Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
VIOLET
Iwas getting tired of this man and his moods that were giving me whiplash. From stay to go, back to stay, and the heated look in his eyes made my insides burn.
Jesus Christ.
He was furious one minute, then flirting and referring to our night together ten years ago the next. His hot-cold behavior was making me dizzy.
One thing was clear though. I was staying in his home, and I intended to take advantage of that time to get closer to Aria.
As I stepped out into the hallway, Lykos said bitterly, “Follow me to my wife, Dr. Freud. It’ll be a sight to behold.”
I let out an exasperated sigh. He was back to cold. Although, considering we were going to see his wife, it made sense.
He turned the corner, then ascended the stairs, not even checking to see whether I was following him. Little did he know how often I’d wondered about his wife over the years.
Who was able to hook this man and keep him despite their madness?
We mounted staircases until we reached the third floor. There seemed to be only one room up here, with a double door made out of steel. Lykos reached into his pocket and unlocked the door.
He held it open, and I entered a large bedroom with a sitting area and an en suite.
The tapestried room seemed to date back to medieval times, with its four-poster bed and stained-glass window perched above a gold-accented vanity.
However, similar to the room I’d observed earlier, the space was somewhat bare.
No personal effects were lying around. No paintings. No photographs.
Almost as if it was empty.
Until I noticed a woman in the corner wearing a white silk dress that reached down to her bare feet. She had long, ebony-colored hair, and she was pacing the rug like a caged animal.
The hardwood under my feet creaked and her head whipped around, her eyes locking on me. She growled, then threw herself on all fours.
That’s when I noticed…
“She’s shackled,” I whispered in shock, watching the scene with disbelief. The woman crawled toward us and I couldn’t help but step deeper into the room.
“Not too close,” Lykos warned, but I didn’t listen.
“This is inhumane, Lykos,” I rasped. “You cannot keep her this way.”
“It’s for her own protection. She tried climbing out the window and jumping off the roof. The ankle restraints give her enough room to go to the bathroom, pace around the bed, and sleep. Not that she does much of that.”
“B-but…”
I was at a loss for words.
“She flies into fits of rage, Violet,” Lykos added, noting my shock. A manic bellow broke through the air and she gazed wildly between Lykos and me. “She gets violent, tries to kill others as well as herself.”
As if to prove his point, she shot forward, but before she could reach me, Lykos flung me behind him. She grappled for his throat and he put his hand over hers to pull free, but she bit down, drawing blood.
He could have settled her with a well-planted blow, but he simply wrestled himself free and stepped beyond her reach.
“Now, Amara,” he said with a surprisingly calm voice, ignoring the blood dripping onto the hardwood, “we don’t attack, and we don’t bite. Do we?”
She hissed in response, and somehow I didn’t think the woman—his wife—agreed with him.
“This is Amara Costello,” he said with a look so desolate it hit me right in my soul. This was the reason I was drawn to him. He felt at a loss just as much as I did. His wife. My sister. Two different kinds of losses, but they hurt the same.
Amara continued to hiss and growl, yanking at her ankle-chain and eager to break free and attack again.
“Does she… talk?” I asked, watching the scene warily.
“Rarely,” he said. “A word here and there. The more time passes, the less she verbalizes.”
I was a cognitive behavioral therapist. I talked through trauma and issues with my patients. If she didn’t speak, how could I possibly help?
“Anything else you want to know?” Lykos demanded, and I shook my head. “Then let me show you to your room.”
I followed him back out, astonished and distressed.
I started to wonder if maybe—just maybe—it would be kinder to let the woman find peace in a psychiatric unit where each day would be the same as the last. It could possibly be that people and events happening in this house were triggering her violent behavior.
“How long has she been this way?” I asked, following him down the stairs.
“Forever?” He let out a sardonic, tired breath. “Her condition started with small things that seemed off but were insignificant enough to ignore, but once she gave birth, the condition worsened progressively.”
“You mentioned before that she had been committed to a clinic. How was her behavior during her treatments there?”
“The doctors always said she was doing really well, especially in recent years. They continuously recommended bringing her home because of it. All her rage was aimed at me and our son, which is why I was a bit leery to listen to their advice.”
“Then why risk bringing her home?” I questioned.
His jaw clenched. “Like I said, the doctors at the clinic have been recommending it for a while now and admittedly, I wanted… hoped… my children would get to experience what it’s like to have a mother around. And fuck… I was lonely too.”
I swallowed, guilt swelling inside me. I didn’t think he aimed those words at me to make me feel guilty, but he didn’t need to, because I’d felt guilt from the moment I’d handed him my baby.
It didn’t matter that I did it for her protection.
The guilt was always there, my constant companion when it came to giving my own child away and my sister’s kidnapping.
“I thought she’d gotten slightly better in recent years,” he repeated, almost as if he were speaking to himself.
I focused on him rather than dwelling on my own inner turmoil.
“It could be that a stable environment in the clinic, where each day is the same as the last, helps her state of mind,” I stated slowly.
He tilted his head, listening and considering my words, never pausing his stride.
“Any potential items that could trigger her would probably not be around in an environment like that.”
“Wouldn’t the children’s and my visits to her in the clinic be something outside the norm?” he questioned.
“Maybe.”
“Then your claim doesn’t stand,” he replied.
“For the past year, each time we visited her in the clinic, she was lucid and spoke more. She even communicated with Dimitros and Aria. So, I brought her home, wanting a better quality of life for her. Even the doctors there recommended it. I really thought she was better, but then—”
He stopped abruptly and I put my hand on his shoulder. He stiffened for a moment, then the tension slowly eased out of him.
“But then?” I encouraged him to finish the statement.
“But then she tried to kill my children.”