Chapter 3 - The Doctor Who Asked the Wrong Question
By midnight, three doctors had been brought to Valenti House.
By morning, Dante had dismissed all three.
“They're saying exactly what the others said,” Victor complained.
Dante stared through the ballroom windows.
“That what happened was impossible.”
“Maybe it was a muscle spasm.”
“I felt it.”
Victor said nothing.
Dante looked at his leg.
“Find someone else.”
“Doctor number ninety-eight?”
Dante gave him a warning look.
Victor smiled slightly.
“Kid's terminology.”
The person Victor eventually found wasn't the kind of doctor Dante expected.
Dr. Serena Walsh, thirty-seven, neurological rehabilitation specialist.
She arrived carrying one bag.
No entourage.
No nervousness.
No interest in Dante's reputation.
She examined him for nearly two hours.
Then she asked one question.
“What happened the night you were injured?”
Dante's expression changed.
“That's irrelevant.”
“Then I'm leaving.”
Dante stared at her.
People didn't threaten to leave Dante Valenti.
Serena began packing.
“Sit down.”
“I've been sitting for two hours.”
“Doctor.”
She looked at him.
Dante's jaw tightened.
“My sister died.”
Serena waited.
Dante continued.
“Our vehicle went through a guardrail.”
“What do you remember?”
“Everything.”
“Before impact?”
“Yes.”
“After?”
Dante hesitated.
Flashing lights.
Cold rain.
Metal.
Elena beside him.
Not moving.
His own legs trapped beneath the dashboard.
His hand reaching for hers.
Then nothing.
Serena watched him carefully.
“You had spinal trauma. That's real. But some of your historical scans don't fully explain the complete absence of movement you've experienced.”
Dante stared at her.
“What are you saying?”
“I'm saying your injury may have had more than one component.”
Victor frowned.
“Meaning?”
“Physical trauma combined with neurological inhibition. Possibly reinforced over years.”
Dante's expression darkened.
“Ninety-seven doctors missed that?”
“Maybe.”
“That's your professional opinion?”
“My professional opinion is that I don't care what ninety-seven people told you.”
Dante almost smiled.
Almost.
Serena crouched in front of him.
“Move your foot.”
Nothing happened.
Again.
Nothing.
Dante's jaw tightened.
“I told you.”
Then the ballroom doors opened.
Eli appeared holding his red ball.
Serena looked over.
“Who's this?”
Dante sighed.
“My personal nightmare.”
Eli grinned.
“Hi.”
Serena glanced between them.
Then something clicked.
“Dante, what were you doing when your leg moved?”
He didn't answer.
Eli did.
“He was laughing.”
Serena slowly turned toward Dante.
“Interesting.”
May you like
Dante hated that word.
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