Chapter 8

Oscar stared for a moment at the door that had shut very nearly in his face. He was used to doors opening because of who he was, because of his decades of experience, his title and his stature. Instead, this door had closed because of who he was, excluding him. Oscar allowed himself only a moment to ponder that before revving back into maximum efficiency mode. He started by calling out to the various arms of his agency for their most current reports via his datacom (with the help of an earpiece for privacy). If he'd asked, he could've made use of an actual phone in an office or an empty patient room but Mark Conrad was in his personal custody until the moment he was returned to his cell and Oscar took every one of his responsibilities seriously, including this one. Although he knew Jaime might not agree with him (or more precisely, with his methods), he took the responsibilities of this case even more seriously. He cared deeply for the woman who was lying in the bed on the other side of that door, even as she was probably cursing his name to the two doctors.

In this investigation, every 't' had to be crossed, every 'i' dotted, every blank filled in with an irrefutable fact. A government facility had been destroyed, and the entire Intelligence community had nearly been brought to its knees. On a more personal level, a prominent OSI doctor with a stellar future had been murdered in a plane crash that could have taken the lives of a dozen people. Steve and Jaime had both been on board...and so had Becca. Oscar was in the position he held because he could make the tough decisions quickly. He would follow this case wherever the leads took him and do whatever he had to, to end it with justice. Anyone who'd been responsible for what had happened - from the drill in the attic that seemed so long ago, to Jaime and Steve lying in beds at separate ends of the same hospital now - would pay dearly. The tough part would be in sorting out the 'responsible' hands from those who'd been used basically as tools of destruction (like Russ, Michael, Rudy...and himself). If he had to step on toes and wound feelings to do it, he would get justice for Steve and Jaime - and for all of them.

''There's a lot to talk about,'' Jaime acknowledged. ''But I'm warning you, if you send for that Elmira Glutch woman, on her broomstick, I'm not sayin' a word.''

''Send for who?'' Mark puzzled. Then he got it - and didn't try to hide his smile. ''She doesn't have anything to do with why we're here today.''

''Are you...free?''

''No.''

''He can't...do that...can he?'' Neither man answered her - and Jaime hung her head. ''Of course...he can.''

Mark gave it to her straight, as always. ''Jaime, I sent for another therapist for you - one of my own staff - but I can't guarantee you'll never have to deal with Doctor Cohen again. Oscar is just following the facts as he sees them and hopefully this will all be over soon.''

''And...he wants to...to talk to...me?''

Both doctors noticed that as she thought about talking to Oscar, Jaime's face paled and her speech pattern fragmented. They would have to tread very carefully. ''You're in a very unique position, Jaime,'' Mark began to explain. ''You're the only one who was present for almost, well - for everything that happened. You really have no choice; you have to talk to Oscar. It'll be easier to see him here, where Michael and I can be with you, instead of across a table in a conference room with attorneys present.''

''Oh, I wanna talk to him!'' Jaime said brightly.

Both doctors were slightly taken aback. ''You have the strangest way of showing that,'' Michael noted.

''Michael, you and I...we talked about this. Talked with Mark about it too. I still...I might have trouble walking...and sometimes my brain fires off...words...and they get lost and never make it...outta my mouth. But me - what's inside of me...that makes me Jaime - I'm still in here. I might...maybe I look feeble on the outside...but on the inside...I'm still here...and I'm still me. And 'me'...well...I've always been smart. So yeah...I have something that he...that Oscar needs. And there are...a few things he can do...for me...in exchange.''

''It really doesn't work that way,'' Mark told her (smiling inwardly nonetheless, at her courage).

''What I want...is I want him...to let you go.''

''Which he will, as soon as he finishes investigating and moves on to his next theory,'' (I hope).

''And I wanna...I need...to see Steve. I know he's in a lot of trouble...or...or he wouldn't have tried to keep everyone away. Steve would never...he wouldn't do those things without a reason. And I'm his wife! I need...to see him!''

''I'll talk to Oscar,'' Mark agreed. ''I won't make you a promise because you know I'm always straight with you and I can't tell you for certain what Oscar might say, but perhaps after you've given him some answers, we can wheel you down to see Steve.''

''Will he get to come home...when he's well again?'' Jaime wondered.

''Let's hope so.''

''Mark? What do I...or what should I...tell Oscar...about what happened?''

''You need to tell him the truth,'' Mark insisted firmly. ''From when I brought you home from the weight room to coming down to National Medical, and everything that happened between you and Steve. Tell him all of it; don't try to 'cover' for either one of us. I'll likely have to leave the room while he asks you about me, but Michael will stay. And then I'll come back to support you through the rest of it...but you need to tell him everything.''

''Everything he asks...anyway.''

''And anything else you saw or heard that you feel might be even slightly important,'' Mark concluded. ''Can you do that?''

Jaime nodded. Mark leaned in a little closer, about to tread into dangerous territory for her. Thankfully, the ice bucket was still nearby, if needed. He would be bringing up one of her worst triggers, but it had suddenly become urgent. ''Before we go and get Oscar for you, I need to ask you a serious question. Do you remember telling me that you could spot people who were under Anna's - or the Kingleys' - influence by their eyes?''

''They all had...'Kingsley Eyes,'' Jaime agreed. It was the stuff of her very worst nightmares - and of the flashbacks that used to plague her nearly every day but had gradually almost faded...for the most part. It was the gleam in The Drill Man's eyes as he'd leered over her, the same look he'd had at the old theme park when he'd tortured and tried to kill her. Michael had the same glitter of unbridled evil in his eyes at the cabin when he'd attacked her...and Jaime's recognition that Oscar had 'Kingsley Eyes' when he'd offered to take Becca back to the nursery had saved the baby from whatever fate Anna had intended for her. ''Why did you...ask me that now?'' Jaime wondered.

''I want you to look closely at me,'' Mark told her. ''Do I have Kingsley Eyes?''

Jaime directly met his gaze. ''Nope.''

''What about Michael?'' Mark went on. Michael stepped closer to the bed so Jaime could look at him again.

''He doesn't have them either,'' she announced.

''Good. I need for you to be alert to anyone you come in direct contact with, until this is all settled. If you spot those eyes on anyone - a doctor, nurse, attorney - anyone, I want you to tell a member of your team, someone you trust who is safe for you. Understand?'' Mark instructed. Jaime nodded. ''That also goes for Steve. When you see him, think of it as Jaime's Eye Test and just take a look. Oscar needs an eye test too.''

''Okay. I...I can...do this.''

''One thing that might help you,'' Michael suggested, ''is when you feel yourself starting to get upset, take a nice deep breath before you speak. I know it upsets you when you can't get the words out the way you'd like and a deep breath or two will give your brain time to 'connect the dots', so to speak.''

''My brain is dotty,'' Jaime giggled. ''I like that. And Mark? Michael? Thank you.''

Just outside the door to Jaime's room, a messenger had hand-delivered a long yellow envelope to Oscar - the one he'd been expecting. He opened it up and scanned the single sheet inside, from top to bottom, then folded it neatly and stuck it in the inner pocket of his suit coat.

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