Mortal Fire

by C F Dunn

  “No, yours,” he corrected, “and you need it more than I do, judging by what I’ve seen of you.” I felt my face turn cerise. You know that thing doctors always say when you are down to your knickers and bra and you’re desperately trying not to look acutely self-conscious – and failing: “Don’t worry, I’ve seen it all before.” Well, hah! He – or she – might have done but try telling yourself that when the doctor in question is all that you desire but he doesn’t know it. I imagined my reddened skin clashing with my pinky-coppery hair and flushed even more. Elena said something to him in Russian that sounded like a question and Matthew answered, glancing at me. She giggled. I scowled.

  “I will come and see you again,” Elena said as she left the room, still beaming at their shared joke.

  Matthew put the tray on the table and picked up the plate. I twigged immediately. “You’re not going to feed me, are you?” I groaned.

  “How else is this food going to reach your stomach if I don’t?” He looked pointedly at both my arms. Only the tips of my fingers were visible and my thumbs were locked in position so I couldn’t grip a fork. He pulled up a chair next to me and fed a small amount of food into my mouth. Admittedly, it was delicious, but trying to eat in an elegant and refined manner proved exhausting.

  “It’s not fair – you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I said between mouthfuls, the warm food settling my tummy.

  “It has its moments,” he said smoothly, putting everything neatly back on the tray when I finished. I laid my head back against the pillow.

  “I hate being ill; it’s such a waste of life.”

  He threw me a look I couldn’t interpret before he answered.

  “It’s only for a while,” he said quietly. For a horrible moment I wondered if he remembered his wife.

  “Yes, I’m sorry, I’m being an ungrateful brat again.” He smiled at that. “Matthew, I haven’t thanked you for all you’ve done – are doing,” I corrected myself. He frowned, but said nothing. “You saved my life,” I insisted; “twice.”

  Standing swiftly, he fetched the glass of water from the tray.

  “Here, drink this.” He held it for me, avoiding my gaze while I drank.

  “Matthew…?”

  His eyes flicked towards mine and then away again. “You shouldn’t have been put in that position in the first place,” he said, his voice shaded with resentment.

  “What does that mean?” I demanded.

  “Nothing.”

  “You can’t say that and expect me to accept it. I’ve just thanked you for saving my life and you act as if you were to blame for me nearly losing it in the first place! Why should you…”

  A loud, insistent rap on the door broke through my tirade. I gritted my teeth at the interruption as Matthew left my side to answer it. He came back a few moments later, followed by Slater and the unnamed detective, and I vowed to myself that – sooner or later – I would pick up the threads of the conversation where it had been so abruptly suspended.

  Chapter 17

  Breaking Point

  SLATER HAD SHAVED AND LOOKED much better for it.

  “You gave us quite a turn there, ma’am, with you not being in the medical centre and such, and nobody knowing where you were.” He looked at Matthew, then his gaze shifted to my neck. “I hope you’re feeling stronger.” His concern seemed genuine. I took as deep a breath as my ribcage would allow.

  “Thank you, I am. What’s happened to Staahl? Where is he? Has he been charged?”

  Matthew draped a rug around my shoulders, hiding my neck from sight, and I flashed him a look of gratitude. Slater took his notebook out of his jacket pocket and flipped it against the back of his hand as he talked.

  “Professor Staahl’s in custody, ma’am. The State Prosecutor’s waiting to see whether he’s to be indicted, or sent for observation for a time to see if he’s fit to stand trial.”

  “What do you mean – to see if he’s fit to stand trial? Do you mean if he’s mentally competent?”

  The second detective with the bent nose and mean face laughed coarsely.

  “Yeah, they want to know if he’s a crazy.”

  I looked between the two of them. “Well, isn’t that obvious? Who in their right mind would behave as he did? Of course he’s mad!”

  “That’s as maybe, ma’am, but he’s got to be sent for assessment first.”

  A thought struck me, so grotesque that I quailed at the mention of it.

  “He… he won’t get bail, will he?”

  Slater paused long enough for alarm to spread through me like burning brushwood.

  “No, he will not!” Matthew thumped the window-sill, making the handle rattle.

  We all looked at him in surprise.

  “Is that so?” I asked Slater.

  “I reckon it is…” he began, but Bent Nose butted in, his heavy-lidded eyes half-closed as he watched Matthew.

  “Yeah, what with the Doc here making sure he don’t make bail. Got friends in high places, have you, Doc?”

  Only from the tell-tale traction in the muscles of his jaw could I tell that Matthew disliked the detective as much as I did. I imagined the man’s insolent disregard for authority made him difficult to promote, and his rancour for those more successful than himself stuck in his craw as much as he was sticking in mine.

  Matthew declined to comment on the man’s jibe; instead he reduced the tension in his voice, and said, “Emma, Staahl is a danger to the public; there is no question of him being allowed access to society until his mental state has been fully assessed, which will take a minimum of thirty days in a secure unit.”

  “So, no bail?” I asked, my anxiety waning.

  “No bail,” Matthew confirmed.

  The second detective unwrapped a piece of gum and rolled it into a coil before cramming it in his mouth. He would have thrown the scrunched foil on the table but caught Slater’s eye and stuffed it in his coat pocket instead.

  “Yeah, like the Doc said, no bail.” He chewed the gum with his mouth open, making little slopping noises as the saliva built up. If he thought his boorish behaviour might goad Matthew into reacting, he would be disappointed; with me, on the other hand, he could very well succeed. Various parts of my body were beginning to protest and the discomfort made me increasingly irascible; it wouldn’t take much to push me over the edge, which the detective must have sussed.

  “Do you want to ask me some questions?” I said politely to Slater so that I didn’t have to look at the permanent sneer on the other man’s face.

  “Sure, if we can,” Slater said, treading carefully, fully aware of Matthew’s guarded presence. “You think we can have some time alone here, Dr Lynes?”

  “I’ll just be outside if Dr D’Eresby needs me,” Matthew replied.

  Slater waited until Matthew left the room.

  “Cosy set-up you got here,” Broken Nose said as if we had something to hide. He picked up one of the older books from the desk and flicked through the pages with little interest. Slater ignored him. He tossed the book back on the table like a discarded burger bun and it slid over the polished surface and fell on the floor with a thump. He didn’t pick it up.

  “Now, ma’am, the other day you began to tell us about the attack. You said Professor Staahl dragged you back in the room – the porters’ lodge – and he had a knife to your throat, is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “You also said that he spoke to you; can you tell me what he said?”

  I tried to remember. “He said that he had wanted to speak to me for a long time. He seemed to think that I had been sent to him, that there was some connection between us.” I couldn’t keep the disgust from my voice.

  Slater waved the pencil in the air. “And you’re saying that there wasn’t any ‘connection’ between you?”

  “None whatsoever!”

  “So you didn’t go there to meet him – is that what you’re saying?” the other detective slid in.

  Aghast, I stare
d at them.

  “Is that what Staahl says? That I went there to meet him?” Slater wrote something down; I strained to see but he held the notebook at such an angle as to make it impossible.

  “We’re just trying to get the facts straight, ma’am. So there’s no possibility that Professor Staahl misunderstood your relationship and took things a bit too far?”

  I replied emphatically, “No! There was no relationship. He tricked me; he attacked me.” I found it increasingly difficult to breathe, my bones aching as my lungs protested.

  “That’s OK, Professor, take it easy. Now, at what point did Dr Lynes appear?”

  The other man finished poking around the books and settled himself on the edge of the table, pushing the empty tray to one side over the delicate surface. The fragile joints audibly remonstrated under him.

  “You’ll damage the table!” I protested.

  The man didn’t move but shifted to get more comfortable; a sharp squeal like a tortured animal issued from one of the joints as it neared breaking point.

  “Conte!” Slater barked at him over his shoulder.

  “Sure – don’t want to break the pretty table, do we?”

  Slater grunted and resumed his questions. “So, Dr Lynes…?”

  “Staahl had just broken my arm…”

  “Against the door frame, is that right?”

  “Yes, and… and he was going to cut my wrist. Dr Lynes was there – outside the room – he told Staahl to let me go, but he didn’t, he cut me.”

  “And that’s when Dr Lynes attacked, sorry – rescued – you?” Conte leaned towards me from the chair on which he now slouched.

  “Dr Lynes rescued me, yes.” I pulled air into my lungs, the room span briefly.

  “And he did that, how…?”

  “He ran at him, I think.”

  “You think? You’re not sure?”

  “I… I was losing consciousness, it wasn’t clear.” Confusion clouded my thoughts. “He got him away from me, I know that much.”

  “Did you say anything to Dr Lynes in the time between him running at Professor Staahl and him taking you to the med centre?”

  I remembered it all so clearly – how could I possibly forget?

  “I’m sorry – I don’t remember.”

  Conte suddenly rose from the chair. Slater straightened and closed his notebook. “That’s all we need at the moment, ma’am. Thank you for your time.”

  Bewildered, I stuttered; “Th… that’s it?”

  “Yes, thank you, ma’am.” Slater moved towards the door after Conte. He halted halfway across the room and turned. “By the way, ma’am, Professor Staahl said something about Dr Lynes choking him. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that now, would you?”

  Alarm bells sounded loud and clear.

  “Strangle him?” In my shock, I mustered as scathing a tone as possible, the memory of Matthew’s hand crushing Staahl’s throat – unfettered fury in his eyes – crystal sharp. “Don’t be absurd!”

  Slater shrugged slightly. “Well, thanks again, Professor. We’ll be in touch if we have any further questions. You get better now.”

  There are moments in your life when you make a decision; it might come after long deliberation, or after no more than a second’s thought; but it carries the potential to change the direction your life takes and, whether conscious of the fact at the time, looking back, you are aware of the changes that decision brought. I had just such a moment. I didn’t hesitate in my lie: instinctively I knew I must protect him.

  Matthew closed the door on them.

  “Are you OK?” he asked.

  I sidestepped his query. “You heard that, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Staahl’s saying I went there to meet him, Matthew.”

  “I doubt they really believe that.”

  “They’re thinking it, though – that’s bad enough. And why are they dragging you into it? What were those questions for?”

  “I was there, they’re just cross-referencing; there’s nothing to worry about.”

  He sounded drained and I remembered that in all this mess, his life had been as much disrupted as mine, and that what he did went far beyond what might be expected, yet he never complained, never alluded to the intrusion it must represent for him.

  “I’ve really mucked things up for you, haven’t I?” I said dully.

  He surprised me by laughing mirthlessly, shaking his head in a gesture of weary resignation.

  “You have no idea.”

  He leaned on the window-sill, looking through the fog-bound landscape, the grey light muting the colour of his hair.

  “This is getting too complicated,” he muttered to himself.

  A cold wave of apprehension rolled through me as I heard the note of finality in his voice, as if something scarcely started had come to an end, and I realized that I must have totally misread the situation. Unwittingly I intruded on his life when in all probability he still mourned his wife. He tolerated me because I needed his medical intervention and I was a fool if I thought he wanted me for any other reason. Quite frankly, I couldn’t cope knowing he considered me a complication; I couldn’t do it for his sake – or for mine. I saw little point in staying; I couldn’t stay.

  I eased my legs over the side of the day-bed, my whole body protesting. My head reeled momentarily and the floor under the thick pile of the rug rocked unsteadily beneath my feet. I let them get used to the sensation before hauling myself upright. I stood shakily, time suspended while I let the room steady around me, and then I took a step forward. Instantly – hideously – the room gyrated as the ceiling turned upside-down and slid precariously towards the floor.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Matthew bellowed, catching me as I collapsed. He eased me back down as I squeezed my eyes tightly shut to stop the room spinning, holding me close until the frantic caged bird of my heart accepted captivity and settled to a regular beat.

  “You said I’m a ‘complication’; I wanted to make your life less complicated,” I protested weakly against his chest, not daring to open my eyes.

  “Life’s complicated, Emma, not you – never you.”

  I heard him, but I didn’t believe him, and I attempted to pull away from the very arms I longed to feel around me. He didn’t hold me because he wanted me, but because I needed him to, and that wasn’t a good enough reason. He let me go, but instead trapped my face between his hands and made me look at him.

  “Don’t you ever do that again, do you hear me? Don’t – no matter what happens – don’t try and leave. Promise me – say it, Emma.”

  I watched the changing light in his eyes – the blue shifting between indigo and navy, the colour intensified by the dark ring that circled the irises – and I understood and accepted that he did want me and that something existed between us after all.

  “I promise,” I said in a small voice.

  The tension dissolved and his face softened as he leaned closer, the world becoming just the two of us. “Don’t ever leave me,” he whispered into my hair. I heard the hidden desperation in his voice; I felt it in my soul. I turned my head, our lips almost touching.

  “I can’t,” I confessed.

  Slowly he brought his mouth to mine and kissed me.

  Two things happened simultaneously. First, someone lit a thousand firecrackers, their searing heat expanding until my whole body exploded in flame. Second, I drew back in shock, my eyes wide and staring. Instantly, he withdrew.

  “I apologize, I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “No – yes… yes, you should!” I stammered. “But… but you… your lips… they’re different.”

  He grimaced bitterly. “As I said, I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “No, Matthew, please…” I tried to reach up to touch him, to feel his lips, but the stitches in my arm stung as they pulled and he stopped me, resting my arm back on the pillow.

  “I’m sorry,” he said again.

&nbs
p; I shook my head in frustration. “There’s so much about you I don’t understand… your eyes look as if they’re on fire sometimes, and your lips – well, they tingle… and I’ve never seen you eat, and you haven’t slept in days…”

  He smiled bleakly. “Would you believe me if I said I have a slow metabolic rate?”

  “No.”

  “Can you just accept I’m a freak of nature, then?”

  “If you are, then I wish there were more like you.”

  “Ah, Emma, I wish…” He laughed grimly. “No, it doesn’t matter. Do I disgust you?”

  Genuinely taken aback, I asked, “What sort of question is that? You must know you don’t!”

  He looked puzzled. “But… you recoiled.”

  “Not because I didn’t like it – like you; it was a surprise, that’s all – in more ways than one.”

  “So, not like anyone else who’s kissed you, then?” I caught a note of jealousy in his voice, which I liked.

  “No, it wasn’t, but as I’ve only kissed one other man, there’s not much with which to compare it.” I looked up at him from beneath my eyelashes. “And anyway, it’s difficult to judge after only one kiss.”

  “Does that mean you’ll be willing to give it another go?” he said, his voice husky, beguiling, his mouth once again only inches from mine. I couldn’t take my eyes from his.

  “I think it only right – in the interests of science and a fair test… and all that.”

  His smile broadened and, cradling my head in his hands, he kissed me carefully, thoughtfully. My whole being reacted and I responded, feeling the energy of his lips on mine.

  He pulled back suddenly, leaving me dazed. There was a knock on the door. He dropped his hands from my face and we stared at each other for a long moment, before he rose reluctantly to open it.

  Ellie Lynes walked into the room with restrained grace.

  “Hi, Matthew, I looked in on the med centre to see how Dr D’Eresby’s doing but Ada said she was gone.” We didn’t miss the tad of an accusation. Bright, intelligent eyes fixed on me. “Hi, Dr D’Eresby, how are you?”