A different sort of panic gripped Noah, squeezing his heart. He gulped and said, “You’re going to leave me, aren’t you. Like Marcus left me.”
He grew agitated again and tried to pull away.
“No, darling. No, I’m not,” Beckett insisted in a whisper. He hailed one of the cabs driving past the asylum as he did, then tugged Noah toward one when it stopped. “I’m not going to leave you. Ever.”
Noah wished he could believe him. He wanted to with all his heart, and once the cab stopped, Beckett paid the driver, and they bundled inside where no one could see them, Noah threw himself into Beckett’s arms and held on for dear life. He was terrified, perhaps more than he ever had been before, but only part of that was for the frightening treatment Dr. Carmichael had suggested.
What scared him even more than the threat of being drowned or spun around until he vomited or painfully shocked was the possibility of losing the one person who had stood by him through his fits. He loved Beckett, he knew that in his soul, and even if it meant terrifying himself to death, he would do what his beloved told him to do if it meant Beckett wouldn’t leave.
ChapterFourteen
Never in all his life would Beckett have imagined that the hardest thing he would ever have to endure would be something that happened to someone else. Noah didn’t want to undergo any of the treatments that Dr. Carmichael had suggested, but over the next few days, Beckett had done everything he could to convince his lover that it was for the best, and if there was even a slight chance that any of the therapies Dr. Carmichael wanted to try might work, they should attempt them.
He kept Noah’s spirits high over the weekend by taking him to a music hall show on Friday night, then for an afternoon in Central Park, along with Aurora, on Saturday afternoon. He’d asked if Noah might like to attend some sort of church service on Sunday, but he flat refused that. So they went to The Slippery Slope instead.
It was a tense visit. Even though Beckett’s friends did their best to be kind and civil toward Noah, every one of them treated Noah as though he were a stick of dynamite with a short fuse. The only slight consolation Beckett got out of that trip was that Noah didn’t spend more than five seconds searching the club for Marcus, and when Marcus and Blaise did come down to pass some time with their friends, Noah didn’t notice.
Everything changed on Monday morning, when Beckett and Noah returned to the hospital.
“How long with the immersion therapy take?” Beckett asked Dr. Carmichael as Noah undressed in a sort of dressing room beside the treatment room and put on the simple cotton underthings he’d been ordered to don. “And is there a seat for me or should I bring one of these into the room?” He started to the corner, where a few ladderback chairs were arranged.
“Only medical personnel are allowed in the treatment rooms, Mr. Smith,” Dr. Carmichael said just as Noah came out from behind the screen where he’d been changing.
“I’m sorry?” Beckett froze, blinking at the man.
“You’ll have to wait here.”
Dr. Carmichael wasn’t exactly unkind, but he had no compassion for the relationship between Beckett and Noah, and he would not budge in his insistence that Beckett wait while Noah received his treatment. Noah looked deeply anxious about going into the room with the water tank alone, but he did his best to send Beckett an encouraging smile.
It was the longest half hour of Beckett’s life. And when the waiting ended, there was no relief. Noah was escorted back into the room looking like a drowned cat. His shoulders were hunched and he gasped for breath. His face was pale, but splotched with color, and when he shakily raised his eyes to Beckett, those eyes were full of tears.
It was even worse on Thursday of the same week, when Dr. Carmichael decided that the immersion therapy was unsuccessful and something stronger was needed.
“The spinning machine will to the trick,” he insisted as Beckett watched Noah being strapped into the macabre contraption. At least Dr. Carmichael had allowed him to be present for the preparations. “Once we’ve confused his brain enough to return to a more natural state, I am certain his extremes of mood will be alleviated.”
Beckett wasn’t convinced at all. Noah looked terrified, but when Beckett tried to step toward him to take his hands—which were strapped to the chair-like portion of the machine—a hulking orderly stepped into his way.
“You cannot disturb the patient at this phase of treatment, Mr. Smith,” Dr. Carmichael said with a scowl. “Any distraction to this scientifically proven method will muddle the results. Ideally, the patient should have nothing in the room to draw his focus away from the benefits of spinning.”
“Beckett?” Noah appealed to him in a tiny, tremulous voice. “Please stay. I’m frightened.”
Beckett’s throat closed up, and his eyes stung with unshed tears. He had to be brave for his beloved, though. If this minor horror helped, it would be worth it.
“I’ll be just on the other side of the door, love,” he said in as tender a voice as he could manage, not caring if Dr. Carmichael and the orderlies heard his affection. “I’ll be right there when you’re done. And Noah, you are so brave for doing this, so very brave.”
Noah nodded miserably, then took a deep breath, as though he were gathering his courage.
Forty-five minutes later, Noah lurched his way through the doorway to the room where Beckett had been pacing. Dr. Carmichael shouted and complained behind him, saying they weren’t done yet. They were most certainly done, as far as Beckett was concerned, particularly when Noah stumbled into him, unable to maintain his balance, then proceeded to retch. They’d been warned not to feed Noah breakfast, so nothing but bile left his mouth, but that was enough to fill Beckett with rage and despair.
“It’s over now, sweetheart,” Beckett sighed and sank to the floor so he could hold Noah close to the ground, since Noah was obviously still dizzy. “I won’t let them do that again.”
“Please, no, Beckett,” Noah sobbed against him. He buried his face against Beckett’s neck and wept. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”
“No, we won’t, love.” Beckett breathed through the massive lump in his throat, fighting to keep himself together, and rested his cheek against the top of Noah’s head.
Dr. Carmichael found them there a moment later. He made a disapproving sound and shook his head as he towered over them.
“You aren’t helping, Mr. Smith,” he scolded. “As I said before, you cannot cure madness with madness. This inappropriate affection is only poisoning his mind further. My recommendation is that you abstain from all forms of physical touch and any delusion of emotional intimacy. You’re only confusing him.”