Chapter 6 #2
Saffron breathed hard through her nose and kept her lips pressed together as if to prevent anything else coming up.
She looked miserably ill. Alexander contemplated for the twentieth time his line of reasoning for not taking her to hospital immediately upon finding her.
The university’s hospital was just across the street.
The pile of papers and books he’d shoved off the couch to make room for her wasn’t helping his anxiety.
The broken glass taunted him from across the room.
His fingers itched to clean it up. In fact, this room made his whole body vibrate with the need to fix the enormous mess that was everywhere.
But he didn’t have to clean it now. He didn’t.
After a few long minutes, Saffron spoke in a soft, croaking voice, “What’s the time?”
Alexander shook himself from his calming fantasy of sweeping the mess out of the window. “I won’t be party to this absurd experiment, Saffron.”
Saffron grimaced, her eyes still closed. “Just write it down on the paper.”
That placid order nearly undid all the work he’d done to keep calm. He was out of his mind with worry, and she was acting like nothing was wrong. His words came out harshly. “You can’t be serious. You can’t experiment on yourself. It isn’t safe.”
“You don’t need to rage at me,” Saffron mumbled, stirring a bit from her stupor. She opened her eyes and glanced around. “Did you take down the time? If not, give me the paper, and I can.”
“I should tear that blasted paper up.”
“Alexander—”
Temper getting the better of him, Alexander glared down at her.
“What is it? To save Dr. Maxwell? It’s being handled by the police.
To prove yourself? I understand that it’s hard to be a woman in academia—one that has ambitions—but this seems a stupidly dangerous way to go about it.
Why didn’t you just take the bloody journal to the police? ”
Saffron fixed him with a weary look of disdain that he wouldn’t have thought her capable of.
“The police suspect that Cynthia Henry was poisoned by the xolotl vine. They’ve taken all of Dr. Maxwell’s research, but I’m absolutely sure there was nothing in it depicting actual accounts of poisoning.
That journal provides a decades old secondhand account recorded by the very man they believe is responsible.
The police would never actually test it out on someone.
I dosed myself with xolotl so I didn’t have to see Dr. Maxwell imprisoned because of insufficient evidence.
” This speech seemed to tire her out, as she breathed heavily and somehow went even paler.
She didn’t relent, however, and with a tremulous voice, added, “I can’t lose him. I won’t let it happen.”
Alexander stood up, pushing his hair through his hands. She was right about the police not trusting the contents of the journal, and right that they wouldn’t test xolotl on someone to find out if the symptoms listed were accurate. But it was still absurdly dangerous that she’d taken it herself.
“I should really summon a doctor,” Alexander muttered, half to himself.
Saffron blinked up at him, the brilliant blue of her eyes stark in the whiteness of her face. “Please, Alexander. The journal says exactly what is going to happen, and it’s been right so far. Intense pain followed by a brief loss of consciousness, vomiting, coldness and numbness in extremities—”
“What?” Alexander stared at her. “Numbness in your extremities?”
She nodded. “I suppose you didn’t get that far in the journal, then. I can’t move my hands, feet, or ankles. I assume it’ll be my legs, next.”
The admission was made with shocking detachment, as if she really did think this was just an experiment. He stared down at her, noticing for the first time that she wasn’t wearing stockings. Why, he couldn’t fathom. He’d absently noted her shoes were on the floor next to the glass.
“Damn it all, Saffron, you could be in serious danger. I’m calling for a doctor.” He moved toward the door.
“And what exactly will you say?”
Alexander stopped and matched her glare. “You’re not at all concerned that you can’t move?”
“Of course I’m concerned!”
His blood pressure spiking, Alexander pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed deeply before responding. “Then why are you arguing about retrieving a doctor?”
“Would you be kind enough to examine my feet and ankles, please?” Saffron asked politely, her expression infuriatingly calm.
Gritting his teeth, Alexander jerked his chair to the end of the couch, where Saffron’s slender limbs rested against the cushions and sat.
“What … what are these lines?” His eyes traced the blue lines streaking her pale toes.
They were faint, no more than the press of veins against fair skin, so much so that Alexander thought for a moment that was what they were.
But the pattern didn’t seem correct. The lines zigzagged like lightning bolts.
“The journal describes them as marks like branches of a tree. Is that what they look like?” Saffron sat up further. Her skirt, the same shade of blue as the lines, slid up her knee an inch more. “Oh my, they really do look like that, don’t they?”
The fascination in her voice was off-putting. He stood and retrieved the journal, eyes rushing over the page, trying to make sense of the indecipherable words.
“Here, let me,” Saffron offered. “Dr. Maxwell’s handwriting would make anyone lose their mind.”
He handed her the dilapidated journal, and she made no movement to take it from him. She smiled slightly and looked to where her hand lay at her side. Blue tinged her fingers. “You’ll have to hold it for me.”
Alexander moved his chair a few inches and sat, propping the book up in his hands so she could see it. He was close enough to see her individual eyelashes, like when they were cloistered together in the hall during the dinner party.
Saffron cleared her throat, those dark eyelashes fluttering. “It says, ‘The blue lines mark the progression of the paralysis, receding when movement returns.’ So, you see, the marks show exactly how severe the paralysis is, and will fade when I regain movement. Which should be soon.”
The bright enthusiasm in her words didn’t quite disguise the tension in her eyes. She was afraid, just as Alexander was. Just the word “paralysis” might prove to be too much for him.
She must have seen he was unconvinced, because she added a touch sardonically, “I don’t think either of us particularly wants to explain to a doctor or the police why I’m suffering from poisoning while we’re both involved in a poisoning investigation.”
As if that would stop him from getting her assistance. When he opened his mouth to object, she added, “And I’ll remind you that I didn’t ask you—”
Her words were stymied at the fierce glare he gave her. “Give me one good reason not to retrieve a doctor right now.”
Saffron frowned up at him. “If the lines reach my neck, I’ll agree to you calling for a doctor.”
“If they reach your neck,” Alexander bit out, “that means the entirety of your body would be paralyzed. I’m not waiting until then to get help.”
He attempted to pace around the room, but it was impossible with the clutter.
“Look at the lines now,” Saffron said. They’d reached her calves and wrists, staining her fair skin with blue.
“They’ve progressed, as has the sensation of coolness and paralysis.
It’s going exactly how it said it would.
Given how little xolotl I consumed, and that I, er, got rid of it immediately after—”
“You’re basing your hypothesis on incredibly unreliable information.”
“That has thus far proven to be exactly accurate,” Saffron said.
Her shoulders shrugged, and Alexander realized she must have been attempting to throw her hands in the air with exasperation.
“How long has it been—ten minutes? Fifteen? Give me half an hour more. If it’s still progressing and not receding, then I will agree to call for a doctor. ”