Chapter 4 - The Man Nico Trusted
Adeline ended the call.
Victor looked at the phone in her hand.
“Who was that?”
“My brother’s clinic.”
“At seven fourteen?”
“They open early.”
Victor’s eyes stayed on her.
Then his gaze dropped to the clear pharmacy bag on the counter.
“Did you get what you needed?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He walked past her.
Adeline did not breathe normally again until he disappeared.
Nico was waiting in the library.
He had dismissed the physical therapist.
“Close the door.”
She did.
“What did the lab say?”
She told him.
Every word.
Nico’s expression did not change until she said motor response.
Then his thumb pressed into the wheel rim.
Hard.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning your exam could look worse on this medication.”
“How much worse?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can I walk?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Can I?”
“I don’t know.”
His jaw worked.
“Nobody knows.”
“Not yet.”
Nico looked toward the window.
Eight months of lake water flashed in the glass.
The bridge.
Twisted steel.
Surgery.
A ceiling he had stared at for seventeen days.
He said, “My original neurosurgeon said incomplete injury.”
Adeline turned.
“What?”
“First week.”
“Then what changed?”
“Victor moved me to another specialist.”
“Why?”
“Family privacy.”
“What was the specialist’s name?”
“Martin Cole.”
Adeline crossed to the office computer.
The active rehabilitation file described the injury as functionally complete.
She searched archived documents.
Nothing.
Hospital portal.
Nothing.
Then she found an old PDF cached in the local download folder.
Dated eight months earlier.
Consulting neurologist: Dr. Sarah Keene.
She opened it.
Sensory preservation below lesion.
Intermittent voluntary motor activity.
Prognosis guarded, meaningful recovery potential cannot be excluded.
Adeline read it twice.
Nico watched her face.
“Say it.”
“They knew.”
“Who?”
“Someone knew your injury wasn’t as final as you were told.”
His hands left the wheels.
“Read it.”
She did.
Every line.
When she finished, Nico lowered his head.
For ten seconds, neither spoke.
Then he said, “Where is this in my chart?”
“It isn’t.”
“Who removed it?”
“I don’t know.”
A tiny notation sat in the document history.
MC.
Nico saw it.
“Medical Center.”
“Maybe.”
Adeline printed the file.
The printer jammed after one page.
She opened the tray.
A folded note was wedged behind the paper.
Not hospital stationery.
Plain white.
Two words handwritten in block letters:
DON’T TRUST C.
Nico read over her shoulder.
“Camille.”
“Maybe.”
He looked at her.
“You keep saying maybe.”
“Because people get hurt when they decide too early.”
He held her gaze.
“Experience?”
“Yes.”
His eyes moved away.
“Try something.”
“What?”
“My legs.”
She crouched in front of him.
“Don’t perform for me.”
“I’m not.”
She placed two fingers over the tendon near his ankle.
“Think about lifting your big toe.”
He closed his eyes.
Nothing.
His forehead tightened.
Still nothing.
“Again.”
His breath deepened.
The toe moved.
Barely.
Adeline froze.
Nico opened his eyes.
“Did it?”
“Yes.”
“Reflex?”
“No.”
“Again.”
It moved again.
A controlled fraction.
Nico stared down.
His throat worked.
“They told me that was impossible.”
A knock struck the library door.
Victor’s voice.
“Nico, Dr. Cole is here.”
Adeline stood fast.
Nico looked at her.
“Why?”
Victor answered through the door.
“Routine assessment.”
Nico’s face went flat.
“No one scheduled one.”
May you like
Victor said:
“I did.”
