The Host - Stephenie Meyer by English

Author:English
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2012-10-24T02:59:25.736000+00:00

CHAPTER 31

Needed

Ifroze and then looked quickly over my shoulder to see if someone was behind me.

“Gladys was his wife,” Jamie whispered almost silently. “She didn't escape.”

“Gladys,” Walter said to me, oblivious to my reaction. “Would you believe I went and got cancer? What are the odds, eh? Never took a sick day in my life…” His voice faded out until I couldn't hear it, but his lips continued to move. He was too weak to lift his hand; his fingers dragged themselves toward the edge of the cot, toward me.

Ian nudged me forward.

“What should I do?” I breathed. The sweat beading on my forehead had nothing to do with the humid heat.

“. . . grandfather lived to be a hundred and one,” Walter wheezed, audible again. “Nobody ever had cancer in my family, not even the cousins. Didn't your aunt Regan have skin cancer, though?”

He looked at me trustingly, waiting for an answer. Ian poked me in the back.

“Um…” I mumbled.

“Maybe that was Bill's aunt,” Walter allowed.

I shot a panicked glance at Ian, who shrugged. “Help,” I mouthed at him.

He motioned for me to take Walter's searching fingers.

Walter's skin was chalk white and translucent. I could see the faint pulse of blood in the blue veins on the back of his hand. I lifted his hand gingerly, worried about the slender bones that Jamie had said were so brittle. It felt too light, as if it were hollow.

“Ah, Gladdie, it's been hard without you. It's a nice place here; you'll like it, even when I'm gone. Plenty of people to talk to–I know how you need to have your conversation.…” The volume of his voice sank until I couldn't make out the words anymore, but his lips still shaped the words he wanted to share with his wife. His mouth kept moving, even when his eyes closed and his head lolled to the side.

Ian found a wet cloth and began wiping Walter's shining face.

“I'm not good at… at deception,” I whispered, watching Walter's mumbling lips to make sure he wasn't listening to me. “I don't want to upset him.”

“You don't have to say anything,” Ian reassured me. “He's not lucid enough to care.”

“Do I look like her?”

“Not a bit–I've seen her picture. Stocky redhead.”

“Here, let me do that.”

Ian gave me the rag, and I cleaned the sweat off Walter's neck. Busy hands always made me feel more comfortable. Walter continued to mumble. I thought I heard him say, “Thanks, Gladdie, that's nice.”

I didn't notice that Doc's snores had stopped. His familiar voice was suddenly there behind me, too gentle to startle.

“How is he?”

“Delusional,” Ian whispered. “Is that the brandy or the pain?”

“More the pain, I would think. I'd trade my right arm for some morphine.”

“Maybe Jared will produce another miracle,” Ian suggested.

“Maybe,” Doc sighed.

I wiped absently at Walter's pallid face, listening more intently now, but they didn't speak of Jared again.

Not here, Melanie whispered.

Looking for help for Walter, I agreed.

Alone, she added.

I thought about the last time I'd seen him–the kiss, the belief… He probably wanted some time to himself.

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