The White House - Book 6, The Porth Kerensa Series

Chapter Twenty-Four

The bloodcurdling scream ripped through James as he slept and he woke, abruptly, with his wife’s name on his lips. Yet, as he sat bolt upright in bed a sepulchral silence enveloped the house chilling him to the bone more than the scream itself had. For the first time in a long while he was reminded of his childhood fear of the dark and he shivered. Feeling foolish he switched the lamp on, got out of bed, slipped on his dressing gown and stepped out into the darkened hall.

Elise’s bedroom door was open and he could see the outline of her slender form, lying curled up on her side, facing away from the door. Over the years he had seen her in the throes of the very worst nightmares and he could see instantly that she was sleeping, peacefully, and there was no sign of any previous struggle with her dreams. He leaned against the jamb, the scream forgotten as he remembered long ago nights when he’d curl around her and inhale the scent of her red hair.

Her hair had been the first thing he’d noticed about her and when she’d caught him staring at her across the library he’d blushed redder than the darkest strand on her head. He had always loved burying his nose in its silkiness and enjoying the pictures it brought to his mind. Her hair was everything red that was beautiful in the world. It was roses, carnations, peonies, poppies, fine red wine, ruby Port, a red sky at night, cherries, apples, strawberries and the streak of red in a rainbow.

But in the dim light of the room, her hair fanned over the pillow now reminded him of blood.

James stumbled backwards as images of Elise beaten and bloodied tumbled through his mind, shocking him with their vivid clarity, and he couldn’t contain the cry that ripped from his throat. He clutched his head in his hands, whimpering, and his knees folded beneath him, bringing him crashing to the floor.

When Elise got up, fifteen minutes later, disturbed by a clap of thunder directly overhead, she found him lying on the floor outside her door. His eyes were wide open, staring straight through her, and for a few terrifying seconds she thought he was dead. Tears sprang into her green eyes when she caught sight of his chest moving and she knelt down beside him, thanking God under her breath as she stroked his face, gently, and whispered his name.

After a minute or two he blinked his eyes and looked on her, blearily. When her face swam into focus he cried out and pushed himself away from her, sharply, remembering the thoughts that had flooded his imagination before he blacked out. Desperately, he scrambled away from her, backing himself against the wall. He recognised the steel shutter that she slammed down on her emotions when he levelled yet another rejection at her, because he had experienced it enough when she pushed him away, and he hated himself for it. He wanted to reach out and touch her, but he was petrified that he would end up hurting her.

Before moving to the white house James never imagined it was possible to torture each other more than they already had. Now he feared he’d hurt her more than either of them ever thought was possible. The oppressive tension between them had stretched their marriage to such a point that the idea of harming her was no longer a clamorous fear, but a hideous inevitability. 

He had seen her blood on his hands and the memory of it withered his soul.

Trembling, he stood up and wiped his hand across his forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I thought I heard a scream and I got up to see if you were okay. I must have tripped in the dark and knocked myself out. I’m sorry if I woke you.”

“You didn’t,” she replied, politely brusque. “Do you need anything?”

“No, thank you,” he said, awkwardly. “I’m going back to bed.”

She nodded and stood, watching, until he shut the door in her face. Sighing, she turned away and stopped with a gasp of shock when she caught sight of the toy bear she had put in the attic for Oliver. It had been placed, sitting, on the fifth stair, holding its head on its lap. What had once been a cute tatty teddy bear was now something malevolent and disturbing. The ripped fabric around its neck and the beady black eyes of the bear seemed to mock her.