28. Chapter 28
Chapter 28
T he treatment was going well. At least so Sylvia assumed, based on the fact she was feeling awful.
Dr. Deniau had come up with a device that looked like an adjustable metal collar with a thick needle protruding out of it. She’d inject the needle, such as on Sylvia’s arm or leg, and attach the collar so the needle stayed fixed inside Sylvia. That wasn’t the worst part. Though Sylvia had been generously dosed with sedatives and pain-dulling drugs, she could still feel—and she could feel something extending out of the needle inside her , digging through the soft interior of her bones.
Since they were going for this method, the doctor also needed more X-radiation scans to find all areas of the body where the almonite had settled; they couldn’t afford to miss any, just as they couldn’t afford to drill injections into places where there was none.
For the first two days, when Dr. Deniau had worked on her arms, Sylvia thought she was faring rather well. She was weak, but Will helped her from the hotel to the lab and back and stood watchful at the hotel, reminding her many times that she should notify him immediately if she started feeling ill. By the evening, the pain usually dulled enough for Sylvia to fall into a shallow, restless sleep, plagued by mechanical monsters and the silvery eyes of her husband.
Then came the extraction of the almonite from her legs, and Sylvia could barely walk. The first night, she stumbled when they were ascending the stairs at the hotel; Will caught her, and she was too exhausted to appreciate the touch of his hands against her waist, and in almost too much pain to thank him and brush off his concerns.
The next day, there was no going back to the hotel. Both Will and Dr. Deniau had noticed her state was too dire, and the doctor prepared her a room at the lab where she could stay, permanently strapped to the examination bed, the collar drilling a hole into her, and then another, and then another. Beneath the fading lights, she lost count of time, hours, days, and any feeling of the world outside the little windowless room. She vaguely remembered the smell of fresh grass and the comforting cold of the light breeze as she stood atop the Richling Creek valley and painted the mountains, the welcoming rays of the sun in the morning, the stars swirling above her on a warm summer night. Surely, that life couldn’t be attached to this aching body, this failing mind.
Two voices argued outside.
“Because it will kill her!”
Sylvia blinked slowly, testing to see if that would hurt, too.
“… already come this far … won’t help to stop …”
Dr. Deniau, with Will on her heels, strode into the room.
“Lady Ross,” the doctor began. “The good news is, after the current round, there is only one more section to go. ”
But good news always meant bad news too, didn’t it?
“The last one is your chest area. I found traces of almonite in your sternum and the third, fourth, and fifth rib. It won’t hurt any more than it does now, but …”
“You’re very weak,” Will said. “I do not think it is safe to continue.”
“Just one more?” Sylvia asked. The doctor nodded. “I’d come this far,” she said to Will. “What is the point in stopping now?”
“The point is that you don’t die,” he bit and ran a hand through his hair. “We have three vials of almonite already. That’s enough for a bargain. If we can’t do anything else, we’ll give them to Ross in exchange for him to leave you alone. Give you your life back.”
He was babbling nonsense. Sylvia smiled—internally only, since she couldn’t find it in her to quirk her lips. How come she was here, dosed on chemicals and full of holes, and she had a sounder mind? They couldn’t let her husband take this. And she couldn’t let it stay inside her.
“I’m ready,” she said to Dr. Deniau and ignored the feeling deep within that told her she wasn’t.
She’d mercifully dozed off while the collar continued drilling at her leg. When she woke up, perhaps a few hours later, Will was sleeping on a chair beside her bed, his ruffled dark head hung low on his chest. At least lately, the pain had been bad enough that it chased away her less pleasant dreams. Or maybe he’d chased them away by guarding her.
The next morning—as Sylvia surmised based on the sleeping rhythms of the other two—Dr. Deniau prepared her for the last phase. The collar was off, and instead came a half-plate that reminded Sylvia of the knights of old, except this one had holes for the dreaded needles. Holes. Not very useful to a knight .
The doctor plunged in the needles and attached each to a tube that led to a collecting box beside the bed.
“See, it’s not so bad.” It was meant for Will, but, too tired to turn, Sylvia said it at the ceiling.
In a few more hours, the pain woke her again. She swiveled her head to the side. Will was there still, staring into space and flicking his gaze to hers when he caught movement.
“Drugs. For the pain,” Sylvia rasped.
“Dr. Deniau had already given them to you. We can’t do it again in such a short time.”
They don’t hold anymore. It’s too late.
“How are you?” he asked.
Sylvia was certain he didn’t want to hear a truthful answer. “Did you go … to the Exposition,” she squeezed out.
“Expo—of course not. I don’t have the time.”
“I thought…” she tried shrugging her shoulders, but it probably didn’t do anything. “You know … when in Paris.”
The briefest smile passed his lips. Look at that. She was funny. She only needed to come to the verge of death to discover her talent.
He was so handsome when he smiled.
“What would you go see?” she asked.
“All of it, I think. And I’d like to go to the top of the Eiffel Tower. The very top. The general public is not allowed there.”
And I’d have gone with you. Anywhere. Everywhere.
“I’ll see … if I can clear … my schedule.”
He didn’t smile this time. He scooted closer and grabbed her clammy hand. The edges of her vision blurred in tears. He moved closer and closer and finally broke into a yelp of pain and pressed his cheek to hers. With the last bit of strength, she raised her other arm and dug her fingers into his hair.
So many things she hadn’t done. Said a proper goodbye to James, to her mother. Invented a nickname for Emily so she, too, could drive her mad. Kissed Will any other time after the night of the dance. What a shame.
“Will,” she breathed, and slowly, slowly, closed her eyes.
***
Ethan Ralkin carefully pried open the door to his daughter's bedroom, his chest paralyzed in fear. He hadn’t heard her cough for the past half hour—what if she—
“Papa?”
His lungs filled with air again. “Are you awake?”
“If I weren’t, I wouldn’t have answered, would I?” Penny scooted up in her bed.
Ethan smiled. She joked—that was a good sign.
He slowly crossed over to the bed. “It’s time, darling.”
“You have it?”
He brought his hand from behind his back, showing her the syringe filled with dark blue liquid.
Penny shivered.
“Don’t be afraid. It’s just a needle.”
“Papa,” she chided, “if I were afraid of needles, I don’t think I’d have made it this far.”
True. God knew she’d been poked and prodded enough by the doctors in the past few years .
“I’m just afraid of going there.”
“It’ll be fine.” Ethan sat down and rubbed her cold, clammy hand. “Mr. Lien will be there. He’ll take care of you. They’ll heal you, and you’ll be back here like this.” He clicked his fingers.
“Can’t you go with me?”
“There’s only enough for one.”
If only Lady Ross hadn’t escaped—or had been rescued—before they’d gotten more. But the clock was ticking, and Ethan couldn’t rely on Ross to provide additional samples in time. If Penny died before that happened, he’d never forgive himself. So she had to go now—even if it meant he couldn’t go with her.
Penny took a shallow, raspy breath, and turned up the sleeve of her nightgown. Ethan cleaned the inner side of her elbow and readied the syringe.
“It’s not fair,” she said. “It will be longer for me than for you.”
“I know. But I’ll be right here. Just hold on.” He kissed her on the forehead. “You’ll be brave, I know. Like your mother was.”
Penny nodded, gathering courage, and clenched her teeth as the needle pierced her skin. Ethan injected the contents, put it on the bedside table, and steadied his daughter. “Any strange feelings?”
She began shaking her head but stopped mid-motion. “Shivers,” she said. “Crawling under my skin.”
From the point of injection, dark blue spread through the veins of her pasty white arm.
“It’s all right. That’s exactly how it was with me,” he consoled her. “It’ll pass.”
The blue spread further. Penny coughed. Ethan turned to get water; as he looked back, the veins of blue were already progressing up her face .
That never happened when he received almonite at his initiation into the Watchers.
Don’t panic. The regular almonite serum had been different. This one was more potent—of course it would have stronger effects.
“Papa,” Penny rasped. “I can’t …” She waved her hand in front of her mouth, gasping for air.
“Penny!”
Her face turned red, a terrifying contrast with the blue branches of veins underneath.
He hoisted her into his lap. “Bend forward. Breathe. Breathe, Penny, breathe!”
She coughed, convulsed, and stilled.
No.
Ethan turned her around. Pale unblinking eyes stared back.
“Penny,” he whimpered, pressing her close. It was just shock. She’d be back. Unforeseen effect of the serum. But she’d be fine. Some of the Watchers had bad symptoms when they were injected, too.
Penny lay still and silent, eyes gazing upwards, not seeing.
“Penny.” His voice turned into a sob, then broke completely.
Ethan didn’t know how long he sat there, grasping his daughter’s dead body. He rocked her gently, like when she was a baby, tears falling on the rose-scented cotton of her nightgown.
He promised it would work. He promised.
Ethan’s head shot up, rage burning through the tears in his eyes. It wasn’t over yet.
He rushed downstairs, violently jerking open the door to the lab. He made a few circles around it before he calmed down enough for coherent thoughts. He may not have the almonite anymore, but he still had all his years of research. As Ross said, impossible only means someone is not trying hard enough.
Well, he would try. He had nothing left on this Earth but trying.
He began rifling through the drawers, not yet sure of what he needed, when he caught a stain on the floor with the corner of his eye.
No, not a stain. A footprint of a shoe left with something brown and sticky. One here, and a faint trail that led around the table, two more at the cabinet, one more over at the shelf …
Not his shoe; too small. Not Penny’s, either; she’d never been down here.
And the footprints weren’t here when he’d left with the almonite an hour ago.
Ethan straightened up, the papers slipping from his fingers.
The time traveler. She came back.