A Vision of Fire Read Online Free Page B

to see that each wall was painted a different jewel color, amethyst, sapphire, emerald, and cherry opal. On a desk in the corner, an electronic photo frame flashed groups of friends laughing, smiling, hugging—in sad contrast to the girl who was unconscious in her father’s arms across the room. Urged by Mrs. Pawar’s outstretched hand, Caitlin moved slowly past her to the girl’s four-poster bed. The beagle followed and sat on the floor beside her. Ben stayed by the door.
    The man looked up. “I am Ganak Pawar.”
    â€œI’m Caitlin O’Hara,” she said gently.
    â€œThank you for coming,” he said, his voice cracking. “This—this is our daughter, Maanik.”
    Caitlin smiled reassuringly but her attention was on the girl’s forearms, which were wrapped in gauze that was heavily spotted with blood. She sat on the bed and gently moved the girl’s arms to look under the bandages. The teenager showed no response, the limbs dead weight. The bloodstains were smeared and unusual. Cut marks were typically linear; these were S-shaped and they were fresh. Even in the subdued light, Caitlin could see blood on the girl’s fingernails.
    â€œMaanik insisted on going to class,” the ambassador said. “She was only there an hour when she began shrieking, doing this to herself.”
    â€œNothing before that? No hyperventilating, faintness?”
    â€œHer second-period teacher said she was staring, but otherwise normal,” Ganak said. “This happened in her third class. When she came home she fell asleep but awoke screaming. For a while now she has been falling asleep, waking up screaming, speaking in gibberish, then sleeping again. Our doctor said it is post-traumatic stress from the shooting.”
    â€œSymptoms in cycles don’t fit with PTSD,” Caitlin mused, more to herself. “Did your doctor leave a prescription?”
    â€œYes. Kamala, our housekeeper, just picked these up.” He nodded toward pills on the night table.
    There was a paper pharmacy bag, still stapled at the top. Caitlin noted the physician’s name, Deshpande, and the recipient’s name, fabricated most likely, which did not include “Maanik” or “Pawar.”
    Caitlin opened the bag and retrieved a pair of amber containers. “Vasoflex. This is for insomnia and recurrent nightmares.” She looked at the other, surprised. “Risperdal. This is a potent antipsychotic.”
    â€œThat is a correct medication, yes?” Hansa asked.
    â€œIf you’re bipolar and haven’t slept for a few days,” Caitlin replied.“We don’t use it as a prophylactic, ‘just in case’ medicine. Mrs. Pawar, your doctor did come by and see her, yes?”
    There was silence. He hadn’t. That was illegal in New York State. Caitlin glanced over at Ben, who gave her a cautioning look. Rules were obviously being bent here.
    â€œThat’s a potent mix to put in her body without an examination and after just a few hours,” Caitlin said.
    â€œI am sorry,” Mrs. Pawar said, more to her daughter than to Caitlin. “We did not know what else to do.”
    â€œIt’s not your fault,” Caitlin lied, not wanting to make a bad situation worse. “But until we know the trigger, we’re not going to give her these.”
    â€œDr. O’Hara, we are watched,” the ambassador said unapologetically. “Our doctor is also with the United Nations. He keeps a log. Confidentiality means nothing in diplomacy; word would spread. I’m afraid the delegations will see my distraction as a potential weakness and press for advantage, or worse. There is still a stigma against mental illness in both India and Pakistan. If anyone were to find out she was receiving psychiatric treatments—”
    â€œSir, there is no illness if a situation is treated.”
    â€œThat is a technical distinction,” the ambassador