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Alice knew no living voice better than that which sounded when she knocked on Dr Bumby’s door: ‘Enter.’
That voice was as familiar as the inside of her fractured mind, and should that not bring her comfort? Where there was Dr Bumby, there was her madness. And where there was madness, there was Alice. For could any truly be separated from the other?
When Alice opened the door she was washed in Darjeeling-scented air. A rare treat, now! How often in her childhood days had they taken tea by the fireside, when she and Lizzie had shared black truffles and picture-books. But such indulgences were impossible luxuries for fire-mad orphan girls. Alice inhaled tea-steam and her mouth watered.
Against the window, framed in tea-fumes, lit beyond by London’s flavid skies, stood Dr Bumby. He turned to his guest upon her entrance and did not quite smile.
‘Alice. Thank you for coming.’
‘There is no need to thank me. While my memory remains in tatters, you are my only bridge to sanity.’
As far as the standards set by most London gentlemen, Dr Bumby was not an unpleasant sight. Horsishly lissom, clever-faced, and always dressed with particularity. His self-possession instilled immediate reassurance. In Dr Bumby’s presence, one had the feeling of becoming a dumb chess piece fulfilling its function on some board of inconceivable geometry. You did not need to understand the rules; you only needed to obediently exist.
His spectacles shone sepia. ‘You need not think of your memory in tatters, Alice, only pieces. Like pieces of sugar, dissolving into tea.’ He indicated the chaise longue. ‘Some things are better dissolved. May I offer you a cup?’
‘Oh yes, please,’ said Alice, as she took her usual seat. She doubted the good doctor offered that rich and rosy brew to the other orphans in his care, and it did not displease her to feel peculiarly special. Perhaps it was because she was the oldest, or of the highest class, or perhaps because she was merely the most interesting case. Whatever it was, Alice distinctly suspected that she was Dr Bumby’s favourite.
Dark gold tea fell from the tipped teapot into a cup of bone China, and Alice waited as patiently and politely as she had been raised to do. Good breeding was now one of the only quills remaining to her quiver.
‘Thank you, doctor,’ she said, accepting the steaming cup. She drank like a delicate kitten. The Darjeeling seeped sweetly into her tight, sticky throat.
‘You are quite welcome.’ Dr Bumby reclined in his own chair, not unregally so. He was no king, no, but perhaps he could be a duke, or a baron of some distant borough. A man of staid authority; not divine, not totemic, but quietly sure of his pleasant realm. It was hard not to feel soothed by the company of a man like that. ‘Today I wish to continue our work of forgetting. Just as the sugar in this tea, I want to help you dissolve your memories in the black pools of your mind. It will all be for your greater health, Alice.’
Alice settled herself in the velvet seat and her eyes rested on the inexorable ticking of that heavy clock. ‘Sometimes it seems an impossible dream, forgetting. And should I achieve it, what then? It is so hard to imagine myself happy.’
‘Ah, but Alice, “How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot!”’ he proclaimed. ‘“Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind.” And I cannot imagine a better candidate for a vestal virgin than you. The guardian of the hearth, you understand.’ And with a shift of his strange long face the sunshine rippled blankly over his spectacles.
‘It is impossible to keep one’s mind spotless in these environs.’ With this, she gestured beyond to the puffs of smoke and patters of soot that swarmed beyond the window. ‘How I do miss Oxford.’
‘Oh, but I must contradict you. Maintaining a spotless mind when surrounded by ordure is the highest mark of sainthood. Medieval saints would drink the run-off water of lepers as a means of extreme penance.’
‘I would rather refrain.’
‘Fortunately, my dear, I have only tea to offer you. Please, drink up.’
She did as she was bade, and her tongue tingled with aromatic amber. When she set the cup down, her mind swam.
‘I don’t remember that tea used to make me so terribly sleepy.’
‘Sleep is the ne plus ultra of restorative cures, my child.’
And how right he must be! Why, Alice thought that if she could just sleep and sleep forever, then perhaps she could un-dream all the dreadful, dirty horrors that had piled up in her mind like slag.
‘But before we begin the task of forgetting,’ said Dr Bumby, and he arranged himself with notebook and pen. Through Alice’s slumbrous eyes she saw his thin, fine fingers grasp the silver hilt of a fountain pen. His nails shone like bone. ‘I must first ask you about your most recent errand run.’
‘Oh?’ It seemed very unimportant all of a sudden to worry about errands when Dr Bumby’s room was so marvellously comfortable; the light so luminous, the chair so soft. She smelled only Darjeeling and sleepiness.
‘Yes, Alice. I tasked you with fetching a bottle of pills from the chemist. But you were waylaid. Do you remember?’
Alice struggled to fix her memory on that particular occasion. How annoying it was that Dr Bumby should ask her to remember something, when all she wanted to do was forget! But yes, yes, she did remember now… She had left Houndsditch to run a simple little errand for the good doctor. To fetch pills from the chemist. But…
‘Yes, I remember… I went for a walk, first, down an alleyway… There was a terribly interesting cat I wanted to pursue… But then an awful man cornered me and he pulled a knife, and he said some horribly vulgar things. But I wasn’t afraid. I told him I wouldn’t be degraded by a low-class ruffian like him, and I pushed away and then ran back to the main street.’
‘It sounds as though going about London unchaperoned is proving increasingly unwise for our little Virago.’
‘Oh, you mock me,’ she said crossly.
‘Mock? No. Illumine? Yes. The world beyond my doors is not a safe one, Alice.’
‘Well, who else is going to run your errands?’
‘Very true. But such errands can be run more safely. The troubles arise when you stray from the path. You tell me so many stories like this one, Alice. These stories of… feral dogs.’
‘A dog indeed he was,’ she muttered. ‘He certainly had the manners of one.’
‘Naturally, Alice. For that is all he was: a dog. You went wandering down the back alleys, as I have told you not to do, and you were set upon by a dog. It sounds like it almost bit you.’
‘But… No, no. He was a man, a human man—’
‘Alice, Alice,’ came those smooth and calming words. ‘You are confusing yourself. You are becoming upset! It’s time to relax, not to fret. Perhaps it’s time to take a trip to Wonderland.’
Something quaked inside her and Alice tried to open her eyes, but sleepy tea-scents weighed them down. How much more comfortable it was to lie still on this pleasant chaise longue! Oh, but she could not help but think it was not the correct time to go to Wonderland…
‘I…’
‘Let us take that little trip, down into the dark. Down into the rabbit hole, yes, Alice? What a comfy burrow that place has always been for you.’
But no, it was not the right time! It was time to be awake, to be alert, to be on guard! There was some danger here… Ah, but the good doctor’s voice was a sure carpet of satin, and how easy it was to slip and slip down that smooth tongue…
‘Down into the rabbit hole… Down, down into the deep and delicious dark… Falling, falling… Feet first, into the ink… Do you feel it ripple warmly over your toes, Alice? A cosy bath of black forgetfulness. Remember those hot baths by the fire? Warm and safe in the waters of Lethe…’
Alice did think that she might be falling again. It was awfully dark with her eyes closed—or were they open? Perhaps her eyes were wide open and it was simply too dark for her to see anything. And it was hard to feel the chaise longue at all. No, she was falling through warm and wonderful water, down into the dark…
‘Everything is perfectly safe, Alice. I shall look after you. Let yourself go. Fall into the warm waves. Feel that black water slide over your feet. And can you feel it creep up your ankles? Warm and safe and deep and dark, falling down the rabbit hole. Isn’t it so much easier when you simply… let go?’
Why, she could hardly argue with that! For what good was there in holding onto her shattered memories and her filthy Moorfields jaunts? Why not sink into Dr Bumby’s mellifluous voice like a pebble into a stream…
‘Feel the soft slither of black Wonderland up your ankles, up your calves, up your knees… You do have remarkable kneecaps, Alice. And higher still, let the waters of Wonderland lull you into lovely sleep… Up your legs and over your hips… Into the warm black, Alice… Into forgetfulness…’
How blissful she felt as her lower half sank into those invisible waters. No memories, no worries, just the fulsome float on the great black beyond…
‘Over your body, your chest, your shoulders, your arms… All the way up to your neck. I’m sure it’s terribly tiring to hold your chin above the waters, isn’t it, Alice? So exhausting for a girl to stay afloat so long. You’re yearning to let yourself dip under… It’s hard to think about anything else, isn’t it? All your thoughts are about dropping, about dipping deep into Wonderland… You must be so tired, poor Alice. Aren’t you tired? Aren’t you exhausted? Don’t you deserve a restful peace in the Stygian depths? Don’t you want to drop, Alice? Isn’t that what you want more than anything in the world?’
With immense difficulty, as though the sound was dredged up from the murkiest depths of the Thames, Alice expelled a tiny ‘Mm’ to mark her assent.
‘Excellent. So drop.’
And then Alice knew nothing at all. She was but a piece of dust floating in the deepest depths of space, and she had nothing to trouble her at all. Safe and sound in the infinite forgetfulness. Although… Had there not been something that was bothering her? Something about a fire… Something about a dog or a man or a centaur…
‘Now, Alice,’ came those purring, perfect words upon which her slippery mind tried to find purchase. ‘You’re safe now, safe with me. I will always keep you safe. There is no one you can trust in this world but me, Alice, and I am here to make you well. And it seems you’ve been misremembering things, Alice. That’s quite alright; I can fix it for you. I can slide inside your mind and set everything all a-right again.’
How pleasant that sounded! Or did it? Did Alice want something sliding inside her mind, like a dead fish, or a joker in a pack of cards, or a wet thumb against her lips…
‘Tell me, Alice. Where are you?’
Alice opened her eyes. Only—they did not quite open, not exactly. Her lashes remained like two lazy caterpillars against her cheeks, and yet her mind unveiled a kaleidoscope of colour and splendour. She was in a place like London—but it was not quite the Moorfields that she knew. The streets were there and the buildings were there, but everything had been strangely transformed. How lovely everything was! The cobbles under her feet were like marshmallows. The houses stretched higher than she thought possible, but they glowed as if lit within with the happiest hearths. The sky above hung heavy and low like it was too sleepy to keep itself up in the air. Even though it was the middle of the day, a sprinkle of stars glowed down upon her with friendly eyes. It was raining London rain, but without any soot or stench. No, this was clear, glittering rain, like snowflakes that clung to her beautiful blue dress. And rather than smoke, only Darjeeling steam filled the air, and Alice felt good and safe and wonderfully happy in a way that she hadn’t since… since…
‘Alice,’ came that distant, delicate voice. ‘Tell me where you are.’
‘Moorfields. Only it all looks rather different.’ She cast her eyes over where she was sure a tenement ought to stand, but which now was a grove of green grass and heavy trees, with a sparkling stream running through it. Rather than the noises of industry, she heard only the tinkle chime of… of… of a silver spoon against a teacup…
‘And you’ve gone out to fetch a bottle of pills from the chemist, Alice. Do you see the chemist?’
‘It will be just down the street.’ Her feet walked of their own accord, pressing candy cobbles underfoot. It was no matter at all to walk to the chemist alone. Once she had been so terribly frightened of ever leaving her home unaccompanied, for no self-respecting young lady walked about London unchaperoned! But her circumstances had changed so drastically… How hard she had fallen from class and grace… But her lonesome sojourns had not been so very bad at all! Yes, there were uncouth men and low-class women, and nasty street children, and all of them were bothersome. But Alice was strong and clever, and she had learned how to walk alone and survive these city streets. Blades did not frighten her, nor did lascivious remarks. She held her head high and she carried on!
‘Describe for me the street, Alice. It was raining that day, yes?’
‘Oh, yes… But the rain is lovely here in Londerland… Like spiderwebs… I do not mind it at all…’
‘Oh no, Alice, I think you’re mistaken. It was a terribly wet day. Your legs got so very muddy. Do you remember the mud?’ And thus the good doctor’s voice wound its pleasant spider-web about her tea-soaked mind. ‘It was a thick, grey, heavy rain, like porridge, and you forgot to bring an umbrella. How very cold you were when the water wet through your pretty dress and made your shoulders shiver.’
All true, all true… How miserable, cold, and wet she had been! She must have been mistaken to think of that spiderweb rain. The scene about her changed. The pretty silver rain grew grey and gruesome; the cobbles became slick. She began to feel as cold as if she had dipped herself into the river.
And still Dr Bumby’s voice crooned on. ‘Alice wet with rain and muck, but filled with ever-lasting pluck, skipped through the puddles here and there, nary a worry nor a care…’
The anchor of the pleasant poesy weighed her down, just as it did on sleepy days with Lizzie… Just picture-books and rhymes, and nothing more to fear…
Then there came some shift in the strong river of the doctor’s voice, a change in course, a new current, and Alice was borne helplessly along.
‘She ought to have hied straight for the chemist, but our Alice, ever-distracted, strayed from the path. What led you astray?’
‘Oh—it was a white cat!’ Yes, and there it was in front of her right now! A grim and gangly thing, one that ran straight down an alleyway. And she had to follow, of course! There was something uniquely compelling about the cat… ‘I had to follow it.’
‘You followed the cat down an alley?’
‘Yes…’
‘And what did you find in that alley?’
Alice followed the path through her memory. The cat scurried between two houses and Alice hurried in its wake, dodging piles of trash, winding down backstreets, and then emerging into a small courtyard… And there, what did she find?
‘There was a man!’ Yes, there he was! A horrible drunk old man, heavy-faced and swaying, with his trousers not properly arranged! ‘And he leered at me, and he drew a knife—’
‘No, Alice,’ came that sure and sharp voice, and the memory-man before her quivered. ‘That was no man but a hound, Alice, a hound!’
The man shook and shimmered, and as Alice peered closer she saw her mistake. Oh, Dr Bumby must be right! It must have been a hound! Yes, of course—a hound. Not a man at all, but a huge dog!
‘That terrible hound who placed its paws upon you, and from whose glistening jaws dripped sticky quicksilver all over your pinafore, yes?’
And before her loomed the hound, still clad in its loose trousers, sketched into existence by Dr Bumby’s clever words. How efficiently he repainted the memories of her mind! Jaws reached for her, a fat tongue lunged—
‘It was a hound, a hound, and it dirtied you, Alice, and it made you feel so terrible inside! Tell me, does it feel terrible to remember now?’
It did feel terrible, indeed it did. The claustrophobia of the alley, the weight of those hands—no, those paws—upon her shoulders—
‘A terrible, hot, sad, sorrowful feeling all inside you, yes, Alice? How dreadful and wretched you felt when that horrible hound put its paws on you.’
But she had been strong, had she not? She had pushed that horrible old man away—no, the hound—no, the old man—
‘And you were terrified, Alice! Tiny and helpless as a little mouse, a newborn kitten, a baby rabbit, having horribly lost its way in the dark and the muck and the rain and the hound, Alice, the hound. Do you remember the hound?’
‘I—’
‘How he licked your pretty dress, that horrible hound, and made your tiny heart and your small inner entrails all shudder with shame. Oh no, poor little Alice is too gentle and precious a creature to tangle with the hounds. You feel bad, Alice. Tell me. You feel bad.’
The words, not her own, bloomed freely on her lips: ‘I feel… bad.’ And as they did, a pit of filthy shame for her weakness and her stupidity and her filthiness plunged deep inside her girlish depths and left nothing in its place but darkness.
‘Oh, and what a glum and gloomy thing it is for a girl to feel so bad… That harrowing shame just fills you up, doesn’t? Can’t you feel that tingling scorch in your belly, Alice, and how it spreads down your limbs, into your thighs, your knees, your calves, into every single toe of your tiny feet? Don’t you feel awful? Don’t you feel bad?’
But deep inside her tea-drenched mind, a tiny voice cried loud and sure: No! No! I don’t feel bad! I can fight the hound! I am Alice, tall and sure! I know what a blade is for!
‘No… I don’t feel bad… I… I have my Vorpal Blade…’
And when Alice looked to her hand, there was her trusty weapon, as though it had never left her! A fat glimmer of a blade, a sliver of a moonlit beach, and as deadly as the mouth of any hound. She swung it through the air and it sang as it cut atoms like apples.
‘No, Alice.’ Dr Bumby’s voice was so sharp it cut a hairline crack through the cobblestones of Londerland. ‘There is no blade. Your hands are empty. You are a helpless girl.’
But Alice’s fingers closed around the hilt as though it grew naturally from her palm. The hound before her drooled and barked, but some old, bright knowledge was kindling in Alice’s bones. She knew how to dispatch a hound. She knew how to kill.
‘I have my blade,’ she said, and raised it high. The London rain shone again like diamonds on her skin. She lifted high her arm, sleek and hairless, like something freshly hatched, like she was a child once again and the horrible fire had never happened—and the blade shone like a perfect tooth, or—or—like a piece of broken China—
There was a terrible crash. In one awful instance, Alice felt herself exist in two places: the rain-streaked world of Londerland, and a doctor’s office… Something had broken. Someone had dashed a teacup against the floorboards.
‘There is no blade, Alice.’ The voice cut her ears to ribbons. ‘You hold only a flower. A useless Ox-Eye daisy. Don’t you see?’
The two planes of her existence slurred at the edge, and then the office washed away like rain. The familiar shapes of clock and door resolved back into her dreamscape. There she was, again in the alley—and there was the hound!
And in her hand? Alice’s eyes turned aghast upon what she held. A single wilting flower, and nothing more. One white petal remaining on its rotten yellow face, drooping, useless. No blade at all.
Before her, the hound bared its dripping jaws…
Alice shrieked and dropped the flower and then pressed her hands to her face, blocking out the dog, blocking out the memory. Where was she? What was happening? How stupid to think she could fight a monstrous hound…
‘There, there, Alice,’ came that strange, soothing voice. ‘Come away from the alley. Follow my voice. You’ll be perfectly safe. I always keep you safe. Come, come away from the hound, from the alley, from the cat. Everything will be safe and sound.’
Dr Bumby’s voice stretched out before her like a silver bridge, and all around her his voice shielded her from any harm or ill…
‘Forget the cat, Alice. Come closer to me. Come out of the alley. Never stray from the path. Only do exactly as I say.’
Alice followed the voice away, away from the hound, back down the alley, safely cocooned in Dr Bumby’s sparkling words. Soon the alley was gone. She was back in the shimmering street with the golden houses and the sound of running water, and everything was safe and good. If she stayed on the main street and did as she was told, then of course she would be safe from dogs!
‘Oh, it was horrible there!’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s so much better here. So much safer.’
‘Hm. You feel safe, do you? All alone in the streets of London?’
There was something displeased in that beautiful voice…
‘Why, yes. If I stay away from alleyways I’ll be perfectly safe. And it’s such a beautiful day—or night! I’m not even sure which! Why, I can see so many stars!’
‘That sounds rather… too safe, Alice. Perhaps we should take those stars away.’
Her stomach lurched. ‘No, no! I love the stars! It’s so beautiful to take a walk alone beneath the lovely stars. I feel perfectly safe.’
‘The only place that you’re safe is here with me.’ The words dropped into her like nails. ‘There are no stars, Alice. You made a mistake. We’ll take them away.’
Panic reared in her chest. Above her, the firmament glittered. Alice clapped a hand over her mouth.
‘Oh, no! No, no, don’t take my stars!’
‘One by one, Alice. See?’
And see she did. Alice raised her chin high to the glowing golden sky above, and a massive, ghostly pair of fingers that snaked like the Serpentine reached out to a bright gem of a star—and plucked it from the sky. In its place came darkness.
‘Oh no! Put it back, please, doctor! Please put it back!’
‘Come, come, now, Alice,’ said that stern, smooth voice. Those colossal fingers took a second star from the sky—then a third, then a fourth.
‘Please stop!’ Her voice brimmed with tears. ‘I need the stars to light my way. They are such bright and lovely friends.’
‘They are unnecessary.’ Five stars gone. Then six. The darkness bloomed and grew. ‘The black waters of Lethe are what cradle your memories, Alice. You have no need of stars.’
Seven… eight stars blinked away… The street began to dim. Alice could hardly see the ends of her shiny black shoes. And with the darkness came a silence. The sound of tinkling water drifted ever further and further away… The black sky hung lower… One by one, every star went out…
‘My stars…’ Her words broke upon the rocks of her sobs.
‘Do not fret, Alice. I shall keep them safe. Perhaps if you’re very good, I’ll give you one back. But for now, you must learn to never disobey me. No more running down alleyways. No chasing after cats. No waving around “vorpal blades”. Do you know what happens if you disobey me?’
Alice could no longer see the houses, only the outline of tall, beetle dark rooves against a black, black sky. The gardens were gone; the cobbles were invisible. She stood alone in an empty, silent street where all was darkness, and Dr Bumby’s voice flowed into her ears.
‘If you disobey me… Then you’ll feel bad.’
Alice gave a terrible whimper. No, she did not want to feel bad. She wanted to be safe! To live in the light! To obey!
‘How ashamed you must feel, Alice, for disobeying me. And all that horrible, horrible shame goes up and up like steam from a teapot! Feel it swell and burst inside your chest, Alice, feel bad all over your body. Flooding into those arms and going down, down, down into those clever fingers. Oh, not so clever anymore, Alice! You can’t even move them for the shame! Every little finger feels bad, so bad it cannot move. You are helpless with the shame of it.’
And how right he was! Her hands and her knuckles and even her fingernails were paralysed, as though she had been bitten by some venomous beast. Nothing moved when she wished it to. How was she supposed to chase cats and rabbits now?
‘And now, Alice… all that shame is creeping up your neck… Can you feel it, Alice? Like a carpet of spiders over your skin, all clambering over themselves, all those legs ske-laddering up your throat, making you twitch and tingle, and then all that hot spider-shame rushes over your face… over your mouth, into your nose, over your eyelashes… oh, how the spiders trip over your lovely eyelashes… and how they rush into your ears—and can you hear them, Alice? Can you hear them crawl inside your ears? That feather-flossy rush of spider feet over every single inch of you, into your lips, down into your throat…’
In sheer and sharp panic, Alice’s frozen body forced a single, desperate whimper from her lips.
Snap.
Alice sat upright with a geyser-gasp, her heart pounding, her chest trembling, her skin sweaty with terror. Where were the spiders? Were they real? Was there a hound? What was—
‘My dear Alice.’
She was in Dr Bumby’s office. The clock ticked predictably. Beside her, Dr Bumby sat and examined her with the kindness of the taxidermist.
‘Dr Bumby… I… Did I fall asleep?’
‘I’m afraid you did. You had the most terrible nightmare about the hound you encountered on the streets last week. Do you remember it now? Everything got terribly confused for you. It made you feel so very, very, bad.’
At that word, Alice’s body flooded with horror. Her hand clasped above her racing heart as though she could take the naughty organ in her palm and give it a good shake for misbehaving.
‘I do feel very poor in spirit. Like there is a terrible weight in my chest.’
‘Of course you do, Alice. That is what comes of remembering that terrible, terrible hound.’ Dr Bumby’s smileless mouth was thin, liquid mercury. ‘But not to fret, Alice. In our next session, I will make all those bad feelings go away. Would you like that?’
‘Oh… Yes, I think I would like that very much.’
‘Good. Good. But for now I must send you on your way. I am very sorry you are feeling so bad. But after a few days, you can come back into my office, and I’ll make your mind clean and tidy again. But don’t go straying down any more strange alleys, Alice. Or you’ll start feeling bad again all over—and I won’t be there to help you.’
‘Oh goodness, no!’ she could not help but babble. ‘I shall stay far, far away from alleyways and hounds—even if there are cats to chase!’
‘Of course you will. It’s much safer when you do exactly as you’re told. I keep you safe, don’t I, Alice?’
‘You keep me very safe. I’m awfully grateful for everything you’ve done for me, doctor.’
What a curious absence of a smile grew upon Bumby’s lips. A private delight that he would not show the world. For he was right, of course. A half-mad orphan girl like herself could not go gallivanting about London running after rabbits and cats. No, she was not some great warrior woman, no Camilla her, who could wield a sword and chop down her adversaries. She could not fight back… She could do nothing at all…
‘You look troubled, Alice.’
‘I only feel… unmoored, doctor.’
She briefly hoped for some different light to glow within Dr Bumby’s face. Some kindness, some generosity of the Christian spirit. But inside there was something else: concern and intrigue, and a churning darkness, and the relentless push for progress and purity that ended on some far-future precipice that her female brain could not imagine.
‘Never fret, Alice,’ he said. ‘After all, is it not a good thing to be unmoored? For when we drift through strange waters, who knows upon what kind and friendly shore we might discover ourselves?’
‘Am I to be shipwrecked?’ she said glumly.
‘Is a shipwreck not a kind of wonderful metamorphosis, Alice? Trust the process.’ And he stood and removed a piece of dust from his waistcoat, and Alice stood too and stepped to the door.
‘Well, thank you for the treatment, doctor.’
‘My pleasure, dear girl.’ He held the door for her with gentlemanly grace, and then he dipped his mouth to her ear. His breath was just like his voice: sweet and strange, and heady against the shell of her ear. ‘Best not leave the house tonight. Stay here. Stay where it’s safe. Stay with me. And I will take care of you. Forever.’