Before her weak groan was over, my husband had rushed to Fiona's
side. First he touched her forehead with the back of his hand, I
assume to find out if she had a temperature. The result was
obviously inconclusive, because he grunted to himself before touching
her left cheek and peeling back her eye lid.
“What are you doing?” Oak asked. I think he was genuinely
curious, didn't understand Edward's actions at all.
“I don't know,” Edward replied honestly, “Checking for vital
signs. That's what you do when someone's unconscious like this,
isn't it?”
I heard the distant knocking once more, followed by the rattle of a
door. “I really do think we should be checking outside,” I said,
but neither of them was listening.
Edward took Fiona's wrist in his left hand, counting under his breath
as he took her pulse.
“I really do think you'd be wise to step back,” Oak said to him,
“At least until we know what we're dealing with.”
A look of shock sprang on to his face as Edward dropped Fiona's arm.
“Her arm,” he gasped, “I'm sure it just twitched.”
