"Pain," Julie said quietly. "You've told me of lost memories, but not pain. And it's pain you feel now. You have trouble walking. You have trouble standing upright. This is all a result of what's happening to your mind? It can't be."
Cleopatra couldn't answer, couldn't speak. To speculate on Julie's question was to return to those terrifying thoughts that had plagued her on the journey there: that her mind was no longer her own. That she had been invaded by one who was exploiting her current weakness. But that was too great a vulnerability to admit to in this moment. Not until she had the elixir in her hands.
She held to the pedestal, laboring for each breath.
Worse than the pain was this terror. This paralyzing fear that came once again in unstoppable waves. Where did it come from, this terror?
"Cleopatra," Julie whispered, her hand extended.
"Don't," she cried. "Please, don't...touch me. Stay back."
*
"Why do you torture her?" the man growled. "Why?"
Sibyl's urge was to shake her head, but if she moved an inch she might die in this tiny washroom, only steps from the pleasant chatter of aristocrats and servants. Nothing she had said so far calmed this man.
He gripped the back of her neck with one hand. With the other, he held the knife to her jugular vein.
Could she cry out for help before he managed to cut her throat? He was a doctor, he'd said, after he'd shoved her into this tiny space and there'd been no hope of an escape. A doctor who knew just where to cut and slash and cause instant death.
"Why do you do this to her? Why?"
"I don't know what you--"
"You torment her! You have entered her mind. How have you done it? Sorcery? Are you a witch?"
"I...Cleopatra. You speak of the woman who calls herself Cleopatra? You say I have entered her mind? But this is what I have been--"
"You sent her a message. You demanded to know where you could find her. Now you are here. You are stalking her. To what end?"
"For help. I thought we might help each other. But I had no idea she would be here. I came because...Oh, this is confused. This is so terribly confused. If you would just please calm yourself. If you would--"
"If I would just end you, then her visions would stop," he growled. "She would be healed of her pain. She would be healed of you."
A sharp knock on the door.
It surprised them both so badly she was terrified the mad doctor's hand might slip, allowing the knife to slice into her vein, where the blood pumped wildly thanks to a racing heart.
"Come back later, please," the doctor said, in a voice of maddening, terrifying calm.
Silence from outside.
Oh, how she wanted to cry out. She was desperate to cry out. Torture now to listen to whoever it was depart. To have been so close to rescue. But now the mad doctor's nose was inches from her own again, his grip on the knife steady.
"Now," he said, "give me one reason why I shouldn't--"
The door was ripped backwards. The knob fell off and landed on the floor at their feet with a loud thud. Sunlight flooded the tiny bathroom.
There stood Mr. Ramsey. Having torn the door off its hinges, he propped it against the wall behind him as if it were a small work of art. Then he grabbed the mad doctor by the back of his neck and dragged him into the hall with one hand.
Just as she felt relief, her legs went from under her. The mad doctor had been the only thing holding her upright.
The back of her head slammed to the dressing table. Pain thundered through her, followed by a great wave of darkness that seemed to swallow her whole.
*
"Cleopatra, please. Take my hand."