Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 104165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
“Fuck,” I swear. I have to go even though I can’t stand leaving Brooke behind. Isaak can fly the plane, but I’m the only one who will have enough clout with customs to make any of this possible.
“Moira,” I call, but my sister’s just staring at the ground. “Moira,” I demand more sharply, clapping my hands to snap her out of it. She finally looks up at me. “I need you to be solid right now, you hear me?”
She nods. “I am.”
“Take Brooke back to my house. Can you do that for me?”
She nods.
“Swear to me you can do it.”
“I swear. I won’t let you down, Domhn.” Moira’s eyes are wide, and she’s got her hands clenched together, but I’ve got no choice but to trust her.
“Good.” I turn to Brooke, cradling her face in my hands again. “Tell me you’ll wait for me at the house. I’ll be back in a day. Two at most.”
She nods and throws her arms around me.
“I love you,” I tell her again, just like I’ll tell her every day for the rest of our lives.
…
…
…
But I’m not back in two days. Or even three. Not even a week.
And by the time I do walk back in the door of my mansion and up to the room where they’re keeping Brooke, it’s too fucking late.
FORTY
MADISON/BROOKE/MATILDA/?
I wake up from the lurking, non-stop nightmare, still screaming as I sit up violently in bed.
I’m in a bright yellow room with a big bay window and blue streaming in from the sky beyond. There are even clouds. But I don’t recognize the room, or anything around me.
“Where the hell am I?” I ask, scooting to the opposite side of the bed as an intimidatingly large man stands over my bedside. He’s young, maybe in his early thirties, and his thick-framed glasses make him look nice. Approachable. But I know better than most that a pretty package can hide combustible sins.
“You’re in Domhnall Callaghan’s house, in your own separate wing. He is not here.”
I can’t tell if that last bit made my heart speed up or slow down.
“I’m glad to meet you,” he says. “I’m Dr. Nathan Ezra. Professor Roberts referred you to me. I understand you’ve been dealing with some amnesia of late. We finally know your identity. You are Matilda Sheffield—”
He stops speaking when my head starts vehemently shaking back and forth.
“You aren’t Matilda Sheffield?” he asks.
“Not anymore.”
“What should I call you, then?”
My eyes wander off towards the wall as I slip away. “I’ve been so many people,” I murmur. “But usually its just me and her.” She’s there now, whispering in the corner of my mind.
He snaps right in my face and my eyes jump open.
“I’ve worked with folks like you,” the doctor says gently as I lift a hand to my pounding heart. “Folks who’ve been brainwashed as a part of a cult or experienced extensive, brutal psycho-physiological gaslighting like you have. Sometimes a mind finds it necessary to split, sectioning itself off so that only part of oneself experiences the worst of the trauma so the other pieces can remain intact.”
I picture my brain as a fractured mirror.
“So it’s hopeless?” I feel myself sink further and further away from the doctor and the nice room with each passing moment. Everything starts to feel fuzzy. It’d be easy to sink into it and give over to her. Where’s Domhnall? He’s my anchor. Without him, the little box in the corner of my mind beckons.
“Quite the opposite in fact,” Dr. Ezra says. “We’re continually astonished by the brain’s ability to build new neural pathways. You’re still young, Miss Sheffield. Some part of the extensive trauma you’ve lived through may always be with you.”
“But,” he leans in, “to tell you the truth, we’re all a little fucked up. And there’s a real opportunity here that you can have a bright future not trapped in your past.”
“Oh.” I almost perk up, confused by the optimism of his words. Is he just blowing smoke up my ass? Then again, he hasn’t met her. I immediately deflate. Some part of me hoped that when I killed my father, she’d go away, too. But she’s still here.
Fuck. Where is Domhnall? I ache for him like he’s a missing limb. I pull my arms around my stomach and pretend they’re his.
“So what would you like to be called? Plenty of people try on names nowadays. What strikes your fancy?”
I shrug. I’ve never cared much about names. My father gave me so many of them. “I don’t care. Brooke. Madison. Whatever you want.”
“It’s for you to pick,” Dr. Ezra says patiently. “Identity is important. It’s part of what your father was trying to erase. It’s your job to rediscover it. Who are you?”
I just stare at him, feeling the haziness coming on. Identity? Is he kidding? Who the fuck cares? What he’s talking about seems so… inconsequential compared to everything else that’s happened.