Chapter 237 He Wants to Turn Himself into Caroline
Alexander wouldn't listen to Mark. He shook off Mark's hand and bolted toward the door barefoot, wild-eyed and frantic.
The red dress tangled around his feet, and he crashed to the ground after only a few steps.
But he didn't seem to feel the pain. He scrambled to get back up.
Mark rushed forward and clamped down hard on Alexander's trembling shoulders.
"Sir! Let me drive you! It'll be faster! Please, just get in the car!"
The words finally broke through. Alexander stopped struggling and grabbed Mark's hand, his words tumbling out incoherently.
"Quick... hurry! The cemetery! Now!"
Mark swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth and, together with another bodyguard who'd rushed over, half-carried, half-dragged Alexander to the car.
The car had barely rolled to a stop at the cemetery entrance when Alexander shoved the door open and stumbled out.
In the dead of night, a few scattered visitors and a passing security guard saw a figure in a red dress running like a lunatic, and they all stepped aside.
By the time Mark parked and caught up, Alexander had already collapsed in front of Caroline's headstone.
"Caroline... Caroline..."
He murmured her name, his fingers tracing the engraved letters.
Mark edged closer, about to speak, when Alexander suddenly started clawing at the soil around the grave with both hands, as if trying to pry up the heavy marble slab with his bare fingers.
"No... it's not... not like... not like at all..."
"Sir! What are you doing! Stop!"
Mark lunged forward and grabbed Alexander from behind.
"You can't do this! Your hands are bleeding!"
"Let go of me!" Alexander roared, shoving Mark away violently.
Mark staggered back, watching in horror as Alexander threw himself back at the grave and kept digging with his bare hands. Within seconds, all ten fingers were slick with blood.
"Sir! Please! Stop! Look at your hands!"
Mark dropped to his knees beside him, his voice cracking.
"Are you going to dig her up? Do you want to disturb her even in death?!"
The words cut through Alexander's madness.
He stopped abruptly, slowly raised his hands, and stared at them, blood dripping from his fingertips.
"Yes... what am I doing..." he whispered, "I was going to... destroy her resting place..."
He shook his head violently, as if trying to dislodge the thought.
"No... I can't... can't do this..."
Mark stepped forward quickly, trying to pull him up. "Sir, let's go back. We need to get your hands treated, okay?"
But Alexander stayed rooted to the spot, kneeling there, staring blankly ahead and repeating, "Not like... not like at all... why... why not like..."
A chill ran through Mark, and suddenly he understood the reason behind all of Alexander's insanity tonight.
He wanted to turn himself into Caroline—just as he'd once forced Caroline to dress up as Edith.
"Sir, let's go back. We can figure this out, okay?"
Mark tried to keep his voice steady, though his heart was racing.
"Let's go back, and we'll work on it together. We can make you... make you look more like Mrs. Hamilton. Please don't do this to yourself."
But Alexander just shook his head and started scrubbing roughly at the smeared makeup on his face.
The wounds that had just begun to scab tore open again, blood and fluid seeping through.
Mark panicked. With shaking hands, he pulled out his phone and called back to Ravenwood Manor.
"Mr. Hamilton's lost it... he's trying to turn himself into Mrs. Hamilton. You need to do something, fast!"
Chaos erupted on the other end.
No one had dealt with anything like this before. No one knew what to do.
Mark was about to hang up and call the family doctor for sedatives when a soft female voice came through.
"Mark, it's me. Della."
"Della?!" Mark's eyes lit up.
These past few days, Alexander had trusted Della to tend Caroline's grave—maybe she actually had a solution.
"Do you have any ideas? Tell me!"
"I... before I came to Ravenwood Manor, I worked as an apprentice at a salon for a while. I learned some makeup techniques. I'm not very good, and I don't know... if it would help..."
Della's voice was nervous, but to Mark, it sounded like salvation.
"Get here now! Bring makeup. Come to the cemetery immediately!"
The wait felt endless.
Alexander no longer tried to dig up Caroline's grave, but he still knelt in front of the headstone and refused to move. Sometimes he muttered to himself, sometimes he cried silently, sometimes he raised his hand to wipe his face. Mark could only stand guard, watching him helplessly.
Finally, Della came running up with a small makeup bag, breathless.
When she saw Alexander's condition, she froze.
But she forced down her fear and, together with Mark, gently coaxed him.
"Sir, let Della try... maybe with makeup, it'll look more like her..."
"Sir, please calm down and let Della help you, okay?"
Perhaps it was the promise of "more like her," but Alexander finally quieted.
He sat stiffly on the stone steps, closed his eyes, and let Della work.
By the time she finished, dawn was breaking.
Della carefully held up the mirror. "Sir, take a look... does it look like her?"
Alexander's lashes fluttered, and he slowly opened his eyes.
He stared at the mirror blankly.
Then he sat bolt upright.
The face in the mirror still bore wounds, but it looked like someone else entirely. The harsh masculine angles had been softened by Della's contouring, and the person staring back had delicate features and full lips. Even the wounds and the haunted look in those eyes resembled the Caroline in Alexander's memory.
He reached out with trembling fingers, touching the reflection.
Finally, Alexander smiled.
"Like..." he gazed at his reflection with longing, whispering over and over, "Like... really like..."
Even Mark was stunned.
Della truly had a gift. The body wasn't right, the bone structure wasn't right, the voice wasn't right—but in this moment, the face bore a striking resemblance. Seventy, maybe eighty percent.
And that was enough to calm Alexander down.
But immediately, Mark's stomach dropped.
Now that Alexander had taken this step, there would be no stopping him.