Insanity (23 page)

I can’t get out.

There is no escape.

Footsteps pound against the pale green, tile flooring and Dr. Morrow looms above me. “Well, hello there, Adelaide.” There’s a rotten tone to his voice and I know he’s purposely toying with me. He reaches to his left and grabs a giant wad of cotton off his tray. “I’m very excited to introduce you to what I like to call treatment.”

I’m crying so hard that I have to gasp for air and Dr. Morrow shoves the cotton into my mouth with force.” Don’t,” I try to say, but the words come out muffled.

Dr. Morrow points to my mouth. “That’s so you don’t bite down on your tongue, my dear.”

I’m still trying to beg him to stop, even though my mouth is full and I know he can’t understand me. “Plllease. Pleeassse.”

He ignores me, grabs the headband-like instrument and places it on me, the two nodules on each side pressing into my temples. I focus on the round, dome-shaped lighting fixture above me. I hear squeaking as Dr. Morrow fiddles with the electroshock machine’s dials. My saliva has dampened the wad of cotton and the little hairs are sticking to the walls of my cheeks. I have nothing left. Begging was my last option.

Dr. Morrow is going to fry my brain like an egg in a pan.

And there is nothing I can do to stop him.

“Let this be a lesson to you,” he whispers into my ear. “What goes around, comes around.”

So this isn’t only about treating me. It’s about payback. Revenge. All because I spit in his face?

Marjorie enters the room and takes her place next to, Dr. Morrow. She nods at Dr. Morrow and he reaches for one of the dials. My brain is already buzzing, setting itself up for the volts of electricity that are about to circulate through it. I clamp my teeth down on the cotton in preparation, and clench my fists. Then I try to tell myself that I’m ready for it, even though I know that’s a lie and I think I’m about to wet myself.

“Stop!” Dr. Watson’s voice booms inside the small operating-like room and Dr. Morrow’s hand freezes on the tip of the dial. Dr. Morrow ignores him and I think I hear the machine come to life. “God damn it, Matthew! I said stop!” I try to lift my head, but only make it part of the way. Dr. Watson stomps toward the table, his eyes sweeping over me in a panic. His gaze darkens when he looks at Dr. Morrow. “Let her up. Undo her restraints.”

Marjorie makes a move toward me and Dr. Morrow bars his arms against her chest. “No, Marjorie.”

Dr. Watson’s face is flushed, his brilliant eyes are fueled with rage, and he puffs out his chest before slamming his balled up fist onto the table next to the machine. He speaks with a gritty voice, lingering on each word. “I. Said. Let. Her. Up.”

Marjorie moves fast, removing the cotton from my mouth, removing the restraints from my ankles, and unfastening the ones across my chest.

“You’re making a huge mistake, Elijah,” Dr. Morrow scolds him. “You’re too close to this case! You need to back off!”

“I am in charge of her!” Dr. Watson fires back. “She is mi—!” Dr. Watson corrects himself. “She is my patient!”

“She shouldn’t be!” Dr. Morrow shouts. “You can’t separate your feelings! You’re too attached! You can’t be her doctor!”

Dr. Watson reaches down and helps me off the gurney. His eyes are kind and loving, his face is bunched together with concern. “Can you stand?”

“I think so.”

Dr. Watson dips his shoulder and I slide my arm across it. He helps me onto the floor and the shock of the freezing tile brings on goosebumps. Dr. Watson rubs my biceps, pumping warmth back into my skin. “This is what you get, Elijah,” Dr. Morrow tsks and shakes his head. “This is what you get for getting involved with a nutcase.”

Dr. Watson snaps, a crazed look in his eye, and lunges for Dr. Morrow, gripping his collar and backing him into the wall. “I thought I told you never to call her that.”

Panic flashes in Dr. Morrow’s eyes and as Dr. Watson backs off, he straightens out his lab coat. Dr. Watson is at my side again and guides me to the double doors at the end of the room. “You’ve lost your mind just like her, you know that, Elijah?” he shouts after us. “She doesn’t even know who you are!”

Dr. Watson halts me at the halfway point. His body tenses and when I gaze into his eyes I see a flash of hurt. I don’t know what’s going on here. I don’t know what Dr. Morrow is talking about. I’ve never felt more out of the loop, confused, or tortured in my entire life. Dr. Watson laces his fingers through mine and peers over his shoulder, a glimmer of a psychotic break in his beautiful eyes. “Let’s get one thing straight, Matthew,” he says coldly. “If you so much as lay a finger on my wife again, I’ll fucking kill you.”

His wife?

His wife?

But that’s impossible.

I just got here.

Didn’t I?

Aurora’s words flit through my mind.
You’re her. The one that got away.

Oh…that’s right.

But when did I get married?

My mouth hangs open and I stare at the beautiful man in front of me. The man I’m supposedly married to. He gazes into my eyes, casts a glance downward then pulls me to his chest, tucking my head beneath his chin. He kisses my hair and his warm breath trails down the back of my neck. “I don’t understand Dr.Watson, how—?”

He silences me with a soothing sound and another kiss, this time on the temple. “I know you don’t, my darling. You’ve been through a lot and I promise to explain everything tomorrow.”

“O..o..okay,” I stutter, still in shock.

“I had to try and get you to remember your first time here, and why, in order for us to move on to the next step of your treatment.”

“The next step?”

“Getting you to remember how we met and fell in love.”

And got married
, I think to myself.

He takes my face in his hands, brushes my hair back away from my face, and gazes deeply into my eyes. I can see the love glittering like tiny specks of bronze in his honey irises. “I just know it will only be a matter of time before you come back to us.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Us?”

He places his lips against my forehead. “Yes. Willow and myself.”

“Willow?”

“Our daughter.”

Hurt bleeds from my heart.

Tears prick my eyes.

I still don’t know this man. Despite what he claims, I still don’t know him as anything other than my doctor. And I don’t even know my own child. My flesh and blood. I close my eyes and the wetness rains down my cheeks. My face is on fire and Dr. Watson’s cool thumbs instantly put out the blaze when he caresses my skin, wiping away my tears. “Don’t cry,” he murmurs. “I know the memories will come back to you. I just know it. I won’t give up until they do.”

“Dr. Watson, I—.”

“Elijah.”

“Elijah,” I repeat with uncertainty. Confusion spreads throughout my body and a part of me still thinks that all of this might be an elaborate hoax. “Why, Willow?”

He backs away slightly and raises both eyebrows. “What, my love?”

“Willow. Why did we name our daughter, Willow?”

A radiant smile curls on his lips. “
We
didn’t name her, Willow. You did. I fought you on it because I thought it was silly to name our daughter after a tree.”

“A tree?”

“Yes. You always spoke of this weeping willow in the backyard of your childhood home and how you spent so much time there.”

“Oh,” I gasp, eyes wide and bring my hands to my mouth. “The willow tree.”

Hope ignites in Elijah’s eyes and he nods excitedly. From the look on his face, I can tell he thinks I’ve had some great revelation. I haven’t and I don’t have the emotional strength to tell him that I still can’t remember any of my relationship with him or the day I named our daughter Willow.

But even without my memories, I know why.

Because of one man, with blue blue eyes, black hair, and toasted almond skin.

Damien.

Elijah, slides his arm across my shoulder, kisses my temple again, and places his lips a breath away from my ear. “More will come back to you, my love. I just know it. I can feel it. And I’ll never give up the fight until it does. I promise.”

We walk together, hand in hand to the double door and just before we exit I see Damien in the corner of the room, cowering, a sneer on his lips and a single solitary tear dripping down his cheek. Our eyes deadlock. There’s a cold, calculated glint in his eyes and I can’t tear my eyes away from his.

Then he opens his mouth and says, “See, I knew it.” There’s a disgusted look on his face and a hateful gleam in his blue eyes.

“Knew what?” I mouth.

“You
are
a liar.”

Here is a sneak–peek of the upcoming sequel to INSANITY, WHITE WALLS

WHITE WALLS

(ASYLUM BOOK 2)

~Before~

February 1954

I am the canary I’ve always wanted to be.

Or at least the bright yellow bus I’m riding in makes me feel like one.

I’m flying.

Flying far, far away.

There’s only one problem; I’m flying alone because, Damien, the second person who was supposed to be on this journey with me, is dead.

He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead.

It doesn’t matter how many times I tell myself that he’s really dead. It still doesn’t sit right with me. Feel right. Or ease the never-ending pain I’ve felt stabbing at my insides since Daddy shot him.

Sometimes I think I hear him. Sometimes I swear I can feel him. Smell him. See him. The illusion of him wakes me when I’m deep in sleep mode and strangles me.

My attention averts to the window as the wide, open plains and sporadic trees breeze by. Ahead, there’s an empty wide stretch of road and the bus picks up speed. I look away from the window. All of the scenery is blurring together and it’s making me nauseous.

I scan the empty seats. They’re tan. Probably fake leather. I poke the seat in front of me, watching the indention from my finger as it slowly disappears. Frustrated, I roll my head back and begin tapping it against the soft headrest.

I wish there was someone to talk to.

Or look at.

I wish there was someone else on the bus to distract me.

But there isn’t. Aside from me and the driver the bus is empty.

“How much longer?” I call up from a seat three rows from the back on the right side.

The driver, a rotund man with a chubby face and a comb-over eyes me in the mirror. “About another hour.”

All the police said was that I was being sent to a place that was going to help me overcome my ‘issues’. The issues I’d accrued after Damien’s death. There was a brief moment, days after his death that I thought I might be okay. That I might be able to always remember our love, but be able to move on. But that changed the day of his funeral. When his mother threw me out of the church.

She saw me in the back of the church, in the last pew. My eyes were cast downward because I couldn’t keep the tears from falling. I didn’t even know she’d seen me until she gripped me by the elbow and hissed, “
You
.” Her voice was filled with pain and hate and then she ripped me from the pew and escorted me to the double doors.

My eyes water and I let out a long breath when I think of that moment. My heart aches, rips from my chest, and falls somewhere on the bus floor. Seconds later, sobs leave my throat and I have to hug myself to keep myself from shaking.

What I wanted to scream at his mother was that I loved him too.

So much.

More than she would ever know.

It wasn’t fair that I wasn’t able to properly say goodbye to him. Because now, I’ll never have closure. I’ll never be able to move on.

My sobbing escalates to the point where howls of anguish leave my throat and there’s nothing I can do to hold them back.

The bus driver hears me and asks, “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

I can’t answer him. The grief and heartbreak is swallowing me.

Consuming me.

Devouring me like a cannibal.

Then I hear something.

“Psst.”

I lift my head slowly, blinking back tears and squinting at the front of the bus. There’s no one there.

I hear the sound again.

“Psst.”

Twisting, I dig my fists into my eyes and swallow a mouthful of saliva, trying to drench the dryness in my throat. My eyes center on the last seat in the bus. Right by the emergency exit he sits. A smoldering look in his blue blue eyes.

“Damien?” I whisper. I pinch myself several times because I know I must be imagining him. Then I shut my eyes, squeezing them tightly before opening them abruptly.

A wide smile breaks out on his full lips. “Don’t cry, love.”

The sound of his voice is like a gift from God and my previously absent heart magically reappears and starts racing. “This isn’t real,” I cry, trying to reassure myself. “You aren’t real.”

Damien gets up, walks down the aisle and sits next to me. “Don’t you remember, my silly beautiful girl?”

I reach out to touch him and feel the warmth from his skin beneath my fingertips. “Damien,” I gasp and pull his lips to mine. They feel hot and wet and his sweet, sweet breath wafts into my mouth. “You’re here!” I can’t help but cry as I plant kisses all over his face.

“You sure you’re okay?” The bus driver says again.

I ignore him and continue assaulting Damien with my kisses. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“Of course I’m here,” he tells me. “Don’t you remember what I said?” We gaze into each others eyes and he touches my cheek. “I said that I’d follow you anywhere.”

BEFORE YOU GO

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