I’ll never be free of him. Not until one of us is dead.
Kelly dismounts his horse and approaches Titus. “Get out of theway.”
I feel his anger escalate. Even at this distance, it could meltan iceberg. Abandoning the window, I walk toward my ward, palm sliding alongthe cool wall. Kelly continues to fight with Titus for some time, but leaveseventually, promising retribution if I am damaged in any way.
Tears hang about my eyelashes, and I brush them off with theback of my hand. What Kelly doesn’t know could fill an ocean. I am alreadydamaged goods.
Ward E sounds like it always does, gasping and groaning, and Icrawl under the blankets on my bed. Usually I can ignore the noises made by myunit mates, but I find them intolerable now. It has been two days since my lastsession with Faust, and I know exactly what is wrong with me. And it isn’t themeasles. I’ve grown dependent upon his special mixture of drugs. If I weren’tso miserable, I’d think it was funny.
What I once loathed, I now embrace.
Davis leads me into the treatment room, and I climb upon thebed meekly as a lamb, obediently holding my wrists out for the cuffs.
“Sorry,” he says, as demoralized by his duties as always.“Faust should be here soon.”
Not soon enough.
“Did you know the storm’s passed? That’s good news. I saw bluesky this morning.”
I nod, aware that Davis is trying to comfort me with optimisticchatter, but I turn my face to the wall. In my hunger for the needle, my sensesare jumbled and distorted. I cannot trust them. At first, I believe Faust isbeside me and then I grow distressed, thinking I hear him leave the asylum. Butboth impressions are wrong. I gain clarity for a moment and realize he isspeaking to Matron in the office next door. She’s writing something down forthe doctor.
“Send a telegram to Miss Honeycutt,” he says. “Say that we’reexpecting her in two days.”
“Consider it done,” Matron replies.
“And don’t mention the quarantine. Our ban was lifted daysago.”
“Of course.”
Faust fiddles with something on his desk. “Doctor Kelly isunaware of that fact, and let’s keep it so, Harriet. I won’t allow him tointerrupt my sessions with Miss Grayson.”
Matron opens the door a crack. “It’s said he has powerfulfriends. I’ve heard talk of an injunction.”
“Idle gossip, my dear. Make certain you send the telegram.”
“First thing in the morning.”
Details grow confusing once more, until I feel the hard metalpricking my skin, the sweet heat in my arm. Euphoria and physical relief followas the narcotic flows through me. I can function for another forty-eight hoursif this dose is like the last.
“Good afternoon, pet,” Faust says, untying the cord at myelbow. “You’ve missed me, I see.”
He gives the drugs a few minutes to work, pulling the Book fromhis desk. “Answer my questions with the first thing that comes to mind.”
Faust has not asked me to reveal anything more about hispersonal life. He would rather listen to my childhood trauma instead. So I spinhim a yarn for his record book with my raspy, drug-induced whisper. All of itis true. I did have a lonely childhood. My father is cold anddistant. I did not learn about healthy relationships from my parents,and then there are the trust issues. My dark side runs deep, and Faust eats itup like caviar on toast. As he should. I’ve learned to be a good little actorto satisfy my chemical cravings.
The session eventually ends, and Davis leads me back to theUnresponsive Unit. Matron gives me permission to skip my chores and rest. Aftersleeping through the night, I awaken with a start in the early morning, whenthe clock chimes three.
I know who killed Margaret Hotchkiss.
Faust mentioned a Miss Honeycutt to Matron Latham whiledictating the telegram to her yesterday. I’ve heard the name before. It’s MissAmelia Honeycutt, to be exact. I know her because she came to my family home onseveral occasions. She was my mother’s friend.
A New York heiress, Amelia Honeycutt is also a generousphilanthropist, an emerging mental health advocate akin to the great DorotheaDix. In years past, I remember Mama speaking with her about the need for reformin asylums such as Ironwood.
“I will guide the leaders of the industry, Lenore,” Ameliasaid. “All they need is incentive and proper instruction.”
I think of the repairs the asylum has recently undergone. Thepainting of Faust’s office and a few other rooms, the improvements upon thefaçade and the dining hall, but nothing to actually benefit the patientsthemselves. The exterior is pretty while the inside rots. All to make a goodimpression on Honeycutt, I’d wager. And what would Amelia Honeycutt offer Faustas an incentive for reform? A cash reward, of course. Faust loves money almostas much as he enjoys inflicting pain.
By all accounts, Margaret Hotchkiss was a caring nurse, a goodwoman who followed the dictates of her conscience. If she wanted to reveal thetruth about the conditions at Ironwood, Faust would kill her to avoid exposureand still retain the prize from Honeycutt.
Then why was Gabriel carrying the body away?
That’s easy to understand as well, I suppose. He found Margaretbefore Faust could dispose of her and could not bear to leave his love behind. That’swhy Gabriel allowed himself to be captured when Titus saw him with the corpsein the hallway. According to Anna, the giant sunk to his knees cradling thebody, weeping like a child. Truth vibrates through my bones, and I know thesedeductions are correct. An innocent man is trapped in the Pit, wasting away inthe darkness.
You and Margaret deserve better than this, Gabriel.
I rub my clammy palms together, feeling a bit like Lady Macbeth.A party to murder until I reveal the sin. But weak and sick and addicted, I canbarely save myself, let alone anyone else.
Libera me ab sanguine. Deliver me from blood. Make cleanmy hands.
Isabelle has regained her strength after giving birth. Sheand the
