Chapter 41
Cairo
The clock above the second floor nurses' station at Cairo's Anglo-American
Hospital read 4:23 a.m. A nurse, in traditional white, but with a brightly printed scarf
covering her hair rather than a starched nurse's cap, sat at the desk, making an
occasional notation to a patient's chart. Down the empty corridor an orderly pushed
a stainless steel trolley, laden with vials, bottles, and pill cups. Its squeaky wheel broke
the early morning silence with an irritating regularity.
William Sloan and Johnny Boyle sat on a low, wooden bench on one side of the
hallway. Kymberlee Rayne sat in a chair on the opposite side. Beside her, holding her
hands, was a local priest who was on call at the hospital for the spiritual needs of
patients and their families. The previous evening he had administered extreme unction
to Derek Rayne.
Major Boyle, whose military experiences had trained him to accept the
precariousness of life, studied his companions. As far as he was concerned the priest
could comfort Kym, since he certainly would not. Perhaps, now she would understand
the deadly hazards of playing emotional tug-of-war when engaged in a real war with
real stakes, but he doubted it. She was still a naive child who would blame everything
but her own fear and possessiveness for her husband's predicament. He was more
concerned about the man seated next to him.
Sloan had had his sprained wrist splinted and bandaged and a nurse's aide had
found him a white doctor's jacket to replace the shirt that he had torn up. Johnny
watched the precept from the corner of his eye. The man seemed in shock. Eight hours
ago he had called Barbara Rayne in Amsterdam and Derek's sister in California, then
London, after which he had donated the maximum amount of blood allowed. Ever
since, he had sat there, unmoving, staring at his hands, which were still stained with
Derek Rayne's blood. Derek's precept's ring, a mate to William's own, lay broken in
Sloan's palm. The oval lapis lazuli with the golden, snake-entwined L had cracked and
the heavy band itself had been cut into two pieces. A surgical nurse, in stained greens,
had pressed it into Kym's hand, but she couldn't stand the feel of the thing. She had
rejected it, as she had rejected what it represented. Sloan had taken it, and clung to it,
as though he was clinging to Derek's life.
Another two hours passed. Occasionally, Johnny heard Kym let out a small sob,
but Sloan still did not move.
"Father...." Kym whispered at last.
"Mrs. Rayne?" the priest said in a kindly tone.
"Kym looked at him with large, tear filled eyes. "Do you believe there is an
afterlife?"
"Of course, my child," replied the Egyptian cleric. "It is so written."
It is written, Kym thought, but is it true? She wasn't sure what she believed
anymore. She felt torn at the seams.
"Do you believe in destiny?"
The father looked at her with compassion. He saw a woman whose husband
stood on the sword's edge between life and death... a woman who in many ways
seemed too young to be a wife, even to one accustomed to fifteen-year-old brides. "My
child," he said, "the greatest gift God gave us is free will."
Kym, deep in thought, smiled weakly at him. "And does free will give one the
right to visit despair upon those who love you by committing acts of reckless self-sacrifice?" she asked. Free will... the term seemed so lost to her now... so foreign. I
suppose that's the way it is in the Legacy... the bitter thought crossed her mind before
she could stop it.
William Sloan raised his head. In a sacrifice... Christina?
"Our Savior sacrificed himself to redeem us of our sins," the priest answered
gently.
"Excuse me... were you with Mr. Rayne?"
The three Americans looked up at the grim faced doctor. Johnny saw Kym's
knuckles whiten as she gripped the clergyman's hands.
Dear God. Sloan's stomach became cold lead. The doctor just said, "Were
you...." He's dead.... He's dead, and I wasn't there for him. Blood dripped from his
clenched fist. He had driven the pieces of Derek's ring into his own flesh.
"I am Doctor Nasser. Please... come into my office," he said with a soft
Egyptian accent. "We need to talk."
"I'll be all right," Kymberlee told the priest as she rose. "Thank you for waiting
with me.... You've helped me a great deal." You've helped me discover something
very important, she added silently.
"I shall be available if you need me," he said, placing a rosary in her small hand.
As the doctor led the way down the hall, Kym reached out for William's hand.
Johnny noticed that Sloan took a step to the side and placed his hands behind his back.
In that instant, Kym realized a sadness that she didn't quite understand. She was
totally alone. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to see a friendly face, be it her
sister's, Isabel's... or Derek's. She longed to hear his Dutch lilt call her Liefje. Would she ever hear it again?... Or was she going to be asked to give that DNR
directive?... to keep her promise to Derek to say, "Let my husband die."
The cramped office was filled to overflowing with medical books, journals, and
reports. As in every doctor's office, diplomas hung on the wall. Short on chairs, Doctor
Nasser offered Kym his own, while the major and Sloan sat in the two consultation
chairs.
"May I offer you some coffee or tea?" asked the doctor as he filled an
elaborately painted demitasse from a silver samovar tucked into a corner. The odor of
thick, pungent coffee saturated the room.
"No, thank you," said Sloan, uttering his first words in hours. He was terrified
to ask the question, "How is Dr. Rayne?" Please God... I know I'm not what most
might call a religious man, but please let him be all right. Don't let it be as bad as I
think it is.
Nasser hitched a leg onto the corner of his desk and took a sip of his coffee. It
had been a long night and he needed the stimulus. With a sigh, he said, "He has
stabilized for the moment, but he is still in very critical condition. It was most
fortunate, Mr. Sloan, that you could give blood.... We will need more as soon as it is
safe for you. He lost an enormous quantity from his wounds and during surgery.... He
is a very strong man," he added.
"We know," said William. "When can we see him?"
The doctor rubbed his eyes. "When he has been moved into ICU." As he
continued, they could all tell that he was exhausted. "You need to realize that, if he
survives the next couple of days, his recovery will be a long process. I am afraid his
injuries are quite severe. It is as though he has been in a serious traffic accident, but
this damage was inflicted deliberately by someone who knew what he was doing... he
wanted to bring pain and injury, not immediate death. I frankly do not begin to
comprehend how Dr. Rayne possessed the strength to hold on for so long. Allah
watches over this man."
Kym bit her lips and looked down to toy with the rosary in her fingers. All the
prayers she had said as a child came flooding back to her in a jumble of holy words...
Our Father, who art in heaven... Hail, Mary, full of grace... dear Saint Anthony...
glory be.... Please, God!
Dr. Nasser took a deep breath before resuming. "Once we had drained the
hemothorax, the blood in and around his lung, the surgery went well. Five ribs were
broken on the right side... what is called flail chest... meaning a section of ribs was
floating unattached, allowing the lung to bulge out through the gap... they will take
some time to heal, as will the bruising to the right lung and the abdominal organs... the
liver and spleen, in particular, are quite swollen. It was most fortunate that they did not
rupture... and... miraculously, there seem to be no lacerations.
"As for the pelvis," the Egyptian continued, "the bullet is embedded in the
illium. It must have been nearly spent when it struck him... otherwise it would have
completely shattered the bone structure. As it was, it merely cracked it. I could have
wished for a better placement, but we chose to leave the bullet in."
"I don't understand," said Kym quietly. Why would they leave the bullet in him?
"The bullet is, of course, sterile," Nasser explained. "It seems to be stable, but
it does lie rather close to a nerve. Also, Dr. Rayne cannot afford to lose more blood
in a surgery that can be delayed.
"Now... for the head injury."
Dread tightened in Sloan's chest as he caught a subtle change in the physician's
tone. He drove Derek's ring deeper into his palm. The pain was somehow comforting.
He knew it was only a fraction of what Derek had endured.
Nasser continued, "There was a depressed fracture to the right occipital lobe
which resulted in an extradural hemorrhage."
"Meaning what, Doctor?" the precept asked without emotion.
"There was bleeding between the skull and the outer layer of the brain."
"Is there brain damage?" Kym whispered hoarsely. Fear combined with nausea
to rise in her throat.
"We hope not. We operated, drained the hematoma... the blood clot, which
fortunately was not large, and repaired the damage to the blood vessels and the skull.
There was no penetration... and seemed to be no complications. Allah is merciful."
Doctor Nasser took another sip of his coffee and continued, "We also did what
we could to repair his hand, but the injuries to the wrist, hand, and fingers were
grievous and most diverse... the fact that it was some time before he received attention
has made matters much worse. I must be honest," he said flatly, "I was in favor of
amputation to avoid gangrene, but one of our surgeons recently completed his
residency in orthopedics at Johns Hopkins in the States. He wanted to see what he
could do.
"I think he did an excellent job, all things considered, but I fear that Dr. Rayne
will need several more surgeries if he is to regain the use of the hand... even then I
doubt that it will ever be fully functional again, but he is young, and one can praise
Allah and hope," he added with a sigh.
Kym shut her eyes. In her mind, she heard Derek's piano and Chopin's sonata.
Sloan, sensing that the exhausted doctor had finished, rose to his feet. "When
can he be moved to London or Amsterdam?" he asked.
"I would not recommend it. He will have to be sedated and on a ventilator for...
my estimate... a minimum of ten days to allow his ribs and lung to heal. Pneumonia
will be a threat." Dr. Nasser spoke hesitantly. "But, perhaps, once he has fully
stabilized... I should say in a week or so, inshállah... it could be done by a special
medical team and a properly equipped plane. His injuries will be quite painful and slow
to mend. It will be better if he remains as quiet as possible... in a drug induced coma,
if necessary... for at least the first few weeks." The physician paused. "I am sorry, but
I must add that, considering the origin of his injuries, there may be psychological and
emotional damage as well."
< < + > >
Anglo-American Hospital ICU
William Sloan pulled his chair closer to the bed and rested his head on its edge,
beside Derek's arm. For nearly two days he had sat in the corridor just outside the
door, while Kymberlee had occupied this seat, as was her right. Finally, her sister,
Cassie, had arrived to haul her off to a nearby hotel.
He felt as though he was wading through the tar pit of nightmare. He dozed, but
still he could hear the beep-beep of the monitors and the hiss-groan-click of the
respirator. Memories flitted through dreams... of Christmases in Amsterdam... of hiking
in the Alps with an eighteen-year-old holy terror, with no thought of the Legacy or
anything else, but the joy of being alive... of Derek standing beside him, nervously
fumbling the rings, when he and Patty were married... of his friend's delight at finally
being able to make a home on Angel Island... but the dreams turned... to the desolation
and guilt at the loss of Alicia... to Derek bleeding to death in a Roman catacomb... to
Christina holding the sword high over the broken body he had found curled on that
concrete floor.
"William," he heard a voice call through his sleep.
"Derek?" he mumbled.
"William Sloan," the voice murmured in his ear. He felt a hand gently caress his
shoulder. Groggy, but with a surge of panic, he raised his head. "Yes... is something
wrong?... Derek?"
"It's all right, William."
"Oh, Barbara," the precept sighed in relief. "I'm so sorry," he said, standing to
give Barbara Rayne a hug.
"Patricia's here," she whispered as she gave his hand a squeeze. The small
woman with the honey blond hair turned to lean across the bed to kiss Derek's
cheek. "How is my son?" she asked as she stroked his brow. She had steeled herself,
but still her heart sank at the sight of the bruises, the tubes, and the bandages. She
couldn't pull her eyes away from the large plastic hose inserted and taped to his mouth.
Finally she glanced over at the machine to which the tube was attached... the machine
that was breathing for her son. It's rhythm was hypnotic... hypnotic and surreal.
"Still critical," Sloan replied. "I'm so sorry... this is all my fault... I should have
stopped it before it ever got started."
Barbara turned. She could see how exhausted, how tautly stretched her friend
was... he looked like a thin, tired old man. She noticed his splinted wrist. "Are you all
right, William? Where's Kym?"
"I'll survive," said Sloan, hanging his head. "Kym's OK... her sister came for
her."
Barbara nodded. "He'll survive, too, William."
The precept sank back into the chair and buried his haggard face in his hands.
"Oh, God," he murmured, "we're supposed to fight the demons and minions of hell...
protect the innocent... but it was plain old human cruelty that did this... a human
monster did this for pleasure.... Are we fighting the wrong battle?"
Barbara stooped to pull William's hands away from his face. Holding them
tightly, she said gently, "How do we know where human wickedness ends and the
evils of the darkness begin? That horrible war that brought Winston and me together...
can you honestly believe that the things done during that were merely human cruelty?
No, William," she continued, "it's all the same evil... the same poisoned darkness...
just different snares and different faces and illusions.
"And you couldn't have stopped this."
"I should have tried harder."
Barbara smiled sadly. "William... you should know by now that when Derek
thinks he's right, he doesn't listen to anyone."
William sighed. Glancing over at his friend, he said quietly, "It was a stupid
mistake... we pulled him in too many directions... Kym one way... me another... his
own honor yet another... and he got trapped.... He was left alone." He paused for a deep
breath. "Maybe we should have just trusted him."
"I know my son well enough to know that he doesn't blame you for this... and
he wouldn't want you blaming yourself.... Now, go see Patricia... she's waiting."
Sloan pushed himself from the chair and walked slowly to the door, but
suddenly he turned. "Barbara," he said abruptly. "I need to know something?... Why
was I chosen for Derek? Señor San Perdamo reminded me that I had been warned long
ago not to develop a personal relationship.... How could I not?"
Derek's mother hesitated. Choosing her words carefully, she replied, "I know
it's hard. They never expected you not to."
"But... why did the Legacy pick me?"
"Because you were strong enough," was her simple answer.
"There's got to be more to it than that," reasoned William. A slight smile flitted
across his face as his gaze shifted toward the bed. "He's like a mustang that won't take
a saddle, but that can't be it."
"I chose you," Barbara admitted. "Blood should watch over blood.... I chose
correctly."
"You spoke with Dr. Nasser?"
Barbara nodded.
"Then he told you there could be permanent damage?" Sloan asked hesitantly.
He realized he should have asked before.
"Yes... but I know that Derek will recover. He's too strong not to.... Our Lord,
our Holy Mother, and Saint Michael will be with him."
The precept stepped closer to his friend's mother. "I hope so." Again he took
the woman's hands. "I want you to know that I'll be there... even if it means leaving
the Legacy and moving back to San Francisco."
"Derek would never want that," Barbara stated flatly.
"Nevertheless...." Slowly, he turned away. "I'll leave you with him, then."
< < + > >
Amsterdam, 3 weeks later
Kymberlee sat in a world of hospital white... white walls, white floors, white
drapes, white sheets, white bandages. She felt as though there had never been any
other world. Numb, she stared at her husband's face, nearly as blanched as the
bandages that swathed his head. It was the face of the only man she had ever really
loved, the face of her own soul. The bruises were fading... only the sunken smudges
remained beneath his eyes, which had yet to open with recognition.
Kym closed her own and tried desperately to reach Derek, as though her love
could heal his abused body and spirit... praying that he would open his eyes and smile
at her... that he would ask her why she was so worried. He was fine. After all, he had
promised. She yearned to see those penetrating hazel eyes once more. Just one more
time, she thought.
She could barely remember the strong, indomitable man that had held her in his
arms and loved her... the man that had teased her and toyed with her hair and spoken
of a future... their future. The hand that lay beneath hers was thin and frail, bones held
together by a net of blue veins. Always she had been able to sense his emotions
through her fingertips... now... there was nothing. She had thought herself all cried out,
but as she touched the place where the mate to her own ring should have been, Kym's
eyes swelled with tears. His finger was as empty as her own soul. Gently her finger
trailed along the IV tubes that dripped clear nourishment and oblivion into his system.
She had a sense of déjà vu, or was it a premonition, of another place, another time.
For two weeks, Derek Rayne had lain, motionless, in that bed, his wounded
body padded by sheepskin and braced by pillows to prevent even the involuntary
movements of sleep, his only changes in position provided every two hours by an
orderly. If it were not for the ebb and flow of his chest, supplied until yesterday by a
machine, Kym could believe that she was a widow keeping vigil beside her husband's
shrouded corpse. For two weeks, and the week before in Cairo, she had sat there
listening to the ventilator's bellows force oxygen down the hose into Derek's lungs.
She had sat first in terror and confusion, then in anger, now in resignation.
Kym had silently argued with her own heart. I can't do this again. Perhaps I'm
the most selfish, inconsiderate person on the planet, but I know what I have to do.
William is right... my fear is too strong. My love cost me Bernardo. I won't let it
destroy Derek too. I have to spare him. If I do nothing else in my life, I must make sure
that Derek Rayne will not be brought down by someone like me. He'll forget me in
time and move on with his life. "And I'll do the same," she murmured to herself,
knowing it for the lie it was. Kym knew she would never forget, would never want to
forget.
Gently, she turned his hand over, careful not to disturb the IV needle or the tape
that held it in place. Kym bent her head to kiss his palm, then she turned the hand back
over and rose. She leaned across her husband's still body to kiss the tip of his right
thumb, for all else below his elbow was encased in white plaster. Even now, she could
barely look the white monstrosity, its weight hoisted aloft by a muslin sling. It
reminded her of some great driftwood log with branches splayed and broken, a visual
token of the pain and anguish that had been, and was to come.
"But I won't be the cause of it," she murmured. At last, releasing a deep sigh,
Kymberlee straightened. She brushed away a tear, then looked down at the gold band
on her own finger. For a moment, she stood there, just looking at it, caressing it. Take
it off! Put it on the table and walk away. You're still young! You cannot live the rest
of your life in terror. Derek wouldn't want you to, and he shouldn't have to deal with
it. It's not fair... Derek why couldn't you love me enough to change? The Legacy
would survive without you... one day, sooner or later, it will have to.
Finally, Kym removed the band and tenderly pressed her lips against it. She
turned toward the white metal bedside table, and gently laid the golden circle beside
Derek's signet, the split and broken ring of a Legacy precept. She would keep her blue
crescent moon... always.
Kym turned back to her husband and reached out to stroke his cheek. She traced
the line of his jaw and the small cleft in his chin. No matter how agonizing, she never
wanted to forget their feel. "I'll always love you, Derek Rayne," she murmured. She
kissed his forehead, then lifted the small, plastic oxygen mask to kiss his unresponsive
lips. "But... I can't do this.... I can't watch you walk the razor's edge.... I can't watch
your flirt with the Devil."
She pushed herself away. Hanging briefly by her husband's bed with her hand
over her tearing eyes, her soul screamed at her to stay, to be with him for no matter
how long, no matter what the end, as her marriage vows demanded... but the
conscience that, for the moment, controlled her terror, commanded her for his sake,
and her own, to walk away now... before he awakened.
"You were the first and only, Derek Emrys Rayne," Kym whispered. "I'm
sorry." Picking up her sweater and purse, she turned. William Sloan stood in the open
doorway.
"Did Johnny and Ingrid get off for California OK?" she asked with a voice
hoarse from emotion.
"Yes.... They'll make the arrangements on that end. I dropped Barbara off at
home," he replied.
Kym paused beside him. "It could have worked, William," she said sadly. "In
time... it could have worked, and you know it."
"Not with the fear you carry."
"You carry it, too," Kym remarked softly. "I know you do." It was the only part
of William Sloan's soul she had ever touched. "You try so hard to be his guardian
angel," she added with a taint of bitterness, "I hope you always succeed."
"Perhaps," the precept said slowly, "but, he'll never know." The dread of one
day having to send Derek Rayne to his death, or worse... and of not being there...
tightened around Sloan's heart like a noose around a condemned man's neck.
"Take care of him, William," said Kymberlee Rayne, stepping past him into the
vacant corridor, "...and pray that he never finds out."
The End...
| Authors' Notes |
| E-mail: Dubricus | CONTENTS | E-mail: Selena |
