Under the Knife(88)

“Rita—”

“No.” She folded her arms and rolled over in the bed, away from him.

He sighed and rose.

“Wait.” She rolled back over and grabbed his arm. “You’re leaving?” He paused. How solid and indestructible he looked. She could smell him. His Old Spice. She’d always liked Old Spice because her dad had worn it. She wanted to take refuge in his solidity, to press her face into the crook of his shoulder and bury herself in Old Spice.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be here right now. Maybe later—”

“Please. Spencer.” She clutched his arm. “When you’re around me, I can’t hear him. I can’t hear him, Spencer.” It was true. Finney was still gone.

His eyebrows drew together. “Okay. How about this.” He pulled something from his pocket: a flesh-colored circle a few inches in diameter. “Let me put this on you.”

“What is it?”

“A new EEG electrode Raj and I have been working on. Remember my friend Raj?”

“Raj? Yes. He never liked me.”

“Yeah, well.” He shrugged but didn’t disagree. “It’s totally portable. Wireless.”

“Why? Why should I wear it?”

“Please. Just do it. Look.” He showed her one stuck to the skin behind his right ear and grinned. “I’ve got one of my own. Functional and stylish.”

She scowled.

“Seriously,” he said. “They’re going to run an EEG on you eventually anyway. Who knows? Raj and I might come up with something useful. Something that might, uh, bolster your story.”

Why not? “Fine.”

She let him press it to the skin behind her ear. He took care not to trap any of her hair underneath it, and explained it had reinforced adhesive backing and was very durable. She could smell his Old Spice as he leaned over her.

Using an app on his phone, he verified that her patch was activated and working. “Think of it as a good-luck charm. That’s what I do, at least, when I’m wearing it.” He stood there awkwardly. “Get some rest, Rita. Okay? I’ll come by and see you tomorrow morning.”

“Spencer.”

He stopped halfway to the sliding-glass door.

She was going to ask him, again, if he believed her. But she already knew what his answer would be.

“Nothing. Never mind.”

“Get some rest, Rita.”

And then he was gone. He left the door open.

She shut her eyes to keep the tears from rolling down her face. But the tears didn’t come because she was too tired to cry. As she drifted off to sleep, she realized that she still couldn’t hear Finney.

She was too tired to be grateful.





SPENCER


Paranoia.

Delusions.

Schizophrenia.

Psychotic break.

Spencer considered these terms and others while walking, as if in a dream, back to the ER nurses’ station, and squeezing into a chair in front of one of its many computers.

She’s hearing voices.

Good God Almighty.

Voices.

He felt numb—

(And drugs! She’d taken drugs! Before operating!)

—as if he’d been dropped into a bathtub full of ice.

At least maybe the EEG will give us more information about her diagnosis. The MRI, too.

He located Rita’s head MRI on the hospital server and displayed its images on the screen, as he’d done thousands of times with his patients. He scrolled over the images in cross section, starting at the top of her brain and working his way down to the bottom, scrutinizing the anatomy.

Frontal lobe, normal.

Parietal lobe, normal.

And so on. Nothing. Everything completely normal.

His mind began to wander.

I forgot to ask her about the Ford Fiesta in front of her house. Probably nothing, but …

Still scrolling through the images. Down to her brainstem now, everything still looking normal—

What?

He leaned forward, all thoughts of the Fiesta gone. He traced his finger along the left side of her brain, near the brainstem. Along the vestibulocochlear nerve: the conduit along which sound signals travel from the ear to the brain.

Something was there.

Something that definitely did not belong.

What the hell is that?





SEBASTIAN


“Uh, hi.” Sebastian took his hand out of his pocket, leaving his badge in it.

“You were on the tour, right?” Grant said. “In the operating room this morning?”

Goddamn. He knew she’d been observant. But he hadn’t realized how observant.

“Um, I think you’re mistaken, ma’am.”

“No, I’m not.” A sly smile. “I saw you looking at me.”

“Uh, well…”

Stupid. Unprofessional. She should not have noticed that. He was slipping.

Still. She had gorgeous teeth.

Her vulpine smile widened. “It’s okay. I get it. So. Who sent you? Halsted Robotics? Or that European group?”

Ahhh.

So she thought that he was some kind of corporate spy.

Excellent. Yes. A very reasonable explanation. He couldn’t have come up with a better excuse himself. In fact, there likely had been some snoops there today, scoping things out for the competition.