But he isn’t looking at me. He isn’t listening. He strides across the room and yanks Catherine’s hands from my arms. He grabs hold of her by the shoulders and pushes her against the wall, pins her there, his arms outstretched, the muscles taut through the sleeves of his shirt.

“Ross, what are you doing? We need to go to hospital. Just drive me there now and we can sort this out later.”

“Get in the car, Lizzie,” he snaps. “Get in the car and we’ll go.”

But he’s still pressing her shoulder blades flat against the wall, his face barely inches from hers. Now his hands are round her neck.

“I can’t do this anymore, do you hear me? I’ve had enough of all these stupid mind games. You can’t control me anymore.”

His fingers tighten round her neck. Her eyes widen like a startled deer’s. She tries to push him away, to claw at his hands, but he’s too strong for her. She can’t get away from him. The muscles on his arms bulge as he gouges his thumbs into the cavity between her collarbones. Her eyes are wild and unfocused as she struggles to escape.

I pull at his arms, try to wrench them off her, but it’s hopeless. He’s like a man possessed. I grab handfuls of his hair and tug as hard as I can. It’s the only thing I can do.

“Ross! No! Stop it! Stop it now! She’s my sister, for Christ’s sake. She’s ill. She needs help.”

All this time, I’ve thought of myself as vulnerable. Not a victim of my epilepsy—never that—but tormented by it. But Catherine is tormented by something far, far worse. I see that now.

At last, he releases his grip on her neck, and she gasps for breath. I stagger backward, then sink to my knees, blood pounding in my ears. If I had any strength left in my legs I’d run, screaming, into the street. But I’m weak and woozy. I’m going to faint.

I watch through partially closed eyelids as he cradles her face with his hands and kisses her on the mouth, caresses her neck where he’s hurt her. What in God’s name…? Is he really doing this? Is he really doing this now, while I’m bleeding on the carpet, about to lose our baby? Jesus Christ. He’s as twisted and evil as she is. He tried to hurt my mother. He tried to kill me while I was still in the womb!

But he isn’t kissing her anymore. He’s sobbing. Sobbing like a little boy. I’ve never seen a man cry before. Not like this. His whole body is heaving and shaking. Catherine looks over his shoulder at me, her face triumphant. Bile rises at the back of my throat.