Chapter 2

LATER MONDAY

Toronto General Hospital

"Get out. GET OUT!" William roughly shoved the doctor away from him, the only thing stopping him from coming to blows with the man was the fact he was more concerned about not disturbing Julia than venting his considerable outrage. He was vaguely aware his behaviour might shockthose who were used to his milder side…and he could have cared less. That man is an idiot! He fumed to himself. If he does not believe she will recover, then he is not the doctor she needs. It took everything in him to calm down and refocus. I know Julia can hear me, I know this device works, and I will not let anyone tell me otherwise. This is Julia they are talking about! I certainly will not let Julia hear anything to the contrary!

He brought his attention back to her, gently taking her hand again, speaking softly, entreatingly. "You are going to come through this, Julia. You have to. And when you do, we are going to start our family. Somewhere, out there, there's a child who is going to be very lucky to have you as their mother." He assured himself the position of the electrical sensing nodes on Julia's head were properly aligned, and the connections were in place. He spoke directly to her, willing her to hear and respond. "Let's start again, shall we?" he asked. "Julia, do you know that I'm here?" He felt the emotion swell in his throat, his voice threatening to crack, and he worked to keep his tone even and warm. At the moment his entire being was locked on her, pushing awareness of the other people in the room to a tiny periphery of his mind. Only Julia mattered…only reaching her again… "Julia, do you know that I love you?"

The device was not registering, nothing was lighting up. A fraction of desperation coloured his voice. "Julia, can you hear me? Please! Do something." He searched her face, squeezed her hand harder, then backed off, fearful of hurting her. Distress turned rapidly to anger again at another absurd comment, this time from Inspector Brackenreid. William launched himself at his superior. "She's not dead!" he shouted, nearly pulled Brackenreid off his feet. William's head felt full, his face felt hot.

Inspector Brackenreid's voice cut through his aggravation. "Go home. Let the doctor do his job."

If only the doctor would do his job, he thought. If only he knew how to… William ground his teeth to answer. "Her heart is still beating, and I know she can hear me. And she needs to know I am here for her…"

"She does." Brackenreid was reassuring, and looked carefully at the device. William knew his superior was likely counting the station house's lightbulbs without seeming to mind this was where they had all disappeared to. "What is it that your machine can do?"

"It registers brain activity…." He rummaged in his own brain for answers. I was sure, so sure it would work... he thought disappointedly. He retraced the circuitry and connections in his mind's eye, looking for where it must have gone wrong. Perhaps I was too tired at the end and my assembly was off…I wonder if I can adjust it here or does it needed to be taken back to my workbench…Then he saw the lights flicker, and his eyes snapped back in delight. "It's working! Julia? Julia…Julia? Julia, can you hear me?" When the bank of lights glowed he thought his heart was going to jump out of his ribs. Yes! Oh, yes! Julia… A giddy laugh bubbled up from his chest. "Julia, the shooter…did you see the shooter? Do you know him?"

The lights glowed again. "She can hear you, but we don't know what she is thinking."

She's in there! Thank God!He felt immediately validated.

"Yes I know," he answered dismissively.That doesn't matter, we can find a way, together we always do…"Julia, was it one of your patients from the asylum?" Another glow and the device lit up. Excellent!

William was finding it hard to keep excitement out of his speech. He planned to use deductive reasoning and the principle of asking Yes/No questions found in a common parlour game, breaking the questions up onto the smallest logical pieces and asking them one at a time, by which method he hoped to zero in on the culprit who shot Julia. Mathematically, he knew if he chose the right questions he could literally manage more than a million possible choices, winnowing it down to a handful or less of clues or suspects. Julia had made him play the game with her one evening as entertainment, but he became fascinated with the scientific underpinnings and read up on M. T. Walsworth from the 1880's and C.S. Peirce from 1901.

Knowing Julia was aware left William empty-headed with joy, his carefully crafted list of questions set aside. Please don't leave me, not now, was all he could think. He calmed himself again with great effort, concentrating on the task at hand. "Alright. Were you able to…?" The glow faded, pulling William's hopes down with it. "Julia? Julia! Stay with me. Can you hear me?"

He allowed the doctor to monitor her, tell him her pulse was still strong. "Julia?" Dear Lord, answer me,"Julia?" William heard the doctor suggesting he allow Julia to rest, as if the words came from a great distance. He ignored them.

"Julia…can you hear me? Julia?... Please come back—stay with me." His heart was pounding again. "Stay!" he heard himself beg. The device registered nothing, there was no glow and Julia had not stirred a muscle the whole time. He suddenly felt guilty. Perhaps I am taxing her when she needs all her energy to heal, what kind of horrible person am I for not considering that?. He noticed the Inspector was trying to pull him away, and felt exhaustion overtaking him.

"Come on, me old mucker. Let her rest." Brackenreid chided him. "I will keep someone outside her door, er…just in case." William felt a chill. For a moment he'd forgotten there was more potential threat to Julia's life than her current medical condition.

William looked again at his wife, hating to leave her side in case she would wake up frightened and alone. He checked the time, shocked at the hour. Where did the morning go? Was it really no more than 30 hours since this nightmare began? He glanced over at his wife, seeing her colour did look a little better and her breathing was regular. He thought as well about what they learned from Julia. It was someone from the asylum she says shot her; hopefully that will focus the search for suspects, and I can look through her papers, compare them with the psychiatric records, and we can try again later with better questions. That idea was enough to persuade him Julia was better served by him leaving, if only temporarily. He gazed at her tenderly, hoping he was doing the right thing. If the power of love, alone, could bring her around, he believed, it would have happened already.

William hesitated briefly, then surrendered. "Rest. I love you," he offered her, trusting she could hear him or be aware of their connection.

Outside in the corridor, William sagged for a moment against a wall, observing Father Clemens in his sober black cassock, and a fellow parishioner from St. Paul's, Mademoiselle DuBuisson, in an equally severe grey dress and apron, stand and approach him and the inspector.

"William? How is she?" the priest asked gently, making eye contact with him.

To William, Father Clemens appeared so calm and solid. He thought it was a blessing the priest was here for support, and hoped for an opportunity for a private conversation with him. He exhaled slowly, gathering his thoughts. "She is alive, resting and, if my experiment is any indication, she is aware…still in her mind. But she is not talking, not really awake." William brought his shoulders back, refusing to betray any lack of confidence. "I am hopeful, given enough time, she will come around." He paused, and flashed a weak smile. "Forgive my manners. Thank you both. It is good for you to have come."

"Of course, William…of course." Father Clemens shook his head as he placed a hand briefly on William's shoulder.

William turned to Brackenreid. "Inspector, since Julia says that it was someone from the asylum who shot her, we should move the lads off of the criminal cases and over to concentrate on those records."

Father Clemens' eyebrows rose quizzically, clearly confused at the idea Julia said anything at all, while Brackenreid only nodded and spoke. "The files came over this morning and have been sorted. I asked one of Dr. Ogden's nurses to come in and see if she could identify specific patients that stand out as a problem. So far we have about a dozen possibilities…I am sure there will be more to come." He exhaled sharply. "I just wish we had a witness to the shooting," he said in frustration, his ruddy complexion flaring. "No one saw anyone in the hallway, Murdoch, er…no one at all, but you…"

William tortured himself with this, finding it strange his well-regarded visual memory produced nothing to go on—only a vaguely unsettled sensation, useless for the investigation. He frowned, hearing the concern in the inspector's tone. "Unfortunately I saw nothing. How did the shooter just disappear like that? I don't understand how he got away." He rubbed his forehead in disgust. "There was no time and nowhere for him to go besides down the corridor. If there had been an open window opposite our doorway I would have said the shooter was from the building across the street. No one was there!" The puzzle was vexing, no matter how he turned it over in his head. He stretched his neck and shoulders, hoping that loosening those would loosen his mind as well as his body, feeling the effects of hunching for hours over a workbench. He saw the inspector smile at him in sympathy.

"Get some sleep, Murdoch. My guess is you worked all night and except for my wife's cooking you haven't had anything to eat. We need you in top form for all of this, especially if you are going to try to communicate with her again in the morning." The inspector tipped his hat to Father Clemens and Miss DuBuisson. "I am taking Murdoch home. I assume you are going to wait here?"

William was indeed exhausted, all the while his brain whirred with the next tasks that needed doing. He looked to Father Clemens but he heard the young woman answer. "Monsieur Murdoch, I will stay with Madame. I will pray for her."

William was touched by the offer. "Merci, Mademoiselle. I will be back in a few hours." He thanked her sincerely, folding her small hand between his. "Please let me know immediately if anything in my wife's condition changes, will you?" He was indeed grateful Julia would be competently attended.

He looked around and noticed his outer garments were still in Julia's room. William opened the door for Belle and found his coat, giving one last, longing look towards Julia before joining the other men in the hall. His tired mind did a rapid assessment of the quickest way to come up with a new set of questions to ask Julia. "Inspector, if you please. Have George cross reference the list of suspects from the asylum with any criminal arrests, disorderly conduct, domestic disturbances, and the like? I will search Julia's papers at home to see if she has had any threatening letters and then we can compare those lists of possible suspects. Then have the men look to see who is deceased, jailed, perhaps invalided? We need to have the list whittled down even more so I can construct the next interview for Julia."

If his superior was annoyed at being told what to do by a subordinate, or skeptical about the idea of asking a comatose woman "questions," it didn't show. William hoped that was because his superior trusted him and not because he was being silently patronized. He looked closely at the inspector, but Brackenreid merely nodded again and settled his hat and scarf on, accepting everything at face value.

"Come along then, Murdoch," he gestured with a kindly burr in his voice. "Let's get you home. We'll call for a police carriage…"

William imagined being 'home': two rooms in a hotel, without the warmth of Mrs. Kitchen's boarding house. The only thing that ever made it feel like a home for me was because Julia sleeps with me there every night. Absent Julia, it is shelter, but hardly home….

William squeezed his eyes shut, suddenly fighting tears. Julia, you have to come back to me. He coughed to cover up his emotional display, inhaling deeply then letting go. "If it is all right with you, I'd like to speak with Father Clemens before I go. I will return to the station house in, say three hours? That should give me enough time to look through Julia's private papers and for George and the lads to do a background search on the individuals you have already identified."

Brackenreid chuckled. "Detective. It is going to take us a wee bit more than three hours to do all you want us to. Before you head home, come by the station house and pick up the material we have assembled for you so far, then how about George will call you when he has the additional information you want?"

# # #

Toronto General Hospital's imposing white brick edifice, adorned with five stone towers, was designed by an architect named Mr. Hay. William did not know if Mr. Hay also designed the chapel; if the space was pleasingly proportioned or well-furnished was not something he regarded at present, only that it was quiet and empty. William's footfalls matched the priest's step for step as they sought a pew to sit. He had to restrain his hand from automatically blessing himself or genuflecting in the aisle, which just reinforced to him how tired he probably was.

"William. William?" Father Clemens nudged him. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

William allowed a sigh, finding he was unable to fill the room with words—none came to him that he could push up his throat and out of his dry mouth. His thoughts allowed no direction but one: Julia is still asleep, and perhaps still in danger. I have to find the strength to keep going. He licked his lips, trying to decide if he needed the consolation of his friend, Joseph, or the bulwark of his priest. Older, well-engrained habits prevailed.

"Bless me Father. I wanted to ask you to watch over Julia…and pray for me…" He hesitated. "For us…"

"And so I will," the priest said clearly. "I imagine you have other concerns. Do you need the confessional?"

"No, Father. Later, of course. Now I merely…" William was not absolutely sure what he wanted to say or talk about, just that he wanted to have a brief respite from effort and to vent his feelings. He chose some of what was disturbing him most. "I have been having trouble saying my rosary. I, um… I am having trouble finding it within me to say the Our Fathers…to forgive whomever did this to Julia. I am angry at the doctors who seem to want to give up on her." He took a breath to steady his voice, a thread of shame in it. "I am angry at myself for feeing relieved that it was someone connected to the asylum that did this to her and not someone associated with her work with the constabulary…" He swallowed again. "Or with me…" he admitted. William believed it would destroy him if Julia was lying near death because some unbalanced person was seeking revenge on him and using her to get it. He shivered to banish that haunting, gesturing with a hand as if to ward off evil. "It seems I am just…angry." Scrubbing his face he looked up, unable to name his underlying anxiety. His companion took a long minute to respond, causing William to fidget.

"William, may I remind you that forgiveness is a process? Perhaps Divine absolution is more than you can reach for at the moment..." Father Clemens delivered his observation with a lick of humour to soften the prod of his message.

William accepted the rebuke, and the wisdom, uncertain he could focus his emotions in the necessary way. "I am concerned my anger will cloud my judgement. It, er… would not be the first time, and right now it is very important, for Julia's sake, that my mind is clear."

"I may not be a psychiatrist like your wife, but is it not true that anger sometimes covers up fear?" He waited for William to nod before continuing. "Perhaps you are just a man who is fearful for his wife's safety, but instead of frozen in fear, you can use your righteous anger as a source of energy to solve this terrible crime and bring her assailant to justice."

William perked up, as the priest continued. "The lesson in the Gospel of Mark, chapter five, is to set emotions, fear in particular, aside and just believe. Believe in God William, can you do that?"

"Yes, Father." William's heart lifted, a little of that nagging feeling unwinding from his shoulders. He had no trouble recalling the story from those verses, his hopefulness rebounding. He sat up straighter, adding: "And Mark, chapter ten, 'For all things are possible with God,'" he said, finding an even, strong voice. "Thank you, Father. I think I will be able to do my duty."

# # #

MONDAY EVENING

Windsor Hotel

A winter evening was rapidly approaching as William alighted from his cab and took narrow wooden steps into the tradesman's entrance of the Windsor Hotel, the smells of cooking hitting his nose and warmth from the ovens enveloping him. On his way through the kitchen, William declined an offer of a full meal, but asked for tea to be delivered at regular intervals, grabbing some bread and cheese instead. Hauling a case full of papers over his shoulder, he accepted a sheaf of messages the desk clerk entrusted to one of the cooks, allowing him to go up the back stairway to his rooms without encountering any newspaper men or curiosity seekers. William was grateful for the anonymity, shuddering deeply at the idea of having to explain anything to the press; he was happy to leave that to the Inspector.

He trudged up to the third floor, hesitating for a moment on the stairs, unsure of what he would find, then found some courage, making himself turn the corner and walk forward. Fortunately the carpet runner had been removed so no evidence of blood remained outside his and Julia's doorway. Oh, Julia… He paused again in the hallway, shutting his eyes as if that could erase the memory of Julia lying there; but like an after- image of lightening, the doppelganger lingered. He walked over the space where she had lain suppressing a shudder, throwing the suite door open. Once over the threshold he absorbed the silence within, walking a few paces to hang up his coat and hat. He was often home alone; this time he also felt bitterly lonely, knowing Julia was not going to be joining him any time soon. He closed his eyes again and sent a prayer: Please God, that is only temporary. To his right, the French doors to their bedroom were ajar, exposing his scale model of the house he created for himself and Julia to live in. With our son or daughter….

He stopped himself abruptly. I will not give in to anything maudlin. Since it was too painful to look there, he pivoted left towards the sitting room. The first thing he did was put a call into Dr. Tash's office, then emptied the papers he brought from the station house onto his desk along with his snack. William removed his jacket and tugged at his vest, preparing himself for the long haul, knowing he had to eat for strength despite having no appetite. His eyes rested briefly on one of their wedding photographs: I look so proud, and she looks so very lovely by my side. He swallowed and blinked back fresh tears that threatened to erupt. I cannot lose her, not again… William straightened his shoulders and took up Julia's correspondence with the help of his reading lamp, and got to work, with only one thought:

Julia needs me…

# # #

p. 83 ***E. D. P.

Dear Diary…

Well, THAT was interesting. I had hoped to be the one who personally snuffed out The Ogden's miserable existence—I was thinking smothering or even strangling actually, but that busy-body French woman was hovering. I did not expect anyone to be there to bother me, after getting rid of the constable outside the hospital room door. To my surprise this woman would not budge. At first I thought perhaps she was a nurse and would leave soon after doing her task, but it turned out she was some sort of church lady or nun or something, sent to watch over The Ogden's soul—as if that would make any difference! I just could not get her out of the room, no matter how much charm I used. I am not as good at charming women as I am their men… The good news is she told me the end was near— No last minute miracle is going to save her life. Marvelous! No one expects The Ogden to live. I don't care about killing her while she is in a coma and not aware of the death approaching. Where would the fun be in that?

So I am on to phase two: I have that dolt of a hotel porter convinced I am a spy in His Majesty's service, executing a daring rescue of the brave & valuable Detective Murdoch who needs to be spirited away from the hotel in a secret way that has to look like it was against his will so he can deny involvement in it…to protect his "cover". Idiot! The porter was so very simple to convince that I had to laugh.

I learned a thing or two from that tall, dark haired, oily Tommy Masters that William sent to find me, him and his strong cigars and bushy eye brows over flat back eyes—(I know those kind of eyes…) It was so thoughtful of William to check up on me like that-make sure I was safe & doing well, even if he could not contact me himself. I always knew when someone was gaining on me… I would sense someone stalking me, circling, asking too many question… I was always able to dance away before getting caught.

It took me a while before I realized it was my William searching for me…never letting go of me… always hoping I would return. Besides, I was the last women he really ever really kissed, and once his lips touched mine he could never go back. It became rather exciting to guess who he sent and what they were up to. It DID surprise me William would choose such a …predatory individual as Mr. Masters, but perhaps that was supposed to be part of the fun, sending him to me as a sort of present to sharpen my wits.

I did not even mind that Mr. Masters engaged me in helping to blackmail the Honourable Dr. Sheard into meeting with him. I don't know what he hoped to gain from that lump of a man, but Mr. Master's was absolutely correct that Charles Sheard has a weakness for a pretty face and long legs. Even so, I knew better than to stick around & get my promised reward—even if William trusts the man (I don't think his real name was Tommy Masters. I'll bet he operates under many different personas.) But I learned something more valuable than the promised reward: That the larger the lie, the more outlandish the tale, makes some people just suspend disbelief out of a desire for it to BE true. I always thought the lies needed to be subtle, disarming, plausible even… but Mr. Master's –or whomever he really is—showed me that people will fall for anything if they really, really want to, making them complicit in their own undoing!

I will not be writing for a while. The porter just gave me his signal that he gave the drugged tea to William and it has worked—pulling the window shade up and down twice to let me know William is fast asleep. I am abandoning this room and will meet the porter with another note before arranging to claim William for my own. Lately I have been dreaming of William, fantasizing about him making love to me...I can actually feel something when I imagine him sliding into me—that certainly never happened before! More proof that fate brought us together.

I have everything arranged. The Constabulary is called off—just saw them leaving by the front door—and I have a horse and cart stashed by the tradesman's entrance. Once the porter helps me put William in, he will go his way and I will go mine. I have him convinced that his silence is mandatory, can affect national security, and violating that "oath" I made him take would see him hanged. He even thinks I am coming back for him…silly cow. Who believes that sort of balderdash?

Wish me luck!

# # #

MUCH LATER...

A cabin somewhere Northeast of Toronto

…..William bobbed into consciousness. What happened to the light? He tried to remember how to open his eyes and wondered if it was merely too dark to see, dimly aware of a bumping, rocking sensation and that his body was bent in half. He groaned…..

….Nausea, pungent smell, sickly–sweet taste on his tongue… choking sensation, followed by a mouthful of water. A hand… was it a hand? Pushing him back down. Down where? He wondered vaguely why he was having such a nightmare…

… Shuffling at her command felt like swimming through frigid mud. Up a step. Sag. Step up again. Sag. He managed to mumble something about relieving himself. Head spinning, he sat down hard on the commode. When did the Windsor get a commode? Was this a sick room? He could not lever himself upright when he was done…Must be some sort of bad infection to make me so weak, he thought as she helped him up….Why is Julia's skin so different and why does she wear a long brown scarf?... He peered at her but his vision was so blurred and distorted. Everything is so dark… Her arm came forward and he pushed the terrible tasting liquid away, or at least he tried to. The effort unbalanced him, sending him careening onto a mattress where the bounce set off another round of nausea. This is medicine? It's awful, tastes like a combination of pear and turpentine … "Don' wan' any more" he whined.

# # #

…It was the cold that finally started to bring him around. William almost reached the surface of awareness, the tail ends of bizarre dreams clutching at his limbs in an attempt to haul him back into one of Dante's circles. His thinking was fractured. What is going on? Nothing was clear or in any linear order. He fought to see, other sensations presenting themselves vaguely first: his body shivered lightly, he smelled burning wood, heard the sharp hit of Julia's boot heels…But that does not really sound like her gait at all… trip-trap on the wooden floor. Thank God for deliverance from such night terrors, he thought with effort. I have vivid dreams after all, but what on earth would have me filled with such ghastly visions? His heart jolted. Julia being shot?! Julia dying? He rocked his head. Monstrous! He smacked his lips, the cloying taste still lingered, other senses still stubbornly jumbled up. It seemed so real, so heart breaking. Three loud bangs—or was that a door slamming? He nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound, at the same time he did not actually hear it… All too confusing. He tried to sit up…

…Everything lurched blacker…

# # #

P. 85 ***E. D. P. ***

Dear Diary:

Success! My William is here with me just a few feet away, sleeping peacefully! Now that I have had the time to study him closely, he is even more handsome than I remembered. I recall the first time I saw his smile. I caught him in a casual moment when he was unaware of being observed. Something amused him, bringing a wry, almost bashful grin to his face, utterly transforming him from strong & forbidding to…adorable. Just for me! From that moment I simply knew we were destined to be together.

I roused him enough to get him out of the tiny wagon, into the cabin and onto our bed before giving him more laudanum. He just must be so confused, poor lamb, no wonder he fought me a little. I will just let him sleep it off before making him a home-cooked meal. I hope he likes beef stew. What a treat that will be for him after all that hotel food. He looks a little puffy though…what was she feeding him? I will do better.

William will be so proud of me, I just know it. Look at all I did for him! It is too bad I had to dispose of that constable, but, really, he should have gone away like the others. How was I to know he would be there, poking into the laundry cart? He seemed surprised -suspicious more like it- that I was in William's rooms even though I still had the maid's dress on. He just would not take "I don't know" for an answer. It was a good thing he leaned over into the cart—I'd never have been able to hit him if he hadn't. Tipping William into the cart from his chair wasn't too difficult. Getting that red-haired constable into William's bed was a little harder, but I am strong and that is not the first body I had to hoist around in a bed…now is it? My William will understand.

In my experience, most men always tend to underestimate women—our physical strength, determination, intelligence… deviousness. Then again, most women are singularly weak and stupid—no imagination! My William knows that is not ME. I can't wait to have him in my arms, sharing everything our imaginations can think up. I am going to start a fire, perhaps get a romantic dinner set up. I even have a pretty night gown to tantalize him with.

I know what my William wants—I know the dark flash that is under his polished, masculine veneer…his sharp, angry, sarcastic, manipulative, powerful, sexual aspects. So much passion harnessed & leashed to keep it away from polite society. Might as well keep one of those sleek black panther cats I saw at the zoo once on a string, pacing back & forth & growling. He won't stay on the string for long! He will pounce and devour the unwary—ooooh I can't wait!

I am going to start by rendering him helpless, so that he will of course have to struggle against the restraints—that is how he will save face. But he will not be able to stop me, because in his heart he does not want to stop me. In his heart he wants to have me possess him utterly. I think I will start by arousing him while he still sleeps. I will show him how much I love him. That has always worked wonders for me before, but with William, I want more, I need more. I want to see and hear his love for me.

William is with me now. I am special to him in the way no one else has ever been, I feel it in my bones. I notice he never wore a wedding ring of hers. What more proof do I need that he did not allow her to claim him, was waiting for me, only me?

I think it is not too soon to plan our wedding. I wonder if I can wear white?

He just better appreciate what I have done for him. I don't want to have to hurt him…he needs me, and I will convince him of that. And, oh! I can't wait to see his face when he knows she is dead. He will be so relieved and grateful. She who thought she knew so much, understood so much. Miss High-and-Mighty who thought she could EVER comprehend the ins and outs of the human condition from her abstract, ivory-tower perch; certainly not the way in which I am capable. She had to go and try to learn what I have always known. Shenever had to live by her wits, never had any actual experience in the lives over which she passed her bitter judgment with her long words and haughty pronunciation.

Oh, no.

She was only ever a vulture, tearing into the gullible or weak…the ill, dying or dead, no matter what title by which called herself. Iam not weak; I have never been weak. Prey are weak.

It is I who am the Huntress: Eva Diana Pearce.

# # #

Time looped and stretched uncomfortably….snatches of words or colours oozing up. The last thing he remembered was drinking some of Julia's too-sweet fruit tea, then making love with her in their bedroom…Or was that right? No. His head pounded and his mouth felt like it was packed with cotton. He tried to get his bearings…The last thing I remembered was Julia lying next to me…caressing me awake... Yes. Julia arousing me…only my Julia... That was how we started off our Sunday morning, wasn't it…? No… this last time felt different in some way...where was her blonde hair?… He remembered it felt queer…pleasant, but dull and wrong as well…

It was all a frustrating tangle. That's because it wasn't working, wasn't it? He almost laughed at the absurdity, except for a lingering sense of wrongness. Me not wanting Julia? That has never happened before… Maybe because I have been sick with a fever?… He grabbed at logic. That could explain the chills and the medicine. William dug around in his mind while he waiting for his blurred vision to clear and brain to engage. Why would making love with her feel shameful? Wait… He wracked his memory, coming up with something that made no sense. Julia wanted to use her mouth to pleasure me. I tried to tell her no, and pushed her away... Or did I? She was so disappointed, seemed angry in fact. Why? The more he tried to recall, the worse it got. What did she say?... 'Don't ever call me Julia again!' Why would she say such a thing?

A stab of biting pain assaulted his body centering on his groin, when the next flashback began…of a gruesome nightmare that gripped him in terror…so much coppery-smelling blood, his ears ringing. So loud! William felt his heart race and tears well up, spilling onto his cheek. He could not wipe them away for some reason…

Wake up… Wake Up… You have to WAKE UP! He could not discern if that was his own voice or another's yelling at him. Slowly, painfully, dim light filtered into his eyes and sense into his consciousness. First: he located his shoulder, which ached. Then: he found his hands, which felt numb above wrists that burned. His body was coming back to him…Strangely he still could not move or reposition for comfort. Perhaps this is still the dream as well? Paralysis is common in sleep. What is the word… parasomnia? Am I sleepwalking as I did as child, and woke up confused and disoriented…?

"Hello. Hel-lo? HELLO!"

New shouting hurt his ears. Too loud. Too close. Too…angry. The bed jolted up and down, accompanied by more greetings. He fought with himself to come fully awake, but nothing felt right. He tried to roll over and go back to sleep, almost preferring the nightmares to the sick feeling drilling into him at the moment. His shoulder twinged again. Why can't I move? He slogged through his memories. Nothing came up. What about those bangs?—I know gun shots when I hear them… Was I shot? Am I paralyzed? The thought immediately panicked him. Maybe I have been the one in hospital...not Julia?

It took every ounce of his willpower to focus, to pry his eyes open and make them see. One by one he found each muscle in his face and neck that governed his eyelids and turned his head, to force them into coordination enough for movement. He strained his hearing.

"Hello, William," the Succubus called him by name.

Familiar somehow… threatening. His gorge rose….

"It's so wonderful to see you. Isn't it nice to finally be together?" The demon's voice repeated from a face that swam into focus.

Impossible! It can't be! William's dismay was absolute. I am surely in the grip of an evil nightmare, brought on by illness or that foul medication…. He concentrated, putting everything into getting oriented. Brief flashes of insight pierced him. Oh, Lord! The chamber maid? Fear rung through him, counteracting the lethargy more effectively than anything else he could have summoned. She was there! I looked right at her. She shot Julia! He made himself say it, praying he was mistaken:

"Miss Pearce." It sounded to his ears as if the voice was not his own, merely projected into him like some ventriloquist's mannequin.Dear God, this cannot be real!

"Oh, please. I think we can use first names at this point, William. We've know each other since I was a shop girl. Remember? Of course you do. You were smitten with me from the first time you laid eyes on me."

William remained caught in un-believing, fuzzy-headed shock, starting to get a fuller, darker picture of his predicament. Small things gathered a shaky foothold on sanity for him…the dimensions of the room, the ceiling beams; even so it took a while to appreciate he was tied hand and foot to a bed. He did not quite believe it, did not want to believe it, despite the evidence. Disbelief came out of his mouth: "I don't know what you think you are doing…" Does one argue with hallucinations? He wondered. Does it do any good? Or is this a Hell crafted for me by my own sins…Divine retribution of the howling darkness for my lust….Is that why I could not see before? …

She prattled on and on while he tried mightily to wake up, hoping he was actually asleep, praying this was a terrible nightmare. Perhaps I am dead and this is Hell: anything to avoid believing the evidence of my senses … William tried in vain to understand what was happening amidst her talk of drugs and destiny, his feeling of helplessness and desperation ratcheting up. Did she just tell me she killed Constable Worsley? Each exchange brought less confusion and more anguish and alarm. Cold seeped into his gut, filling him with heavy dread, crushing his lungs in agony. His mind fought against the premonition of utter disaster, fought against incoming truth...

There was only one thing he desperately needed to know, at the same time foreboding nearly silenced him…Anything but that truth… The upwelling of horror was impossible to ignore until he blurted out his miserable question: "My wife…?"

Eva answered delightedly. "Oh. She is surely dead, William…"

Her words came at him like a gargantuan ocean wave, toppling the fragile hold he had on balance. William's heart stopped, frozen up in an instant against his throat, choking him with grief… I remember everything… Suddenly, he was not in a tiny cabin in the middle of nowhere, but back in Toronto. Images all came rushing forward in a torrent: gun shots sent his pulse racing, Julia is unconscious on the floor while he tries to stop the perilous bleeding, her warm blood slicking his hands…the appalling ride to the hospital, the doctors and soul-wrenching wait outside the surgical theatre… Julia lying so unresponsive and still…Doctor Maharris' ugly words echoing over and over again in William's head: "I fear she may never wake…"

While one detached part of William's mind listened and automatically answered Eva Pearce's delusional ravings, the other part of him, the core of his whole being, imploded.

Julia… Oh my God, NO!

He could not think, stripped of all reason by Eva's cruel pronouncement. Julia is gone? I will never see her again? A new set of memories collided in him, each an overlapping moment of joy with Julia whisked away to be drowned in an abyss of white hot pain. Eva would not stop talking, her voice coming to him as if through a long tunnel. Each new sentence she uttered made his flesh crawl with her abhorrent expectations and disturbed fantasies. Oh, my dearest Julia… our love, our home, our child to be replaced by desolation and a harpy tearing at my flesh? Better I should die as well than to submit…

Even as that thought was born in him, fresh disgust pushed its way up with slanting memories: Grotesque images filtered up from the drug-induced amnesia with sickening insight: What did she do while I was drugged? What did I do?

He was nearly unhinged with grief. I accused Eva of hurting all those that come close to her…And what is it that I have done? I brought danger and death more than once to Julia, the most precious being in my whole world—I did. I did this to Julia, God save me...

William experienced a dizzying shift in perspective. It seemed to him that he was looking down at himself from a corner of the ceiling. From there, he saw himself make a half-hearted attempt at getting free, and get his hand broken for his troubles… Well, that was stupid, he observed. How was that stunt going to do any good? Perhaps I wanted to provoke her? From his perch in the air he did not feel his mangled hand at all…the warm numbness felt nice…

Floating overhead, William saw Eva flounce away while he watched her go, feeling only a little sorry for his battered, sick body below. Try again tomorrow? He found that, strangely, his revulsion was muted. With Julia gone, what is there really to live for? All I have to do is let go, because Eva will kill me no matter what, and it is nothing more than I deserve….

Separated as part of him was from his body, it took no effort at all to let go and fall asleep, helped along by another dose of what he suspected was chloral hydrate hidden in the food Eva forced on him. He ate automatically to maintain some strength, not caring about the acrid taste of poison. Afterwards, William fell in and out of awareness as the drug overcame his adrenalin and night bled out to a weak first light, signaling 'tomorrow' was at hand. For a while in the darkness, it was almost as if Julia was lying next to him, her sweet voice so close to his ear, her breath flowing over his skin…

William...Remember always…I am yours... You are the center of life for me, the very foundation of my world… I know you love me….. My desire is to see you and touch you… There are no half measures are there? I know you are alive. I can feel your life-force, sense our connection; it is powerful and gives me great hope…. No despair. Fate will notbe sundered now…In the frigid dark in the middle of nowhere, I feel so close to you…. Something to live for—us!Believe in God. Pray for a miracle….Whatever you need to do, have to do. Stay alive—Use your wits, your memory... everything about managing a dangerous suspect. Don't argue-just go along with her—wherever that takes you. Listen and understand. Do what she does not expect; Get her off her guard. Courage to stay alive long enough until I get to you...

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