The psychiatrist enters the room and talks to Dr. Liu. It’s a short conversation. When it’s over, Dr. Ma reviews Kylie’s condition with the charge nurse. Dr. Liu is back to recheck her pulse.
“You’re a fortunate woman.”
“Sorry my brain acted up again.”
“Neurologically it’s normal.”
“Thanks for taking care of me.”
“You’re welcome.”
“See you tomorrow, Dr. Liu.”
“That’ll be our last visit.”
“What do you mean? You’re my attending.”
“Until the morning. Then Dr. Ma will manage your care.”
She clutches his lab coat. “He’ll transfer me to a psych ward.”
Dr. Liu releases her hand. “You’re staying here.”
“Please write that in my chart.”
“I already have.”
Dr. Liu shows her the note and leaves the room. When Dr. Ma replaces him at bedside, he assesses Kylie’s energy level and makes an entry in her chart. Patient is lethargic. Upper lids are drooping.
“How are you feeling today, Ms. Ryan?”
“Well enough to be discharged.”
“You’re not ready to go home.”
“Yes I am.”
“You’re not in a position to judge.”
“I’ll ask again this afternoon.”
“That’s fine. How did you sleep last night?”
“Could you repeat that?”
“Has anything changed?”
“I’m not obsessing about yesterday.”
“That’s a good sign. Any new symptoms?”
“Do you know about my train crash?”
“Your Sydney records mention it.”
“I’ve been seeing images of that trip.”
“Of the explosions?”
“No. Earlier.”
“You didn’t mention that yesterday.”
“They hadn’t started yet.”
“When did they begin?”
“Around midnight.”
“What triggered them?”
“I was hoping you knew.”
“Frightening events sometimes restore past memories.” He pauses until his tablet brings up her Liverpool chart. “Compared to then, how do you feel?”
“I was out of control last time. Today I’m calm.”
She holds out her hand. “See, I’m not shaking.”
“How often are you having these thoughts?”
“All the time. I can’t stop them.”
“You need time to settle down.”
“Work does that for me.”
“It could also make you worse.”
“Please keep an open mind, Dr. Ma.”
“You need to do the same.”
“I can control my PTSD.”
“Not in your condition. Anything could set it off.”
“I have an important appointment.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Reschedule it.”
“I’ll recover in no time.”
“Not by then.”
The doctor hands Kylie a pill. “What am I swallowing?”
“Something to lighten your mood.” She washes it down as Dr. Ma reviews her Liverpool records. He can’t seem to find what he wants.
“Asking me will be quicker.”
“How much do you recall about the train trip?”
“Before last night—nothing.”
“What about now?”
“Bits and pieces.”
“Describe what you remember.”
“I didn’t say ‘remember.’”
“Didn’t you—”
“I don’t know if the images are real.”
“Tell me what you’re seeing.”
“In the first one, I’m at a cocktail party.”
“What are you doing?”
“Holding a wineglass.”
“What else is happening?”
“I’m talking to members of my group.”
“Do you remember what you’re saying?”
“Something trivial about my name tag.”
“Who was with you?”
“A French couple.”
“Were they actually at the party?”
Her eyes moisten. “Yes. They died in the crash.”
“How well did you know them?”
“We were close friends.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. They were wonderful people.”
“Can you recall anything else about the party?”
Kylie rubs her eyes. “Not so far.”
“Describe the other images.”
“One is in the Forbidden City.”
“What happens there?”
“I cut my shin entering a room.”
“On what?”
“A raised threshold.”
“Did you fall?”
“I don’t think so.”
“What else do you remember?”
“I needed stitches.”
“Do you have a scar on either leg?”
She checks her shins. “No.”
“Are you seeing any other images?”
“Two new ones.”
“When did they begin?”
“Right after I woke up.”
“Describe them.”
“I’m walking across the Great Wall.”
“Fill in the rest of the picture.”
“There are lots of people selling things.”
“Are you with anyone?”
“I think so. But that part is hazy.”
“How about the second one?”
“I’m visiting the Terracotta Warriors.”
“Was that also a group activity?”
“Yes. I’m following a guide.”
“Had you been to those places before?”
“The Forbidden City and the Great Wall, but not Xi’an.”
Dr. Ma waves his hand in front of her face. He does it again. She still doesn’t blink. “How long have you been depressed?”
“I’m not here for that.”
“We need to discuss it.”
“I’m tired of complaining.”
“You aren’t. I brought it up.”
“Promise you won’t tell my mother.”
“All our conversations are private.”
“I’ve felt that way for a long time.”
“Do you know the cause?”
“My marriage.”
“Are you still married?”
“No. He divorced me.”
“Didn’t the sadness go away?”
“It’s waxed and waned.”
“How is it now?”
“Much worse after the train wreck.”
“Has anyone offered you an explanation?”
She stacks her pillows and turns onto her left side. “One doctor said the crash could’ve changed my brain chemistry.”
“That’s unlikely. Other deficits usually accompany traumatic depression. You don’t have those. Is anything else bothering you?”
“I feel empty inside.”
“Physically?”
“Emotionally.”
“How long?”
“Since I woke up in Hong Kong.”
“How does it affect you?”
“It’s hard to put into words.”
“Do the best you can.”
“I feel incomplete.”
“What’s missing?”
“That’s the worst part. I don’t know.”
“Is it related to losing your friends?”
“No. That affects me a different way.”
“Are there other potential causes?”
“I don’t know of any. It’s so frustrating.”
“Keep searching for the answer.”
“How do you know there is one?”
“I’m certain of it. It’s just deep inside.”
“Why can’t I find it?”
“Psychiatry is a val
uable tool. But it’s not the only one.”
“Therapy hasn’t helped. Neither has hypnosis.”
“Your mental attitude is just as important.”
“Mine needs improving. What do you recommend?”
“Confucius gave us useful insights.”
“What would he tell me?”
“Don’t give up hope.”
“Optimism comes at a steep price.”
“You’ll be glad you paid it.”
“How do you know?”
“Because she who climbs the peak shall see the plain.”
CHAPTER 43
TODAY’S BREAKFAST SPECIAL is dim sum.
The dam’s cafeteria serves it every other Sunday. Brannigan has been here since the doors opened. He’s sitting by a window eating by himself.
He finishes his shrimp dumplings, pushes the steamer basket aside, and replaces it with his tablet. Kylie has finally responded. Her email is at the top of his inbox.
Michael
Thanks for your concern. I was outside Store No.1 when the bomb went off. I’m heartbroken when I think about all the dead and injured people. I wasn’t hurt but had a quirky flare-up of my PTSD. I’m in the hospital for observation.
Please don’t visit me. I can’t put you through that again. I’ll see you at the dam later this week. Not sure when that will be. They’ll probably keep me here a few more days.
When we go to Xiling Gorge, I’ll have to deadhead. My doctor says I’m not fit to fly. Hopefully I can make things right by bringing lunch. Looking forward to our trip,
Kylie
He was relieved when he first read her email.
Now all he feels is a searing pain in the middle of his chest. Kylie’s message is an agonizing reminder of paradise lost.
Brannigan is back in his room. He vows, “I won’t live like this anymore,” and pounds his fist into the wall. Identifying long-term solutions doesn’t require much thought. Only two come to mind. He can remain silent, and when Kylie leaves, never see her again. Or he can tell her everything and try to preserve who-knows-what. Rekindling their love affair isn’t a possibility. That dream ended Friday.
He doesn’t know whether the second scenario is workable. If they interact in the future, he can’t pretend nothing happened. Full disclosure is a prerequisite to an ongoing bond. He red-flags another problem—shrink-wrapping his feelings would be a first for him. He can’t recall a single instance where he transitioned from an all-consuming romance to a platonic relationship.
Brannigan weighs the plusses and minuses and decides to tell Kylie everything. If she’ll befriend her former lover, he’ll try to make it work. When should he do it? He prefers an early resolution, but a negative response could poison their work environment. He won’t do that to Rocky. He’ll wait until she completes her project.
Emotionally strung out, he debates how to dull the pain. Downing a six-pack would work, at least for a few hours. But he knows he should cut back on the suds. He selects a healthier method for dealing with his distress—a speed hike across the summit. The rain is coming down in buckets and the wind is howling. The way he feels, that’s a good thing. He’ll try to lose himself in the foul weather and stop feeling jealous.
He changes clothes and jogs to the north elevator bank. He rides to the top, zips his waterproof jacket, and tightens the chinstrap on his Tilley. He’s the only civilian on the summit. The troops—there aren’t many—look miserable. All are soaking wet despite their rain gear. He stops running when he reaches the closest soldier. Brannigan addresses him in Mandarin.
“Hello, Private.”
“Good morning, sir.”
“Where has everyone gone?”
“Off the record?”
“Of course.”
“To Tibet and the coastal cities.”
When they finish talking, Brannigan crosses the causeway. He keeps walking until he reaches the west edge of the summit. He turns his back to the storm and taps the BBC icon on his phone. The lead story is an update on the department store attacks.
Security cameras and DNA evidence have established that two of the terrorists were former Buddhist monks. A third, the probable leader of the group, was a Tibetan revolutionary.
He ponders the impact of the bombings. New Yorkers, Brits, or Parisians wouldn’t be surprised if terrorists bombed their cities—not after 9/11, 7/7, and all the other attacks in Europe. He foresees a more pronounced reaction in China. Most of its citizens don’t expect an open society, but felt safe in their stores, restaurants, and theaters. He anticipates yesterday’s atrocities will have a greater impact than downing a Chinese plane or sabotaging a government building. That’s particularly true for the female consumers who pump up the Reds’ economy.
Brannigan declares a moratorium on bad news. He pockets his phone and watches an ocean-going vessel come out of the locks. The Chongqing Empress dwarfs the local tugs, barges, and riverboats. The 3,000-ton cargo ship chugs westward into the reservoir, becomes blurry, and disappears. The mist has swallowed it whole.
CHAPTER 44
KYLIE RETURNED TO the dam last night.
Her hospitalization didn’t affect their trip. They couldn’t have flown to Xiling Gorge any sooner. Heavy rain, industrial smog from Chongqing, and a temperature inversion closed the local airspace for almost a week.
She called Brannigan earlier this morning. They exchanged hellos, decided where to meet, and agreed on a departure time. Kylie didn’t mention her health.
She parks her car at the helipad.
Brannigan is in Rocky’s Bell going through his preflight checklist. When he looks up, he sees Kylie walking toward the helicopters. She’s carrying an accessory, something rectangular and relatively large. He’s always enjoyed watching her navigate. Her hips don’t exactly sway, but there’s more going on than mere locomotion.
He originally thought her carry-on was a satchel. Stepping out of the cockpit he has a clearer view. What appeared to be a Prada is actually a high-end picnic basket.
Kylie smiles and returns his wave. They meet in front of the bubble. Raising the basket to chest level, she fingers its elaborate detailing.
“Bamboo?” he asks.
“Yup. Handmade in the 1920s.”
“Where did you find it?”
“Alibaba.”
“You got this on the Internet?”
“It had a great selection.”
He opens the left door and holds it for her. She’s still getting settled when he enters the cockpit from the other side.
“Should I stow your basket?”
“Let’s keep it up here.”
“You won’t have much legroom.”
“There’s enough.”
“Are you sure?”
“The pilot will be hungry before we get back.”
“I could get used to this.”
“How did you finesse Rocky’s ride?”
“It must have something to do with my cargo.”
“My sandwiches are pretty spiffy.”
He persuaded Rocky to train him on the Bell. Everything went well and his probationary period is over. This is the first time he’ll operate the 429 on his own.
He points at his temple. “How’s the head?”
“My noggin is A-OK.”
“What about your PTSD?”
“Not too bad. The symptoms come and go.”
“I thought your mother would send you home.”
“Believe me, she tried.”
He’s staring at the pink swirls on her aquamarine blouse. The contrast makes the silk look three-dimensional. She finishes adjusting her restraint. He doesn’t want to get caught staring and redirects his attention to the skids. They’re level and the tarmac is clear. Getting ready to lift off, he says, “It might help if I knew where we’re going.”
“Due west twenty-five kilometers.”
“What are the coordinates?”
“Follow the reservoir. I’ll tell you when to stop.”
/> “Does our destination have a name?”
“Not since submersion.” Kylie opens her seismic map and circles the convergence zone. “There used to be a city—”
“Plural. Xintan and Lianziyan.”
“How did you know that?”
“I’ve talked to people who lived there.”
“They were centuries behind the coast.”
“That’s what got me interested.”
“In subsistence farming?”
“The real China.”
She taps his seat. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”
“It confirmed my impressions.”
“This is like pulling teeth. About what?”
“I’ll tell you some other time.”
In their prior life, Kylie had unfettered access to his inner sanctum. This time around he’ll keep his nihilism under lock and key. What intrigued her back then might put her off today. She flashes a smile he can’t interpret. “If you think I’ll forget . . .”
He hates that word, more so coming from her, and switches subjects. “Does Rocky know about the profile out there?”
“You’re about as subtle as my mother.”
“What does that mean?”
“You asked me about Rocky.”
“Yes I did.”
“He understands the geology.”
“What’s he missing?”
“Its potential impact on the dam.”
“How much have you told him?”
“Chapter and verse. All the way to Shanghai.”
“Did you change his mind?”
“No. But I got him thinking.”
“I’ll talk to him. What should I emphasize?”
“His underlying assumptions are wrong. The distance between Xiling and the dam is insignificant—and the local seismic history isn’t benign.”
“That’s easy enough to understand.”
“There’s another fact he hasn’t considered. Some of the worst earthquakes are first-timers. Tangshan was quiet until a Richter 7.8 destroyed the city. It killed two hundred fifty thousand people.”
She pulls a data sheet out of her picnic basket.
“You promised to pack a lunch.”
“I did. This is your appetizer.” She lays her seismic chronology in his lap. He runs his finger across the last paragraph.
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