Half Life (17 page)

 
“
Do you know?
”
she presses. 
“
It
’
s so clear in my head, as though it were yesterday.  Please tell me.
”

 
“
You
’
re seeing the best day of my life,
”
he says gently, touching her hand.

 
“
JD has to leave now,
”
the nurse says, eager to get him out of the room now they
’
ve made this little breakthrough. 

  Reluctantly he gets to his feet. 
“
May I visit you again?
”
he asks Rosie politely.

 
“
Yes please do,
”
she replies thoughtfully.

  She watches him leave with a puzzled frown.

 
“
Why did you get me to leave, just when she was remembering?
”
JD demands of the nurse the moment they
’
re out of earshot.

 
“
The doctor doesn
’
t want her recalling everything all at once.  It could be too traumatic.
”

  Just before he reaches the door he hears a voice calling out his name. 
“
JD.
”

  Turning he sees Rosie rushing up to him.  She flings her arms around his neck and hugs him tightly.  He
’
s surprised but elated and hugs her back fiercely.  Then she releases him and she stands watching as he
’
s led away by the nurse.

 
“
He
’
s starting to remember,
”
Rosie tells the doctor stood at her side.

 
“
It would appear so.  We
’
ve finally found the correct dose of medication and it seems to be having an effect.
”

 
“
He still thinks I
’
m the one who
’
s the patient here.
”

 
“
It
’
s a coping mechanism.  It
’
s easier for him to believe you
’
re the one who
’
s sick.  Better that than face up to the fact that he hacked off your hair and almost pushed you off a cliff.
”

  She shudders at the memory. 
“
If it hadn
’
t been for those two hikers he would have done.
”
  He would have thrown himself off too if she hadn
’
t talked him out of it. 

  JD
’
s condition had slowly crept up on them all.  At first he
’
d become introverted and quiet then began to talk of people following him.  It all came to a head one day when she was arranging a bunch of red roses in a vase.  He
’
d taken the scissors from her and hacked off all her hair.  In his mind he was trying to protect her from the secret agents he believed were following him.  He thought if her appearance was altered they wouldn
’
t be able to find her.  She was just grateful the children were at school at the time. 

After three months in a psychiatric hospital they
’
d found a medication that suited him and he
’
d come home for a trial run.  At first he seemed to be doing so well, he
’
d even bought her a bunch of roses.  Unfortunately that was what had brought it all screaming back and, unable to deal with what he
’
d done to her JD had run off to Linden Falls, their favourite beauty spot where he
’
d proposed to her twelve years ago.  Still believing they were being pursued by men wanting to hurt them, he tried to push her off the cliff so she wouldn
’
t fall into their hands.  Everything he
’
d done to her he
’
d twisted in his mind, making himself believe she was the one who was ill and that he had saved her so he wouldn
’
t have to deal with the fact that he
’
d tried to kill his own wife. 

 
“
It
’
s uncommon for a schizophrenic to display such violence and he hasn
’
t had a violent episode since,
”
continues the doctor. 
“
The increased dose of the antipsychotic medication is controlling his condition and we
’
re breaking through the delusions.  He
’
s given up on the idea of spies following him and he
’
s starting to face up to the truth of how he hurt you, even if his perception of it is distorted.  Once he confronts what he did he
’
ll start to move forwards, I
’
m very confident of it.  Keep talking to him of his life, get him to open up and remember.  If he faces up to his past then hopefully he
‘
ll face up to his illness too.
”

  Rosie watches JD
’
s retreating back sadly, the strength of her love for him threatening to rip her in two.  He hasn
’
t seen their children in months because she doesn
’
t want them to be afraid of their own father and because she refuses to risk their safety until she knows for certain he isn
’
t going to flip out again.  However she is completely willing to risk herself to help him.

 
“
Do I have to go on pretending I
’
m a patient here?
”

 
“
I think it best.  He
’
s too fragile at the moment to deal with any traumatic recalls, if that is agreeable to you of course?
”

 
“
I
’
ll do anything to help him get well again.
”

 
“
He
’
ll get there but it will take time.
”

 
“
Time is one thing I have plenty of,
”
she murmurs as she watches him being returned to his room on the ward. 

  Rosie presses a hand to her mouth to stifle the sobs.  She
’
d wait for him forever.

THE END

The preparations have been finalised, everything is in position and my Georgian ball is about to begin.  Although Ravensdale House was built in 1745, this particular event is taking place in August 2012.  I
’
ve just inherited this massive estate from my grandfather who recently died and the weight of its upkeep has landed squarely on my terrified twenty seven year old shoulders.  This ball marks the beginning of a new regime and the cream of local society are invited, hence my jangling nerves.

  For the twentieth time that evening I look down at my flawless white gown, the vast hooped skirt awkward and walking requires a lot of concentration.  Taking a last look in the mirror I admire how my thick chestnut coloured hair has been curled into ringlets and piled atop my head, complementing my green eyes and the tight white bodice curves my figure magnificently.  I take a deep breath to steady my nerves and am startled to see how prominent my bosom is.  It may prove to be a good distraction should things go wrong.

  I stand in the grand hallway at the front door to greet the guests and run a final appraising eye over the place.  The gorgeous creamy marble floor shines in the golden light cast by the massive chandelier and electric sconces.  The effect complements the colourful wall friezes wonderfully.  It will be a grand entrance for my guests.  As they arrive I am glad to see how much trouble they have gone to for all their costumes are expensive and authentic, many ladies balancing ridiculously high wigs atop their heads.  Just above where I stand is a massive portrait of Lord Carmichael, the fourth earl of the estate who held the masked balls back in the eighteenth century that I have based tonight
’
s on.  He was responsible for most of the dazzling colourful decor.  He looks down upon this world with stern black eyes, his face strong and handsome, black hair held back in a coordinating black velvet ribbon and I hope he would approve of my efforts.

  Eventually all the guests are ushered into the grand ballroom and appear to be enjoying themselves.  I mingle and keep a close eye on the waiters, making sure they keep everyone topped up with champagne.

  After three hours of non-stop mixing and small talk I
’
m exhausted so I retreat from the room for a rest on the pretext of fixing my make-up. 

  When I return to the ballroom I am elated to see my guests have arranged themselves into an elegant Quadrille and are gracing the dance floor beautifully.  I stare at the scene in astonishment because I had no idea this collection of councillors and local business people know how to dance but all are moving naturally and with a poise I didn
’
t think they possessed.  As I watch I realise something is different; the room is darker, more subdued but I can
’
t think why.  Have some of the lights gone out?

  Looking up at the ceiling my jaw drops open when I see the electric chandeliers aren
’
t just off, they aren
’
t there at all.  All the light is coming from candles dotted about the room and the wall sconces, which are entirely different to the ones that were there when I left the room.  I look for the light switch, which is by the doorway I have just come through but that has disappeared too.  So has the massive Victorian era clock that graced the mantelpiece above the huge fireplace.  Sliding my hand into the pocket of my gown, I feel my mobile phone has likewise vanished. 

 
“
What the
…
,
”
I murmur to myself. 

  I struggle to reason what is happening.  Perhaps I
’
ve fallen asleep and this is all a dream?  I
’
ve only had two glasses of champagne, I was careful not to overdo it because I want to keep a clear head so I
’
m not drunk.

  I turn, intending to rush from the room in fright and almost collide with the man I had not realised was stood behind me.  He too is masked but his eyes are of the blackest black and they are regarding me with definite curiosity.  His long jet black hair is held back in place with a black velvet ribbon.  I know him instantly.

 
“
Lord Carmichael,
”
I curtsey.  I know how to behave, I
‘
ve watched Pride and Prejudice.

 
“
Miss
…
?
”

 
“
Hale,
”
I reply in a shaky voice.

  He takes my hand and kisses the top of it. 
“
Miss Hale.  May I claim the honour of this dance?
”

 
“
Y
…
yes,
”
I stammer, not knowing what else to do.

  Dumbly I let him lead me to the dance floor, grateful that I took some dance instruction prior to this ball, or rather prior to the one that
’
s occurring in 2012. 

The whole place is a riot of colour, the ladies wearing dazzling gowns of vivid reds, golds, deep blues, greens, every colour of the spectrum.  Many have glittering jewels sewn into the material, which catch the candlelight magnificently and hint at the great wealth assembled here.  Some of the ladies even wear themed dresses; feathered bird of paradise gowns with coordinating masks, winter-themed gowns with snowflakes sewn to the pure white material, putting my own in the shade.  The men wear long velvet jackets with lace at the throat and cuffs.  Some sport powdered wigs while a few, like Lord Carmichael wear their hair long and tied back with ribbon, which I infinitely prefer to the powder and patch look.  Although it was considered to be masculine at the time I think it looks very effeminate.  On the contrary Lord Carmichael is clad all in black, white cuffs and collar the only slash of colour.  He
’
s also tall, well over six foot and looks well-built and strong.