Heartbeat [Alec Volturi]

Afterlife

"They're going to kill you, you know."

I had a love-hate relationship with medical professionals. My earliest memories are riddled with doctor's visits, medical machinery, needles, and tests. Too many tests. Medical curiosity would drive doctors to use any complicated, high-tech machine to beep a new answer about my abnormality. They were arrogant, self-righteous, and irritatingly benevolent.

But Dr. Moore was growing on me.

"After they kill me," I continued, eyeing the doctor. He raised his eyebrows, full and dark, mimicking listening as if the meaning of my words had no impact. More casually, I added, "at least that's what they do with all the receptionists."

He stepped back and wrote something down with a small smile hiding on his cheeks. His white coat was pristine as ever. Each wrinkle had been professionally pressed and tailored to the physician's fit form. The man belonged on a billboard. But somehow, his life had taken him to this small, hospital-like room the Volturi had constructed for emergencies in the castle. For me. Aside from the stone walls and lack of windows, it felt nearly identical to any doctor's office. Complete with a nurse's station and rolling chair.

"Okay, either you have an impeccable bedside manner," he did, but that was beside the point. "Or you know something that I don't." Which would not be the most inconceivable possibility.

He chuckled, "your Masters and I have an understanding."

"They're not my masters."

Dr. Moore acknowledged my statement, returning his stethoscope around his neck. "Do you know how they found me?"

"An American doctor in Italy that happens to be qualified enough to take care of nearly any injury I might have? No." He chuckled while I stared at him with stunned curiosity. "As far as I'm concerned, you're a unicorn."

"We have a mutual friend."

"You and me?" He confirmed with a nod, securing the blood pressure cuff around my upper arm. "I doubt that."

The man's bedside manner afforded him a polite chuckle, "when Carlisle told me of your unique condition, I was intrigued."

Typically, I might've responded with a sassy comment suggesting that he was far from being the only person to be curious about my condition. Instead, I was stuck on, "Carlisle offered you up to be murdered by a bunch of vampires?"

He relieved me of the uncomfortable pressure, returning the blood pressure machine and turning to the table to write another mysterious sentence about my likely unchanged blood pressure level.

Dr. Moore was a handsome man with thick brows and eyes that sparkled when he smiled. His hair was graciously cut on the sides and back of his head but faded the closer it got to his forehead. I blinked, my eyes leaving his head as he sat on his little rolling desk chair and faced me for a bedtime story. He usually worked as I berated him with questions and comments, but this new story tactic of his would take longer. I could practically hear Jane rolling her eyes on the other side of the door.

"We had not spoken for several years, yet I felt the need to inform my old friend that I had cancer, and six months to live." Unlike his response to my blunt words earlier, I gaped at his words. Well played, Dr. Moore. "A fortuitous decision, as the last thing I expected him to do was offer me a job opportunity."

Still, I rolled my eyes and tried to collect my dignity, "you're joking."

A smile crossed over his full lips as he chuckled, "he said I'd be living in a remote city in Florence, necessities paid for, and vineyards for miles. All I had to do was take care of a girl."