Drakon

Drakon

Annette Gisby

© 2013 by Annette Gisby

Kindle Edition

http://www.annettegisby.n3.net

Cover Design by Seductive Designs

photo of man © depositphotos/Anette Romanenko

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This is a work of fiction.

This book is intended for adults only

Chapter One

“Andrea, wake up,” a voice clear and somehow familiar urged her back from the dark place. She struggled to open her eyes, but they wouldn't move, as if someone was pressing down on them, holding them closed. She couldn't open them no matter how much she wanted to and she faded away again.

It was a nightmarish place filled with black flowers and purple grass. The sky was black without even stars to offset the darkness. She knew she had to get away, but where could she go?

After a while, the voices faded until there was only the sound of her heartbeat to keep her company. A sob erupted somewhere nearby.

“Andrea, you've got to wake up! You don't know what they'll do to you if they ever find out who you are.” A male voice, one she dimly recognized. The sobs were so violent that his shoulders shook. She could see his shoulders!

She tried to talk but there was something in her throat. A tube of some kind. It was suffocating her. She tried to scream but the sound was in her mind. He couldn't hear her. She went to that dark place again.

How could she tell how long she lay there before her eyes opened again? There was no clock in her field of vision, just white. Stark walls and ceiling. A fluorescent light shone directly above her, making her eyes hurt.

Jonathan was no longer there. She closed her eyes briefly. Whether it was from the pain of the light or disappointment, she didn't know. There were footsteps, but she couldn't move her head to see who it was. Trying to talk, she felt the tube again. She gagged trying to dislodge it. A wave of nausea rose up from the pit of her stomach.

“Easy, Andrea. That's the girl. We'll soon have that tube out. Just relax; everything's going to be fine.” It was a soothing voice, female, and Andrea felt she could trust it, although she didn't know whom the voice belonged to.

“Now I want you to blow as hard as you can while I pull.” The doctor reached an arm across to Andrea's mouth and she felt the touch of the doctor's fingers on her skin.

The tube was pulled out in a matter of seconds. It was like a long, flexible snake of white plastic.

How could she not have noticed that going into her throat? Her throat ached, dry and raw and she had difficulty swallowing.

“Well, Andrea, it looks like you're back with us. I'm Dr. Hartley,” she said as Andrea struggled to get up. “You just lie there Miss Smith. You're in no fit state to get up yet. I'll get someone to bring you something to eat. I bet you're hungry?” She smiled down at her. Andrea didn't feel anything except confused.

“What happened?” Andrea croaked. Her throat felt as though she'd swallowed half a ton of gravel and sand.

“You've been in a coma, Andrea. Almost nine weeks. When you were attacked, you hit your head. You were unconscious before you got here. We couldn't revive you. Dr. Haroldson didn't think you would recover, but you proved him wrong, didn't you?” Haroldson. That name sounded familiar. Where had she heard it before?

“Well, at least your legs have healed since you were in the coma. We removed the plaster last week. Lying flat on your back was probably the best thing for your legs, if not the rest of you. Right, I'll go and see about some breakfast, shall I?” Breakfast. So it was morning. Andrea heard Dr. Hartley's footsteps die away and was left to ponder on her own. Attacked? Who had attacked her?

And what was this about her legs? They were fine; at least she thought they were. She couldn't feel anything much, except an occasional twinge of pins and needles. That gradually went away and she could move her feet. The bedclothes twitched and she could feel her feet getting tangled up in them. She wanted to move, to sit up, but could hardly find the energy.

When she heard footsteps, she turned her head. It moved jerkily as though she was a puppet being operated by hidden strings. Dr. Hartley was coming towards her wheeling a trolley laden with food. Her face loomed over Andrea.

“Now, Andrea, we've got to get you sitting up. You've been lying on your back for quite some time. You'll feel rather dizzy and sick because of it, but don't worry. It happens all the time. Just take it nice and slow to let your body get used to being upright again.”

Dr. Hartley leaned over her and grabbed her around the waist, pushing her up from behind. At first it was fine, but as soon as Andrea moved her head, she wanted to throw up. She retched for ages, but nothing came out. There was just a sour taste in her mouth.

“Why don't we start with the toast,” said Dr. Hartley, indicating the brown lumps on the tray. They didn't look very appetizing. Andrea took a nibble from the first one. It tasted better than it looked.

“Was Jonathan in today?” asked Andrea. “I thought I saw him.”

“No, he hasn't been in for two weeks. You saw him, did you?”

“Well, it was more heard than saw. He was asking me to wake up.” Somewhere in the back of her mind she could sense his urgency and a thought came unbidden. She was in danger. But from who — or what?

“Do you think you could manage some lunch today?” asked the doctor. “I'll have to tell the kitchens.”

“Yes,” replied Andrea, having devoured the four slices of toast. She must have been hungrier than she thought.

“Okay, I'll check in on you later,” said Dr. Hartley as she left. Briefly, Andrea wondered what sort of hospital this was that the doctors were so concerned about her lunch. The doctor had said something about her legs. Shouldn't she have examined them or something?

There was something odd about the room and at first Andrea didn't realize what it was. It was an enormous room, like an ice-covered cavern, but there was only one bed. Hers.

But that wasn't what was so odd. The room was bright, very bright. It was the windows. Or rather the lack of them. In a room this size, surely there would be at least one? Andrea looked around her. Everything was white. The floor, the walls, the ceiling, the door. The door?

There must be a door!

But no matter how hard she looked, she could find nothing that broke up the whiteness. Nothing that looked like a doorknob or hinge. How did the doctor get in if there wasn't a door? Just as she was contemplating this, a door shaped hole appeared in the wall. Two people stood there. Jonathan and Dr. Hartley.

“You know the routine,” she said. “Just knock when you want out.” This sounded more like a prison than a hospital. Why were they keeping her locked up?

“I think you should leave the door open today. She needs some fresh air.”

“That isn't hospital policy, and you know it.”

“Would you like me to tell Dr. Haroldson that she's been awake and you haven't told him yet?”

“You wouldn't!” Dr. Hartley's hand fluttered at her throat.

“Just try me,” said Jonathan

“Okay, just this once. But if anyone asks, I know nothing about it.” Dr. Hartley walked towards the door, her shoes making clip-clop noises on the floor. Jonathan rushed towards the bed and hugged her.

“Andrea! Thank God you're all right! How do you feel?” Safe, that's how she felt, there in his arms, but she didn't tell him that.

“I'm still a bit woozy. As if I'm dreaming. Nothing seems quite real. Are you really here?”

“Yes, I'm here and I'll always be here for you.” He paused as he looked at her; his eyes glassy with unshed tears.

“You've got to get away from here, Andrea. There's danger.”

“I know, I've felt it.”

She had, but at the moment it was nameless, faceless and she wanted it to stay that way. Somehow that made it seem less real. But it was real all right. She only had to look at the expression on Jonathan's face to see that.

“What's in the bag?” asked Andrea, on seeing the sports bag he was carrying.

“A present for you.” He delved into the bag and brought out an ivory lace dress, a pair of cream shoes and a cream wide brimmed hat.

“Here, put these on and then we can go. No one will suspect that the woman who's been unconscious for nine weeks and this well dressed young lady are one and the same.”

Andrea stared at him for a little while, not understanding. Then she realized. They were escaping.

She could hardly escape dressed in a hospital gown, now could she?

Jonathan turned away before she had to ask him so that she could get dressed. The room was so large and her bed was far enough away from the door that no one could see what they were up to.

Andrea slipped the dress over her head while she sat on the edge of the bed. It was such an effort just to lift her arms. Her feet just about reached the floor, but it was a bit disconcerting not knowing where the floor ended and the wall began. Hesitantly she edged off the bed and held onto the metal frame to steady herself. The room was doing somersaults around her. She couldn't even let go of the bed to do up the buttons of her dress.

“Jonathan, can you help me with the buttons, please?” He turned around and did them so quickly and deftly that Andrea thought he would have made a good ladies' maid in a previous life. Briefly she wondered how he had known her size. Even the shoes fitted her perfectly. She was feeling very wobbly and didn't want to let go of the bed in case she fell flat on her face.

“Can you help me to walk?” she asked him, feeling awkwardness about this first meeting after...after what? Her mind was a blank where the attack was concerned.

“First the hat,” he said and placed it reverently on her head as though it was a crown.

She let go of the bed and was rather unsteady on her feet, but Jonathan was there in an instant. He put his arm through hers and they walked out the door. They walked along corridors that were reminiscent of the room they just left. Nothing but white everywhere. Jonathan seemed to know his way about. Every time she saw a white-coated figure, she leaned even closer to Jonathan, if that were possible. But no one paid any attention to them. Andrea couldn't shake off the dreaded feeling that Dr. Hartley would find them and drag her bag to that room. That locked room. Suddenly they were outside, where everything looked normal. There were extensive grounds around the hospital.

Dappled sunlight filtered through the many trees and a small path led down to a miniature lake. There was a small fountain in the middle, but it wasn't working.

Figures in white wheeled patients in wheelchairs or steadied those walking with their arms; much like Jonathan was doing with her. There was one thing the patients had in common. They didn't care what they were doing because they didn't know. Their faces were blank. A blankness that Andrea thought might be induced by drugs. She was right. There, at the side of the unkempt lawn was an elaborate carved sign. The gothic lettering proclaimed it to be 'Roseberry Hill.' Andrea had heard of it, it was the nearest mental hospital, but what was she doing there?

“Why?” she asked out loud. Jonathan seemed to know what she was talking about.

“Because it's the only place where they could keep you locked up and no one would complain. It's not as if it's a prison.”

Andrea stared at him. Locked doors and no windows? Not all prisons were metal cages.

They turned away from the sign and towards the car park. She couldn't see Jonathan's car there and she turned around to face him.

“Where's your car?” she asked.

“I've got a new one,” he said as they stopped beside a red hatch back. “One they don't know about.”

Andrea didn't ask who
they
were. She wasn't sure she wanted to know. Jonathan gently let go of her arm and she leant against the car for support while he opened the doors.

She wasn't prepared for how tired she'd be. Her breath came in gasps and she felt light headed. Was she going to faint right here in the car park? Jonathan pushed open the passenger door and she sank gratefully into the seat. As he drove off, he turned towards her.

“You don't look well.” He said it with such concern that she felt tears welling in her eyes. Andrea glanced in the rear-view mirror and tried to smile.

“I look like I'm going to a wedding!”

“You are,” he replied in all seriousness. “Ours.”

“You're joking!” protested Andrea.

“It's not a joke, Andrea.”

She stared at him, this man who wanted her to be his wife. They'd worked together as teachers for five years and she felt as though she knew every part of him and he her. Yes she liked him, yes she wanted to be with him, but was that love? Was it love when he looked at her and her knees went weak? Or was there something more, something that she wasn't aware of?

She glanced at his hands on the steering wheel and remembered them fastening the buttons on her dress. Another memory came of other hands holding her down and crushing her, breaking her legs. Jonathan was there again; he'd saved her. Didn't she owe him something for that, but was it marriage? Wasn't that what you did for friends?

You saved each other?

“Andrea. Do you trust me?”

“What?”

“By marrying you I can keep you safe.”

“How?” she asked, although she felt she knew the answer.

“That's the thing you'll have to trust me on.” He stared out the windscreen and Andrea was feeling rather like a shipwreck survivor but there were no convenient floating logs to cling to, just an expanse of ocean that could drown her with the next wave. It was all so sudden and unexpected. No, not unexpected. A secret part of her was hoping for just this. Married to Jonathan! The irrational part. The rational part of her was arguing inside her head.