The Pace (26 page)

He turned away and dropped his head. “How can you say what you want when you don’t even know the whole story?”

I repositioned myself. “I know Sophie and Wes’ story. I don’t know or remember Weston the first or second, so I can’t base what I want on that. I can only base it on how I feel now, when I’m with you.”

“Sophie and Wes’ story,” he whispered back. He looked at me again. “What happens when Weston can’t save Sophie?”

“You’ve already saved me,” I said, patting my hand over my heart. His face softened at the line I’d stolen. “I love you, Wes. But I need to know what you want to do.”

He moved so he was sitting beside me on the bed. He shook his head slowly, with his eyes closed, and I was waiting anxiously for his answer.

“I want you,” he murmured.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

He nodded, and I let out a soft sigh of relief. It felt right to be close to him again. That made me feel so good, but I also knew that we couldn’t get past all of the doubt without being fully open with each other from that point on. “I need to hear it all. I want to know what you know.”

“Where do you want me to begin?”

“At the beginning, where it all started. Tell me everything.” I scooted over to make room for him to lie down. He situated himself so he was turned toward me, and I was lying on my back, staring at the darkness of the ceiling, preparing myself for my forgotten past.

“Are you sure you want to hear it?” he asked.

“I’m positive.” There was no way I could turn back now.

He took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts. “I was sixteen years old, about to be seventeen, but to all accounts, I was a child. I had lived a very sheltered life to say the least. Rarely did my mother allow me to go outside and do what normal boys my age did, and when she did, she was with me, making sure I didn’t hurt myself.

“Finally, when I was sixteen, she allowed me to go to the bookstore once a week by myself. I was old enough to have my own interests, and the books she brought home no longer held my attention. So, once a week, I would venture out to the store to pick up a few I liked.

“On that particular day, I saw a girl who stopped my entire world. She was walking toward me on the sidewalk, and she had this demeanor like she was headed somewhere important, so I watched her curiously as she neared. The closer she got, the more I could see of her. She had the most transparent green eyes, contrasted by remarkably dark hair. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her as she passed. I was so intrigued that I actually turned and followed her. I could tell she was a few years older than I was, but I didn’t care. I was mesmerized. I followed her for a long time. It was difficult to keep up with her because she was walking quickly, and my knees were achy.”

“Was that from the hemophilia?”

“Yes, the blood would often gather in my joints, and if I overexerted myself, they got very sore and painful. Today, they compare it to arthritis.” I nodded in understanding, and he continued. “I was able to follow her long enough to notice she was wearing a nursing uniform and was headed into a brownstone in the medical district.

“I thought about her every day after that. Over the next two weeks, I took it upon myself to walk around that street as often as I could in hopes of running into her again, but I had no luck. My knees got worse every day, but to me, the ache was worth it, just to have been able to see her again. She was that beautiful.

“By the week of Christmas, I hadn’t seen her and had given up. My joints ached tremendously, and I wanted to lie in bed all day, but it occurred to me that I hadn’t gotten my mother a gift yet. So, I decided to venture out one more time.

“My mother hadn’t received a nice present since my father died, so I wanted to get her something special.” He paused in thought. “That’s when I bought the bracelet you’re wearing now.”

I pulled my arm up to see my Christmas present. “This? This is the exact bracelet?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yes, I bought that in a London shop for her and was on my way home when I saw the girl again. She was across the street, headed in the opposite direction. My eyes were locked on her with every step she took. Looking so content and driven, she walked like no one else was around her. That’s what made her so intriguing.

“The next thing I remember was my feet being tripped up by an alley cat. It happened so quickly I don’t think I could’ve prevented it, even if I had been paying attention. When I realized I was losing my footing, I tried to untangle my feet, and I might have been able to if it weren’t for the force of an Irish Wolfhound colliding into me in pursuit of the cat. The sheer size and strength of the dog forced me backward. All I remember, about the fall, was my feet completely coming out from under me and a hard hit to my back and head on the cobblestone.

“I knew it was bad. I felt the back of my rib cage thrust into the ground, followed by a cracking sound from the back of my head. To make matters worse, the hound fell on top of me and scratched my neck and face with his claws trying to get up.

“I heard people scream at the commotion as the hound ran between the crowd. I just lay there, motionless. I hadn’t suffered anything like that before. I was shocked. I tried to roll over to pull myself up, and that’s when the ringing in my head started. I immediately lay back down. I tried to focus, but my concentration was broken by a pain filling in my abdomen and the flow of blood coming from my deep scratches.

“At some point, I felt a warm hand touch my forehead. My vision was starting to go, but I could see clearly enough to know it was the nurse I’d been watching. All I remember her saying is, ‘I’m going to help you. You’ll be okay. You hit your head, and I need to get you some help.’ She tried her best to lift me, but she couldn’t. I heard her ask bystanders to help her, but no one would. At the time, there was a malaria outbreak, and no one wanted to risk getting sick themselves. The sight of blood literally sent people walking in the opposite direction.”

I snorted. It made me angry to hear about people not helping. I refocused, still irritated. He continued. “By then, blood was flowing freely from the stinging scratches on my neck and face. I can only imagine the awful sight. It didn’t bother me that no one wanted to help me, but it made me angry that no one helped her. It gave me enough strength to stand myself up.

“She wrapped my arm around her, not caring that my blood was smearing on her and her coat. She just kept promising to get me help. The next thing I knew, she walked me into Dr. Thomas’ office, where I collapsed.”

“Amelia.” I remembered from the journal in his study. “It was Amelia who took you in.” He surveyed my expression, and then I realized. “It was me.
I
took you to Dr. Thomas, didn’t I?”

His nod confirmed my assessment. I let out a long, deep sigh. I felt the closeness of her, and I wasn’t sure if it was because I
was
her, or if it was because I liked what she had done for Wes. Either way, it made me very curious. “What happened next?” I asked.

“I woke up in extreme pain. I was bleeding internally in my chest and abdomen, and my head was pounding like you couldn’t imagine. You had given me some of your blood, but it wasn’t enough to help mine clot. My case of hemophilia was severe. I was in and out of consciousness, but I heard your voice. You kept asking me for my name and where I lived. I remembered mumbling Weston and bookstore and then I blacked out again.”

I could see that he would’ve preferred to stop talking about it, but he continued. I closed the space between us and rested my head on his chest to offer comfort to both him and me. With his arm around me, he began to tell me what happened next.

“Once I blacked out for the second time,” he continued, “Dr. Thomas told you the news wasn’t good. You had offered to give me more of your blood to help, but Dr. Thomas insisted that it wasn’t going to work and that you needed to find my family right away.

“You ended up returning to the street where the incident happened and began walking around. You found a small bookstore with a closed sign in the window. It should’ve been open, so you asked the shops nearby when the owner would be back. They told you she was searching for her son. You obtained her address and immediately headed to her home.”

Listening to Wes tell the story made me sympathize with what Amelia had to do, and once I pictured her in my head, I started to see the story unfold. The images were so vivid, I could see them. I could see Wes’ frantic mother, just as if I were there. Amelia’s story
was
my story. I closed my eyes and listened as I saw more detailed images in my head.

I saw myself knocking on Mrs. Wilson’s door. As soon as she opened the door and saw me in my nurse’s uniform, she took hold of my arms and pleaded with me. “You know where he is, don’t you? Please,
please
tell me he’s all right.”

I could see the trepidation pouring out of her, and I couldn’t bring myself to answer her. Instead, I offered, “I can take you to him.” That was all I managed to say, and it was enough to send his mother quickly snatching her coat. She followed me, heavy on my heels, back to Dr. Thomas’ house.

By the time we arrived, Dr. Thomas had covered Weston with a blanket up to his neck, so his mother couldn’t see the blood pooling under his skin in various places. He had also re-wrapped the wounds to his neck and face, but we could still see the blood seeping through. When I walked her into the room, she broke out into sobs.

“No!” she cried. She rested her head gently on his chest and then she knew. She knew why he was covered. She peeled back the blanket slowly and saw the bruises on his elbows, wrists, and torso. They were spreading into a horrible array of hues all over him. “What happened? What happened to him?” She was shaking. “Please somebody tell me!” she cried.

At the sight of Mrs. Wilson’s agony, I took a step forward and instinctively hugged her. She sobbed in my arms. I softly tried to explain the accident.

“What? A dog? All of this for a dog?” She dropped to her knees. “What was he doing out walking? Where was he going?” I remembered the box we’d taken from his pocket and retrieved it, hoping it would provide an answer for her.

“Mrs. Wilson, I think he was buying this,” I informed her, handing over the box. She slowly pulled back the top, and at the sight of the bracelet, she broke into hysterics. She stood up and zeroed in on Dr. Thomas, who was standing in the back corner.

“Doctor, you have to help him. He needs blood. You have blood, right? I can give him mine. He needs it!”

Dr. Thomas rested his hand on her shoulder. “Amelia here, has already given him some of her blood. His internal bleeding is too severe. I’m sorry.”

She was determined, pleading, and unfazed. “No, you can’t just let him die. You’re a
doctor
. Please, you can’t just let him die!”

“I’m sorry, there is nothing I can do.” His shoulders drooped, and I saw his eyes were tearing up. He had watched so many patients die that year, and this incident was taking its toll on him.

“Don’t tell me that!” she snapped. “Please doctor, I’ve already had one son die from this, and that’s what his doctors told me. Please don’t tell me that. Weston is
all
I have now. I have no one else. Please.”

“Mrs. Wilson, more blood will not help him.”

She cut him off. “Then give him something else. You have to have something. Anything.
Please.
I can’t live if he dies like this. Please help him.”

I started to flinch at the startling memory, and Wes steadied me. “Sophie, what’s the matter?” he asked.

I didn’t want to tell him about the images that were flashing before me, because my images were much more detailed than what he was saying. I was afraid to tell him how bad the scene was, because I feared it would cause him to hold back, and I wanted him to tell me everything he knew. Instead, I took my palm and placed it on his cheek. “Nothing,” I said. “What happened after I brought your mother back?”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” I smiled. He settled back down onto the pillow and started rubbing my hair.

“After you brought my mother back, I could hear her pleading with Dr. Thomas to save my life. I was in and out of consciousness, but I could hear that she was frantic. Dr. Thomas eventually realized I was going to die regardless, and if he did nothing, my mother would never forgive him. He explained to her that he’d been working on an experimental serum that had been unsuccessful, and she insisted he try it anyway.

“Dr. Thomas agreed to perform the procedure that evening. But, before he started, he insisted that my mother wait outside, given the complexity and risk of making a mistake. Once she was out of the room, he put wrist and ankle restraints on me and strapped me to the bed.” As I concentrated, Wes’ voice slowly started to fade again, and it was replaced by even more frightening, clear images.

In my mind, I saw Dr. Thomas injecting the serum into Wes’ arm. I saw the blood making its way through the vein. I could see Wes’ muscles tighten. Dr. Thomas kept filling the vein with so much blood, and I was concerned. “What are you doing?” I asked.

“It’s taking it with ease. The serum is flowing freely. I’m not forcing it,” he said.

He kept emptying the blood into his arm until Wes’ eyes snapped open, and he started jerking his arms. It looked like he was going to tear the leather restraints, he was pulling so hard.

Eventually both arms, followed by his legs, began convulsing, and he shouted for us to stop. I closed my eyes and turned away. The tears started spilling over. I couldn’t handle it. I went to leave, but Dr. Thomas called out to me.

“Amelia, look!”

I turned, but remained distant.

He called again. “
Amelia
, get over here. Look at this!”

I walked over to him, slowly, flinching with every one of Wes’ shouts of agony. His arms and legs were still fighting to free themselves from the restraints. I almost turned away again, but then I saw what Dr. Thomas was pointing out. The bruises on the arm, where Dr. Thomas initiated the serum, began to recede toward the vein.