NANOVISION: What Would You Do With X-ray Vision?

by Paul Harry

  He looked up from the bed. “Yes,” he responded.

  “May I come in?” Katie asked.

  “Sure”

  With a bit of reservation Katie entered. In her hands she carried a chessboard, a small drawstring pouch, and a book. She approached Daniel’s bed and sat on the end.

  “You wanna play chess?” she asked.

  “Don’t know how,” he answered with a shrug.

  “You’re kidding? It’s a great game. My Dad taught me when I was four.”

  Daniel smiled weakly and set the book he was reading aside.

  “How can I play if I can’t see?” he asked.

  “It’s easy, lots of people play without seeing. Some even on the Internet or by mail.”

  “Mail?”

  “Yeah, you know, snail mail. In the olden days, people would mail their moves to other people across the country−even the ocean.”

  “Sounds like a lot of trouble.”

  “So? You wanna learn?”

  “Naw.”

  “What’s a matter? −‘fraid a girl might beat you?”

  “No!”

  “Well, it’s not like you have anything else to do.” Katie covered her mouth, but the words were already out. “I’m sorry,” she apologized, “that was mean.”

  Embarrassed, she began to pick up the board, the book, and the pouch, but Daniel reached out and stopped her.

  “Mean, but true,” he said, grinning. “So, how do you play?”

  Katie’s smile reached from ear to ear. She set the book entitled: Teaching Chess to the Blind down on the bed, and opened the chess board. She then opened the pouch and dumped the chess pieces out. “Okay first thing...”

  Chapter 5

  Twenty-One

  "Happy birthday to you.

  Happy birthday to you.

  Happy birthday dear Daniel.

  Happy birthday to you!"

  Daniel had arrived. He was finally twenty-one and the house was decorated with balloons and crepe paper along with the rest of the trappings that make for a momentous occasion. For the young man it was the crowning finale to the last four years. His life had changed so much, tumultuous at first, but finally easing into a reign of peace and tranquility. He and the Santini family had come together, their lives boring to the point of routine and stability−and Daniel’s salvation. Katie was twelve and turning into a beautiful young lady and Ethyl, well, she was a little more gray and carried a few more wrinkles, but still on top of her game.

  Unfortunately, life is like a roller coaster filled with ups and downs that take us to places we never thought we could imagine. And this was the case for Daniel.

  “So you feel any older?” asked Ethyl, as she and Daniel cleared the paper plates from the table.

  Daniel chuckled. “I’m not sure−but thank you very much for the party. I don’t think I’ve had one of those in... well, actually I can’t remember when I ever had a surprise party.”

  “Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it,” said Ethyl. She looked at Daniel with pride−he’d grown at least three inches since moving in with them. Where had the last four years gone? “Oh, I almost forgot.” She reached into her apron pocket. “I do have one other thing... here, it’s from Katie and me.” She handed him a small present wrapped in bright paper.

  Daniel smiled. “You didn’t need to get me anything.”

  She laughed. They both knew that wasn’t true and he quickly opened the gift, examining it with his fingers, instantly recognizing the gift.

  “A phone!” he exclaimed.

  “Not just any phone,” she quickly noted. “It’s special, made for people like you whose sight is impaired. It has GPS and Braille lettering on the key pad−you can also program it for voice commands. And it’s sight intuitive. It can provide a description of your immediate surroundings.”

  “Wow!” proclaimed Daniel. “Aunt Ethyl − What can I say? Thank you.” He felt her presence next to him. Turning, he leaned over to give her a kiss when the moment was broken by a sudden jolt of pain hitting his temple. Daniel grabbed the side of his head and cried out.

  “Daniel, what is it?” asked Ethyl. “Another headache?”

  Daniel held his head, massaging his temple. “Yeah,” he answered.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Katie, wandering into the room.

  “Daniel’s having another headache.”

  “Geeze, again.”

  The two helped Daniel to a chair.

  “I think we need to call Dr. Muller,” said Ethyl.

  “No, I’ll be all right,” Daniel replied. “It’ll pass.”

  “No, not this time young man. You’ve been getting these for two weeks now. Something’s wrong and we need to have it checked out.”

  * * * *

  Everyone thinks Vegas is hot because it’s in the middle of the desert, but come December it can be downright cold. The wind whips down from the north hitting the snow atop the Charleston Mountain Range, sending freezing temperatures down onto sin city, forcing even the hookers to wear coats. Today was one of those days and Sid and Bruno weren’t especially happy to be standing outside. It was four o’clock with the sun low and the temperature falling fast. The two henchmen pressed themselves against one of the concrete columns of Sunrise Hospital’s parking garage for shelter. It was the best they could do to keep out of the wind while watching the employee entrance to the hospital. Huddled there, they smoked while Mickey waited in the car. Their job was to snag the mark Mickey was looking for. His name was Brad and he owed Mickey money.

  It took about fifteen minutes, but Brad finally exited the hospital. He was a young, overweight security guard, still dressed in his uniform. Zipping up his grey-blue work coat the young man slipped on a pair of gloves and crossed the parking lot making his way to his car. He was unaware of anyone waiting for him and Sid and Bruno did their best to remain unseen. Hiding behind the concrete column they waited patiently as he approached. When the young man passed they grabbed him, each goon snagging one of his arms. Brad almost had a heart attack as the two thugs bounced him across the lot toward Mickey’s car. His mouth ran a mile a minute as he pleaded with the two.

  “Hey−guys! What the fuck? Ahh, come on guys. Come on. I have the money. Let me go. I have it really.”

  “Shut-up!” ordered Bruno.

  “Mickey wants to talk,” said Sid.

  Arriving at Mickey’s car, the henchmen opened the rear door and threw Brad inside. He stumbled and collapsed onto the floor, his face kissing the leather. Sid kicked him in the ass, shoving him fully inside. They slammed the door and stood guard while Mickey took over, greeting Brad with knife in hand.

  Brad looked up to see Mickey’s wicked grin. At first he almost didn’t recognize the mobster. His hair was cut short and his face was covered now by a reddish brown beard−something he had grown for the winter to keep his face warm and hide his scar.

  “Brad, me lad... ‘ow are yah?” Mickey greeted, sardonically.

  Instantly, Brad began to beg. “Mickey, please, I have part of the money. It’s here in my pocket.” He reached into his pants struggling to pull out his cash. Out popped a wad of bills which he dropped on the seat next to Mickey. The mobster snickered as he looked over the scrunched wad of tattered bills.

  He snarled at Brad. “Part of the money that’s not whut we agreed upon−now is it?”

  “I know Mickey, I know, but listen... my luck’s gonna change. I can get yah the rest.”

  Mickey leaned down and placed his knife against Brad’s neck. “Aye donna know, lad. Aye be thinkin’ yur luck’s taken a turn for the worse.

  “Wait!” begged Brad, sweat pouring off him. “I’ve got something, something better.” He gulped. “Something you can use... information.”

  “And whut would a low life like yah ‘ave tae teel me?”asked Mickey.

  Brad swallowed hard. “Remember that kid... that kid... Daniel Raye. He ain’t dead.”

  Mickey may as well have been shot−he was stunned
. Thinking he was being played, he pressed the knife hard against Brad’s neck.

  “Whut do yah mean ‘e’s not dead. That wuz over four years ago. Nae, yur tryin’ me patience, lad.”

  “No!” countered Brad, quickly. “Listen... me and my girlfriend we was watchin’ television two nights ago − Unsolved Murder Mysteries. They had this story about this kid and his father − their house being burnt down an all, and them dying. My girlfriend tells me it didn’t happen like that... she worked at Rose de Lima back then... a nurse... on grave. She says they took the kid to California. The UCLA Medical Center.”

  “So why’d yah wait until now tae teel me?” responded Mickey, pressing his knife harder into Brad’s throat.

  “Oh God, please! I just found out. I swear to God, Mickey ...on my mother’s grave.”

  Satisfied that Brad was telling the truth, Mickey relaxed. He pulled his knife back, then snatched the money from the seat.

  “Aye’ll teel yah whut lad,” he offered in brief countenance. “Tah shooe whut a generous man aye am, aye’ll give yah won more week ... but yah better ‘ave the rest. Now get yur fat, poxy arse outta ‘ere.”

  Brad needed no other invitation. He scrambled from the car like a lizard jumping off a hot rock, his feet dancing across the pavement as he ran for dear life.

  * * * *

  It was late January and a new year, the time Ethyl dreaded most. It was her company’s annual review with the venture capitalists that backed her company−in this case Paul Gregan. Today, he was here with his attorney, Tyrone Waters, and the two were asking questions, some Ethyl wanted to avoid. For several years now Ethyl had fudged the books ever so slightly to hide the research she was doing for Daniel. It wasn’t much, only a million dollars, but it was money she cherry-picked from other departments with Lance’s help−while he looked the other way. It wasn’t the best way to do business and had it not been her personal quest it never would have happened. Still, Lance was getting nervous−he always did when January rolled around.

  As Ethyl expected, the meeting with Paul and Tyrone was tenuous at best. The two men, dressed in their expensive suits, were sharks seeking blood. And who could blame them? Paul, along with others, had sunk millions into her company. They did have a right to expect something in return.

  “Ethyl, we’re trying to do the right thing,” Paul said, “but you’ve got to understand. It’s been almost seven years now, and the backers are not seeing a real return on their investment. We seriously need this company to go public and that means changes need to be made.

  “Such as?” asked Ethyl.

  Tyrone jumped in. “Dr. Santini, I’ve had my accountants looking over your books and there are a couple of things that seem, shall we say, out of place. Your research of late seems unfocused, scattered, and the accounting − well, quite frankly, money seems to be going out the window for the strangest things...”

  “And this animal testing moratorium,” interjected Paul, “it’s killing product development. For God’s sake Ethyl, every medical lab in the country uses rats and mice to test their products. Why can’t we?”

  Ethyl always hated it when Paul brought up his ridiculous hypotheses and she fired right back. “Because its unnecessary and cruel. We make products that are designed to cure, not torture animals first to see if they work. I thought you understood that?”

  Tyrone sighed in exasperation. “Doctor Santini, as you may or may not be aware, there are provisions in the contract between you and the investors, allowing for a majority consensus to appoint a new head for this company. Now understand, Mr. Gregan doesn’t want to lose you, you have been an incredible asset in building this company, but we must insist that some sort of compromise be reached.”

  Ethyl understood her position, but she was defiant. Rising from her chair, she took them both on issuing her own declaration.

  “Gentlemen, I won’t be painted into a corner. Remember, I still hold the patents on my research and those patents are the cornerstone of this company. I will not be dictated to.”

  Paul was about to explode. Pissed off by Ethyl’s unyielding compromise, he stood abruptly and straightened his suit. “Think about it, Ethyl,” he snapped. “You have my number.” He turned and headed for the door, warning her as he walked away. “But I’m not going to wait forever.” He yanked open her office door and stomped out with Tyrone following a few feet behind.

  “We’ll be in touch,” Tyrone advised, as he closed the door behind them.

  Ethyl took a deep breath. Well, that didn’t go very well. She walked to the window and looked out. What was she going to do?

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the door. Alice, her secretary, popped her head in. “Ms. Santini?” she queried.

  “Yes?”

  “Ms. Santini... I just wanted to let you know... I overheard Mr. Gregan as he was getting on the elevator. He mentioned something about a court order and getting the team ready.”

  “Thank-you Alice.”

  “Would you like me to call anyone?”

  Ethyl didn’t respond. She was facing the window again, lost in thought. From her vantage point she had a full view of the parking lot and the grounds below. She could see Paul and Tyrone leaving, their limo pulling up. To her surprise, a third man joined the two. It was Lance Kets. She watched as he limped over to the limo and got in.

  Holding her breath, Ethyl muttered to herself, “Lance, Lance, Lance, Why?” From behind, Alice questioned her boss’s aloofness, “Ms. Santini, are you okay? Can I do anything?”

  “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

  The phone rang.

  “Would you like me to get that?” inquired Alice.

  Ethyl turned from the curtains. “No, it’s my cell. I’m expecting a call.”

  She crossed over to her desk and answered it.

  “Hello. Yes, Doctor Muller. I’ve been expecting your call.”

  There was a pause as Ethyl listened to Daniel’s eye doctor−her face paling as he told her of his diagnosis.

  “Oh, no...” she exclaimed.

  Alice took note.

  “Yes, yes, I understand,” said Ethyl. “I’ll have a talk with him this evening. Doctor, would it be possible for you to e-mail me a copy of the MRI? I’d like to take a look myself, so I can explain things to Daniel... Yes, thank you... Yes, I understand... timing is imperative, we shouldn’t wait... yes, next week should be fine. I will clear my calendar. Thank you, Doctor. I’ll call you Tuesday after the holiday. Thank you, again. Good night.”

  Ethyl set the phone down, tears welling up in her eyes. She rubbed her forehead in worry.

  “Ms. Santini? What is it?” asked Alice.

  “My nephew,” answered Ethyl, “his MRI is showing a small mass behind one of his eyes. The doctor thinks it may be cancerous. He wants to operate and take out both his eyes, just in case.”

  Ethyl began to weep, while Alice grabbed some tissue.

  * * * *

  Mickey almost looked like a normal businessman, dressed in a suit and tie, as he walked the hallways of UCLA Medical Center. He was looking for the Records office. Lost, he spied a nurse.

  “Excuse me,” he said, in the most modest of voices. “Ken yah teel me where aye might find the Record’s office? Aye’m kinda lost.”

  The nurse turned and pointed. “Sure... just go up the hallway here and take the second right. You can’t miss it.”

  “Thank-yah, lassie.”

  Following the nurse’s direction, Mickey wandered up the hallway and turned. There, he spied a small sign over a door that read: ‘RECORDS’. He made his way to it.

  The records department of the medical center was a two room affair, a smaller alcove-like area with several chairs for visitors and a larger facility for the hospital record’s staff. The larger room was filled with an array of desks, computers, and a filing system that held the data for every patient who had stayed at or visited the hospital over the last ten years. Presently, both rooms were empty with the
exception of two employees, a nurse and a secretary, and Mickey who had entered unnoticed. Mickey walked to the counter and waited. He listened as the two young women giggled between themselves−one was showing off her new engagement ring.

  “Maggie, that’s so beautiful,” he heard one say. “Look at the size... give me a hug.”

  The girls were in the middle of an embrace when they noticed Mickey standing at the counter. It was an awkward moment, and the two turned red. The one in the nurse’s outfit broke away. “I’ll see you later...” she said, “... the EDR maybe?”

  Maggie nodded. “Sure, I get another break at two.” She then walked to the counter. “May I help you?” she asked Mickey.

  “Ah, lass... Aye couldn’t ‘elp but ‘ear yah say that yur getting married. May aye give me congratulations to yah?”

  Maggie beamed. “Thank you. And what can I do for you?”

  Mickey looked down, giving the saddest face possible. “Well, Lass,” he began. Aye’ve kum a lookin’ for information. Yah see, me nephew, ‘e wuz injured in Las Vegas about four years ago. And aye wuz told ‘e wuz sent ‘ere for treatment.”

  Maggie moved to one of the computers on the counter. “What was the patient’s name?” she asked.

  “Daniel Raye, with an ‘e’... aye don’t ‘ave an exact date for yah. Ya see, aye wuz actually back in Scotland when this ‘appened and the news dinna reach me until now. Unfortunately, me and my brother we ‘aven’t been on the best of terms, it’s a long story if yah know whut aye mean. But with ‘im gone and all, aye need tae find me young nephew.”

  Maggie scoured the computer. “I’m sorry, but I’m not seeing anyone under that name.”

  “Could it be that mebbe they dinna ‘ave ‘is name?” asked Mickey.

  “Well, it could be that he was listed as a John Doe. Do you know why he was brought here? What kind of injury?”

  “The neighbors said that the hoose burned down... Aye think thar may ‘ave bin an explosion.”