Chương 7
“I know.”
“What else?”
He did not respond.
“What else, Daniel?”
“There was a second discrepancy.”
“What?”
“Access logs.”
My fingers tightened on the handle.
“Whose?”
“Pier security.”
“And?”
“The system showed a maintenance entry forty-three minutes before the explosion.”
“Who entered?”
“A contractor badge.”
“Name.”
“It belonged to a man named Lewis Dane.”
“Do I know him?”
“No.”
“Did police question him?”
“They tried.”
“Tried?”
“He disappeared.”
The word struck harder than it should have.
Hannah’s husband disappeared.
I forced the thought away.
Different man.
Different story.
“When?”
“Two days before they identified the badge.”
“Where was he from?”
“Queens.”
“Family?”
“A sister in Florida.”
“Why wasn’t this in the reports I heard?”
“It was.”
Cross sounded tired now.
“Grant, you heard almost all of this.”
I opened the door.
Cold air entered the car.
“Then today I start hearing it again.”
Dr. Elise Navarro’s office occupied the fourth floor of a medical building that smelled like antiseptic and burnt coffee.
Hannah met us in the lobby.
She had taken a rideshare separately.
Cross reacted to that with one sentence.
“You came?”
“Yes.”
He did not like the answer.
I could hear it.
At reception, Hannah handled the paperwork until the receptionist asked who she was.
“Housekeeper,” Hannah said.
Cross gave a short laugh.
The receptionist went silent.
Hannah’s voice sharpened.
“Is there a problem?”
“No, ma’am.”
“There usually isn’t until someone decides the word means stupid.”
Cross stopped laughing.
I almost smiled.
Navarro came for me herself.
Her handshake was dry and firm.
“Mr. Mercer.”
“Doctor.”
“I’ve reviewed what Ms. Reed sent.”
Cross spoke before I could.
“What did she send?”
Navarro paused.
I answered.
“My history.”
“What history?”
“The part that belongs to me.”
Cross did not respond.
Navarro guided us into the examination room.
She had a calm voice without Hale’s practiced softness.
That alone made me trust her more than I should have.
“I need to establish one thing before we start,” she said.
“What?”
“Today is not about promising you sight.”
“Good.”
“It is about identifying what structures are functional, what structures are damaged, and whether your current treatment makes sense.”
Cross shifted behind me.
Navarro continued.
“I would strongly prefer to have your original imaging before making comparisons.”
“It’s being requested.”
“All right.”
“What can you tell today?”
“Quite a lot, but not everything.”
She examined my pupils first.
Light.
Dark.
Light again.
“Hannah was right,” Navarro said.
I heard Cross inhale.
“About what?” he asked.
Navarro ignored him.
“Your pupillary responses are brisk.”
“Is that unusual?”
“In the context you described, it raises questions.”
“What kind?”
“The kind that require scans.”
She moved me through machines I had not used since the hospital.
My chin rested against plastic supports.
My forehead pressed into padded bars.
Technicians gave instructions with the careful politeness reserved for patients who cannot see the gestures accompanying them.
Look straight ahead.
Hold still.
Don’t blink.
I wanted to tell them looking straight ahead was largely theoretical.
I did not.
After almost an hour, Navarro led us into her consultation room.
She closed the door.
Paper shifted across a desk.
Nobody spoke.
I could hear the HVAC vent above us and Cross tapping his thumb against his knee.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
“Doctor,” I said.
“Yes.”
“You’ve been silent for forty seconds.”
“I know.”
“Is that medically necessary?”
“No.”
“Then stop.”
Navarro drew a slow breath.
“The explosion caused significant injury.”
I waited.
“There is retinal scarring in both eyes.”
“Expected.”
“Yes.”
“There is also evidence of optic pathway trauma.”
“Expected.”
“Yes.”
“But?”
The room became so quiet that I could hear Hannah swallow.
Navarro spoke carefully.
“But I cannot reconcile these images with a diagnosis of total irreversible blindness from structural destruction alone.”
Cross stopped tapping.
I felt the desk edge beneath my fingertips.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying parts of your visual system appear more intact than I would have expected based on what you were told.”
“Can I see?”
“I don’t know.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is the correct answer.”
I hated her for it.
Then respected her for it.
“What would you need?”
“Further neuro-ophthalmic testing.”
“How soon?”
“Soon.”
Cross stood.
“This is insane.”
Navarro’s chair moved slightly.
“Mr. Cross—”
“He was examined by the best people in New York.”
“Sit down, Daniel.”
“No.”
His voice had gone rough.
“This doctor has one hour of tests and suddenly five years of specialists were wrong?”
Navarro replied, “I did not say that.”
“That’s exactly what you’re implying.”
“No, I’m implying the current findings deserve investigation.”
I turned toward Cross.
“Why are you angry?”
“I’m not angry.”
“You’re standing.”
“So?”
“You stand when you’re angry.”
“That is the stupidest thing you’ve ever said.”
“Sit down.”
The chair scraped.
He sat.
Navarro waited until the room settled.
“There is another issue.”
Hannah moved beside me.
“The drops,” she said.
Navarro turned toward her.
“You brought them?”
Hannah placed the bottle on the desk.
“I did.”
Navarro examined it.
A cap clicked.
“What is this?”
“That is what I’d like to know,” I said.
She did not answer immediately.
Then I heard her set the bottle down.
“This formulation code is not familiar to me.”
“Hale says it’s prednisolone.”
“It may contain prednisolone.”
“May?”
“I would need the compounding record or a laboratory analysis.”
Cross’s chair creaked.
“Vernon has treated him for decades.”
Navarro’s voice cooled.
“Then Dr. Hale should have no difficulty providing the prescription record.”
“Can the drops affect vision?” I asked.
“Many ophthalmic medications can affect visual function temporarily.”
“Could something keep a person from seeing?”
Navarro paused.
“Certain drugs can alter accommodation, pupil function, retinal signaling, or perception, but I am not going to invent an explanation without knowing what is in this bottle.”
“Could five years of medication conceal recoverable function?”
“I cannot tell you that.”
Cross stood again.
“Enough.”
Nobody moved.
I turned toward him.
“What exactly is enough?”
“This.”
May you like
His voice cracked on the word.
Not anger this time.
