The moment was broken as the baron entered. He took one look at his wife, ordered Hilda from the room, and called out for Anne Marie, while gripping his wife's wrists.
Anne Marie walked into the bedroom with the case of pills and slammed the door behind her. Hilda heard screams of terror mixed with a stream of abuse in French and English. Then silence.
When the baron left the bedroom, he found Hilda still waiting "My wife is very sick. She is in Berlin for treatment. I would be grateful were you not to repeat what you saw tonight."
Hilda nodded. "I will be here in the morning," she murmured.
"That won't be necessary, Anne Marie will take care of my wife's needs."
Helen Masters hurried into the suite and found him looking at the teeth marks on his hand.
He shook his head. "I've seen this coming all day. She gets excited, and then explodes with this terrible rage."
"I know, Louis."
"It's as if she hated me, hated the children. She attacked Sasha. I think she will kill someone!"
Helen stood by the mantel, running her fingers along the cold marble. She felt uneasy, she had never spent time alone with the baron before, except for brief meetings when he came to collect Vebekka from her office. It was she who had suggested that they consult Dr. Franks, her mentor and former teacher in Berlin, because Vebekka was clearly beyond her help. She had offered to travel with them, taking a two-week holiday to do so, never suspecting how deeply involved she would become.
"I have not seen her this bad; all the more reason to consult Dr. Franks."
She looked at the baron; his face was taut with anger. She chose her words carefully.
"Dr. Franks will ask you many questions. He'll need to probe into the background of her illness; this includes your own history and your marriage."
Louis sprang to his feet. "Illness! Every doctor she has been to insists on calling her madness 'illness'! Well? What do you think, now that you've seen her in one of her rages?"
Helen coughed. "She is obviously very distressed tonight."
"Distressed? You tell me she has been like this with you?" he snapped.
"No, but I expected the journey to upset her, and her behavior is not surprising. Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll turn in."
"I'm sorry, you must be tired, forgive me. Good night, Doctor."
As she left, he noticed that she had very shapely legs.
Vebekka didn't know whether it was day or night but she knew it had happened again. She couldn't recall what she had done, what she had said or who she had hurt this time. How many strange rooms had she been brought to over the years? She stared at the ornate chandelier above the bed, and hoped it would fall and crush her. Why had she agreed to come to this place, why had she insisted they stay in East Berlin? Had she insisted? She could not remember. She could not even remember why Louis had brought her here.
The tranquilizers made her thirsty; she slipped out of bed and stood by the partly open door. Louis was sleeping in the bedroom suite, one arm crooked over his face, the other spread across the empty space next to him. She'd often watched him sleeping, sometimes for hours, fascinated by the contours of his handsome face. Vebekka moved silently around the bed.
She was close enough to touch him. She wanted to lie next to him, wanted to slip her hand into his, but she saw the dark red bruises, the teeth marks, and she crept out, knowing now what she had done. She wanted to cry, but she had wept too many times, for too many years. She knew she had alienated him and the children. It was a terrible thing to see the fear in their eyes if she laughed too loudly, called out too sharply; no matter what assurance she gave them, their fear hung in the air. And lately she could no longer fight it. Vebekka knew it was just a matter of time before the darkness swallowed her.
The streets were empty. As she stared from the window, a disembodied voice in the distance overwhelmed her with panic. It was coming, it was beginning.
"Oh please, dear God, no..."
She tried to draw the dark green curtain, but her hand pulled back. Something was crawling inside the curtain; she didn't want to see it. Her heart began to beat rapidly and she couldn't catch her breath, she was suffocating. She whispered, for someone, anyone, to help her, she didn't want the curtain to open.
Anne Marie had heard the muffled sounds; she quickly checked the baroness's room, and saw the empty bed; she ran into the adjoining bathroom in a panic. The tiles and floor were covered with blood. She found Vebekka, naked, curled up by the toilet. She had slashed her arms with a razor. She was weeping, saying over and over she wanted to leave Berlin. As Anne Marie touched her, she struggled and kicked out viciously. She wanted to be taken home, she wanted to die. Her voice rose to a screech as she cried out that it was here, it had come for her, it was here, it was taking over, and they should let her die.
Anne Marie woke Helen Masters, and the two women sedated and bandaged Vebekka and together carried her back to her room. The struggle had exhausted her, and at last she was calm. They waited until she fell into a deep sleep.
It was a sleep of nightmares. As the darkness overtook her, she could no longer ask them to stop the demons, the devils in white coats who worked on her brain when she slept. She fought against them, but she was helpless.
Helen sat by Vebekka's bedside, her head throbbing; she was startled when the baron looked in.
"What happened?"
She drew her dressing gown closer. "Rather a lot, but she's quiet now, I'll stay with her."
He leaned over his wife, gently brushed her hair from her brow, and stroked her cheek. "My poor baby."
He saw her wrist was bandaged, lifted her hand, kissing the palm, and then tucked it beneath the duvet. As he returned to his bedroom, he said to Helen, "I am glad you are here."
The door closed silently behind him. Helen concentrated on her patient, sleeping deeply, her face in repose like an innocent child's.
At ten-thirty Hilda was ushered into the suite. The baron was having a late breakfast in the restaurant with Dr. Masters. Anne Marie whispered to Hilda that the baroness had specifically asked for her to assist in her dressing, but that Hilda must make no mention of what had occurred the previous evening. The baroness had been taken ill during the night, but she was calm now.
"Don't worry, she's sedated, she may not even remember she asked for you!"
Hilda entered the bedroom. The baroness's hair and makeup were immaculate, and she had painted her nails a dark crimson. Her eyes were expressionless, her voice low and husky.
"I apologize if I caused you any embarrassment yesterday."
She pushed away her breakfast tray. The glass of fresh orange juice was untouched, there was almost a full cup of black coffee. The bread, however, had been carefully rolled into balls; small gray pellets surrounded her plate.
Hilda helped the baroness to dress in silence. Vebekka spent a long time deciding what to wear, picking up various outfits and holding them up against herself. She chain-smoked, taking no more than two or three puffs of the gold-tipped cigarettes before she stubbed them out. She carefully placed a gold cigarette case, a lighter, a handkerchief, and a gold compact into a small black purse. Nothing else, no wallet or cards.
She tried on three hats before she was satisfied. She flipped open the jewelry case with a trembling hand, removed an ornate brooch of a tiger's head, and then, shaking her head, let it fall back into the suede-lined box. Next she took out an exquisite sapphire-and-diamond bluebird clip. She held it to the light, whispering to herself, oblivious of Hilda.