Chapter 2: The Pixie Queen
Note to Readers: All characters and names are entirely fictional and are 18 years old or older. Please read Chapter 1 before reading this chapter for a better understanding of the plot lines and the characters.
After the last patient left, I turned to Fern and asked, "Okay, they're gone. Now tell me, what's going on?"
"I'm sorry, Sky," she said, "I can't tell you—"
The clinic door opened again. It seemed like I was never going to get to the bottom of this.
In walked a beautiful brunette with dark brown eyes. She looked like she could have been in her mid-thirties or possibly in her forties. Her face looked soft, radiant, and mildly familiar. She was wearing a low-cut forest green dress that ended just below her knees giving me a look at her muscular calves. Most notably, her right arm was in a sling.
When Fern turned to look at the woman, her mouth flew open with a look of surprise.
"Can I help you ma'am?" I asked.
"Actually," she replied, "I'm here to help you."
She turned the knob to lock the door behind her and took a seat near the front desk. She asked Fern and me to pull up chairs so we could talk. When I looked at Fern, she was pale and speechless.
"Would you look at this wound for me, please doctor?" the woman asked, holding up her right arm.
"I'm sorry," I said, "I'm not a people doctor, I'm a veterinar—"
"I know what kind of doctor you are," she interrupted, "Please, just look at this wound."
There was nothing in my code of ethics against looking at this woman's wounds, as long as I didn't pass myself off as a medical doctor or try to treat her professionally.
When I looked at the woman's arm, it was obvious that she had had surgery very recently. There were stitches in place, and it looked like she may have fractured a distal bone in her right arm. There was a lot of swelling in the area, as might be expected, but the length of the incision and the number of stitches indicated that a titanium plate was used to hold the ends of the bone in place.
On closer inspection, those stitches and the suture knots looked familiar. The stitching was more like the kind used on animals than people.
"What do you see, doctor?" she asked. She asked it like she knew what kind of answer I would give.
"Well, it looks like you fractured a distal bone in your arm, most likely the ulna," I began, "I can't tell how well approximated the bone are, but I can see there is a plate in place and in a good location to allow you a full range of motion with your wrist and hand. But those stitches are all wrong for you. They're the kind of sutures I would use for an animal. I wouldn't expect a trained surgeon to use sutures like that."
"Did you count the number of stitches, doctor?" she asked, smiling.
"Count them?" I puzzled, "it looks like there are nine of them."
"Doesn't that remind you of something?" she asked.
A strange and bizarre thought crossed my mind. I tried to dismiss it, but the coincidence was too great. I felt foolish even thinking about it.
"No," I lied, "why would it remind me of something?"
"Oh, come now, doctor," she said somewhat impatiently, "I know you're not stupid. I've seen you in action and I know you've already figured this out."
"Figured what out?" I asked, apprehensively, "The only thing that comes to my mind doesn't make any sense at all."
"Then you already know," she said, smiling, "Go ahead and say it. Tell me what it is that doesn't make sense."
"You're going to think I've lost my mind if I tell you," I said.
"I can guarantee you that I won't," she replied, still smiling.
I took a deep breath.
"Well," I began, "two days ago, we rescued a doe deep in the woods. She was caught in a trap and broke her right foreleg."
"Go on," the woman encouraged me.
"I set that bone with a titanium plate and sutured the wound with nine stitches that look exactly like the nine sutures in your arm," I said.
"So, what does that suggest to you?" she asked.
"Suggest?" I asked, afraid to tell her my conclusion, "What do you mean?"
"Suppose I was to tell you that my titanium plate and these stitches are the very same ones you used on that doe?" the woman said, "Now what does that tell you?'
"But that's impossible!" I said, "Are you trying to tell me that you are that doe?"
"No," she said, "I'm not
trying
anything. I
am
telling you that the doe and I are one in the same being. I'm a pixie and I'm here to thank you for saving my life."
I laughed nervously.
"Oh, I get it now," I said, "I'm on some kind of reality prank show. Where are the cameras and the camera crew?"
"Skyler Monroe!" she said commandingly, "Look at me!"
I looked at her face and she suddenly transformed. Her brown hair grew down below her breasts and half-way down her back, her ears became pointed, and a beautiful set of large gossamer butterfly wings grew behind her. The wings were mostly yellow with black stripes with a small area of blue and orange at the base. They were identical to the wings of the Eastern Tiger Swallowtail, only much, much larger.
"Holy sh--!" I exclaimed.
"I didn't want to frighten you with my appearance," she said, "but I needed to see you on behalf of my daughter."
"Your daughter?" I asked. I felt light-headed as I began to put the details of the past two days together. I looked over at Fern as I guessed as what she was about to say next.
"That's right," the woman said, "Fern is my daughter."
She looked over at Fern. "It's alright to show him, sweetie," she said.
Fern nodded and a brief look of apprehension crossed her face before she smiled. A yellow aura surrounded her as her hair grew down her back and sides to below her breasts. Pointed ears emerged from between her blonde locks and gossamer butterfly wings sprouted from her back. Her wings were mostly green, but the tips were blue and the edges were yellow.
"Oh, Sky!" Fern said, "I'm so sorry for what I did to you the other day!"
