Insanity (Asylum 1)

“Dr. Watson, I—.”

“Elijah.”

“Elijah,” I repeat with uncertainty. Confusion spreads throughout my body and a part of me still thinks that all of this might be an elaborate hoax. “Why, Willow?”

He backs away slightly and raises both eyebrows. “What, my love?”

“Willow. Why did we name our daughter, Willow?”

A radiant smile curls on his lips. “We didn’t name her, Willow. You did. I fought you on it because I thought it was silly to name our daughter after a tree.”

“A tree?”

“Yes. You always spoke of this weeping willow in the backyard of your childhood home and how you spent so much time there.”

“Oh,” I gasp, eyes wide and bring my hands to my mouth. “The willow tree.”

Hope ignites in Elijah’s eyes and he nods excitedly. From the look on his face, I can tell he thinks I’ve had some great revelation. I haven’t and I don’t have the emotional strength to tell him that I still can’t remember any of my relationship with him or the day I named our daughter Willow.

But even without my memories, I know why.

Because of one man, with blue blue eyes, black hair, and toasted almond skin.

Damien.

Elijah, slides his arm across my shoulder, kisses my temple again, and places his lips a breath away from my ear. “More will come back to you, my love. I just know it. I can feel it. And I’ll never give up the fight until it does. I promise.”

We walk together, hand in hand to the double door and just before we exit I see Damien in the corner of the room, cowering, a sneer on his lips and a single solitary tear dripping down his cheek. Our eyes deadlock. There’s a cold, calculated glint in his eyes and I can’t tear my eyes away from his.

Then he opens his mouth and says, “See, I knew it.” There’s a disgusted look on his face and a hateful gleam in his blue eyes.

“Knew what?” I mouth.

“You are a liar.”

Here is a sneak–peek of the upcoming sequel to INSANITY, WHITE WALLS

WHITE WALLS

(ASYLUM BOOK 2)

~Before~

February 1954

I am the canary I’ve always wanted to be.

Or at least the bright yellow bus I’m riding in makes me feel like one.

I’m flying.

Flying far, far away.

There’s only one problem; I’m flying alone because, Damien, the second person who was supposed to be on this journey with me, is dead.

He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead.

It doesn’t matter how many times I tell myself that he’s really dead. It still doesn’t sit right with me. Feel right. Or ease the never-ending pain I’ve felt stabbing at my insides since Daddy shot him.