"Q.E.D." Part 24
He traced his finger along her arm, pausing for a moment at hershoulder
before continuing on to the nape of her neck. He could feel thespinous
process protruding there, and he circled his finger around it,creating a
target for his lips. C-7, his medical mind offered, the last vertebraof the
cervical spine; and he smiled, chiding himself for being unable toseparate
the physician from the lover.
She came alive at his kiss, stretching her body into a long, leanline that
erased all signs of the difference in their ages. She rolled onto herback
and looked up at him, and the illusion of her agelessness vanished.Her
eyes. They were ancient. They looked like they had witnessed allof
history. He watched their black pupils bloom in the dim light, andfor a
moment, he thought he could see all of it, too.
It burst at him in a kaleidoscopic display of colors, as if the lightof the
present were prismed into separate components of the past. He saw thewild
green fields of the steppes, and the dark gray waters of the Volga,conquered
again and again by innumerable invaders. He saw St. Petersburg as itwas
centuries ago, an oasis of color and culture, standing in bravecontrast to
its bleak, black and white surroundings. He saw the golden rooftopsof
Moscow, flying the red flags of the Russian Revolution. And he sawmore red,
spattered on the floral wallpaper of a small basement room inEkaterinburg,
indelicately painted by bullets fired at such close range that theyleft
gaping holes in the plaster. He shut his eyes to it, unable tolook
anymore.
Helena smiled at his weakness. "How long have I slept, Pierce?" sheasked.
Years. Centuries. "Just an hour or so," he replied.
She sighed. "Too long."
"Do you intend not to sleep, ever again?" he asked.
"Not if I can help it," she replied. "I want to savor every lastmorsel of
this."
He saw her eyes looking through him, at the ceiling, where hergrandson lay
trapped in the room above them. And he felt a familiar anger, plantedinside
of him years ago by the first woman he had ever known. She hadreduced him
to nothing with a glance.
"The WSB was at the Athens airport, you know," he said, trying todraw her
attention back to him. "I had to land in Turkey. Aren't you worriedabout
them coming here?"
"No. Certain... high ranking officials of the WSB and I are oldfriends.
They owe me..."
"For what?"
"For one of their greatest victories. I gave them my husband andhis
brothers and their idiotic weather machine."
"You did?"
"Not directly, of course. I merely alerted them of the impendingthreat to
world security. They understood that their source wished toremain
anonymous. But I gave them the information for a price. They willrespect
my privacy. At least for a while."
"For how long?"
"Long enough."
He knew that she spoke the truth. She had told him the story ofthe
Cassadines and the Romanovs without hesitation, without reserve. Shehad
explained all of her plans to him in detail, never omitting anything.And
when he questioned her, she would square her shoulders proudly andstate the
facts as she would a royal edict. Throughout their relationship, shehad
never lied to him.
At first, he considered her candor a sign of her respect and trust.Now, he
knew that it was a sign of her contempt. She spoke to him as onewould a
beloved pet, confessing all, knowing that there would be no chanceof
repercussion. He was a benign thing to her, an impotent threat. Shedid not
care how he would react to her secrets because his feelings did notconcern
her.
A secret is worth keeping only from a loved one.
---------------
"Do you despise me yet, Lasha?"
Laura stared at the last page of Stefan's letter. There was noclosing,
there was no signature, only this question, followed by nothing. Hehad left
it up to her to continue the dialogue.
"Damn you," she said, but she spoke the words through a smile. Washe
asking if she despised him still, after reading his explanation, orwas he
asking if she despised him now, after reading his confession? Stefanwas
well-versed in semantics, so she was certain that the ambiguitywas
intentional. It was his odd way of infusing humor into an entirelyhumorless
tale. After all of his revelations, he could not bear to leave herwithout
one more secret.
She ran her hand over the crisp parchment and could feel where hispen had
violated the smooth surface in neat, calculated strokes. "Why," sheasked,
hoping that this strange braille would hold the answer, "why didn'tyou tell
me this before? Damn you!"
She sighed, wishing that Lucky were nearby; but he was outside withEmily
and the dogs. This elegant room, the photographs of Lila Quartermainewith
her children and grandchildren, and the "pretty words" of StefanCassadine
surrounded her now, and she felt as if her world had tilteddangerously to
one side.
She heard her mother humming in the next room, and the tune wasfamiliar to
her. It was the Adagio of Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 23. She hadheard it
before through the floorboards of her bedroom in Greece, when she waslying
in bed, feeling the weight of Stavros' body next to hers. The drawingroom
was directly below them, and sometimes, late at night, Stefan wouldplay the
piano. And she would listen to the sounds of Sorrow dancing withHope,
waltzing slowly along, alternately leading the dance in major andminor keys.
A bittersweet moment expressed so perfectly that it made her heartache for
the resolution of the joyous Allegro assai, the final movement; butStefan
never did finish playing the piece.
The feeling approached her obliquely, like a gentle breeze featheringher
hair, like a light mist cooling her skin; but when it touched her atlast,
she was shocked and horrified by it. It was a tiny pang of jealousyat the
thought of him sharing the same music with someone else.