The surgery had been delayed until Monk finished a series of antiradiation treatments. The neurologists used the extra time to study Monk’s case, but they still could not say if he’d ever get his memory back—especially with the other result found during the MRI. In order to install the chip, a small section of Monk’s cerebral cortex had been removed.
Painter recalled the horror on Gray’s face upon learning that and his dismayed words: First his hand, now a section of his brain…it’s like Monk is slowly being whittled away.
“Has there been any indication that Monk recognizes Kat?” Painter asked.
Gray shook his head. “The doctors have mostly kept her away. They believe that, while the chip is still in his head, further stress on his memory, like the emotional connection with Kat, might actually cause more damage than good.”
“Still, she visited him.”
He nodded. “She had to. She went into the room with a group of nurses. Monk conversed with them, but he had no reaction upon seeing Kat. Nothing at all. It practically destroyed her. She has Monk back, but he’s still lost to her.”
“Then we’ll have to pray for the best.”
September 29, 6:21 P.M.
George Washington University Hospital
The man woke into a room too bright. It stung his eyes and pounded deep into the back of his head. Nausea followed, accompanied by a swirl of details. He swallowed hard a few times and forced his vision to steady.
A slim woman in a blue smock patted his hand. “There you go, Mr. Kokkalis. Just breathe.” She turned away. “He’s coming around more fully this time.”
The spinning settled. The pounding of the drum inside his head slowed to a dull pressure. He found himself in a hospital room, remembering in bits and pieces. The operation. He lifted an arm and found it strapped to a plastic splint through which intravenous lines dripped both clear saline and a unit of blood. To the side, monitors beeped and whirred.
Monk tried to move his head, but his neck ached, and a tube ran down from a cap atop his head.
A series of doctors came through, shining lights into his eyes, making him do simple motor tests, judging his ability to swallow with ice chips, and performing other cranial nerve function tests. After about ten minutes, they drifted away, chattering about his case, leaving two people standing at the foot of his bed.
Monk recognized the man. “Gray…,” he said hoarsely, his throat still raw from the endotracheal tube.
The man’s eyes brightened.
Monk knew what they all hoped, what he hoped, but he shook his head. He knew the man only from the chaos in Russia. A striking woman in jeans and a loose blouse leaned next to him, her auburn hair down to her shoulders. Her emerald eyes searched Monk for some answer. But he didn’t even know the question.
Gray touched her elbow. “It may be too soon, Kat. You know that. The doctors said it might take months.”
She turned slightly to the side and wiped her eyes. “I know,” she said, but it sounded like a moan.
With his senses tuned sharp by a trailing edge of nausea, Monk caught a scent in the air, familiar, spiced yet musky. No memory came with it, but his breathing grew heavier. Something…something about…
“We should let him rest,” Gray said and guided the woman away. “We’ll come back in the morning. It’s been a long day. You should be getting her home anyway.”
Gray nodded to a blue stroller behind them. A small child slept, nestled in blankets, head capped like Monk’s, eyes closed, a pursed button of a mouth.
Monk’s eyes locked on the baby. Staccato flashes burst into existence out of nothingness.
…tiny fingers curled around his finger…walking down a long, dark hall, tired, rocking the small figure in his arms…little kicking feet as he changed a diaper…
Just snippets. No coherency. But unlike before, there was no pain, only a soothing brightness that did not fade this time.
Out of that glow, he found a small sliver of himself.
“She’s…her name…” The two turned to her. “It’s Penelope.”
The woman stared at the child, back to him. Her entire form shook as teats spilled in shining streaks of joy. “Monk…”
She rushed to his side, falling over him. She leaned and kissed him gently, her hair draped over them like a tent.
He remembered.
The taste of cinnamon, soft lips…
He still did not know her name, but a surge of love swelled through him that drew tears to his own eyes. Maybe he would never know her name, not truly, but Monk knew one thing with all his heart: if she’d let him, he would spend the rest of his life learning who she was all over again.
7:01 P.M.
Gray headed down the hospital corridor, leaving Kat and Monk some privacy. While here, he wanted to check on one last patient. He crossed over to the children’s ward. He showed his identification to an armed guard who protected the wing.
Once through, he passed several wards and smaller rooms. The walls were painted with balloons and cartoon animals. He passed a tall boy in hospital pajamas. He was walking with a smaller girl. Both their heads were shaved on one side. They were chatting enthusiastically in Russian.
All the children seemed to be recovering from their ordeal.
That is, all except one.
He crossed down another long corridor to a private room at the very end. The door was open. He heard voices inside.
Gray knocked softly and entered. The room held a single bed and a small play area with a yellow plastic table and a set of children’s chairs around it. He found Dr. Lisa Cummings standing inside, filling out a chart. With her medical background, she was assisting the surgeons and doctors, while keeping Painter updated on status reports and abreast of any problems.
Sasha sat at the table, coloring in her book. She wore a pink bonnet that covered her shaved head.
“Mr. Gray!” the girl called to him and popped out of her chair like a jackrabbit and ran over to him. She hugged his leg.
He patted her shoulder.
Sasha came here as often as Gray, visiting her brother.
Pyotr sat in a wheelchair by the window, staring out at the growing twilight. He sat like a mannequin. Upright, stiff, unresponsive.
“Any change?” Gray asked and nodded to the chart in Lisa’s hands.
“Some actually. He’s now taking food by spoon. Baby food. It’s like he’s infantilized. The doctors are hoping that over time, he may grow into his body.”
Gray hoped they were right. The boy had saved the world and sacrificed everything to do it.