He stood up and marched out from behind the cart, drawing the officer’s attention.

“Shit,” I said under my breath.

Karter’s left ankle suddenly twisted and his leg folded under him. He fell to the floor, moaning, and started rolling around.

The officer leaped up and a nurse came skidding around the corner. I ran after her, hoping it would make my approach to room 316 less obvious. The nurse knelt at Karter’s side as he clutched his ankle. A thin film of sweat blanketed his forehead. He wasn’t kidding when he said he might not have to fake it. I caught his gaze and he jerked his head toward the door before letting out another groan. I crept past as the police officer and nurse both tried to comfort him. I backed up until I reached the door, then quickly slipped inside, closing it behind me.

The patient was shackled to the bed rails and sleeping soundly. The room was small, with a single window overlooking the parking lot. The drab monochrome decor made the space feel cramped.

I cleared my throat. The man stirred with a start. Lifting his head off the pillow, his gaze settled on me. His right eye was swollen shut, but the gash in his lip had been stitched closed. The monitor tracking his heartbeat beeped loudly.

“What do you want?” His voice was gravelly, strained. I took a step closer. He squinted his bloodshot left eye. “Oh, it’s you.”

“You don’t know me,” I said. “You called me Selene before, but I’m not her.”

His face, swollen and bruised as it was, softened. “I’m sorry. You look so much like her. It’s uncanny.”

“Did you know her?”

He nodded. “And her sister, Circe. They’re gone now. They’re all gone.” His eye misted over. “I apologize for scaring you. I was confused. I got turned around out there.”

“About that,” I said. “How did you get to the gate? It’s on private property, and it’s—”

He raised his left eyebrow, a simple gesture that seemed to cause him a disproportionate amount of pain.

“It’s hard to get out there,” I said.

He eyed me carefully. “I know how difficult it is.” He readjusted himself in the bed, wincing with every movement. “That’s why I brought the machete. I had to chop my way through, and still . . .” He held up his hands in front of him. The skin had peeled off several fingers, and the nails had turned black. He leaned back on the pillow and gave a dry, rasping laugh. “I should’ve known better. There’s a reason nobody can get out there. I thought there were booby traps, maybe some kind of elaborate security system. I knew it would be overgrown. I had no clue the damned forest was going to come alive and try to kill me.”

If there had been a plant nearby, it would have found me, drawn in by my racing heart.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I won’t go back out there. I barely survived as it is. No sense testing my luck.”

“Why were you out there in the first place?”

“The house was dark for years. After Selene died, Circe shut down the shop.”

“The apothecary?” I asked.

The monitor beeped and a cuff on his arm tightened. “Natural medicines. Remedies. Other things too, but I’m not the right person to ask about that.” He glanced out the window.

The natural medicine part made sense, but what other things?

He turned onto his side and the sheet slipped off his bare foot. It was covered in deep, painful-looking sores. He quickly readjusted the sheet. “That’s what I need the herb for. Diabetes damages the blood vessels, makes it harder for wounds to heal. I’ve tried every ointment and cream my doc recommends but nothing works like comfrey. But it has to be the comfrey Circe and Selene were growing. It’s just better. I knew they were growing the herbs somewhere on the property, so I went to find out where. I’ve been without it for so long, going on ten years. I was desperate. I didn’t know you’d moved in. I saw you go into the forest and I thought—I thought you were Selene. Back from the dead to help me out.”

“Not tryna be rude, but death is pretty permanent,” I said.

“If you say so.” He shook his head. “Never mind. I was confused. Maybe I still am. I’m sorry. Truly.”

My gut said was he was telling the truth and I felt bad. “Listen. I can get the comfrey for you. There’s still some at the house.”

He turned to me. “You’d do that? Even though I trespassed and probably scared the life out of you?”

“It’s not a problem.”

“You look like Selene.” He smiled, sadness in his voice. “You have her gentle heart, as well.”

“I’m not her,” I said, firmly. “My name is Briseis.”

His eyes widened. “Like the Greek myth.”

I nodded. “I’ll get you the comfrey if you promise not to sneak around the house anymore. It’s not safe.” Not for him, anyway, and not only because of the plants. Mom and Mo might put his ass back in the hospital if he showed up again.

He lifted his right hand. The sores on his forearm were open and oozing. “Scout’s honor.”

“Come by when you’re better.”

I exited Mr. Morris’s room. The officer had retaken his seat outside and whipped his head toward me.

“How’d you get in there?”

“Sorry, it—it was the wrong room.”

He narrowed his eyes at me as I rushed down the hall and made a quick turn into the waiting area. Karter sat there in a chair facing the nurse’s station, his ankle propped on a coffee table, a bag of ice strapped to it with an ACE bandage. He held his phone to his ear.

“It’s a sprain. It’s not bad. It’s not gonna mess anything up.” He slumped in the seat.

I stuck out my hand. He had to be talking to his mom. “Let me talk to her. This is my fault.”

He shook his head. “Mom, I gotta go. I gotta take Briseis home.” She said something and he grunted in return, then hung up.

“I’m so sorry,” I said.

“It’s fine,” Karter said. He got to his feet, testing his weight on his injured ankle. “She’s worried I’m gonna miss my shift at the bookshop. She don’t care about the ankle.”

“What do you mean she doesn’t care? She’s your mom.”

He tilted his head, his brow arched. He opened his mouth to say something, then changed his mind. “Come on.”