Chapter 3 - The Doctor in Chinatown
The rain in Manhattan was greasy, dark, and relentless, reflecting the neon red and green signs of Mott Street in oily puddles along the asphalt.
It had taken three grueling hours to make the journey. They had jumped the slow-moving freight train at the Long Island crossing, hiding inside an empty timber car wrapped in heavy canvas tarps to keep Lucy warm, before slipping off the train in the subterranean switching yards beneath Queens.
Now, Hannah stood in a narrow, foul-smelling alley in the heart of Chinatown, holding a sleeping Lucy wrapped tightly inside her wool coat. Beside her, Grant stood tall, his dark coat soaked through with rain, his face impassive despite the cold.
Hannah reached out, pressing a rusty brass doorbell beside a faded green wooden door marked with Chinese calligraphy.
For a long moment, nothing happened. Then, a small sliding hatch in the door clicked open. A pair of sharp, elderly eyes peered out through the metal grate.
"We are closed," a raspy, accented voice called out in English. "Go away."
"Dr. Chen," Grant spoke up, stepping closer to the door so the faint light illuminated his striking face. "Tell my father that the iron crane on Pier 17 is still standing."
The eyes behind the grate widened in shock.
A series of heavy deadbolts clicked open. The heavy door swung inward, revealing a small, frail elderly Chinese man wearing an oversized knitted cardigan over a traditional linen tunic.
"Grant?" Dr. Samuel Chen gasped, staring at the blind crime lord in disbelief. "Mercer? My God... I heard you were dead or locked away in that fortress in Long Island!"
"I was locked away, Samuel," Grant said softly, stepping inside the warm, narrow hallway. "And I need your help."
Dr. Chen quickly slammed the door shut, throwing the deadbolts back into place. He looked from Grant to Hannah, his eyes lingering on the tired, shivering young woman and the child in her arms.
"Come upstairs," Dr. Chen commanded softly. "Quickly. Before someone sees you from the street."
They climbed a creaky set of wooden stairs into a hidden second-floor apartment that smelled strongly of dried herbs, rubbing alcohol, and old paper. The main room was lined with ancient glass medicine cabinets, copper instruments, and an ancient slit-lamp eye examination microscope sitting on a heavy iron table in the center.
Dr. Chen helped Hannah lay the sleeping Lucy down on a comfortable leather cot near a small radiator, wrapping her in a thick fleece blanket.
"Who is this girl, Grant?" Dr. Chen asked, pouring three cups of hot green tea from a clay pot.
"This is Hannah Reed," Grant said, leaning against the edge of the iron table. "And her daughter, Lucy. Hannah saved my life today, Samuel."
Dr. Chen handed Hannah a warm cup, giving her a deep, respectful nod before turning his attention back to Grant. "What happened? Word on the street is that Daniel Cross has been consolidating power across the entire harbor for six months. He tells the Commission that you are completely incapacitated."
"I was incapacitated," Grant said bitterly. "Because Vernon Hale has been giving me Atropine drops every week for five years."
Dr. Chen’s cup paused halfway to his lips. "What?"
Hannah stepped forward, pulling the tiny glass vial from her pocket and setting it on the tray. "Lucy clicked a flashlight in his face yesterday. His pupils constricted. When I checked his eyes, he showed signs of light reflex response. I found this vial in his bedroom this morning."
Dr. Chen snatched up the vial, holding it under a bright desk lamp to inspect the liquid and the tiny batch code printed on the bottom. His face turned dark with fury.
"That evil bastard," Dr. Chen hissed, slamming the vial onto the table. "Vernon Hale took an oath!"
"Can you examine him, Doctor?" Hannah asked, her voice tight with anticipation. "Can you tell us if his optic nerve is truly destroyed?"
Dr. Chen didn't answer with words. He immediately flipped a switch on the slit-lamp microscope, causing a bright, narrow beam of white light to illuminate the dark room. He adjusted the iron chin-rest.
"Sit down, Grant," Dr. Chen commanded sharply.
Grant sat in the heavy chair, placing his chin into the leather frame.
Dr. Chen pulled back Grant’s right eyelid with gloved fingers, swinging the powerful beam of light directly into his gray pupil.
Hannah held her breath, her hands clenching into tight fists at her sides.
For two agonizing minutes, the room was silent save for the hum of the electrical transformer in the lamp and the steady breathing of the sleeping child on the cot. Dr. Chen swapped lenses, adjusting the focus dial back and forth, peering deep into the back of Grant’s eye with a specialized ophthalmoscope.
Finally, Dr. Chen pulled back. He turned off the light, leaving the room illuminated only by the faint orange glow of the streetlamps outside.
"Well?" Grant demanded, his voice strained with an emotion he couldn't hide. "Tell me the truth, Samuel. I can take it."
Dr. Chen slowly removed his rubber gloves, throwing them into a wastebin. He looked at Grant with an expression that was half-grief, half-furious hope.
"The explosion at Pier 17 caused severe blast trauma and retinal swelling, Grant," Dr. Chen explained softly. "Five years ago, your vision would have been severely impaired by blood clots and tissue inflammation. But the optic nerve itself... it was never severed."
Grant went completely still. "Say that again."
"Your optic nerve is intact," Dr. Chen repeated, his voice rising with conviction. "The reason you haven't seen a single ray of light in five years is because Hale has been flooding your eyes with high-dose paralytics and chemical clouding agents disguised as anti-inflammatory medicine. He was deliberately keeping your retinas swollen and your pupils dilated so your brain couldn't process visual signals!"
A single tear escaped Grant’s right eye, tracing a slow path down his scarred cheek. It was the first time in five years he had wept.
"So... I can see again?" Grant asked, his voice trembling violently.
"If we flush the chemical toxins out of your system," Dr. Chen said, moving over to a glass cabinet and pulling out several sterile saline bottles and specialized counter-acting eye drops. "It will take three days of intense flushing and pharmacological reversal. Your vision won't be perfect immediately—you will experience extreme light sensitivity, blurring, and double vision as your brain relearns how to process visual images. But yes, Grant..."
Dr. Chen placed a hand firmly on Grant’s shoulder.
"...In three days, you will look at the world again."
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Before Grant could respond, a sudden, sharp shatter of glass echoed from the ground floor below.
The sound of heavy boots slammed onto the wooden stairs, followed by the cold, metallic racking of an automatic shotgun slide.
