November 4, 1803

“We have to talk about Robert…”
The whisper made him look up from his papers. It was Loretta. He sighed and continued to write, a thorn of annoyance twisting in his gut.
“We have to talk about Robert…” Her voice was hoarse, as if every word strained her, as well it should. She had no right to be in his study.
“I heard you the first time, girl.” He looked up and peered at her over his spectacles. “And you’re not supposed to be in here. How many times do I have to tell you to keep out— “
“Dr. Godwin Sir, I’m not in your study. I’m in the doorway.” And indeed she was; standing stiff under the doorframe wringing her skirts in thin white hands and looking even more hollow-eyed than usual.

Truly, Loretta was a waif of a thing, with frail twiggy limbs, shaking hands, barren womb and no breasts to speak of. On most days, a kind person might call her angelic, with her pallid milky skin and white blonde hair. An honest one would call her a corpse. But right now, she looked almost spectral. The dim glow of the oil lamp above the door made her downy hair a halo, and her white nurses uniform the trailing wisps of a wraith.

Loretta’s voice tore him from his thoughts,
“Dr. Godwin, Sir. We need to talk about Robert.”
“We talk about Robert far too much in my opinion. What’s he doing now? Playing the flute? Violin? Harpsichord?”
“He’s rambling Sir.”
“It’s a damn psychiatric ward, Loretta! That’s what they do here. Ramble, and rant, and try to kill themselves. Get back to work. There are patients that need you more than that mad musician.” Then he dipped his quill in the inkpot and resumed writing, as if to make that final.

“He frightens me Dr. Godwin… he says things… he won’t stop…” She was still there. She had stepped forward so the light from the candle on his desk illuminated the bottom of her face and made her eyes glow. “He tried to bite me yesterday, Sir, when I went to take him from his piano. He’s been playing for three days Sir. Three days. He has not eaten, slept, gone to the levorotary…He was mad before, Dr. Godwin, yes, but he was one of the good ones, one of the easy ones. Now, now he’s mad, mad, Sir. Now he’s insane.”

***



The dim lamps on the walls gave Loretta an even more ghostly appearance as she moved hurriedly ahead of him. The wind moaned like a lost soul outside, and the rain beat desperately against the walls. It drowned out their footsteps so they seemed light and noiseless; yet it did nothing to mask the music. As they drew closer, winding their way down the cold stone passages of the ward, it grew more and more distinct, rising above the howl of wind and rain in clamoring, baleful notes. It was like a warning, a demented hammering on the piano, this song of a madman’s soul.

Loretta stopped at one of the thick iron banded doors. Dr. Godwin’s skin prickled into gooseflesh.
“Loretta, should we not let the man rest? It’s the hour of the wolf… surely he must needs get to sleep.”
She looked at him with weary, hollow eyes, her hand resting on the silver doorknob. “The man has been awake for three days Sir… I have summoned you here to help me bring him sleep.”
Then she pushed the door open.

The music washed over them. It was as if the door were a floodgate, and to open it was to allow the song to come rushing forth. Huge crying notes harmonizing painfully and tunelessly. The storm outside was silent by comparison, a babe compared to this sea of horrible deafening sound.
The room was black, pitch black, as if it were a gate to hell, and even the fires had been snuffed out.
Dr. Godwin took a step back, yet Loretta was unfazed. She took a lamp from the sconce beside the door and carried it inside. Godwin followed her, as if an unknown force was pulling him in. Loretta closed the door behind them.

The wavering amber flame illuminated the chamber, sending flickering shadows darting up the walls. The room was empty except for a bed and an upright piano. A figure hunched over its keys, drumming at them with fevered, trembling hands. His hair was wild, and the smell about the place revealed that his trousers had been soiled.
“Robert?” Loretta took a tentative step forward, lamp stretched out before her, as if to ward against the dark. The mad musician made no response, but the music seemed to swell and become even more frantic than before.
“Robert… it’s me, Lottie…” Still no response.
“Robbie, I brought Dr. Godwin here to say hello…”
The mad musician let out a wild shriek and spun around on his piano seat. Dr. Godwin took a hasty step back, startled by the sudden outburst. He had seen many unstable patients before but this was something else. Robert sat with his back resting on the piano, one hand still picking out a beat on the low C.
He had changed since Dr. Godwin had last seen him. His cheeks were hollow and unshaven, his body emaciated. It was his eyes though, that made his Dr. Godwin’s hackles rise. They shifted about the room, dilated pupils rimmed in bloodshot white. They were not animal, not quite, but there was not enough of the old man in them to call them quite human.
A huge gob of scarlet phlegm dribbled from between cracked lips and onto his yellow shirt. Then his mouth opened, lips curling into an obscene bloody smile; an open grave.
“Y-y-you m-m-m-made me b-b-bite m-my t-t-tongue.” His voice was painfully hoarse, strained, as if the speaking was driving nails into his already fevered brain.
Then he lolled his tongue out, revealing a huge wet gash that spilled black fluid onto his shirt.
Loretta drew in a sharp breath, and indeed, it was a nauseating sight. He had bitten clean through the tip, leaving a flap of flesh dangling loosely.
Then he began to laugh, and laugh, and to choke on his own blood, and laugh. He grabbed the flap of skin between his fingers and tore it off, issuing forth another gout of blood. Dr. Godwin felt his gorge rise, and bent over to wretch.
When he rose again, mouth tasting of acid and bile, the musician was still drumming out a steady beat on the low C. He had grabbed hold of Loretta’s skirt, and was pulling her forward. The flame she held leapt and danced as she struggled.
“L-L-L-Loretta my s-s-sweet,” his voice was slurred and stammering. Black blood still bubbled from his lips, staining his chin a greasy red. “L-L-Loretta, my d-d-dear L-L-Lottie. You s-s-said y-y-y-you l-l-l-loved me. G-g-give m-m-me a k-kiss L-Lottie! Why don’t you l-l-love me?”
Loretta’s eyes were wild. She tried to wrench her skirts away from him, but his grip was too strong, and she had only one hand to work with. The other held the lamp.
“Dr. Godwin!” Her voice was shrill and panicked. “Help me!”
He did not go to her though. He watched them struggle, her skinny arm beating at his bloody face; him, demanding a kiss through torn red lips, still drumming out a beat on that low C. An angel and a demon...
I did not tell her to marry a demon.
“Daddy!” That tore him out of his stupor.
“Loretta! I am not your father!” He was fuming, hot searing rage tearing through him. “Do not ever call me that again! I have told you-“
“Just take the lamp! Take the lamp so I can pry him off me!” she was weeping now, great sobs rattling her thin bird chest. The musician had pulled her closer with his one free hand. He was kissing the bodice of her nurse’s uniform, leaving great red stains where his tongue brushed the cotton.
Dr. Godwin just stood there, staring at the trembling white hand that stretched out to offer up the lamp. She stared back at him with wide shining eyes.
“You married a madman Loretta.” His words were monotonous, and cold. “You marry a madman, and you pay the price.”
“He wasn’t mad!” her voice shook. “He wasn’t mad, not then! He was good, and kind, and gentle…”
“I made you a good match Loretta. And you eloped with a madman and dishonored your family.”
“I’m sorry, I… I was young. He was so good to me! I loved him Daddy! ...I love you Daddy!”
His chest tightened and he raised his voice in a shout. “Don’t call me that! You little—“
Loretta screamed, an animal wail of pain and despairing fear. Godwin looked down. Robert had bitten her right hand, her free hand. Her index finger now ended an inch prematurely, in a wet, glistening stump. The wail turned into a moan. The lamp slipped from her fingers, shattered, and went out.

The room was black. The only sound was Loretta’s whimpering, the piano’s low beat, and the rain.

Dr. Godwin found the doorknob, and slipped out of the room,

Leaving the angel with her demon in the dark.