He set the clipboard on the bedside tray and pulled the curtain halfway around Abigail’s bed.

“I want to test her response to light and pressure,” he said.

“Nothing that will hurt.”

I stood at the foot of the bed with my hands at my sides.

Abigail’s hair was pushed back from her forehead, and a thin blue band circled her wrist.

Dr.

Ortega moved the penlight across her eyes.

Her pupils moved slowly, then more slowly, and he wrote two letters on the page.