His face hardened. “When?”

“It doesn’t work like that,” she said. “It’s why you can’t prove it scientifically, because experiments under scientific control very rarely work. It’s sporadic. I know things, but they’re usually nebulous in my mind and I have to interpret what I see. Merissa is much more gifted than I am. It’s made her the subject of much cruelty, I’m afraid.”

“I heard about that. May I see her?”

“She’s not well...”

“My older brother Mallory is subject to migraine headaches. He has high-powered medications that can prevent them if they’re taken in time. The ones he wakes up with, though, don’t even respond to meds. He has to try to sleep them off.”

“Merissa’s are bad,” she commented. “Come on in. I’m sorry I kept you out here talking in the freezing cold!”

“I’m wearing a very heavy jacket,” he assured her, and smiled.

* * *

MERISSA WAS NOT in bed. Terrible sounds of a meal returning were heard in the bathroom.

“Oh, dear...” Clara began.

Tank walked right into the bathroom, found a washcloth and wet it while Merissa, kneeling at the toilet, was still heaving.

“You shouldn’t...be in here!” she protested weakly.

“Bull. You’re sick.” He waited until the last of the spasm was over, flushed the toilet and bathed her pale face. Her green eyes were enormous. “Is it over, you think?”

She swallowed, tasting bile. “I think so.”

He pulled out mouthwash and poured a little in a cup, smiling as she took it and ruefully washed her mouth out. He turned on the faucet to flush it away when she pushed it out into the sink.

He bathed her face again, as he would a child’s, appreciating her delicate, elfin beauty. Her complexion was truly peaches and cream; exquisite, like that pretty bow-shaped mouth. “You are beautiful, you know that?” he murmured softly.

She stared at him blankly.

“Never mind.” He put the washcloth in her hand, swung her up in his arms and carried her to bed. He tucked her in. “Just lie still. I have a friend who’s a doctor. Do you mind if I call him to come out here?”

“Doctors don’t make house calls,” she protested weakly.

“Oh, this one does.” He pulled out his cell phone, punched in a number, waited for a second until it was answered. “John. Hi. Tank here. Have you got a couple of minutes to take a look at a young woman with a massive migraine and no meds?”

He paused, grinned. “Yes, she’s gorgeous,” he said, eyeing Merissa.

There was obviously a question.

“Merissa Baker,” Tank replied.

Merissa closed her eyes. He wouldn’t come now. He’d know it was the witch woman, whom everyone in town avoided.

But Tank was laughing. “Yes, she is a phenomenon. I can attest to her skills. Yes, I know you would. We’ll be expecting you. Want me to send one of the boys to drive you over?” He nodded. “No problem. I’ll call Tim right now.” He hung up, phoned Tim and gave him directions to get to the doctor.

He turned back to Merissa and sat down next to her on the bed. “His name is John Harrison. He’s retired, but he’s one of the best physicians I’ve ever known, and his medical license is kept current.”

Merissa removed the comforting cold wet cloth from her eyes and winced at the light. Photophobia was one of the symptoms of the condition. “Dr. Harrison? He’s fascinated with psychic phenomena,” she pointed out. “They say he was friends with one of the researchers who used to work in the parapsychology department of a major college back East years ago.”

“That’s true. He thinks you’re fascinating. He can’t wait to meet you,” he told her.

She sighed and put the cloth back over her eyes. “That’s a new thing, all right. Most people never want to meet me. They’re afraid I’ll curdle the milk.”

“You’re no witch,” Tank scoffed. “You just have a gift that’s outside the area of established science. In a couple of hundred years, scientists will research it just as they research other conditions. You know, two hundred years or more ago, there was no antibiotic, and doctors had no clue about exactly how disease processes worked.”

“We’ve come a long way from that.”

He nodded. “Indeed we have. Tummy feeling better?”

“A bit, yes. Thanks.”

Clara was standing in the doorway, looking perplexed. “The herbs always worked before,” she commented.

Tank looked up. “Can you make her a cup of strong black coffee?”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Old home remedy for asthma attacks and headaches. You know, most of the over-the-counter medicines for headaches contain caffeine.”

Clara laughed. “I’ve learned something. I know herbs, but I’d never thought about coffee as a drug. I’ll make the coffee right now.”

“I love coffee,” Merissa whispered. “I couldn’t face breakfast this morning, so I missed my first cup of the day.”

“We’ll get you better. Don’t worry.”

She swallowed. The pain was intense. “This is really nice of you. The doctor, I mean.”

“He’s a good friend.”

She peered at him from under the washcloth. “You’re good with sick people.”

He shrugged. “I thought about being a doctor myself, at one time. But I have a hard time sticking to things. Maybe a touch of adult ADD.” He chuckled, alluding to Attention Deficit Disorder.

She smiled. “Well, thanks.”

He smiled back and tucked the washcloth over her eyes. “I imagine the light is uncomfortable, even with the curtains closed. Mallory has to have a dark room and no noise when he gets these headaches.”

There were sounds in the kitchen and the delicious smell of brewing coffee. A couple of minutes later, Clara walked in carrying two cups. She handed one to her daughter, and the other to Tank. His contained just cream, no sugar.

He gaped at her. “How did you know how I drink my coffee?”

She shrugged and sighed.

He laughed. “Well, thanks. It’s just right.”

She smiled.

* * *

THE DOCTOR, JOHN Harrison, was tall, with gray hair and light blue eyes. He smiled as Clara escorted him into the bedroom, where Tank was sitting beside Merissa on the bed.

Tank got to his feet and the men shook hands.

John opened his bag, got out his stethoscope, and sat down beside the pale woman.

“Dr. Harrison, thank you so much for coming,” Merissa said in a weak voice.

“This is how things used to be done, in the old days when I got out of medical school,” he said. “I can’t tell you how many elderly people who could barely walk almost cheered when I showed up at their doors. Now that I’m old, I understand. It’s hard on the joints to sit for an hour or two waiting to see the doctor.”

He listened to her chest, checked her vital signs and then looped the stethoscope around his neck. He had her do some very simple exercises and he checked her pupils.

“I haven’t had a stroke,” she teased.

His eyebrows shot up. “How did you know I thought that?”

“I don’t know.” She flushed. “These things just slip out.” She sighed. “My life would be so much easier if I were normal.”

He laughed softly, pulled out a small bottle and unwrapped a syringe. He attached the needle, inserted it into the bottle, pushed out air, filled it to a notch and put the bottle down.

“This may sting a bit.” He used an alcohol wipe on her arm before he slid the needle in gently. A few seconds later, he withdrew it. She hadn’t even flinched.

“Didn’t sting at all. I feel horrible.”

“Do you get the aura?” he asked.

“Yes. Usually I just go blind in one eye, with static like you see on a television screen when there’s no channel coming up. But this time there were brightly colored lights.”

He nodded. “Do you have a family physician?”

“We went to Dr. Brady, but he moved to Montana,” she said softly. “We go to clinics now.”

“You can consider me your family physician, if you like,” he offered. “And I do make house calls.”

“That would be so kind of you,” she said, with heartfelt gratitude. “You see, we frighten most people, Mama and I.”

“I’m not frightened of you. I’m intrigued. That injection will make you sleep. When you wake up, the headache should be gone. But if the headache worsens or you have new symptoms, you must call me.”

“I will,” she promised.

“And I think you should have a CT scan. Just to rule out anything dangerous.”

“I hate tests,” she groaned. “But I’ve had them already. The neurologist didn’t find anything like a tumor in the scans. He said it’s migraine without a specific cause.”

“Do you mind if I contact him?” he asked. “I know we’ve only just met...”

She smiled. “I don’t mind at all.” It was very nice having a doctor who didn’t feel that she and Clara were “peculiar.” “I’ll write his number down for you.” She did, on a piece of paper, and handed it to him. He slipped it into his jacket pocket.

He patted her on the shoulder. “When you’re better, I’d like to talk to you about this gift of yours. When I was in college, I did several courses of anthropology. I still audit courses on the internet, to keep up with what’s going on in the field. Every community since recorded history has had people with unusual gifts.”

“Really?” she asked.

He nodded. “As for psychic gifts, the government once had an entire unit of what were called ‘remote viewers.’ They were used to spy on other countries. Quite successfully at times,” he explained.

“I’d like to hear more about that,” she said, becoming drowsy.

“All in good time. If your headache isn’t better when you wake up, call me.” He pulled out a business card and put it on her bedside table. “My cell phone number is on there. Use it. I never answer the landline phone if I can help it. Only a handful of people know the other.”