Part I
Katarina
Then
“Katarina, there’s a young man here to see you,” my mother called from the sitting room as I let myself into the small apartment we called home.
I locked the door and took my shoes off, nerves gathering in my belly.
A young man? Who?
Who do you think? Your stalker. The one who will curse you to hell, the voice inside my head said in her ethereal tone. The damn voice that had appeared a few months ago.
I hadn’t told a soul about it except my local doctor, and my mother, though I was regretting that already.
I didn’t want people to think I was going mad, and my mother was eyeing me lately like I was possessed.
She was probably planning on booking me an exorcism or something.
Dr. Blackwood had given me several reasons why the voice might be happening: stress, anxiety, bad sleep .
. . there were plenty of possible causes.
I was certainly under stress, with my final teaching exams coming up at the end of the semester, after which I’d be qualified to get a job at a real school.
I couldn’t wait. I had to eat something and get studying tonight.
I wasn’t going to let anything get in the way of finishing my degree, especially not some local smooth talker who had for some reason decided that I was “the one.”
I drew my shoulders back and walked into the sitting room, freezing at the sight before me.
I was used to the religious artifacts on the walls. My mother was a devout woman, and one glance at her house would prove it. She’d never met a picture of a saint she didn’t think wall-worthy.
What I hadn’t expected to see was Father Vargas, the head of our local church, sitting next to the skinny guy who had been the bane of my existence for nearly a year.
Ivan Markovic.
My mother sprang to her feet as soon as I walked in.
“You’re late,” she said, a hint of worry in her tone.
Whether it was concern for me or worry over keeping esteemed guests waiting, I wasn’t sure.
“I had to pick some books up from the library,” I explained, unwinding my scarf and giving Father Vargas a tentative smile. “Father. What brings you here?”
He sighed and tilted his head to the side. “This is a delicate topic, but I want you to know, Katarina, that I’m here for you and your mother. This is what I’m here for. Ivan has brought your situation to my attention, and I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t help.”
“I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” I managed to get out, my gaze flying to Ivan’s. “Can we talk?”
He followed me out to the hall while my mother pressed tea and cookies on Father Vargas.
“What’s going on? Why is Father Vargas here?” I asked Ivan, bewildered.
Ivan slouched against the hallway wall and eyed my skirt-and-tights combo with ill-disguised disgust.
Nearly a year ago, we’d been on one date, at which he’d told me, as soon as I’d showed up, that my dress was more suited to a whore than a woman who wanted to teach kids. For me, that had been the end of it. Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for Ivan.
“He’s my uncle, didn’t I mention that before?” Ivan said.
I shook my head. “No, you didn’t, and regardless, it doesn’t explain why he’s here.”
Ivan sighed. “You remember how I told you that you’d regret turning me down?”
Now it was my turn to sigh. “Ivan, who asks someone to marry them after one date? And we didn’t exactly hit it off.”
“Maybe you didn’t, but I thought we did. The problem with you is that you’ve been influenced by the media to think you’re supposed to be this career woman, sleeping around with different men, whoring yourself out—”
My hand moved before I could call it back. The slap was quiet but mighty.
Ivan glared at me and then leaned forward, getting in my face. “Look how panicked you are that your nights of living wild and free, whoring around, are about to be over. When you’re my wife—”
“I’d rather die than marry you,” I ground out.
Almost a year he had been pestering me with this ridiculousness, and I’d had enough. I was twenty-two years old. I wasn’t a kid he could order around.
“But you will . . . I told you that and you didn’t believe me, so now you’ll see what happens when you defy your future husband.”
“You’re insane. You’ve gone mad,” I muttered.
Ivan chuckled. “From what I heard from a nurse in Dr. Blackwood’s office, you’re the one who’s gone mad. Hearing voices and refusing perfectly good marriage proposals.”
I stepped back, my cheeks heating. He knew about the voices? Shame and fear coated me. I felt exposed.
“I want you to leave,” I said stiffly.
My mother appeared at the sitting room door.
“The tea is poured,” she said, wringing her hands. She was nervous.
What was going on?
We dutifully followed her into the sitting room and sat.
Father Vargas shifted forward, his face morphing into the sympathetic expression I had seen countless Sundays for years.
“Now, Katarina, Ivan has told me what is going on with you, and I want you to know, first of all, you are not so lost that you can’t be found.”
“What?” I asked.
Father Vargas went on. “Modern medicine would have you believe that delusions and voices and loose behavior”—he paused—“can all be traced to hormones and diseases of the mind, but it isn’t so.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, and Ivan doesn’t know anything about me.”
Vargas nodded as if he’d been expecting me to say just that. “And your own mother? She’s been worried sick by these voices you’re hearing in your head.”
I spun to catch sight of my mother, betrayal stinging deep. She’d told Vargas? Probably in confession. Her blind trust in the Church had always bothered me, and now it was being used against me.
A tingling fear had started at the base of my spine and was working its way up. My mother wouldn’t meet my eyes. The nerves in my stomach intensified.
“My colleagues and I have been developing ways for faith to heal these ailments, but it must be done in a supervised environment. Being free to act out your licentious fantasies can be dangerous for you. You need supervision and care . . . and since you’re so important to Ivan, I’m here to offer it to you.
Hallow Hall is waiting to help you, Katarina. ”
I stared at him for a long time, unsure what the hell to say. My mother got up and left the room, weeping.
I looked at Ivan. That motherfucker. He’d gone and told his uncle a pack of lies to punish me for not saying yes to his marriage proposal.
I shook my head.
“There’s been some kind of mix-up here,” I stated firmly.
Then I heard them. The soft rustle of people in the hallway. Several people. I turned, and they were there. In pale-green scrubs, strong arms outstretched.
Orderlies. At least four of them.
They were here for me.
I stumbled backward and bolted for the door on the other side of the sitting room while screaming for my mom. She stood in the hallway, crying softly, her face showing her resignation. Ivan caught me as I crossed the room.
“You should have accepted me when you had the chance, Kat. Now you’ll beg me to still marry you,” he whispered to me.
He held me still and the men in scrubs advanced. One had a long needle in his hand.
“No! Don’t touch me. I’m not crazy, this is all wrong,” I shouted, frantic.
Then the needle pierced my skin, and the strength went out of my limbs. Suddenly, I was so tired, and all I could think about was closing my eyes.
Yes, close your eyes, child. You are going to need your rest—to survive.
The voice was the last one I heard, clear as day, speaking in my ear.