Her nightmares had long since morphed into this—into gruesome rape at the hands of the monsters who’d haunted her her entire life.
Selma screamed until darkness swallowed her.
2
Selma
“Selma?”
Selma slowly turned her gaze from the tranquil gardens beyond the bay window-ledge where she’d been curled up for the better part of the morning. A nurse stood in the doorway, a kind smile on her face. Her name was Marie, if Selma remembered correctly. Her mind was still fuzzy from the drugs.
“The doctor is ready for you again. Would you please come with me?” probably-Marie asked.
The doctor. Selma didn’t remember a doctor, but then she didn’t remember much of anything from after the paramedics had injected her with whatever sedative they’d had on hand.
She unfolded from the window ledge with a sigh, slipping obediently to the floor. With an encouraging smile, the nurse led her from the small, high-ceilinged room she’d slept in and down a series of long corridors lined with the same large windows as the one she’d spent most of the day gazing out of. Although whoever had converted the old manor into a psychiatric ward had gone out of their way to make it look the part of a hospital, it still retained some of its grandeur from its glory days. It even smelled faintly of old wood through the acrid odor of cleaning agents filling the air.
There were very few indications of other patients or staff members on the premises. A soft humming from one of the rooms was the only noise apart from their footsteps echoing off the mahogany floors as they passed closed door after closed door. Only after climbing the staircase to the first floor did life seem to vibrate through to the hall: the low buzz of a radio flowing through an open door; the murmur of female voices; and the scent of coffee emitting from what must have been the staff break room.
The hallway grew quieter as they came to a broader stretch, where golden plaques engraved with doctors’ names hung next to dark, carved door frames that matched the floorboards.
The nurse stopped to knock where the fancy sign indicated Dr. Martin Hershey had his office. Upon hearing an affirmative mumble through the aged wood, she offered Selma a reassuring smile before opening it.
“Dr. Hershey, your next patient is here to see you.”
“Very good,” a pleasantly deep voice said from within. “Show her in please, Marie.”
Marie turned to Selma, the previously encouraging smile on her lips now spread wider. “Go on in.”
Sighing inwardly, Selma moved past her and through the opening into the psychiatrist’s office, feeling like she was stepping into the middle of an office romance. But romantic interest or no, patient confidentiality was patient confidentiality, and the door closed behind her, leaving Selma alone with yet another professional about to draw a blank on her condition.
“Come on over and have a seat, please.”
Maybe he’d give up quickly—he would have had her medical records sent over from the other institutions and therapists she’d seen, and would probably come to the sad conclusion that his newest patient was a lost cause just like they had.
If she was lucky.
With another sigh, this time not so inward, she lifted her head to face the doctor... and froze mid-step at the sight of him.
He was certainly handsome, which was probably the reason for the nurse’s sudden shift from reassuring professional to giddy schoolgirl. The first thing Selma noticed was his olive skin, strong, clean features, and thick, black hair. However, the neatly brushed, wavy strands did nothing to hide his pointed ears, nor the small horns protruding from just above his hairline. His almond shaped eyes watching her halted approach were a burning orange.
He was one of them.
No. How was she meant to get through this? She’d had to deal with them before, from her physics teacher to bank advisors, and even a supervisor at one point, but never had she been expected to open up about her illness to one. How could she trust him with her health—and her already fractured mind?
The slight tilt of one of his dark eyebrows brought her out of the maelstrom of her thoughts. If she were to have any hope of being released before the hospital notified her parents, she best get herself together!
Forcing her legs to complete the steps needed to reach Dr. Hershey’s desk, she gritted her teeth and lifted her gaze to meet his. Apart from their disturbing color, his eyes held no dark threats.
“Please, sit.” He indicated the chair next to him—a comfortable-looking one, perfect for therapy sessions and delving into childhood memories.
Selma obeyed, fervently wishing that he’d just hand her a prescription and be done. She had no interest in exploring her trauma with this... whatever he was, and even less desire for him to do so.
“Selma Lehmann, correct?” He lifted those dark eyebrows at her questioningly, waiting for her nod. “I am Doctor Martin Hershey, chief psychiatrist here at Ravenswood House. I suspect you don’t recall me from last night, so it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He stretched his large hand toward her. Hesitantly she took it, bracing for the heat she knew he’d radiate. It wasn’t unpleasant, but the warmth traveling from her fingers up through her arm felt mildly invasive, as if his touch attempted to cover as much of her skin as possible.
He smiled a little at her hesitation before letting go and leaning back, watching her in that therapist way she knew meant that every unconscious move of her body was being observed. It always made her fidget even more.
“I read your file this morning; this is the first time in ten years you have had a recorded incident. Did the hallucinations disappear in your late teens, or did you decide to deal with them on your own?”
