to move she realized that her left wrist was handcuffed to something solid while across her thighs and chest were wide unyielding bands that kept her held fast to whatever it was she was lying on. As her vision cleared she found herself staring straight up at the ceiling of an airplane. Jet engines, working in unison, throbbed rhythmically just beyond the window to her right.
‘Good, you’re awake.’ Doctor Laird smiled pleasantly down at her. ‘No doubt you are thirsty. I’ll get you a drink of water.’
Sarah’s green eyes regarded him with pure, unadulterated hated. ‘Who are you?’ she demanded in a voice sharp with fear.
‘My name is Peter Laird - Doctor Peter Laird. In a sense, I’m your personal physician.’
‘Personal physician!’ Sarah huffed. ‘In that case, consider yourself fired - in a sense.’
‘Very droll, Miss Churchill. Come, I’ll adjust the seat so that you may sit up in comfort just as soon as I remove these restraints. I would recommend that you stay safely buckled in however, in case of turbulence. There, that’s better.’ He smiled thinly while avoiding her steady gaze. ‘If I’m not mistaken you are marginally dehydrated so may I recommend two or perhaps three glasses of water or, if you prefer, I believe there’s lemonade or ginger ale?’
‘Do you do this often?’ Sarah asked, her jaw clenched tight with rage.
‘Do what?’ Laird seemed perplexed by the question.
‘Play steward to your abductees.’
‘Abductee? I’m sorry, I ...’ He swallowed hard then cleared his throat. ‘My employer has merely asked me to ensure your good health, provide you with company if you so desire and see you safely into his charge. I fully appreciate your feelings in this difficult …’
‘Do you?’ she screamed. ‘I doubt that very much, Doctor Laird. Look you bastard, I’ve been abducted - kidnapped, goddamn it. I’ve been drugged, forcibly confined, manhandled by a great brute of a SOB and you stand there and politely speak to me of how you appreciate my situation? Are you completely nuts?’
‘Please, drink this.’
‘I’ll take nothing from you. Get away from me!’
‘Miss Churchill, we have several more hours of flying time, so I…’
‘Where are you taking me?’
‘I can’t tell you that, but I can tell you that your determination to resist, although commendable, is both foolhardy and perhaps dangerous. My employer is not the type of man to…’
‘Your employer, has he a name Laird?’
‘Richard Mayfair Develin.’
‘And it was he who orchestrated all of this?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘Mr. Develin was quite taken by you, apparently, during a visit to your city. The encounter was brief, you would not remember, but ever since you have been much on his mind. He merely wishes to meet with you formally and if by chance …’
‘Just a minute; if this bastard wanted to meet me, why didn’t he just give me a call? Oh no, Laird, we’re not talking about a casual date here and you’d be smoking funny cigarettes if you damn well believe that. No one dishes out this kind of money to spend a few hours chatting with a girl unless …’ Sarah’s eyes grew wide with fear. ‘What did you mean when you said that he was not the type of man? Just exactly what are we dealing with here?’
‘It’s not my place to say. Mr. Develin is, ah … well, you’ll have an opportunity to meet him soon enough.’
‘I see,’ she choked, holding back the tears. ‘I … I think I’d like that glass of water now.’
‘Yes, of course.’
*****
Sarah leaned her head against the side of the aircraft then pulled her legs up under her, trying to find a comfortable position while a million and one thoughts raced through her mind, each combining into the other, building into a crescendo of apprehension. Not the type of man … Not the type of man …
Several times Laird tried to engage her in conversation but she refused, turning inward, encapsulating herself against the worst possible nightmare. She remembered back to just after her capture; her heart constricting as the memory descended, unbidden and unwanted but pushing through nevertheless.
*****
January 1st, 1980
The Brownstone, Boston, Massachusetts
Even before she was fully conscious Sarah vomited, staining the fine muslin shift she was wearing, and her hair. She gasped for air, blindly clutching at a woollen blanket as reality began to close in, suffocating her with its knowledge, deadening her responses; leaving her mentally vulnerable in a world she would refuse to accept, let alone understand. She knew almost instinctively what had happened and she wanted to cry but no tears would come, only anger and the more she thought about it the angrier she became until finally she leapt from the bed to confront her immediate surroundings in the first instance, and then the situation.
The cubical she found herself in, for it was too small to be called a room, contained nothing more than a bed and a metal side-table. Fastened to the wall was a mirror that reflected back nothing, as yet, but the stark white wall opposite. Through the half-opened door came the sound of a flute interspersed with high-pitched laughter and the voices of women.
Slowly, hesitantly she opened the door only to be confronted by a swimming pool ringed with potted plants enjoying the humidity and the winter sunlight that filtered through a magnificent glass dome high above. By the side of the pool sat a young black girl, her long hair braided with brightly coloured ribbons that hung down the middle of her back, providing her with the only costume she wore. She smiled up at Sarah, revealing perfectly formed, even white teeth.
‘Good, you are awake.’ Sarah turned abruptly. A young girl, not much older than herself moved cautiously forward, the silk brocade caftan she wore barely stirring as she walked. ‘Welcome. My name is Helena and this is Pearl.’ She turned slightly to indicate the black girl. ‘You have soiled your gown, and your hair.’ She reached out but Sarah had already begun to back away. ‘Relax, mon cher,’ she purred, revealing more of a French accent, ‘you are safe and amongst friends.’ She smiled as she tilted her head to one side. ‘You are most beautiful. Come, I will help you to refresh yourself then perhaps a swim and something to eat.’ She moved closer.
‘Get away from me,’ Sarah growled.
Helena stopped abruptly before allowing her eyes to drift to the far end of the pool. ‘See,’ she nodded towards two heavyset men, dressed in long black robes. ‘If you do not behave they will come; then you will do what is asked of you.’
‘Eunuchs I presume,’ Sarah huffed. ‘This is too much. Look Helena, I have
