Page 74 of Spiced!

I sighed into my phone screen, closed the chat, and went back to work.

The new monitoring footage Dr. Reyes sent was paused on my desktop. I had watched it twice, replaying sections the second time around to confirm I’d seen what I thought I was seeing. The pattern was there. I knew it. There was a clear behavioral shift in the hour preceding the episode. I saw it in the quality of Marisol’s movements. Something wasn’t in the diagnostic picture yet but was trying to be.

I grabbed my phone and called Dr. Reyes.

“The footage,” I said. “Can you get me the same window from the episode two weeks prior?”

“I can pull that today,” she said. “Are you seeing a pattern?”

“Maybe. I think so. We’ll see.”

After I hung up, I sat with the imaging and the footage and my almost-theory. I was so lost in thought that I nearly missed my phone buzz against the wood of my desk.

This time, it wasn’t the group chat. It was Adrian. He’d sent a photo of his afternoon proof, halfway through what looked like a tray of conchas.

Adrian: Tell me about the tapir. How’s she doing? How are you doing? It’s got to be frustrating, not knowing how to help her.

I looked at the text for a second. His simple words encapsulated exactly how I felt. I was frustrated and frightened, though not for myself. I was scared for the poor creature who felt miserable and couldn’t possibly understand what was happening to her. I was scared her condition was more serious than we knew, and something worse than seizures might happen if I couldn’t untangle this knot. I loved working with animals, but I really wished they could talk, if only to tell me what they were feeling.

My phone screen did that dim middle setting, the thing it did when I’d let it sit too long. That shook me from my spiral. I snatched it up and let my thumbs fly.

Me: She had another episode. I’ve been reviewing the footage.

Adrian: What kind of footage?

Me: Behavioral monitoring. They have cameras in the enclosure. They have cameras everywhere, actually. I’m looking at the hours before the episode.

Adrian: What are you looking for?

Me: I wish I knew. Something strange. Something that doesn’t fit. I’m hoping to find a pattern that shows up in the window before she shows symptoms.

Adrian: Is she eating?

My thumbs froze.

This was the thing about Adrian—he consistently asked the questions I hadn’t thought to include in the clinical picture, not because I didn’t care about it, but because my brain went immediately to the mechanism, while his went immediately to the animal. Any decent vet would’ve started with his question. It was almost as basic as, “Is your pet breathing?”

Me: Yes. Appetite’s been normal throughout, but you reminded me to double-check that, so thank you.

Adrian: Hmm. Still not scared yet. Clearly confused and uncomfortable, though. She needs you, Brendan.

Me: Adrian . . . wow. Who are you?

Adrian: I’m a pet owner. I know things.

Me: You specialize in bread, dogs, and dancing.

Adrian: And apparently tapirs. And calming vets. Add those to my CV.

As the last patient of the day checked out with Marcus at the front desk, Diane appeared in my doorway with her bag on her shoulder. She looked like she had something to say and was going to say it efficiently.

“I heard more humming, Doc,” she said.

“I wasn’t—”

“Earlier, between the parrot and the rabbit. It was something with a drum line again. I had no idea you were so into drums.”

“I don’t hum, especially not things with drums.”