Page 57 of London
It was almost midnight. The room, dimly lit by candlelight, smelled of warm wax and antiseptic. The priest and the rest of the family had gone, knowing the end was near, leaving Gerard and his mother to spend a few last moments alone with his father.
At sixteen, he’d never seen anyone die, couldn’t imagine doing so, but here he was watching the man he’d always loved and admired suck in and exhale his last painfilled breaths.
His father lay in bed, his eyes sometimes closed, at others open, glassy because of the morphine. He moaned softly now and then, his features contorted in pain. With agonizing difficulty, his chest rose and fell, each ragged breath a supreme effort.
Across the bed from Gerard, his mother sat, a stoic statue. How could she endure it? How could she be so strong, so serene after days of unanswered prayers, watching the man she loved above all others wither away? Her eyes, moist with unshed tears, stared down at her husband, but her face remained calm. She smiled through her pain, murmuring soothing platitudes, her voice low and comforting.
How futile it all was. His dad was dying, damn it! What possible comfort was there with everything about to end? Tears born as much in grief as in fury brimmed in his eyes. There was nothing he could do to stop this.
His father turned his gaze on him, his brown eyes suddenly frighteningly lucid.
“Take care of your mother, mon fils,” he whispered, his voice raspy, the words struggling to escape from his dry, cracked lips. “Be a good man. Enjoy life, be kind… Be happy.”
Gerard squeezed his dad’s hand in his, tears coursing down his cheeks. “How can I be happy when you won’t be here?”
His father smiled, the gesture transforming his features.
“I’ll always be here. I’ll always… look after you and your mother. My love for you won’t vanish… not even in death.”
His chest rose one more time, as he dragged yet another breath into his lungs, his eyes focused on Gerard’s face. But, instead of exhaling, his breathing stopped, the air slowly seeping out of him like a balloon with a pin hole in it. His grip on Gerard’s handloosened; his features relaxed and softened, as death claimed him.
Realizing the end had arrived, his mother gave in to her own pain, collapsing in sobs over her beloved husband’s body. Gerard sat there numb, holding his father’s hand, staring at his face, now peaceful and relaxed, resembling once more the man he’d been.
Through the blur of tears, the face morphed into that of a little girl.Her scalp, once covered by beautiful blonde hair, was bare. Sunken cheeks and dark shadows replaced the once healthy countenance. Gerard reached out a hand to soothe her brow, but her green eyes, filled with accusation, glared up at him.
“Why did you let me die, Doctor Leon?” she whispered, her voice heartbreaking. “I had so many things to do, so many dreams to fulfill… Why wouldn’t you save me? Why wouldn’t you take away the pain… Why did you let it kill me?”
“No!”
Gerard’s own scream woke him. His breathing was ragged and rapid, his pulse hammering at his temple. Beside him, Linda stroked his hair, trying to wake him up.
“It was just a dream, darling, only a bad dream,” she whispered. “Wake up. Please wake up. It’s only a bad dream.”
Gerard fought to control his breathing, to focus on the here and now. The house was quiet, the only sound the ticking of an old clock on the wall. He probably hadn’t slept more than an hour or so.
Linda was wrong. It hadn’t been just a dream. It had been a flashback, a memory, a repetition of the past, of the reality he’d been unable to stop, helpless to change. Lara’s accusing words echoed in the back of his mind.
Shivering, he lay his head on Linda’s chest and pulled her into his arms, desperate to feel her close. She continued to caress him, to talk gently, sometimes in English, at other times in Italian. He didn’t care what she said; he only wanted to hear her voice. Slowly, the warmth of her embrace shattered the cold filling him. His muscles relaxed, but he continued to hold her.
“What was the dream about?” she asked softly. “They say that if you talk about nightmares, it’s easier to forget them.”
“I dreamed about my father’s death,” he said, his throat dry. “And about Lara. I could have saved her, Linda. If I hadn’t followed procedure, if I’d gone ahead and treated her with my serum, I might have saved her.”
“You don’t know that,” she protested vehemently. “Besides, you aren’t a vigilante, Gerard. You don’t break the rules and doing that would have been unethical.”
“Would it have been? Even if I could have saved her life?”
“Yes. First of all, you don’t know for sure that it would’ve worked. You might have caused her more harm. If you hadn’t obeyed the rules and been caught, you would’ve lost your license to practice medicine. In the long run, that would have meant more patients dying because you were no longer a physician. You did the right thing. There was nothing more you could do.”
He wasn’t convinced, but he listened to her words, felt her steady heartbeat under his ear, and let sleep claim him once more.
Chapter Fifteen
Linda fought to ignore the annoying ray of sun that found its way through the shutters and into her eyes. Turning over, she craved more sleep. She hovered on the edge of dreamlessness when a loudcock-a-doodle-doomade her jump. A cacophony of noises from an army of unknown beasts outside followed the sound. She sat up, shoving her tousled hair out of her eyes.
“What the hell is that?” she asked, offended that something so alien should interrupt her sleep.
Gerard laughed and leaned on one elbow.
