Delilah exhausts herself with her tears while Lennox remains at her side, stroking her hair. He waits until she’s in a deep sleep to stand, lock the window, then go back down to the kitchen. The tea kettle is in the middle of the table, and he notices the cake beside it.
To the normal world, cake is given during celebrations. In this one, it’s a marker that peace has come to an end. Lennox does what he always has: cleaning the mess so it doesn’t disturb anyone. The sugar-water mixture is stuck on the wooden surface, so he picks each cooled crystal off with a blunt knife then wipes it all down, returning the semblance of order the room once held.
Once completed, he makes soup for Delilah that will counteract the effects of not being fed and the poisonous tea leaves she’s been given. Soft tapping travels through the wallsas he stands at the stove, carefully heating the soup without a reaction.
“You are a curse,” Helene hisses as she enters the kitchen. “Since you were a boy, every time you entered these walls, your presence would disturb what I created.”
She believes it’s a spiritual curse, Lennox’s apathy a sign of something deeper than unbalancing her cameras. He knows technology isn’t infallible. It’s why he created the programs to pause her surveillance. He keeps the information to himself as he fills a bowl with soup, sets it on a tray, and retrieves three sealed bottles of water from the fridge.
A mother is the creator was all he was taught. In other walks of life, they may share the sentiment. In this one, it’s something sordid because Helene creates pain and misery.
He ignores her as he carefully carries Delilah’s meal to her room. She’s still asleep when he enters and sets the tray on the bed before he carries the water bottles into the bathroom to test for any puncture marks. One bottle of the three releases an air bubble so he sets it aside, taking the others back to Delilah.
“Little doe,” he whispers as he lowers beside the bed.
A wide-eyed expression is what he sees when he gently taps the side of her face with two fingers. If he was capable of laughing, he would in this moment because she shows some of her fight when she glares at him.
Then she shows a different type of strength as she closes her eyes. “Drug me again. I don’t want to remember anymore.”
“I have no desire to touch you.” Lennox shakes his head, tapping her cheek again. “Eat before it gets cold. You’re going to be sick soon.”
28
DELILAH
Lennox spends every day beside the bed. When I throw up, he holds my hair back. When I can’t regulate my body temperature, he applies wet washcloths to my forehead. I’m not sure why he’s here, and I don’t know how many days it’s been when I can finally open my eyes without pain lancing through my skull.
He still hasn’t removed his leather gloves that remind me of Kane. I miss him. I want him back. I want to tell him he was right. This is all my fault.
Instead, I try to appeal to Lennox’s humanity as I ask, “Do you know where my baby is?”
I’ve managed to shock him, which must be a feat considering how calm he’s been so far. He slowly leans forward, his voice lowering as his gloved hand gently brushes my hair away from my clammy skin. “When did you have a baby?”
“In the hospital. She took them away from me.”
“I’m sorry, little doe. I wasn’t aware.”
“Will the—” My voice cracks. I clear my throat to force out, “Will they be safe?”
“Yes,” he says too quickly, lying to me, but I accept it over the alternative.
“Is Kane safe?” I whisper.
“He will be.”
“Can I see him, please?”
There’s no lie or comforting pass of his hand over my hair as he walks out of the room. I guess that’s a no, then.
I sink into the sheets, watching the setting sun, hoping I don’t see it rise. I don’t know if I want to die or if I want the world to end. The latter sounds better, an end to all misery instead of my own. Ignorance really was bliss. The only compassion I ever received was a double-edged sword. I knew who I was when I couldn’t remember years of my life better than I do now.
Lennox returns, locking the door behind him. I close my eyes, waiting for whatever’s going to happen. That’s how I forgot before, so I’ll do it again. But the sheets aren’t taken off me, and my limbs aren’t tugged away from my body. He comes to my side, stroking my hair as he says, “There’s someone who wishes to speak to you.”
When I open my eyes, he holds his phone out to me. Then Kane’s voice comes through the speaker. “Delilah?”
I don’t know what’s wrong with me or if the effects of being sick have depleted my strength, but I can’t lift my arms. Lennox holds the phone to my ear as he continues stroking my hair.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
