Chapter 100 Whispering Her Sister's Name
The realization struck her—the tearing sensation was familiar.
It was the kind of familiarity that made her skin crawl, like something she had endured before. Not the raw sting of a first intimacy, but something darker… a rip laced with emotion and aggression.
A sharp ache flared in Caroline's head. Blurred fragments fought their way to the surface.
Blinding lights. A ceiling swaying overhead, too white, too clean. Warm water turning cold against her skin. Pain racking her body. A man's ragged breathing.
She let out a low sound, clutching her head, trying to hold on to the images. But they slipped away, leaving only a pounding heartbeat and a wave of unease.
What was happening to her? Why now?
She couldn't dwell on it. Alexander was still burning with fever.
Caroline gritted her teeth, forced herself upright, and began gathering the scattered clothes. She carried them into the bathroom, shoving them deep into the laundry basket beneath other garments.
She hurried back to the closet, grabbed a silk robe, and returned to the bed.
Alexander was sleeping heavily, his skin hot to the touch, limbs heavy with fever. She lifted his arm, struggling to get the robe around him.
He stirred, a faint frown crossing his face, a muffled sound escaping his throat. His body resisted, even in sleep.
"Easy... almost done. Just getting you dressed. The doctor's on the way..." she murmured, coaxing him gently.
It took effort, but she managed to pull the robe into place, tie the belt, and draw the blanket over him.
The door burst open. Kenna appeared, breathing hard, clutching the emergency kit.
Caroline took it at once, pulling out alcohol and cotton balls.
She knelt beside the bed, dampened a cotton ball, and began wiping his skin in slow strokes to cool him down.
"Where's the doctor? Did you call?" she asked without looking up.
"Called! He's on his way!" Kenna replied quickly.
It felt like forever before the doorbell rang.
Kenna raced downstairs, returning with the family doctor in tow.
He moved fast, checking Alexander, his expression tightening. "Mr. Hamilton's fever is from exposure to cold, compounded by severe dietary irregularities and exhaustion. And—" He paused, eyes flicking toward Caroline. "Fatigue. Extreme fatigue."
Heat rushed to her face. She looked away.
The doctor set up an IV for the fever, prescribed medication, and spoke firmly. "Mrs. Hamilton, his condition is serious. He needs rest, hydration, proper nutrition. And absolutely no activities that will drain his strength."
He stressed the last words.
Caroline nodded quickly, committing every instruction to memory.
When he left, she exhaled, relief loosening her shoulders.
She touched Alexander's forehead again. Still hot.
She kept wiping his skin with alcohol, hoping to help until the medicine took hold.
Time blurred. Then his lips moved, cracked and dry, forming a name.
Edith.
Her hand froze mid-motion.
She turned slowly, staring at him, her mind spinning.
Why Edith? Why in fever?
Alexander was lost in a nightmare.
Gunfire. Shouts splitting the air. The salt-heavy wind off the sea.
The pier. The place that had burned itself into his mind forever.
He was moving against the tide of fleeing bodies, shoving past faces twisted in fear.
"Mr. Hamilton! Put this on! Too many stray rounds!" a voice shouted. A heavy vest was thrust toward him.
"Get out of my way!" he snarled, shoving the man back.
"If you can't find Edith, you'll all die with her!"
Silence fell. The man's hands froze midair.
Alexander didn't stop. He reached into his jacket, drew a loaded pistol, and shouldered his way through the crowd. His voice cut through the wind.
"Edith! Where are you!"
Then his steps faltered.
A few yards ahead, on the worn planks, Edith was in Caroline's arms.
Blood bloomed at her abdomen, vivid against the pale fabric. The bullet had gone clean through.
Warm blood poured out, soaking Caroline's hands, pooling on the wood in dark red.
Alexander's knees buckled. He dropped hard to the ground.
"Call an ambulance!" Caroline's scream cut through the chaos.
Men scattered to obey.
In the noise, Edith lifted a trembling, blood-slick hand to Caroline's tear-streaked face.
Her lips were bloodless, almost translucent. Her voice came in broken fragments, carried by the wind to Alexander.
"Caroline... take care of Alex... take care of Mom and Dad... don't cry over me too long... live... live well..."
"No! No! You'll make it!" Caroline cried, shaking her head violently.
Edith's head moved in a faint denial. A fragile smile touched her mouth.
Her gaze drifted upward, unfocused, toward the heavy clouds above. The light in her eyes dimmed.
"Such... a shame..."
Her breath was shallow. "I always... liked..."
The rest never came. Her voice vanished into the roar of the wind.
Her hand fell away.
"No—!" Alexander's roar ripped through the night.
His eyes locked on Caroline.
In that moment, he laid the blame at her feet.
And in the depths of his fevered mind, he swore she would pay for Edith's death.