The Devil's Chord

Chapter Fifteen

John actually dropped his pen this time. “What?”

Sherlock gazed up at the ceiling. “Please. It’s glaringly obvious. Her mobile is void of numbers or letters, clearly customized to her specifications. She refused hard copy documents in favor of digital. We never saw her without her Bluetooth on her ear. She mistakenly entered my room at Aria because she was unable to read the name on the door. Then there was the questionnaire the maid handed to her regarding her preferences. If you recall, Miss Walker asked what it was after frowning at it and rubbing the side of her head.”

He decided not to mention her inability to recognize the nicotine box had been the trigger for his own epiphany regarding her disability.

“But you were able to read before the car accident?” John asked.

She nodded.

“How have you been able to function at work?”

“I’m very, very careful. I request digital documentation. I have software that connects to my Bluetooth device allowing me to complete my work. Fortunately, since I move from company to company, it reduces the likelihood of my disability being discovered.”

“What happens when you try to read?” John asked.

Her mouth twisted. “My brain can’t process it. There’s no discernible pattern of repeating letters. I can still write, but while I’m certain I’ve written my own name, once it’s on paper, it’s unintelligible to me.”

“It sounds like a severe form of dyslexia,” John said, his tone thoughtful. “I could access a few medical journals and look into it for you, if you’d like.”

“I’d appreciate it, Doctor Watson, but it’s not my most immediate concern. While I’ve been able to manage without being able to read, my auditory hallucinations have become more and more disruptive.”

Sherlock noted her white-knuckled grip on the arm of the chair. “You’re hearing them right now, aren’t you?”

She gave a tremulous smile. “Do either of you hear heavy traffic or two men arguing?”

John shook his head.

She sighed. “Like I said, it’s worse in the evenings.”

John shot him a concerned look.

Sherlock frowned. No wonder the nicotine patch was proving ineffective. She’d likely need two or three to take the edge off at this rate.

“Is that all you’re hearing right now?” he asked, intrigued.

Her green eyes went unfocused. “No. There are layers of sounds all competing for my attention. They’re mostly garbled and indecipherable, but sometimes I can identify a word, tone, or familiar sound.”

His eyes narrowed. “Familiar how?”

“Even after six months, I can still hear the beeping sounds of my heart rate monitor and the whirring of the hospital air conditioner.”

“You did experience a traumatic event,” John said. “Those sounds could be ingrained in your memory now.”

“That’s one explanation of some of the facts,” Sherlock said, tapping a finger against his lips.

He dropped his hand as John’s words triggered a cascade of information.

He stared at Miss Walker. It was possible.

He sat down on the coffee table so he could face her at eye level. “I’m going to walk you through a mental exercise. It’ll help calm your mind so we can isolate the sounds you’re hearing.”