I wasn’t hungry or cold.

I wasn’t happy or sad.

I was nothing.

Shuffling numbly through the halls of Thornfield, I made my way back toward the east wing in a daze. I didn’t know if I passed anyone or if I advanced unseen. It was all I could do to put one foot in front of the other.

Of all the misery I’d been through in my life, this was the worst because I’d believed this time would be different.

What was trust? I’d deliberately withheld the news about my uncle, my name, and my fortune. By accusing Edward of such heinous crimes and claiming such betrayal by them, was I the greatest hypocrite of them all?

Rounding a corner, I stumbled as I beheld a woman lingering a half dozen steps before me. I hesitated at the sight of her, knowing Thornfield had no guests currently in residence. Where had she come from? She looked positively…rumpled.

Her long black hair was disheveled and knotted, her eyes all but hidden behind the tangled mess, and she wore an oversized woolen jumper and jeans, her feet bare and dirty. She stared at me for a long moment, and then a devilish smile spread across her lips.

“Who are you?” I demanded, inching backward. “How did you get in here?”

The woman remained silent and began to move toward me, causing fear to rise in my stomach. She wasn’t a ghost, that was quite certain, but I was too afraid to jump to the most obvious conclusion—it was too terrible.

“Miss! Miss, come back!” a voice called from the hallway beyond. A moment later, a familiar figure rounded the corner.

My heart stuttered as I saw it was none other than the mysterious Grace Poole. My gaze met hers, and she paled. She’d been caught, and she knew it.

“Miss, you must come back,” she said soothingly to the woman.

“No, no, no…” she rambled, her eyes rolling.

I was certain the rumpled mess of a woman before me was quite mad, and after the things Edward had just confessed to me in the library, I had no doubt in my mind this was Bertha Mason, and Grace Poole was her carer. It meant she’d been hidden here all along, and Alice and the staff had been covering for her odd comings and goings since the day I arrived.

All at once, my world came crashing down. The strange laughter, the fire, Mason. It had all been Bertha’s doing, and I trembled knowing this creature had been scratching at my door and leading me through the halls at night on wild goose chases. She’d tried to burn Edward alive and had stabbed her own brother! Who else could she have harmed in one of her many escapes? Could she have harmed me?

“Bertha…” I muttered, not knowing how to respond to this new betrayal. Thornfield’s secret had been exposed at last, and it was the worst of the lot. Its grandness overshadowed everything I was and had suffered.

Bertha’s strange eyes fixed upon me at the sound of her name on my lips, clarity seeming to take her. She stared at me through her tangled tresses, and when all was silent, she let out a shriek so full of demons and anguish that I recoiled, my back flattening against the wall.

“Mine!” she cried, foaming at the mouth. “Mine!”

There was a commotion, and all at once, the hallways seemed to be full of people. Bessie appeared behind Grace, her mouth falling open at the sight of the confrontation. Alice came rushing up the stairs, gasping as she saw Bertha pacing like a wild beast before me. Then Edward appeared, and the demon broke loose from her chains.

Bertha shrieked again and turned on him, raking her fingers through the air in an attempt to strike him. She managed to fend him off, and the circle closed in around her. She was cornered, but her temper was raised and her madness in control. There was no telling what she would do if provoked further.

“You cunning beast!” he exclaimed. “Leave her be!”

She laughed, each peel descending further and further into pure insanity, and she uncovered her hand from the sleeve of her jumper. The hand that had been hidden until now for a precise reason. Metal glinted in the light, and I drew in a sharp breath as I beheld the weapon clutched in her fingers. It had a familiarity about it that shocked me to my very core.

The knife…

My gaze snapped to Bertha’s, and she laughed manically, her eyes blazing with unbridled rage.

“You know it, don’t you? You know it!” She laughed once more before lunging at me with the blade held high.

“Jane!” Alice shrieked.

Edward dove forward as I attempted to twist out of the way, but I was trapped against the wall with nowhere to go. At that moment, everything fell away, and all I could see was Bertha and the knife coming straight at me. Nothing else mattered other than living or dying, and I wasn’t sure which one would claim me. It was entirely out of my control.

The knife slammed into my chest, and then she pulled it out and struck again before Edward wound his arms around her waist and pulled her away. She shrieked, thrashing against him, and the bloodied weapon fell to the floor with a dull thud.

I stood there for what felt like an eternity, my back to the wall, my chest not hurting one bit. The whole scene felt like a strange dream that had happened to someone else, but then my senses started to flare. All at once, I was overcome with blistering agony, and I fell to the floor with a cry.

“Restrain her!” Edward bellowed to someone. Then his voice was over me. “Jane… Jane!”

I stared at the ceiling, my wits all over the place. The pain was terrible, and I could hardly find the words to describe how excruciating it was. Burning, throbbing, nauseating… I could feel blood oozing from the wound and soaking my shirt. I could feel it trickling over my shoulder to where it was staining the two-hundred-year-old rug below me. My ears buzzed, and my head spun as my sight began to fail me.

The knife had slid into my flesh so easily. Once, twice… That it was so easy to cause such violence was shocking.

There were voices all around and more pain as hands covered the stab wounds in my chest and applied pressure.

To be murdered by Edward’s mad ex-wife on the day that should have been the happiest of them all. It was the ultimate twist of fate.

The ceiling began to fade into darkness as a tear slipped from my eye. Air bubbled in my chest as I laughed at the irony. Perhaps Bertha was the sanest out of all of us. What a thought!

Jane Doe was never meant to be happy. Her lifetime had been about suffering and forever would it be so. Jane Doe was meant to die trying.