"It's a great way to get at the files," Joe told her before Spirit or Roger could voice their opinions. "If people are dying because of something Farkas is doing then we need to find out what it is and put a stop to it."
"He's right about that," Roger concurred. "And even if Joe can't remember anything he does seem to know what he's doing."
"He's just a boy," Rachel snapped.
"But a boy with a legitimate reason to see Dr. Donovan," Joe pointed out.
"Won't he wonder why you're seeing him when you've been staying with us?" asked Spirit.
"I'm not going to tell him," Joe said.
"I told Joe that he should say Martha Blevins has been taking care of him," Roger put in. "No one will go to check it out and Martha only comes into town once a month and she was in last week."
"But after you see him?" demanded Rachel. "You can't go to Martha's and you can't stay in town alone. You have no where to go."
"Not necessarily," countered Joe. "I'll go see the sheriff after I visit Donovan. Maybe he will have found something out about me by now."
"And if he hasn't?" asked Spirit, frowning.
"The point is moot," declared Roger. "After Joe sees Donovan he is coming back here. It won't matter if Donovan knows the truth after Joe's visit."
'Unless he's hiding something,' Joe thought. Joe wisely kept quite. If the Fairbanks thought he would be in danger later because of this then he doubted they would let him go through with it and he wanted to help them if he could.
Dr. Fairbanks drove Joe most of the way into town and instructed him to go to Millie's Diner when he had finished with Donovan.
Joe made his way to Donovan's office and stepped up to the receptionist's desk. "If you will fill this out while you wait," said the receptionist at the front desk, handing Joe a clipboard and pen.
Joe looked at the sheet of paper and paled. "I...I can't," he said.
"Why not?" demanded the receptionist, narrowing her eyes on the youth.
"I can't remember who I am," he explained. "I don't know anything about me."
"Look, kid," she said with a sigh. "That joke is old and trite."
"It's no joke," Joe stated earnestly. "Mrs. Blevins found me and nursed me for a few days but thought I should come into town and see a real doctor now that I'm awake and can move around by myself."
"Mrs. Blevins?" the nurse inquired.
"Martha Blevins," Joe affirmed with a nod.
"How did you lose your memory?" she asked, still suspicious.
"I don't know," Joe answered. "I just woke up yesterday. Mrs. Blevins said I had been unconscious for a couple of days."
"No insurance, then?" she asked.
"No, ma'am," Joe replied, his eyes downcast. "I guess I should have tried to find a hospital or the police instead of coming here," he continued. "This was just the first place I saw."
"No, no," the receptionist said. "Just have a seat dear and we will get you checked out in no time."
Joe gave her a lopsided smile. "Thanks," he said.
Joe took a seat and looked around at the other people in the waiting room. By the fish tank sat a woman with mousy brown hair and sallow eyes. Her skin was pale and she looked incredibly tired. Her head was lying back against the wall and her eyes were shut but even though she looked like she might be dead her breathing was a prominent indication that she was not.
Near the door sat a man in his late twenties who was dressed as John Phipps had been but had thinning red hair and brown eyes. The freckles on his skin stood out brilliantly against his wan pallor and he was currently involved in a coughing fit that seemed to emanate from deep inside.
By the desk was another man, a farmer by all indications, with faded jeans, muddy boots and a wad of dip in his cheek. His face was sun-hardened with worry lines covering his forehead. Unlike the other two patients, this man looked to be in much better shape and Joe supposed this man was here for a check-up rather than because he was actually sick.
The office was fairly large with windows along the front except for a corner set-up for kids with a play table and toy chest. A magazine rack was next to the receptionist's desk with an array of magazines ranging from adventure to health and science. Joe counted the chairs. The place could easily sit thirty-eight people although Joe doubted more than three or four were scheduled per hour because Donovan was the only doctor.
The door opened and a nurse gestured for Joe to join her. Joe stood up as the lumberjack scowled at him, in a foul mood because Joe had gotten called back first.
Joe followed the nurse through the door and to an open space with a scale; blood pressure monitor; laptop and several other items that he either didn't recognize or were too mundane to mention.
"Okay, Joe?" she asked, lifting an eyebrow with the mention of his name.
"It was the first name that popped into my head when Mrs. Blevins said she had to call me something," Joe explained with a shrug.
"All right," agreed the nurse with a smile. "If you will step up on the scales please?" Joe did as instructed and waited patiently as the nurse jotted down his weight. "Now, let's see how tall you are," she said, lifting a measuring bar from the scales. She wrote down that number as well.
Next, Joe had his temperature and blood pressure taken. "What's that for?" Joe asked warily when the nurse produced a syringe and four small, empty vials.
"Since we don't know anything about you, we need to type your blood as well as check for a few other things," the nurse explained, tying a band around his upper arm. "If you have some type of disease and need treatment, we need to find out." She swiped a vein in the crook of his arm. "This will sting a bit," she warned him and inserted the needle.
After the nurse had finished, Joe refused the band-aid and held the cotton swab tightly as he followed her down the hall with his arm bent.
"Just have a seat and the doctor will be in shortly," she said as Joe sat down. As soon as she closed the door, Joe checked to make sure he was no longer bleeding then chucked the cotton swab into the trashcan. Joe cracked the door and listened. He could hear the doctor talking with the nurse briefly before entering a room around the corner and shutting the door. Knowing he didn't have long, he hurried down the hall and back to the small office he had passed on his way to his room. Entering, he closed the door softly and went to the file cabinet and pulled open the drawer marked T.
Here it is, thought Joe, pulling out Abraham Tyler's folder. Dr. Fairbanks had given him the names of the victims on his way into town and this was one of the men Fairbanks had not treated. Joe flipped through the sheaf of papers and glanced at the notes made by Dr, Donovan. He checked four other folders before leaving and making his way back to the room where he had been left. A few minutes later, the doctor arrived.
"Hello, there," greeted the doctor with a cheery smile. "I'm Gary Donovan," he introduced himself, holding out his hand.
Joe shook the hand and got his first good look at the doctor. He was a few inches shorter than Joe with hazel eyes and unruly hair. He was too thin, in Joe's opinion, and he looked like he had a lot on his mind.
"Well, now," said Donovan, releasing Joe's hand and opening Joe's file. "Amnesia?" he asked, looking over at Joe.
Joe nodded and told him the same lie he had given the receptionist. "Hmmm," murmured Donovan thoughtfully. "Let's give you a physical."
An hour later Dr. Donovan told Joe he could get dressed. "You seem to be in perfect physical condition," he said. "But since you do have amnesia and were obviously involved in some type of trauma, I'm going to send you to the hospital for a CAT scan," he continued.
"Uh," Joe interrupted him before he could go any further. "I don't have any money," he said. "And no one seems to know me so I can't contact anyone about getting some or even any insurance."
"Relax," Donovan told him kindly. "I'd say you are still a minor; sixteen or, maybe, seventeen. If someone does show up to claim you then I and the hospital will bill them. If not, as a minor, you will be a ward of the state and the Virginian government will cover the cost of everything."
"Virginia?" Joe asked in mild shock.
"That's correct," acknowledged Donovan. "You didn't know that?"
"I was told I was in Cranton but no one mentioned Virginia," Joe said.
"You do seem to have a northern accent," Donovan stated, his forehead wrinkling in thought. " Have you talked to the sheriff yet?"
Joe shook his head. "This is my first stop since I reached town."
"When you do see Sheriff Tanner, tell him you might originally be from up north," he suggested. "You could be a runaway."
"But if I ran away, why would I tell the sheriff so he could send me back?" Joe argued reasonably.
"Being on your own is one thing," Donovan pointed out. "Being on your own when you don't know anything about your past is another."
"I guess you're right," Joe responded with a slight shrug. "I'll go see the sheriff just as soon as I leave here," he promised.
"No," Donovan corrected him. "After you go to the hospital. Once I get the results I will get in touch with the sheriff. I'm sure he will find you a place to stay until your family is found or until social services can find you a home."
"Thanks," Joe said, rising as the doctor did.
"Take this to the front desk and Karen will set you up with an appointment at the hospital and tell you how to get there. It's only about a quarter of a mile from here," he added. "It's that large building in the background you saw from outside."
Joe followed Donovan out of the room then continued down the hall toward the checkout, unaware Phipps had come to check on his sick buddy.
"What was he doing here?" hissed Phipps, grabbing Donovan's arm and pulling him back through a door out of sight of the youth in case he turned around.
"He who?" demanded Donovan with narrowed eyes. He thoroughly disliked the majority of Farkas's employees but Phipps was one of the worst.
"That blond kid," Phipps said, his anger and suspicion coming through loud and clear.
"I gave him a physical," Donovan stated, unprepared to give any more details.
"He came to you for a physical?" Phipps repeated in disbelief.
"I am a physician," stated Donovan haughtily.
"Yeah, but he was at the Fairbanks' last night," Phipps said. "Why would he come to you?"
Donovan's face broke into a scowl. "Come on Doc," Phipps said. "You had better call Farkas."
Donovan hesitated only for a second. "You're right," he agreed with a sigh. If only he hadn't gotten mixed up with Farkas in the first place he thought. He should have let Farkas go ahead and file a malpractice suit. Yes, Farkas had been lying but he was positive Farkas could have found the required amount of physicians who would back him up for a price. Donovan gave a deeper sigh. How much more would he have to do to keep his practice alive?
