I sat on the countertop in my kitchen for an hour, maybe two, I couldn’t tell, between the kidnapping and the return trip home. My clothes smelled like a locker room, and the two red dots on my abs burned with every breath I took. A few more hours and they’d fade to nothing.

Jake may be a very nice man, but I hoped to never see him again. There would be words and likely fists involved. I couldn’t imagine what his sister would say when she learned of his actions. It was almost—almost enough to make me feel sorry for him.

Izzy’s fingerprints were smudged beside the handle on the refrigerator. When she cooked me dinner, she must have touched it. What I couldn’t stop studying was the shape and length of the hazy ovals. She was taller than I thought Sibyl was. Her hands were larger, but still smaller than my own, larger than Sibyl’s too.

I’d considered my mental deterioration over the years, and more as of late. This new scare had me on edge. Torn between going to the States to visit the doctors and walking to Izzy’s house, I opted for neither. So I sat on the counter, in the same spot she’d occupied, and I waited until my mind came up with a plan that wouldn’t hurt her, or me, irrevocably.

My phone rang, the shrill brrring shattered the silence of my home and pushed me further toward hysteria.

I swiped my finger across the face and answered. “Hello?”

“Dorian,” Michael said my name on an exhale. “Thank goodness, I wasn’t sure where you were, and then Ms. Vale told me you left. I was worried.”

“My apologies for your concern, but I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine; in fact, you sound a little out of it. What happened?”

“It’s too much to explain over the phone, and I’m not really in the mood. Can I contact you later, and we can chat?”

“Sure, yeah, of course.”

I hung up without saying goodbye. He’d have heard how much effort it took to say that as well. For now, I needed to be alone. If everyone stayed away, they would be safe. If Izzy stayed away, she would be safe.

How did one test for insanity? I could go to the local mental hospital, but that would likely yield the same results as heading to Dr. Robertson’s office in America. Incarceration until death didn’t appeal to me.

Was it all true? Had I imagined that Izzy looked like Sibyl? Was our entire attraction a figment of my decaying mind?

It couldn’t all be, not with Izzy giving herself to me in the ways she did. In two of the three interactions we’d had, she had turned over control to me. That spoke of something deeper than delusion.

Tired of the sweat-stained clothes smell emanating from me, I hopped off the counter and headed for the shower. Once I got Jake’s Navy workout gear off, I tossed it in the trash and walked back to the already steaming water. As it cascaded from the rainfall shower head, I let my mind drift back to her. Even in the short time we’d been apart, I missed her like I’d lost a vital organ. What did that say about our relationship? Was it a true feeling or something I associated with her because of Sibyl?

I had to still my thoughts and shower one item at a time to avoid going down a rabbit hole I couldn’t climb out of. Once I wore my own clothes again, I felt like I could think on my own again too. It did wonders for improving my mood. Coffee and food next. I sent Michael a text instead of calling him, and he agreed to send food up via the doorman. I ordered an omelet, bacon, and fresh-pressed coffee.

Money made things move fast, and I paid more than the meal was worth to get it delivered in under a half hour. Alone again with my food, I spent the next twenty minutes only focusing on the task of eating. As soon as I allowed my thoughts to stray, everything went haywire.

Though it was more like the second Izzy came to mind, nothing else could get in. Damn that woman and her doe eyes and…I slapped my utensils on the counter, grabbed my cup of coffee, and went to sit on the couch.

My flat in disarray would usually throw more fire on the kerosene of my volatile mood, but it would seem I’d ignited a bonfire, and anything added to it was inconsequential.

Coffee in hand, I swiveled and shifted until I sank into the soft leather of my couch. I allowed it to cocoon me and let me float on a caffeine cloud as I came up with a plan. There were priorities to consider.

Don’t hurt Izzy was the first. The note I’d written was gone, and she likely saw it. So the first priority probably didn’t matter. Unless Jake confessed to his part in my disappearance. He loved his sister, but I wasn’t sure he would actually tell her. I’d spent a brief time with him and read absolutely nothing from his face besides the similarities to Izzy’s.

Why hadn’t she told me he was her twin brother? If he went out of his way to kidnap his sister’s lover, what else could he be capable of?

Seeing her, even if she hated me, still felt like the right thing to do. I couldn’t visit her in my current state. Right now, I appeared more bum than billionaire. If it was the last time we saw each other, I didn’t want that to be the memory she held onto.

No, I decided I’d see her opening night of Romeo and Juliet. It could be a test of sorts. That was the last play I saw Sibyl in. The words, the atmosphere, having Izzy there, would all be the perfect test of my mental faculties.

What if it went Phantom of the Opera wrong though? Her safety was the most important part of it all.

I considered trying to find her unhinged brother to protect her while I saw her, but he would likely turn me away. Michael would accompany me, but he wasn’t the kind of man for a fight. I made a list of my friends in my mind and found it shorter than I thought. I only trusted a handful of people in the entire world with my secrets, and not even all of them. Each person had their own special version of my story. Izzy, who I’d know the least amount of time, held the most of it.

The smart thing to do would be to go into the hospital. It had been a year since I’d last visited. Every time I went, they bragged about being close to something that could help. After almost sixty years of the same speech I had my doubts. Perhaps it was time to ask them outright if they were close.

I closed my eyes and leaned my head on the back of the cushion. Izzy’s face swam before my mind. It wasn’t Izzy I was getting confused with Sibyl, it was my memory of Sibyl that had been misplaced. But I feared Jake having told Izzy everything would make her wonder if I still wanted her. If maybe I’d only been with her because of Sibyl.

It might have started out that way, but the more time I spent with her, the less I thought of Sibyl and the more I just wanted Izzy.

That fire and energy she lived with each day was astounding to witness. Every arm gesture, every sip of her coffee, they were all fraught with an overextended sense of wonder. Sibyl, while beautiful, had only ever been remarkable while she was onstage acting. Otherwise, her character was meek and agreeable. I preferred Izzy’s fight every time.

I dragged my phone from the pocket of my flannel pants and opened the text message application. Izzy’s name was at the top of my contacts as a favorite. I punched the button and hovered my fingers over the miniscule digital letters. What did I say to her? Did I apologize or grovel? Should I simply send her flowers? No. She didn’t seem like an apology bouquet sort of woman.

I typed, the keys faux-clicking along with each press:

Isobel. I have returned home. Please don’t come. I just wanted you to know I’m well.

A minute passed before I built the courage to hit send. It left with a whooshing noise, and I clicked the button to darken the screen again.

I could only pray she heeded my request and stayed away. If she showed up, I didn’t know if I could keep myself away from her. I’d already proven how well that could work.

My phone pinged, and I stared at the green box that had popped up on the screen. The text from Izzy read:

This isn’t over, Gray.

Only that damn woman would convey her concern with a threat. I appreciated that about her. The crass way she could throw around words to make people flinch while knowing the entire Shakespeare bibliography by heart.

She wielded her words to strike, cut, and sting. Some might even call it a gift, at least those who weren’t on the pointy end of her barbs.

I slid the box so that it wouldn’t continue to ping and wondered if she was on her way to me right now to deliver a scolding.

With a sigh, I put my cup and phone down. The massive pile of books in the middle of my living room needed rectifying.

I sank to the floor and began organizing the same way I had when Izzy had helped. This time, I wasn’t interrupted by revelations of insanity. That was the thing about being crazy. Once you’re there, it doesn’t matter. There wasn’t anywhere further you could go after that.

I slid the books together, lining up the spines on the carpet in alphabetical order so that I could transfer them over to the shelves more easily. One blasted book fell over from the stack, and I sat it back up. It was ironic that it was the one volume I wanted least to touch. Why had I kept it all these years? By now the immaculate first edition was worth a fortune. But this one was tear stained by the author. Delivered by courier. If the truth ever came out, it would likely double in value.

I remembered the knock on my door. Wait. A knock actually did come from my door. I shifted out of my piles, careful not to jostle anything over and went for the handle.

When I jerked it open, I expected to see Izzy standing on the other side. Instead, an envelope sat propped against my doorframe. I recognized the stationary. The front had my last name scribbled across it: Gray.

I slipped the gold filigree card from the slot and tried to clear my mind again.

An invitation.

Romeo and Juliet to be performed at my theater in one week.

One week to prepare.

One week to elude a mental breakdown.

One week to figure out how to make Isobel mine for good.