Clinic Trials

Clinic Trials

~~ Ketchum, Idaho, 2063 ~~

"Bye Momma! I love you!" Nicole waved excitedly before turning and bouncing to the line. Heather watched as she went in, then turned and drove her little car to the clinic to get her day started.

"Hey, Heather, you've got a full roster today, enjoy."

"Thanks, Robin," Heather murmured, flicking over her tablet, she took a deep breath and headed for the exam room. The day passed in a steady blur of patients, then she left at four, picking up Nicole and heading for the diner, a quick bite to eat, and then home. Her days were full of work, and her nights, just as they always had been since the breakup were focused on Nicole and her needs. She listened as Nicole told her about her school day, and then told her about one of her classmates having a little brother soon. Heather sighed wistfully, she had wanted more children, but she would be happy with Nicole.

"Mrs. Mitchell said you needed a new husband, I told her she was silly, you didn't have an old husband," Nicole stated stoutly. "Da wasn't your husband." Nicole rolled her eyes, "Besides, she should focus on other people. You're my Mommy."

"That's right," Heather murmured, smiling fondly as she watched Nicole color and she worked on paperwork for the clinic.

Just short of ten miles away, a man sat on his porch in the cool night air, sipping a cup of coffee with a shot of whiskey in it, and stared off into the woods near his small house. His flannel shirt and knit skull cap kept him plenty warm even with his sleeves rolled up. His thick mustache and beard were mostly groomed. In fact, to look at him, one would hardly notice anything amiss until they looked into his eyes. His eyes did not reside in Ketchum, Idaho at the moment. They were almost seven thousand miles away in the mountains of Pakistan watching his squad from Charlie Platoon of Second Battalion, Tenth Mountain Division desperately trying to survive and retreat from a Russian-heavy division in the mountains.

A single tear dripped down his cheek, drying as it went unnoticed. He'd have stayed like that for the next couple of hours if the crackle of a HAM radio from inside his house hadn't snapped him out of his reverie. "Deac. Deac, do you copy? It's Sam." Deacon Grimes blinked, then sighed, taking a sip of his coffee before he got up from the old wooden rocking chair and walked into the house.

Picking up the microphone he lifted it to his lips. "Sam? Deacon. Go ahead." Sam worked at Warm Springs Lodge, a tourist resort.

"Yeah, we've got a couple of younger guests missing. Word is they were going to go off on their own and try one of the unmarked trails and they haven't come back down yet."

"Shit," he said simply. It never failed. At least two or three times in a resort season, someone didn't listen and decided that they were a 'real' skier. They went on one of the unmarked trails, the ones without the lights and the regular sightlines from the lift towers. And then they got lost. They were lucky if they only got lost. "All right. What're their names?"

"Frank and Allison Philips," Sam replied.

"Shit," he said again. So it was a guy trying to impress his girl on top of everything else. Swell. "All right. I'm on it. Spin up an EMT for me, from Saint Luke's all right? Grimes out." he said, putting down the microphone.

"Gotcha covered, Deac," Sam replied before the voice cut off. He walked over to the door and put on his heavy coat, then walked out to his truck. It was a custom rig with extended off-road capability and carried a whole bunch of emergency gear that he hoped he wouldn't have to use. That didn't stop him from having to use it at least once a year, though, it seemed, no matter what he hoped. Starting the ignition, he pulled out and headed up Forest Service Road 227 towards Ketchum proper.

The forest service maintained several off-road trails that their trucks could get through throughout the back of the ski runs. He started driving down them, using the truck's loudspeaker to call for Frank and Allison. He was looking for nearly two hours and it was night by the time he heard their response. He drove as close as he could, then got out, left the car running, and made his way to them. "What happened?" he asked gruffly.

"Fell," Frank said softly, limping slowly. "We were on the side, then something big and yellow ran across the trail, scared the shit out of us. Allison started sliding off the side, I grabbed her, and we both went over the edge."

Deacon nodded, eyeing Frank's leg. No protruding bones; that was a good sign. "All right. I've got a truck about fifty yards that way," he pointed. "We're going to get you two out of here. Equipment?" he asked.

Allison shook her head. "When we fell, we lost our skis and poles. They kept going down the hill..."

Deacon nodded again, moving to duck under Frank's arm on his weak side. "Don't worry about it. Come on. Let's get you two out of here. Did we learn anything?"

"Don't go off marked trails without a guide," Frank said with a nod.

He nodded. "Marked trails are there for a reason. The towers at either end of the ski lift staff watchers with really good scopes. It's their job to make sure that anyone stranded on the slope gets help. If you go off the trail... they can't see you. That's why they check in with everyone staying there at the end of the night. You're not the first. You probably won't be the last," he said as they walked. "You were both really lucky. Learn from this one," he admonished in a low voice.

"Yes, Sir," Allison murmured. "We just... we wanted to ski without the little kids underfoot."

He smiled wryly. "I get it. Next time, check with the lodge. They usually have a few events that are over eighteen only every week for just such a need."

They arrived at his truck and he helped them in, then he turned it around and headed back to the main road before returning to the lodge. Pulling into the main clubhouse, he stopped behind the ambulance that was parked there, then helped them both into the building. Sam was there along with a couple of EMTs. "Doesn't seem to be broken. I'd say a sprain. Maybe a torn ligament." He gestured at Frank. "He's all yours."

The EMTs walked over and helped him to a seat as Deacon walked over to Sam. "You really need to advertise your adult-only activities better. They were trying to avoid rugrats they said."

"Jesus, Deac. We only post signs everywhere..." he gestured around the main room, where signs of the weekly schedule could be seen.

Deacon shrugged. "Maybe neon?" he scoffed before he turned and began walking back to his truck. Half an hour later and he was back at his home, crawling into bed. He closed his eyes to try and go to sleep, but within a few minutes of doing so, he was back in Pakistan, curled up in a ball and sobbing silently.

Several weeks passed and she was handed her tablet, "Thank you, Robin," she murmured scanning through, then paused at an unfamiliar name, "Who is Deacon Grimes?"

"Ahh, he's a special case, he's gone through everyone here at least once. Guess it's your turn," Robin murmured. At Heather's questioning look, she explained. "He's a bit... gruff and scary. He doesn't let anyone in and just kind of lays there, plus trying to massage him is like working on granite."

"Alright..." Heather trailed off, "Well, I guess we'll see what we see. Put him in room ten for me."

Deacon had woken up before dawn that morning, making breakfast and eating it before spending most of the morning thinking about the session he had coming up. He was starting to consider just canceling and giving up. None of the therapists seemed to help. None of them seemed to even want him around. Not that he could blame them, of course, but still...

He took a quick half-hour jog in the cold and the snow to warm and stretch himself before getting in his truck and driving into town at two-thirty. He'd go to his appointment, then to a couple of different stores before heading home to do it again in a week. It wasn't like he had to pay for the appointments. The VA covered it, but it was wasted time.

"Please follow me," Robin said at his arrival, she led him down the hallway to a different room from what he was used to. There was a cross beam with handles over the massage bed. "Heather will be along shortly. You haven't met her yet."

He nodded, not saying anything. When she left, he sighed, and slowly unbuttoned his flannel shirt and set it off to the side before pulling off his boots and jeans, leaving him in his boxers. He slowly climbed onto the table, wincing as he was afraid it would collapse. It didn't, and he settled into position, his face in the cradle, and waited.

It was a few moments later that the scent of vanilla filled his nose, "Hello, Mister Grimes. My name is Heather Smith, I'll be your masseuse today. Do you have a preferred scent?" Her voice was soft and held a slight accent to it, Southern if he wasn't mistaken.

"Not really," he rumbled, with sort of a shrug. "They just always...," he trailed off. No one else had ever asked. They just started trying to massage him.

"Mmm, well currently the smell is vanilla, does it please you?" Her voice continued softly. "I also have lovely sandalwood, citrus or..." she paused, "Well I don't particularly like the smell of spearmint, it always makes me think of toothpaste, so perhaps we avoid that one. Would you like me to hold each scent to your nose so you can decide which you'd prefer?"

"You can just pick...," he replied, confused at why it mattered. He was just going to get sweaty anyway.

"Mmm, very well, I'll stick with the vanilla then. It always makes me think of baking with my Gran. Now, would you prefer quiet? Would you prefer for me to talk and tell you what I'm doing before I do it, or would you prefer for me to simply sing so you can keep track of where I am?"

He slowly lifted up and looked at her, his brow furrowed. "No one's ever sung before... is that... new?" he asked. Therapy just kept getting stranger and stranger.

"Umm," her head tilted, a lock of black hair escaping its bun to frame her face. "Somewhat? I suppose. It's something I do to provide comfort and care while you're in my room. Some of my clients prefer for me to sing because they're less inclined to react badly to my touch and slip into an episode."

He thought about that for a moment, then shrugged. "Sure. Go ahead," he said before he relaxed back to put his head back in the cradle.

"Very well," she murmured, then she sighed and pulled a ladder over to climb up on it. "I will probably walk on your back about two-thirds of the way through. Do you object to this? I weigh... just over a hundred and sixty." A cool liquid spread on his back and he felt her hands start touching him gently, kneading his skin and working the massage oil in.

"No. I'm good," he said softly. "I've done three, four hundred before."

"Yes, but I'm going to do a spinal realignment and it's going to hurt like..." she trailed off then corrected herself. "It can be extremely painful." She continued slowly and steadily working the oil into his skin. She moved slowly, taking her time to coat every inch of his exposed skin and then kneading. He was her last client of the day before she picked up Nicole, no reason not to give him a full workup and her undivided attention.

"It would be the first time, then," he rumbled. As she massaged him, she felt more knots than she could remember in anyone, in all her time as a therapist. She couldn't figure out how he was still functioning.

She continued working, humming softly under her breath as she did so. She worked down his leg, then paused before she reached his feet, "Are you ticklish? Or would you prefer for me to not touch your feet?"

He shook his head in the cradle. "Not ticklish. The nerves in my feet don't... really work well anymore. Too much humping a pack up and down mountains."

"Mmm, I am familiar with it," she gently began to massage, being careful to let his twitching subside some between each knead, then flexed his toes causing them to pop and he jerked his foot. She moved to the other one, then started back up his body humming quietly once more. Finally, she had completely circled him and was back at the starting point. "Ready for me to walk on your back?"

"Go for it," he murmured. The massage had started to feel good, but it didn't last. It was almost like the ghost of a massage. A tease at a good feeling.

She crawled up on the side of the table, then straddled his back, a faint grunt escaping then a soft giggle. She shook it off, then stood carefully still straddling him. Her hands lifted up to grab the handles and then she slowly lifted one foot and placed it on the side of his spine, "Here we go," she murmured. She pulled herself up and balanced on his back, she stood on the balls, then walked along his spine carefully each foot pressing down with her weight, then sliding out to massage it. "One, two, three. One, two, three." She reached the biggest knot, then shifted her weight and shoved up hard with the heel of her feet, a loud crack filled the air.

She lifted off his back as he arched and roared at the pain, holding herself above him until he relaxed. "Jesus fuck! What did you do?" he gasped. The last time he'd been in that kind of pain, he had a bullet wound scar to show for it.

"Knot number one," she offered softly, then relaxed back down to start walking on his back once more. "I did warn you," she murmured. "Now, take a deep breath for me. I'll have to do the rest of the knots before I release you. Unless you order me to stop..." her voice trailed off at the end as she kneaded with the ball of her foot to work on another knot.

"Nnngh... Am I...," he panted softly, "still going... to be able to work after?" he asked.

"Well, yes," she murmured. "You'll probably have to rest for about fifteen minutes when I finish, but then you should feel better than ever. I've never had anyone not be able to work."

"Then why... order you... to stop?"

"Some find the pain too much," she murmured simply. She shifted and cracks came from his back again, this time pushing his shoulders outward. The pain was less but still there, once more she lifted off his back and waited until he relaxed back. "They also get pissed off when I don't go flying off their back..."

"Pain reminds you that you're still alive," he grunted through the adjustments.

"One more," she warned, then flexed and he felt a ripple of pain up his spine once more. She lifted and when he laid back down she lowered herself to straddle his back, shifting from walking to massaging with her hands. "There we go," she murmured, "That's much better." She moved up to massage his neck, then over his scalp. "How are you feeling? Slow, deep breaths." Her hands rested on his shoulders as she carefully straightened, then stepped off of him and down onto the ladder to go to the floor. She moved it back, then turned to wash her hands before sliding her feet into the slippers once more.

His eyes were squinted shut and a few tears had escaped. It had been a long time since he was in that much pain. Finally, he was able to breathe again and as instructed, he took slow, deep breaths. "Clear. I... Oh God...," he murmured. "This is...," he trailed off, stunned.

"That's how you should feel after a massage," she murmured, then padded over. "I'm going to help you sit up. You're going to rest your head on my shoulder as we do so. You're going to be light-headed at first. I don't want you to fall off the bed."

Deacon let her guide him up and he rested his head on her shoulder as she asked. It was a good thing. The blood rushed to his head and the room was swimming. "How come... none of... other...," he gasped, unable to form complete sentences yet through the fog of dizziness.

"Different techniques," she murmured, her hand gentle on the back of his head as she massaged down his neck. "Plus different amounts of time," she smiled slightly, "You've been in here for just over two hours."

He blinked, raising his wrist to look at his watch. He had to squint, but she was right. "God... I'm...," he tried to lift his head up. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean...," he started. The appointments were scheduled to be fifty minutes. He'd gone way over and she was probably busy.

"No apologies," she stated firmly, holding his head where it was. "I chose to extend your time to ensure you were properly cared for." She continued to massage his neck and head gently. "I have a clock, I even have a timer. I ignored the first and didn't start the second. Nobody had given you what you needed, so I chose to do so."

Deacon was silent for long moments, letting those words sink in. Finally, he whispered, "Thank you." She could barely hear his voice, but there was no mistaking the deep feeling behind it. He was overcome that someone would do that for him.

"You're very welcome," she continued to hold him, letting him breathe and come back. When he finally felt well enough to sit up straight, she went and picked up his socks and pants, carrying them over. When he started to lean forward she held up a hand to stop him. First, the socks went on. "I don't want you bending over just yet." She put the pants on over the ankles, then up the calves to his knees. "Let's get you standing. Once more, lean into me." She was holding the waistband of his pants so that they wouldn't fall.

He slowly slid off the bench and reached for his pants, pulling them up the rest of the way. "Thank you," he murmured again, looking at her with a befuddled but warm expression that looked like it was very foreign on his face.

"You're welcome," she smiled up at him, she barely came up to his pectorals. She handed him his shirt. "How are you feeling now?"

He blinked and looked around. "Good... Really good, actually. I don't remember the last time...," he trailed off.

"I'm glad," she smiled up at him. "See you next week?" She asked, her head tilted, "It will hurt less each time I do this until I should only have to align once a month as your muscles relax."

He nodded. Standing up and slipping his feet into his shoes. She sank to her knees to tie them, glancing up to give him a small smile. "I...," he said, stunned at her service. "Thank you," he said again.

"You're welcome," she patted his boot, then rose to her feet and washed her hands again. "I'll walk you out." She led him from the room, humming again then an even brighter smile appeared as a little girl with vitiligo darted around the corner and slammed into her, "Hello, Sweetness, did you have a good day at school?"

"Yes, Mommy," the little girl said, then looked around her at Deacon. He could see a massive scar disappearing under her hair and spider webbing on one cheek. "You're big," she said with wide eyes, "Are you a grizzly bear?"

"Nicole, this is Mister Grimes, he's one of my clients. He's a Forest Ranger," Heather murmured with a small, bashful smile to Deacon. "He's not a bear."

"Oh," Nicole studied him from around Heather's skirt then nodded, "Thank you for protecting us, Mister Grimes. Momma and Mrs Kerning said Forest Rangers help keep an eye on the animals and the people, and sometimes people get extra stupid so Forest Rangers have to rescue them."

He looked at her for a moment, then a small smile crossed his lips. "So you listen to your Mother and your teachers so that you stay safe, right?" he murmured.

"Yes, Mister Grimes," she said with a serious nod. She waved and then moved to take her mom's hand. "Momma and I are going to go camping for spring break. Momma said she reserved a spot on the Woodsman's trail, and said it would be pretty there."

He nodded. "That's a very pretty area. It's actually not too far from where I live. I go walking up there sometimes. You'll enjoy it."

"We went to Boulder View last year, but there were drunk, loud people," Nicole explained helpfully. "Momma said this year we'll do a primitive, it'll be fewer people but will pack in our water and some 'water fitteration..."