Between Sin and Salvation

Chapter X

Louise had refused to go to Birmingham outright. The thought of stepping into a city that bent to his will felt like crossing a threshold from which there would be no return. London was dangerous enough under his growing influence, but Birmingham? That was his domain; she feared she'd never find her way out. She was desperate to clean her hands of him before he stained them further. God knew they were already sullied with too much that wouldn't wash away.

But the reality twisting her insides was the realization of how much she'd already given away. He had pried open the door, but she had been the one to step through, willingly offering pieces of herself she had never intended to share. It wasn't just coercion. She had chosen to stay. She had divulged truths to him, ones that even Margaret wasn't privy to. What unsettled her the most was that brief, disorienting moment when they caught a glimpse of who they were before the war reflected in each other's eyes.

It had to mean nothing. It couldn't mean anything. They had just lost themselves in a memory, she told herself over and over, more times than she dared to acknowledge. In her desperation to rationalize the inexplicable connection, she came across the work of Dr. William Rivers at Craiglockhart War Hospital. He'd written about the 'talking cure,' a method that eased soldiers' suffering by openly discussing their wartime experiences. Maybe that was all it was, a scientific phenomenon, nothing more.

But no matter how she tried to justify it, she still felt the irrational urgency to claw her way out of the rabbit hole she had found herself tumbling into. After all, the monsters with the worst bites shared the most similar plights.

The clinic seemed quieter than ever, and the absence of the Shelby brothers left an almost tangible void. Occasionally, Louise would look up from her journal, half-expecting to meet those glacial blue eyes that had become a constant fixture. Even now, her gaze couldn't help but linger at the cot where he had laid, the sheets still bearing the faint imprint of his form. She didn't miss his presence - she had just gotten used to it, that's all. A creature of habit, nothing more.

Rubbing her temples, she strained to read the journal in her office's dim, flickering light. It was the witching hour, and like most nights, sleep eluded her. The shadows seemed to stretch and loom in the corners, watchful and waiting.

She wasn't the superstitious sort, but when the shrill ring of the telephone pierced through the oppressive silence of her office, she knew nothing good could come of it. Sighing, she picked up the receiver and held the cool metal to her ear, its weight seeming far too heavy for her weary hands. Her eyebrows jumped when the line remained quiet for a beat, and she wasn't greeted by Ollie's flustered voice as expected.

"Miss Vergne." he drawled, his voice gliding through the telephone wire like poisoned honey.

She scowled, her features hardening. "Opium not doing its job, Mr. Shelby?"

"Seems like your barbiturates aren't either."

She shifted in her creaking leather chair, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet room. She didn't need another reminder that they were two different ends of the same line. "I never imagined I'd feel such immense regret for something as simple as adding the clinic's number to the telephone directory. I'd change it if it weren't too late-medical emergencies be damned."

"Do you talk to all your patients this way? That mouth of yours makes me think it could be put to better use."

Her fingers trembled as she fidgeted with the cuff of her blouse with the hand not holding the receiver. It should be impossible that he could evoke any sort of reaction over the goddamn telephone. "You're not my patient anymore, Mr. Shelby. You were nothing more than temporary. A passing inconvenience."