Alex was perplexed, confused. She stared at the lamp, which had taken on a dull, slightly metallic glow. Itwasburning her palms. Yet that made no sense. She wanted to drop it. Her hands hurt. Yet she could not relax her grip.
What was happening?
And Alex was very dizzy now; it was hard to focus on the street ahead of her, or was that because it was nightfall? She blinked. And realized that her legs were becoming numb. A surge of panic filled Alex.
She was an idiot! Why had she pushed herself this way? If she fainted now, out here on a public street, who would help her?
Her hands were on fire. Alex cried out, but could not move. She could no more drop the lamp than move her legs forward; somehow her body had stopped obeying her mind. In fact, she had lost all feeling in her feet and ankles and calves!
Alex was frightened. The lamp seared her palms. The night swirled about her, and her vision began to ebb and flow. Darkness and more darkness. Her thighs were growing numb, too. And her fingertips, her palms.
Alex had one distinct and horrible thought as she tried to make her legs obey her brain, as she tried to move forward. She wasn’t merely jet-lagged, oh no—she had caught a foreign virus—a virus that was now paralyzing her—a virus that might even kill her.
She tried to cry out. Her mouth refused to open, or if it did, no sound came out. She wanted to throw the lamp away, but could not lift her arms. Her palms burned badly, on fire. And the night spun crazily around her.
Alex suddenly felt herself being sucked down into a wildly spinning vortex—being sucked down into a cyclone.
Alex became aware of several things at once. The sun was beating down on her face, and she was lying supine, the ground stony, hard and hurtful beneath her back. Her head throbbed; she was nauseated.
Alex forced her eyes open only to be blinded by the glaring sun. She closed them quickly, pain stabbing all the way through her temples.
What had happened? Where was she?
Alex opened her eyes again and stared up at the bright white stone wall of a house. Her gaze took in the orange tiled roof, the single open window below it, which was missing a windowpane, and a closed, arched doorway. Inside that house someone was cooking something very spicy and aromatic. Alex smelled roasting lamb. And then she heard soft female voices chatting merrily in Arabic. Peals of laughter pierced the animated conversation.
Alex levered herself up into a sitting position, glancing around. Hammers were pounding inside of her head. She did not recognize the narrow dirt street where she had been lying, or any of the clustered homes. But then she saw the blue oil lamp not far from her sandaled feet.
Good God, what had happened? Alex remembered the shop and Joseph and the lamp. She remembered hearing Blackwell’s voice. But she had no recollection of arriving at this small dirt street. Had she walked here? Had she fainted? But it appeared to be midday—had she been unconscious all night? And where was she? She was not in the souk where she had bought the lamp. Alex was quite certain of that. She was in a very shabby residential neighborhood. A very old-fashioned neighborhood. There was a well beside the house, a bucket attached to a rope providing proof that the well was actually used.
Something soft and warm touched Alex’s back.
Alex cried out, scrambling to her feet so quickly that dizziness assailed her. She whirled, only to face a doe-eyed donkey.
The small donkey blew softly, then lowered its head and began to sniff Alex’s backpack. Alex laughed in relief.
Then she snatched her Coach backpack away from the animal, gathering up the lamp as well. It no longer burned her hands. Her nausea had disappeared, and she realized that she was famished and desperately thirsty. She fished a piece of Trident gum out of her backpack, tucked the oil lamp inside for safekeeping, and glanced around, wondering where the hell her hotel was. She could not see the harbor from where she stood. She was lost.
Alex hesitated only a moment, then marched over to the door of the small, single-story stone house where the women were still chattering away. The house was a brilliant, sparkling shade of white. To the left of her head, clothes were hanging out of the single window to dry. She knocked on the painted door.
It was opened almost immediately by a heavily veiled woman. She was wrapped in so many layers of clothing that it was impossible to tell either her age or her size. And if her clothing had not indicated her sex, Alex would not have been able to surmise that, either. Only her eyes were clearly visible.
Alex smiled and spoke in French.“Bonjour. S’ilvous plaît, pouvez-vous m’aider?”
The woman’s eyes widened as she took in Alex’s appearance, and a moment later she slammed the door in Alex’s face.
Uneasy, Alex backed away. What had she done?
Alex glanced down at her wrinkled and stained white suit. It was torn, too. Well, she would just have to ask someone else for directions, someone who would not be shocked by her dishevelment.
Alex turned the corner and halted.
Four men were sauntering down the next dirt street toward her, but they hadn’t seen her yet. Alex stared, unable to move. The men were clearly sailors, and as clearly, they were drunk. They were speaking a language that was an odd mixture of French and Italian and perhaps even German, as well. They were dressed strangely. They wore long-sleeved, colorless shirts that resembled old-fashioned woolen underwear, and baggy dark pants tucked into over-the-knee boots that were rolled down. But the real reason Alex could not move was that they all wore knives, very dangerous looking knives.
Alex came to her senses. She turned and fled back around the corner, her heart thumping, and then around another corner as well. She pressed against a stone wall, panting. She was a fool! She was an American woman in a foreign city filled with men who had absolutely no respect for Christian women. She had to find a taxi and get back to her hotel at once.
If only she could feel Blackwell’s presence again. She was growing frightened, and his presence would have been comforting now.
Alex strained very hard to feel him, but she felt nothing at all. She was alone.
