Chapter 6

Moments of snatched clarity leave me more confused than ever. I feel so sluggish, so heavy. My eyelids are weighted down, every blink a battle, and I'm losing the war. I feel so weak. I don't understand how I can be this sick and not seem to be getting any better.

I crave daylight, fresh air, and freedom. My head is hazy, foggy. The fresh air will blow away the mists inside my brain.

There's someone…

Someone I need.

Why doesn't she come?

My chest aches when I think of her, a tightness that brings tears to my eyes but I can't grasp why. Thoughts, memories, coherent sentences slip away from me but remain on the periphery, taunting me.

The fever has broken but I'm still struggling.

I was better.

I was sitting in the sunshine.

The fresh air on my face.

Blinking, I realise the window is open.

Where did the key come from?

Why am I a prisoner in my own bed again?

The nightshirt is different once more. I only know this one is different because it's a pale lilac colour while the others have been white with some form of ribbon or embroidery.

Someone has been taking care of me. My hair has been washed, brushed and tied back. With a flash of panic, my hands fly to my scalp and run down the length of my silky locks to ensure that my hair hasn't been cut while I've been sleeping.

I'm clean. My skin feels soft, like I've been taken care of, but something about it makes me feel dirty. I shudder at the thought of Carver bathing me, even though he clearly must have while I've been delirious with a fever.

Why? Why can't I remember?

My tongue feels thick. Heavy. Clumsy. When did I use it last? Are my words being spoken out loud? Or is it all just in my head?

Footsteps shoot fear into my heart.

But what is there to be afraid of?

My eyes close as I try to steady my sluggish thoughts. Whispers and hushed voices send shivers down my spine, and panic begins to claw at me, urging me to run, to escape this room. This cage of pastel pinks and pretty furniture.

As the door creaks open, a sliver of light spills into the room, illuminating the figure standing in the doorway.

It's her.

I recognize her silhouette, the gentle slope of her shoulders, and the way she carries herself with a quiet strength.

Relief washes over me, melting away some of the confusion and fear. She takes a cautious step forward, her face etched with concern and weariness. Her voice, when she speaks, is laced with tenderness.

"My love," she says softly, her words reaching deep into my fragmented memories. Her white hair frames her face, almost like a halo. "I'm sorry."

Without fully understanding why, I allow tears well up in my eyes and fall freely. I reach out a trembling hand toward her, craving the touch of her skin against mine. But before our fingertips can brush together, something shifts in her expression.

A flicker of doubt passes through her eyes as she studies me. It's as if she's seeing something that I can't comprehend. The warmth in her gaze wavers for a moment before being replaced by a haunting sadness.

Confusion clouds my mind once again as I try to make sense of her expression. She seems to blur at the edges, her face shifting and flickering. Panicking, I reach for her but my fingers pass through thin air. My tears burn as they fall, distorting my vision and I try to blink them away. Try to swallow my sobs.

By the time I can see clearly, she's gone.

Heisn't though.

He stands in the doorway, casting a long shadow that seems to stretch across the room, filling the space she left behind. There is something about him, something familiar yet... I can't quite place it, but a sense of unease settles deep within me. Fear.

His eyes, cold and calculating, lock onto mine with an intensity that sends a chill down my spine. He takes slow, deliberate steps towards me, a sinister smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"You remember me, don't you?" he asks, his voice almost saccharine as it sets my teeth on edge. Cloying. Sickly. "You may have forgotten everything else, but deep down in that fragmented mind of yours, you remember. It's just you and me now, Ari. You and me."

Flashes of memories start to piece themselves together and tendrils of dread weave their way around my heart. The pain...the torment...it all comes rushing back like a tidal wave crashing against my fragile consciousness, pulling me under with the current.

I remember him now.

But how? How did I end up back here? I remember him leaving. The door locking. And then I was free. I could breathe.

Then…why can't I remember?

The questions swirl in my mind, but before I can find answers, he steps closer, invading my personal space. His touch sends waves of revulsion through me, and I recoil instinctively.

"What…want…me?" I manage to rasp, my voice barely audible. Weak and shaky.

"I only want to take care of you, my little Rapunzel," he chuckles darkly.

The mattress dips as he sits on the bed, and reaches out to wrap tendrils of my hair between his fingers. I try to inch away, but he keeps a tight grip, the pain in my scalp pinning me in place.

He brings his hand up near his mouth, the white strands of my hair stark against his tanned skin, almost appearing as if they're woven into his flesh before he inhales with a gentle sigh.

This isn't real.

Isn't real.

Isn't…

It feels like it's been days since I've moved from this bed or even put my feet on the floor. When I curl and flex my toes, my soles no longer hurt, which means enough time has passed for my feet to have healed. So why am I still lying here?

Pushing myself into a sitting position makes my head spin, but I steady myself on shaky hands. Baby steps. Small movements. Something catches my eye, and I find my paddle hairbrush on top of the dressing table, the silver handle beginning to tarnish after years of use. When I was a child, my mother used to brush my hair every morning and each night just before bed. She would carefully divide it into sections, and gently comb through the tangles, humming a soft lullaby as she worked. I would close my eyes and relax, enveloped by the scent of the rose oil we both used. It was like her soothing touch washed away all the worries of the day as I sat at her feet.

I need to brush my hair. Need to stand and shuffle towards the dressing table. My body protests, not used to the movement, but I manage it.

Undoing my braid, I sit in front of the mirror, out of breath and tired again but I start brushing, clinging to the memories of her.

I should get it cut. But I can't bear to.

It's the only thing that makes me feel close to her. The only thing keeping us bound together, without my hair…then she'll really be gone. I'm not ready to say goodbye, to sever the last tie to her I have.

Closing my eyes, I pretend it's her brushing. I can almost feel her hands ghosting over my head, but the memory of her touch feels distant, dream-like.

I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror and frown. The face staring back at me looks haunted. Pale blue eyes barely blink, looking empty and glazed over like they belong on a china doll. Pink lips are flat, pulled into a tight line, as if they've forgotten how to smile. Is this really me? I've lost weight, my cheekbones are more prominent now making me seem older – I look like her more than ever.

I plait my hair again, the end of the braid brushing against the top of my thigh as I pull it over my shoulder. Seeing it tamed into something sleek and beautiful fills me with sadness. If she were here, it wouldn't be like this. It was all my fault, but still, how could she leave me behind?

As I sit there, lost in my memories, regret taking root, a soft knock on the door startles me from my reverie.

It creaks open, and a figure steps into the room – Carver. It's always Carver.

"Good morning, Ari," he says in a voice so gentle it startles me. "How are you feeling today?"

"I think I want to get up today," I say, catching his gaze in the mirror, my voice hoarse and barely audible. When did I last use it? My memory is so hazy.

Carver approaches with cautious steps, his face lined with concern, but it doesn't seem to reach his eyes. Those look angry. Dark.

But why? I try to think, searching for a reason why he would be angry with me, but I find none. My memory isn't…reliable these days.

Carver reaches my side, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for something. His hands tremble as he places them on my shoulders, the warmth sinking into my skin like ink bleeding into paper. There's a faint smell of antiseptic in the air, mingled with a hint of another scent; something metallic.

"Carver," I say, my voice barely a whisper as I speak more words than I have for…days? Weeks? "Why do you seem so...on edge?"

His nostrils flare, the muscle in his jaw twitching, but his voice is level and calm when he speaks. "I do wish you'd call me Father. After all we've been through together…"

He hesitates for a moment, his gaze fixed on a spot on the wall above my head before he finally meets my eyes, his expression pained.

"Ari, there's something you need to know," he begins slowly. "You've been sick for a long time."

I swallow down the panic surging through me, rising like the tide.

"This is the first time you've been capable of a proper conversation in a while," Carver continues as he tightens his grip, fingers starting to bite into my skin. "Which is…surprising."

How is that possible? I've been losing track of time, days blending into one another, but it couldn't have been that long, could it? I don't even feel sick. Just tired, the kind of tired that settles deep into your bones making everything feel like you're swimming in tar.

Carver's eyebrow twitches as he says softly, "I've been doing everything I can to help you get better."

His hands slide off my shoulders and down my arms, the rubbing an attempt to reassure me. Something in his tone sends shivers down my spine. There are unspoken truths hanging heavy in the air. Things I should know, but it's like my mind is throwing up barriers as I try to process his words.

"I feel much better today," I say quietly, avoiding his gaze, not wanting to anger him. "I'd like to leave this room."

He freezes, hands still as he cocks his head to the side.

"Please?" I ask hopefully, flicking my gaze up to him from under my lashes. I hate that I have to beg him. Hate how feeble I sound. "Just to the solarium. I want to feel the sun on my face for a while."

"Fine." He nods, taking a step back. "On the condition that you let me carry you."

The smile that had started tugging at the corners of my mouth vanishes.

"I think I can walk," I mumble, meaning I can walk. I want to walk. "I made it to the dressing table."

He smiles down at me, gently stroking my hair, "Three steps is hardly an achievement Arianwen. You've been in bed for weeks, let's not risk it."

"Yes, Carver." Swallowing back the bitter taste in my mouth, I let him help me carefully to my feet, his grip on my arm a little too tight.

As we make our way out of the room one painstakingly slow step at a time, my knees shake the whole time. It's like my legs are jelly, so weak they can hardly hold me up.

As soon as we get to my bedroom door, Carver sweeps me up, and I'm left with no choice but to wrap my arms around his neck.

The bergamot tones of his aftershave tickle my nose, combined with a lingering scent of tobacco, and it makes me want to sneeze.

My stomach roils. I don't like it.

It reminds me of…something.

The house feels eerily silent as we make our way down the corridor. The air is thick with an unspoken tension, and I can't shake off the nagging feeling that something isn't right.

We finally enter the solarium, and I'm momentarily overwhelmed by the warmth of sunlight streaming through the glass walls. It's soothing against my pale skin, but it doesn't dispel the unease that lingers within me. There's darkness clinging to us.

Carver guides me to my favourite chaise lounge and settles me down gently, his eyes never leaving mine. The feel of his hold is burned into my skin, fading slowly as I try to shake off the sensation of him carrying me like a doll.

"Rest," he commands, his voice devoid of its usual warmth. "I'll be just outside if you need anything."

I watch as Carver walks away, some of my anxiety draining away with his retreating broad form. Everything is off kilter. In the back of my mind, there are voices whispering, warning me. But I can't make out what they're trying to tell me, the thoughts disjointed, fluttering around like fireflies.

As I lean back on the chaise lounge, the sun's rays warm my face, but they do little to calm the racing in my mind.

I try to recall the events leading up to my illness, but everything feels fragmented, shattered like glass. The gaps in my memory are chasms of nothingness. There is just…blackness.

A door closing startles me some time later, and when I turn my head Carver's eyes are already fixed on me.

Without saying a word, he walks toward me, his steps measured and deliberate, and he holds a small silver tray.

His face is an impenetrable mask of blankness as he slides the tray onto the small side table. Pulling a small footstool closer, he sits in front of me.

What is he thinking?

What is he hiding?

I glance to my right, to the glass of apple juice on the tray alongside two pill bottles, one that looks familiar and a new smaller one.

"What's this?" I ask, trying to sound calm despite the unease welling up inside me. I already take what he gives me, so why is he acting strangely?

Carver's lips curl into a thin smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "I've been speaking to your doctor, and we think it's time to adjust your medicine."

He reaches over and taps the lid of the smaller bottle, "We'll be trying a new combination."

My heart quickens and my mouth feels dry.

"What kind of combination?" I press further, hating the desperation that was seeping into my voice.

Carver shrugs casually before offering me the glass of juice. "It will help you recover faster, I promise, my Rapunzel."

My hand shakes as I try to keep the apple juice from spilling.

"Take them," he urges softly and we stare at the two pills in the palm of his hand. One is small and white, my usual and the other is oblong and pale blue. "They'll make you feel much better."

I clamp my lips shut, hesitating, my instincts screaming at me to resist. There's…something in Carver's demeanour that makes my skin crawl. But I can't deny the doubt that lingers in the back of my mind; what if he's telling the truth? What if this is the medicine I need? I can barely recognise myself, there are huge blanks in my memory…what if this will fix me?

Reluctantly, I reach out and take the pills into my fingers. Carver watches me intently, his eyes glinting with an unsettling mix of anticipation and satisfaction.

I gaze at my juice, searching for any sign of deceit or danger. But all I see is transparency – a clarity that both reassures and unsettles me.

Swallowing the pills, I gag. The taste is bitter; more bitter than any medicine I've ever taken before. The aftertaste coats my tongue and so I gulp down half of the apple juice.

Leaning forward, Carver grabs my chin, pulling open my mouth. Sliding two large fingers into my mouth, he makes sure I've swallowed the medication.

"Good girl." Carver exhales shakily as he pushes deeper into me. I fight a gag, his fingers thick and heavy on my tongue as spit starts to trickle out of the corners of my mouth. I try to swallow around him, but that only makes my eyes water. A wave of dizziness washes over me and I grip the edge of the chaise lounge for support.

Carver's grin widens, and his expression morphs into one of satisfaction.

"You're doing so well, darling," he purrs, each word dripping with something I can't describe. I shake my head. I'm feeling so tired and heavy.

He jostles my arm as he finally withdraws and the glass slips from my grip, spilling the last of my juice down the front of my nightgown.

Carver clicks his tongue in disapproval as he shakes his head.

"Oh, Ari, what a mess you've made," he sighs. I want to argue that it was him who knocked me, but I can't seem to find my words.

I try to stand, only to find my legs betraying me as the room spins. My limbs feel as though they are encased in concrete, immovable and useless.

"I…I…don't feel right," I murmur, reaching for him, but the movement causes me to tumble forward.

Carver's there to catch me before I fall, bundling me into his arms.

"Oh my sweet little Rapunzel," he strokes my hair before placing a kiss on my forehead. "I told you it was too soon. You've over exerted yourself."

"No," I deny as Carver lifts me into his arms.

"Let's get you back to bed. We'll have to take your rehabilitation even slower than I anticipated, my dear."

I can't even protest as my vision tunnels, black shadows closing in around the edges. The world swirls into a dark abyss of silence and once again, there's only nothingness.