Page 5 of Deliria

Is that why they chose this island? Is that the appeal? They wanted a nice little reminder of their own infallibility? I could almost laugh at the absurdity of that thought. No, the Forster’s don’t want reminders of their weaknesses. The Forster’s don’t see themselves as weak or even mortal. Perhaps that was the point in building their monstrous home here. To prove that they really are akin to the gods, that they can master even nature, stop the very sea in its tracks…

I close my eyes, breathing it in, and for a moment, I feel almost free.

But freedom feels like an illusion here, a fallacy, a thing I’ll never actually obtain again.

I open my eyes, gazing out at the horizon as I make a vow.

That I will remember.

That I will understand.

And I will fight.

Because this is my life, and I’m done playing the part of the helpless, invalid wife. It’s time to reclaim what’s mine, to unravel the lies and face whatever awful thing happened to me. No matter how dark or twisted it is.

Scarlett

The walk back is not nearly as liberating as the walk out. My feet are caked in dirt, and I swear I’m up to my shins in mud.

Perhaps I should have heeded Rafe’s warning. But my pride was too much, and I needed this moment. This space. This freedom fromthathouse.

I don’t even understand why the house is affecting me as it does, why I feel so trapped by it. Yes, it’s huge. Yes, it’s isolated, but there is nothing to suggest it really is a cage.

And yet, as it gets closer and closer, it feels ever more like a monster bearing down on me. Like a physical manifestation of all the shit spiralling in my head.

And more than that, I can’t shake that feeling of being watched. That at every turn, every step, someone is there in the shadows, taking note.

I glance over my shoulder, half-expecting to see a looming pair of eyes fixed on me. But there’s no one there, just the endless expanse of the grounds and the distant, continual crash of the waves.

In my head, an eerie song seems to have come from nowhere. Except, I can only remember the first verse, can only hear it chanting over and over like a broken record on repeat.

“In the garden where shadows grow,

A secret whispered, soft and low.

The roses bloom, but then wilt away,

And the truth lies buried, night and day.”

I don’t know what it means, I don’t even know how I know this song, the notes, any of it.

Goosebumps spread over my arms and I rub them absentmindedly while I try to stem the panic that seems to take hold from nowhere.I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to go back to this house, and yet I have no alternative, do I?

When I get to the main grounds, the formal garden seems so at odds with the tension coiling in my gut. Neat little box hedging is laid out with pretty flowers in between. It’s a marvel they can keep the plants alive, considering how exposed it is. There’s an orangery at the centre, its white paint gleaming in the sunlight. And it’s there that I see him, Alex, deep in conversation with a man I don’t quite recognize. They’re too far away for me to make out their words, but the set of Alex’s shoulders tells me it’s a serious discussion.

I duck behind a hedge, my breath coming in short, sharp, tight gasps. I don’t know why I’m hiding, why I feel the need to conceal my presence. I have every right to be here. And it’s not like Alex said I couldn’t go out.

And yet, there is something within me screaming to stay out of sight, to not let that man see me.

The stranger is older, with a commanding presence that even at this distance is unmistakable. His hair is silver, his suit impeccably tailored. He has the air of someone who is used to being obeyed, a man who wields power as easily as he draws breath.

And as his head turns, I make out the countenance, the same profile; it must be Vincent Forster, Alex’s father. As far as I remember, we’d only met a handful of times. He was friendly enough then, but there was always something about him that made me wary, put me on edge. I guess that feeling hasn’t changed with time or circumstance.

They shake hands, the gesture somehow so final. Alex turns and walks back toward the house, his stride purposeful, while I retreat further into the shadows, my mind racing with questions I dare not ask.

But Alex must know I’m gone, that I’m no longer safely locked within those walls. Are the maids spying on me? Reporting back to him? They must be. No way would he let me wander this great house alone, unsupervised if that wasn’t the case.

My heart slams into my chest with that realisation and I know I need to get back, to have some sort of excuse to justify why I’ve disobeyed him when he made it abundantly clear that I’m ‘still recovering and need rest’.

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