The Blackstone Chronicles Read Free

with shelves, each of which contained numerous items. A museum, if you will, of the Asylum’s past, containing an eclectic collection of souvenirs, the long-forgotten possessions of those who had passed through its chambers.
    The figure moved from shelf to shelf, touching one artifact after another, remembering the past and the people to whom these things had once been dear.
    A pair of eyes glinted in the darkness, catching the figure’s attention. The memory attached to these eyes was bright and clear.
    As clear as if it had happened only yesterday …
    The child sat on her mother’s lap, watching in the mirror as her mother brushed her hair, listening as her mother sang to her
.
    But a third face appeared in the mirror as well, for the little girl held a doll, and anyone who saw the three of them together would have noticed the resemblance
.
    All three—the doll, the child, and the mother—had long blond hair framing delicate, oval faces
.
    All three had the same lovely blue eyes
.
    All their cheeks glowed with rouge, and their lips shone brightly with scarlet gloss
.
    As the brush moved through the child’s hair in long and even strokes, so also did the brush in the child’s hand mimic the motions of the mother, moving through the hair of the doll with the same single-minded affection that flowed from the mother
.
    As her mother sang softly, the child hummed, contentedly crooning to her doll as her mother crooned to her
.
    Through the open window the gentle sounds of the summer afternoon lulled them. In the street, half a dozen of the neighbor boys were playing a pickup game of
baseball, and in the next block the melody of the ice cream truck chimed its tune
.
    The mother and child were barely aware of it, so content were they in their own little world
.
    Then, from downstairs, the sound of the front door slamming interrupted their idyll, and as heavy footsteps thudded on the stairs, the mother began wiping the lipstick from the child’s face
.
    The child twisted away, dropping the brush with which she’d been stroking her doll’s hair, but clutching the doll itself close to her chest. “No! I like it!” the child protested, but still the mother tried to wipe away the gloss
.
    Then the child’s father was towering in the bedroom doorway, his face flushed with anger. When he spoke, it was with a voice so loud and harsh that both mother and child shrank away from him
.
    “This was not to happen again!”
    The mother’s eyes darted around the room as if she was seeking some avenue of escape. Finding none, she finally spoke, her voice breaking. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I couldn’t help it. I—”
    “No more,” her husband told her
.
    Again the mother’s eyes darted wildly around the room. “Of course. I promise. This time—”
    “This time is the last time,” her husband said. Striding into the room, he swept the child from her lap, his arms closing around fragile shoulders. Though his wife reached up as if to take the child back, he moved out of her reach. “No more,” he repeated. “Didn’t I tell you what would happen if this continued?”
    Now the woman’s eyes filled with panic, and she rose to her feet. “No!” she pleaded. “Oh, God, don’t! Please don’t!”
    “It’s too late,” the man told her. “You leave me no choice.”
    Pulling the doll from the child’s arms, he tossed it onto
the bed. Then, ignoring the child’s shrieks, he carried her out of the bedroom and started downstairs. Moving down the long central hall on the lower floor, he passed through the butler’s pantry and the large kitchen, where the cook, frozen in silence, watched as he strode toward the back door. But before he could open it, his wife appeared, holding the doll
.
    “Please,” she begged. “Let her take it. She loves it so. As much as I love her.”
    The man hesitated, and for a moment it seemed as if he would refuse. But as his child cried out in anguish and reached for the doll, he