Free A Deeper Darkness by J.T. Ellison Page A

keep the upper and lower lobes identifiable after they were placed in the formalin-filled organ container. Upper lobes were triangles, lowers were squares. If she needed to pull the jar from evidence to take a second look at the organs from her own posts, she could easily identify which was which. Donovan’s lungs were hard to cut, much tougher than what was normal.
    “What is this?” she asked, under her breath. The bronchioles were covered in scar tissue, developed foreign-body granulomas.
    “Sand,” Nocek said. “From the multiple military engagements in the desert. All of the soldiers we are unfortunate enough to see have this in their bronchial trees, deep in the tissue. They breathe it in and it settles. They practically drown in sand over there.”
    Nausea hit in the pit of her stomach again, hard and sudden, and she felt the edges of her world crumbling.
    Don’t do it, Sam. Don’t even think about it.
    She imagined herself at the sink. The washing was the only solution.
    One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi .
    “Dr. Owens, are you feeling all right? You’ve lost your color.”
    She opened her eyes. Got her breathing under control.
    Normal. Nominal.
    “Yes, I’m fine. Forgive me. I didn’t eat breakfast.”
    She refocused on the section in front of her.
    This is Donovan, Sam. Donovan. Not Simon. Don’t do this now. Not now.
    Sam swallowed down the rising bile and used the back end of her scalpel to scrape away some of the grit.
    “I’ve…” Her voice was weak, broken. She coughed, cleared her throat. “I’ve seen this before. We get soldiers from time to time, as well. Usually 101st Airborne. But…”
    “What is the matter, Dr. Owens?”
    “Call me Sam, please.” She used her gloved finger to roll some of the granulomas. “I meant this. This looks like a more recent irritant. He’s been back over three years. This has been caused by a recent inhalation. But how can that be?”
    She had Nocek’s interest now. Both lungs were put on the dissection board. They each took a side and began to cut. A few moments later, he held a sliver of tissue up to the light, turning it to and fro.
    “You are correct, Doctor…excuse me. Sam. There is old scar tissue from the sand, but there is also newer, fresher areas of irritation, in the air sacs. See here, in the central tracheobronchial tree? It’s barely visible, but it’s there.”
    “Yes. I see it.”
    He moved to Donovan’s head, took up a small swab, directed it up the left nostril. He pulled it back and examined it. “And a minuscule amount here, in the maxillary sinus cavity. And more irritation to the trachea. This is certainly a more recent occurrence.”
    He snapped the swab into a tube, then laid his long-boned fingers across his chest. “We must have these tested immediately. The presence of the penetrating gunshot wound may have misguided our initial examination. As head of the department, I take full responsibility.”
    Nocek looked pained. Sam felt bad for him. It was an easy miss.
    “Well, I appreciate that, but before we go jumping to conclusions, let’s finish and see if there’s anything else left to find.”

Chapter Thirteen
    McLean, Virginia
Susan Donovan
    Susan glanced at the clock, saw it was 10:30. Damn it. The morning had gotten away from her. She’d been sitting at the kitchen table, lost in thought, for the better part of two hours. A cup of coffee had gone cold and scummy at her elbow. The papers were spread before her: a copy of Eddie’s will, the investments, insurance and bank statements. Since he’d returned from overseas, she’d let him handle the finances. It gave him a sense of control. Now she had to see where they stood.
    She got up and dumped the coffee in the sink, poured herself a fresh cup. Skipped the milk and sugar. The sugar tasted wrong somehow, cloying and overpowering. Poisoned by memories. Eddie had drunk his coffee black. She would do so, as well.
    The war had changed him. She