A Vision of Fire

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.

“Maanik insisted on going to class,” the ambassador said. “She was only there an hour when she began shrieking, doing this to herself.”

“Nothing before that? No hyperventilating, faintness?”

“Her 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.”

“Symptoms in cycles don’t fit with PTSD,” Caitlin mused, more to herself. “Did your doctor leave a prescription?”

“Yes. 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.”

“That is a correct medication, yes?” Hansa asked.

“If 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.

“That’s a potent mix to put in her body without an examination and after just a few hours,” Caitlin said.

“I am sorry,” Mrs. Pawar said, more to her daughter than to Caitlin. “We did not know what else to do.”

“It’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.”

“Dr. 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—”

“Sir, there is no illness if a situation is treated.”

“That is a technical distinction,” the ambassador said. “I know it is difficult for Americans to understand the concept of family shame, and though Hansa and I do not subscribe to the idea, many still do.”

“I do understand and there is no need to explain or apologize—”

“But there is,” he interrupted. “I am in a delicate position. Accusations of evil spirits are still a quite common response to mental illness in both countries. If her condition is known—in fact, when her condition is known, as I am sure we have only a week, two at most, before discovery—I could be removed from the negotiations, Dr. O’Hara, or either side could use it as an excuse to leave the negotiating table and turn this matter over to their military forces. A doctor’s visit to my home could be used to prove not just that I am incapable of mediating, but that the entire negotiation process is forfeit.”

“We needed a caregiver no one knows,” Ben said. “That’s why I called you.”

Caitlin didn’t like it but she understood. The good of the many outweighed the needs of a few.

Ganak went on. “I know this is a terrible imposition, but Ben gives you a glowing report. Will you help?”

“Of course.”

Ganak and his wife shared a relieved look, then smiled gratefully at Caitlin.

“If you will excuse me, doctor, I must get back,” the ambassador said. He gently moved the girl out of his arms so that she was lying against her pillows. She still did not stir.

Caitlin moved closer to the young woman. “Ben, will you call my office and tell them I’m tied up in an emergency? This is going to take longer than I thought.”

“Naturally.”

“Mrs. Pawar, we’re going to have to impose on your housekeeper again,” Caitlin said. “Please ask her to pick up several boxes of cotton pads, six-ply bandage rolls as wide as they make them, and oregano oil. That won’t sting your daughter awake; we want her to sleep.”

Mrs. Pawar nodded. The ambassador rose and cupped his wife’s face briefly as he passed her. She followed him out of the room. Ben nodded to Caitlin and smiled briefly in gratitude, then left the room, closing the door behind him.