I could see nothing through the hessian bag even though it was loosely woven as we were some hours into nightfall, the trail we were walking along was shielded from any illumination available from the night sky by the dense jungle canopy that covered us. I saw only the occasional flicker from torch light at my feet. I felt extremely uneasy because of my lack of vision. My hearing was acute. I could hear everything. The jungle teemed with life, each species competing to be heard, each new sound piercing my imagination like a splinter as my mind raced to recognise them. My instincts felt like they had been cast back to a time long forgotten when man walked naturally in this environment. Even held prisoner my fight or flight response was primed for action. There was a leopard somewhere on this trail just waiting to devour me I listened tentatively trying to distinguish his call above the rest.

We’d been walking for what seemed like a couple of hours now and I was sweating profusely unable to wipe my brow my eyes stung as it found its way into them the pain was matched and then surpassed as the salty sweat ran into my cut up wrists. My captors hardly spoke only the occasional mumblings nothing distinguishable coming from some distance to the front and the sporadic command to stop as I was guided over obstacles that crossed our path and the relief of the one syllable order “drink” as a bottle was pressed to my to my mouth. The only comfort apart from the relief from my parched throat I took from this was that my captors, at least the ones I’d heard talk were definitely English. A couple of hours further along the trail we seemed to arrive at what felt like an opening. The sun was beginning to rise and the break in the canopy alowed some light to break through to my eyes. It didn’t help much but I felt more secure I could make out the placement of the ground I was walking on and the shadows of men in front of me. I was halted as we grouped together and I heard the movement and breathing of several men some of them taking the opportunity to drink hungrily I too was given a minimal gulp of the good stuff, which tasted blissfully crisp against my dry tongue even though I had to drink through the hideous hessian bag I was wearing. Before I had chance to sigh at the relief I felt the needle jabbed into my upper arm. I tried in vane to pull away but it was hopeless.

I woke up yet again in a strange environment feeling fresher and more alert than on previous occasions. I was getting used to the trauma of my situation and the constant sedation as disconcerting as it was. I laid in the middle of a circular room. some sort of primitive but well structured shack with a large wooden pole about twelve inches in diameter reaching out from the hard dirt floor I laid upon up to the center of the roof at its highest point. It reminded me of the moveable dwellings the indigenous people erect on the plains of Mongolia. The building was sparse and completely empty about six metres in diameter. Above me skirting the pole about five feet up was some sort of shelf that wrapped the pole and seemed to be emitting the soft light that was making my surroundings visible. My feet were chained to the bottom of the pole so I shuffled and stretched my body out flat to see what the light was on top of the shelf. There were large candles circling the shelf. As I moved back towards the pole something moved behind me. I hadn’t checked behind me so far and as I did I saw a small boy jump to his feet. He made an energetic pronouncement before turning and hastily moving a curtained doorway aside as he ran out of the room. He looked southern Asian in appearance possibly Indian the accent matched, he couldn’t have been any older than twelve at the most.

I waited apprehensively for whatever returned, the boy had obviously gone to tell someone that I was awake. I didn’t know what to make of my new captor did a small boy bode well for me compared to armed soldiers? I waited to see. A few minutes later the boy returned with an old man stooped with a huge grey beard and wearing nothing but a bright orange Gandhi type nappy affair. He looked at me smiling through his long grey hair ranted some indistinguishable words before approaching me. He carried a decrepit looking bowl and tumbler that looked like they had been fashioned out of wood, still laughing he placed them at my feet and gestured as he rose for me to tuck in. I smiled back and bowed a thank you. Pleased by my response his smile widened to reveal his tombstone yellow teeth which seemed to be missing every second one. He reached across to the young boy ruffled his hair and muttered something inaudible before they turned and headed out of my new humble abode. I reached for my food the bowl contained rice with some small bits of meat which I couldn’t make out its origin from tasting but it was pleasant enough. The tumbler on the other hand was the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow it contained goats milk freshly acquired I’d had it before and it was a favourite of mine I gulped it down greedily licking my lips as I did so and giving the obligatory sighed exhalation of pleasure as I announced bloody gorgeous to the empty room.

The short lived satisfaction of the meal soon melted away as I began to think about what was happening to me and more importantly my Wife and Daughter. I couldn’t shake the constantly repeating question in my head could they really still be alive? Up to now whether able or not I’d done nothing proactive to find out and that had to change and it had to change fast.

I hadn’t been awake at the start of the flight so had no clue how long we had been flying but it seemed pretty obvious that I was no longer in England or even the British isles. I feared we were going long haul, the desert camouflage that the soldiers were wearing added to my suspicions. The three of them were still away with the fairies, didn’t bode well for a short trip. Well trained soldiers sleep whenever they get the chance the same goes for eating, it‘s just good drills. Who knows when they may get another chance? Thinking about food started to awaken the first pangs of hunger in me. This made me feel that the time from when Hunter had put me out, to where I was now; even though I’d spent most of it unconscious can’t have been that long. Although I couldn‘t really be sure, the drugs could have suppressed my appetite. I was hooked up to a drip though, which explained why I wasn’t thirsty I suppose. I didn’t feel dehydrated at all. In fact the ridiculous wooden gag I was wearing made me salivate a lot more than normal, awkwardly I had to keep swallowing the saliva to prevent my self from choking, I failed to see the reason for this medieval piece of equipment, tape would be just as effective a gag. They must be sadistic scum that prefer their prisoner to go more for the gimp look. Maybe I had the leather mask and orange ball gag to look forward to, shit I hope not I hated that scene in Pulp fiction. I was getting paranoid someone wouldn’t go to all this trouble to make me their bitch.

My thoughts were interrupted by a presence behind me. I didn’t hear the footstep but I sensed someone approaching, perfectly still I waited for whatever appeared.

“Mr Knight I see you are awake, a little over an hour now and we are not pretending to be asleep this time.”

I didn’t respond the gag made it pointless but it was the same fuzzy faced doctor that had injected me the last time; I recognized his all knowing voice. Now no longer under the influence of any narcotics I was a little astonished to see he looked exactly like Ewan McGregor, the actor off the television series the Long Way Round and Star Wars movies. Only he had in place of a Scottish accent a distinguishably educated English one. I’d bet my last penny he was out of the Oxbridge university system.

“Your tolerance is growing rapidly Mr Knight, won’t be long before the current sedatives we are using are ineffectual. Luckily we have a selection to choose from but for now I’ll leave you awake.”

I didn’t respond trying to act as if still under the influence. The Doctor turned round and headed back in the direction he had come from. I gave a gargled sigh of relief for the chance to remain conscious for the time being. I began to watch the soldiers again; they were my most interesting view even with three of them asleep. I was surprised by how similar they looked. They all looked pretty much the same in height probably my height. They’d each taken off their helmets but I couldn’t see any near them, maybe they wore berets. That wasn’t what struck me about them though. What did was their hair colour. They were all fair haired not exactly the same, two of them were more reddish than blond but they did look strikingly similar as if they had just come off a production line. It was probably coincidence I thought or possibly an indication to their origin maybe they were northern European. I hadn’t heard any off them speak yet I would listen tentatively for any clue. I could do nothing else.

I didn’t respond the gag made it pointless but it was the same fuzzy faced doctor that had injected me the last time; I recognized his all knowing voice. Now no longer under the influence of any narcotics I was a little astonished to see he looked exactly like Ewan McGregor, the actor off the television series the Long Way Round and Star Wars movies. Only he had in place of a Scottish accent a distinguishably educated English one. I’d bet my last penny he was out of the Oxbridge university system.
“Your tolerance is growing rapidly Mr Knight, won’t be long before the current sedatives we are using are ineffectual. Luckily we have a selection to choose from but for now I’ll leave you awake.”

I didn’t respond trying to act as if still under the influence. The Doctor turned round and headed back in the direction he had come from. I gave a gargled sigh of relief for the chance to remain conscious for the time being. I began to watch the soldiers again; they were my most interesting view even with three of them asleep. I was surprised by how similar they looked. They all looked pretty much the same in height probably my height. They’d each taken off their helmets but I couldn’t see any near them, maybe they wore berets. That wasn’t what struck me about them though. What did was their hair colour. They were all fair haired not exactly the same, two of them were more reddish than blond but they did look strikingly similar as if they had just come off a production line. It was probably coincidence I thought or possibly an indication to their origin maybe they were northern European. I hadn’t heard any off them speak yet I would listen tentatively for any clue. I could do nothing else.

Hours passed as day turned into night and the cooler air was a welcome relief from the intensity of the arid unrelenting heat of the day. I was suffering, definitely dehydrated now and my lower back was in agony from the constant pounding it was taking, acting as a shock absorber against the Martian like landscape we were persistently crossing. I’d been leaning against the partition between the hold of the truck and the driver’s compartment. If there was more than one person up front they were not talking. I didn’t know how to feel about that if there was just one up front that boded better for my escape plans but if there was more than one they were showing extraordinary discipline not talking, giving nothing anything away while they were in ear shot, that unsettled me. Then my heart began to sink I hadn’t thought of it before. There was no way I could tell if we were on our own there could easily be more than one vehicle in transit. There had been four soldiers in the plane, only made sense that they had been riding along too. I realised how stupid I’d been to think I could escape. I slumped forward my head bowed in resignation.

“Your wife and daughter; they are still very much alive, trust no one Mr Knight no one!”

That’s what that guy had said, what was his name? Siymion, god I wish I could speak to him now but then why should I trust him. It was obvious, he said they were alive. Denial the first hurdle of grief, was I really going crazy? This was messed up but I had to go with my instincts. I wasn’t crazy and maybe just maybe like my heart had told me all along they were alive!

It wasn’t long before I heard the heavy movement of a large sliding lock being disengaged from the single door that provided entrance. I decided to pretend to be asleep the last thing I needed was to be dosed up again, I needed my wits. I had to find out what was going on. The door creaked ajar under its own heavy weight. I hadn’t noticed it before but it must have been made of steel or some other heavy metal. It stopped momentary silence and then footsteps entered the room. The frequency and sound of them lead me to believe the owner was male; they were not the quick tapping of heels. The person approached and stopped by my side blocking out the light that was being cast against my eyelids. I felt fingers, the thumb and fore finger gently lift my arm a little by the wrist. The assumed man was checking my pulse. I held my breath and then tried to stay calm I didn’t want a racing heart to give away my attempt at deception, I began to breath again slowly, calmly. Relax, slow your heart. I’d had the odd attempt at meditation in the past I tried to recreate the dreamy feeling. After an eternity, probably the normal fifteen seconds of counting, then the multiplication by four to get my beats per minute he released my arm, it dropped limply the few inches to the bed. I wondered how I’d fared. I checked my pulse regularly as part of my fitness regime; it is normally around forty four beats per minute you could set your clock by it. The stress of the situation must have quickened it but as it is normally low to start with the average males being around the seventy I hoped it would go unnoticed.

“Nice try Mr Knight quite impressive, forty eight beats per minute. The camera behind you, you’ve been awake for exactly twelve minutes.”

I felt a sharp prick in my arm, the shock made me tense.

“Why are you doing this you bastards? What have you done to my family?”

I looked straight at him but his face had already started to blur. I didn’t get an answer, my consciousness abandoned me.

I woke up less muzzy than before but not at all clear of my surroundings I was staring slightly bleary eyed at a arched metallic roof, the sound emitted from my environment was penetrating, a loud droning in tandem with vibrations that spanned right through me. I was in an aeroplane with a large loading bay it looked military. Then as I looked past my feet I saw them, four guys in military fatigues two either side sat opposite each other facing inwards. They had not noticed I’d stirred from my slumber but I recognized the origin of their uniforms immediately. I’d seen my brother wearing exactly the same gear many times before; I even had a set of my own, which I had profited from him at home. It was British army desert camouflage pattern(DPM LOOK UP). The only thing that looked out of place about them was their rifles. They were carrying the AR15 Assault Rife. This is a shortened version of M16 you see the Americans use in Vietnam films, you see a lot of S.W.A.T.(Special Weapons and Tactics) team use them in the states. I only knew this because I’d used them myself quite a lot in the past, not in real life nothing as grand as that but on my PlayStation at home. I knew all those wasted hours would come to some good one day. I even recognized their thirty round magazines, they also use a twenty and forty round version but don’t go for the forty they jam a lot well at least according to the game I played. This information may not have seemed like much but it told me at least I thought, that these guys were not regular soldiers because they would normally use the British army issue SA80 rifle, which fires the 5.56MM NATO round. The AR15 could be adapted to suit a large selection of different sized rounds but I couldn’t tell what these guys were using my adventures on the PlayStation had their limits. Besides it was a start. I knew these guys were different, maybe they were Special Forces and that in all probability meant covert. I took not be a good sign, the chances were that nobody new my situation or where I was. My jaw was aching severely; something was secured in my mouth prizing it open. It was round and felt like wood, it stretched across my mouth and was secured to the back of my head probably by straps of some sort. I laid there for a while trying not to draw attention to myself. I thought about closing my eyes again so they would not come and stick me with a needle, I searched the hold for any cameras, even tilting my head back a little to try and detect if there were any behind me. I saw nothing that looked anything like one, they could have been hidden ones but I thought I’d risk it, besides how much could I learn with my eyes shut. I wasn’t going to hear much over the noise of the planes engines so it seemed the smart thing to do.

I turned my attention back to the soldiers I could see a few yards past my feet maybe I could learn more by observing them for a while. My luck was not in I wasn’t going to glean anything from their conversation, three of them were asleep although you wouldn’t notice it with a cursory glance they were sat bolt upright. I wondered if they were taught that at Special Forces school. I managed a small chuckle to myself at the thought of it. The forth guy was busy checking and cleaning his rifle, did that mean he had recently been firing it or was it just good house keeping? I hoped for the last, then again maybe these guys were here for my safety rather than being my captors but I very much doubted the latter of those two scenarios. I couldn’t think of a situation where you gag the guy you’re trying to protect. I began to consider the idea of trying to communicate with them it was the gag that did it. It made me think whoever was holding me prisoner didn’t want me talking to them. I backed out of the idea, these guys had probably been given orders not to communicate with me, and besides what could I say, apart from mumbling some confused rubbish through a gag that I had trouble believing myself. No for the time being at least I would just observe, maybe go over what had already happened to me while I was conscious, for however long that would remain and try and pick up some clues, as to what ever the hell it was that was happening to me.

The soldier that was awake was checking his rifle sight now, I wasn’t sure but he seemed to be aiming at the soldier opposite him. I heard a barely audible click over the noise of the engines he’d pulled the trigger, luckily there was no bullet in the rifle chamber. It was a nice sentiment I thought. He wasn’t satisfied; he flicked a switch and thin red beam of light shot across the plane. He was playing with his laser sight, it was placed on the opposite soldiers chest, he then quietly pulled the cocking handle on his AR15 to chamber a round. I took it for granted the magazine was empty. He then moved the laser sight up to his buddies head so that the red dot was placed on the centre of his forehead. He paused unlike before; he was checking his breathing going for the most accurate shot. I’d been to the firing range with my brother a few times and recognized the drill. I’d done the same thing earlier myself when I’d tried to calm my heart rate trying to get in the most relax state possible. He squeezed the trigger gently; if you snatch at it the shot usually goes high. My brother would usually emphasise the point by saying squeeze it don’t pull it, it’s not your dick! I heard the metallic click again as the firing pin moved forward into place. Phew the chamber had been empty not that I really cared, for all I knew the next time he did have a bullet in the chamber it could be for me. He lowered his rifle expressionless and quickly rested its but on the floor, with it placed between his knees. This guy really knew how to share the love I thought.

I started to recall what had happened in Doctor Hunter’s office, going over the event in my mind I hoped to learn something from it. There had been a telephone call pretty much as soon as I mentioned the name Siymion and I’d told her that he said Scarlet and Katy were alive. She acted upon ending that call, shooting me just a few seconds after hanging up. I remember her saying are you sure to whoever it was she was speaking to, so the chances were, whoever it was on the other end of the line had to be the catalyst for her using the gun. I was fairly sure that had to be a safe assumption given the timing. So looking at it positively just maybe Scarlet and Katy were alive. O god, how I wanted so intensely for that to be true. Had they survived the accident? No what was more likely, had to be that there never had been an accident, after all Siymion had said they were still very much alive, which gave me comfort that indeed there was no accident. I’d seen the reports on the television about the accident but no one drives into an exploding petrol tanker and remains very much alive, it just does not happen. No matter how much you stretch the imagination. My captors obviously had huge resources, planes, heavily armed soldiers and doctors on the pay roll. I wasn’t convinced Hunter was a Doctor now come to think of it but the guy who had most recently injected me seemed to fit the description well enough. It was definitely possible that something like the accident in the hands of the right people could be staged, Al Fayed would believe me. I would go with that for now, it was positively the scenario I favoured and if they were alive how were they? I began to feel the well of my stomach sicken with worry, I wished so much for them to be alive and well and not to be treated anything like I was being; I couldn’t bare the thought of that. Why, why was this happening and to us. It just did not make any sense; we were just an ordinary small town family, with no enemies in the world as far as I knew. No hidden secrets or knowledge that would bring this about. I just didn’t get it. Think, just think god dam it, there has to be a clue somewhere, something I was missing; a key that would unlock the door to this misery. After Hunter had shot me I fell backwards in the chair, for a few seconds I remained conscious and I remembered Hunter spouting some rubbish. I thought it had been a dream but now I remembered it was very much real “I don’t know why they chose that bitch, our children would have been far superior, the perfect balance of nature and sciences finest in exquisite harmony. The thought of having sex with her let alone children turned my stomach, I’d rather drink my own spleen. Was she crazy what the hell did that mean? I couldn’t figure it out; it was completely beyond my comprehension. I needed another part of the puzzle but for now I would just have to wait it out until one presented itself, hoping I was on my way to my family and not an early grave.

After about ten minutes walking I arrived at the Bay Palace hotel, relieved to have made it unmolested by the knowing eyes of our small community. In such a small place where the population is about five thousand locals, everyone seems to know everyone else’s business. The event of what had happened to my family and I, would be the main news and point of gossip for the immediate weeks if not months to come. I knew a lot of the residents of our community and many of them I took pleasure in calling my friends but I couldn’t bare the thought of facing any of them yet, I was happy for the reprieve from the inevitable condolences, however well meaning I knew they would be. My main priorities for now were a shower and possibly a stiff drink and when I felt up to it a good meal. The Bay Palace hotel would be the perfect refuge or the foreseeable future. The Palace is an elegant Victorian building, which dominates the sea front and could easily cater for about four hundred guests in the midst of high season. Holding the centre ground of Golden Bay it gives spectacular views. Without a doubt it wouldn’t look out of place in any modern city and would put even some of the finer hotels of London to shame. It is a real credit to our humble town. Although the high standards of comfort would definitely be a bonus, the attractions for me were the facilities and reception service. With relative ease I could vet any callers or visitors. My privacy would be assured and be firmly under my own control. I walked up the white stone steps and between the two large pillars of the main entrance. It was winter and as the hotel would have few guests the doorman’s position was unmanned, it remained manned only during the summer season. So I had the inconvenience of opening my own door. I hear you scoffing, put London hotels to shame indeed. Undaunted by the physical effort I moved into the foyer. Once past the main doors the foyer area is spacious and airy, a subtle peach aroma welcomed and gave a stark contrast to the cheap disinfectant I’d become accustomed to at the hospital. Underfoot lay what I presume to be marble tiles in rich red ochre that gleamed wonderfully, accentuated by impeccable cleanliness and complimented with perfectly balanced lighting. I made my way over to the reception desk and booked in for a fortnight with the young male receptionist. I also ordered a bottle of Jack Daniels to be brought up to my room. I needed to take the edge off and this would save me the bother of calling for a bottle from my room, I was tired and needed to sleep the Jack Daniels would smooth the way. I took the foyer lift to my third floor room and after a few seconds of dispute with my card key entered my room. My haven from the world and its future realities, at least until I’d built up the resolve to face them.

My bottle arrived promptly, I’d just had time to ring Jane my secretary to arrange for her to visit the house and pick up some cloths and toiletries. She seemed a little concerned that I had not managed to get into the house once she had dropped me off but was tactful enough not to pursue or pry on the reason why. I made some feeble attempt at an excuse for her not to bring the bag of cloths to my room, reasoning with her that I was going to have a few hours sleep, so she could leave the bag at reception and I would collect it later. She didn’t protest. I opened the bottle and began to get reacquainted with my old buddy Jack.

I woke up the next morning feeling like a pig had shat in my head; I must have been out cold for about twelve hours. I’d finished the full bottle of JD and it looked like I’d taken some of the sedatives I’d been given at the hospital. At first I thought I’d dreamt it but I recalled receiving a disturbing phone call after drinking well over half the bottle of JD. I’d decided to take a shower and took the bottle with me for company and sat down in the shower drinking for what seemed like an age but was only probably about an hour or so. After drinking the best of about two thirds of the bottle I stumbled out of the shower and made my way into the bedroom and crashed out on my bed in just a towel determined to finish off the rest of the bottle when the phone began to ring. I hadn’t wanted to answer it but the caller was persistent and my mood encouraged by the drink had convinced me to tell the caller where they could go, besides I’d told the receptionist in the foyer that I did not want to be disturbed under any circumstances, maybe I needed to make that point a little more clear. I picked up the phone.

“Mr Knight?”

I didn’t recognize the voice but took it for granted that this was another receptionist who had not been informed of my request not to be disturbed.

“Listen I gave specific instructions not to be disturbed, I’ve had a very traumatic day if you know what’s good for you, you will make sure I am not disturbed again, do I make myself perfectly clear?”

I waited for a response it was not immediately forth coming.

“Mr Knight I am not the receptionist”

This guy was beginning to piss me off who ever he was.

“Listen not the receptionist I don’t care who the hell you are. How the hell did you get this number?”

Again there was a long pause before he answered but it was not intentional, at first I thought this guy was just rude but the delay in him responding… I’d experienced it before, when I spoke to my brother or I myself was on a business trip calling from somewhere remote. This guy was definitely calling long distance and if my suspicions were correct he was calling on a satellite phone.

“Mr Knight you are right who I am is not important, in fact that will save us some time, what is important is the information I am about to give you, whether you believe it or not is also unimportant at this time, what is though is that you remember it. So I suggest you go easy on the alcohol.”

How the hell did he know I was drinking? I looked to check the windows. The blinds were closed.

“Mr Knight, are you ready to hear what I have to tell you?”

Who ever this guy was he seemed very sure of himself and although I didn’t like his attitude one bit he had definitely got my attention. I decided to play along to see where this was going.

“Yes tell me what you have to say although I can’t make any promises about the drink but I’ll be sure to take notes.”

“That’s good Mr Knight Notes would also be good, only be sure to destroy them once you have read them, once you have sobered up.”

My sarcasm was lost on this guy but I decided to give him a second chance.

“Yes I’ll tear them in to tiny pieces and swallow the evidence.”

“Right Mr Knight listen carefully, what I have to tell you will come as a shock but it is important that you hear it even if you don’t believe it, your wife and daughter; they are still very much alive.”

I believe myself to be a man of the world and although I wouldn’t put anything past the low lifers that preside in the gene pool, this was low. I’d heard of it happening to people, some crank exploiting the relatives of the recently deceased with promises of contact to the other side through highly suspect mediums. No doubt in return for large sums of money once the necessary grooming and manipulation had taken place. I was surprised it had reached the sleepy seaside town I lived in. Then again the accident could have reached the national news level. Petrol tankers exploding are probably dramatic enough to be deemed worthy of broadcasting to the nation. I doubt if the death of my family on its own would have been justification enough in itself. Either way I wasn’t standing for the tactics of this slivering swamp life.

“Listen you turd, this pathetic stunt may work on little old ladies who’s minds are not at their bests but don’t think for a second I’m going to fall for this ridiculous repertoire of yours, you exploiting parasite”

He interrupted before I had finished my dressing down.

“That is good Mr Knight you should trust no one, from now on you should suspect anything that anyone says to you. Trust no one Mr Knight, No one! My name is Siymion, remember it!”

He put the phone down before I had chance to tell him where he could stick his advice. The audacity of the man, I hadn’t dwelled long on it though I must have finished the bottle of JD and from the collection of mini bottles on the floor I must have also started on the mini bar before I had succumbed to the effects and passed out.

I don’t remember much about the following two weeks, I developed a real close relationship with Jack Daniels and spent much of the time either drinking it or recovering from its effects the only consistent period of time that I stayed sober was the day of the funeral much of which I don’t really remember. I seamed to be in some sort of emotional coma at the ceremony. My brother James had commented that I appeared to be in a sort of trance like state. He’d been drinking a lot with me over the last two weeks as well; his reasoning that it was all part of the grieving process and was understandable as long as it didn’t go on for too long a period of time. He also felt that as long as he was with me he could keep an eye on me. He would rather that be the case than have the situation where I would go off on my own drinking. At a time when my thinking was not in the most stable of conditions. The last couple of days though my brother had started to express more outwardly apparent concern, it was obvious that I wasn’t dealing with my loss. I was masking the reality with alcohol denying my emotions the chance to grieve. I’d conceded to my brother that I would visit the councillor that Sergeant Collins had introduced me to by way of a business card. I wasn’t looking forward to the meeting but the alternative was a constant assault on my will until I broke by James. I thought it best to save myself the trouble. James had done his fair share of interrogation technique courses in his time, in the Commando’s and similarities could be drawn between his character and with the race of Aliens called the Borg on Star Trek, who go around assimilating everyone into their race. Their motto is “Resistance is Futile” and to not submit to James’s will was exactly that, futile. Besides my brother was heading back to his unit in a week, his compassionate leave was coming to an end and with the shortage of manpower in the British armed forces his skills in mountain warfare were needed in Afghanistan. The Taliban had in recent days launched a summer offensive, no doubt encouraged by the constant reporting of a shortage of manpower on our domestic news channels my brother scoffed, he was less than impressed with the reported coverage and reasoned that we were giving them too much cheap intelligence. I made the appointment to see the head doctor over the phone, which turned out to be straight forward enough. I had a direct line; there was no secretary to deal with. The number on the business card put me straight through to a self assured and affable Dr Helen Hunter. Dr Hunter had a delicate Australian accent, which she made no effort to disguise but at the same time I felt that it had either been subdued by an extended period of time mixing in the hierarchal circles of British society or maybe it was never that strong anyway due to an upper-class background in Australia. Although I wasn’t looking forward to her probing my mind, Dr Hunters pleasant almost over exuberant persona didn’t disguise the fact she had considerable intellect, that I was left in no doubt of, even with only a short telephone conversation as the only means of weighing her character up to go on. There was no way I was going to pull the wool over her eyes. What I was looking forward to was having my curiosity sated. I wondered what the physicality behind the voice would be like. My preconception was that she would probably dress pretty much along the same lines of style as Sergeant Collins. Well I would find out in a few short hours. I took the train to her offices, which was a short walk from her local train station so it made sense to do so. After an uneventful train journey I found myself out side her office door. I knocked and entered a small reception area that was very much a sterile affair just a small reception desk with two chairs adjacent to it either side of a small coffee table. I approached the reception desk that was occupied by a young female receptionist, who was stereotypically paying most of her attention to the condition of her nails. She had not responded to the knock on the door that I had made a few seconds ago and equally now she seemed unaware of my presence. I reached the desk.

“Hi, my name Chris, Chris Knight I’m here to see Dr Hunter.”

She looked up and gave me a cursory glance before reaching for what must have been an appointment book. She rifled to the last page of entry which was only a few pages deep.

“Yes Mr Knight, you’re early, please take a seat and I’ll inform Dr Hunter that you have arrived.”

She looked up gave a brief smile and gestured toward the seats.

“Thank you.” I said

I took my place on one of the seats. The receptionist had gone back to her world where I didn’t exist and where obsessive nail worshipping was the favoured religion. I briefly examined the magazines that were on the coffee table, they were all dedicated to female beauty products and their consumption there of. No doubt the receptionist had a subscription to most of them and as a result her obsessive nail management had been permanently impregnated on her subconscious by the brain washing effects of years of manipulation. Or maybe I was being overly cynical. I doubted it but still hoped so. The small room I found myself in was quite a depressing affair not at all how I expected a psychotherapist reception area to be. The walls were completely white washed with no pictures or other decoration. There wasn’t even a window to let in light. That was provided by ceiling mounted spot lights, which were too bright for the small room. My attention was drawn to the green blinking light of a camera opposite positioned to view the two chairs for visitors one of which I was sat on. I’d wondered why the receptionist had not announced my arrival via some sort of intercom to Doctor Hunter; maybe the camera provided the answer. The receptionist gave me another brief glance but no smile accompanied it this time, she didn’t seem to want me to notice her brief glimpse of me. I didn’t look back at her but observed her covert glance, which lasted no more than a split second as she followed my eyes to the camera that was observing me. She had made the connection that I had spotted it. Her attention went back to her nails. This behaviour seemed a little strange at first I thought the receptionist was just wrapped up in her own little world but her behaviour and lack of acknowledgement of my presence seemed somehow intentional.

The hoax phone callers’ words came to mind “trust no one.” Maybe I was reading too much into things. I was probably suffering from more than just a little paranoia brought on by apprehension about my session with the good doctor and the amount of alcohol I‘d sank over the last fortnight. I was more than a little scared about what she would bring up or try to make me face up to. I bet she had a whole bag of tricks ready and tested by eminent psychologist to bring my vulnerability to the surface. I’d spent the last two weeks strategically building a wall around those emotions, isolating them from the reality of my world. Now I was going to have to try and defend them against the aptly named Dr Hunter, with her box of tricks for circumventing my wall. Maybe I should walk out now. I wouldn’t strictly be lying if I told James that I had been to see the good doctor. A light buzzing sound preceded a barely audible voice from an intercom on the receptionist’s desk and then the receptionist gestured for me to go through to Doctor Hunter’s office. I got up from my chair and made my way to her office door, I gave a small cursory knock before entering. The room was light and airy, clinical like the reception area but with a large window facing me from the back of the office the blinds were shut halfway. This still let in plenty of light but restricted any view in or out of the window. The striking Doctor sat behind a heavy set desk a short distance in front of me. I couldn’t help notice her tanned toned legs under the desk. They were bare from just above the knee down and the light reflected off her shin bones as if they were shimmering silk. I tried not to make my observation too obvious by quickly making eye contact but it was to no avail she gave a knowing smile as to where my eyes had just been. I thought to myself great start you dim wit that’s already given her the upper hand. She uncrossed her legs no doubt revealing the most alluring of inner thigh, I made a conscious effort not to look down again as she stood.

“Please Mr Knight be so kind as to take a seat” Her eloquent voice eased off her tongue caressing my ear, it too was comparable to the touch of shimmering silk.

“Thank you Doctor”

I eased myself into the mastermind like black leather chair, which creaked under my weight. She paused for a second and looked at me before joining me in her own. My curiosity had been raised days earlier after talking to her on the phone as to how this lady would look and to put it bluntly she was conventionally stunning, her skin seemed to be flawless, not a mole or blemish in sight and the way it reflected the light was like nothing I’d seen before. She was obviously aware of her god given gift and took full advantage while remaining with a healthy semblance of taste and class. She wore a floral delicate dress cut just above the knee and plunging at the neck line to reveal a modest but proportionate cleavage, her long dark straight hair was straight out of a shampoo advert. As far as I could tell there didn’t seem to be even a single hair out of place. She was tall, probably a few inches shorter than me. The heels she was wearing made her around the same height, six feet. Her facial features were quite strong well at least her jaw line, she was definitely model material but something was hard about her.

“Mr Knight you have recently had a very tragic loss and as you have made this appointment in order to see me I’m assuming that you feel you need some professional guidance in order to come to terms with it, to move on with your life. Would that be correct?” She smiled maintaining eye contact waiting for my response

“Well I….it wasn’t my idea to come, my brother seems to think I’m not coping as well as I should and thought it would be a good idea for me to seek professional help.”

I was uneasy and fidgeted to find a comfortable seating position. She pondered on what I’d said for the briefest of moments.

“There is no ideal way to cope with bereavement Mr Knight. Everyone is different and copes with loss in a variety of ways some good and some bad. It is my job to help you readdress the balance ultimately only you can resolve your loss, think of me as a guide who will give you the tools and direction to ease the transition from one part of your life to the many rewards and happiness’s of your future ones.”

I just nodded.

“Now Mr Knight if I may I’d like to ask you why your brother feels that you’re
not coping, maybe you could tell me how you have filled your days since the loss of your family?”

She wasn’t wasting time straight to the jugular; I thought I would have at least been offered a drink at these prices. Well I wasn’t going to pussy foot around it’s not my style.

“I’ve been drinking, heavily, almost every day in fact yes every day since I got out of hospital, and I’ve been taking sedatives as a booster if you like, to knock me out at night.”

I waited for her reaction not breaking eye contact but her expression didn’t change she just looked back at me intently as if she were studying something else rather than my words. As beautiful as she was she gave me the creeps. She picked up a note pad from the desk in front of her as well as the expensive looking silver pen at its side and jotted down the shortest of notes, she didn’t replace them I surmised she wrote down drink prescription drug abuse or words to that effect the thought amused me. I couldn’t help allowing myself a little smile. I was intrigued as to where she would take this next.
She looked up from her pad.

“I see.” the intense glare back again,”
“Mr Knight I take it from the use of sedatives in the evening you have had problems sleeping this is often caused by excessive alcohol intake combining it with sedatives can have serious health implications, have you been taking my tablets and has this been a daily occurrence?”

“Well it was up until a few days ago but the sedatives don’t seem to work anymore. I was trebling the dosage not sensible I know but they…well they just don’t work now so I stopped taking them.”

I’d thought this strange at the time; that they had stopped working but the good doctor just nodded and smiled, she didn’t seem to think it strange at all. She began to go through a series of questions trying to get me to open up about how I felt about the accident. She seemed to be trying to find out if I felt responsible but I didn’t and then she seemed to settle on the idea that I was in denial. Hunter kindly listed the phases of bereavement, Denial, Anger, Bargaining, depression and then finally acceptance. She said it wasn’t a hard and fast rule but a good guide as to what most people experience. I was starting to get a little bored with it all and decided to spice things up a bit, by declaring that Scarlet and Katy were not dead. I’d been told so in a phone call by a lovely man called Siymion. The look on her face was priceless she couldn’t hide from this revelation, in fact as professional as she was the shock on her face well it seemed quite an over reaction. Hunter looked well quite offended by what I had said as if his very actions aggrieved her personally. The uncomfortable situation didn’t last long only seconds before the phone rang.
“Sorry Mr Knight I really must take this.” She picked up the phone and I took the time to appreciate her beautiful tanned skin. I really had never seen anything like it I would prefer my wife’s pale English rose canvass seven days out of seven but even she had the odd freckle or blemish this women had nothing as hard as I looked for one it was completely flawless I couldn’t get my head round it. Hunter still holding the phone turned her attention to me but still listened intently. I began to take notice of the conversation. It consisted mainly of a series of yes’s. I couldn’t make out what the voice at the other end was saying but the tone sounded quite manic. Dr Hunter smiled at me the type given to pacify by receptionist when they know they are keeping you waiting too long. I didn’t mind it didn’t seem like she was enjoying the conversation I’m sure she would end it as soon as she could. The voice at the other end raised and seemed to become even more manic. Hunter broke from her series of yes’s

“And you are sure that is the action you want me to take; you wouldn’t like me to investigate further?” She was still looking at me and for a second I almost felt like she was talking about me but that couldn’t be right.

“Ok if that is the action you want me to take I shall do it at the earliest convenience, thank you, goodbye.” She sighed and put the phone down.

“Sorry about that Mr Knight, I’ll just make a short note in my appointment book then we will proceed.” Hunter leaned to her side to open her desk draw.

“Don’t mention it Doctor H……”

The shock broke up my speech instead of pulling a note book from the draw Hunter raised a gun quickly towards me; I had time to see her eyes they changed completely, almost feral with rage. Reflexes took over as adrenalin surged through my nervous system. I kicked hard at the top of the desk trying to push my chair over and backwards away from the danger. She pulled the trigger of the gun pointed at my chest. My attempt at escape never stood a chance. A sharp burning impact washed across my upper torso. I would be dead within seconds, my shredded heart blown out of a massive trauma hole in my back. This was it.

My attention refocused on the machine that stood next to my bed when it started to make a light droning buzz noise. It wasn’t the one that measured my heartbeat and blood pressure that one stood next to it. No this one was smaller in height and was attached to the I.V. line, which went into my arm. I assumed it had to be administering more sedatives or whatever else they were pumping into my blood stream. The thought of my body’s blood contents been managed by a machine did not exactly fill me with confidence. I decided to use my buzzer to give Nurse Tracy a call; maybe she could fill me in on what my little mechanical fiend was up to. Besides I needed a drink, my mouth felt like I’d been chewing on well-worn sock all night or I’d had a rather eventful sleep walking expedition and took to necking with the corpses in the morgue. The nurse that responded to my call did nothing to allay my suspicions of a morally questionable source for my death breath. Her cadaverous qualities were of the highest order. I only hope they were not matched by a deviant wonder lust. The medication I was on must have still been circulating my body in significant amounts, judging by the bizarre lengths my imagination was venturing to.

“Mr Knight did you buzz?”

Relief, the grey old lady couldn’t have been deceased. I read somewhere that the dead don’t speak and I’m happy to believe it.

“Yes nurse I was wondering if I may have a drink? My jug seems to have disappeared.”

“Of course Mr Knight, I’ll get you one right away.”

She didn’t hang around the old lady had turned around and was out of the door as her sentence tailed off, returning a few moments later with my drink. She informed me that once the doctor had done his rounds that morning and had given me the all clear I would be free to leave. She also took out my I.V. line, which protested with an energetic but small squirt of blood, which was quickly abated by an apologetic but not entirely convincing in sincerity nurse Margaret wielding a plaster, the inconvenience seemed to be the main issue. I asked where Tracy had gone and nurse Margaret probably misinterpreting this as a complaint about the bleeding hand incident and seemed to take offence to this and did her walking out the room mid sentence trick, saying as she went that it was Nurse Tracy’s day off. At the risk of sounding sexist I would have thought that most women become less hormonal with age. Margaret seemed to be an exception. Or maybe I just have a natural talent for annoying certain types of people. I tend to think so, more these days. Although I’m sure you’ll agree as you learn more that’s not always a bad thing.

Later that day after being given the all clear by the doctor and putting on fresh clothing, which my secretary had kindly brought into the hospital for me I was sent packing with a months supply of antihistamines, epinephrine adrenalin injection pens and antidepressants. With the insistent advice, that I take one a day of each of the tablets and use the adrenalin injections should an emergency arise by way of a particularly bad attack of Anaphylaxis.

My secretary Jane drove me home. The journey was uneventful and I waved her off before I turned and stood hesitantly at the bottom of my home driveway. Looking up at the front door that had now become mine alone rather than that of ours the Knight family, the solitary and consequence of it all began to hit me. The prospect of advancing up the driveway and opening it mortified me. It could have been no more daunting to me had a metamorphosis taken it to the description of Nazi gas chamber door. That scene, the sight of countless tortured souls held no more horror for me than the envisioning of an inevitable silence that had befallen our once joyful love filled family home. It was a door that I had in the past loved to open. A pillar-box red, wooden square panelled heavy set oak with a black Victorian knocker that sat in the centre. The door also sat in the centre of our wonderful family home, which presided in our typically English and exceptionally beautiful seaside town. We had worked hard to bring it to realization and now finally we were reaping the benefits. I would fight irrational manic traffic, lashing gales. Sacrifice loyalty and promises, squander large sums of money, and disappoint the closest of friends just to open that door. For I new inside were unassailable rewards. Like that of being greeted by the rushing patter of tiny feet and the angelic voice of an adoring but equally worshipped daughter, and the loving smile and enchanting eyes of a wife whose whole being filled my heart with blissful beatitude. For me everything she was intoxicated me with love for her. I saw beauty in every imperfection because it was a part of her, a part of us. I loved them both in every breath. In every heart beat and now I had to face life without them. I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t make it reality, not yet. I turned my back and walked away.

Chapter 5

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