Through her I knew it was Dawes House, but it wasn’t the house I lived in now, but a version that belonged to another century, and it stood alone on the grounds, predating the Victorian neighborhood that now occupied the land. But I knew it instantly—sheknew it. The surge of hope that rushed through her—through me—nearly buckled her knees. Safety was only a few strides away.
I sprinted up the steps and pounded on the door with my fist. “Father!” I screamed, my throat burning, my voice ragged. “Father, please! Letme in!”
A moment later, someone opened the door—not my father, but a very pretty young woman in a nightgown similar to mine, clutching a shawl around her to preserve her modesty, her blond hair hanging loose around her shoulders.
The blond woman looked familiar to me as I observed the scene, but I couldn’t place her…
“Susanna?” she cried. “What on earth are you doing here? What’s wrong? Come in, come in! You’ll catch your death!”
Crying, shivering, I stumbled inside and into her arms, babbling unintelligibly. As she guided me to the front sitting room, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the hall mirror.
Of course, it wasn’t me at all. She was younger, maybe eighteen or nineteen, her dark hair wild and tangled. Blood streaked her cheekbones, scratches ran down her throat, across her chest, along her arms.
“What in the name of God is all that racket!” came a booming voice, footfalls heavy as the speaker stormed down the stairs.
I was more terrified then than I had been when in the woods running for my life.
I rushed toward him, clasping my hands as if in prayer. “Father! Please don’t make me go back! Please, I beg you!” I clutched at his nightshirt, tears of desperation streaming down my face, burning my wounds. My knees gave out as the last of my strength drained away, and I collapsed at his feet. “Please!”
His hand fisted in my hair, and yanked—hard—dragging me toward the door.
I screamed with pain and fear, struggling to get my feet beneath me. “No! No! Father!”
“I will have none of this,” he snarled. “You will return this instant, or I will drag you there myself.”
“Help me!” I begged. “Eliza, please! Don’t let him send me back. Please!”
But no help came. The young blond woman—Eliza—cowered in a corner, trying to look as small as possible.
“No daughter of mine will break her vows,”my father roared, hauling me onto the porch. Fear and panic twisted my stomach. A wave of nausea hit me so hard, I couldn’t stand. I doubled over, retching.
He shoved me down the front steps, disgust twisting his face as he towered over me. “You will obey me and return to your husband, Susanna” he spat, “or you are dead to me, to this family. Do you understand? I will not suffer this humiliation!”
“I cannot!” I sobbed. “He is the devil! He will drag me down to hell with him if I return!”
Before my father could respond, the sound of hooves and carriage wheels cut across the night. My father stomped down the front steps and grasped my arm, yanking me to my feet as the carriage came to a stop.
“Fairland,” came a deep, accented voice from inside the carriage.
My father gave the speaker a curt nod. “Josef.”
“I suspected I might find her here,” Josef Proffitt drawled, his voice smooth and even. “Thank you for retrieving my beautiful bride before harm befell her.” He leaned forward, extending his hand. His face was still half in shadow, more ominous for the concealment. “Come, my love. We have much to discuss.”
My father dragged me to the carriage and forced me in. “Do not return to this house,” he ordered through clenched teeth. “You are only welcome here on the arm of your husband.”
I trembled so violently, I couldn’t find my voice to protest. All hope I’d had of escape vanished. I slumped back against the seat and turned my head toward the porch—toward Eliza. She stood beside our father, her gaze fixed on Josef, her cheeks flushed, her eyes unnervingly bright.
Foolish girl. She adored him, the devil beside me. Wanted him for herself. One day she’d see him for what he truly was.
I didn’t look at my husband until we reached his home a couple of miles away. He, too, said nothing, sitting there in stony silence, his fury palpable. When we arrived, he was eerilygentle as he helped me out of the carriage, then led me up the steps and into the house.
It was then that the light of the lanterns dispelled the shadows, and his face came into full view. And when he turned his eyes down to me, there was no kindness, no warmth, no empathy. Only darkness so deep it seemed bottomless.
I screamed.
Not the dream me, not Susanna.Me.
The dream tore away as I came fully awake, but the terror didn’t. Josef Proffitt could’ve been Whit’s brother. The likeness was uncanny—except for the soulless darkness in his eyes. It chilled me to my bones, and the shivering I’d experienced through Susanna clung to me, a coldness that burned inside my chest.
