His smile, already sickening, shifts to something entirely predatory. It’s only then Wendy realizes her mistake. Dr. Harrington is in Switzerland at a medical conference. There is no one to rein Jamieson in. Her pulse turns erratic, beating madly against her skin. She opens her mouth, but it’s too late. Jamieson shoves her hard enough to make her stumble. He still has a grip on her arm, so the motion wrenches her shoulder painfully, and now she does let out a sound of pain despite herself.
“Leave her alone,” Mary bellows, squirming like lightning in Evans’ grip.
“Get her out of here.” Jamieson’s tone is dangerously close to a snarl, but Evans looks almost as frightened of Mary as he does of his fellow attendant.
“What should I do with her?”
“I don’t care. Lock her in her room.” Jamieson turns away, turning his attention back to Wendy.
“Get up.” He kicks at her legs even as he hauls her upright. Wendy grits her teeth, breathing fast, determined not to make another sound.
She staggers upright, lurching toward Mary again as Evans drags her away. Jamieson kicks her legs out from beneath her again, only his painful grip holding her partly upright. Wendy’s hair hangs in her face, not grown back to its full length but enough to get in her eyes. She glares at Jamieson through the locks, breathing hard until he pulls her up again and she grits her teeth against another cry.
He grabs her chin with his free hand, turning her head as if looking for some mark on her skin. Behind the anger, there’s almost bafflement in his eyes, as if even he is seeking to understand why he hates her so.
She knows she is treading on dangerous ground. She knows there are any number of things he could do to her without repercussions, because she would never be believed. She’s heard things, she’s seen bruises, and patients curled in on themselves in miserable fear.
“I could leave you in the sick ward, and say you snuck in there on your own. It would be just like you, going where you’re not wanted. I’ll wager even Dr. Harrington would think it would serve you right if you fell ill from your own foolishness and died. Or perhaps I should give you to Old Nettie?” At his voice, thick and sweet as treacle, Wendy goes cold. He leans in, like he really wants to know her opinion.
She knows the woman Jamieson means—not old, but her hair gray nonetheless, her arms wiry and threaded with scars caused by her own hands. It isn’t fear that curdles Wendy’s stomach but anger and heartache. Nettie is sick; she cannot help the way she lashes out against herself and others. She needs help, help Dr. Harrington cannot give, and Jamieson would use her as a weapon, set her off and turn her against other patients.
“Or maybe I should give her your little friend and make you watch.”
Loathing fills her, so pure it overwhelms her. Starlight bursts behind her eyes and her ears ring. Everything in Wendy longs to fight, to fall on Jamieson and scratch at his eyes, bite at his throat, but if she does, he’ll hurt Mary.
“Do whatever you want with me.” Wendy bows her head.
“What’s that? I didn’t hear you.”
“I said—” Wendy raises her voice, goaded despite herself, but before she can get the words out Jamieson strikes her hard across the mouth.
Her head snaps back and she tastes blood. Wendy glares, showing her teeth, showing them stained red. She understands now—she can’t be too docile, too beaten, not yet. He wants to see her fight, then he wants to see her broken.
He pulls her roughly toward the asylum door and drags her inside. Wendy resists just enough. Jamieson’s stiff shoes make echoing footsteps over the wooden floors and tiles. Passing the common rooms, heads lower, nurses and patients looking away and pretending not to see as Jamieson drags Wendy down the hall toward the treatment rooms.
She focuses on keeping her breath under control. She’s doing this for Mary. If Wendy can keep his attention on her, he’ll forget all about hurting Mary.
Jamieson kicks open one of the doors, shoving Wendy inside. It isn’t until she sees the cast-iron tub full of water and ice that true panic takes hold. Jamieson planned this all along. Perhaps he even planted the rumor of the tree in the first place, knowing she wouldn’t be able to resist. How could she have been so foolish, playing right into his hands?
“Let me go!” Wendy thrashes, all decorum and control forgotten.
He will hurt her for real this time; he may not even care if he gets caught. He might even kill her. Accidents happen, and who would ever know? Wendy stomps her heel down as hard as she can, trying to catch Jamieson’s foot. But he’s wearing hard-soled shoes, and she only slippers. He doesn’t even slow, dragging her inexorably toward the ice-filled bath. Wendy throws her weight backward, but it’s nothing against Jamieson’s bulk.
She wants to be brave, to tell herself it’s only water. Dr. Harrington prescribes warm water baths to help her sleep, and once an icy spray to calm her blood. This is different. Her parents drowned in icy water. Now Jamieson means to drown her too.
“Get the blindfold,” Jamieson speaks over her head.
Wendy twists around to see Evans closing the door. She imagines Mary locked in her room, pounding against the door while the other attendants and nurses pretend not to hear. At least she’s safe. Wendy clings to the thought as hard as she can.
Evans approaches, and while Jamieson is distracted, Wendy jerks her head backward as hard as she can. Pain blooms at the back of her skull, but it’s worth it for
