Century Traveler

The man was big. Easily a couple of inches over six feet and really broad in the shoulders. Distinguished silver hair and strong chiseled jawline. He wore old-school hiking gear and a cable knit sweater that had visibly soaked up a lot of his blood around the knife wound. He might have been wealthy based on the chunky Rolex on his wrist and a few expensive-looking rings on his fingers.

The man's eyes fluttered open and peered up at his face. Then they dropped to John's ripped shoulder, and a strange look of anguish passed over his rugged features.

"Hey, hang in there! I'll call for help!" John said, struggling to get at his cellphone with his left hand.

"No! No time... left for me," the man said, and his voice was almost as deep as the wolf's low rumble.

"You're still alive! Hang in there," John argued.

"I said NO!" the injured man growled, and John froze again. He looked down at the struggling man.

"I'm so sorry. It was my intention to take... it with me. We were both... supposed to die here, but I should have known... it would find a way to live." The man struggled to speak as he looked deeply into John's eyes.

The fine hairs on the back of John's neck were all standing on end as there was something seriously off. "You probably shouldn't speak. You look like you've lost a lot of blood," John mumbled. He was distinctly uncomfortable by the intensity of the man's gaze, and he noticed the blood was still slowly seeping from the knife wound with each breath. There was dried blood on and around the man's mouth, and it stained his otherwise perfect teeth.

Something clicked in John's mind. A memory suddenly surfaced and became clearer. Falling, tumbling through the trees above, then a short time of freefall to land there on the leaves next to the man. Then the savage attack. He stole a look at his bloody shoulder.

"You... YOU DID THIS!" John shouted.

"Yes," the man admitted quietly, eyes downcast with shame.

"WHY DID YOU BITE ME?" John cried as he shook with rage. It felt like his emotions were beginning to slip out of his control.

The man looked up into his eyes again, and John felt the compassion pouring from them. "I'm so sorry, but the wolf wanted to live, and I'd lost too much blood to fight it off."

"Wolf!?" John was confused. His memory of the wolf on the ridgeline above was becoming hazy while the events of what happened in this pit were seared in his mind. He felt his face flushing with anger.

"Listen... I'm not going to last... much longer... You won't... be able to... control it. You have to take this." The dying man pulled a narrow but ornate ring from the ring finger on his right hand. "It will help. I freely... transfer it to... your keeping. May it bring... you peace." He suddenly grabbed John's numb right hand and pushed the ring onto his ring finger. John howled in agony when the movement yanked at his injured shoulder, his eyes rolled back, and he dropped to the ground, unconscious once more.

The haunting howl echoed throughout the woods.

Chapter 3

For the second time in two weeks, John woke to the sound of steady beeping.

On the edge of consciousness, his mind fled from the dream state, his short-term memory fading as he surfaced. Before he completely forgot, he caught a flash of a dream of the soothing clouds once more. Then it was gone.

John opened his eyes and looked down the bed, expecting to see Mr. Sass. Maybe the whole week had been a dream? Nobody was at the foot of his bed, and the curtain was drawn, so he couldn't see if he was in the same hospital or not.

He looked to his left, and sure enough, there was a glass of water with a bendy straw. He tried to reach for it with his left hand, but the arm only got so far before it stopped with a clattering noise. He looked down at his wrist and saw he was handcuffed to the bedrail. Handcuffs?

On his right side was the nurse's buzzer but his right arm was in some kind of sling, and he couldn't move it without a lot of pain. His only resort was to call out.

"Hello? Is anybody there?" he called out weakly. No one was going to hear that. He gathered his strength. "HEY!" He sagged back and wondered if the nurse's station was at the far end of the ward.

The curtain pulled back, and a police officer looked in on him. They stared at each other for a moment.

"Hi. Are these yours?" John asked, gently rattling the handcuffs.

The officer just nodded. John's eyebrows went up. "Any particular reason I'm wearing them?"

"I'll get Detective Molina," was the reply, and the officer closed the curtain.

John was truly confused. Hopefully, this detective would have some answers.

Twenty minutes later, John was coming to the end of his patience when the curtain was pulled back, and a short bear of a man pushed his way into the space. He was Hispanic and dark-skinned with short black hair in one of those no-nonsense, no-style cuts. He wasn't a particularly handsome man, but his eyes were keenly intelligent, and his movements suggested he had some serious muscles under that ugly brown suit. He pulled a chair behind him and walked right up to the left side of the bed.

"Hello, I'm Detective Luis Molina. I'm investigating the circumstances surrounding the death of Mr. Wallace Laroche. You are..." he looked at his notes, and his thick black brows went up. "John Doe? Seriously?"

John had been dealing with this particular harassment his entire life, so it didn't rile him anymore. "Yes, it's my legal name. No, I didn't change it. It was the name they registered for me at the orphanage. Who is Wallace Laroche?"

"So, you're saying you don't know Mr. Laroche?" the detective responded.

"I don't know a Wallace Laroche... wait, is that the big guy in the pit I fell into?"

"Was the guy. He's dead. Bled out from the knife wound. He died slowly, must've taken hours. When did you meet him?" Molina asked.

"This morning, probably around ten AM. Wait! What's the date?" John asked, recalling his week-long stay in the hospital the previous week.

"It's Sunday evening, the fourteenth," the detective said with a frown.

"Ah, good! Good," he sighed in relief, then continued. "Yeah, it was this morning when I went for a hike in the woods. I was walking along the ridgeline trail, and I stopped at the top for water. I saw this big freaking wolf on the trail next to me, and I jumped to get away, fell down the hillside, and landed in the pit next to a big man, and he bit me!" John tried pointing to his right shoulder with his cuffed left hand.

Molina shook his head. "The wolf bit you."

"That's what I thought, at first. When it happened, it was a terrible stabbing pain that burned like crazy. I guess I passed out. When I came to, I saw the big guy lying on his back with the knife's handle sticking up out of him. There was a lot of blood on his sweater, but he was breathing. When I checked his pulse, he woke up. He took one look at my shoulder and apologized for biting me. It was him! He bit me!" John asserted.

Luis Molina sat looking at John with a blank look on his face. "Did Mr. Laroche say anything else to you?"

John frowned and tried to remember. His memories felt so fragmented from the event. "Uh, I told him I would call for help, but when I tried to get my phone out, he got angry and told me there wasn't time. He told me he was sorry, that he had intended to take the wolf with him when he died. Did he have a pet wolf? I didn't understand anything he was saying at that point, but he had a knife in him, and he'd bitten me. I recall that. Then he grabbed my right arm, and the pain was excruciating. I guess I passed out again."

The curtain whipped open, and John's favorite doctor stepped in. He stopped to look at the detective and then stepped around to the opposite side of the bed to check the dressings on John's bandage.

"Hey, doc! Long time, no see!" John quipped, trying to get a response from the man.

Detective Molina looked at the doctor. "You know Mr. Doe?"

The doctor grimaced and turned to the detective. "Mr. Doe was admitted to the hospital two weeks ago after being involved in a hit-and-run. He had a badly broken left wrist, severe lacerations on his left hip, and a head trauma coma. After six days, he came out of the coma, his lacerations had healed, and he was released on the seventh. He just had the cast removed two days ago as there was no sign of the break in his x-rays. He heals very quickly."

He turned back to John and peeled the bandage on his shoulder back with quick, precise motions, which did nothing to alleviate the pain it caused. John hissed and felt a little woozy once the bandage was open.

Molina looked over and got a good look at the wound. "Geezus! That's a fucking mess! Mr. Doe just informed me that he was bitten by a man. Can you verify that by the wound?" he asked.

The doctor looked at John and frowned. "No human mouth made this wound. He was bitten, quite badly, by some form of large canine. See here." He pointed to two rows of puncture wounds, and the detective leaned in for a better look. "You can almost see the shape of the jaw by the spacing of the punctures. It was really big, and its teeth were very long and sharp. The ripping you see further up here-" he tugged the bandage a little higher, and John's eyes rolled back, and he began to growl deep in his chest. The men leaning over John froze instinctively, and the hairs on Molina's neck stood on end.

The doctor carefully eased the bandages back in place, and the growling stopped. John's eyes were closed, and he appeared to be unconscious. The two men looked at each other, and Molina grinned, embarrassed to have been intimidated by the small unconscious man. The doctor continued to frown.

"I'm going to have to keep him here for observation to ensure he hasn't gotten rabies. I would very much like to find the dog that did this."

"He said he saw a wolf," Molina said.

"A wolf? Yes, that makes sense. It would explain the pattern of the puncture marks and the severity of the damage done. His right shoulder was dislocated. I'll check the x-ray again for signs of fractures," the doctor concluded and left.

Detective Molina sat back in the chair and looked at the sleeping man before him. He rubbed his neck to get the hairs to settle down and relax.

So, Mr. Doe was having a run of bad luck. He'd look into the traffic accident to see if there was any connection to Wallace Laroche. If it had been Laroche driving the car that hit him, maybe Doe stabbed him for revenge?

Molina frowned.

Nah, even thinking about it, Molina felt the wrongness of the idea. Aside from the growl, he didn't pick up any dangerous vibes from the kid. He must have just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. But that wouldn't stop Molina from confirming his story to rule him out as a suspect.

Chapter 4

In the wee hours of Tuesday morning, John woke from a blissfully soothing, deep sleep when he felt someone slip through the curtain next to his bed. He cracked his eyes open to see Mr. Sass settling into a chair next to his bed in the dim lights of the night ward.

"We're making a habit of meeting like this," he said quietly to the old man, who froze momentarily.

"If you could learn to avoid putting yourself in danger, we wouldn't have to," the man said in an equally quiet voice.

"I must have left my magic eight ball in my other hiking pants," John grumbled sarcastically.

"What happened this time?" Mr. Sass got right to the point.

John sighed and put his thoughts in order. "I was hiking in the forest. I saw a wolf. I fell down a steep ridge into a pit and almost landed on a dying man who had a knife stuck in him. I was savagely bitten on my right shoulder so badly that it became dislocated. The police are questioning me about the man's death, but I think they know I didn't do it. Though they left me this lovely bracelet while they confirm that." He lifted his left hand up a little and gently rattled the handcuff.

"Would you like out of those?" Mr. Sass asked casually.

John blinked at the old man. "No... it's cool. I think I'd prefer to play it straight this time. Thanks, though." He received a shrug in return.

"So, when do you get out of here?" the gentleman continued.

"Well, the doctor did some tests on me for rabies, but so far, I'm good. I think he might release me today or tomorrow. Hopefully, Detective Molina will have ruled me out as a suspect, so I can get on with my crazy life. Fingers crossed."

"Molina? He's a good man," Mr. Sass nodded.

"You know him?" John asked in surprise.

"By reputation only. Never met him," he answered quickly but looked away. John didn't press.

"You know, there hasn't been a wolf sighting in the woods near Portland in decades. Yet you find one to bite you," Mr. Sass said with evident skepticism.

"Yeah, so they tell me," John replied with a troubled expression.

"You don't think it was a wolf? Was it a big dog? A cougar?" Mr. Sass asked.

John was silent as he struggled with how to describe what he remembered and if he remembered it at all. Mr. Sass waited patiently.

John spoke slowly and kept tight control over his emotions. "What they tell me is that the bite on my shoulder came from a very large canine, most likely a wolf. I told them I saw a wolf, so they are going with that as it fits the evidence. Except, the more I think about what I saw and experienced that day, the more I start to question my grip on reality." He looked at Mr. Sass, but the man's expression was open and attentive as expected. John never felt like he was being judged when he spoke to the old man. It made conversations like this one possible. He'd never had anyone else in his life like him.

"When I recall the moments when I saw the wolf, they no longer feel... real. It's hard to describe exactly. It's like my brain is telling me it was a hoax, a fake, smoke and mirrors. At the time, up on that ridgeline, I was sure it was there. It felt so real I leaped away from it, right down the side of the cliff. But now..." John gritted his teeth and shook his head as he tried to rid himself of the image.

"When I landed in the pit, I was attacked. I remember the agony of teeth ripping into my shoulder, shaking me violently, and the shock of how strong my attacker was. I recall the crushing grip of hands on my arms. It was savage but quick, and when it was over, I passed out. I found the man was still alive when I came to, and I spoke with him. He saw the wound and apologized for biting me and... I remembered.

The doctor and the detective tell me I was attacked by a wolf, but my memories say it was the man. The evidence says it couldn't have been him, and he was almost dead. The bite on my shoulder shows it wasn't human teeth that bit me. But my mind won't stop telling me it was him." Tears were streaming down John's face as he struggled with the images in his head.

Tears were falling from the old man's eyes too. He pulled a pack of tissues from his pocket and used one to dry John's face. Then he used his handkerchief on his own.

"I've had my own battles with contradictory memories. I still have some I can't reconcile. But what's helped me is to accept them for what they are. Real or not, they're how your mind chose to preserve the moment. Fighting to change memories brings confusion and pain. I've learned to accept that some of my memories may be false. Move forward and don't dwell on the conflict. It may resolve one day. Or not. Either way, it doesn't have to define you." He reached out with both hands and took John's left hand as he put the pack of tissues in it.

"Listen, I have to leave before the police officer returns from the supply closet where he and the night duty nurse are having a little fun. I'll check in with you tomorrow if you're still here. Otherwise, I'll see you at the shop. Rest. Be well," Mr. Sass whispered as he slipped out through the curtain.

John was grateful for the old man's visit. He felt so much better for having spoken with him. Being able to tell someone what was eating at his sanity without worrying about being locked away in the psych ward was a tremendous relief. He saw the look in his doctor's eye when the detective told him about his claim that he'd been bitten by Laroche. He'd have to be careful about what he said from this point on.

Looking down at the packet of tissues in his left hand made him chuckle softly. How did the old man expect him to use it when he was... shackled.

He lifted his left hand to his face and then glanced down.

The open handcuff rested on the mattress.

Chapter 5

Luis Molina sipped his bitter coffee as he walked through the hospital hallways. He'd had a productive morning. Firstly, he'd spoken with the forensic team, who informed him that the only prints on the wickedly sharp ceremonial dagger they found embedded in Wallace Laroche's lower abdomen belonged to Mr. Laroche. The weapon also apparently belonged to him. The team who examined the man's luxury condo in Seattle discovered the mate of the dagger in a display case next to an empty holder. Additionally, a luxury sedan registered to the deceased was found in a lot near one of the park's entrances. So far, the evidence was pointing to suicide but how Mr. Laroche chose to end his life left too many questions. The investigation would continue.

Second, he got the report on the hit and run. They got a shot of the car's plates from a red-light camera a block away from the accident scene. The vehicle had been stolen from a collector in northern California, and the thieves had been caught trying to cross the border into Canada. Apparently, they thought they'd killed the cyclist they hit and were making a run for it. So, no connection to Mr. Laroche.

Finally, he visited John Doe's landlady, who'd just returned from out of town this morning. She verified John's whereabouts from Saturday evening when he got home from work until Sunday morning and his timeline for leaving for his hike. She was a very nice lady, and he quite enjoyed the tea biscuit but passed on the tea.

Molina was satisfied that John Doe wasn't involved in the rich guy's death. He'd let the kid off the hook and send the officer back to regular duty.

As he turned the corner, he spotted his officer standing by the duty station chatting up the pretty nurse sitting there. While they didn't really need to sit by John's bedside since he was wearing the cuff, the officer should have been stationed by the ward entrance.

The scowl on Molina's face was warning enough. The duty nurse spotted it first as he approached and must have said something because the officer pivoted and began to fast talk excuses. Molina just held up his hand and pointed towards the wardroom. The officer fell in behind him as he walked down the aisle towards bed number eight.

Molina pulled open the curtain and was confronted with an empty bed. There, on the mattress, was the open cuff. The other end was still secured to the rail. He turned and glared at the officer, who seemed to be turning purple. Molina started back to the duty station to see if they could pull up any security footage of the room. Just then, the washroom door opened, and John Doe stepped out.

"Ah, good morning, detective!" the young man smiled. "No one came when I called out, I couldn't reach the call button, and I really had to use the bathroom. Sorry." He walked slowly back to his bed, obviously nursing his right arm in its sling.

"Shoulder still giving you trouble?" Molina asked.

"Yes, it still hurts like hell, but feeling is coming back into my arm, so I hope that's a good sign."

John carefully settled himself on the bed and tried to get comfortable. As he reached for the handcuff, Molina shook his head, unfastened the other end from the rail, and passed it to the red-faced officer.