LITMIR.BIZ

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Rayfield Ranch?”

      “Yes, on Saturday. Saturday night I saw something in the woods, a large raccoon or stray dog, and today I wake up in a hospital. You tell me, what day is it?”

      “Sunday, four o’clock.” He scribbled for a few seconds. “Interesting. No memory loss?”

      “Not that I’m aware of. But I wouldn’t remember what I’d forgotten, would I?”

      “I suppose not. Do you remember the accident?”

      “What accident?”

      “Any other loss of memory?”

      “No. Not to my knowledge. I’m divorced. I’m a photographer, or was—I closed my studio last year. And that’s none of your business.” Her pulse raced. “What fucking accident?”

      Dr. Selden retracted his ballpoint and stuck it in his breast pocket. “It appears, Ms. Hawthorne, you’ve been struck by lightning.”

      “What?”

      “You have all the indications.”

      “You’re shitting me?”

      Dr. Selden shrank. “No. I’m not. I apologize for withholding information. Some folks think a lightning strike is the disciplinary action of God. I get the sense you’re not one of those people. I didn’t want you to feel punished.”

      “Too late. I’ve had my universal spanking and it had nothing to do with the elements. How do you know what happened to me, anyway? You weren’t there.”

      “You have Lichtenberg figures on your back. Fern-like patterns pathognomonic of lightning strikes.”

      “On my back? Why is my shoulder bandaged?”

      “Lightning struck your shoulder. You sustained a second-degree burn. We’re not sure why Lichtenberg figures develop on other areas of the body, but they’re painless and usually fade in a week or so. Factoring in weather conditions and the plum-sized occipital hematoma, I’ve determined it was a direct strike. Getting hit by lightning is atypical—getting hit directly and surviving is a miracle.”

      That was poignant enough for her to forgive the furious pain, but then the visions came, quick and streamlined—the blazing punch, soaring above ground, hitting dirt. She flinched.

      “What now?” she asked, afraid of doubling up on nightmares.

      “Good question.” Dr. Selden walked to the window, tugged on a closed blind panel and peeked outside. The aluminum made a tinny noise like the gentle crush of a discarded beer can. “I’m not sure any of us know what to expect.” He released the panel and paused, seeming to sort his thoughts. “In my forty years of practice, I’ve handled three lightning cases.” He turned and came to her bedside, his breath smelling of bitter coffee. “I’ve since learned that makes me an expert.”

      Zoey rested her left arm on the side rail and listened intensely.

      “Of the three cases, two were victims of a secondary discharge, meaning lightning ricocheted off an inanimate object and struck the individuals. Of these two victims, one man suffered immediate cardiopulmonary arrest and died. The other, a friend of a friend, was thrown twenty feet across a golf course. He sustained spinal cord injuries. He’s paralyzed.”

      Zoey’s heart stomped. “You said you’ve seen three cases.”

      “You’re the third. What I’m alluding to is, under the circumstances, you’re in incredible condition.” He scratched his milky cheek. “Lightning ranges between twenty million and one billion volts. To put that in perspective, a police Taser has two million volts. We’ll never know what voltage struck you, and granted we have further tests to run, but it appears Nurse Chong was correct. You’re a very lucky woman.”

      “Forgive me if I don’t pop open the champagne. I have a migraine, and I’m pretty certain wee little organisms are roasting marshmallows in my veins. Did Nurse Chong get lost?”

      “It’s imperative you try to relax. If you want my professional opinion, you’re in a fragile state. Unfortunately your injuries could be extensive. Nurse Chong will be here shortly.” Dr. Selden extracted his pen, and positioned to write. “So, you’re a relative of Amos Rayfield?”

      “Great niece.”

      “I didn’t know Amos had family.”

      “His family didn’t know they had an Amos. He and my grandmother were estranged.”

      “I see.” Dr. Selden jotted, and continued, “Amos Rayfield, quintessential loner. Nevertheless, his suicide stunned me. He wasn’t the type.”

      “To what, hang himself?” Zoey said, physically uncomfortable and too sober to discuss death. “Life kicks our asses. Either we fight back or we don’t. Maybe Amos had enough bullshit, because frankly, stick a fork in me, you know?”

      “As I said, he wasn’t the type.”

      “What makes you so sure?”

      Dr. Selden chuckled. “Bogeymen under the bed and monsters in the closet? They were hiding from Amos. I’ve known a few tough old birds in my time, but Amos was by far the toughest. It’s hard to comprehend what could have driven an ornery son-of-a-gun like Amos Rayfield to end his life.”

      “You’re an MD. You’ve met the Grim Reaper. He’s a sneaky prick.”

      Dr. Selden nodded sorrowfully. “Right you are, Ms. Hawthorne.”

      “Where am I? I mean this place, the hospital?”

      “Monroe Memorial in Telluride.”

      “How’d I get here?”

      “Your neighbor, Kane Ballentine. He stopped by your place on his way home. It was drizzling and your door was wide open. He found you near the woods and brought you to the emergency room.”

      “Kind of late for an uninvited visitor.”

      “Yes, well, fortunately for you, Kane keeps inconsistent hours. Not uncommon for a man of his stature. He directs a long list of charity events and has real estate circling the globe.” Dr. Selden lowered the clipboard. “You’re new in town. He was going to leave a note on your car with his telephone number if you should have needed anything.”

      “That’s what I’d do. Scare the crap out of a woman in the middle of the night. Where is Nurse Chong? My arm is raging.”

      “She’s on her way,” Dr. Selden insisted. “Kane Ballentine is third generation in Big Cat Canyon, and a single father to a daughter. I’d bet my savings account he meant you no harm.”

      “Save your bets for casinos. People can’t be trusted.”

      “When I was a young boy…”

      “Say it isn’t so, Doc. You’re not really going to reminisce while I suffer?”

      “Would you consider yourself to be an abrasive person?”

      “You wouldn’t ask me that if I were a man.”

      His eyes popped. “I have neither the time nor the inclination to criticize my patients. The question, Ms. Hawthorne, is relevant to the incident. Lightning tends to affect temperament. Survivors are known to be volatile. I’m merely trying to determine the best course of treatment.” He exhaled in apparent frustration. “Now, do you consider yourself more abrasive than usual?

      “I don’t know, maybe.”

      “Were you always—”

      “What, outspoken, honest, gritty? I don’t know.” She quieted a moment and organized the floating jigsaw in her head. “My body hurts so bad I could vomit. My son died last year in a freak accident, and here I am a little over a year later recovering from a lightning strike. Be honest. What are the odds?”

      “One

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