Dr. Sam Hamilton tugged on the door once to make sure it was really locked. Turning towards the alley, he headed for his car and shivered in the cool night air. He should have worn something heavier than just his lab coat. He was tired and his legs ached from all the standing he’d done in the small neighborhood clinic where he donated his time one day a week. Grinning to himself, he thought back over the hours and all the street people who’d brightened his day. Checking his watch, he knew he’d have to hurry if he wanted to make his 7:30 dinner date.

“Pst-t-t, Doc.”

He tightened all over and cast his eyes swiftly across the dirty concrete ground and walls. Colorful graffiti covered most of the dingy surfaces including the dumpsters that lined the walls. A shabby figure dressed in multiple layers stood hesitantly near one of the old metal containers with his hand upraised to catch his attention.

“Joe? Did you need the clinic?” He relaxed a bit but stayed alert when he recognized one of the elderly alcoholics who drifted through the neighborhood.

“Not me, Doc. Got a friend who’s real sick.” Joe shuffled out warily and looked up at him out of watery blue eyes.

“Well, how about I give you some aspirin for your friend and tomorrow you bring him in for Dr. Fraser to look at.”  Sam began to open his bag but stopped when Joe briefly touched his arm before snatching his hand back.

 “Can’t wait, Doc.  She’s real sick.  Burnin’ up.  And hurtin’.  But she won’t go to hospital.”  Joe shook his graying head and sent a beseeching look his way.

 Sam sighed and kissed his dinner date with the lovely Eleanor goodbye.  Managing a smile he nodded at the old derelict.  “Then why don’t you take me to her, Joe and I’ll see what I can do.  Is she family, Joe?”

 An incredulous look was his only answer and his ex-patient began to lead him away from his car and into the twilight world of the old buildings that mostly housed bankrupt businesses and the shadow people who only came out at night.  Sending up a quick prayer to the God of Car Protection, Sam hoped his deal with the local Vaquero Gang held past clinic hours here in the beautiful slums of Waltham.

 Joe led him unerringly past three office buildings, behind another and through an   alley.  Sam followed him with all senses on the alert.  He never carried drugs with him except for over the counter medications that he handed out with a lavish hand but he was wary of an ambush.  He didn’t want to think badly of Joe but as his big brother, the colonel, kept telling him, better safe than sorry.

 “She’s in here, Doc.  I sure hope you can help her.”  Joe looked anxious and opened a door into a building that was clearly labeled ‘Condemned’.  “She’s holed up in the basement.  It’s not much but at least it’s out of the cold.”

 “Lead the way, Joe.  I’m right behind you.”  Sam took a firm hold on his medical bag and fished out the high powered flashlight to help light their way.  It didn’t look like electricity had been turned on here in some time.

The second room on the right was piled high with mildewed cardboard boxes.  Joe moved the ones nearest the door, making for the far corner and a pile of rags that stirred slightly at the sound of their entrance.

“It’s Joe, mi’lady.  I brung the Doctor with me.”

A hacking cough was the only response.  The cough raised the hairs on the back of Sam’s neck and he quickly threaded his way through the boxes to the shapeless pile.  Ignoring the stink of dried urine and stale bodies, he knelt by his patient’s side.

“Ma’am, my name is Dr. Sam Hamilton and I’m here to help you.  Is it all right if I pull back your coat?”  He hesitated, not sure if the person was even conscious.

“Yes.”  The voice was faint and strangled as if she spoke through clenched teeth.

"How long have you had the cough?”  Sam pulled the coat back so he could see what he was working with.  “Joe, hold the flashlight so I can see what I’m doing.”

He snapped open his bag and took out his stethescope to listen to the chest that was trying so hard to keep working.

“Three . . . days.”  She whispered and moved her right hand to bare her upper torso.

He tried to ignore the mass of scar tissue revealed by the pushing aside of what looked to be three shirts layered on top of each other.  Her skin was cold to the touch. “I need you to sit up for me, ma’am.  I can help you, if you don’t mind?”

A hoarse chuckle was his only answer and he gingerly helped her upright then held her through another coughing spell that sounded more like whooping than anything else, even muffled by his coat.  She didn’t seem to have the full use of her left arm but her right handed grip on his forearm was firm.

The gurgle of fluid in her right lung was bad especially since he couldn’t hear anything from the left lung.  “Ma’am, it sounds to me like a good rousing case of pneumonia that’s not going to get better unless we get you someplace warm and dry.  Maybe an IV tube to replace the fluids that you’ve lost.”

“No hospitals.”

“If it’s money that’s a problem, I know the local hospital will accept you anyway, especially if I bring you in.”

“No.”

Sam sighed and went to set her back down.  “If we don’t start treating you soon, you could die of pneumonia which would be pretty damn silly in this day and age.”

“No hospitals.  That really would kill me.”  The tones were racked with pain but still self-assured with an echo of the schoolroom in them that made Sam think twice.  Every word was carefully enunciated and the accent sounded like something from the Midwest.

“I can’t leave you here.  Because if I did, you’d move so I couldn’t find you again.”  Sam was thinking aloud while he sought for a compromise that would get her the treatment she needed.  He knew some of the street people were extremely proud and often wary of people of authority.

“Very good, Doctor.  You’re not as young as you look.”  The faint edge of amusement sent his eyes to her face and he barely kept back an exclamation at the ruined visage under the ragged knit cap.

“How long ago did this happen?”  His hand gently touched the vivid red scars that laced the left side of her face.  A patch covered what must have once been her left eye.

“Six months.  It was  . . . an error in judgment.”  Her right eye was closed against the glare of the flashlight.  “Can you just leave me some antibiotics?  And maybe some water?”

“No.  You’re closer to the edge than you realize.  You need warmth, fluids and food that will nourish you.”  Sam pleaded, not really understanding why it meant so much to him that she be treated.

She sighed and a stream of soft fluid syllables came from her chapped lips.  It sounded like music and laughter, lilting in the fetid air.  Sam had a smattering of different languages from his trips abroad but this didn’t sound like anything he’d ever heard before.  Her speech provoked another coughing spell which shook her whole body and he held her through the worst of it.

“Your hospitals would kill me quicker than this disease.  I am wanted by people who wish me caught and sent back to my old life.  Time is precious but I need my strength back too.  This puzzle may yet be beyond me.”  Her whisper was more to herself than to her audience of two.

Sam fought the urge to shake some sense into her.  “Have you killed anyone?”

“No.”  She said flatly.  “Nor broken any laws that you would recognize.  They keep saying it’s for my own good but they don’t understand what is going to happen.”

“Fine.  There’s a room over my parents’ garage that has no one in it.  If I promise not to turn you in to the authorities, will you let me take you someplace safe where you can get better?”

She was silent for a long moment, her labored breathing a rasp in the chill air.  “Joe, can I trust him?”

“Yep, mi’lady.  He’s one of the safe ones.  It’s why I waited until today.  The other docs are okay but Doctor Sam is the best of them.”  Joe bobbed his head along with the flashlight.

“It seems I must trust you, Doctor.  Won’t your parents mind you bringing home a filthy street person?”

Sam flashed on his parents’ reaction and grinned.  “They’re used to me bringing home strays.”

Her choked laughter brought on another coughing fit and he gathered her up in his strong arms, picking her up easily.  She weighed no more than a hundred pounds and most of that were the layers of cloth that encircled her.  “My pack.”

“Joe, would you get her pack and my bag?  And light our way out of here?”  Sam carried her out of the damp hole and towards the street level.

The wavering light on the steps helped but at a single word, his patient ordered Joe to douse the light before they opened the outer door.  Sam wondered just why she was so paranoid and whether or not she had reason.  Joe led them swiftly back to the clinic alley and the old blue Chevy that sat at the curb.

 “Joe, the keys attached to the flashlight will open the passenger door.”  He whispered, caught up in a sudden sense of urgency that seemed to fill the space around them.  After the man opened the door, Sam quickly fit her into the front seat.  She reached up and flicked off the dome light with a shaky hand.

 Joe handed him his doctor’s bag and put a battered black backpack at her feet.  Kneeling by her side, he bowed his head and said something so softly that Sam could not make out the words.  She placed her hand on his head and spoke in that language she’d used earlier.  For a moment, Sam fancied that he could see Joe straighten up and push back his shoulders.

“Go with Her benediction, Joe.  If by some quirk of Fate, we meet again, know that you have already been of service to Her.”

“Thank you, mi’lady.  I’ll be ready.”  Joe stood up and quietly shut the door while Sam was still trying to figure out what had just transpired and why he felt as if he’d just witnessed something rather significant.

“Thank you for your help, Joe.  I’ll take good care of her.”  Sam hesitated to leave the man on the street.

His head still up and his shoulders back, Joe looked like a different man than the old derelict of before.  “I know you will, Doc.  She’s special, real special, Doc.  It was a privilege to help her.”

“Don’t worry about her.  She’ll be well in no time.”  Sam held out his hand and took Joe’s in his before circling the car and unlocking the driver’s door.  Getting in, he found she’d already found the lever that tilted her seat back.  Starting the car, he pulled away from the curb and headed out of town.

There were a thousand things to accomplish and he didn’t have much time.  Pushing the speed dial on his car phone, he started the ball rolling.  First he called Eleanor and begged off dinner.  That took longer than he might have wished, even with him pleading a medical emergency.  For the first time in their relationship, he felt constrained and impatient.  As soon as he got off the phone with her, he called the head nurse at the hospital and asked who was on off rotation among her nurses.

Impatiently, he listened to the names and realized that none of them would do.  For some reason, he felt that only the best would do for this orphan patient.  Risking a look at her under a street light, he winced at the slashes that covered her left profile and disappeared down her throat.  Whatever had happened looked like it had affected most of her left side.  His doctor’s eye catalogued the damage and tried to envision what must have happened to cause those scars.  Explosion?  Car accident?

It was an error in judgment. Her voice came back to him.

He shook himself free from speculation.  His third call was to his mother and at the sound of her voice, he could feel himself relax.  “Mom?  I’ve got a favor to ask you.”

“Of course, Sweetheart.  Aren’t you late for dinner with Eleanor?”

“I just canceled it.  I’ve got an emergency case that I’m bringing home.  I was hoping that we could use the room over the garage or maybe the guest room in the basement?”

“Oh dear, it sounds serious.  Is it someone who’s going to need nursing, Sam?”

“Yes.  Pneumonia at the very least.”

Another coughing spell began beside him and he watched her curl up and try to control the spasm to no avail.

“That sounds terrible, Dearest.  Bring him on into Grandmother's room.  That would be handiest for feeding and watching over him.”

“It’s a ‘her’, Mom.  Are you sure you don’t mind?  She’s been living on the streets and needs . . . Um . . . a little cleaning up.”

“Hells bells, don’t go all wishy-washy on me, Doctor.  I need to be flea dipped at the very least.”  Her exasperated hoarse whisper brought a smile to his face.

“I heard that, Sam.  I’ll start a hot bath right now and put some soup on for the poor thing.  She can wear one of my nightgowns for now.  How much longer will you be?”

“About fifteen minutes, Mom.  Thanks.  I really appreciate it.  Bye for now.”

They continued on in silence until she whispered softly.  “Is there any water?”

“Sure, hold on.”  Sam reached behind him to the cup holder that rode the hump on the back seat floor.  The ever-present water bottle felt full to him and he pulled it forward, popping up the top and handing it over to her.

Her left hand grasped it slowly, her right coming up to steady it and he spared a glance down at the further evidence of scarring.  It shook in her trembling hands but she managed to get it to her lips.  “Oh, that tastes so good.  You never really appreciate good water until there isn’t any available.”

Sam snorted.  “I know exactly what you mean.  When we were in the field, all the water came to us out of metal canisters on the back of diesel trucks.  Tasted like the metal itself.”

“Army?”  She rested the bottle on her lap.

“Medical Corps with a National Guard Unit.  After all those years of school, I wanted to really make a difference instead of just going into practice with my uncle and cousins.”
“Ah.”

Sam blushed.  “I know, I know.  But we shipped out for every natural disaster in the last four years.  And I did some good.  Not enough but everything I could.”

“I wasn’t being judgmental, Doctor.  I expect that you’ve saved many lives, both abroad and here at home.  The inner city sorely needs your concern and care.”

“I do what I can but it’s not enough.”  Sam clenched his jaw at the familiar anger over the resources that he had to beg, borrow and steal for the clinic.

Her hand touched him gently before retreating.  “It is enough, Dr. Hamilton.  And better than no one to see and hear the cries of the wild ones.  Like myself.”

Sam nodded tersely, not trusting his voice at that moment.  Her touch was red hot and he risked another glance.  It was hard to tell but she looked flushed to him.  Before he could comment, she beat him to a diagnosis.

“Yes, Doctor, I am running a fever.  About 103 degrees right now.  My body is fighting as hard as it knows how but I do not have the resources that I once had.”

“Mom is running a bath for you and that will help bring your temperature down.  She’s getting my grandmother’s room ready for you.”

 “And what is Grandmother going to do if you give her bed away?”  She husked out.

“As she has for the last 10 years, she’s already gone south for the winter.  But if she were here, she’d insist on nursing you herself.  She was an Army nurse in World War II and you couldn’t be in better hands.”

“It appears that I’ve fallen into the clutches of an altruistic family of healers.”  Her dry tones made him chuckle.

“Here we are.”  Sam signaled and pulled into his parents’ drive, moving the car all the way to the back of the house.  The light came on immediately and he nosed the car as close to the garage as he could get.  “Wait here and let me come to get you.  I don’t want you in the cold any longer than possible.”

His mother stood at the back door, dressed in casual slacks and a warm red sweater.  “Sweetheart, I’ve got her room ready.”

He waved at her and crossed to the passenger door.  “Okay, put your arms around my neck.”

She buried her head against his coat to still her coughs and he hurried across the patio, taking the back steps two at a time.  “Thanks, Mom.  We need to get her into something warm.”

“The bath is all ready.”  His mom’s sharp eyes missed nothing of the shapeless clothes that Sam could now see under the bright lights were little better then rags on top of rags.  “I’ll bring in a garbage bag for her clothes.”

He nodded and carried her through the kitchen that smelled of home to him.  A quick sniff told him that chicken soup was warming up and his stomach growled.  He was looking forward to his mom’s recipe much more than the over-priced dishes that he could have expected at Chez Henri’s, Eleanor’s favorite restaurant.

The bathroom in his grandmother’s suite was toasty warm and the bath water smelled faintly of eucalyptus.  He sat his patient on the closed toilet seat and began to efficiently strip off the layers from her body.  A whiff of roses told him that his mother was right behind him.  The rustle of a plastic bag told him where to put the clothes he was pulling off.

“Sweetheart, are you going to introduce us?”

Sam paused.  “Um, I don’t know her name, Mom.”

“Ruth.  You can call me Ruth.”  The murmur came between coughs and feeble movements as she tried to help him get her clothes off.

“Welcome to our home, Ruth.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hamilton.  I appreciate your safe haven.”  Every layer off revealed more of the terrible scarring on her body and he wondered if he’d be able to find out what had happened.  Pulling off her cap, he pondered the snow-white stubble interspersed with scabs.  Just how old is she?

Lifting her into the tub, Sam felt her shiver at the sudden temperature change.  “Too hot?”

She sighed and her lip quirked up.  “There is no such thing as too hot, Doc.”

Sam laughed and handed her the soap.  Watching as she seemed to steady, he asked.  “Are you going to be all right if we leave you alone to wash?”

“I’ll be fine.  Thank you.”  She pulled off the eye patch and dropped it on the bathroom mat, ducked under the water and came back up with a look of bliss on her scarred face.

“Here’s some shampoo that you may like.”  His mom never flinched at the gruesome sight, just handed over her own jar of expensive salon treatment.  He hugged her with one arm before leading her out of the bathroom.  They headed for the kitchen, leaving the two doors open so they could listen for any problems.

“Well, this is the biggest stray you’ve brought home yet, Sam.  And probably the most hurt.”  His mom gave him a squeeze before letting go.  She reached up for a big yellow bowl.  “Make some toast while I’m dishing up your dinner.  Did you call and beg off from Eleanor?”

“Yes.  You never did like her, did you, Mom?”  He popped in two pieces of the whole-wheat toast that he loved and listened for the tone in her voice that he thought he’d heard before.  Stripping off his lab coat, he hung it on the back of his chair.

“Nonsense, dear.  She’s all right.  I did just wonder what you two had in common.  But it’s true that opposites do attract.  Look at your father and me.”  She smiled at him and ladled out some of the homemade chicken noodle soup that was her secret recipe for everything that ailed her family.

“Well, I’m beginning to wonder myself.”  He pulled down some plates and found the butter dish on the counter behind the cookie jar.  Inhaling deeply, he smiled and removed the lid to find the chocolate chip bars that he loved.  “Mom, I love you.  And not just for your cooking.”  He dropped a kiss onto her soft brown hair.

“I love you too, Sweetheart.  Now, tell me what you know about that interesting looking woman in Mother’s tub.”  She set the full bowl down at the table and pointed to it sternly.

Sam grinned and began the story while he buttered his bread.  He continued between spoonfuls of soup and bites of toast.  He’d learned how to talk and eat at the same time in his residency at John Hopkins.  She listened while seated across the table from him, sipping a hot cup of tea.

About the time he finished, they heard the sound of wastewater rushing through the pipes.  She laid a hand over his when he started to get up.  “Let me, Sam.  I can help her out of the tub and get her dried.  Fill a cup about half full of just the broth.  She’ll be able to handle it herself so she won’t feel quite so helpless.”

Sam nodded and rose to do her bidding.  When she had that tone in her voice, even his father obeyed her.  He thought about what he’d have to do to get the supplies he needed to set up her IV.  Thinking about antibiotics, he strained out just the broth into a yellow mug stopping at three quarters full.  She needed something to suppress the cough so she could sleep.  He pulled down one of the wooden trays that they used at Christmas and laid a blue and yellow napkin on it for a place mat.

Maybe, their neighbor’s daughter Kathy would be willing to watch her while he was doing rounds at the hospital tomorrow.  Making a mental note to give her a call after 11 when she’d get home from her Wednesday night lecture at the college, he buttered a slice of toast for Ruth, cut it into squares and set them on one of the matching saucers.  Remembering her comment about water, he filled one of his little brother’s sports mugs with cold water from the fridge.  He had the preliminary things in his medical bag for tonight but he’d have to figure out some kind of story for why he needed the drugs.

“Sweetheart, you can come in now.”

Picking up the tray he’d just prepared, he headed back to his strange new patient. I hope I can get her to talk.  Find out how she came to be here.  Why there isn’t much time left?   And who could possibly be after her?