Chapter 22
Dorset, England
Anxiously hugging her damp, balled up raincoat, Alex Moreau sat on a small sofa in the lobby of the Hospital of St. Michael and St. George. As with all first time visitors, her gaze wandered over the Palladian grandeur of the one time manor house, but the pervasive odors reminded her that, despite appearances, it was now an hospital. She should have phoned ahead... should have told Kincaid or Sloan that she was coming. She realised that now... now that she smelled the smell. However, only one thought had been in her mind.... Get here!
Her fingers searched between the buttons of her blouse and found the heavy, blue and gold signet that she now wore on a ribbon round her neck. It rested over her heart. Feeling the aura of the thing, she closed her mind to the history and tragedy that emanated from it.
She was wearing Derek's ring.... and smiled at the irony of it. That was the one thing she had longed for, but not this way... not this ring. Her mind returned to San Francisco, to the garden, whose wilting flowers had struggled to survive the bubble of dry, eastern heat, that always rode over California in autumn. Nick had taken her hand and had pressed the ring into her palm.
"Keep this for me... for Derek." His voice had been husky, as he had struggled to hold his emotions in check. "If we don't make it... there's no one else we'd want to wear this.... You know that."
Tears had sprung to her dark eyes. "Nick... please... be OK.... Please...," she had whispered. "I can't lose you both."
"Miss Moreau."
Alex turned to see Fr. Thomas limping towards her.
"No one told me you were coming," he said, as a benign smile spread over his face. "I do apologise. I hope you've not been waiting too long."
She returned the priest's smile. "No one knew I was coming." She hesitated, wondering how much the old man knew.... Probably a lot more than me, she decided. "You know Nick was in the Naval Reserves?... He got called to active duty."
"Indeed, I do." Joseph sat in the chair beside her, took her hand, and patted it gently. "He's in my prayers."
"We've received word he's MIA." She could barely get the words out. Tears came again and she struggled to swallow. "I'm sorry," she whispered, sniffing.
The priest closed his eyes and wearily bowed his head. "What next?" he silently asked himself. "God... I hope this mysterious plan of yours is a good one... worthy of all the pain you've caused.
"I didn't know, my dear," he said aloud. "I've spent so much time here of late... with Derek... that I'm rather... what's that phrase... 'out of the loop'." He searched her face and read the pain.
"You've not come to tell this to Derek?" he asked, trying to imagine the effect such news might have on his friend. "Dear child... it could do more harm that you realise."
She met his eyes and felt for the ring once more. "Or it could be the key to getting him back.... We need our precept.... We need Derek."
For a moment there was no reply from the priest, who seemed to look off into nothingness as he considered the dilemma. At last he looked into her face once more and seemed to study it carefully. "You said no one knew you were coming?... Are you here without authority?"
"Whose authority should I get?" Alex asked bitterly. "I'm the one left holding the precept's ring."
"It's an interesting debating point...," he replied, "but not one I suspect would cut any ice with London House."
"I don't give a damn what the Legacy thinks.... London House can go to hell for all I care." Venom spewed forth. "I'm here. What can they do about it?
"My dear... I think you're being rather naive," Fr. Thomas said quietly. "They could dismiss you."
"And that should worry me?" she retorted with sarcasm. "Look at the survival rate in our House.... Dismissal could be the best option."
The old man smiled a consoling smile. "You don't really mean that.... I may be an old man... but I'm not quite senile... not yet.... Because that Dutch lummox can't see what's in front of him...."
Alex glanced away in silence. Her fingers felt her own rapid heartbeat, sensed the vibrancy of life in that ring.
The priest watched her closely. Then shook his head sadly and whispered, "It's as plain as the nose on his face.... You care deeply for him."
Chewing on her lower lip, she lectured herself, "Come on, Moreau.... This isn't getting you anywhere. Piss or get off the pot." Finally, she signed and turned back to Fr. Thomas once more. "Can I see him?... You know I'd never hurt him.... Never!"
The old man rose stiffly, awkwardly from the chair. He straightened slowly, hands pressed into the small of his back, then turned to look down into the dark face. "Not knowingly, my dear," he said. He closed his eyes for a moment, while he considered his options. He had to return to London this evening. His presence was needed at London House... by Derek's allies. Might this "timely" visit be the answer to his holy petitions?... Might it bring about the miracle for which he had been begging?
"I pray I'm doing the right thing," he told Alex at last. "Your arrival could be a catalyst for good or ill.... Come with me, my child." He offered his hand to help her to her feet. "Let's put our trust in God."
* * *
The priest paused in the corridor, at the door leading to Wells Ward. "My dear... I don't know what you've been told, but the man you're about to see isn't the Derek Rayne you knew. I fear that man no longer exists, but you must not allow your emotions to take control, because you may do severe damage to the man that's left."
Alex nodded and took a deep breath. "I understand," she whispered.
The old man keyed in the access code, waited for the click, then pushed open the door the led into the main ward, which had been reoccupied by its inmates. He hurried his companion past the beds, the other patients seated before a darkened television, but not quickly enough to prevent her "Sight" being assaulted by the horror of this room.
"My God!" she gasped.
"He's in here," he told her, opening a door at the end of the ward, and ushering her into an austere room.
Alex glanced around, saw the neatly made bed with its grey waffle blanket and white, white sheets, the table and chair, the cross on the wall. She shivered, thinking of her precept willingly giving up the old world opulence of his House... for this.
"Sit down," Fr. Thomas suggested, pulling the only chair forward. He picked up the disreputable teddy bear that lay in the seat. "Take him... will you, my dear?... Barbara sent it the other day. She hoped that Derek might react to it.... Seems he was a childhood favorite." Looking down at the battered toy, the old man smiled. "Hard to imagine.... Derek Rayne with this... although he does have something of the wounded hero about him... like the Fisher King of Arthurian legend." Pulling himself from his brief reverie, he glanced around. "Carter's apparently taken Derek for a walk.... I'll fetch them."
Alex slumped into the chair. She held the bear close, looked at his battle scarred face... the missing eye... the worn, brown fur. She would have known instantly that he was Derek's, for she felt the essence of the small child who had owned this bear. Even then, his strength of character was evident. She closed her eyes and tried to picture him.
After a moment, she placed the bear lovingly on the table. A stone rose in her throat and she wiped away a tear. Pushing herself to her feet, she wandered to the barred window and looked out at the cold, November day. Gunmetal grey clouds hung heavily in a leaden sky; a fine drizzle soaked the world. Her eyes roamed the garden and the shadowy cloister beyond, but she could neither see nor feel Derek's presence.
The minutes ticked by slowly. She chewed nervously on her thumbnail, trying to prepare herself. At last the door was pushed open and two men entered the room. Derek shuffled across the linoleum, leaning heavily on the arm of an orderly.
Unable to prevent herself, she gasped aloud. Struggling, out of habit, to contain her emotions, she sensed that this man would neither "see" nor receive anything from her. The vital spark that was the essence of life was gone. This was merely the shell that remained.
"Derek... you've got a visitor," the priest said as entered behind them. "It's Alex.... Look.... Alex... this is Carter. He takes special care of Derek."
"'Scuse me, Miss... Father," Derek's companion apologized. "We'll make a bathroom stop.... We've just had a nice cup of tea.... Wouldn't want any accidents."
Alex watched the smaller man steer Derek towards the bathroom. As they passed, she reached out to touch the precept, hoping that physical contact would provide a link.... Nothing.... She received nothing from him.
Fr. Thomas patted her hand in consolation. "It's always a shock.... Even now... after all these weeks... the decline over these months... I still can't believe...." He gave a weak, sad chuckle. "I keep thinking that I'll wake up one morning and it will all have been a dream."
"Easy does it.... That's good." They heard Carter's voice above the sound of running water as he once more opened the door. He paused to tear off his latex gloves and toss them into a sterile canister. He then eased the precept back into the bedroom. "Let's get you onto the bed.... You can sit and talk to your visitor." He kept up a one-way conversation as he maneuvered Derek onto the bed, removed his slippers, then stretched out the long, pyjama'd legs and adjusted the angle.
"OK, Miss.... If you need me... I'll be just outside." Carter hesitated, uncertain of how much this lovely, black woman knew about his patient's condition. How close had they been, he wondered. "Miss... he can't do things.... You know... things we think nothing about.... If he starts to slip sideways, he won't stop himself.... I'll leave the railing down for you, but keep an eye on him." He made certain Derek was bolstered by pillows, then patted his patient's unresponsive hand. "You enjoy your visit."
* * *
Alex watched the door close, then turned to face Derek. The slack jaw and vacant eyes scared her. Despite what Nick had described, she hadn't imagined it would be this bad. Her "Sight" told her nothing. The man before her seemed entirely devoid of thought, of emotion... a grey man in a grey, hospital robe. Perhaps he was shielding himself... as he had with that lunatic, West. She prayed that was the case.
Reaching forward, she brushed an errant curl from his brow. "You're thin... and your hair's so long.... This damp, English weather's turned it into a mop of curls.... Would you like me to cut it?" She paused to edge her hip up onto the bed. "Do you know?... I think maybe we ought to leave it.
"It reminds me of Professor Rayne.... Do you remember? All the girls in your class lusted after you... and some of the boys, too.... Did you know that? You were such a hunk... and so charming, because you had no idea." She grew silent as her fingers toyed with the salt-and-pepper locks. After a moment, she spoke again, "Where was I?... Oh, yeah... grad school. You were so handsome... your lovely hair... always falling over your forehead in that cute, little curl. There you were, trying so hard to drum important anthropological facts into our thick, Neanderthal skulls.... You were so serious about it... and so smart... and we were all concentrating so hard." She smiled. Her gaze grew distant as memories of that time crystallized in her mind.
"Did you think we were a studious group?" She gave a laugh at the thought. "We were making bets on when this little curl would drop. Mostly I won," she confessed.
Alex saw a plastic carafe of water on the table, reached across Derek, and poured a cupful.
"How about a drink?..." she asked, not knowing what else to do. She raised the plastic container to his lips, tilted it slightly, and watched as he swallowed. When he stopped and the water began to run down his chin, she got the message. "Enough, I guess...."
Alex took a sip from the glass herself, then drew a deep breath. She had to break
the news about Nick. "Please, God.... Let this get through to you."
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