up the phone, leaving the Atrium reps with the highly ineffective parting salvo, “Thanks for nothing.” I couldn’t think of anything more clever to say. I was too floored, too angry, too dumbfounded to speak.
Rather than stay stuck in Atrium’s maddening constraints, I turned my attention to the Web, where I found a glimmer of hope in the form of Wilhelm Genetics Access Solutions program—a service for patients and their health-care providers to assist with coverage and reimbursement support. Hopefully, this trip on the insurance merry-go-round would yield me the brass ring.
Wilhelm Genetics newly constructed headquarters in Boston’s downtown financial district stood in stark contrast to the surrounding historic buildings that gave the city its unique architectural character. The towering skyscraper was a rectangular structure, ultramodern in design, which reflected Boston’s scenic harbor in its mirrored glass windows. I entered the foyer, shaking off a seasonally cool early April day in New England. If there was one bit of hope to be extracted from the building’s sleek interior, it was a feeling that this company could afford to be charitable. The burnished marble floors and walls appeared flecked with gold, while the majestic light fixtures descending from a thirty-foot-high ceiling would fit in just fine at the Museum of Fine Arts.
My footsteps echoed across the cavernous space on my way to the security desk, manned by two sentries well dressed in white oxford shirts, black ties, and official-looking badges. I signed the guest registry, noted the time on my iPhone—two minutes until my meeting with Sutcliffe—and then followed their directions to the elevator bank. Already I was shaking, and I hadn’t yet set foot inside what my brain considered a glass tomb.
My mind kept saying, Don’t be late, but my body spoke otherwise.
I wish I had listened to my body.
Acrophobia comes from the Greek ákron, meaning “peak, summit, edge,” and phobos, meaning “fear.” Fear of heights is not an irrational emotion, especially if there is no protection to safeguard one from a fall. But I’m a mountain climber, dammit. I once lived my life on the edge. Now, years after what I did to Brooks Hall, I can’t even get near an edge without getting the shakes. My shrink wasn’t too surprised by the sudden onset of the condition. Acrophobia has historically been attributed to a traumatic experience involving heights. Newer theories have evolved, casting some doubt on that supposition, but I’d be willing to bet none of those theorists ever cut a safety rope, knowing he’d kill the guy bound to the other end.
The elevator chimed, doors whooshed open, and four other people, close to my back and waiting for a ride up, basically pushed me inside. Buttons were pressed. Floor numbers illuminated. I was going to the highest floor. Figured. The doors closed with a Star Trek–like swoosh, and the elevator blasted skyward like a rocket ship. From behind me, I heard an ooooh and aaah from one of the passengers gazing in wonderment at the rapidly diminishing view of downtown Boston. Meanwhile, my throat closed and every pore in my body began to secrete something: salt, water, and fear.
I felt my face flush, heartbeat fluttering like a bird newly freed from its cage. I held my breath but could feel my knees start to go slack. The roomy elevator seemed to get smaller, as if the four people riding up with me were multiplying, engulfing every conceivable square inch of space.
Don’t pass out. . . . Don’t pass out. . . .
I closed my eyes tight, balled my fists. Then I saw him.
Brooks wasn’t wearing his sunglasses, though. His eyes were nothing but two dark voids, wide and round like a doll’s, while his face had gone entirely black from frostbite. My hands involuntarily jerked upward, as though I’d been holding on to a taut rope that had been sliced in two. My mouth formed an O shape, allowing my silent scream to escape. I kept my eyes closed tight and felt fuel injected with panic.
I used to stand on the top of the world.
Just when the air inside the elevator seemed as thin as it did at twenty thousand feet, the voyage came to an abrupt stop. I opened my eyes and saw we were only on the twentieth floor. I jumped out of the elevator, pushing aside a woman who had planned to get off on that floor. She wasn’t bothered by my abruptness, it seemed. I suspected she’d seen my skin go pale as