15. A Dove
A Dove
Silas
“Silas…”
The voice is soft, achingly familiar, pulling me from the shadows of restless sleep.
“Do you remember?”
I turn toward the sound, and there she is—Caroline. Not as I want to remember her, vibrant and alive, but a pale, flickering echo of the woman I once loved. Her presence feels fragile, like the slightest breeze might scatter her to the winds.
“Silas?” she asks again, her voice trembling with a mixture of hope and sorrow.
I try to move toward her, but my limbs are heavy, rooted to some invisible weight. She extends her hand through the darkness, her delicate fingers trembling, reaching for me.
“When you remember,” she pleads, her voice breaking, “this will be over.”
“I’ve tried,” I whisper, my voice raw with desperation. “Please, Caroline, help me.”
Her face softens, but the sadness in her eyes cuts through me. “For me, for Kiran…you have to remember.”
“No, wait—” My words catch in my throat as her form begins to waver, the edges of her figure dissolving like mist under the morning sun. “Don’t leave me again,” I beg, my voice cracking.
Her gaze holds mine, and for a moment, she feels so real, so close, I could swear I feel the warmth of her breath.
“I’m here,” she says in a low voice. “Open your eyes, Silas.”
And then she’s gone. Her image is swept upward, vanishing into the heavens like a wisp of smoke. Only her voice lingers in the stillness, haunting and tender.
“I’m here.”
“Silas? I’m here. Open your eyes.”
Her soft voice pulls me from the vision. I startle awake, my eyes snapping open as I drag in a shuddering breath. The room feels suffocating, every surface slick with the sweat of fever.
“There you are.” Helena’s amber eyes meet mine, filled with a tenderness I don’t deserve.
“I was—I guess I was dreaming,” I rasp, my throat dry and raw.
“Probably from the fever. You’re burning up.” Her voice is steady but gentle as she presses a cool glass of water and a pill into my hand. “Take this. We need to stop any infection before it sets in.”
As I carefully lean forward, the wound on my side protests the movement, but she’s there, slipping pillows behind me. I take the pill, the water soothing my dry throat.
“How long have you been here?”
“Most of the night,” she says softly, her gaze unwavering. “I got Kiran up and out with Eli. He doesn’t know. Just told him you’re unwell.”
“Good.” My head sinks against the headboard, her presence oddly grounding.
Her voice comes quieter this time, almost hesitant. “Do you dream of Caroline often?”
“No,” I answer, my tone sharp.
She nods. “Are you hungry?”
I shake my head. “Just tired.”
Helena doesn’t push. Instead, she dips a cloth into a bowl of ice water. When she brings the cold towel to my temple, the relief is instant, the heat in my mind easing. I exhale, eyes drifting closed as her careful touch works like a balm.
“You’re like a dove,” I murmur, the fever loosening my tongue, pulling words from some unguarded place.
She pauses, her lips curving into a wisp of a smile. “How so?”
“A white dove,” I whisper. “Pure. Peaceful. A gift sent to a place like this.”
The faintest blush touches her cheeks as she shakes her head. “I’m hardly pure, Mr. Hayes.”
“Is that so, Ms. Toth?” My voice holds a sliver of mischief, even through the haze of fever.
“You need to rest,” she insists, her tone gentle but firm as she refreshes the cloth.
I catch her arm as she brings the towel back to my forehead, my grip light but resolute. Her breath hitches, and her gaze locks with mine. For a moment, the room falls utterly silent.
“You’re too good for this godforsaken place,” I say.
Her eyes search mine, her resolve unshaken. “Maybe I’m the goodness this place needs.”
I huff a bitter laugh. “I’m too far gone to save, Helena.”
“That doesn’t mean I won’t try, Mr. Hayes.” Her voice is confident, and there’s a fire in her that I can’t look away from.
She gently pulls her arm from my grasp, her fingers cool against my burning skin as she dips the towel again, wringing it out. Folding it, she places it on my forehead, her touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary.
“Go to sleep, Silas,” she whispers, her voice a soft command.
“Yes, little dove,” I murmur, the words slipping past my lips as my eyes fall closed, heavy with fever and exhaustion. As sleep claims me, her calming presence remains, like a gentle whisper.