Dark Impulse Ch. 22

She nodded. "Yes, for over a week now."

He made a check mark on the paper. "Migraines?"

"Every day for over a month, very strong."

Another check. "Vision problems? Loss of balance? Shortness of breath?"

"I had a hallucination along with trouble breathing and collapsed this past Saturday in Central Park, and I had another episode yesterday afternoon."

Three checks were added to the questionnaire. "What happened yesterday, exactly?"

Grace took a deep breath. "I was at a pay phone, and I was about to make a call when the numbers blurred and shifted around. It was very frightening."

He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Uncontrollable shaking of the hands or feet?"

"My hands shook a couple of times, yes."

Another check. Dr. Weissman observed the slight hollowing of her cheeks.

"Loss of appetite?"

She met his eyes. "I ate this morning, but there have been long stretches of time when I couldn't keep any food down, and I had no desire to eat."

He looked concerned. "How long has this been going on?"

She shrugged. "Two weeks, maybe three."

The doctor added another mark. "I see. What about mental symptoms? Have you had any difficulty concentrating on your daily tasks, at work or at home?"

"Yes, there were times when I found myself trailing off during a conversation, or staring off into space when I was supposed to be working."

Another check mark, bringing the total to eight. "For how long?"

"As far as I know, only a week."

He was growing more worried by the moment; the red marks seemed to give off an unholy glow against the whiteness of the paper. He carefully kept the questionnaire out of Grace's line of vision; he didn't want to scare her before he ran the tests.

"Have you experienced mood swings? Confusion? Disorientation?"

Grace exploded into laughter at the serious question, and long moments passed while she was unable to stop. Tears streamed freely from her eyes as she held onto the edge of the desk, preventing herself from sliding out of her chair and onto the floor. Finally, she grew sober and reached for a tissue. "All the time."

"Personality changes?"

The look she gave him was heartbreaking. "I don't know who I am anymore."

Dr. Weissman stared in shock at the finished paper, where twelve check marks indicated that she had all the symptoms that required further testing for abnormalities.

"Grace, I need you to come with me."

* * *

Somewhere over the Atlantic

Cursing under his breath, David pressed the button to disconnect the call that he'd made from his private jet. He had called the penthouse to ask for Grace when the maid informed him that his wife and son had moved out to an unknown location. After that he had tried to call her cellular, but it was switched off.

He leaned back in his seat, his stone-gray eyes staring out of the window.

Where could they have gone?

Sitting across from him was Liam, who under the pretense of sleep secretly watched David from beneath lowered lashes. He gave a false mumble as he turned over and clutched his blanket closer, hiding his smile.

* * *

An hour and a half later, Grace finished dressing and waited for the doctor to return with the results of the MRI and the EEG tests. She shuddered as she remembered the feeling of claustrophobia when she had laid motionless inside the machine as it photographed every square millimeter of her head, and when her scalp was hooked up to all kinds of wires that read her brain activity. If she lived to be a hundred, she never wanted to have to go through that again.

It wasn't until a few minutes later that she realized that wouldn't be the case.

She saw it on the doctor's face as he entered his office to speak with her. She knew that something was wrong. Gathering up all her courage, she spoke.

"So, what's the verdict?"

Dr. Weissman looked grave as he closed the door behind him and sat down.

"My team and I, we found something."

He was hesitant to continue, but Grace needed to hear what he had to say.

"Doctor, whatever it is, please tell me. I'm strong, I can take it."

He exhaled sharply, and his eyes were sad as they met hers.

"It's a tumor, and it's a very mean son of a bitch."

The last support beams that kept her world from crashing down snapped, and Grace felt helpless as she tried to keep calm and dig herself out the rubble.

She felt as if she was on autopilot when she began a series of rapid-fire questions.

"Where is it? How long has it been there? What caused it? How big is it?"

The doctor sighed. "The tumor originated in the cerebellum, which is located at the rear bottom part of the brain and regulates sensory perception and motor skills, but it is now encroaching on the other areas of the brain and causing the symptoms that you're now experiencing."

Grace blinked at him, at a loss. Weissman leaned forward.

"I mean that the tumor has grown so that it's squashing the rest of your brain. There's only so much room in the skull, and that's why you've been so sick lately."

She regretted what she said earlier about being strong; she didn't feel that way at all. She bit the inside of her cheek, afraid to ask about the size of the tumor.

Her voice was hoarse as she repeated her earlier question.

"What caused it?"

The doctor reviewed his notes.

"Heredity is obviously a chief factor, considering that your mother suffered the same condition. But you... you're so young. It's extremely rare for a case like yours to happen to anyone under 50. Can you think back a while, try to pinpoint something that could have influenced the growth rate? Perhaps you were previously ill with something that affected your nervous system?"

She closed her eyes and recalled walking along the mountain path one day in Darjeeling, the sultry heat and humidity that made the air so thick that it hurt to breathe. She remembered the painful sting on her arm, and the resulting fire that had streaked through her veins and seemed to burn away her very soul.

She opened her eyes and focused on the doctor.

"I was bitten by an infected mosquito almost six years ago on a trip to India, and I contracted acute encephalitis. I was told it was a miracle that I survived."

Weissman nodded grimly. "And now it's come back to haunt you."

Grace smiled bitterly. "Apparently so."

He left his seat behind the desk and sat beside her in one of the visitor chairs. He took her hands and squeezed them with his own. She was moved by his compassion.

He spoke softly. "I estimate that the tumor got its start from what happened in India, and it has been growing ever since. Grace, it's now the size of a baseball. There's no need for me to do a biopsy to make sure; it's pretty self-explanatory."

There was no other way but to just come out and say it, and he did.

"The tumor is malignant, and it's way too advanced to risk surgery. If I try to remove it, you will die. It's a tricky bastard,Glioblastoma multiforme, which in some cases, like yours, doesn't produce any symptoms until it's already too late..."

She held up a hand to stop him. "So either way, I'm dead."

Weissman covered her hand with his. "I'm so sorry."

Despite the seriousness of the news, she felt a strange calm settle over her.

"How much time do I have?"

"If we had found the tumor at the earliest time, when it was just beginning to form, the survival rate would have been at least five years. But considering its size..."

Grace grit her teeth in frustration. "Just come out and say it!"

"Two weeks."

She felt cold all over; everything else that the doctor said after that had no effect on her whatsoever. Her mind distant, she thanked him for his time and left the office, barely remembering to place one foot in front of the other.

Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God...

She reached the open street and wrapped her coat around her shivering body as she waited for a cab, her thoughts in turmoil and her soul aching with grief.

I am going to die. What will become of my father? Of Rafe? Gabriel.

She nodded to herself as she hailed a taxi to take her to the Manhattan Bank to meet Mosely. She knew what she had to do. In light of what she had just learned, every argument that she had made with herself to keep Gabriel in the dark about their son evaporated like smoke. He had a right to know, and so did Rafe. Now that her time was limited, they would need each other.

She climbed inside and closed the door, staring sightlessly out of the cab window.

But I won't tell any of them that I'm sick. I will use the time that I have left to make sure that Rafe will have someone to provide for him and love him when I'm gone. Gabriel Knight, his father, will do everything he can to protect him from harm.

Satisfied with her decision, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes.