Chapter 6 - THE DOCTOR WHO SAID I WOULD NEVER WALK AGAIN
Hope is dangerous when you have survived by killing it.
I had spent fourteen years refusing to imagine walking again.
No fantasies.
No experimental clinics.
No miracle promises.
A chair was not my tragedy.
Betrayal was.
Still, my father’s words changed the room.
Independent neurologists reviewed my old scans.
Not Hayes’s summaries.
The actual images.
One specialist stared at them for a long time.
“You had injury.”
I expected that.
“But not enough to explain complete persistent paralysis.”
My pulse changed.
“What explains it?”
“Repeated pharmacological nerve suppression.”
Megan went still.
“Repeated?”
The doctor nodded.
“Someone appears to have maintained motor inhibition over time.”
I laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because Hayes had treated me for twelve years.
Regular injections.
“Muscle spasms.”
“Nerve pain.”
“Inflammation.”
Every one could have been part of it.
The doctor continued:
“If medication stopped years ago, recovery might have been greater.”
My jaw tightened.
“Now?”
“Some nerve pathways may still respond.”
“Will I walk?”
He did not lie.
“I don’t know.”
Good.
I trusted him more for that.
Megan sat beside me.
Not touching.
Waiting.
The doctor proposed rehabilitation.
Long.
Painful.
Possibly little improvement.
I accepted.
Not because walking would make me whole.
Because I wanted to know what had been stolen.
Then another surprise.
Toxicology testing on the vial Megan took showed the same class of suppressant.
But stronger.
Enough to cause respiratory failure.
Hayes had not been treating my fever.
He had been trying to kill me.
Then someone killed him.
Why?
To silence him.
Elliot?
Likely.
But we needed proof.
I called my uncle.
He answered with warmth.
“Dominic.”
I hated how normal he sounded.
“You heard I was sick?”
“Yes.”
“Hayes is dead.”
Pause.
Very small.
“What?”
There.
He had not expected me to say it first.
“He drove off a road.”
“How terrible.”
“Same road Dad died.”
Silence.
Then Elliot said:
“You should rest.”
“I will.”
He relaxed.
“Good.”
Then I added:
“Megan Foster is staying.”
Longer silence.
“Who?”
He knew.
I smiled.
For once, lying was useful.
“New maid.”
“Fire her.”
There it was.
“Why?”
“She’s trouble.”
“You haven’t met her.”
Elliot recovered.
“Staff talk.”
“Interesting.”
I looked at Megan.
She listened.
I continued.
“Her mother worked for Dad.”
Click.
Elliot hung up.
No doubt anymore.
Then my security chief Marcus entered.
“We have a problem.”
“What?”
“Elliot left his house.”
“Where?”
“Airport.”
“With who?”
“Two men.”
“Destination?”
Marcus looked at Megan.
“Savannah.”
Megan went pale.
“My sister lives there.”
I turned.
“You have a sister?”
“Yes.”
“Name?”
“Rachel.”
Marcus looked at his phone.
“Rachel Foster?”
Megan nodded.
May you like
His face hardened.
“Elliot’s men just entered her apartment building.”
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