An Echo in the Darkness(117)

Julia blinked, her face going white.

“I’m sorry,” he said. The words came out flat, emotionless.

“You don’t sound sorry at all!” Julia stared at him for a long moment, and then her face convulsed. “What’s the matter? Haven’t I enough money? Is my name not grand enough? Who are you to say no to me!”

In all his experience, Alexander had never taken such a deep dislike to anyone as he did to this young woman. It wasn’t simply due to realizing she was a member of the family who had sent Hadassah into the arena. He had never met anyone so saturated with herself. Many of her symptoms bespoke of a life of dissipation and self-indulgence. She had the pallor and emaciation of a lotus-eater—one who used the fruit for its drugging qualities—and her breath smelled strongly of cheap wine. Her sexual exploits were beyond the commonest decency. He wondered if there was anything this young woman hadn’t done and felt certain there wasn’t.

For over an hour she had talked about herself, her ailments, her grievances, her pain, her suffering. Yet she saw none of what was happening to her as consequences of her choices, of her lifestyle, of seeking pleasure at every altar known to mankind. And her words rang discordant. Wasn’t it her right to find pleasure, to enjoy life the way she chose? What was wrong with it? Ah, and she wanted him to hand her a cure so she could go on doing whatever she pleased. She didn’t care about his career, his principles, his feelings. She demanded he make her well when it was by her own hand that she was sick unto death.

Alexander felt no pity for such a woman as this.

All he could think of was Hadassah, body torn and racked with pain, suffering months of convalescence. Never once had she uttered a complaint or cast blame on anyone. A day did not pass, nor ever would, that she would not be in pain because of the injuries she had suffered in the arena, and the scars she bore destroyed any chance for a normal life.

And here, this sick and sickening young woman cried out for help, not in humility, but in demand—and she herself was the cause of all of it.

“It’s not fair! It’s not my fault I’m sick!”

“Isn’t it?” Alexander put his instruments into his carrying case.

“Give me something to make me better! I know you can find a cure if you put your mind to it.”

“I’ve many patients.”

“I don’t care about your patients. What do they matter in the face of my suffering?”

The sound of Julia’s strident voice raised the hair on the back of his neck.

Hadassah limped over to him and put her hand on his arm. “Alexander.”

He heard the gentle appeal and reacted with anger. “Don’t even ask it!”

“Please.”

“Do you hear nothing?” he whispered fiercely.

“I hear the voice of someone lost.”

“And not worth finding. No,” he said again, firmly. The contrast between the two young women hardened his heart and set his mind.

“Won’t you even consider—”

“I’ve examined her, Rapha. You touched her. That’s all we can do.”

Julia dissolved into tears.

“Alexander, please listen to me . . . ,” Hadassah began.

He closed his case firmly and picked it up. “I can’t afford to listen to you,” he hissed. “I’m not going to risk my reputation and career on someone I know is going to die.” His words were loud enough for Julia to hear—and cruel enough to silence her.

Hadassah turned toward the bed, but he caught hold of her arm and headed her for the door. “Rashid!” At Alexander’s nod, the Arab strode across the room, caught Rapha up in his arms, and carried her out.

Prometheus entered the room and watched them go. He saw Julia weeping on the bed and looked at Alexander. “You can do nothing?”

“The disease has taken too firm a hold.”

Outside in the cool night air, Alexander breathed deeply. The atmosphere within Julia Valerian’s villa had been oppressive. It reeked of corruption.

He walked alongside Rashid as he carried Hadassah down the steps. She made no protest. Rashid set her gently inside the litter and adjusted the cushions for her comfort. Alexander was afraid of what she would say to him within the privacy of the curtains.

She would only plead for that despicable young woman, and no one could touch his heart with pleading like Hadassah. He decided not to give her the opportunity. “I’ll walk,” he said and drew the curtains closed, shutting her inside the litter. “Go,” he commanded the bearers.

Tonight, he would not listen. Tonight, mercy sat ill with him.

The bearers lifted Hadassah within the litter and bore her down the street.