Chapter 252 Please, Give Me the Medicine
After a long while, Alexander finally pushed down the crushing weight in his chest and slowly lifted his head.
"Go see them."
The car pulled into the hillside villa's courtyard. Before it had even stopped, Alexander spotted a figure pacing in the yard.
Linus had wasted away to almost nothing, a hollow shell of the man he'd been.
He circled the yard in jerky, mechanical movements, over and over, eyes glazed and unfocused, rubbing his hands together compulsively. The skin on his knuckles had been worn down to raw flesh, but he didn't seem to notice.
The drug's grip on him was tightening, day by day.
At the sound of the engine, Linus's head snapped up. Something flickered to life in his dead eyes. He stumbled forward and dropped to his knees in front of the car, then crawled toward the door.
The moment the car door opened, Alexander stepped out.
Linus's pupils contracted.
What he saw wasn't his nephew in his usual suit, but a woman in a crimson dress.
It was... Caroline.
"Caroline! Caroline!"
Linus lunged forward like a drowning man grabbing for a rope, laughing wildly. "Caroline, you're back! You're alive! I knew you wouldn't die, I knew it!"
Alexander's expression hardened as he looked down at Linus.
He's too far gone. The drug had convinced him he was Alexander, and made him see Alexander as Caroline.
Linus reached for Alexander's hem.
"The drug... give me the drug... please, I need it..."
Mark moved to kick him away. "Back off! Mr. Hamilton isn't someone you can touch!"
Alexander raised his hand, stopping him.
He looked down at Linus groveling at his feet.
"Linus, look at me. Really look."
He bent down and grabbed Linus's chin, forcing him to meet his eyes.
Linus squinted for a moment before the fog cleared enough to recognize that the person standing before him wasn't Caroline—it really was Alexander. He flinched back instinctively.
But almost immediately, the craving overwhelmed all fear.
He pressed his hands together, looking up at Alexander with desperate hunger.
"You want more of that drug, don't you?" Alexander's tone was almost gentle, like coaxing a child. "Linus?"
Linus shook his head frantically. "No, I'm not Linus... I'm not..."
He grabbed Alexander's hand urgently. "I'm Alexander! Don't you remember?"
Alexander laughed quietly.
He let go and patted his cheek instead, almost tenderly.
"Since you still remember who you are, you surely haven't forgotten what you're supposed to do, right?"
He raised his hand, pointing toward the villa.
"The woman in there is Edith." His voice went cold as ice. "She's the one who killed your beloved Caroline. Alexander, what's your mission?"
Linus nodded frantically. "I know! I'll never forget!"
Then he held out both hands, palms up, raised high like an offering.
"The drug... please give me the drug..."
"You want the drug? Fine." Alexander spoke slowly. "But I have conditions."
He glanced around the yard, his gaze landing on a massive old tree in the corner.
"See that tree?" Alexander tilted his chin toward it. "Crawl over there like a dog and strip all the bark off the bottom with your teeth. Get it clean, and I'll give you what you want."
Mark's jaw tightened.
That tree had to be at least eight feet around. The bark was hard as stone—it would be tough work even with proper tools, let alone bare teeth.
He expected Linus to refuse, to beg.
But Mark had clearly underestimated the drug's hold.
Linus didn't hesitate. He crawled straight toward the tree.
He circled the trunk like a starving animal, then lowered his head and bit down with everything he had.
The rough bark split his lips almost immediately, blood dripping onto the dirt. When he couldn't break through, he bit harder, veins bulging at his temples, as if he was pouring his entire soul into that single bite.
Alexander watched in silence. Only after a long moment did he look away and turn toward the villa.
The air inside was even worse than the yard.
Isabella, her limbs still broken, lay sprawled on the large bed in the living room, looking even more wasted than the last time he'd seen her.
The moment she saw Alexander, terror flooded her eyes, but she couldn't get a single word out.
Alexander barely spared her a glance before turning to the servants cowering nearby.
"The smell in this house is disgusting." He wrinkled his nose. "Sweat and rot—you people can actually stand living in this?"
The servants huddled in the corner, nodding frantically. "Yes, yes, we'll clean right away, we'll take care of it immediately..."
"Clean it up." Alexander's tone was dismissive. "These sinners are beyond saving, but you still have to live here, don't you?"
The servants looked even more terrified.
Alexander didn't spare Isabella another glance and walked straight down the hallway toward the back.
At the end of the hallway was a bedroom—an exact replica of the room that had been kept for Edith in the apartment he and Caroline once shared.
He pushed the door open. Edith was curled up in the corner of the bed, clutching a stale cracker, chewing it like cardboard.
At the sound, she slowly lifted her head.
That face, ruined in the explosion, looked even more haggard and twisted now. Her hair was matted into knots, old and new wounds layered across her body, and the air reeked of unwashed flesh and worse.
Clearly, during this time, Linus had done plenty to her.
Yet there was still defiance burning in her eyes.
Alexander looked at her with open disgust and pulled out a handkerchief to cover his nose.
Edith stared at him for a long time, then suddenly burst into ragged laughter.
"Alexander..." She laughed in broken gasps. "You know what? The first moment you walked in, I didn't even recognize you..."
She laughed until she could barely breathe. "You've really lost your mind... you're actually dressing like her now? You miss her that much? Alexander, she was driven to her death by you."
Alexander's eyes went cold and hard.
He lunged forward suddenly, one hand clamping around Edith's throat, slamming her back against the wall.
"It was you." Alexander's voice came out in a hoarse roar.
"You were the one who killed her! If you hadn't faked your death back then, how would I have thought you were dead? How would I have—"