He dragged her through the door and hurled her across the dining room so that she hit the table hard and sank to the floor. When he lifted her up, she’d lost one of her shoes, and blood was pouring from her face down onto her sweater. He hit her again, and she went out. Out.

Next thing Rose knew, she was in the bedroom. She was on the bed, and he was standing over her. He had a glass in his hand.

He was talking in a low voice, saying once more how she’d broken his heart, how she’d disappointed him. “Oh, this has all been the disappointment of my life, Rose,” he said. “And I wanted it to be so different, so very different, with you, Rose, of all the flowers of the field, you were the fairest, Rose, the fairest of all.”

He came towards her as she struggled to get up.

“Now we will drink this together.”

She tried to scurry backwards, away from him, off the bed, but his right hand caught her wrist while, with his left hand, he held the glass of liquid high out of her reach.

“Now, stop it, Rose.” He growled between his clenched teeth. “For the love of God, do this with dignity.”

Suddenly a pair of headlamps sent their beams over the master-bedroom windows.

Rose began to scream as loud as she could. It was nothing like those nightmares in which you try to scream and you can’t. She was shrieking. The screams just erupted uncontrollably.

He dragged her towards him as he went on and on, shouting over her screams: “You are the most dreadful disappointment of my life,” he cried, “and now as I seek to make all things new, to make all things whole, for you and for me, Rose, you do this to me, to me!”

With the back of his hand, he slammed her into the pillow. Out. When she opened her eyes, a foul burning fluid was in her mouth. He had her nose pinched between his fingers. She gagged, and bucked and struggled to scream. The taste was ghastly. Her throat was burning. So was her chest.

He thrust the half-full glass at her and the liquid inside it splashed on her face, burning her. The smell was acrid, chemical, caustic. It burned into her cheek and neck.

Twisting around as she struggled against his grip, she vomited on the bed. She kicked at him with both feet. But he wouldn’t let go. He threw the liquid at her and she turned with all her strength, feeling it splash against her face. It went into her eyes. It blinded her. Her eyes were on fire.

Murray’s voice sounded from the hallway door.

“Let her go.”

And then she was free, screaming, crying, grabbing for the covers to wipe the burning liquid off her face, and from out of her eyes.