anything in the morning. He took a deep, shuddering breath. What’d gone wrong between them? How had this estrangement happened? And the thought occurred to him again, as it had done several times since her outburst in this very bed nearly two weeks ago – was Sylvie falling ill again? Was her psychosis beginning all over again?
That night Sylvie had the familiar dream that had haunted her for so long. She lay in her private room, the patch of blue sky and tree tops visible through the barred window. Soothing smells drifted in the air, aromatherapy being part of her treatment. She was floating somewhere above her bed in a state of disassociation, her body no longer her own. There were so many strange hands invading her privacy – regular shots, soothing baths, deep massage, gentle exercise on toning tables, but worst of all, the electro-convulsive therapy in the special room downstairs. All this was standard treatment for her severe puerperal psychosis – not that she was aware of that.
Most of the time Sylvie wasn’t aware of anything much. She was docile and hovered just above her body, but occasionally she’d slip back into herself and understand. Then she’d cry for her little Celandine and tiny baby Bluebell, her beloved husband and her life at Stonewylde. Sometimes she’d remember the last time she saw them all. She’d recall the horror of being forcibly wrenched from her screaming children, the hidden knife clattering to the ground, the voices from Quarrycleave calling her name, begging her to come quickly with her little girls. Hazel and Yul, Miranda and Clip, the grim-faced nurses in the private ambulance, faces, faces, all shocked and frightened … and then she’d forget again.
Sylvie entered the recurring dream at the usual place. She was floating over her bed watching the young woman who lay there, pale and weak as a wraith. Her thin wrists and ankles were strapped into the restraints to prevent her from harming herself and she’d been sedated after her earlier thrashing about. The door opened and a visitor walked in, strange in normal clothes. It was a man, tall and well-built, with short blond hair and bright blue eyes the colour of robins’ eggs. He moved with the controlled tread of a heavy man who worked hard to keep in shape. His suit was beautifully cut and he smelt of expensive cologne; she noticed every detail, down to the heavy gold wedding band on the thick fìnger of his well-manicured hands.
The man approached the bed and gazed down at the figure strapped helplessly there. Her eyes stared up at him, unfocused and blank. A smile stretched his full mouth. She knew this man – he was from the past and she should remember who he was. He took one of her fragile hands, then noticed the resistance as the restraint prevented him from raising it.
‘Sylvie,’ he said softly, his gaze brushing over her body purposefully. ‘Finally, after all this time. You know who I am, don’t you?’
She couldn’t respond. Her tongue was heavy and numb and her lips parted with an effort but no speech came forth.
‘Oh, Sylvie, what have they done to you? I never thought our reunion would be like this, in such a place.’
He stood silently for a moment, drinking in every detail of her whilst she gazed up at him like a life-size doll. He traced the sharp planes of her face with a heavy finger and even in her drugged state, she felt a prickle of revulsion crawl over her skin. She stirred ever so slightly but could manage no more movement than this as slowly, deliberately, his hands explored her.
‘I had to see for myself,’ he said thickly. ‘I wonder if you’ll remember this visit? I’ve so much to tell you but it’ll have to wait until you’re better. I’ll be back for you one day, Sylvie, even if it takes years. You’re in my mind constantly, in my dreams and my fantasies. I’ve never forgotten you and one day you’ll be by my side, where you belong.’
He bent to plant his lips on hers. She felt their smoothness and the taste of mint, with only the slightest moist pressure. But then, shockingly, he carefully licked her mouth, coating her lips with his saliva which remained long after he’d left the room.
Bluebell had finally stopped wailing and was once more asleep, along with Celandine who’d been disturbed by her sister’s noise. Sylvie’s restlessness and whimpering seemed to have