When River arrived, he took one look at Finn's terror-stricken face and immediately wrapped him in protective arms that felt like the safest place in the universe. “Tell me what you're seeing,” he said gently, his hands smoothing down Finn's back with careful tenderness.
“Everything's almost right,” Finn said against River's shoulder, breathing in salt water and something purely comforting. “The mug's the wrong color, Maya's wearing the wrong sweater in the photo, the book covers are different. It's like someone took my life and made tiny adjustments that only I would notice.”
River looked around Finn's living room with the careful attention he brought to scientific observation, then back at Finn with gentle confusion. “Everything looks exactly like it did yesterday. Same mug, same photos, same books you showed me when you were deciding what to lend me.”
Finn pulled back to stare at him, then at the objects that looked completely wrong to his eyes but apparently normal to River's. “You don't see any changes?”
“No changes at all. Everything's exactly where it was before.”
The reality that River couldn't see what he was experiencing hit Finn like physical pain. Either he was losing his grip on objective reality, or the episodes were becoming so severe thatthey were affecting his visual perception of his environment in ways that weren't externally observable.
“I'm losing my mind,” Finn whispered, the words tasting like defeat and terror.
“You're not losing your mind,” River said firmly, his hands coming up to cup Finn's face with infinite gentleness. “You're experiencing symptoms of a medical condition that we're going to figure out and treat. But you're not crazy, and you're not alone.”
They spent the night on Finn's couch, River holding him while he tried to reconcile the visual input his brain was providing with the logical knowledge that his apartment hadn't actually changed. River stayed awake, monitoring Finn's condition and providing the kind of steady presence that made the impossible feel manageable.
By morning, the visual distortions had faded, leaving Finn's apartment looking exactly as it always had. But the memory of seeing changes that weren't there remained vivid and disturbing, evidence that his condition was progressing in ways that defied medical explanation.
“We need to document this,” River said over coffee, his scientific mind already organizing the information into patterns that might yield understanding. “Everything you experienced, how long it lasted, what might have triggered it. If we can establish patterns, we might be able to predict episodes or find ways to manage them.”
Finn nodded, grateful for River's logical approach to something that felt completely beyond rational understanding. “You really think this can be figured out?”
“I think everything can be figured out if you gather enough data and ask the right questions,” River said with conviction that made Finn feel less alone with his terror. “We just need to find the right experts and the right approach.”
Three days later, Maya called with news that made Finn's chest tight with hope and apprehension in equal measure.
“I got you an appointment,” she said without preamble, her voice carrying the satisfaction of someone who'd fought bureaucracy and won. “Dr. Elena Voss at Mass General. She specializes in unusual neurological conditions, and she had a cancellation for next week.”
Finn felt his breath catch. “That fast? I thought you said it would take weeks to get in with a specialist.”
“It would, normally. But when I described your symptoms to her office, Dr. Voss specifically requested to see you. Apparently your case fits a research interest of hers.”
“What kind of research interest?”
“Memory disorders that don't fit standard diagnostic categories. Young adults developing sudden cognitive changes.” Maya's voice carried cautious optimism. “She's published papers on atypical neurological presentations that sound similar to what you're experiencing.”
River looked up from where he'd been pretending to read while obviously listening to every word of the conversation. “That's good news, right?”
“I think so,” Finn said, though something about the timing felt almost too convenient. “What did you tell her office about my symptoms?”
“Just the basics—memory gaps, episodes of confusion, acquisition of knowledge during altered states. I may have mentioned that you're demonstrating expertise in fields you've never studied.” Maya paused. “Why? Are you having second thoughts about seeing a specialist?”
“No, I want to see her. It's just...” Finn trailed off, unable to articulate why the idea of someone specifically requesting to see him based on his symptoms felt unsettling rather than encouraging.
“It's just that you're scared,” Maya said gently. “Which is completely understandable. But Finn, we need answers. Your episodes are getting more frequent and more severe.”
The appointment was scheduled for the following Tuesday, giving Finn a week to worry about what kinds of tests Dr. Voss might want to run and what those tests might reveal. River offered to drive him to Boston, an offer Finn accepted with relief that surprised him with its intensity.
“You don't have to take a whole day off work for my medical appointment,” Finn said, though privately he was desperate for River's presence during what felt like a potentially life-changing consultation.
“I want to be there,” River said simply. “Besides, someone needs to take notes and ask the scientific questions you might forget to ask.”
The drive to Mass General passed in tense conversation about what they hoped to learn and what they feared they might discover. Finn found himself cataloging all the ways his episodes had changed over the past weeks—becoming more frequent, lasting longer, involving more complex knowledge that he couldn't explain.
Dr. Voss turned out to be a sharp-featured woman in her forties, with silver hair and intense blue eyes that suggested intelligence and curiosity in equal measure. Her office was filled with medical journals and case studies, but also with books on topics that seemed unrelated to neurology—maritime history, folklore, psychological research on memory and identity.
“Mr. Torres,” she said, extending a hand with professional courtesy. “Thank you for coming. Your sister describedsymptoms that fit a pattern I've been researching for several years.”
