A skeleton.
A lie. A lie. A lie!’
She saw nothing in those pictures. Nothing but oil spilled across the page. A blot of death. A splash of ink. It was all nothing but black on white. So clear and true.
Elijah climbed on to the bed and lay down with her, pulling her to his chest but being careful not to pull out the various tubes that were stuck in her arms. He kissed the top of her head, smelling the life she had led for the past few days in her hair. Sun, sweat, desert—it all clung to her, painting a portrait for him. A canvas of her journey. She smelled of pain and suffering, of grief and turmoil.
Delores wrapped her arms around his middle and clung to him, gripping his clothes between her palms, as she continued to sob. She buried her face in his side, hating that she was letting it all go like this, that she was welcoming someone else into her pain. It was hers, and she deserved it, she thought. But the thought only made her cling harder to Elijah. Cry harder, her grief stronger, truer.
Elijah let Delores unload her pain on him, her hot tears soaking through the fabric of his clothing and into his skin. He welcomed them with open arms, hoping that he could reach her. That perhaps he would catch a glimpse of the woman behind the pain and be able to pull her back from wherever she was.
When the tears finally began to wane and her breathing grew steady and calm, Elijah felt grateful. He knew that his time here was limited, that a nurse or doctor or even Michael himself could arrive at any time, and so with hesitancy he began to speak. Hating to rush her, hoping to reach her, knowing he needed her to hear him.
“Tell me why you left,” he mumbled, kissing the top of her head again, inhaling her scent and trapping it inside him. “Tell me, Delores,” his voice was thick with emotion, but he pushed his own anxiety away and clung to her, willing his body to absorb some of her pain and ease her suffering.
Her arms tightened around him. “I can’t,” she whispered sadly, her breath hot against his side. “I can’t,” she repeated.
“You can. You can tell me anything,” Elijah felt her shake her head. “Please, Delores. I want to help you.” His throat felt tight with emotion, his eyes darting towards the door and then back down to her again.
I should have locked the door, he thought.I should have locked the door when I came in.
Delores let out a moan of anguish. “No one can help me.”
Her thin body began to tremble again and Elijah pulled her away from his chest and tilted her face up to look at him. Her eyes were red and unfocused, a haze to them which had him more concerned than the endless amount of tears she was supplying. She was shaky and uncoordinated, her movements sluggish. He remembered this, at least to a lesser extent. The last time he had seen her she’d been like this, how, he wondered, had he not been more concerned over her?
Because I was thinking about myself. Because I was lost in loving her.
“I can help you,” he gritted his teeth as he stared into her frightened eyes. “I can, Delores, if you’ll just let me.” He pushed her sweaty hair back from her face and stared into her eyes, willing her to break free of her illness for just a moment.
Delores slowly closed her eyes, tears slipping out from between her already damp lashes. She pulled away from him. “Elijah, I don’t deserve help. I don’t deserve anything.”
Elijah frowned, frustration building in him. He was running out of time. He loved her with every ounce of himself, but she was talking in riddles, her mind confused with her own psychosis. He opened his mouth to tell her so, to try and plead sense with her, but she cut him off before he’d even begun.
“Please don’t hate me,” she begged, her voice a hush of air.
“I could never.”
She let out a dry laugh and opened her eyes. “You say that now.”
“I’ll say it always.”
“You won’t.”
“I will.”
“I killed them,” Delores said, her lips trembling on the words. She let them hang in the air between her and Elijah, a sinking stone that would down their ship. And rightly so, she thought sadly, rightly so. “Oh god, I killed them but I don’t know why.” She dropped her face to her hands and began to cry again. Elijah watched her in both horror and confusion.
His thoughts ran away with themselves, a million explanations somersaulting through his mind like acrobats at the circus.
“I don’t understand,” he finally said, his voice hoarse. “You killed someone?” It made no sense;shemade no sense. She was the most gentle woman he’d ever known.
She killed someone?He frowned. His frown turned into a scowl. His scowl turned into a grimace. How? How had this happened? He didn’t know, he couldn’t know. The only thing he was certain of was that all roads led back to her—to Delores. A million roads and only one conclusion.
Delores didn’t reply. She pulled her knees up to her chest and continued to cry and rock back and forth on the bed, her nightie bunching up at the waist to reveal thin white legs. Her long hair was a tangle of knots and Elijah had the urge to run his fingers through the once soft locks, to calm the mess of hair as if he were calming her. He wanted to soothe her, yet he felt frozen to the spot. Horrified at the possibility of what she was saying.
“I don’t understand, Delores,” he said again, his voice quiet and hesitant. Because of all the things he could help her with, covering up a murder wasn’t one of them. No matter how much he loved her. “Help me to understand, Delores, please. I don’t understand what you’re saying to me.”
He was repeating himself, he knew he was, yet he was helpless to climb out of the riddle he was in. The riddle she was in. The circle of words he continued to revolve around in.
