Playing Doctor

  Playing

  Doctor

  A Fandom Hearts Novel

  Cathy Yardley

  RYW Publishing

  The author has provided this e-book to you for your personal use only. You may not make this e-book publicly available in any way. Copyright infringement is against the law. If you believe the copy of this e-book you are reading infringes on the author's copyright, please notify the author at cathy@cathyyardley.com

  Contents

  THE FANDOM HEART SERIES

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  About the Author

  COPYRIGHT PAGE

  THE FANDOM HEART SERIES

  LEVEL UP (Book 1)

  HOOKED (Book 1.5)

  ONE TRUE PAIRING (Book 2)

  GAME OF HEARTS (Book 3)

  WHAT HAPPENS AT CON (Book 4)

  MS. BEHAVE (Book 4.5)

  PLAYING DOCTOR (Book 5)

  Chapter 1

  Cressida felt the cold air blow in as a customer opened the door to Frost Fandoms, the collectibles shop that she and her sisters ran on the bottom story of their Victorian house. She braced herself, putting on her brightest, non-forced smile. “Hi! Can I help you?”

  The man and woman who walked in smiled back at her. “I’m a huge Mystics fan,” the woman said, nudging the guy. “We’ve already done the walking tour of nearby shooting locations, but they said this was the place to get all the good signed stuff.”

  “Right over there,” Cressida gestured to the ample – honestly, “opulent” was probably a better word – display of Mystics memorabilia. It helped that Cressida’s sister Hailey was dating one of the stars, and one of her best friends, Mallory, was dating another one. The show filmed just one town over, so a lot of fans made their way to the shop to pick up things. It was part of what kept the store, and the sisters, afloat.

  Cressida might not love the customer service aspect of the job, but she did love staying in their house, and she was grateful for the fans that frequented the place.

  Hailey stepped out from the kitchen with a plate of fresh baked cookies. “Can I offer you guys a cookie?” she asked. She looked like a cross between a USO performer and a punk rocker, with her hair in Victory rolls contrasting with the long sleeved CBGB shirt she was wearing. The guy took a cookie, taking a bite.

  “This is great,” he said. “Did you make them?”

  “My sister did,” she said, gesturing to Cressida, who looked down at the counter with a smile.

  “Sister? Really?” He studied them more closely. “You two don’t look anything alike.”

  “We get that all the time,” Hailey said. It was easier than explaining their foster history, and it was less invasive.

  “You’re Jake Windlass’s girlfriend, right?” the woman customer asked, her eyes wide. “I saw the videos of you!”

  There was an incident that occurred the previous year, where Hailey had gotten attacked by one of Jake’s psychotic superfans. It made Hailey something of a celebrity among the community, as well. They were protective of her, and had made it clear by lavishing her with presents at the last local Mystics convention.

  “Are you going to Australia MysticCon?” the woman asked, surprising Cressida. “I wish I could go!”

  “Probably not,” Hailey said, ringing the woman’s purchases up. “But yeah, that’d be great.”

  “Well, I’m sure I’ll see you around,” the woman said, and she and the man left with another chilly blast of air.

  “Australia MysticCon?” Cressida said, turning to her sister with surprise. “I didn’t know they were doing a convention in Australia!”

  “It just got added to the list,” Hailey said, shrugging like it was no big deal. She rang up the woman’s purchases.

  Cressida turned to her sister. “You have always wanted to see Australia!” Cressida pointed out. “Why not go? I’m sure Jake would love to have you there.”

  “We’re business people,” Hailey returned. “Somebody’s got to mind the store, remember?”

  “What am I, chopped liver?”

  “Yeah, well, sometimes it gets busy.” Hailey wasn’t looking at her, instead repositioning and cleaning the Mystics display with way more attention than the task really needed. “It’s really not a big deal.”

  Cressida felt anger and irritation start to well up in her chest. “This isn’t because of my condition, right?” Her voice was flat. “Because I can handle the store.”

  “It’s not because of that,” Hailey said quickly. Too quickly.

  “Because I know we’ve discussed this already, and I think I’ve proven that I can handle taking care of the store and taking care of myself.” Cressida felt her spine stiffen. She didn’t necessarily like confrontation, but she hated being treated like a child even more. “I know I’m still agoraphobic, but I’ve made some real strides in the past six months.”

  “I know,” Hailey said, her voice and her expression softening. “I can’t believe you’ve ridden around in Kyla’s crazy RV.”

  Their friend Kyla was a mechanic and a cosplay fanatic. Kyla had driven down to the San Diego ComicCon in her family’s old RV, which was painted to look like the TARDIS, dark blue with a door labeled “POLICE BOX” over the top. Cressida had discovered that she considered the RV a place of safety, like the store and house. Once she was in the RV, they’d made it all the way to a campground by Lake Washington. She’d enjoyed it immensely and had only had two minor panic attacks.

  “My point is, I’m doing better. I’m handling things,” Cressida said. “Besides, Rachel will be graduating in the spring, and I’m sure she can take some time off to cover if I really need the backup, but it’s a one-person job. It’s not a problem.”

  Hailey hedged, sighing. “I don’t know. It just feels like I’d be abandoning you two.”

  “Rachel would barely notice you were gone,” Cressida shot back with a laugh. It was turning eight o’clock, so she turned the sign from open to closed. “She studies too hard and she works too hard. As for me, I’ve got Doctor Who reruns and my treasure hunt.”

  “Oh, God, that frickin’ treasure hunt,” Hailey said, shaking her head. “I can’t believe you’re still on about that. What has it been, a year?”

  “More like two.” Cressida bit her lip. “It’s fun. And it’s like… I don’t know. An adventure I can take from my computer, you know?”

  Even though that wasn’t the point of the hunt at all. Henry Curton, a bestselling sci-fi author and multi-millionaire, had placed a treasure out somewhere “in the wilderness”, with only the clues from one of his novels to go on. The book, Monochrome Wasteland, had sold better than any of his previous books. He’d taken a picture of the treasure chest that he’d filled to the brim with gold and jewels, and then he’d placed it somewhere where whoever found it could claim it. A cult had developed around finding the treasure. Cressida had already been a fan of the author, and she’d found herself swept up along with it. It was now two years later, and no one had found the treasure, although several claimed to have been “close.”

  “Are you sure that thing isn’t just a big hoax?” Hailey said, shaking her head.

  “Why would it be?” Cressida shrugged. “He had pictures taken of box. He had a lawyer go with him as proof. I know it was a good book marketing idea, but still… it’s like Ready Player One. It’s fun, it’s exciting, and it’s… I don’t know. A dream.”

  One she’d secretly held close to her heart. She
loved puzzles. She loved figuring things out. And she enjoyed the community of Wastelanders, as they called themselves, who were puzzling out the treasure’s location, just as she was.

  You especially enjoy one Wastelander’s company…

  She felt herself blush a little – the curse of her milk pale complexion – and stopped that train of thought before Hailey picked up on it.

  “It’s Thursday. I’ve got to touch base with a few people from the boards tonight, for our weekly check in and messenger chat,” Cressida said, as casually as possible, grabbing a cookie and nibbling at it. “So if you’d…”

  The door opened again with another cold swirl. This time, it was their sister, Rachel. She had dark blue-black hair and Hailey’s blue eyes, the result of their shared genes. She looked peeved, but with all the stress of her job and her school work, she tended to look that way a lot, especially lately.

  “Did Mr. Williams stop by?” she asked without preamble, unwinding her scarf and hanging it on the hooks by the door, followed by her burgundy wool coat.

  “Mr. Williams?” Hailey answered. “No. Why? Is he planning on raising our rent again?”

  “Legally, he shouldn’t be able to,” Rachel said, rolling her eyes. “But God knows he’s tried to pull a fast one before.”

  Cressida popped the rest of the cookie in her mouth, fighting the rising feeling of anxiety. Mr. Williams was their landlord, and while he claimed he had a fondness for them, it didn’t stop him from being quick to charge them and slow to repair anything. Still, Cressida had lived in this house since she was fifteen years old – eleven years. It was the closest thing she’d ever had to a sanctuary.

  “So why doesn’t he just call?”

  “I don’t…”

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Speak of the devil,” Hailey muttered, then slapped a smile on her face and opened the door. “Mr. Williams! This is a surprise. Cookie?”

  Mr. Williams was in his sixties, possibly his seventies, with snow white hair… at least, a snow-white beard and bushy eyebrows. He always wore a hat, so it was hard to tell if he had any white hair on his head. His brown eyes were like a Basset hound’s, filled with sadness, as if he was trying to prepare for some horrible thing that hadn’t yet happened.

  Cressida knew he always looked like this, but the anxiety twinge hit her a little harder.

  “Hi, girls,” he said, as he always did. He held up a hand, refusing the cookie. “I’ve got some important business to discuss with you, and I thought it’d be best to do it face to face.”

  Hailey and Rachel exchanged a glance, then Hailey put the plate of cookies back down on the counter. Mr. Williams had a legendary sweet tooth. If he was turning down cookies, it was serious business.

  He sighed, crossing his arms. “You’ve been great renters. Your grandmother, God rest her soul, was my tenant for thirty-five years. I saw your mother grow up in this house.”

  Not Cressida’s mother, she thought. Rachel and Hailey’s mother. She felt a pang. It wasn’t often that she was reminded that she didn’t share blood with the two women she considered sisters, and it was always a little uncomfortable when she remembered it.

  “But everything’s changing,” he continued, sounding somehow both wistful and irritated. “You’ve seen how things are growing. All the housing developments, all the growth. There’s traffic, for God’s sake! And that damned TV show has all these crazy people coming in…”

  “Those would be our customers,” Hailey muttered, but stopped when Rachel nudged her.

  “I don’t like it. I was talking with Madge,” he said, referring to his wife, “and she agreed. It’s time for a change for us, too.”

  Cressida felt her heart start beating fast, like a trapped bird.

  “Housing prices are astronomical, and we want to get in on it before things start to fall,” he said. “We’re betting that prices are going to drop if we don’t move soon. So… well. I just wanted to tell you that we’re putting the house on the market.”

  Cressida felt light-headed. They were selling the house.

  That means we have to move. Out of this house.

  I have to move out of this house.

  We’re losing the house.

  “I’ll give you girls the opportunity to make an offer on it, but I have to let you know, we’re looking for some high bids,” he said, sounding mournful – but not that mournful. “If you know of anyone…”

  Cressida couldn’t listen for a moment longer. She turned, fleeing to the stairwell, ignoring Hailey’s quick “Cress? You okay?”

  She made it all the way to her room, her haven. She went to her closet. It was a decent size, not a walk-in or anything. Which made it perfect.

  The smaller, the better.

  She curled up, grabbing a pillow, shutting the door behind her. Enclosed in darkness, she felt herself gasping for breath. She’d been breathing too much, she realized, as the tip of her nose started to go numb.

  Panic attack.

  She forced herself to slow down, to do the “box breathing” the psychiatrist she’d once made it to had taught her. Breathe in to the count of four – hold to the count of four. Breathe out to the count of four. Hold to the count of four. Even though her lungs were straining, and she struggled with the impression that she was running out of air, she forced herself to continue the exercise.

  There was a knock at the closet door. “Cressida? Honey? Are you all right?”

  No. I’m not all right.

  They were taking away her house. She wasn’t all right. And she didn’t know how she was going to be all right.

  Scene 2

  Noah Sukarno was bone tired when he got home that night. It was nearly ten, and he’d had a long shift as an EMT. He enjoyed the work, mostly, but he was still glad to get back to his small apartment and unwind.

  He turned on his computer, then stripped out of his uniform, scanning the boards on Curton Call, the official wiki/website/threads for the Henry Curton treasure hunt. He’d been obsessed with it since it had been announced, some two years ago, partially because he loved Henry Curton’s novels, and partially because he loved the idea of finding a few million dollars’ worth of treasure. He enjoyed the puzzle aspect of it, and he liked the community, but he could certainly think of things that he’d do with the money if he found it.

  Pay off all Mom’s debts on the food truck. Get into medical school and pay for it without student loans. Yeah, that’d be nice for a start.

  But for the moment, there was another reason he liked hanging out on the Curton Call threads. He scanned for a second, then opened the messenger chat and pinged his favorite fellow Wastelander, a girl named Cressida.

  They’d been in contact for a while now, almost since the beginning. He’d talked with plenty of people, but for whatever reason, he and Cressida connected with an almost audible click. He liked her sense of humor. They loved the same books. They’d both gotten clues confirmed, determining that the treasure was somewhere in California, something that had burned through the boards like wildfire. Granted, “California” by itself was frickin’ huge and nobody had found the treasure yet despite that confirmation, but still, he and Cressida had felt really justified.

  And they’d started texting each other. Daily – in the past few months, it would be a couple of times a day at least. They hadn’t actually talked on the phone, but who did these days, anyway?

  You’ve got a crush, and you’ve got it bad.

  He’d known for a year that he had a crush on the poor woman. He assumed woman. With the internet, you could never tell. But whoever she was, he looked forward to texting with her and “talking” with her, especially about the treasure.

  The fact that she wasn’t at the weekly chat yet made him a little uneasy. He was about to text her when his phone rang.

  Mama, the name read.

  He smiled, answering it. “What’s going on?”

  “Just closed down the food truck for the night,” his mothe
r said, and he could hear both the tiredness and the satisfaction in her voice. “Oof! We were busy.”

  “Mama,” he chided. “You were supposed to be closed an hour ago.”

  “What, and turn away customers? Are you crazy?”

  “I guess it’s your fault for making such good food,” he said, knowing that he wasn’t going to get anywhere with her otherwise. She’d worked in restaurants for years before finally saving up and getting her food truck, and it was her baby. The fact that it was growing in popularity made her rightfully proud, and while he worried for her safety when she worked some late nights, it’s not like he could or would take that away from her. She and her boyfriend/cook Ernesto ran the Indonesian and Mexican fusion food truck.

  “I wanted to check on you. How are you? What are you doing?” She paused for a breath. “Do you have a date?”

  He blinked. “I’m doing fine. Just got home from a shift.”

  “You work too hard.”

  “Says the woman who is just now shutting down her food truck,” he muttered. “Where do you think I got my workaholic tendencies? You can’t exactly throw stones, here.”

  “It’s different. I worked as hard as I did to make sure you got everything you needed,” she said, and he felt a stab of guilt. A single mom, whose boyfriend had run out on her after finding out she got pregnant, his Mom had worked two jobs and hauled ass since she hadn’t known anyone in the U.S. when she came over. Now, she had a tight circle of friends, and Ernesto of course, and she seemed to be enjoying life more, which was good. “What are you working so hard for, Noah?”

  He squelched a sigh. He hadn’t told her about wanting to go to med school, for fear that she’d feel that she somehow failed him. He didn’t want her thinking that way at all – all that he was, was thanks to her hard work and sacrifices. He just didn’t want to take on all that school debt. “I work hard because I love what I do,” he said instead.