Forbidden Fruit. Erica Spindler

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      Philip made a sound of shocked disbelief. “Surely you’re not suggesting that Hope might…that she could…kill our child?”

      “Of course not,” Harland said quickly, his tone confident. “But I do think we should keep her here a few more days. We need to monitor her. Just to be sure.”

       Dear Lord. Just to be sure? Of what?

      Fear thundered through Philip, taking his breath, stealing the remnants of his peace of mind. Harland LeBlanc, Philip realized, considered top in his field, a doctor who had seen everything, was worried. More worried than he wanted to let on.

      Philip breathed deeply through his nose, working to steady himself. But Harland didn’t know Hope the way he, her husband, did. All she needed was a return to normalcy. She needed to be surrounded by her things and the people who cared about her.

      “Do you really think that’s necessary, Harland? Hope needs to be home. Our baby needs to be home. Once there, Hope will adjust. I know she will.”

      “What if she doesn’t? Postpartum depression is caused by the tremendous imbalance of hormones in a woman’s body. Hope has no control over these feelings she’s having, she’s awash in them. She’s not trying to be difficult or unreasonable.”

      The doctor shook his head. “What if I send her home too early and she doesn’t adjust? What if I send her home and the unspeakable happens? I don’t want to take that chance.” He met Philip’s gaze evenly. “Do you, Philip?”

      The unspeakable. Or worse. Philip swallowed hard. “No. Of course not.”

      “Good. Your wife needs you now. You say you love her, well, now’s the time to prove it.”

      Philip willed away his frustration and selfish fears. Hope needed him. His daughter needed him. He had to be strong. “What can I do?” he asked. “Just tell me what I can do.”

      “Be supportive. Understanding and loving. I know it’s hard, but you must remember that Hope is not in control of her emotions. She’s as frightened as you are right now. Probably more. She needs time. She needs your patience and love.”

      Philip turned his gaze to his sleeping daughter, so tiny and helpless his heart broke for her. She needed her mother. She needed to go home. “And if my love and support aren’t enough? What then, Harland?”

      For a moment, the physician said nothing. Then he sighed. “They’ll have to be, Philip. Right now, you don’t have any other options.”

       Chapter 3

      Hope awakened with a start. Breathing hard, clammy with sweat, she moved her gaze over the dimly lit room, expecting to see the outfittings of the third-story bedroom she had grown up in. Instead, she saw the simple, functional furnishings of her hospital room.

      Hope drew in a deep, shuddering breath, relief spiraling through her. She was in New Orleans. She was Hope St. Germaine; the River Road house was far away. Part of a previous lifetime, someone else’s lifetime.

      Hope drew in another deep breath, the effects of the nightmare still clawing at her. In it, she had been back at The House, crouched low and spying on a couple having sex. Only, in the dream, it had been her daughter on the bed, her daughter performing the lewd sex acts.

      Yet, when her whore-child had looked over her shoulder, as if sensing Hope’s spying gaze, it was her own face Hope had seen staring back at her.

      Making a helpless sound of fright, Hope pulled herself into a sitting position. She clutched the bedding, willing away the image from the dream. She knew what was happening to her; she knew why, night after night, she was being tormented with nightmares of the past she had left behind.

      The Darkness was upon her, taunting and challenging. It thought it had won already.

      No! Hope brought her trembling hands to her face. She wouldn’t let The Darkness win. She couldn’t. She had worked too hard for all she had achieved to succumb now.

      Hope hugged her knees to her chest. She rocked, her head pressed to her knees, her mind whirling. Who could she turn to for help? Who could she trust? Philip was losing patience with her. Their family and friends were acting strangely, distant and suspicious. She saw the questions in their eyes. She saw the disapproval in their expressions. How long until someone uncovered the truth about her past? How long until the life she had built for herself crumbled to bits beneath her feet?

      She had to accept her child; she had to behave like a doting, besotted mother. She had to behave as if she didn’t see her daughter’s vile core, pretend she didn’t see that the beautiful fruit was spoiled by worms.

      Tears, hot and bitter, welled up in her eyes and slipped down her cheeks. But when she held her daughter, how would she keep her revulsion from showing? How would she be able to hide her despair and feign affection? She couldn’t; she knew she couldn’t.

      Hope threw aside the covers and climbed out of bed. She crossed to her half-open door, the linoleum floor cool against her bare feet. She peeked out at the deserted hallway and nurses’ station. She heard a woman’s weeping from down the hall, heard another’s comforting murmur.

      The Vincent woman had lost her baby. Philip had shared that information with her earlier today, she supposed in the hope of making her thankful for their own baby’s good health. Instead, she had wished it was her own child who had been taken. If the Lord had chosen her baby, her problems would have been solved.

      But the Pierron daughters were strong with The Darkness that beat inside them; the Pierron daughters never died.

      She had to escape, she thought, frantic suddenly. She had to get out of this place and breathe fresh air; she needed to be away from the constant prying, the insufferable compassion, of the hospital staff. She had to find someone who would understand and help her.

       The church. She could turn to the church. The priest would help her. He would understand.

       And in the anonymity of the confessional, she would be safe. Her secret would be safe.

      Whimpering with relief, Hope turned away from the door and moved blindly to her closet. She rifled through it, pulling out her street clothes, tugging them on as quickly as she could, fumbling in her haste. Throughout her life the Church had been her solace, her rock during times of turmoil and confusion. Surely this time would be no different. Surely the priest would know what she should do.

       But what if, this time, the priest couldn’t help her? What would she do then?

      Fear pumped through her, taking her breath, her ability to think, to act. She struggled to get control of her emotions; she couldn’t afford to fall apart now. If she did, The Darkness would have her.

      Never. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Hope crossed to the phone and as quietly as she could, called a cab. That done, she collected her purse and tiptoed to the door. Luck was on her side—the nurses’ station was still empty. Smiling to herself, she ducked out of the room and went quickly to the elevator. She didn’t want Philip alerted to the fact she was leaving the hospital. He would try to stop her; the hospital staff would try to stop her. None of them understood.

      As she had СКАЧАТЬ