Wolfe Read Free

I’m going to have a series of new tests done. MRI, blood tests, and so on. It won’t hurt, but I want to be thorough.”
    “Sure, doc.” Andy smiled and pulled on his T-shirt.
    I thought nothing of this until the doctor beckoned me to follow him outside the room. The door shut pneumatically behind us.
    “Nurse, I didn’t want to alarm Andy, but...” He flicked a finger at the screen. “None of this makes sense. If the MRI confirms what I saw, his injuries do not parallel those in his history. In which case, I’m having the DNA analysis repeated.”
    “Oh?” I frowned. We migrated to the nurses’s station.
    Without looking up as he scribbled a signature on some forms, he added, “The best disconcerting fact? The injured eye is almost perfect.”
    I blinked. I’d seen the damage, though it had been a while since then.
    “I believe the man has perfect vision, despite him keeping that eye hidden.”
    I couldn’t help raising my eyebrows this time. “What should I tell him?”
    “Nothing. Yet. But I am wondering if this is the man described in his history. That man had a serious brain injury and an eye damaged beyond healing. How can this be Andy Carruthers? Only one relative verified his ID. They’ve never visited him since and the ID was done soon after brain surgery. It doesn’t add up. I’m not even sure that man was him.”
    If he wasn’t Andy, who was he? And which man did my handlers want me to watch?
    A few days later, Dr. Hass began lowering the dose of some of Andy’s drugs. We nurses discussed this course of action with trepidation among ourselves. Having a man of Andy’s size collapse in seizures, or worse, a psychotic episode, wasn’t our favorite scenario.
    But nothing seemed to happen. Nothing obvious, apart from Andy becoming more alert, quicker on his feet, less likely to fumble or trip. The DNA test came back as verified correct. The MRI showed Andy had never had the brain injuries his records stated he’d suffered.
    Dr. Leroy muttered a few swear words and I decided I should tell my handlers. Any change, they’d said. This was one.
    The state couldn’t declare Andy to not be Andy...without other evidence. The bulldog mascot tattoo on his back suggested marine. I had a feeling the doctor was reaching out to people higher up the chain to see if someone else had the same DNA. It was possible, if rare.
    If they did, what might that precipitate? Maybe he’d be snatched away by the CIA and my job would be over? I’d like that, though I’d be sad to see him go, whoever he was. We’d begun to have small, halted conversations and made other progress.
    The man liked watching birds and several species visited the garden, so I showed him, or rather reminded him, how to look them up on a computer. That led to him sketching them. We had watercolors. I showed him those too. Now the birds gained color. My god, he was such an artist. The birds came to life on the page.
    A sparrow was today’s focus. He sat beside me on the bench, using the pencil deftly then adding color. This was the best place to sit and draw. The bench was set back from the pond and partly shaded by trees and shrubs. When the breeze picked up, the light flitting through the swaying greenery must make the page hard to see.
    “Like this one?” He handed me the book with the completed painting.
    “This is amazing.” I smiled. There was such pleasure in seeing art made before your eyes. Miraculous. “I don’t know how you do this.”
    Beneath the perfectly rendered bird, he’d written in tiny, precise letters the species name and other details, including that I was next to him when he drew it. I handed back the little painting.
    “Thank you , Kiara.” He nodded then took my fingers and swiftly kissed the back of them, like some reawakened southern gentleman. “You gave me the paints, so I credit you with helping me do this.”
    “It was nothing. My job.” I shrugged, feeling stupid to dismiss his thanks. A blush warmed