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He raced toward her, frantic to stop her before she injured herself. Before he'd crossed half the room, she suddenly stopped, her eyes growing wide as she stared at a spot a few feet above the foot of the bed. A beatific smile spread across her face, a chilling contrast to her flushed skin and sweat-matted hair.
"Daddy," she breathed. "You came for me."
"No!" Desmond bellowed, as if he could enforce his will by sheer volume alone. Grabbing Rebecca around the waist, he hauled her towards the bathroom.
She pounded his shoulders and kicked his shins, but he barely felt it. No bodily harm could match the searing pain slicing through his heart. He pulled her toward the bathroom by instinct alone, his vision blackening as his ears filled with the beating wings of a thousand birds.
"No. Let me go," she whimpered. "Let me go. I have to go. Daddy!"
He plunged her into the water, heedless of the shock to her system.
"Never! You aren't cursed. You will not die!"
Her eyes rolled back in her head and she sagged limp in his arms. He pulled her body from the tub, frantic to find a heartbeat. Her heart raced within her chest, but she showed no other sign of life.
Kneeling on the slick tile beside her body, Desmond captured her hands between his. He was losing her. He wasn't good enough. He couldn't save her. She was going to die, and it would all be his fault, not because he had cursed her, but because he'd waited too long to get help bringing her fever down.
The black emptiness of an eternity without her yawned before him, an endless existence with no hope of life.
And then her fingers tightened on his hand.
He dared to open his eyes. The harsh scarlet streaking her face had faded to a soft rose, and her chest rose and fell evenly. Her mouth was closed, although a faint smile tilted at the corners, and her eyelashes rested lightly against her cheeks in normal slumber.
He squeezed his eyes shut and took a breath so deep, he thought it would shatter his chest. "I love you," he breathed.
Careful not to jostle her, he slid his arms beneath her and lifted her up. She mumbled in her sleep, and curved toward his chest, nestling her head against his shoulder. He'd never seen or felt anything so wonderful. Placing her reverently onto the bed, he sat at her side and watched her sleep.
Her fever hadn't completely abated, and he continued to bathe her with tepid water. But she'd survived the worst of it. She would live. All she needed now was time.
He laughed. Time. She had all she needed, now.
VOICES AT THE door, and the sound of a keycard in the lock, broke his concentration. Gillian was home from her picnic. She mustn't be allowed to see Rebecca like this. Not so soon after losing her mother.
He grabbed his robe and threw it on. He reached the door just as it opened.
"Daddy!" Gillian squealed and launched herself at him. He caught her, crushing her to him in a tighter-than-usual embrace, and let her cascade of happy thoughts wash over him. His wife and his daughter. He had them both. And after coming so close to losing both of them, the sudden rush of joy staggered him.
He could even restore his friendship with Philippe. After all, Rebecca's reaction to learning Desmond was cursed had been the exact opposite of Philippe's prediction. Philippe had never been one to stand on pride, though. He'd admit he was wrong. The future had never seemed brighter.
Desmond struggled to maintain his composure, and act normally.
"Did you have a nice picnic, sweetheart?"
"We had fun! We went outside in the sun, and sat on warm rocks, and picked flowers, and fed squirrels." A montage of thought-pictures accompanied her words.
"And did you enjoy it, Mrs. Waters?"
"We had a lovely time. How was your wedding?" She tried not to look at his bathrobe and obvious exhaustion, drawing the natural conclusion.
"Wonderful. Rebecca looked radiant. Unfortunately, she also came down with something while we were in Las Vegas. She's been running a pretty high fever the last few hours."
"Nothing serious, I hope."
He didn't answer. How could he? Instead, he asked, "Would you mind watching Gillian one more day?"
"But Daddy," Gillian started to protest.
"You're only just getting well again. I'm not taking any chances with you."
