Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
VIOLET
The space outside Amara’s room smelled faintly of antiseptic and lavender.
It was a smell I never quite got used to in hospitals.
Lavender was often used to calm patients, and antiseptics were just the scent of every hospital and clinic I ever stepped into.
It felt out of place in this villa, but maybe it clung to Amara’s skin after spending so much time in the clinic.
It wasn’t until I got closer that I noticed the two guards, sitting in a little secluded indent on each side of the wall.
“You can’t go in there,” one of them declared, standing to his full height.
I squared my shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes. “I’m here as her doctor. I need to evaluate the patient.” The two shared an unsure glance and I added, “Call Mr. Costello if you must.”
They exchanged a few words in Greek that I couldn’t understand, then the same guard said, “Very well. We’ll unlock the door and you can go in. But don’t get too close. Understand?”
“Yes.”
I watched the second guard unlock the door, then get back into his seat, his eyes warily on me as he said slowly, “There’s nothing you can do for that one.”
Ignoring them both, I reached for the doorknob, fingers hovering just short of the handle for one moment before I wrapped my fingers around it and cracked it open slowly.
The room was dim despite the sun pressing insistently against the blinds. A narrow strip of light cut across the bed, stopping just short of her face. Amara lay still beneath it, one arm loose at her side, the other tucked under her cheek while she slept soundly.
She’s sedated, I realized. It showed in the slackness of her mouth, the unnatural stillness of her chest between deep, slow, and even breaths.
I stepped inside the room, inching cautiously closer to the bed. Her hair had been brushed back, though a few dark strands clung stubbornly to her cheek. Before I realized it, I raised my hand and moved it gently off her face.
She didn’t move.
“Amara,” I murmured softly.
She didn’t respond.
I watched her for several stretching moments, noting that the tension hadn’t entirely left her body. Even now, her fingers curled slightly inward, like she was holding on to something invisible.
I exhaled through my nose and stepped back.
This wasn’t the moment to ask questions and chase answers, not when she couldn’t meet me halfway. So I turned around and left the room with a soft click of the door behind me and went back to my bedroom.
I moved to the window, nudging the curtains wide open. The day outside was bright and warm. The sea in the distance sparkled blue while voices from guards or staff traveled on the breeze.
Those details registered while the same question circled over and over at the forefront of my mind, looking for a seam to pull when it came to Lykos’s wife.
I tried to focus on what I could identify and maybe fix. Nobody deserved to live in that state of mind, and the psychiatrist in me wanted to fix it. After all, that was the reason I’d picked this field.
I turned back to the small vanity table and sat, then reached for the phone and dialed the clinic’s records department, tapping a pen lightly against the desk while it rang.
“Records.”
“This is Dr. Violet Freud,” I said. “I need full access to Amara Costello’s file. Intake notes, prior evaluations, anything archived.”
I heard papers shuffling on the other end, typing against a keyboard, then the receptionist said, “Those files are restricted.”
“I’m aware,” I said, keeping my voice even. “But I’ve been hired to treat her while under Lykos Costello’s roof. If there’s a clearance issue, escalate it.”
I was well aware that I was stretching the truth since Lykos was clearly surprised to see me show up at his door, but there was no need for them to know that.
“I’ll submit the request,” the receptionist answered. “Where would you like me to send her information?”
I recited my email, then added, “I need it today.”
“Understood.”
The line clicked.
I set the cell phone down and leaned back, eyes drifting across the screen, almost expecting the information to show up immediately. Much to my surprise, it only took five minutes before my phone buzzed with the notification of the email from the clinic.
Snatching the phone eagerly, I opened the email and scanned it, reading it twice.
The file and notes were remarkably short.
That part was almost expected, considering a certain flavor of my own patients also had very thin files.
However, the part that surprised me was that her medication wasn’t listed.
I scrolled up and down through the almost empty pages but couldn’t find a single piece of information that could be useful.
My eyes locked on one incomplete sentence.
“Episodes triggered by—” The sentence cut off mid-line, as if the writer had been interrupted. Unless it was on purpose.
I stilled, reading the three words over and over again as if they would magically give me answers. It didn’t.
Triggered by what? I wondered.
I leaned forward, elbows on the desk, and closed my eyes briefly, replaying everything Lykos had told me about his wife. There wasn’t much to go off of.
However, if her episodes were triggered by something, then all we had to do was find the source.
My jaw tightened slightly, and I opened my eyes.
I would try to help Amara, and maybe if I succeeded, she would forgive me for betraying her with her husband. Granted, I hadn’t known at the time, but that didn’t absolve me of my part in the matter.
Honestly, I didn’t quite think I could blame Lykos for it either, because remaining a faithful husband for such a long time without any hope of getting her back must have been hard for him too.
I exhaled slowly, steadying my hands against the keyboard of the phone.
I couldn’t predict how Amara would react if I could somehow help her, but I could learn what triggers she had and understand her and her condition better.