“Most of your orbital frontal lobe is gone. It’s hard to say for certain what the impact will be. Short-term memory loss. Perhaps some long-term. Interruption of speech patterns, of analytical speed of the brain, of emotional and social awareness. These are likely manifestations. I assume you’ve experienced some of these?”

I nodded again.

“The exact damage will be more evident over time. There are a couple of psychotropics I can prescribe that will help your brain compensate. Unfortunately, they can only be used short term.”

“Whatever may help.” I knew that the brain has amazing elasticity and can often recover lost functions resulting from trauma. “How long before my brain compensates on its own?”

The doctor looked at Abby, then back at me. “Dr. Daniels, most of what you’re experiencing now is irreversible. You’ve lost too much tissue. Your brain function will never return to normal. I’m sorry.”

“How many of those spring rolls do you eat a week, Steele?”

Ben looked up at Trevor Hamm, his partner, standing just outside his cubicle. “Three every day for lunch. You do the math.”

“Tell me what you’re finding on this brain infection case.”

“A pile of circumstantial nonsense that may revolve around Bryson Nichols and NTI.”

“Bryson Nichols? What does he have to do with anything?”

“The victim’s girlfriend’s grandfather was Raymond Caldwell, the neuroscientist who helped invent Nichols’s brain-transplant technology.”

“So?”

“Supposedly they have a visual of him talking about some conspiracy of Nichols’s that may destroy the planet.”

“By doing what?”

Ben shrugged. “I don’t know. I was about to look at it. And it may not matter. According to the granddaughter, he made it while in a Boston mental hospital before he died. However, I can’t get confirmation that Raymond Caldwell was ever at the place. All I know is she seems certain he was there.”

Hamm sat in Ben’s visitor chair. “Let’s see the visual.”

Ben accessed Ray’s message to Sam. When it ended, Hamm leaned back, put his hands behind his head, and laughed. “What a trip. This guy was a neuroscientist and a Christian? I didn’t know such a person could exist. Leave it to the kooks to start talking about the end of the world.” He stood. “Be sure to keep me in the loop on this one. I can’t wait to see what you dig up. But, Ben, don’t dig too deep. Not with Bryson Nichols.”

Ben watched him walk away. He accessed the sixteen-year-old message from Raymond Caldwell to Abigail Caldwell. It verified what Ben had suspected—Abby Caldwell was a Christian too.