Silently, Karthey followed him out the door, waited patiently as he opened the door for her, sat in the seat and buckled her seatbelt.
Michael got behind the wheel and buckled his own seatbelt. "All set?" he asked Karthey.
"Yeah," she responded quietly.
Michael pulled away from the clinic and started driving back to Holt Neuro. Karthey stared out the window and did not say a thing.
After about two minutes, Michael couldn't stand the silence. "So, uh," he fought for something to talk about, "what do you like to do, Karthey?"
Karthey considered before answering, "I like to write. And I like reading."
"A bookworm, huh?" Michael engaged her in the conversation.
Karthey smiled, "Yeah; Martha says I've been writing stories since before I could read."
"Martha?" Michael recalled seeing that name on Karthey's chart, "That's your mom, right?"
"Foster mom," Karthey corrected him, "but yeah. She took me in when I was only a week old, and I've been hers ever since. She's the only mother I've ever known, even if she's not my birth mother." Karthey sighed, "When I get married, I want to be a mom just like she is. I want to have kids of my own, and when they're grown I want to adopt." With that declaration, the car fell silent again and Karthey watched the skyscrapers roll by, the shops, the apartments. Suddenly, she turned to the man beside her, "What about you, Dr. Holt?" she asked, "Do you have any kids?" She glanced at his hand, and he knew she noticed that he still wore his wedding band.
"No," he answered shortly, "no kids; I was married once…but she died a while back."
Karthey blushed, "Oh," she muttered uncomfortably, "I'm sorry."
Michael shrugged, "It's all right; you know, sometimes these things don't work out. And besides, I have a neurology clinic and a family clinic to run." They pulled up in front of Holt Neuro, and Michael left his car with the valet as he escorted Karthey inside.
She gazed around in approving awe. "But if you have your own practice," she asked him, "Why do you work at the family clinic?"
"My wife was the director there," Michael informed her as they stepped onto the elevator. "I stick around for sentimental reasons."
The elevator let them out into the reception area. Rita was bustling around as usual—not much different from how he'd left her twenty minutes ago. She looked up in surprise.
"Michael, I thought you already left for the clinic, I—" she stopped when she saw the young brunette behind him. "Who's that? Oh, Michael," she gave him the well-known look that said Not another Clinic patient!
Michael confirmed her suspicions with a nod. "She needs an MRI, could you get her set up?"
Rita sighed, "All right. Hi there, I'm Rita," she greeted the girl, "Come right this way, and I'll get you started. What's your name?"
"Karthey Devanne."
Michael followed the pair as far as his office, where he ducked in to grab his white coat. As he emerged, a petite Asian woman caught his arm.
"Oh, Dr. Holt," Minnie Tanner gasped and asked him the same question she'd pestered him with all the previous day, "Have you found out about the alarm?"
Minnie's grandmother, Lianne Set, had come to Michael with a brain tumor and dozens of the typical geriatric medical conditions. They had removed the brain tumor successfully, but Lianne had never fully recovered from the operation because of her preexisting conditions, slipping gradually into a vegetative state, so that she was on full life support, all but unconscious, and carefully monitored and constantly visited by Minnie and her two brothers, Brian and Ethan. By far, Minnie was the most active in caring for her unresponsive grandmother, and lately she had been complaining about an alarm that seemed to only go off when Minnie was around.
"I'm sorry, Minnie," Michael tried to reason with her, "I've been a little busy these past few days. I'll have someone look into it, I promise."
"Okay, thank you Dr. Holt," Minnie rushed to return to her grandmother's side. Michael watched her go with relief. At least she wasn't the type to demand immediate action, and badger him into it. He owed her for the way she simply trusted him.
Michael spotted Rita coming out of one of the rooms, presumably the one where she had set up Karthey.
"She's ready for you, Michael," his faithful receptionist announced, "and the MRI lab is ready for her."
"Thanks, Rita," Michael smiled genuinely, "Say, Minnie keeps asking me about an alarm that is going off somewhere near Lianne Set's bed. Could you have someone check it out?"
Rita frowned, "Lianne Set? I don't seem to recall anything being the matter, and the last orderly to check on her didn't mention any alarms." She looked up at Michael, who didn't seem convinced, "I'll get somebody on it," she concurred.
Michael knocked on Karthey's door.
"Come in," she called.
Michael entered. Karthey was already dressed in a hospital gown.
"Ready?" Michael asked.
Karthey nodded.
"Let's go," he gestured out the door.
Michael seated Karthey on the bed of the MRI machine. He dug in his pocket for a fresh pair of gloves.
"Before we start, Karthey," he began, slipping them on and moving toward her, "I'd like to examine—"
"No!" Karthey cried sharply.
Michael stopped, "What's wrong?" he asked her.
Karthey looked up at him and pointed, "My throat and arms started swelling up at the clinic, and Dr. Kate said I was allergic to rubber."
Michael looked down at the latex gloves on his hands. "Oh, I'm sorry," he immediately apologized, "It's a good thing you caught me."
"I do not want to go through that again!" Karthey sighed in exasperation.
Michael changed his latex gloves for some nitrile ones, and commenced his inspection of Karthey's head. Near the back of her skull, Michael pulled back the hair in surprise. "Karthey," he asked, "did you know you have a scar back here?"
"No, I didn't," Karthey answered.
Michael grabbed her hand and guided her fingers to the spot, a small lump of flesh that was most certainly scar tissue, and a scar that extended about an inch beyond it.
"Wow," Karthey breathed, "I had no idea; I mean, I just thought it was a bald spot or something. You say it's a scar?"
"Yeah; hey, let's get that MRI going, see what we find."
"Okay," Karthey submitted as Michael instructed her to lie still as he started it up. He left the lab and went to the viewing room to wait for the scans to come in. Meanwhile, he called Kate.
"Kate here," she answered quickly. Kate always talked to him like she was really busy and didn't have much time for him.
"Kate, did you happen to notice the surgical scar on the back of Karthey's head?"
"Whoa, whoa, surgical?" Kate repeated, "I asked Martha—Mrs. Devanne—about it, and she told me it was just a bald spot. I did notice the scar, but I just assumed it had something to do with the bald spot. You say it's surgical?"
Michael sniffed, "Well, I am a neurosurgeon; I know a surgical scar when I see one. Was anybody looking into information on the hospital where she was born?"
"Autumn tried," Kate explained, "but I guess Jane Doe had her baby at a pregnancy clinic that has since closed down. Mrs. Devanne was able to get the name of the place from the foster agency, but we can't find any contact info anywhere!"
"Okay, this girl has surgical scars on her body, a cerebral shunt that is now broken and who knows what else is wrong with it—and nobody can tell us anything? Could this be any more complicated?"
Kate bristled at Michael's incredulous tone, "Michael, it's not like we aren't doing anything here!"
The scans began showing up on the large bank of screens in front of Michael.
"I have to go," he told Kate. "Let me know if you find anything."
"I promise I will," she responded.
Michael looked at the screens, not sure if he could believe what he saw.
"Okay," he remarked grimly to himself, "this just got a lot more complicated."
