I pressed my spine into that cold table, cowering away from that pillar of control, the man who held me captive without a single physical restraint. “I . . . don’t . . . belong here.”

The lines around his eyes curved down in that signature look of pity. “You worry me, Miss Fletcher. How long will it take for your brain to absorb reality, I wonder? Another year? A lifetime, perhaps?”

I curled my long fingers into my sides. “I am who I said I am, and nothing you say will change that.”

His face softened into fatherly concern. “They’re called delusions of grandeur, Miss Fletcher. Illusions that have been mistaken as reality. It isn’t your fault, though, that you believe yourself something of a great performer. Even the most outrageous dreams can be cataloged as memories by your brain, and you cannot be expected to sort through it all without help. Not to worry. We’ll do whatever it takes—for however long—to help you sort fact from fiction.”

Electrified, I sprang off that table. He lunged and grabbed me, twisting my arm behind my back, and a sharp pain shot up into my neck. I kicked like a wild stallion, reckless and terrified, landing several solid hits into him.

He jerked me back, my head against his puffy face as he anchored me to him with a warrior’s grip. “You want to endanger everyone you love? Look at you. Look at you. No one in this state is fit to be around people. Not even the ones in an asylum.”

Panic and despair rushed through my veins, for I knew what was coming.

He spun me by my hair to look at him. I dared not move. One turn, and I’d see that fistful of hair hanging loose from his hand. His face had an eerie calm, and I had the sudden sense that he was the madman, hiding behind a mask of sanity. “I’m beginning to lose all hope for you, Cora. Any hope that you’ll recover.” He let go of my hair and drove me forward, his fist gripping my wrists and digging into my back.

“Vivienne. It’s Vivienne and I can prove it. Fetch my manager, and he’ll tell you—”

“Beauchene, isn’t it? Marcel Beauchene.” His voice was weighted with calm. “He’s already been to see you, the night we had to sedate you. Yes, we checked into your claims before admitting you.”

I spun and slapped his face with all the force of my frustration. “Liar.”

He yanked me away from him, holding me at arm’s length with a sharp look. “Once fractured, always broken. The shards fall apart again, ready to stab the flesh of anyone who comes near.”

“I’ve never hurt anyone.”

“How can a broken mind ever see the truth, though?”

I looked into his eyes, now fixed and hard. No Father Christmas. “I’m not the one who’s broken.”