Page 102 of The Wild Beneath

“Any other symptoms?”

A laundry list. She cannot sleep, again. In loud places, her ears ring with that splitting not-really-tinnitus but whatever it is her ears do. She’s isolating in her apartment and doesn’t leave except for work. And also, she might be certifiably insane—­listening for a sound no one else can hear, made by a man who is most likely dead.

Annie says: “No.”

“Well. Let’s take a look.” Tessa stands. She’s wearing an army-green tunic and scuffed brown leather boots. Her knee-high socks are patterned in mathematical equations. She wraps the blood pressure cuff around Annie’s arm. “Are you light-headed?” she asks.

“Sometimes, lately.”

Tessa removes the cuff and places her stethoscope against Annie’s chest and listens. “Take some deep breaths.”

The air is parched. The insides of Annie’s nostrils sting.

Tessa cocks her head, moving the stethoscope around the circumference of Annie’s ribcage. “Lie back. I’m going to throw the ECG on.”

The paper rips underneath her as Annie shuffles down the table onto her back. The vinyl is tacky against her skin. To avoid her feet hanging off the end, she bends her knees and tucks the gown around her thighs.

Tessa wheels in the ECG machine and attaches stickers and leads to Annie’s skin. A series of waves and spikes fills the green-and-white screen, until it stops and prints off a page of tracings. Tessa studies it. Her mascara is smudged under her left eye.

“You can get dressed,” she says.

Tessa pulls a curtain around the examining table, then washes her hands at the corner sink. The room fills with the mild scent of soap. Annie peels the stickers off her skin and leaves them in a pile, the adhesive now on her fingertips. She fastens her bra and pulls her sweater over her head. Her leggings get stuck on her toes. She inches them up while Tessa types.

“I got your bloodwork results,” she says.

Annie tries to pull the curtain aside, but it catches on the metal rail. “Are they normal?”

Tessa stares at a table of numbers. “You’re anemic and iron-deficient. I can’t believe you’re still walking, let alone working your crazy shift schedule.”

“My schedule’s not that crazy.” Annie yanks on the curtain until it gives.

Tessa pauses. “And you’re bradycardic.”

Annie blinks and she’s back in the warehouse, in the berth ofPolaris.I can hear your heartbeat, Walker says.

“My heart rate’s always been lower than average.”

“It’s in the thirties, though.”

Annie sits back down. It’s never been that low, has it? And why is her iron low? “None of this has been an issue before.”

Tessa types into a pop-up box. “I think we should set you up with an iron infusion, to start. Get a Holter monitor done. I want you looked at by cardiology.”

“What about oral iron? I could start tablets.”

“I can book you this afternoon for an IV. Faster.”

Annie hesitates, a shiver rolling up her skin. Outside, a garbage truck backs up. Footsteps and voices fade in and out from the hallway.

Tessa’s eyebrows arch as her cursor hovers over a booking slot. “It’s not a trick question.”

“But why is it low?”

“Are you eating?”

She goes whole shifts without eating. She can’t stomach the hospital cafeteria, all sugar and cellophane, wilted celery and small plastic pots of hummus, soggy egg-salad sandwiches. She never buys any of it. Is that why she’s not eating? A flicker in her brain, but it flits away. “I eat okay.”

“I get it. You don’t have time to pee in there, let alone eat,” Tessa says. She has clicked out of Annie’s chart and into her message inbox, scrolling through hundreds of red lines: alerts, reminders, due dates. Her breath is shallow. Her eyes skim across the screen.