Two Loves

Chapter 14

ATTICUS

"Isaac, are you alright?"

My friend looks so pale all of sudden, and some nerve in his eyelids is nervously quivering.

"Isaac?" I ask one more time, but he doesn't react. His little mouth opens as if he wants to say something. In the next second, his eyes roll upwards and his knees give in.

My heart drops in my chest. I jump forward and catch him before he can fall to the ground. Within seconds, the thoughtless euphoria has turned into gawking turmoil. Cymbeline is by my side and calls his name, patting his pale, bloodless cheeks.

"Wake up, come on, please!"

His head tilts backwards, his eyelids flutter, but he remains motionless.

"What is it?" I inquire towards Cym. My voice is trembling more than I wish it would. "Is he alright?"

"Obviously not" she spits back, with the sharp, unpolite directness I still must get used to. "All too much for him, I guess. Isaac, wake up!"

She turns around, not letting go of her brothers head. "Ada, we need a glass of water, cold, and a couch."

Her ginger-curled companion nods and reaches down in the depths of her skirt.

"Try this, too" she says and tosses a small vial to Cym.

"What's that?" I ask.

"Smelling salts, I guess" she answers, sniffs carefully and flinches. "Yea. One of the strong ones. Come on. We must lay him down somewhere."

There is a short struggle when we both try to pick Isaac up at the same time, then we freeze. A moment of mutual understanding, conveyed in a glance.

"I carry him" I whisper. She considers this for a second, then shrugs. "Alright. Be careful."

You can bet your soul I will.

With one arm under the bending of his knees, the other on his back, I slowly stand up, Isaac in my arms. His body is light, almost like a child's. His head is bowed backwards, the curls hang down like a storm cloud.

I shouldn't be panicking that much, but by God, please wake up again.

His neck, so exposed and white, like the petal of a flower is pressing against my arm. My throat narrows.

Isaac, don't scare me like that.

The surroundings blur around me - the chattering crowd, the giggling, some women shrieking as I carry his lifeless body past them. Johns smugly elevated brows. Oscar, who is obviously enjoying every second of this drama tremendously. They all step into the background when my attention is fixed on the waxen face of my friend. Except the eyes of someone behind Oscar. Narrowed, disdainful, they watch me carrying another man in my arms. Half in spite and half in worry, I glare back at them.

See how little you mean now.

Cymbeline has pushed a way through the crowd, to a chaise-longue, half-hidden in the flicking shadow of the staircase.

"Lay him down" she commands. "Slow, slow, watch for the head."

I do as she says. Only when we have rolled him down on the silky cushion, I notice how much my hands are shaking. Cym has already uncorked Ada's vial and holds it under Isaacs nose.

"What is happening to him?" I ask with a lump in my throat. "Will he - will he be well again?"

"'Course he will" she answers with knitted brows. I'm unsure whether she does that to calm herself, her brother - or me.