by Sibel Hodge
‘My own safety?’ I shriek, not believing what I’m hearing.
He looks up sharply. ‘Yes. You were sectioned under the Mental Health Act and admitted to the psychiatric ward.’
I shake my head, and the movement sends throbbing pain through my brain.
‘You don’t remember any of this?’
‘No!’ I struggle to keep calm.
‘When you were released from hospital and sent home, the effects of the drugs had completely worn off. You were functioning normally, although you were still a little sad. We were certain there would be no lasting side effects from the drugs but were not prepared to prescribe any more for obvious reasons. Even if a different antidepressant were prescribed, you’re probably more susceptible to another reaction from it.’
‘Why can’t I remember that?’
He closes the folder and looks me in the eye. ‘I’m not sure. You could have experienced another delayed side effect stemming from the Zolafaxine, or you could be suffering from amnesia brought on by the bump you have.’ He points towards my head. ‘Either way, it’s very worrying.’
Worrying would be an understatement in my book. ‘What happened after?’
‘After?’
‘When I was released from the hospital. When I was better. What happened then?’
He skims through more notes. ‘You had a follow up appointment with your primary care psychiatrist, Dr Drew, the week after. Everything seemed to be going well. He made a note that you were still grieving after the miscarriage, but he didn’t believe you were depressed. He signed you off work for a further three weeks. You declined a weekly session with him and said you were able to cope with life. He was happy that the psychotic episode was sparked off purely by the drugs and you had no underlying mental illness.’
‘What did I do when I was hallucinating?’
‘Your husband found you at home on his return from work. He said you were in the garden, scratching and digging the path with your fingers. You were hallucinating that a man was chasing you, trying to kill you. You were digging to try and get away from whoever you thought was after you.’
All the blood drains from my face. My skin turns clammy with sweat. He’s just described someone who isn’t me. Hallucination? Paranoia? Maybe I’m really hallucinating now. This is just some bizarre and incredible nightmare.
Isn’t it?
I stare at him, open-mouthed, trying to wrap my thoughts around this.
He looks down at my hands. ‘Apart from the abrasions on your wrists that you have now, your hands looked like that when you were brought in before. Bloody, scraped skin and broken fingernails.’
‘How is that possible? How could I hallucinate like that? How could I go from a sane person to having a psychotic episode?’
‘As I said, it was a reaction to the drugs. It’s very, very rare, but it can happen. We filed a pharmacovigilence report with the manufacturer as soon as we were sure.’ He appears uncomfortable, as if I’m about to threaten the hospital with legal action.
‘I don’t even know what that means.’
‘We are required by law to report any side effects to a drug. Especially when they’re as severe as you experienced.’
‘So…’ I take a deep breath and lean my head against the cool pillows. I’m exhausted. Want to close my eyes and sleep. Sleep forever. ‘I was released from hospital and I was fine, apart from still grieving because of the m…’ My eyes water. ‘The miscarriage. And then what happened? What about the kidnapping? I don’t remember how I got there. I don’t remember any of this. What if whoever took me hit me on the head? What if they know where I am?’
He nods sympathetically in that way doctors do when they don’t have a clue what’s wrong with you. Thinking hard, he rests his chin between his thumb and forefinger. ‘We’ll leave that side of things to the police, who will no doubt be here shortly. From a medical point of view, I’ll need to do some more tests. I’ll come back later, when you’ve rested.’
And then I get it. The cloud of doubt in his eyes. The concern on his face, as if he’s looking at a child who’s been caught lying.
He doesn’t believe I was kidnapped. He thinks I’ve had another ‘psychotic episode’.
5
The sound of shuffling footsteps jerks me awake. My eyelids fly open, heart racing, before my gaze settles on two men standing near the doorway.
‘Chloe Benson?’ The tall one says. He’s broad shouldered, late forties, with dark brown hair flecked grey around his temples. His black suit is rumpled. The other one is shorter with the build of a boxer and a nose that looks like it’s been broken a few times.
I swallow, my throat dry and scratchy. ‘Yes,’ I say warily, ready to reach for the alarm button beside my bed.
He takes a step forward and holds out a card with a photo and some writing on it. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Summers. This is Detective Sergeant Flynn.’ He gestures to his colleague with an upturned palm.
I squint at his police ID. The photo is of a younger Summers, who looks more like a criminal than a police officer. I nod, not sure what to say in these kinds of circumstances. I’ve never had cause to speak to the police for even a speeding fine. Somehow I feel guilty just being in their presence, as if I’ve done something wrong and I’m trying to hide it. I always get the same kind of feeling going through customs at the airport. Even though I’m a perfectly innocent traveller without so much as a duty free packet of cigarettes, I still feel guilty going through the Nothing to Declare section with all eyes on me, wondering if I really am a drug smuggling mule in disguise as a casually dressed English teacher.
‘It sounds like you’ve had quite an ordeal.’ Summers sits on the only plastic chair in the room next to my bed.
Flynn leans against the doorframe and pulls out a biro from his top pocket. He’s already holding a small notebook in his hand. He flips over a few pages before hovering his pen over the notebook.
‘Can you tell us what happened?’ Summers asks.
I tell them everything I can remember, from the time I woke up underground until the time I escaped and ran out into the road. I try to stay calm, but my heart palpitates and beads of sweat break out on my forehead and upper lip. When I finish, Summers looks at me with an expression of impassivity.
‘Can you think of any reason why someone would want to abduct you?’
‘No! I…I’m just a normal, average person. I’m not wealthy. I don’t associate with criminals. I’ve never even had so much as a parking ticket.’
‘What do you do for a living?’ Flynn stops scribbling and looks up at me.
‘I teach A Level English Language at Downham Sixth Form College.’
‘Are you married?’ Summers asks.
‘Yes. I’ve been married for two years to Liam Benson.’
‘What does your husband do?’
‘He’s a Pharmaceutical Manufacture Product Manager for Devon Pharmaceutical.’
‘Does he deal with anything sensitive?’ Summers frowns. ‘Animal testing, perhaps?’
‘No, he’s responsible for the manufacture of all the drugs they produce. He has nothing to do with the animal testing side of things as far as I know. Why?’
‘Some animal rights groups can be, let’s say, overzealous when it comes to animal testing. It’s not unheard of for pharmaceutical employees or their families to be targeted, which is something to consider. Where is your husband?’
‘The nurse spoke to him and he said he was in Scotland, working. Their plant that makes the drugs is in Aberdeen. He’s on his way back now.’
‘We’ll need to speak with him, too.’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘So you don’t remember anything leading up to when you were taken? Anything strange happening?’ Summers asks.
I glance down at my hands, my fingers throbbing. ‘No. The last thing I can remember is my husband’s birthday party, which was March the twenty-third. I can’t seem to remember the last seven weeks at all.’
I think about what Dr Traynor told me and place a hand on my stomach, as if the act will somehow bring my baby back to life.
Summers leans forward slightly. ‘Do you have any financial problems or owe money to anyone?’
‘No. I mean, our house is mortgaged, but we don’t have any other loans or anything. We’re financially secure.’
‘Have you received any kind of threats from anyone?’
‘No.’
‘You haven’t been followed recently? Had any strange calls?’
‘No.’
‘OK, how about any problems with people? Colleagues, family members, friends?’
‘No, nothing. Like I said, I’m just a normal person who lives a fairly quiet life.’ I pause, wondering how to tell them. ‘But…’ I close my eyes for a moment.
‘Yes?’ Summers’ voice prompts me to open them again.
‘Well… my doctor just told me something happened to me after the party.’
Summers inclines his head and waits for me to carry on.
I tell him all I know so far, and it’s as if I’m talking about someone else, because what Dr Traynor told me couldn’t possibly have happened, could it? It’s something so bizarre. One minute I would’ve been happy Chloe, excited about our first baby, and the next, I was crazy Chloe, hallucinating that people were out to get me and injuring myself trying to get away from them.
Summers regards me for a moment with his eyebrows raised. ‘Did you have a history of depression before the miscarriage?’
‘No, not that I know of.’ I wonder what other loose cannons are in my past that I can’t remember.
‘And no other allergic reaction to prescribed drugs before?’
‘Well, I can’t take penicillin because it brings me out in hives, but I...no, I’ve never had a…’ God, I can’t even bring myself to say the word ‘psychotic’. ‘I’ve never had a reaction like Dr Traynor described.’
Summers glances at Flynn for a brief moment then back to me. ‘What have the doctors said about your memory loss?’
‘Dr Traynor said there’s no brain injury or damage. It might be something to do with…’ I wave my hands around, trying to recall exactly what he said, but everything’s such a shock. ‘Erm…it might be a delayed reaction to the original antidepressants. They’re going to do some more tests.’
‘Do we have permission to speak to your doctors about your medical history?’
‘Yes. Yes, of course. I’ve got nothing to hide. I just want to get this sorted out. I won’t feel safe until whoever took me is caught. Will you be able to find out what happened? Because this man is still out there, and I don’t have a clue who he is or how he managed to abduct me.’ I glance at Summers, eyes pleading, my heart rate going through the roof.
‘Man? Is there anything that leads you to believe it was a man?’
‘Well…no, but why would a woman do this? It makes sense to be a man, doesn’t it?’
‘It’s very possible. Don’t worry, Mrs Benson, you’re safe here.’
I blink back the rising terror. ‘Please call me Chloe. And I won’t be here forever, will I? What if he comes back to get me?’
‘We’re going to do everything we can to find out what happened,’ Summers says, although he doesn’t look convinced. ‘But, with your limited memory of things, it may be a little difficult, I’m afraid.’
‘Do you know who found me?’ I ask.
‘A woman called…’ Flynn looks down at his notepad. ‘Anne Casey. She was driving down the Great North Road, heading home from work at the time. She called an ambulance on her mobile, and they met her at the scene.’
‘The Great North Road? That’s about five miles from where I live.’
‘You were found on a stretch of road that runs along the boundary of Sherrardspark Woods,’ Summers says. ‘Have you been to that area before? Walked in the woods, maybe?’
I start to shake my head, but the pain stops me. I lean back against the pillow and take a deep breath, willing the nausea to disappear. ‘No. Never. Liam’s driven down that road before when we’ve gone to Welwyn village, but I’ve never been into the woods.’
‘Would you be willing to accompany us to where you were found to see if you recognize the area where you might’ve come from?’ Summers asks.
The thought sends a chill up my spine, but I tell myself I’ll be safe. I’ll be with police officers. Nothing can happen again, can it?
Before I can answer, Liam rushes into the room, pushing past Flynn’s bulk in the doorway. ‘Oh, Chloe, I was so worried.’ He sits on the bed and crushes me to him, enveloping his arms round me. He holds me so tight it’s painful.
‘Ouch!’ I yelp.
He releases me. ‘I’m sorry. Are you in pain? Are you OK?’ He leans back and studies me, his pale blue eyes darting a concerned look between my face and my bandaged hands. He touches the scratches on my cheeks gingerly. ‘I spoke to the nurse on the phone, but she only told me the basics. They said you’ve lost your memory. Is that true? What happened, darling?’
‘I don’t really know. I was…abducted.’ I repeat the story I told Summers and Flynn, and somehow it seems less real the more I tell it.
‘What?’ Liam’s eyes widen. His lips twist into a thin line. ‘Oh, Chloe. It didn’t happen again, did it?’ He shakes his head softly at me. ‘I thought everything was going to be OK now. You were doing so much better. The doctors told us there’d be no lasting effects.’
‘This isn’t from those drugs. It happened. It really happened. I was kidnapped.’ I risk a glance past him to Summers, who’s looking at me with a blank face.
‘But this is exactly what happened before.’ Liam’s voice quietens.
‘Liam, this isn’t anything like before,’ I say, even though I don’t know what it was like before, because I can’t bloody remember. ‘Someone took me and put me somewhere underground. I escaped. I ran for my life and made it to the road where a woman found me and called for help.’
He glances down at my bandaged hands. ‘But your hands?’ He strokes my forearm softly. ‘It’s what you did last time.’
‘Apparently.’ Even though I’m bone-numbingly tired, anger rises within me. I try to bite it back. Anger doesn’t work well with Liam, and I need him to believe me. Need everyone to believe me. ‘But I know what happened. And he’s still out there. The man or…or whoever took me.’ I start to cry then. Fat tears fall uncontrollably down my cheeks. My shoulders shake. My nose blocks.
‘You said you don’t remember what happened, though, Chloe.’ Liam sighs ever so slightly.
‘No, I remember waking up in that place. I remember escaping. But I don’t remember how I got there.’
Liam puts one arm protectively round my shoulder and twists on the bed so he’s looking at Summers for the first time. ‘You’re from the police station?’
‘Yes. DI Summers.’ He holds out his hand for Liam to shake, but Liam ignores it.
‘And what do you think?’ Liam asks him.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Her story.’
‘It’s not a story.’ I wipe my nose on the back of my bandaged hand and look at Summers, trying to send him a silent message that I’m telling the truth. This isn’t some kind of deranged flashback. I’m not deluded or confused.
Summers’ gaze flicks between Liam and me. ‘Your wife has obviously been through some kind of traumatic incident, and it’s my job to find out what that is.’
Liam tenses beside me.
I take a big sniff. It echoes in the ensuing silence.
‘You were in Scotland for business?’ Summers asks Liam, taking charge.
‘Yes.’
‘For how long?’
‘I flew up to Aberdeen three days ago.’
‘And Chloe was at home when you last saw her?’
‘Yes. Did she tell you what happened when she was hospitalized before?’
Summers nods. ‘She did. But it will help to hear things from you, since Chloe clearly doesn’t re
member the incident. The last thing she remembers is your party.’
‘Yes. It was my fortieth. Lots of friends were there. It was a good night. And then…’ Liam glances at me with sadness. ‘The day after the party, Chloe told me she was pregnant.’
I stifle a sob.
‘But…in the early hours of the following morning, she had a miscarriage.’ Liam tightens his arm round my shoulder. ‘After the miscarriage, she became depressed. She wasn’t eating or sleeping, and she’d lost all interest in life. So I insisted she went to see her GP, who prescribed some antidepressants and sleeping tablets. Unfortunately, she had some kind of reaction to the antidepressants, though, and…well…’ He looks over at me to check I’m OK.
‘Carry on. I want to hear this,’ I say. Maybe ‘want’ is the wrong word. I need to hear this. Need to know if I’m going insane. Again.
Liam makes a sound like a sigh. ‘Chloe suffered from hallucinations and exhibited paranoid behaviour. She thought a man was chasing her, trying to kill her. I came home from work and found her in the garden, scratching and digging at the path. She was screaming, trying to get away from whomever she thought was chasing her. When I tried to help her, she was confused and disorientated. She just fought back.’
My cheeks burn with embarrassment, self-loathing, disbelief.
‘We had to have her sectioned for her own safety.’
An involuntary gasps escapes my lips. If Liam hears it, he ignores the sound and carries on talking about me. I’ve been reduced to a mere spectator in my life.
‘The antidepressants were stopped immediately, and she was given anti-psychotic drugs until she appeared to return to her normal self.’
‘How long was I in hospital for?’ I force the question out, even though the words seem to stick on my tongue.
Liam gives me a sideways glance. ‘A week. Then you had an outpatient appointment with the psychiatrist. But we all thought you were getting better. They didn’t think there would be any lasting effects from the drugs when they were out of your system. But now this has happened and…well, you must know how this sounds, Chloe. It’s all so far-fetched. And so much like what happened before. We don’t want to waste the police’s time, do we?’ He strokes my shoulder and looks at Summers with an apologetic expression.
