Trauma

CHAPTER 43

“It looks a lot worse than it feels,” Carrie said.

Using the tips of his fingers, gentle as possible, David touched the large bruised area that marred much of Carrie’s right cheek. His face expressed sympathy and heartfelt concern.

The Starbucks was packed at the bustling strip mall near the VA where the two had met. In less than an hour, Carrie was scheduled to see a demonstration of the virtual reality program that had sent Steven Abington off the rails. David had plans of his own at the hospital.

Carrie removed her sunglasses to show David the full extent of her injuries, but bright sunshine stabbed her eyes, and she quickly slipped the shades back into place. The ER doc who had treated Carrie in Maine warned that her sensitivity to light might last a few weeks. After she showed the doc a picture of her crumpled Subaru he added, “Be grateful that’s your biggest concern.”

Carrie had spent a few days resting at home after the accident, but her body still ached in every conceivable way — stiff joints, throbbing pain in her knees and wrists, tight muscles, pounding headache. David’s touch, at least, made her forget the discomfort for a moment.

“I wish you’d called me from Maine,” David said. “I would have come to get you.”

Carrie had actually given the idea some measured consideration, but opted for her brother instead, in part because of vanity. Days after the accident, Carrie’s left eye was still swollen, her split lip had not fully healed, and her nose, though not broken, looked like a doorknob squished on her face. Most of the damage was the result of airbag deployment, but without it Carrie knew her injuries could have been fatal.

As for Adam, her brother had been incredibly supportive throughout the ordeal. He had dished out all the expected brotherly jabs: “You look hot,” he’d said, and, “It might be an improvement.” But those had come later, on the drive home. The first thing he did was to give Carrie a long embrace, and the first words he spoke were, “I’m so grateful you’re all right.” Carrie managed to hold back the waterworks until Adam kissed her bruised forehead and told her how much he loved her.

Howard’s treasured BMW was off-limits to all, so Adam drove Carrie home in their mother’s Volvo.

“If I had that stupid Camaro running, I could have picked you up in style,” he had said.

“I’m just glad you came,” Carrie said.

“Anything for my favorite sister.”

“Um — I’m your only sister.”

“Yeah, semantics, whatever,” Adam said.

During the drive home, Adam pulled alongside any red pickup truck so that Carrie could get a good look at the driver. She was almost glad it never was the guy who ran her off the road because her brother had a murderous look in his eyes.

The Subaru was a total loss so Carrie had co-opted her mom’s Volvo to get to the VA. Arrangements to see the virtual reality demo were made with Cal Trent before the accident, and Dr. Finley had suggested they reschedule. Carrie convinced him otherwise. All DBS surgeries were on hold until Carrie was medically cleared to operate, and she felt useless just sitting around at home. More than anything, Carrie wanted to keep this appointment. Her suspicions were in full bloom, and she needed to learn more about the DARPA program posthaste. The best place to begin, she believed, was at the point in the process where those negative memories got reconsolidated.

Carrie checked the time to make sure she was not running late for the demo.

David saw her preparing to go and gave her a concerned look. “Are you sure you shouldn’t just be in bed?” he asked.

Carrie brushed aside the suggestion. “I’m fine. Really.”

David read something in Carrie’s eyes. “You don’t think it was road rage, do you?” he asked.

“A lot of things have happened since Abington and Fasciani went missing. The timing is more than a little unusual, don’t you think?”

“But you told me Rockwell died of heart failure,” David said.

The call with the sad news had come while Carrie was at the hospital waiting for Adam to show. Though she had never met Sam Rockwell in person, Carrie’s emotions vacillated between stunned and heartbroken. The intensity of her feelings came as a surprise, but Carrie understood their origin. She and Rockwell were connected in ways that went beyond the operating room at the VA. Ways Carrie believed she was on the cusp of discovering.

“His body was incredibly damaged, and for the heart to stop was not a shock to anybody. Normally I would agree — but again, the timing makes me highly suspicious. I get run off the road, and suddenly he dies. Think about it.”

“What about an autopsy?”

“There’s not going to be one, according to Dr. Smerling. The family doesn’t want it, and I can’t start spouting conspiracy theories. The best way to find out what really happened to Sam is to keep the pressure on Goodwin.”

“You really think there’s a connection to Rockwell?” David asked.

“I don’t think,” Carrie said. “I know.”

“You’re sure Goodwin’s not around?”

“I checked her schedule. She’s in an all-day meeting. Are you sure you can get inside her office?”

David fished out the lock-pick kit from his pocket and showed it to Carrie with a smile. “Of course,” he said. “I have the key.”

Carrie wore her lab coat, and for that reason alone garnered plenty of curious looks while navigating the halls of the VA. It was one thing to see an injured person in a hospital, but something else entirely when that individual also happened to be a doctor. It set people on edge.

Dr. Finley, who had only spoken with Carrie by phone and had not seen her injuries, grimaced at the sight. “My goodness,” he said, rising from his chair. He gave Carrie a warm embrace that conveyed utter relief.

“It looks worse than it feels,” Carrie said, repeating what she’d told David. It was the same lie she told everyone.

“Well, I just hope they catch whoever did this to you.”

Carrie thanked him, and he sat back down.

Dr. Finley glanced at the letter on his desk, written on his personal stationery. “I’ve spent the last hour trying to figure out what to say to Sam’s wife,” he said. “I’m just devastated. Nothing I write expresses how I really feel. I let my hopes get up when he came out of the coma, but now—” Dr. Finley slipped off his glasses and rubbed at his reddened eyes. Carrie got the feeling he had been crying. “Now, I just have memories.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss. I wish I had gotten to know him.”

“We were pioneers in this together from the start,” Dr. Finley said. “We owe a lot to Sam. I owe a lot to him.”

“He sounded like a wonderful man,” Carrie said, and then fell silent. If anything, her eyes were even wider, her expression more empathetic. “Listen, Alistair, there’s something I’d like to talk with you about.”

Dr. Finley noticed Carrie’s apprehension. “You look upset, Carrie. Please take a seat. I’ll let Cal know we’re running a few minutes late.”

Carrie’s anxiety bubbled like uncorked champagne while Dr. Finley texted his message to Trent. He put his smartphone away and locked his gaze on Carrie. “Go on,” he urged.

Although Carrie had planned what to say, the reality of the moment felt weighty and more difficult than anticipated. “My car accident happened in Maine,” she began.

“Yes, you said you were there following up on an Abington lead.”

“Yes and no,” Carrie said. “I was headed to the hospital to see Sam.”

Dr. Finley looked confused. “Sam? Heavens, why?”

Carrie said, “I wanted to know if he’d ever seen palinacousis in a DBS patient before. Specifically one of the PTSD patients.”

Dr. Finley seemed mystified. Carrie watched him mull over the word “palinacousis,” as if it was something he had heard before but could not put into any context. When it finally came to him, a surprised look came over his face. “Palinacousis? Good gracious, what on earth would make you want to ask him that?”

Carrie explained her encounter with Abington and later with Fasciani, and noted how both patients had disappeared. She also revealed her own self-doubt about causing the auditory hallucination in addition to the impaired judgment issues exhibited by both patients in their choice to leave the hospital AMA.

When she finished, Dr. Finley said, “And you thought you caused all this?” in a way that absolved Carrie of any responsibility.

“I admit my confidence was shaken when I started working here. And when they both presented with palinacousis, well, I naturally questioned my technique.”

“To be honest here, Carrie,” Dr. Finley said in an even tone, “I think you’re reading symptoms that simply aren’t there. Palinacousis? I’ve treated dozens of vets here and haven’t seen a single case reported. And you watched me examine Ramón Hernandez. Did he seem off to you?”

“No,” Carrie said. “Not at all.”

Dr. Finley’s puzzlement remained. “I’ve never seen a case of that in my whole career, and it’s been a long career. But I have seen your work, and it’s exemplary. There’s no way you caused anything like that in these men. Impossible.”

Carrie was not ready to back off. “What about the connection between Ramón Hernandez and Steve Abington,” she said. “The two had met. I told you about the picture at Rita Abington’s home.”

Dr. Finley was unmoved. “I spoke to Cal about that and he did some digging. Steve was referred to the DARPA program through other channels, so their knowing each other is just a coincidence, that’s all. But you can speak to Cal on that if you’d like.”

Carrie agreed. For a moment she contemplated sharing her belief that Lee Taggart, the VA nurse, was also in the same photograph. But the evidence was not conclusive enough for her to stake that claim.

Dr. Finley leaned forward in his chair and set his hand over Carrie’s in an avuncular gesture. In that moment, her convictions fell away and she felt foolish for confiding in Dr. Finley without first obtaining proof to support her claims.

If only she had found those men …

“But what about both Abington and Fasciani leaving AMA?” Carrie asked.

Dr. Finley shrugged it off. “Carrie, these men were unstable to begin with. And we exacerbate that problem by agitating them with the virtual reality.”

Carrie saw the logic, but was not quite ready to back away. “And my getting run off the road and Sam dying on the same day? You don’t see any connections there?”

Dr. Finley leaned back in his chair and cast Carrie a look of shock and disgust. His expression conveyed his belief that her insinuations bordered on the absurd.

“You said yourself it was road rage. Honestly, Carrie, I’m more worried I hired a conspiracy theorist than anything else. To be candid, I see you drawing a lot of lines between events that have no logical connections.”

Carrie decided it was time to beat a hasty retreat. Dr. Finley was visibly bothered by her theory, his head shaking in disbelief. Several psychological causes explained conspiracy theorists, including anxiety disorders, paranoia, and psychosis. None of those labels would do her or her career any good.

While Carrie was not willing to abandon her search for the missing link that would connect these strange happenings in some logical manner, she would have to wait for the answers. Other questions of hers would have to wait as well. Was the jogger in the park really as harmless as he professed? Had someone other than Adam been in her room? Perhaps Dr. Finley was right, and those were unrelated events as well, but Carrie was not ready to concede. Surely the Goodwin recordings would reveal something — something that would convince Dr. Finley she was not a theorist at all.

Dr. Finley gathered his composure and stood. “So, can we put this behind us for the moment and concentrate on getting you better and getting us back to work?” he asked. “I want us to finish what Sam and I started. We’re on the verge of something important here, Carrie, and I’d rather focus our energies on the patients who want our help and not those who walked away.”

“Yes,” Carrie said. “I feel better just talking it out.”

“Good,” Dr. Finley said, clapping his hands together. “Now then, let’s send you to war.”