And here I am, left alone again, wondering what Jeremy has managed to place me in the middle of this time.
I notice that my suitcase has appeared at the foot of the bed and relief washes over my entire body. This one act of seeing my own belongings in this austere environment is enough to ensure I am once again overcome with emotion. But I gather myself together and try to convince my heart and mind to remain aloof and professional. I desperately miss Elizabeth and Jordan, more than I ever have in my life. I wish I had my phone and the most recent photo they sent through. They say you don’t appreciate something until it’s gone. I feel as if they have been torn away from their mother’s embrace and I have stupidly and naively allowed this to happen. Would other mothers have made the decisions I have made the past couple of months? Quite possibly not, I have to concede.
It is hard enough to come to terms with myself, let alone worry about others’ opinions of my actions, but what if something had happened to me and they became motherless? I can’t bear to linger on this thought as it threatens to break my heart violently in two. A more rational part of my brain wonders whether Robert and I have updated our wills. I must make this a priority when I return…if I return in one piece. Oh god, how the hell did I end up here? This feels so very different from my week away with Jeremy. Then, the excitement and the continual adrenaline rush of not knowing what was coming next seemed to keep my mind from the emotional turmoil I was in and, of course, it was Jeremy who was in the driver’s seat, making all the decisions, taking control. I knew deep down I could trust him with my life, knowing he would ensure I was reunited with my children, my world. But now, who do I trust in this environment? What hasn’t Jeremy told me? I don’t even know exactly who knows I am missing — maybe Jeremy is keeping that information to himself as well…
I abruptly halt that train of thought, knowing it is getting me nowhere and has the potential to unravel me entirely. Professional and businesslike is my new mantra. No time for threatening emotions. You have survived exceptionally well in the business world before, Alexa, I say firmly to myself, and that is all this needs to be. If you play your cards right, you’ll be out of here in a few days time, just as Madame said. Hopefully…if you can trust her…
I scrunch my fists into a tight ball in an attempt to marshal my strength of mind before stripping myself out of this ludicrous dress. I open my suitcase and staring up at me is my newly acquired very slinky negligee, which was reserved especially for meeting Jeremy. Now I wish I still had my other bag with my British Airways pyjamas! I decide to opt for the only truly casual clothes I have packed and slop on my gym pants, comfy bra and a T-shirt. If Madame Goldy wants to negotiate, then that is exactly what we will do. I determinedly settle myself at the small desk, not knowing what I will find inside the dossier labelled: ‘Dr Alexandra Blake — Private
& Confidential’.
To say that I’m shocked is an understatement. It appears that Jeremy has indeed presented to the International Scientific Advisory Board on depression, bipolar disorder and related conditions.
In doing so, he has referenced results on a live pre-menopausal, Anglo-Saxon female with type AB blood grouping…yes, that would be me, how convenient. The results identified the missing element in the hormonal comparisons of realising natural serotonin without the harsh side effects of existing drugs and returning all chemical balance to the brain to normal ranges within three to five days.
I’m pleased he thinks I have ‘returned to normal’ because I certainly feel anything but normal given I’ve been experiencing ‘episodes’ ever since then, which he knows nothing about because he has been too busy spouting forth about his results instead of tapping back into his clinical research. Shit, what has he done? Why, Jeremy? Why didn’t you tell me you were going to do this…you didn’t mention a word about it during our recent chats. Why are you still keeping me in the dark? There is so much more I need to talk to you about.
Today we aim to submit a comprehensive funding proposal to approve the testing of up to 100 females of AB blood type. Anglo-Saxon and pre-menopausal are prerequisites for testing of these subjects in clinical environments; half will have been previously diagnosed medically with some form of relational depression and the other half will never have experienced diagnosed depression. They will undergo a series of tests and be administered drugs in relation to placebo…
Why the hell hasn’t he mentioned this to me? Where is he conducting these tests? How will he secure these women? Is he going to subject these women to the same experience as he did me? Did it all mean nothing to him? I feel blood pounding through my veins in fury as I continue to read through these documents. Please don’t let Madame Goldy be correct. How the hell could he have neglected to tell me anything about this? Did he give me other drugs during our time together, drugs I didn’t know about? Heaven knows he could have, and it may more appropriately explain these damn ‘episodes’. He said he gave me a sedative after my experience and I woke up somewhere he called Avalon, dazed and confused for what felt like days.
Anything could have happened and I wouldn’t be any the wiser. Then there was the drip, the need for a catheter, and blacking out again. Oh, dear god, could I have been that naive? Did I trust him so implicitly that I didn’t even think to ask these sorts of questions? With this realisation, my stomach feels like it is doing a complete three-sixty degrees in my belly and I lurch up from the desk and stumble into the bathroom, instantly heaving up the contents of my dinner. Did I concede that much of myself to him? I know the answer to the question. Of course I did. I handed everything over to him that weekend.
My sight. My body. My mind.
I was totally at his mercy, before allowing myself to be ensconced in the supposed warmth of his care — now more obviously his absolute dominance over me. A shiver thunders down my spine as an entirely new version of our time together flashes before my eyes and an ice-cold feeling settles in my bones. I tightly grip the basin as I consider a completely different perspective on what was not so obvious to me before. His absolute control over every detail, every interaction. The ever-present ominous undercurrent of his tone. His absolute refusal to negotiate any of the predetermined conditions of our weekend together. No sight. No questions.
Holy fuck! How could I have been so blind? What a stupid statement. Of course I was blind. He ensured I was blind — and bound when necessary — for the entire 48 hours, which was all centred on the experiment, and it enabled him to do whatever he chose to do.
And now, for the first time, in this chateau, I am questioning exactly what that was. Was I so caught up in the sheer sexuality of the experience that I intellectually overlooked everything else? What an easy target I would have been for the oh-so-suave and sophisticated Dr Quinn. My passionless marriage; our shared sexual past; his connection to my body being like nothing I’ve ever experienced with anyone else; his remote control button facilitating my orgasms. What hope did I have? How could he lose?
I have a sudden flashback to just before we jumped out of the plane when he told me I was in perfect health. I questioned how he would know such information as we went hurtling out the plane. He’d said he needed to make sure there was enough adrenaline pumping through my veins to get through the evening — this all occurred before we had even discussed my involvement, let alone me agreeing. Damn him. Had he been researching me long before our weekend away?
Obviously he had, because he knew everything about my medical history. Would it have honestly made any difference whether I had agreed to the experiment or not? Maybe not, maybe my whole decision-making process was inconsequential and I played right into his hands regardless!
Flashes of the hot chocolates flitter through my mind; anything could have been in them. His casual conversation regarding his knowledge of my rare AB blood, as he was so confidently extracting his fourth instalment from my veins. As if he owned me! He never told me he was going to do that and I didn’t even know about the first three times. Would he hav
e told me? And why subject me to that dreadful catheter and drip when he has always known how much I hate that stuff? Was that really necessary or was there so much more at play?
The memory of his words and my version of events somersaults in my mind as my heart feels battered and bruised by these entirely new insights. It is as if I have been shining the narrow beam of the flashlight only on the components of our time together that I wanted to see, rather than turning the room light on to see the entire scene. Am I that gullible, that naive? I have always been an easy target for the great Dr Quinn and it appears nothing has changed. I am still a medical experiment to him, a means to an end in his all-encompassing search for a cure. He has chosen to present his results professionally before I am privy to them myself — and they are about me! Once again, I’m a mere pawn in the masterful game of his life and he has deliberately chosen to keep me in the dark.
My body trembles with betrayal and rage. How could he have put me in this situation if he honestly loved me? Did he ever love me? His desperation and drive for a cure has catapulted me into danger and into taking more personal risks than in my worst nightmares. He doesn’t care about me, about my children. I could never contemplate doing what he has done to a person that I love. And he has carefully and callously manoeuvred me into this point of no return. On the flight over I was like an excitable young puppy looking forward to the next instalment of Jeremy-esque experimentation on my body and my mind. Which is actually really bizarre when I think about it in this context. He was my world and I would have done anything for him, including leaving my kids for almost two weeks to eagerly take part in whatever was on offer.
What a bloody idiot I am. No sex is worth this risk, damn it, and now I’ve been abducted in a bloody suitcase because of him and his silence. Well, fuck him! I’m so angry at him and so very disappointed with myself. I swipe at the stinging hot tears sliding down my face; I can’t deal with any more emotion.
I quickly brush my teeth to remove the awful taste in my mouth and collapse on the bed, overwhelmed by fatigue and complete exhaustion. I’m unconscious in seconds, my sleep too heavy and absolute to allow any dreams to seep through.
Jeremy
I toss and turn during the night, completely disturbed by the dreams and imagery I have in my head about Alexa’s plight. At some stage, I decide it’s useless attempting any more sleep given the tense state I’m in, and spend a few hours poring over the information Moira has collated in the personal dossiers on each of the forum members. I obviously can’t do this when Sam’s around, as he would be shocked to think I might even consider he would ever intentionally harm Alexa. I know he loves her like a daughter.
I sense that I’m missing something but I just can’t put my finger on it. I send a quick message back to Moira asking if she can access the mobile phone records of each forum member from the time of my trip to Sydney to see if that provides any leads before jumping into the shower to freshen up. It’s a long shot and possibly illegal, depending on who is paying the bills, but I can’t afford to leave any stone unturned. I quickly get dressed and pack up my belongings, desperate to be on the move. Just as I’m about to call Moira for a more thorough update, Sam knocks on the door.
‘Morning Jeremy, did you sleep —’ He doesn’t bother continuing with pleasantries, he can sense my anxiety.
‘What’s the update, Sam? I was just calling Moira.’
‘They’ve tracked Alexandra to Slovenia.’
‘Slovenia? What the hell would they take her there for? I only know of two pharmaceutical companies based there. Zealex, which is only small and I doubt would be involved but you never know, I suppose, and I think Xsade has only a small office, not a large factory or other concern there, but I could be wrong. This is good, Sam. At least now we have something more concrete to work on.’
‘Maybe it’s best if you read this for yourself, it just came through.’ Sam hands me a file and my eyes scan its contents rapidly.
‘So, they believe she is being kept somewhere near Kranj and has been stationary for the past few hours. Right, we need to get going, Sam, we can’t waste another second. When’s our flight?’
‘Martin’s organised the team to assemble in Munich as it’s more accessible for everyone to fly to, particularly from the States. We’ll have a room set up at the airport Hilton and will coordinate our plan from there.’ I grab the map that has been included in the file.
‘It’s too far away, Sam. We can’t afford the time or the distance.’ I study the map in more detail and decide Ljubljana is a better option. I pick up my phone and speak to Sarah, my assistant, before covering the phone and turning back to face Sam.
‘I’m organising my own flight, I’ll let Martin know when it’s done. What do you want to do?
Are you coming with me or going to Munich to coordinate with the others?’ I can’t keep bitter sarcasm out of the word ‘coordinate’. Its passive undertones are making me even more determined for direct action. I wait for his decision.
‘I’ll come with you.’ I nod and return to the phone
‘Right, yes, Sarah, that’s one for me and one for Sam. As soon as we can… Stansted? Sure, and we’ll need a car when we arrive. Make it safe and fast. Yes, we’re ready, have the car meet us outside One Aldwych. Thanks. Keep me posted as any news arrives. Yes, we will. Bye.’
I then call Martin who isn’t too impressed that we aren’t following his master plan, but he’ll survive. He hopes to have a trained bodyguard meet us at the airport, but it may take too long to organise, given our direct flight.
Finally, I feel like we are moving a step closer to saving Alexa.
Our bodyguard is a few hours behind us when we arrive in Slovenia and I decide we can’t afford to wait. He can catch up with us as best he can. Sarah organises a BMW M5, which is the only bit of good news we’ve had. I jump in the driver’s seat and we make our way into Ljubljana to pick up some supplies before heading north towards Kranj. While I drive, Sam’s on the phone to Martin for an update.
‘Yes, we’re here, on the road now. Sure we have a GPS, give me the coordinates. Has she been moved? Still there, good, that’s one thing at least. Okay, can you organise accommodation as close as you can without it being too obvious? No, we don’t have guns.’ I turn to glance at Sam and he looks considerably paler. ‘Jeremy, can you use a gun?’ I confirm that I have in the past. ‘He has but…okay…right, we’ll see. Hopefully he won’t be too far behind us. No, we aren’t stopping.’ Sam glances towards me and I deliberately accelerate to reiterate his point.
‘Okay, good, send it through when you have the details.’
We sit in anxious silence as I concentrate on driving towards the place where we believe Alex is being held captive.
Our accommodation is nothing like One Aldwych but I don’t give a shit. It’s the Eastern European version of a basic outback hotel — that is, nothing flash. The village is small and old, with cobblestone bridges crisscrossing a small river that meanders between the houses and shops. It would look quite picturesque under any other circumstances. The main thing is we are closer to Alex and that’s where I need to be. According to the GPS signal from her bracelet, it appears that she is being held in a castle high on a hillside behind the town and there is nothing else close to it. We settle in as much as we can. I turn to look at Sam and he looks absolutely exhausted, poor bloke, all this has to be tough on him. His face looks like all this drama has certainly taken its toll, particularly as he has almost twenty years on me.
‘Why don’t you rest for a bit while I go for a walk, Sam? There isn’t too much we can do now except wait for the bodyguard to arrive and the team to assemble in Munich.’ He doesn’t disagree, at least, and I have so much adrenaline pumping through me I need to do something physical and outdoors.
‘I might do that, and I’ll give Martin a call again to see how everything is going.’
I start throwing a few things in the backpack I bought in Ljubljana as I want to hike up the
hill to check out the castle — anything to feel closer to Alex and the activity helps temper my nerves. As I turn to walk out the door, I look back towards a stressed and tired Samuel.
‘Thanks for everything, Sam, I really appreciate you coming with me today. I know this isn’t easy on you either.’
‘We just need to find our girl. Be careful on your hike, Jeremy. Please don’t take any unnecessary risks. We can’t afford two of you missing.’ It’s as if he understands my intentions exactly without me having to disclose them.
‘I will, just doing some reconnaissance while we await the arrival of our highly-trained compatriots.’ I can’t help but give him a wink and I see a tiny smile appear on his face before it vanishes just as quickly.
‘We will get through this, Sam.’ He nods in silence and I depart.
The fresh air is chilly and crisp as I locate a path that winds from the small village up towards the hillside castle. On any other day, I’d take my time to look around. Alexa would love the cutesiness of this village. My thoughts wonder what Alexa is going through at this moment.
Does she know where she is? Are they treating her well? Is she in pain? God, I realise I’m beginning to sound like her as questions continue to flood through my mind.
The exercise is doing me good and I’m pleased to be out in the fresh air. I continue along the path which climbs steeply up the mountainside. Eventually I turn a corner and can see the castle clearly in the distance. It is literally built into the mountainside and looks both majestic and defiant. Its whitewashed walls and turrets appear to be Renaissance style and centuries old, but I’m no expert on architectural history. I climb higher until I am almost at eye level with the front of the chateau, with only a small valley between us. I settle in behind a rock to protect myself from being seen and locate the binoculars in my backpack. I scan the entire chateau and notice figures moving around the entrances. I zoom in as much as I can and it looks like they are armed.
Destined to Feel Page 8
