through his graying hair, looking every year of his age. “Because I've been running from this for years, and I thought maybe if I didn't acknowledge it, it wouldn't be real.”

Dr. Voss chose that moment to appear, emerging from Finn's room with her ever-present notebook and the expression of someone who'd just collected fascinating data. But she stopped short when she saw Captain Torres, something shifting in her expression.

“Captain Torres,” she said, her voice carefully neutral. “I wasn't expecting to see you here.”

“Doctor Voss.” His tone was equally neutral, but River caught undercurrents that suggested a history between them. “I hear you've been treating my son.”

“I've been researching his condition. The same condition that killed your wife, though you were never willing to cooperate with my investigation then.” Dr. Voss's professional mask slipped slightly, revealing old frustration.

“Perhaps now you'll be more willing to share relevant family medical history.”

River looked between them, understanding dawning. “You've met before.”

“Dr. Voss approached me years ago, asking questions about Elena's episodes, wanting to study what had happened to her.” Captain Torres's voice was tight with old pain. “I wasn't interested in turning my wife's suffering into someone else's research project.”

“And now your son has the same condition, and your refusal to cooperate may have cost valuable time in understanding how to treat it.” Dr. Voss's excitement was barely contained behind professional demeanor.

“His episodes are providing unprecedented data about consciousness and temporal perception.”

Maya stepped between Dr. Voss and the door to Finn's room. “What exactly are you proposing to do to my brother?”

“Extended monitoring, detailed documentation of his neurological responses during displacement events.” Dr. Voss spoke about Finn like he was a fascinating case study rather than a human being. “This condition offers insights that could help others.”

“Others like your daughter?” Captain Torres asked quietly, and Dr. Voss went very still.

“My daughter died from this condition because I didn't understand it well enough to help her,” Dr. Voss said, her professional composure cracking slightly. “Finn's case could prevent other families from experiencing that loss.”

River felt pieces of a puzzle clicking into place. “Your daughter had the same condition as Finn's mother?”

“Temporal Perceptual Displacement. It runs in families, usually through the maternal line, though it can skip generations.” Dr. Voss's mask slipped further, revealing the grief-driven motivation behind her research.

“Elena died because the doctors didn't recognize the symptoms until it was too late.

Sarah—my daughter—died because I couldn't convince her to accept treatment.”

“What treatment?” Maya asked sharply. “Because so far, all you've done is monitor and study Finn. You haven't actually offered any concrete treatment options.”

Dr. Voss opened her briefcase, revealing vials and documentation that looked more serious than her previous materials.

“Experimental protocols that I've been developing based on the research with Finn. Medication combinations that might stabilize the neurological activity, prevent the temporal displacement episodes.”

“Might,” Captain Torres said, his tone skeptical. “The same way treatment might have helped Elena if I'd been willing to let you use her as a test subject.”

“The same way treatment could help Finn if his family is willing to trust medical intervention over denial and avoidance.” Dr. Voss's voice was getting sharp, professional frustration overriding grief-motivated compassion.

“Can everyone please stop talking about me like I'm not here?”