Blood Will Out

chapter four

I can't get the air into my lungs. I think I stop breathing altogether.

The two men with me are talking over one another, but I can't hear them. I can't hear anything except the fear inside me. It's familiar; A voice that's been screaming in my head for years. I knew I'd end up here eventually. 

It's finally happened.

My biggest fear realized. I've lost it. Completely lost my tenuous grip on reality. I've been committed. Only, through some terrible twist of fate, I'm rational enough to know I'm being committed but so far gone that I've created the circumstances of my incarceration. 

Is Walter even here with me? Did I ever wake up after the attack at Heritage Square? Has everything since then been one long waking dream?

Graham has me by both shoulders, he shakes me hard enough to snap my teeth together.

"Not what you think!" His words penetrate my fog; allow me to catch my breath."Damn it! I don't want to tranquilize you again! Do you want to learn what's going on or do I have to keep drugging you?"

For a long moment, I consider it. Maybe it would be better that way. Maybe if I float along high and ignorant I can convince myself I'm still back home with Walter and none of this really happened. But then, if I had wanted that, couldn't I have chosen it years ago? I taught myself how to function, I've made it this long without meds. Even if I'm having some kind of fracture now I can fight my way back. But I won't ever be able to do that if they keep having to put me under.

"Don't—" My voice doesn't sound like my own. "Don't give me anything else."

Graham and Alistair share a look.

"Maybe we should take her to her suite? Maybe the chance to calm down—"

Graham shakes his head. "She's totally unstable, we can all feel it. She needs to understand. Go find my mother. Have her meet us in the conservatory."

"Will Colonel Mustard be there?" I mumble through numb lips. With the candlestick??" It takes more than a full mental breakdown to mute my sarcasm. 

Alistair snorts in response and hurries off through the front doors. It's only then that I realize Walter and Mari have disappeared.

"Where's—"

"She took him to the infirmary. He's got a cut on his leg that needs to be stitched but he'll be fine." He pulls me down a long hallway. "Just worry about you right now."

My gaze slides warily around the entryway before latching onto the historic details of the space. This feels safer. A visual exploration of antiquated features helps me get my heart rate down to a normal cadence. Black and white checkerboard tile stretches out in every direction before sliding down a flight of black marble stairs into the main room. On either side of us, a grand staircase flanked by carved oak banisters stretches up and around leading to places unknown. I can't even make an educated guess as to how high the ceilings are but the rafters are exquisite. They had to have been carved in place. 

I take a deep breath to bank the chills breaking out on my skin.

Everything is pristine and polished to a high shine and I'm so caught up in the details that it takes me a moment to process the design. While the features of this sprawling estate are quintessentially, the early twenties, the décor is entirely modern. In fact, the main hall off the entry and landing is covered with a wallpaper of gold, hot pink, and various shades of blue. The rugs look like Missoni and the sculptures look like Jonathan Adler. I've spent enough time studying interior design to know that they probably are. Every single piece screams modern luxury. The outside might hint at a mausoleum filled with antiques but the inside is expensive and beautifully appointed. I'm impressed that they've found a way to meld the two styles so effortlessly.