I shook my head no. He approached her slowly. He listened to her heart and breathing. He felt her skin for her temperature. He rolled the covers back on the bed to examine her fully. He pulled her dressing gown up to her knees. “She has a bite, here on her leg. Two small holes.”
I rushed to see for myself. Roughly a hands width below her knee, on her left leg, were two holes surrounded by dried blood. The shape of the bite was that of the fangs of a snake. “This is a snake bite Master Owens. Where would your wife encounter a snake in this bitter cold?”
I was unable to speak. My breath became loud and fast. The room felt as if it were spinning. The doctor grabbed hold of me and led me to a chair in the corner of the room. “Sit. Place your head between your knees and slow your breathing.”
He held his hand on my shoulder and kept watch of me for a moment. Once I had calmed, he asked, “Are you ready to tell me what has happened?”
I looked up, at first avoiding his eyes and then, desperate for someone to speak with about it, I told him everything that had happened both the day and night before in great detail. His hand dropped from my shoulder and he took several steps backward.
When I finished relaying the events, he somberly stated that the bridge east of town, crossing the river had collapsed the night prior. Miss Del Bosque, her daughter Angelina, and their mare were all lost in the accident. Master Timothy Martin had been witness to the event and was unable to reach them in a timely matter. He came close to me once again, fell to one knee and stated, “I cannot reverse the curse of the witch, sir.”
My head and heart together dropped. “That I know good doctor.”
I set the journal down on my lap. The story is heartbreaking. I don’t want to know what happened to his daughters. I don’t want to experience his profound sadness and loss. I know they will never wake up. I know they are lost and he will never find them. Then the thought suddenly occurs to me. Maybe my father has given me these journals because they will teach me how to find someone who is lost. Maybe after all his desperation and suffering, William Owens figured out exactly what it was he had to do to find his wife and their daughters and return them safely home. This is clearly the story of the original dream walking family, but maybe it's also the instruction manual to finding someone who is lost.
“You okay over there?” Zoë asks from the driver’s seat.
“Yeah, I think I am. Do you think these journals are going to lead us to Natalie? Kind of like an instruction booklet for finding a lost walker?”
“So this means that you’re sold on the whole witch, curse thing then?”
I slowly shrug my shoulders. “If people like us exist in the world, people who can create time and space in their dreams and travel to endless places with infinite possibilities, then why is it so unbelievable that a witch can exist? A person who can manipulate the physical world?”
“I guess you have a point.”
I half-heartedly smile. “Maybe that’s not what they are at all though. Maybe they’re more of a cautionary tale. A ‘don’t do it this way’ story.”
“We’ll figure it out. Try not to worry so much.” She reaches over and squeezes my hand in hers.
A glance at the clock shows we have already been driving for over an hour. It’s coming up on seven thirty. The traffic has diminished from rush hour, but as we near Portland it picks up again. “Time for a pit stop.”
Zoë exits the highway and turns into a large truck stop. She pulls her Jeep up to a gas pump and shuts off the engine. I reach inside the backpack and pull out the bag with the money in it. I hand her sixty dollars and she slides out to fill up the tank.
“I’m going to head inside and get us some snacks and drinks. Anything in particular you’d like?” I ask her as I step out of the Jeep.
She shouts back at me, “coffee! I’m definitely going to need it tonight.”
As I head toward the store, I am taken aback by a streak of bitter cold hidden in the wind. It sends