Sabrina found herself slung over a man’s shoulder. Her small curvaceous body was naked. From her position she could not see the man’s face, but the smooth caress of his large palm on her bare bottom was both reassuring and familiar. She was to be disciplined. A mixture of fear and sensual anticipation stirred her blood and moistened the tops of her thighs. Confused by this new feeling she sought to rebel, squirming and wriggling in her captor’s arms. The action was to earn her a sharp slap to her rear. The sound of the tall man’s punishing blow echoed around the walls of the large house and the sweeping staircase to which he purposefully strode. Sabrina gave a small whimper, feeling the brand of his hand blaze hot. Never had she felt so vulnerable or so tamed into silence.
The man mounted the stairs. His voice was French. He spoke to her in a calm but firm deep velvet tone evoking seductive fear. He talked to her of the beating her bottom was to receive with his belt. He was to take her in hand. By the end of the night he would ensure her submission and obedience to his will. She had put her life in danger, dared to hide her pain and fear of the man who stalked her, and done all she could from preventing him from protecting her. Wrongly, she had believed she could deal with the matter alone. He would not tolerate her deceit and reckless behaviour any longer. In matters of her safety and protection he was in control and King in his household. Her lover was not to be crossed or her bottom would pay a dear price. He would not permit her rebellion, however much it enthralled and amused him. As if to emphasise his words he gave her bottom another hard slap. This time it provoked a cry from Sabrina’s lips, yet she did not rebuke him.
She was too consumed by the increased arousal flooding her pussy. Her clit throbbed and a heavy aching need to be penetrated and firmly claimed by the man both overwhelmed her senses and outraged her thoughts. How could she feel this way with such humiliation? With the way he had publicly ripped the flimsy floral summer dress from her body in front of the house staff and ordered the young maid to remove her lacy white bra and briefs. Sabrina had struggled, making the task difficult for the young woman, but she had firmly persisted and won the battle.
The man sternly informed Sabrina she would spend the weekend naked locked in the west tower of the house and for most of it over his knee receiving some much-needed discipline. She remembered the way she had desperately tried to cover her nakedness, cupping her pert pink breasts and crossing her legs as she watched the maid neatly fold her underwear and leave the room without one perturbed look upon her face. Sabrina had received the feeling this wasn’t the first occasion she had been given such an intimate duty.
Another older maid joined them on the landing and led the way to a large wooden door in the corner. The man stopped and waited patiently as she took out a set of keys and opened the door to reveal another set of enclosed dark winding stone stairs. Sabrina struggled over his arm, but he hushed her with another fervent slap.
Undaunted, the older woman moved ahead up the stairs. Slowly they followed. They appeared to go on forever. At the top of the stairs there was another door. The woman opened it and entered. The room was dark, but it became softly illuminated when the woman turned on two of the wall lights. A large four-poster draped in white silk formed the centre piece of the room. The man turned to close the door and Sabrina was able to view the woman pulling out the pillows of the bed. She stacked four of them at the nearest end of the bed and held them there, waiting for direction from her employer.
Sabrina heard the man murmur his approval and approach the bed. She found herself being lowered down and placed over the pillows, facing the wall. Her buttocks were raised high and proud for all to view. She had been prepared for him, for his punishment. The man dismissed the maid. She heard him remove his suit jacket, loosen his belt buckle, then quickly slide his belt from the loops of his black trousers. Her heart began to pound nervously, but she did not dare move. She was too afraid to incur his wrath again by moving and a part of her was intrigued and curious. He had never been this way with her before. Perhaps this was elaborate foreplay. He wouldn’t really beat her bottom. But the sound of leather cutting the air and striking the pale delicate skin of her bare bottom sent her shrieking with surprise.
Sabrina jolted awake, shocked and alarmed by her dream. To her horror she discovered her damp arousal had been real. She shuffled uneasily on the leather seat of the car, wondering if her dream was pure imagination or an old latent memory lost when her memory disappeared ten years ago. Memories had been sparse since she’d walked into a London hospital after having been injured. She hadn’t even been able to tell them her name. She played the new memory over in her head again. She hadn’t been able to see the man’s face. No matter how hard she tried to remember his dominant figure, she could not recall his face. Unsure she even wanted to admit it was some distant memory of a former life, she glanced out of the car window and watched the moon cast her silvery shadow over the pretty French countryside.
The black Mercedes glided over a hill following a narrow ribbon of road towards the illuminated Chateau Valois, suddenly dominating her view. A majestic building set in vast grounds, its tall cream fairy-tale turrets capped with smooth grey strained to their fullest height. It only served to show that the house was not just a home, but also an impenetrable fortress like its owner. She’d expected something grand—after all her host was a wealthy businessman—but this was beautiful. It could have been stolen out of a fairy tale.
The car travelled over a drawbridge that lay over the moat surrounding the chateau. It drove through an arch nestled between two towers, and Sabrina heard the car’s wheels softly crunch over the gravel of the inner courtyard opening out in front of them.
He was there striding out of the house as the car came to a halt. His tall intimidating frame sent a curious mixture of excitement and fear tingling the length of her spine. It was a feeling that had seized her the first time they met and continued to provoke her curiosity. He opened the door before the chauffeur alighted and offered his hand, giving her no choice but to accept his assistance. She felt his hand linger, smoothing the pad of his thumb over her knuckles. It was an intimate caress, one of lovers that startled her senses and made her pull her hand away in embarrassment.
He gave her a hooded smile as though he fully expected the reaction and remarked on the coldness of the weather. Expressing his concern that she would be feeling the chill, his arm hung loosely around her waist, bringing a healthy flush to her cheeks as he guided her into the house.
The housekeeper was waiting for them. She gave Sabrina a cordial but guarded greeting, making her believe that the woman was unsure about her presence in the house. She led them both up the snaking stone staircase blanketed by a luxurious red carpet to Sabrina’s room.
“I put you in this room, Sabrina, because it has a good view of the grounds,” her enigmatic host told her as they entered one of the guest rooms. “Do you like it?” he asked, moving away towards the white marble fireplace at the side.
He appeared eager for her approval, but it was hard to look at her surroundings when Raoul Valoire was around. His very being dominated the pretty blue room with its mahogany four-poster dressed in sensual blue-and-white satin bedding. Somehow he made its luxurious splendour insignificant.
“Yes, of course I do. It’s beautiful. Being here makes me feel as if I have stepped into the past,” she gushed nervously.
Raoul was on his haunches stoking the fire to make it blaze higher. He stopped for a moment and she was sure she could see his mouth curve into a knowing, mocking smile. She prickled. Why did she get the unsettling feeling Raoul Valoire knew more about herself than she did and was enjoying it?
She began removing her gloves, loosening the buttons on her coat, her mind echoing with abuse, arrogant, pompous… She stopped as he stood and turned to advance towards her. He dwarfed her small curved form and she found herself straightening her back to rise to her full petite height.
“You haven’t taken your coat off yet,” he said with a frown. “Is there something wrong? Are you cold, Sabrina?”
It was the way he said her name, the way it rolled off his tongue with that sexy melodic French lilt, like an intimate caress that made her soften. It bore a strange familiarity.
“No, thank you. I’m fine. I was just about to.”
But he was there before she could raise her hands to begin the task, slowly slipping the cashmere coat from her shoulders and depositing it on the bed behind her. Why stop there, she mused with irritation at the liberty he was taking. Cold? How could she be? Every time he was near her, she quietly burned with the warmth of a blazing furnace ever since their first meeting. And he knew it. It was disturbing. It wasn’t like her to allow any man to have this effect on her. Yet here she was allowing Raoul Valoire to exert his power and reel her in like a fish.
Damn it, Sabrina. Get some control.
For a fleeting moment she lowered her eyes to his hands. They were large, masculine, and well-manicured. Her mind pictured them cupping and squeezing the weight of her breasts, firmly holding her hips as he rode her bottom from behind, tightly, painfully pulling through her hair to hold her in place as he kissed her deeply and then splayed across her bare bottom as she lay face down over his knee… Sabrina gave a small gasp and looked up quickly into his eyes.
The man was a virtual stranger. She knew nothing about him, but her body spoke to her in fleeting images of them both, of past encounters entwined together in unbridled passion. It was crazy. They were so vivid that they felt like memories. She looked up at him, wondering if somehow he’d seen it too.
Raoul’s eyes were dark and fathomless. They were dangerous eyes, the type that swallowed you whole and didn’t allow you up for air. They drew her in and held her prisoner.
Nervous at the curious effect he was having upon her and her mixed-up broken memories, she pulled away to admire the roaring fire, rubbing her arms. A part of her knew this man intimately and he her. She didn’t know how. Maybe it was that past life nonsense her friend Lorna kept on about. No, it was ridiculous. It was mere wishful thinking. He was handsome and dominant. Maybe her mind fantasised it could convince her he was the one who had cared and loved her before her attack and memory loss, that it was he who’d spanked her in the memory she experienced in the car. Perhaps his dominance made her feel safe on some strange buried level of her psyche. Yet she’d experienced the same surreal feeling of knowing Raoul when he had first been introduced to her at that drinks party only two weeks ago. There seemed no logical answer for it.
“Are you feeling all right, Sabrina? Is there anything I can get you?” he asked.
She turned around. There it was again, that knowing smile, as if he knew exactly what she was feeling and it amused him. She studied his face, looking for some clue as to the game he was playing, but he was giving nothing away.
Sabrina watched him smile innocently; he was clearly aware of the purpose of her scrutiny. Every time she looked at him, he took her breath away. That was what made him so deadly, she decided. He possessed the type of looks that would seduce a woman from a mile. An English mother and French father provided a light Latin warmth to his skin and an aristocratic smoothness to his face. His smooth mid-length hair was dark brown. It begged for her to run her fingers through its rich shiny texture. Everything about him was powerful. He made her feel vulnerable and coy around him. His whole persona seemed to arouse her deep feminine need for his protection and, to her horror, his dominance. She wanted him to be the man in her memory. She pictured him spanking her. His hands were just the right size and firmness to make her punishment effective and ensure her obedience.
Sabrina felt her breasts swell and push painfully against her bra demanding freedom. Sex had never been anything but vanilla for Sabrina for the last ten years. Thoughts of being disciplined with spanking had never occurred. But this stranger was provoking buried sensations she would never have thought herself possible of experiencing. Deep inside she tried to hide the fact that she wanted this man to belong to her from the past, for him to take her in hand, spank her into submission, to love and protect her. It did not sit with her surface feelings. She was a strong capable woman who had survived kidnap and rape.
For the last ten years she had taken care of herself. She did not require a man’s protection or company, and certainly not his discipline. How could she even consider having these feelings after what had happened to her? But they did not in any way resemble the intense fear, oppression, and revulsion she felt when her memory flashbacked in broken interrupted images to her attack. Her feelings with this man were loving, arousing, protective. These memories made her feel cared for on a deep level. Still, her surface consciousness sought to protect her and would not permit any consideration of the difference. All men and their actions were to be viewed with caution. Whatever she had been before her attack, she could not afford to allow herself to be again. It was too dangerous to trust any man, especially in a sexual way.
Alarmed as he strode towards her purposefully, she backed away, but there was no safe retreat. Her back was just about hitting the fireplace and the heat of the fire was about to scorch and melt the leather of her boots if she got any closer.
Sabrina’s blue eyes searched his face, looking for some explanation when his eyes narrowed at her. More than a little nervous, she made an attempt to move away to the side. But she found her chin being lifted and her head tilted sideways.
Raoul trailed the warm tips of his fingers along her neck, gently probing the aching stiffness that tormented her so often. She froze with fear.
“You are always tensing, Sabrina. When will you ever learn to relax?”
Her mind was screaming caution, but her body had a will of its own, paralysing any movement she made to escape. Traitorously the aching muscle softened, melted against his fingers as though it had a mind of its own. The man knew just where to touch, to soothe, and to deepen the massage to ease her pain. She would swear to it. What was happening? More to the point, what was she doing allowing him to touch her?
“Dinner will be ready in half an hour,” the housekeeper stopped her speech abruptly, her eyes resting anxiously on her employer. They hadn’t even heard her knock.
Raoul lowered his hands and Sabrina edged away, afraid to meet his eyes or the housekeeper’s for the sake of embarrassment. She thanked the woman and announced that she would dress and be downstairs as soon as possible. It was the cue for both of them to leave and the housekeeper took it at once, but Raoul lingered.
Sabrina felt afraid and for a moment considered making some excuse to leave the chateau. But her common sense made light of the situation. She was imagining it. He obviously liked her and she was complimented. Perhaps it was simply wishful thinking that she’d known him before. But she had come to do a job and she wasn’t leaving until it was done. She would conduct herself professionally from now on and stop acting like a schoolgirl.
Yet the strangeness of the whole occurrence kept intruding on her thoughts and try as she might, she could not put it aside. There was something about this house and the people who inhabited its walls, a déjà vu feeling she couldn’t explain.
Raoul interrupted her ruminations. His hands were firmly in trouser pockets as if to keep them from further mischief, his speech formal and distant once more.
“I will see you later. Please call either myself or my staff if you require anything.”
Smiling, he headed for the door and took his leave. Sabrina was left wondering what other strange excitement the evening would bring and what part Raoul would play in it.
Sabrina changed into a short off-the-shoulder black dress. It was the only dress she possessed. She preferred trousers. They never let her down. They hid the petite legs she always unjustifiably condemned herself for owning, but defined her small waist to perfection along with the feminine curve of her hips. She looked at herself in the full-length mirror and groaned, trying to pull the dress down a little further to her knees.
Her attention turned to her breasts and produced another groan. They were generous and voluptuously round. She had no wish to over-amplify their size, but the dress wasn’t giving her a choice. About to decide to rebel and pull on her jeans, she became distracted by a new torment. Her hair. Half an hour later she finally gave up the ghost on trying to soften and straighten her defiant bob of black curls. A quick glance at her watch had her cursing her lateness and heading for the door.
Her host was about to knock on her door when she left, making her think he’d been prowling around outside waiting for her to come out all of that time. But he had changed. He was in a black suit and casual white designer shirt open at the neck. Those dark eyes scanned her dress and came to rest on her breasts. She was treated to an approving smile. Triumph that he found her attractive in the dress warred with her indignation at his intimate assessment.
“You look beautiful, Sabrina, but you should have worn something warmer. The chateau is full of drafts,” he teased.
“I will be fine, Monsieur Valoire,” she insisted, irritation audible in her tone. She edged away to maintain some distance between them. But his hand caught hold of her arm when her distracted mind tried to lead her in the wrong direction and brought her back to heel. His strong yet gentle hold brought another string of images swirling into her mind.
This time they were in a large set of stables. Raoul was leading her to an empty booth. There were several horses tethered in booths. One of them was being brushed by a groom, another was being fed. The sound of horses snorting and hooves clattering on the stony floor filled her mind, setting the scene. Again, just like her memory in the car she wore a pretty feminine floral cotton dress enhancing her generous cleavage. The material was thin, almost transparent, offering a watching admirer a tantalising glimpse of her curved outline. She wore no underwear and when the material pressed close, the tight mop of neatly shaven curls at the top of her pubis was visible.
Raoul had been riding. In his free hand he carried a riding crop. Once in the booth, he commanded her to stand before him. Once more she felt aroused anticipation coupled with fear at the punishment he was to bestow upon her. Sabrina could not recollect the reason for her chastisement, only that it had been significant.
Raoul slipped the dress from her shoulders and watched it swish down her body to the straw-covered floor and ordered her to step out of it. She found herself trembling and glancing behind her at the groom brushing Raoul’s black stallion two booths down. He paid her nakedness no attention and continued with his task. Raoul kicked the dress to one side, unimpressed with her coy attempts to curl her body inwards and cover her modesty with her hands.
A long leather strap hung from a large iron hook on the wall in front of her as though it was kept there for such occasions. Raoul pulled the strap from the hook and took firm hold of her body. He wound the strap tightly around her hands and pulled her captive form towards the hook. The hook was low down in the wall and as he tethered her to it, he cruelly made her keep a small distance so she was forced to bend and stretch her back. She felt him arrange her with his cool hands, instructing her to stretch and part her thighs. Her lover stroked her pale pink delicate skin with a featherlike caress, delving beneath her body to cup her breasts in a soothing action. She warmed to his protective possessive touch. He made a remark that she reminded him of one of his beautiful mares. Never had Sabrina felt so exposed or open.
Raoul retrieved his riding crop lying on top of one of the walls of the booth. He trailed the leather end the length of her spine, down the crevice of her buttocks, making her move against it. She was to receive ten strikes of the crop.
Sabrina felt him move the crop under her body to her breasts to lightly circle her taut nipples. She cried out with pained surprise when he unexpectedly struck her breasts with the crop. The heavy globes quivered with aftershock. She had been shocked and indignant, but another two strikes of the riding crop bracing harshly across her nipples silenced her complaining tongue. Her nipples burned and tingled in unison with a sudden wet aching need pulsing in her pussy. The feeling was exquisite and yet painfully torturous. God help her, she wanted more. He moved the crop down her stomach to the crevice between her thighs. Sabrina obediently parted her legs on his stern command to receive the leather flap at the end of the crop, biting her lip at what was about to come.
Raoul remarked at the seeping wetness coating her clit and thighs. He sought out the small bud between her legs and beat it with the riding crop. At first his strikes were gentle and teasing, and then they built in severity. Sabrina groaned and bleated, feeling pleasure build and strengthen as he whipped her clit with increasing harshness. She was desperate to come. Her clit was so swollen, engorged, and sensitive. It made her whimper. Her feelings were conflicted. No lover had been allowed to sexually tame her. It was something she had ruled out completely when they’d tried it, but here she was allowing this man to make her surrender to him and she couldn’t get enough of it.
Sabrina’s soft gentle submissive cries grew louder, attracting attention from the grooms as she strained like one of Raoul’s tethered mares against her bonds ready to come like a bitch in heat.
“I think we should gag you, cherie. Next time I will have you bridled,” he chuckled, whipping her clit with a little more force. “Now come for me, darling,” he commanded, giving her clit a harsh spank. Her body was more than willing to obey and came with a force she had never experienced. She bucked her release with a loud scream, stirring all the other horses in the stables.
Sabrina found herself blushing at the scene replaying in her mind. She was confused and disturbed. Again, Raoul appeared amused as though he could see the images in her mind. His dark eyes smouldered down at her as he guided her through a string of rooms until they finally reached the dining room. Something was very wrong. Why did her mind choose to insert him in her memories? They couldn’t be real.
What if… No. It couldn’t be…
The dining room was a deep earthy gothic red, garnished with Flemish tapestries and portraits of the chateau’s previous ancestral owners. The long oak table was dressed with elaborate candelabra dripping lightly with molten wax. The flames of the candles flickered shadows around the room as they entered. It was just the way she liked to have dinner, romantic by candlelight, and in this chateau it was a dream come true.
Did you know?
Maybe he’d had her followed, checked out. She wouldn’t put it past a rich man like Raoul. He pulled out a high-back chair covered in Spanish leather for her to sit next to him at the head of the table.
“So, Monsieur Valoire, when can I expect to view the historic documentation you possess on your ancestor Christophe Valoire so I can begin my research?” she asked as they were served a light starter of goat cheese and salad dressed in aromatic oil. She was determined to dismiss the lascivious wanderings of her mind.
He caught her eyes as the butler poured ruby wine into the crystal glasses.
“You are a workaholic, Dr. Michaels. I thought you could take a few days to relax and enjoy your stay and allow me to show you around the Loire Valley.”
He was looking at her so intently, she felt her eyes lower and her cheeks flush in response.
“I would have liked that very much, but I have to give a lecture in Paris in a couple of days and I need to prepare.”
He was undeterred.
“Well, we will just have to see what we can achieve in the time we have together.”
Sabrina managed a nervous smile. He was making it no secret that he wanted her and he wasn’t about to let her go. He continued their conversation, his deep velvety tone playing havoc with her every attempt not to melt and fall at his feet like some love-struck teenager. Damn it, he knew the effect he was having. She could see it playfully dancing with humour in his eyes, and she was helplessly playing along to his piped tune. She didn’t like being manipulated.
“I have read your book and recent articles, Sabrina. I am especially interested in your research concerning gender issues in popular culture in Europe.”
Raoul engaged her in conversation about her work, but she felt distracted and on edge. The more she looked around the room, the more convinced she was that she had been in it before. She couldn’t explain it. Maybe she’d visited the place as a child. But the explanation didn’t seem adequate. Even the tapestries and the scenes they depicted were more than familiar.
Even the long oak table seemed to provoke strange memories. She couldn’t help gasp and bring her hand to her mouth when inside her mind she saw herself naked kneeling upright on top of it. Her mouth was gagged with a leather band, her hands also bound in front of her with a leather strap. Her breasts were heavy and swollen; her poor nipples clamped tight on a nipple chain that led down the length of her smooth stomach to another small clamp on her clitoris. The tiny bud throbbed and pained, its blood flow cut to increase the delicious sensitivity between her thighs. Her pussy was so wet, so needy for Raoul’s touch, she thought her clit might burst. He walked around the table in a dark business suit carrying a riding crop. He struck a strong powerful, dominant figure who was determined to take her in hand. She could not confirm it, but the whole scene appeared related to the weekend of punishment and atonement he had promised her after disobeying him regarding his protection.
Confusion at the safety and reassurance she felt at Raoul’s treatment of her had continued to war with righteous feminine indignation, yet try as she might, she could not deny the soothing touch of his dominant power over her, just as her present feelings also seemed to suggest.
Sabrina’s buttocks felt hot against her legs after having just received a sound bare-bottom spanking over his knee. After her punishment, Raoul had sat her on top of the table and applied the clamps. He’d worked her with his finger, bringing her to orgasm so she was good and wet, making application of the clit clamp easier and more visually stimulating for him. The pain had made her cry a little at first, but he had stroked the squeezed bud tenderly until she stilled and her labia swam with creamy moisture once more. He walked towards her and leaned over the table to sweep her dark hair behind her neck, instructing her to lift her arms up into the air and thrust her breasts forward in offering until her body resembled a bow.
“You will learn I am master in my own home, Sabrina. I will not permit you to be reckless with your safety. My word is law on this matter. I will not have another man harm you. You are mine,” he told her firmly with meaning before striking her across her breasts with the riding crop.
“Sabrina, are you ill? You look a little pale,” Raoul asked, shattering the image in her mind and bringing her back to the present. She stared at him with wide frightened eyes, wondering if she was going mad.
“No, no, I’m fine,” she lied, trying to cover her shock. “I just have this weird déjà vu feeling that I’ve been here before. It’s silly, really,” she joked. She raised her eyes to the ceiling and shook her head. “Maybe in my last lifetime.”
Raoul said nothing, taking another sip of wine. For a moment his eyes avoided her. She found it odd that he would not make some remark or even a joke.
“I look forward to reading your work on my rogue ancestor, but for now I want to hear all about you,” he insisted, putting down his glass, quickly changing the subject.
Raoul’s eyes never left her face as she took a hurried sip of her own wine.
“There isn’t much to tell, I’m afraid,” she said nervously. “Maybe we should talk about something more interesting.”
She smiled sweetly, expertly covering the pain that slashed at her insides with a knife. But he was to remain annoyingly inquisitive.
“No. I’m intrigued. Tell me about yourself.”
She didn’t miss the command in his tone, just like in her broken images. There was no escape. He was not about to allow her to bow out gracefully. There was nothing to tell. No family to talk of, no lover, no husband… Sabrina looked away, desperately searching her mind for a way of excusing her behaviour.
“Well, I don’t see you wearing a wedding ring, so I take it that you aren’t married?” he quizzed. His voice was soft, but Sabrina could hear some malice lingering in his tone. Nothing felt right here. Her images, the evening, his behaviour and her own felt surreal. Something was definitely wrong. Maybe she should really leave now.
Sabrina jumped when he suddenly picked up her hand she rested on the table, and gently examined her fingers. He stroked each one sensually, circling the pad of his thumb in the middle of her palm. She watched entranced, completely under the spell created by the rhythmic stroking, despite herself.
It was a normal thing to ask, to see if there was any competition. He wasn’t hiding his interest. But there was a curious firmness in his tone that appeared to challenge her answer, dared her to say no.
“No, I’m not married,” she told him truthfully.
He smiled gently.
“Where is your wedding ring, Sabrina, cherie? Did you lose it, or did he take it from you when he hurt you?” he asked softly, carefully.
Confused by his questions, she looked up at him with tears in her eyes, wondering, hoping with all her heart…
Almost as if on eerie cue, the wind that had been building outside swirled around the chateau with a deathly cry from an open window, extinguishing the burning flames of the candles. The lamps at intervals on the walls also went out as if a fuse had been blown. Sabrina felt suffocated as the wall of darkness imprisoned her sight and pressed down upon her. She was terrified of the dark and had never known the reason. She struggled when she felt Raoul’s arms close protectively around her in a gentle hold.
“Hush, Sabrina. It will only last for a few moments. The lights are always going out. It happens in old buildings. Shhh, you don’t have to be frightened. Sabrina, you are home where you belong now. You came back to me, Sabrina. You came back, my beautiful wife.”