Mirage Beyond Flames (Coriola) Read online

  A Melinda De Ross Book

  Mirage Beyond Flames

  Copyright © November 2013, Author Melinda De Ross

  Cover Design: Classy Designs: https://www.facebook.com/classydesignsbycoly

  Formatting: Ionut-Augustin Coliolu

  First Copyright e-Publication: November 2013

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED:This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  Melinda De Ross

  Mirage Beyond Flames

  Coriola – Book One

  To my dreams. Don’t ever leave me. Don’t ever disappoint me.

  Part One – Revelation of Love

  Chapter One

  First, he was intrigued by her sunglasses. The big dark lenses completely hid her eyes and that caught his attention at once.

  Outside, the London sun was scorching; waves of heat distorted the images of buildings and streets. A few pedestrians moved like through dense syrup, wilting under the weight of a truly torrid day. Even traffic appeared as in a slow-motion picture - a fluid volatile mirage.

  However, inside the cool room colorful shutters attenuated and tamed the light, creating a diffuse glow. That, along with the air conditioning’s hum, created an almost domestic ambience.

  Gerard remained a silent spectator, studying from the doorway the woman who dominated the tableau. She was dressed in white, seemingly personifying an angel of mercy, whose messenger she’d actually been in the past three years, since the opening of HOPE – a center of research and treatment for children’s cancer.

  Her suit, consisting of pants and a sleeveless blouse, was wrinkled, thanks to the little ones who had gathered around her, holding toys and sweets, ever-present gifts from her visits. One of the children had managed to climb onto her lap. Gerard was surprised to notice she held and caressed him with maternal affection, not displaying the impersonal air of some celebrity who considered charity just another promotion gig.

  Her hair was long, almost reaching her waist, a blend of light brown and blond, similar to the color of his own short cut hair. It was gathered in a ponytail, falling carelessly on her shoulder. This look emphasized her somewhat aristocratic face, with elegant, well-defined cheekbones and sensual lips. She wore a pair of tiny diamond earrings.

  Maybe the shades are meant to make her appear mysterious or fend off unwanted interlocutors, he thought cynically.

  He knew her name was Linda Coriola and she was an artist, a sculptress or something like that. Periodically, she made large donations to the clinic where he spent precious time researching experimental treatments against cancer.

  She must have felt his stare, for she turned her head toward him, remaining still for a heartbeat. He was aware of the figure he cut as he stood indolently propped in the doorway, with his tall, perfectly proportioned frame, his shoulders almost blocking the entry. He usually dressed simply in jeans and a dark shirt; today was no exception.

  He was often told his best feature were his eyes – bluish-green, highlighted by tanned and most often unshaven skin. A more poetic ex-girlfriend had once declaimed she could see an entire ocean in their depths, though he wasn’t inclined to notice anything exceptional in his appearance.

  However, he was very observant. Analyzing her face, he could almost read her reaction to his presence. He’d swear she was seized by the same strange symphony of emotions mirroring his, that same inexplicably powerful attraction. Judging by her expression, he sensed it was somewhat in contrast to the distant cautiousness people said she’d adopted since the unpleasant experience of her divorce, about a year before.

  Guessing her dilemma, he moved pleasantly forward, sending a warm smile to the children, who let out exclamations of joy seeing him. They formed an untidy circle around the two. He stretched out a hand in greeting.

  “Bonjour!” he said in his deep, slightly abrasive voice, spiced with a subtle French accent. “I am Gerard Leon.”

  She looked for a moment at his stretched hand, then returned the gesture.

  “Linda Coriola. It’s nice meeting you, Mr. Leon.”

  “Gerard,” he corrected with half a smile. “We’ve never met before, but I’ve heard about you.”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “I’m a biologist, I work here,” he went on.

  Heavy footsteps sounded on the corridor and a plump nurse appeared in the doorway.

  “Hello, Mr. Leon, Ms. Coriola! I’m here to take the children to lunch. Come on, sweethearts, wash your hands, food is waiting for you!” she addressed the group of children, who were already heading noisily to the door, saying goodbye to the adults.

  After the children had left, Gerard re-focused his attention on Linda, trying to find a conversation topic. Before he could open his mouth, he noticed the tip of her nose was red. From behind the dark lenses, a tear was sadly sliding down her smooth cheek.

  He crouched in front of her and, lifting her chin until their eyes were at the same level, asked worriedly:

  “What’s wrong? Don’t you feel well? Do you want me to call somebody, bring you a glass of water or something else?”

  She shook her head in denial, trying to turn her face away, but he was gently cupping her jaw between strong fingers, watching her interrogatively.

  “No,” she finally said, “I’m fine, it’s just that…”

  She twisted again and again a ring on her finger, as though trying to find a proper way to express herself without opening her heart too much in front of a stranger.

  “Every time I come here I get enormously sad, seeing their pale faces, the effects of chemotherapy and other horrible treatments, their eyes… Some still have hope, but others know or believe themselves to be doomed. I can see it in their shadowed eyes. It upsets me terribly I can’t help them more, I can’t give them what truly matters, meaning health and a normal life.”

  While saying this, Linda took a tissue out of her bag. Before she could protest, he took it from her hand. Slowly taking off her sunglasses, he wiped her tears himself with gentle, almost tender movements. He was vaguely wondering what had urged him to make such a bold gesture.

  When she opened her eyes, they looked at each other for the first time without any physical barrier between them. Blue was a much too banal description for her almond shaped eyes, which, although framed by red-rimmed eyelids and wet eyelashes, without any cosmetics applied, were stunning.

  He had never felt such absurd disconcertedness as when he found himself kneeling in front of the most attractive woman he’d ever met, having no clue about what to say or do next. After a few moments, he said:

  “These poor children’s fate is terrible, but don’t think for a moment you’re not helping them. On the contrary, your donations contribute enormously to expenses for research, treatments, medication, to ensure a pleasant environment for them.”

  Without realizing, he took her hand in his.

  “You and I both fight in our own way for the same cause. It makes a difference, you know. For them it’s vital there are still people who care. Most of the others prefer hiding behind an insensitive wall of ignorance.”

  Linda smiled, seemingly warmed by what he was saying and by his palms cupping hers.

  “I know you’re right, Mr. Leon, but in cases like this it’s never enough. Anyway, what you’re doing for them is much more important. I gathered you’re experimenting a new vaccine or serum, which has already given promising results. A single saved life means more than all the money I could offe
r.”

  “Without the money you offer there wouldn’t be research laboratories, equipment, resources, nothing,” he replied, getting to his feet. “And please stop addressing me as Mister Leon, I feel like a decrepit old man,” he went on smiling. “I don’t think I’m that much older than you. I know it’s not polite to ask a lady how old she is, so I’ll tell you I’m thirty-six, you calculate the difference and if you’d like, you can share it with me.”

  She laughed softly, appearing amazed by the spontaneity of this sound she rarely heard between these walls. And hopefully because the stranger in front of her had managed to amuse, perhaps even comfort her after only a few word exchanges.

  “I’m not yet at the age women get sensitive regarding this subject,” she finally answered. “I’m twenty-eight.”

  “Hmm, so the age difference is ideal,” he replied watching her meditatively.

  “Ideal for what?”

  “To drink a coffee together.”

  He stretched out a hand to help her rise. Detecting a shadow of hesitation, he added:

  “I want to tell you about the project I’m working on. I think it would be in your best interest to know what happens to the money you work so hard for. Don’t you agree?”

  Clearly recognizing the bait for what it was, but probably unable to resist the famous French charm and her own curiosity, Linda got up, straightening her clothes.

  “If you replace the coffee with ice cream, your offer gets even more tempting. Where do you suppose we could go in this heat?”

  Opening the door for her, he touched her elbow slightly, saying:

  “There’s a cafeteria close from here, I go there from time to time with some of my little patients. The good news is we don’t have to walk in the sun, the whole street is shadowed by trees and buildings. You’ll like it.”

  Chapter Two

  As soon as they left the clinic’s cool oasis, the afternoon air became almost unbreathable, hot and dry – a rarely encountered phenomena in London. Gerard indicated the way to the cafeteria which, fortunately, was indeed nearby. He went on holding her arm, barely touching it.

  The street was deserted, except for a few pedestrians walking drowsily, hurrying toward cool refuges. When they reached the cafeteria, its gliding doors opened and a wave of chilly air enveloped them at the entry. An appetizing smell of sweets, pastries and other delicacies spiced the air.

  The cafeteria was quite large, done in pastels, having wooden floors and walls covered in beige wallpaper. From the ceiling swayed old-fashioned chandeliers, which perfectly completed the ambient, conferring it a slightly archaic air, along with the sculptured wooden tables and chairs. The only modern-looking sector was the refrigerated display cases area, revealing shelves filled with culinary masterpieces: cakes, cookies, ice cream, pastries, plus a variety of sodas and fruit juice, more or less natural.

  After a meticulous inspection, Linda chose vanilla ice cream and two éclairs. Gerard followed her example, a gesture she found oddly gallant.

  They sat at a far-corner table, next to a huge ficus tree, whose shiny leafs stood proof that living in semi-shadow and sweet smell highly benefited the plant.

  Gerard pulled a chair for her before he sat at the round table.

  “Hmm!” she exclaimed when the first spoon of flavored ice cream deliciously melted on her tongue. ”I haven’t eaten ice cream this good since childhood. Those disguised chemicals they sell in our days can’t compare with this!”

  Gerard’s eyes rested on her in a way that hinted he was savoring both the ice cream and her company.

  “I gather you haven’t been in a cafeteria in a long time, am I right?” he asked, approaching the éclairs.

  “I haven’t, in a very long time. Unfortunately, lately I’ve been working too hard and forgot to enjoy the small pleasures of life.”

  “Would I seem indiscreet if I asked why?”

  She looked at him a bit surprised, then answered amused:

  “Are you always so straight-forward?”

  “Yes, although some people call me nosy. Is it because of your divorce? I heard something at the clinic. If you don’t wanna talk about it, you can just tell me to mind my own business. I hear that all the time, but it doesn’t stop me from asking questions.”

  “You hear a bit too much for your own good, Mr. Leon!” she teased. “Since you are so well informed, tell me, what did you hear about my divorce?”

  “Not much. It only took meeting you to realize the guy is an idiot and it’s probably in your best interest you’re rid of him.”

  Recognizing a compliment but avoiding its trap, she replied:

  “There’s no interesting story. I’m simply one of the millions of women who got married to a man with whom I had nothing in common. Seven months later we said goodbye in agreement, no scandal involved. This is all. Disappointed?”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  His green, exotic eyes boldly met hers with unsettling directness, causing her pulse to accelerate slightly. Gerard signaled the waitress and they ordered some tonic water.

  After the first sip, Linda restarted the discussion:

  “Now that you know the story of my life, tell me about yourself. You’re French, right?”

  “Is it so obvious?” he joked, stirring the ice in his glass.

  “Bien sûr. This is pretty much the limit of my French,” she said laughing.

  “In any case, you have a great pronunciation,” he remarked.

  “Merci beaucoup! So, since you lured me with ice cream to tell me about your project, why don’t we start with a short biography? You can tell me to mind my own business if you don’t want to talk about it,” she imitated him, smiling.

  He laughed, looking surprised to discover what a delightful person was hiding behind that distant shield.

  “Okay, here’s the synopsis of my life: I was born in Bobigny, a small town located North-East of Paris, where I lived until I was sixteen. That’s when my father died.”

  He paused, as though waiting for the usual pitying remarks, but she remained quiet. Gerard resumed:

  “He was working in nuclear research, a field about which I don’t know much, since I was too busy being a teenager. Anyway, at some point, he began having serious health problems and when he finally went to the hospital, he was diagnosed with a brain tumor. It was inoperable, being too advanced, because he had ignored the symptoms until the last moment. Two months later, he was dead.”

  Although he tried to appear detached, his voice still reflected the regret and sadness accumulated in twenty years.

  “After that, my mother decided to move here, with her sister, Sophie. She was destroyed, physically, mentally, and I, in my ignorance, wasn’t a big help.”

  “Did the way your father died determine you to become a doctor?” she asked in a gentle voice, which inspired understanding and confidence.

  Gerard lifted his gaze to her, looking somewhat astonished by her perception capacity. Then he took a sip from the tonic water and answered thoughtfully:

  “Could be… Maybe in my subconscious this weighed a lot in my career choice, but there are other factors. I inherited from my father a thirst for knowledge, fascination toward science in general, and the human body, in particular.”

  She could read in his attitude the passion and profound devotement for his work. This kind of passion motivated her too at the same extent, even if the direction was different.

  Gerard went on:

  “I’m intrigued by the mechanisms, by the configuration of live organisms and their chemistry, their way to function, to adapt, to reproduce…”

  Flustered, she lowered her eyes to the glass in front of her, toying with the colored straw, but she could feel the weight of his gaze on her. If she had looked at him then, she would have seen his almost imperceptive smile.

  “Well, mostly that’s the boring story of my life. Is there anything else you want to know?”

  “Yes,” she replied, her eyes sparkl
ing with interest. ”Tell me about the magical treatment you’ve discovered.”

  He reclined in his chair.

  “Actually, I can’t truly say I discovered it. There has been some research done in this direction. I managed to determine a treatment formula which, so far, is giving excellent results in vitro testing.”

  “I gather that at HOPE they don’t do tests on animals, it’s one of the reasons I chose it to offer financial support. I consider tests on animals monstrous in this era when technology has evolved enough to exclude them,” she said.

  “I feel the same. As a doctor and as a human I respect life in any form. Even though it’s not appropriate for a physician to say this, there are people who deserve to live less than animals and suffer much more. There’s not a crueler animal in nature than the human.”

  Linda smiled, a wave of heat enveloping her soul.

  “I can’t believe there’s someone who actually loves and respects animals as much as I do. I agree with you, I couldn’t have said it better. Why didn’t you become a veterinarian?”

  “I intended to, but I thought I could do better saving children’s lives. For now, no matter their genetic baggage, they all deserve a chance to live and maybe this will make them better people. The ones who survive, that is,” he added, a hint of sorrow in his voice.

  They remained silent for a moment, each absorbed in their own thoughts. She was the first to reopen the conversation:

  “How did you test your miraculous treatment?” she asked, back to the main topic. “And what kind of treatment is it?”

  Gerard linked his hands under his jaw.

  “A serum and an ointment based on snake venom. It’s mainly intended to cure some skin cancer forms.”

  She raised her eyebrows in amazement.

  “Is that so? I thought any kind of venom is harmful, not beneficial for the human body.”

  He smiled slightly.

  “That’s what most people think. I’m a nonconformist. I want to prove that any organic substance has its uses, it’s just hard to determine the proper way it needs to be used. The Mojave rattlesnake venom has some special features, discovered by researchers who try to produce anti-venom vaccines. It contains a very powerful neurotoxin and other substances which, to put it simple, transform the affected cells into a sort of… soup. True, the destruction is nonselective and the objective is destroying the cancerous cells. But, as an alternative to the traumatizing and invasive effects of surgery and chemo, it’s preferable to inject a well-calculated quantity of venom serum into a tumor. In the first phase we obviously try the ointment. Unfortunately, it’s impossible to annihilate only the cancerous cells without affecting at least some of the healthy ones. We’ve made numerous tests in vitro and using other methods and meticulous calculations, we determined a treatment formula, still rudimentary. Of course,” he admitted, “it can’t be applied in all cancer forms, but for external tumors, in light forms, we already obtained encouraging results on two volunteers.”