Barnard finally reentered the room, in a panic, Edison bumped his elbow on the examination table. A sharp resonant ping of pain vibrated his arm where it connected. Mr. Jacobi, the boy’s equally impatient father, also jolted upright from the stark wall he’d braced himself against. “I found it.” The doctor handed a sheet of paper and a pen to Edison. “I’m sorry to frighten you like that, since it turned out to be such a simple matter. I only needed the nurse to replicate the original.” Mr. Jacobi’s large, squared shoulders relaxed. “This shouldn’t take long. Just tell him what you want.” What I want. Tell him what I want. Edison’s hands shook the paper. “I want new eyes.” Both the doctor and his father smiled, encouragingly. “Of course,” Dr. Barnard said. “And you’re entitled to them.” Mr.
