Robin Cook - Seizure

The side of Daniel’s face was stinging, and a high-pitched ringing sounded in his ear. He felt Gaetano nudge him with his foot before grabbing a handful of his hair and yanking his head off the carpet. Daniel opened his eyes. He squinted at the backlit image of his assailant hovering over him.

“Can I feel confident you have gotten the message?” Gaetano demanded. “Because I want you to know I could have hurt you bad. I hope you understand that. But at the moment, we don’t want you hurt so bad that you can’t get your company back on its feet. Of course, that might change if I have to fly the hell back down here from Boston. You catch my drift?”

“I get the message,” Daniel squeaked.

Gaetano let Daniel’s hair go, and his head bounced down on the carpet. Daniel kept his eyes closed.

“That’s all for now,” Gaetano said. “I hope I don’t have to come and visit you again.”

A moment later, Daniel heard the door to the changing room creak open and then shut again. All was quiet.

3:20 P.M., Friday, March 1, 2002

Daniel opened his eyes after lying perfectly still for a few minutes. He was alone in the changing cubicle, but he heard muffled voices beyond the door. It sounded as if a salesperson was directing a customer into one of the other cubicles. Daniel pushed himself up to a sitting position and looked at himself in the mirror. The left side of his face was beet red, and a trickle of blood went from his nose to the corner of his mouth before running down to the edge of his jaw. His right eye was beginning to swell shut and had a slightly bluish cast.

Gingerly, Daniel felt his nose and his right cheekbone with the tip of his index finger. Everything was tender, but there was neither pinpoint pain nor suspicious bony edges to suggest he had suffered a fracture. He got to his feet and, after a fleeting moment of dizziness, he felt reasonably well, except for a dull headache, wobbly legs, and a pervading sense of nervousness, as if he’d just drunk five cups of coffee. He held out his hand; he had a tremor to beat the band. The episode had terrified him; he’d never felt quite so vulnerable in his life.

Despite uncertain balance, Daniel managed to pull on his pants. He then wiped away the blood from his face with the back of his hand. In the process, he realized he’d suffered a gash inside his cheek. Carefully, he explored the area with his tongue. Luckily, it wasn’t large enough for him to believe he needed any stitches. Then he smoothed out the thinning hair on top of his head by raking it with his fingers. He opened the door and stepped out into the fitting room.

“Good afternoon,” a snappily dressed, African-Bahamian salesman said with a strong English drawl. He was dressed in a pinstriped suit accented with a colorful silk pocket square that appeared to have exploded out of his breast pocket. He was leaning against the wall with his arms folded awaiting his client to emerge from his changing room. He gave Daniel a quizzical look with arched eyebrows but said nothing more.

Afraid of how his voice might sound, Daniel merely nodded in reply while managing a tentative smile. He started forward on unsteady legs, acutely aware of his tremor. He was afraid he might appear intoxicated. But the more he walked, the easier it became. He was relieved when the salesperson didn’t confront him. Daniel wanted to avoid any conversation. He merely wanted to get out of the store.

By the time Daniel got to the door to the street, he was confident he was walking normally. He opened the door and stuck his head out into the sunny afternoon heat. A quick glance around the parking area convinced him that his muscular attacker had long since departed. He peeked through the window of the women’s store and caught a glimpse of Stephanie happily shopping. Confident she was okay, Daniel made a beeline for the Mercury Marquis.

Once inside the car, Daniel rolled down the windows to allow the breeze to siphon off the ovenlike heat that had developed during the short time he’d been in the store. He sighed; it felt good to be sitting down within the familiar surroundings of his rent-a-car. Bending the rearview mirror in his direction, he examined himself more closely. He was particularly worried about his right eye, which was now practically shut. Still, he could tell the cornea was clear and there was no blood in the anterior chamber, although there were some petechial hemorrhages on the sclera. Having spent time in the emergency room as a medical resident, he knew something about facial trauma-in particular, a problem called a blowout fracture of the orbit. To make sure that hadn’t happened, he checked to see if he saw double, especially when he looked up and down. Thankfully, he didn’t. So he repositioned the rearview mirror and sat back to wait for Stephanie.

About a quarter of an hour later, Stephanie emerged from the women’s clothing store with several shopping bags in tow. Shielding her eyes from the sun, she looked in Daniel’s direction. Daniel responded by sticking his hand out his open window and waving. She waved back and came running. He watched as she approached. Now that he’d had a few minutes to think about his assault and its probable origin, his mental state had changed from anxiety to anger, and a significant portion of it was directed at Stephanie and her screwed-up family. Although he’d not had his knees smashed, the modus operandi smelled suspiciously Mob-related, which immediately brought to mind Stephanie’s indicted brother. Who the Castiglianos were he had no idea, but he was going to find out.

Stephanie came first to the passenger-side back door, opened it, and tossed her bundles onto the backseat. “How’d you make out?” she questioned happily. “I have to say, I did better than I expected.” She slammed the back door and proceeded to get into the front while babbling about her purchases. She closed her door and grabbed her seat belt before she looked at Daniel. When she did, she stopped her ramblings in midsentence. “My God! What happened to your eye?” she blurted.

“It’s good of you to notice,” Daniel said scornfully. “Obviously, I got beat up. But before we get into the distasteful details, I have a question to ask. Who are the Castigliano brothers?”

Stephanie stared at Daniel, taking in not only the puffy eye, but also the red swelling on the side of his face and the crusted blood along the edges of his nostrils. She wanted to reach out and touch him empathically, but she held back. She could see the anger reflected in the one visible eye and heard it in his tone of voice. Besides, the Castigliano name and the significance it engendered momentarily paralyzed her. She looked down at her hands, limp in her lap.

“Is there some other little important tidbit you didn’t feel like talking to me about?” Daniel continued, with equal sarcasm. “I mean, in addition to your brother being indicted for racketeering after becoming an investor. I repeat, who the hell are the Castiglianos?”

Stephanie’s mind was racing. It was true that she’d not shared the news that her brother had farmed out half of his investment. She had no excuse for not being more forthcoming, especially since the news had disturbed her, and this second and related lapse made her feel like a thief caught twice in the same felonious act.

“I was hoping we could at least have a conversation,” Daniel said, when Stephanie didn’t respond.

“We can, and we will,” Stephanie said suddenly. She looked at Daniel. She’d never felt quite so guilty in her life. He’d been hurt, and she had to accept that a significant amount of the responsibility was hers. “But first, tell me if you are okay.”

“As well as can be expected, under the circumstances.” Daniel started the car and backed out of the parking place.