Page 63 of Blind Justice

The hum of machines filled the room, their steady rhythm both grounding and suffocating. Ruth lay still, propped up against the pillows in the hospital bed, her body feeling too heavy, too foreign. A pillow cradled her head, but the pain in her head was relentless—a dull, throbbing reminder of the fragile line she was walking.

Darkness stretched around her, endless and disorienting. She blinked, but it made no difference. She touched her face to make sure her eyes weren’t covered. The blackness didn’t shift, didn’t waver, no matter how much she tried to will it away. It was as though she had been swallowed by an abyss, her body tethered to reality only by the faint sensations around her—the cold plastic of the bed rail beneath her hand, the scratchy fabric of the blanket covering her legs, the antiseptic tang of the air that stung her nose.

Tristan and James were speaking nearby, their voices low and grim. Though their words were measured, she could sense the tension threading through them, tightening the air like a coiled spring.

“Diffuse swelling,” James’s voice was clinical, detached, yet not unkind. She couldn’t see what he was pointing to, but she imagined his finger tracing over her CT scans. “But here—” He paused. “This could explain why she’s not seeing anything.”

Ruth’s throat tightened. The words sent a chill rippling through her, colder than the sterile air around her.Not seeing anything.She wanted to scream at them. She knew she couldn’t see. Did they think she hadn’t noticed?

“It matches her complaint before the procedure.” Tristan’s voice was softer than James’s but no less serious. “She said she couldn’t see. The resident dismissed it, but this... this shows why. And it may not be transient.”

Ruth swallowed, her mouth dry. Her lips felt cracked, the taste of saline lingering on her tongue. She wanted to reach out, to interrupt them, to demand they tell her what they planned to do about it. Instead, she lay frozen, unable to summon the strength to move or speak.

“Occipital edema,” James said. “It’s putting pressure on the visual cortex. The steroids and osmotic agents are doing their job—her ICP’s already dropped to 22. But now it’s a waiting game. We can only wait to see if the swelling decreases enough for her vision to return.”

A waiting game. The words echoed in her mind, cruel and hollow. Wasn’t that what her entire existence had become since waking up in this disorienting darkness?

Tristan’s voice cut through her thoughts, “She’s strong. She’ll fight through this.”

Would she? She wasn’t sure anymore. Fear and frustration pressed against her chest, suffocating her as much as the machines and wires tethering her to this bed.

Her voice felt foreign to her as she spoke, hoarse and broken. “I can’t... I still can’t see.”

There was a pause before James responded, “It’s the swelling, Ruth. The pressure is affecting the part of your brain responsible for vision. We’ve started medication to reduce it, and the pressure inside your head is already improving. But it’s going to take time.”

Time.She wanted to yell that she didn’t have time, that every second spent in this void was unbearable. Instead, her hand clenched weakly around the blanket, her body trembling as she whispered, “I’m... I’m so scared. What if it doesn’t come back? What if?—”

“Hey,” Tristan interrupted, his tone steady and reassuring. “You’re in good hands. We’ll do everything possible to help you heal. But for now, you need rest. Let us carry the worry for a while, okay?”

She didn’t answer. Words felt meaningless. Her lips quivered as the darkness pressed against her, heavier than the walls she couldn’t see. Tears welled in her eyes, hot and persistent, spilling over as she turned her face into the pillow.

“Go,” she finally muttered, her voice raw. “Talk to my family. Tell them what’s going on. I’m... I’m okay. I’m tired. Just not ready to see anyone.”

James hesitated. “Are you sure?”

Her laugh broke through the sobs, bitter and hollow. “See them? Isn’t that funny? I can’t see anything.”

The tears came harder now, wrenching and uncontrollable. She buried her face deeper into the blanket, trying to muffle the sound, but it didn’t help. The sobs tore through her, unstoppable.

There was a long silence. She felt a hand on her arm, steady but light. “We’ll give you some space,” James said gently. “But we’re right outside if you need anything.” He opened her clenched fist and slipped the call button inside.

She didn’t respond. The sound of their footsteps retreated, the soft slide of the door closing, leaving her alone in the silence and the endless, unbearable darkness.

* * *

In the waiting room,Noah, Charlotte, Isobel, Alex, and Brad stood when James and Tristan entered, their expressions tense and expectant. James cleared his throat. “Her ICP has come down a point, and we’ve started aggressive treatment to reduce the swelling. But she’s still unable to see. It’s temporary, most likely, but... we need to wait and see.”

“Can we see her?” Isobel asked, her voice trembling.

Tristan shook his head gently. “She’s not ready for visitors. She asked for space.”

From the far corner of the room, Noah stood listening, his arms crossed and his jaw tight. The words struck him like a blow, but his resolve only hardened. Without a word, he turned and strode toward Ruth’s room, ignoring the surprised looks from the others.

“Noah—” James began, but Noah was already gone.

Noah stepped into the hospital room, the quiet hum of machines filling the space. The sterile scent of disinfectant clung to the air, but as he moved closer, something deeper settled in—the sharp bite of gasoline, the lingering trace of steak sauce, and the familiar woodsy cologne that still clung to his clothes.

On the bed, Ruth lay motionless, her body stiff with frustration and fear. The sight of her—so still, so vulnerable—made something in his chest twist painfully.

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