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“Misty’s with me,” he adds softly. “If you want her to stay, it’s no trouble.”

“That could do me some good.” I nod, releasing my hair. “So? Can you tell me anything?” My tone is more forceful than I intend.

He gestures to a chair and begins unpacking tools. Vials, polished needles, folded cloth. The common denominator is that they all look like instruments from another era. In fact, most items in this home appear to be from another era. Nothing is modern from what I understand of my memories.

Arik makes quick work of tugging my hand toward him and finding the right vein for blood. I wince as the leather tourniquet squeezes and the needle pricks skin.

“Afraid of needles?” he asks with a small smile, tightening the tourniquet.

“Only the blood part.” I glance down and regret it. The blood is dark, almost syrup-thick, like the ectoplasm from an old film I remember watching with my mother.

He lifts my chin. “Eyes here.” His gaze is steady. Too steady. Why was I never taken to a hospital? Why this house?

“You’re the only doctor in town?” I ask.

“For now. The nearest hospital is an hour away. If anything urgent happens, we make do.” He gives me a reassuring nod. “You’re safe, even out here.”

Safe. The word feels thin, like fog pressed against glass. Safe from what, exactly? Myself? Them? The house with its dancing shadows and eerie nighttime rituals? “So we’re really isolated, then?” I ask, listening for further terrain clues.

“Out here,” he says, “there are miles of forest, coastline, and silence. Some days it feels like the edge of the world.” He pauses. “It can be beautiful…or lonely. Depends on what you’re running from.”

I allow that to sink in then ask, “What brought you here?”

He exhales long and openly. “People come to Devil’s Bay to purge their demons. They think distance will cure what haunts them.”

“That’s…pretty fucked up,” I say. But the question burns louder in my mind, what demons, does this house hide? “I’m grateful you and Kieran found me,” I add.

“How has that been?” he asks.

“It’s weird. I’m stuck between apprehension and comfort.”

“Ah yes—humanity’s favorite pairing.” He swaps vials. “You don’t get comfort without fear. The brain is designed for it. Remember, the only way out is through. And sometimes, to get through to the end, we have to face some really rough stuff.”

I huff a laugh despite myself.

“Any tiredness? Feelings of depression?” He questions.

“What’s making me sad is how little my brain wants to cooperate. I just want enough memory to move forward.”

“That’s brave,” he says. Then, after a beat, “Kieran mentioned you wanted to speak with the Sheriff.”

I nod, heart thudding.

“I’ll arrange it. Do you remember your parents’ names? Anything that might help us trace you?”

I close my eyes and reach into the labyrinth of my mind, clawing for a name, a letter, or a sound. But everything slips away. My face contorts with the effort. A sure headache to come from this. How could I remember the smell of my father’s cologne and the smudge of my mother’s favorite lipstick, but not their names?

“Don’t force it,” he murmurs. “It’ll come.”

I sigh, opening my eyes, disappointment flooding my chest.

When he finishes with my sticky blood, I stand and before I can reconsider, I hug him. Disarming potential enemies might benefit me.

He stiffens in surprise, then pats my back. The touch startles something in me, sparks flickering across dormant wiring. Maybe touch is bringing light to the darkest parts of me. But his hands are ice cold, and I pull away.

“Is there anything else I should do?” I ask, hoping to keep his friendly aura around for a few more moments.

He seems to think about his response first. His kind brown eyes gaze off toward the door, and then he speaks. “You’re not alone here. Your presence brings brightness into this house. For now, your only job is to be present. If my hypothesis is correct, your mind and its memories will find their way back…and then you run as far away from here as you can.”