Page 13

Scarlett

“In the garden where shadows grow,

A secret whispered, soft and low.

The roses bloom, but then wilt away,

And the truth lies buried, night and day.

The songbird weeps within her cage,

A melody lost to both time and age.

Her wings are clipped, her cries are unheard,

A prison is built around every word.”

I wake with a moan, that strange tune hauntingly familiar as it plays over and over in my head like a broken record. My heart feels slow, unsteady and my head is so groggy that it takes more than a minute to fully acknowledge that I’m no longer dreaming.

I feel freezing cold and, despite the blanket over me, I can feel my body shivering.

The room is bathed in a soft, golden light, the heavy curtains doing their best to keep out the reality of the world beyond these four walls. But I recognise the wallpaper. I recognise the furniture.

That’s an improvement, surely?

Alex is there, seated in a plush armchair beside the bed, his gaze fixed on me with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. He’s dressed impeccably, as always, in a tailored shirt that accentuates his broad shoulders and the sharp line of his jaw.

But there’s a weariness in his eyes, a hint of vulnerability that I haven’t seen before. Guilt hits me at the realisation that I’m the cause of that. I’m the one keeping him up at night, stressing him out.

“Scarlett,” he says, his voice low and soothing. “You’re awake.”

I try to sit up, but my body feels too heavy, too sluggish, like I’m moving through quicksand. My mouth is dry, and when I speak, my voice is little more than a croak. “What happened? I feel... strange.”

Alex leans forward, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from my face. His touch is gentle, but I can’t help flinching. I guess that’s a reflex born of fear and confusion but if he notices, he doesn’t comment on it.

Instead, he takes a deep breath. “You had another episode,” he says. “You were trying to leave again, to go out into the storm. You could have hurt yourself, Scarlett. You could have…” He cuts off, his voice choked with emotion. “You could have died.”

I stare at him, the weight of his words settling over me like a shroud.

Another episode?

More memories lost to the fog that seems to consume my mind. I want to ask him what he means, how I could have died, but the words stick in my throat, trapped by a sense of dread that I can’t quite shake.

“The doctor has been to see you,” Alex continues, his tone carefully neutral. “He’s very concerned about your condition. He says it’s... serious.”

I swallow hard, my mind racing. The doctor. I remember him vaguely, a stern man with cold hands and an even colder demeanour.

He’s been here before, poking and prodding at me like I’m some sort of specimen to be studied rather than a human being in need of help.

As if by perfect timing, the door to the room opens and the doctor himself steps inside, a sombre expression on his face.

He’s followed closely by Vincent, who’s equally stern countenance does nothing to ease my growing anxiety.

The two of them stand at the foot of the bed, their presence a silent testament to the gravity of the situation.

In his hand, the doctor carries a small black bag, the kind that harkens back to a bygone era of house calls and bedside manner.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Forster,” he greets me, his voice warmer and more soothing than his expression is. “I hear you’ve had a bit of a scare again.”

I nod, pulling the blankets tighter around myself, feeling all the more vulnerable with so many more bodies in the room. So many male bodies. “I... I don’t remember much,” I confess, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

“That’s not uncommon with your condition.” He states. “Memory loss, paranoia, confusion—these are all symptoms of the illness that’s affecting your brain.”

“What, what is my condition?” They all keep referring to it but no one seems to want to name it. It’s like the massive elephant in the room, waving its trunk around, pissing all over the sheets but everyone seems intent on pretending it doesn’t exist.

The doctor glances at my husband and from my periphery I see him give a nod, an assent, a silent message that it’s okay to let the invalid know what actually ails her.

“Dissociative Amnesia.” He says, and it lands like a death sentence.

Dissociative what? I don’t know what it means exactly, and I can’t help but shudder at his words while the reality of my situation settles over me like a shroud. “Will I... Will I get better?”

“Perhaps.” The doctor replies. “Your condition is very serious. The paranoia, the memory loss... these are symptoms of a deep-rooted psychological disorder. It’s imperative that we manage you carefully to prevent any further incidents.”

I nod, numbly accepting his diagnosis. A psychological disorder. It makes sense, in a way. It explains the confusion, the fear, the sense that I’m losing my grip on reality. It even answers the questions of why my memory is all over the place.

But it doesn’t explain everything.

It doesn’t explain the notes, the feeling of being watched, the haunting certainty that something is very, very wrong here.

I swallow hard, the weight of everything suddenly pressing down on me and I turn my eyes back on Alex. “Am I... Am I going mad, then?”

It feels like it. It feels like I’m losing all sense of reality.

He shakes his head, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “No, my love. You’re just very ill.”

The doctor shifts, seizing that moment to jump in and continue. “You are fortunate to have a husband like Mr. Forster. Most men in his position would have sought to distance themselves from such... difficulties. They might have considered... other arrangements.”

My gaze flickers again to Alex who is watching me intently, his expression unreadable.

Other arrangements? Institutionalization? A mad house?

The word hangs in the air, heavy with implication.

I am lucky, I suppose, to have a husband who is willing to stand by me, to care for me despite the burden I’ve obviously become.

I nod, and the tears that had been threatening to fall now stream down my cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for being such a burden. I’m sorry…”

“Shh,” he soothes, moving instantly to reassure me, brushing the tears away with his thumb.

“You could never be a burden to me. I love you, Scarlett. I married you because I want to spend the rest of my life with you, in sickness and in health. You’re my wife, and it’d take a lot more than this to make me give up on you. ”

His words should comfort me, but they only serve to intensify the guilt gnawing at my insides.

I’m not the woman he married.

I’m a shadow of my former self, haunted by fears and suspicions that I can’t even begin to understand, but I know he bears the brunt of them.

What must it be like for him? To see me become more of an animal, to see me lashing out, accusing him and his family of God knows what because my mind is so fucked up that I don’t even know the difference between what is real, and what is imaginary?

“Thank you, Alex,” I murmur, turning my face away to try to hide my tears from both his father and the doctor. “I, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He smiles then, a small, sad smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You don’t have to worry about that, Scarlett. I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you.”

The doctor nods approvingly, as if Alex has just passed some sort of test. “Now, I’m going to adjust your medication.” He says. “It should help with the paranoia. Just remember, Scarlett, you’re not alone in this. We’re all here to help you get through it.”

I nod, accepting the small paper cup filled with white little pills that he hands me without question, and I swallow them down with a sip of water, the bitterness of the medicine a stark reminder of my illness, of my helplessness.

A reminder of my dependency on all the people standing around me right now.

“Remember, Scarlett, you mustn’t give in to the paranoia. It’s a symptom of your illness, nothing more. Trust in your husband, in the care he provides for you. It’s the best chance you have for recovery.”

I swallow hard, forcing myself to believe his words. Trust in Alex. Believe that he has my best interests at heart.

It’s not easy, not with the doubts and fears that continue to gnaw at the edges of my mind, but I nod my agreement, if only to ease the tension in the room.

Once the doctor has left with promises to return in a few days to monitor my progress, I find myself alone with Alex once more.

He’s quiet, thoughtful, his gaze never leaving my face.

It’s unnerving, the way he watches me, as if he’s trying to decipher some sort of puzzle that I’m not even aware of.

“Thank you.” I say again, not sure what it is he wants from me.

He lets out a low sigh full of relief before murmuring that he needs to get some work done, that I need to rest, that he’ll be back later and I should stay here and try to sleep more.

I comply, shifting to lie down, even though I don’t think I could sleep a wink if I tried.

He leaves, clicking the door closed in a way that seems to echo with the finality of my situation.

I am trapped, not just by the walls of this opulent prison, but by the illness that has taken over my mind and body.

The minutes stretch into hours, or at least, that’s what it feels like. Time has become as malleable as my memories, bending and twisting until I can no longer trust my own perceptions.

And suddenly, I need to move, to breathe, to escape the oppressive confines of this bedroom.

I rise from the bed, my legs shaky but compliant. In the dressing room I hastily get dressed in real clothes. Day clothes. Not a silly little silk nightdress that feels far too flimsy, far too whimsical and far too like I’m some damsel in distress.

I wander through the mansion, my footsteps echoing off the high ceilings and marble floors.

Those portraits of Alex’s ancestors watch me with cold, disapproving eyes, their silent judgment adding to the growing sense of dread in the pit of my stomach. I bet they wouldn’t have allowed me to remain here. I bet they would have shipped their spouses off at the first hint of trouble.

There’s a winding staircase meant for the staff, one I know the family don’t use that leads directly to the ground floor of the mansion and I tiptoe down it, anxious not to be seen by anyone.

The house is eerily quiet, the only sound being the distant ticking of the grandfather clock in the entrance hall. It’s a stark reminder of the passage of time, of the life I’m missing out on while I’m trapped here in this gilded cage.

As I step outside, the cool breeze wraps itself around me, carrying with it the briny scent of the sea.

I make my way to the cliffs, the wildness of the landscape matching the turmoil that rages within me.

For a long time I just sit there staring out at the horizon, lost in the darkest of my thoughts.

I feel guilty, so guilty, for the burden I’ve placed on Alex’s shoulders.

He doesn’t deserve this.

He doesn’t deserve a wife who is more trouble than she’s worth.

I think about what the doctor said, about how most men would have put their wives in an institution, and a part of me wonders if that wouldn’t be the kinder option. To relieve Alex of the responsibility, to free him from the chains of our marriage so that he can find someone healthy, someone whole.

The thought of ending it all crosses my mind, a dark and tempting whisper that promises an end to the pain, the confusion, everything.

With a timid step, I peer down over the edge and all I can see is those sharp, jagged rocks with crashing waves continuously bombarding them. If I did jump and fucked it up, I could lie there more broken, in more pain, waiting God knows how long until I finally succumbed to death.

It would be just like me to fuck it up. Just like me to slip and only hit my head instead of smashing it in. The thought of me lying there, freezing, alone… no, I can’t do it. I just can’t.

Maybe I’m a coward. Maybe I’m selfish too.

And maybe I’m too afraid of the unknown to take that final, irrevocable step.

So I sit there, torn between the desire to escape and the desperate need to hold on to the crumbling fragments of my sanity.

It’s the chill of the evening air that drives me back toward the mansion. That and the niggling guilt that I’ve once more lied to Alex, lied to him about resting up when I’ve done the complete opposite.

Will he be angry at me? I guess I can’t blame him if he is. It must be exhausting for him. It must play on his mind all the time, where I am, what I’m doing, if I’ve put myself in danger again.

Has he sent out another search party? Are they already hunting through the grounds, trying to find out if I’m just lost, or worse?

Christ, I’m a selfish, self-centred bitch, aren’t I?

I grit my teeth as I pick up my pace, resolving to do better, to be better. To become as easy as possible to manage. To prove that his love for me is worth it.

I creep past the side of the house, more than aware that if I’m going to be spotted, it’ll be here.

There’s a big veranda where the family likes to sit and watch the sunset in the evenings when the weather isn’t bad.

I have to tuck in tight against the wall to ensure I’m hidden from view, and it makes me feel more like a thief than I like to admit.

But as I duck down, I hear voices—Alex and Vincent. Their conversation carries to me on the wind. I pause, hidden in the shadows, listening to their words, their laughter while a sense of dread curls in my stomach.

“She bought it,” Alex says, his voice filled with smug satisfaction. “The doctor played his part perfectly. She’s now fully convinced that she’s ill, that she needs our help.”

“Good,” Vincent replies. “That should make her easier to manage from now on. No more episodes, no more attempts to escape.”

My blood runs cold as I process their words. It is a setup. The doctor, the medication, the careful manipulation of all my fears. It was all a ruse, a calculated move to keep me under control.

The paranoia that I’d been so quick to dismiss comes rushing back, becoming a tide that I can no longer hold at bay.

But why? What possible reason could they have for treating me like this, for lying to me, for stripping away my freedom bit by bit?

My mind reels from the revelation.

I can’t trust them. I can’t trust anyone in this house. They’re all in on it, whatever “it” is.

And worse, I’m completely alone here. Completely isolated, just as they intended.

But knowledge is power. Now I know what they’re up to, perhaps I can manipulate them, out play them, beat them at their own twisted game? Is that even possible? I don’t know the answer to that, but I sure as fuck am going to try.