The attack on the staircase brought an ambulance even though the Turner estate had enough medical equipment to handle many emergencies on site. Jonas refused to take chances. Within minutes, paramedics were carrying Felix through the front doors while security vehicles cleared the drive ahead of them. Camille rode with Jonas. Paula remained behind, standing beneath the chandelier with Felix’s abandoned slipper in her hand, replaying four words until they felt carved into her thoughts.
She touched it.
Felix had not said she hurt me.
He had said she touched it.
By midnight, the hospital had found nothing new.
Jonas called the mansion shortly after twelve thirty. Felix was stable. Imaging showed no bleeding, swelling, or obvious neurological change. The doctors intended to observe him overnight and repeat several examinations in the morning.
Mrs. Givens delivered the news with visible relief.
Paula felt none.
“What did Felix tell them?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did Mr. Turner say what caused the attack?”
“He said they still don’t know.”
Paula went to bed but never truly slept.
At six in the morning, she heard a car in the circular drive.
Jonas entered first, carrying Felix.
That frightened Paula more than any ambulance.
Felix was not a little boy anymore. Carrying him required effort, yet Jonas held him tightly against his chest while a security guard followed with hospital papers.
Camille walked behind them.
She looked immaculate.
Felix did not.
His eyes were open but unfocused. One arm hung around his father’s neck. When Jonas started toward the staircase, Paula approached.
“Let me prepare his room.”
Jonas nodded.
Camille said, “I already told the hospital staff he needs complete rest.”
Paula ignored her and went ahead.
Felix slept until afternoon.
A neurologist arrived at four, followed by another physician Paula had not seen before. They remained with Felix nearly two hours. Jonas joined them. Camille moved in and out of the room carrying water, medical folders, and once a tray nobody touched.
Paula waited.
At six fifteen, the doctors came downstairs.
Jonas accompanied them to the foyer.
“We are not saying the pain is psychological,” the neurologist told him. “Please understand that.”
“Then tell me what you are saying.”
“We have exhausted the obvious neurological explanations.”
“You said that three months ago.”
“I know.”
“And he’s worse.”
“Yes.”
Jonas ran both hands through his hair.
“What am I supposed to do with that?”
The doctor had no useful answer.
After they left, Jonas stood facing the closed front doors.
Paula watched from the hallway.
For a man accustomed to controlling outcomes, he looked suddenly old.
She almost approached him.
Camille appeared first.
She placed a hand between his shoulder blades.
“We’ll find someone else.”
Jonas did not answer.
“There’s a specialist in Zurich.”
“He has seen specialists in Zurich.”
“Then Boston.”
“He’s been to Boston.”
“We keep trying.”
Jonas turned.
“How many times do we keep doing this to him?”
Camille’s face softened.
“As many times as necessary.”
Paula thought of Felix’s exhausted eyes under hospital lights.
She quietly went upstairs.
His room was dark except for the bedside lamp.
Felix was awake.
“Dad?”
“Downstairs.”
“Camille?”
“With him.”
His shoulders loosened.
Paula noticed.
She pulled the chair closer.
“The doctors left.”
“I know.”
“What did they say to you?”
“That I’m okay.”
His mouth twisted bitterly.
“You know what I mean.”
Paula sat.
“Felix, I need to ask about what happened yesterday.”
He closed his eyes.
“You said Camille touched something.”
“I don’t remember.”
“I think you do.”
“I was hurting.”
“That doesn’t mean you were wrong.”
He turned his face toward the window.
Paula waited.
She had learned long ago that silence often gave frightened children more room than questions did.
Finally he whispered, “She was behind me.”
“On the stairs?”
“Before.”
“Where?”
“My room.”
Paula’s skin prickled.
“What happened?”
“She said my hair was messy.”
“Then?”
“She touched that place.”
“The one you showed me?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“With her fingers?”
“I think.”
“Did you feel anything sharp?”
Felix frowned.
“No. Just pressure.”
“And then the pain started?”
“Not right away.”
“How long?”
“Maybe a minute. Maybe less.”
Paula looked toward the bedroom door.
“Has that happened before?”
Felix’s eyes opened.
He did not answer.
“Felix.”
“A lot.”
The word was barely audible.
Paula felt her heart strike hard against her ribs.
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“I tried.”
“Who?”
“Camille.”
“What did she say?”
“That it couldn’t happen that way.”
“Did you tell your father?”
“Once.”
“And?”
“He called the doctor.”
“Did you tell him Camille had touched your head?”
Felix shook his head.
“Why not?”
His expression suggested the answer should have been obvious.
“She was sitting there.”
Paula stared at him.
For weeks she had treated her concern like a puzzle requiring evidence. Now she saw what that caution had cost. Felix had been trying to navigate the same uncertainty while trapped inside the body experiencing it.
She leaned forward.
“May I examine the spot again?”
Fear crossed his face.
“I won’t do anything without telling you first.”
“What if it starts?”
“Then I stop.”
He swallowed.
“Okay.”
Paula turned on the brighter reading lamp.
Felix sat with his back toward her.
She washed her hands in the adjoining bathroom, dried them carefully, and returned. Then she separated his hair section by section.
The first few passes revealed nothing unusual.
She moved higher.
Felix stiffened.
“Here?”
“No.”
She shifted slightly left.
“No.”
Half an inch lower.
His shoulders jumped.
“There.”
Paula stopped.
Under the bright light, the scalp appeared normal at first glance.
She leaned closer.
A tiny spot disrupted the natural texture of the skin.
Not a wound.
Not exactly.
There was a faint circular mark smaller than the head of a pencil eraser. The surrounding skin was nearly healed.
Paula’s breath slowed.
“How long has that been there?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did a doctor ever mention it?”
“No.”
She gently moved the hair aside.
Something felt different beneath her fingertip.
Hard.
Felix gasped.
Paula withdrew immediately.
“Sorry.”
“It’s starting.”
“What is?”
“The buzzing.”
She stared at him.
“Buzzing?”
“In my head.”
He pressed his palms against his ears.
“It’s coming.”
Paula moved around the bed to face him.
“Felix, look at me.”
His pupils widened.
“Make it stop.”
“I’m not touching you.”
“Please.”
His body went rigid.
A moment later, pain hit him.
He folded forward so abruptly Paula barely caught his shoulder before he slid from the bed.
“Breathe.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
“It burns.”
“Where?”
“Everywhere.”
She wanted to call Jonas.
Her hand moved toward the bedside phone.
Felix grabbed her wrist.
“No.”
“I need help.”
“No Camille.”
“I’ll call your father.”
“She’ll come.”
His grip tightened.
Paula looked at the door.
Then she did something she would later remember as the first deliberate act of disobedience.
She did not call.
She stayed.
For eleven minutes, she counted Felix’s breaths, kept him from striking his head against the bedframe, and watched his body fight an enemy neither of them could see. The attack weakened gradually.
When it ended, Felix collapsed against the pillows.
Paula pulled the blanket over him.
Her hands were shaking.
“You felt buzzing before the pain.”
“Yes.”
“Always?”
“Sometimes.”
“Does anything else happen?”
“My vision gets weird.”
“How?”
“Like light moves.”
“Do you hear sounds?”
“Sometimes clicking.”
She thought of the bathroom.
That small sound against marble.
A click.
Paula sat very still.
“Felix, has Camille ever told you not to let anyone touch that place?”
He stared at her.
“Yes.”
“What exactly did she say?”
“That it’s sensitive and doctors will make it worse.”
Paula felt cold.
The explanation no longer resembled caution.
It resembled control.
A knock came at the door.
Camille entered before Paula answered.
“What happened?”
Her eyes moved from Felix’s exhausted face to Paula.
“Nothing.”
Camille stepped closer.
“He looks terrible.”
“He had another episode.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“He asked me not to.”
Camille’s face changed.
“You allowed a sick twelve-year-old to decide whether adults should respond to a medical event?”
“I stayed with him.”
“That is not your decision.”
“No.”
“Then we agree.”
She moved toward the bed.
Felix recoiled.
“Don’t.”
Camille stopped.
“Felix.”
“I said don’t touch me.”
His voice was weak but clear.
Camille looked at Paula.
“What have you been telling him?”
“Nothing he didn’t already know.”
“Leave.”
Paula remained seated.
“I said leave.”
Felix’s hand found Paula’s sleeve.
“Stay.”
Camille’s expression hardened.
“Felix, Paula works for this family. She does not decide the rules.”
“Neither do you.”
The words surprised everyone, including Felix himself.
Camille stared at him.
Then footsteps sounded in the hallway.
Jonas entered.
“What’s going on?”
Camille turned immediately.
“Paula is upsetting him.”
Felix spoke before Paula could.
“No, she isn’t.”
Jonas stopped.
Felix pushed himself upright.
“I don’t want Camille washing my hair anymore.”
Camille gave a quiet, incredulous laugh.
“This again?”
Jonas looked at his son.
“Why?”
Felix’s courage vanished almost visibly.
“I just don’t.”
“That’s enough,” Jonas said.
Camille stared at him.
“What?”
“If he doesn’t want you doing it, someone else can.”
“You’re indulging irrational fear.”
“He’s twelve.”
“He’s ill.”
“He’s still allowed to say no.”
Camille opened her mouth, then closed it.
Jonas looked at Paula.
“You handle his bath tonight.”
For one second Camille’s composure slipped completely.
“No.”
The room became silent.
Jonas frowned.
“No?”
She recovered quickly.
“I mean he should rest. He doesn’t need one tonight.”
Paula saw it.
So did Jonas, perhaps, though his confusion had not yet become suspicion.
Camille walked toward the door.
“We are all exhausted. This is becoming absurd.”
She left.
Jonas remained with Felix a few minutes longer.
When he finally went downstairs to make a business call, Felix looked at Paula.
“She’s angry.”
“I know.”
“What happens now?”
Paula glanced toward the doorway.
“Tonight, nobody touches your hair except me.”
He looked frightened rather than reassured.
That told her everything.
Hours later, after Jonas had retired to his study and the mansion settled into uneasy quiet, Paula prepared warm water in Felix’s bathroom.
She had no intention of merely washing his hair.
She intended to find out what was beneath it.
And this time, she would not stop at the first thing she could not explain.
Click here to continue reading: PART 4: Beneath Felix’s Hair, Paula Found Something No Diagnosis Had Named, and Holding It Changed the Meaning of Every Previous Night
The Boy in the East Wing Could Not Explain His Pain, but Paula Began Noticing What Everyone Else Had Learned to Ignore
Part 3 of 10
