Page 1 of Dr. Danger
1.
Avon
The storm howls outside, whipping the manor in its frenzy. Shadows dance in the corners, flickering with each lightning strike. I run through the dark corridors, my feet pounding against the cold floor. He’s behind me. The faceless man in the white coat. His breath is hot on my neck, the scalpel gleaming ominously in his hand.
I turn a corner, my heart hammering in my chest. My nightgown clings to my skin, soaked from the rain that somehow pours down from the ceiling. The walls seem to close in, the portraits of my ancestors watching with hollow eyes. I can hear his footsteps echoing louder, closer. There’s no escape.
He’s going to get me!
His hand grabs around my waist, and I scream, the sound piercing the dark. The scalpel rises, catching the light. I shut my eyes, bracing for the pain…
Gasping, I bolt upright in bed, my heart racing. The nightmare releases its grip, but it still lingers. I breathe raggedly, the room spinning for a moment before settling. My eyes adjust to the dim light, the familiar surroundings of my bedroom easing the panic clenching my chest.
”Ave, are you up?" Malva's voice is soft. Standing by the door, her round, homely face watches me with worry. She carefully enters. "Did you have a nightmare again?"
I nod, my throat too tight to speak, but Malva’s presence is a welcoming contrast to that awful dream. Malva pulls back the heavy curtains, letting in the morning light. I wince as the brightness stabs at my eyes, coughing slightly.
”I have something that’ll cheer you up," she says, her tone as sweet as ever, ” made you brekkie."
Malva’s not just a maid to me; she’s a friend, perhaps the only true friend I have in this big, empty manor. Her kindness means everything to me, and I lean on her probably more than I should.
She places the tray on the bed, the scent of oatmeal and tea wafting up. My stomach twists; I have no appetite, but I force a smile.
”Did you put pecans in it?”
She sits on the edge of the bed, watching me with those gentle eyes. ”Damn straight I did. Go on, try it.”
I take a small spoonful, and it’s good but I can’t eat much. "I need to get up soon," I murmur, more to myself than to her. ”Need to get dressed."
Malva’s expression turns surprised. ”Are you going somewhere today?”
She knows I rarely go anywhere. It’s been a while since I went to a party, or to a fox hunting. These days, I tire easily. I shake my head, setting the spoon down. ”A doctor is coming over for a home visit.”
"I didn’t know you’d called the doctor," she says, her voice laced with surprise.
”Had to,” I nod, reluctantly. "I keep feeling worse and worse. It's starting to scare me."
”I’m sure it’s nothing.” Her eyes overflow with pity. ”But I’m glad you’re taking care of yourself. It’s about time."
With Malva’s help, I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand, swaying slightly. She steadies me, her touch reassuring. Together, we head to my closet and choose an outfit appropriate for a doctor's visit. We end up selecting a tweed dress that used to belong to my mother. It looked great on her, but I don’t really think I do it justice.
I try to do my hair myself, but my arms feel like lead, and every movement’s an effort. Malva takes over, her fingers quickly working through my hair, brushing it until it shines and then tidying it up into a simple, elegant style.
Once she’s finished, I reach out and take her hand, pressing it to my cheek. ”Thanks, Mal. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
”Me neither,” she teases.
”You’re my best friend,” I murmur, throat snaring from emotion.
”You mean I’m your only friend who doesn’t want anything from you.” Malva gives my hand a squeeze, smiling and there’s a touch of sadness in her eyes. ”And you don’t need to thank me. You know I got your back."
A sudden noise from the courtyard startles us both. My heart leaps in my chest, and I rush to the window, my nightgown and robe billowing around me. Malva’s protests are a distant murmur as I press my face to the shiny glass.
In the courtyard below, a man steps down from a white motorcycle, his movements deliberate and controlled. He’s wearing a white doctor’s coat that flutters around him like a cape. His appearance is striking—icy, with sharp features that seem to have been carved by a scalpel. Dark hair falls carelessly over his forehead, and his eyes, a piercing shade of cruel green, observe the manor with a calculating intensity.
He looks like he means business. He looks like he could tear a man open and gnaw on the organs, without blinking. And that’s the man that’s going to put his hands all over me.
A strange sensation rushes through me, a series of hot and cold flushes that leaves me momentarily breathless. I blame it on my illness, or maybe it’s just the stranger. Something about him is causing a difficult fluttering in my chest.