Even if those options led him into territory more dangerous than anything he'd experienced so far.
Chapter 10
Fractured Moments
Finn
The university archives smelled like old secrets and academic desperation, all musty books and fluorescent lighting that made everything look slightly sickly. Dr. Voss had set up what she called a “research laboratory” in a basement room that felt more like a bunker than a medical facility, surrounded by towers of case files and equipment that looked like it belonged in a science fiction movie rather than actual healthcare.
“Thank you for coming, Finn,” Dr. Voss said, gesturing toward a chair that faced her desk like some kind of interrogation setup. “I know this environment isn't typical for medical consultations, but my research requires privacy and specialized equipment that isn't available in standard clinical settings.”
Finn settled into the chair, trying to ignore the way the basement's concrete walls seemed to press inward and the way Dr. Voss's intense blue eyes never seemed to blink. He'd spent three sleepless nights thinking about this appointment,alternating between desperate hope that someone finally understood his condition and growing anxiety about what that understanding might reveal.
“Before we begin,” Dr. Voss continued, opening a thick folder that contained more documentation than Finn had expected, “I want you to know that everything you tell me is completely confidential. My research exists outside normal medical channels, which means we can explore possibilities that conventional medicine might dismiss.”
“What kind of possibilities?”
“Neurological phenomena that don't fit standard diagnostic categories. Conditions that involve the brain accessing information or experiences outside normal conscious awareness.” Dr. Voss leaned forward with obvious fascination. “Tell me about your first episode. When did you notice something unusual happening?”
Finn found himself describing his symptoms with more detail than he'd shared with any previous doctor, encouraged by Dr. Voss's obvious interest and lack of dismissive skepticism. She took extensive notes, asking follow-up questions about timing, emotional triggers, and family medical history with the thoroughness of someone who genuinely believed his experiences mattered.
“Your mother's condition,” Dr. Voss said after Finn finished describing his family background, “was diagnosed as early-onset dementia, correct? But did doctors ever consider alternative explanations for her symptoms?”
“Alternative explanations?”
“Memory disorders that involve accessing rather than losing information. Conditions where the mind experiences confusion about temporal boundaries rather than simple cognitive decline.” Dr. Voss pulled out a brain scan image, pointing to highlighted areas with obvious expertise. “These are scans frompatients with similar symptoms to yours. Notice the unusual activity in the temporal lobe region.”
Finn stared at the brain images, feeling a mixture of validation and terror. Finally, someone was treating his condition as medically legitimate rather than stress-related nonsense. But seeing physical evidence of neurological abnormality made the reality of his situation hit with devastating force.
“So this is real,” he said quietly. “I'm not just losing my mind from grief or anxiety.”
“Your experiences are absolutely real, and they have a neurological basis that can be studied and potentially managed.” Dr. Voss's expression was professionally sympathetic but also contained something that looked like scientific excitement. “The question is whether you're willing to participate in experimental treatment approaches.”
“What kind of experimental approaches?”
“Techniques I've developed for helping patients gain conscious awareness during episodes, methods for documenting and understanding the information accessed during altered states.” Dr. Voss gathered the brain scans with careful hands. “I should mention that you're not my first patient with these symptoms. There are others, and some have made remarkable progress.”
The offer of hope felt like oxygen to someone who'd been suffocating. “How many others?”
“Enough to establish patterns, to understand that this condition, while rare, is manageable with proper support and intervention.” Dr. Voss closed her folder with obvious satisfaction. “I'd like to schedule regular sessions with you, document your episodes more thoroughly, begin developing individualized treatment strategies.”
Finn nodded eagerly, desperate for anything that might help him understand what was happening to his mind. “Yes. Whatever you think will help.”
“Excellent. We'll start with detailed monitoring of your episodes, then progress to more active interventions.” Dr. Voss stood, indicating the session was concluding. “In the meantime, keep a detailed journal of any unusual experiences. The more data we have, the better we can help you.”
Walking back to his bookshop through Beacon Point's quiet streets, Finn felt lighter than he had in months. Finally, someone who understood his condition, who believed it could be treated, who saw him as a medical case worth solving rather than a young man having an extended grief reaction.
But the relief was complicated by growing fear about what Dr. Voss's research might reveal about his future, about whether the condition would progress like his mother's had, about what it meant to have a rare neurological disorder that existed outside normal medical understanding.
The bookshop felt different when Finn returned, charged with activity he couldn't remember participating in. His customer log showed a full day of sales and interactions, detailed notes in his handwriting about conversations and book recommendations that should have been memorable but existed in a complete blank space in his memory.
“What the hell,” Finn muttered, flipping through pages of documentation that suggested he'd had a perfectly normal, productive day of work while his conscious mind had apparently been elsewhere entirely.
The notes were thorough and personal, demonstrating the kind of customer service that required genuine engagement and attention. Recommendations for specific customers based on their interests, follow-up questions about previous purchases, even personal observations about regulars who'd been dealing with family issues or health problems.
Mrs. Chen seemed much better today. She mentioned her arthritis is improving with the new medication, and she's ready to tackle more challenging mystery novels. Recommended the Louise Penny series starting with “Still Life.” She lit up when I mentioned the small-town setting would remind her of her childhood in rural Vermont.
Finn read the note three times, trying to summon any memory of Mrs. Chen's visit or their conversation about her health and reading preferences. Nothing. The interaction had apparently happened while his consciousness was somewhere else entirely, leaving only evidence that some version of himself had been present and engaged.
