Only the Strongest Survive

by Ian Fox

  Everyone except Alexandra nodded.

  “There’s one more thing,” he added. “Above all, we must …”

  The door opened. Everyone looked at Maria, who stood there crying, clearly badly shaken.

  Blake asked, “What’s happened?”

  Maria stared for a few moments, not knowing how to start. She tried to dry the tears on her face. “The police called.” She paused, and then went on. “They’ve found Emely. My God, they’ve found Emely.”

  Chapter 22

  _______________________

  “We’ve arrived, Ms. Donnovan,” the driver said.

  A black limousine, over thirty feet long, stopped near the sidewalk. The doors were bulletproof, as was the dark-blue glass. A complicated security system guided by the latest computer system built into the vehicle ensured further safety. Any world leader could be riding in such a car.

  Emely, sitting on the luxurious white leather seat, put down a cup of tea and thought about the last seven difficult months during which she had spent all her strength on fighting the press. It was lucky that she had come back just as Robert Miles began publishing his potentially damaging articles. Other journalists followed him in an attack on her.

  Every television station in the country broadcast her arrival home.

  “What happened? Who kidnapped you? Where have you been all this time?” the reporters shouted as she had stepped out of the police car.

  Something strange was happening. Finally, she was free, in her own house, but she couldn’t go out—the media were watching all the exits.

  After a few days, when she had recovered, she called a press conference and explained what had happened. Of course she did not mention the love story between John and her.

  The journalists immediately began asking her questions about the takeovers. For a few hours she had to answer their questions, satisfying most of their hunger. But new attacks occurred every day, without mercy, and she had to keep fighting for months. She spent millions of dollars on advertising campaigns. After a long time, finally the furor died down.

  When she had been incarcerated in the room, she wanted so much to go home, to be saved, but now that she was home, she was unhappy. Often she wanted to escape somewhere. Before all this, she had gladly gone to work every morning, but now something was missing. Everything she did was done without enthusiasm. It seemed pointless. All that gathering of money, heaps of money. What use will it be to me? she wondered.

  She lifted the small baby lying in a travel cot next to her and then immediately patted Kitty on the head. “I do still love you,” she told the dog.

  The man sitting next to the driver got out and opened the door for her.

  “Thank you, Gruber,” she said as she elegantly slipped out of the car. She was wearing a dark-green woolen suit. Her hair was up so that a Cartier necklace was in full view. Diamonds and emeralds sparkled in every direction.

  The driver got out of the car as well. Both men were in black suits and under their jackets they both carried guns and small radio transmitters with which they could call their office at any moment. If one of them were to press a small button, in a few minutes at least thirty fully armed men would come to their rescue. If necessary, the police would swoop in with helicopters. Emely didn’t want to take another risk; life had taught her to be careful. She never felt completely safe again, always looking for danger, even when asleep.

  “Stay by the car,” she ordered the men.

  They nodded, closely watching the surroundings while she walked away. They were not happy about having to leave her on her own.

  She walked along a narrow, gravel path, looking at the marble gravestones and wooden crosses and the inscriptions on them. Gently she rocked the baby and whispered something in his ear. He was a calm baby that hardly ever cried and was always smiling, showing his first little teeth, as if knowing that a life with no financial difficulties awaited.

  Emely paused and looked around. Without being aware of it, she checked if everything was alright. As if this were a jungle, she made sure that there was no danger. She was always prepared for the worst scenario, never trusting anyone. The dog also stopped and looked at her.

  After circling the whole place, she finally stopped in front of her security guards to make sure that they were awake and doing their job. She was paying them a triple salary and demanded full commitment from them.

  Slowly, she walked away again, rocking the baby. She had never been at St. Nicholas’s Cemetery, but knew exactly where she had to go. A few months back she had hired a private detective, who had sent her a detailed map with full instructions. It took her a long time before she decided to come here. Finally, she managed to gather the courage and here she was, among souls invisibly dancing around, looking at their visitors. At least that’s what she believed.

  She inhaled the warm air, imbued with the scent of leaves from the many trees that adorned the cemetery. Suddenly she saw herself banging on the walls of that coffin, hoping that the wood would yield. She felt breathless and had to stop and put her left hand on her mouth.

  Both bodyguards noticed her reaction. One of them set off at a quick pace and the other followed.

  Emely soon recovered. She had learned to drive away these horrible thoughts, the result of her ordeal. Let them go, she always told herself, and never come back. She could only hope that one day she would find true peace again and her visions would stay away.

  She looked to the right and saw the bodyguards running toward her. Quickly she lifted her hand to say that this was not necessary, and the two men stopped immediately. With a gesture she indicated that she was alright and that they should return to the car. They obeyed.

  They often got on her nerves, but she didn’t dare go anywhere without them. Bodyguards could be difficult. They somehow owned you and start ordering you around regarding the most everyday matters: Ms. Donnovan, shopping at this hour is not good, there are big crowds. Ms. Donnovan, you cannot sit on the terrace, helicopters …. Ms. Donnovan, it’s best if you walk around the park, it’s not safe inside it. … Ms. Donnovan, we strongly advise you not to ride your bicycle because ….

  She was fed up with these ideas about what she could and couldn’t do. She wanted to live without them, yet knew it was impossible.

  The nearer she came to her destination, the tenser she became. She felt strangely hot. She thought about her life. Ever since she was free, she had been alone, unable to get close to anyone. She and Philip had broken up. He had found another woman and Emily was not upset about this at all. Before, she had thought that she loved him, but then realized it was not true love. There was no shortage of men trying to seduce her. She even slept with some of them, but never felt anything for any of them. As if she was empty, incapable of love.

  She walked slowly, looking slightly to the right at the various gravestones along the path. She read the inscriptions, calculating how long those people had lived. The number of those who had died too young surprised her and the thought that she could have been among them made her feel a lump in her throat. She walked on, looking at the sky. It was bright blue and cloudless, as if nature had prepared itself for her visit. She looked down again and suddenly spotted it.

  John Langdon

  1981–2011

  Emely again put her hand at the base of her neck, her heart nearly stopping. The gravestone said nothing but his name, year of birth, and year of death in golden letters. She transferred her hand to her heart, the pain too deep to bear, and the first tears appeared in her eyes.

  Calmly she stared at his face, crying quietly. She remembered his last look, his sensual eyes embracing her lovingly, reflecting immense pain. “Oh, John,” she said quietly. She cried and cried and let her emotions overcome her.

  The baby in her arms didn’t know why she was crying. In amazement he looked at the droplets rolling down her cheeks, and then touched one of them. The tear was so fragile it immediately broke. The baby made happy sounds and he touched every new
tear that came out.

  “You know, Bobby, my friend is sleeping here,” she told her son, who couldn’t understand a word. He just laughed, waving his chubby arms around.

  Emely sniveled and then said, “He was … he was …”

  She swallowed.

  “… your father.”

  The tears ran with such force that she could barely see.

  “… and he really was … he was … a rascal …”

  She could no longer contain herself and stopped caring about being watched. Let them go to hell! She kissed her son on the cheeks and said, “But even though he was a rascal …”

  She wiped her nose. “… I … I loved him very much.”

  She nodded a few times and went on in a calmer voice. “Yes, John, I loved you.” For the first time in her life she admitted to herself openly that she had loved somebody.

  “And I still love you, John.”

  She turned away and saw one of the bodyguards approaching, carrying a box of tissues. She nodded to say he could come near and that she would be ready to go soon.

  For a few more seconds Emely stared at the gravestone, then lifted her head and handed the baby to the bodyguard. She took a tissue with gratitude, and then again cuddled the baby into her arms and walked along the path toward the limousine, with her head bowed. The seductive scent of her perfume wafted several feet behind her.

  * * * * *

  About the Author

  Ian Fox was born in Slovenia (EU), and has also lived in the U.S.A., France, and Germany. He is fluent in English, French, and German. Because of his extensive international experience, his books are set in the U.S.A. and Europe. Ian’s books have enjoyed great success in Europe. He has published three crime (mystery) novels that have sold very well and been ranked among the top 100 most borrowed library books in Slovenia. He is currently working on two new novels. Enthusiastic readers write to him, saying they can’t put his books down and read them in a few days. Individual libraries have ranked his works among the top ten, sometimes even the top five most-borrowed books.

  Connect with me online:

  Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/ianfoxwriter

  My blog: http://ianfoxwriter.blogspot.com/

  About other books:

  Promise Me Eternity

  Dr. Simon Patterson is a successful and well-respected neurosurgeon at Central Hospital in the town of Medford. Married, though without children, he keeps himself so busy that one day is not much different than another. Until, that is, he saves the life of the powerful mobster Carlo Vucci.

  At a dinner in honor of Dr. Patterson, Carlo Vucci introduces him to his alluring wife Christine. Simon is entranced by her beauty.

  Three weeks later, Christine shows up at the hospital, complaining of terrible headaches. Dr. Patterson offers to help her, but Christine did not come to see him just because of her headaches. A series of shocking events follow that turn Dr. Patterson’s life into a nightmare. Among other things, he finds himself in court being accused of murder in the first degree. …

  Forget About the Past

  (Will be published after February 2012.)

  Reporter Anya Horvat, who works at Clarice, a weekly women’s magazine, has relationship problems with men. She is thirty-five years old, yet has never had a single relationship that lasted more than two months. This reality prompts her to consult the well-known and successful psychiatrist, Patricia Bellows, who is later found horribly murdered. Anya has never dealt with a murder investigation before, but when her boss literally forces her to take the assignment, she begins to uncover the murdered psychiatrist’s intriguing past—and at the same time, the source of her own problems. …