Chapter Sixteen
I awoke with a start, my head a disorientated mess. Emma had haunted my dreams, her screams reverberating through my mind with no let-up. I’d been unable to do anything but listen, my body heavy and unwilling to do my bidding, my brain incapable of coherent thought.
But now I was awake, I worried that the noise hadn’t come from my dreams at all. The memory of them too real to have been created by my mind.
I swung my feet off the bed and sat up, my mind playing catch up as I tried to shake off the haze.
And then I remembered.
Everything.
It all came flooding back: James, my stepfather, Emma, Dr Tate .
.. I checked my clothes; they were completely fastened, nothing amiss.
The doctor had been very careful to clean me up and leave me like nothing had ever happened.
But then ... had it actually happened? Or was it all just a crazy dream too?
With sickening confusion, I leaned over the bed and reached for the iPod, half expecting to find nothing. But sure enough there it was, the new recording ready for review. I pressed play and listened, skipping ahead to make sure I had captured it all.
It hadn’t missed a beat, every sordid moment captured with enough clarity to serve the purpose I had in mind.
Before I ran the risk of losing it, I emailed the file for backup and gingerly got to my feet.
I didn’t have time to wait for the remnants of the drugs to wear off, I had to get moving, I had to find Emma.
Heading to the door, I listened for anyone on the other side. It was quiet. My stepfather was probably content that I was drugged out of my mind. And if I was honest, I really still was.
Opening the door, the empty hallway was a welcome sight and I headed to Dad’s quarters in search of her.
Every sense was heightened in fear of what I might find.
I simply couldn’t shake the sound of those screams. I could only hope that their lucidity was the result of the drugs and my overactive imagination, that they had never actually taken place in this house, while I was incapacitated.
My head swam with all sorts of ghastly scenarios involving my stepfather administering a variety of punishments, of Emma’s body bruised and battered at his hand, that I almost fell across the threshold to his room, my legs giving out beneath me.
I caught hold of the doorframe to steady myself and kicked open the door fully.
The place was deserted; there was no sign of either of them.
Pushing off the doorframe, I drifted across the room, my sights set on the entrance to the dressing room reserved for my stepfather’s woman. I don’t know why I needed to see it, but the desire to be surrounded by things that belonged to her pulled me in. I held my breath as I swung open the doors.
The pain was instant, the force so strong it sent me to my knees.
The room was completely bare. All trace of her gone, as though she’d never existed, the sense of loss spearing me through the heart and turning my gut to lead.
How was I going to find her? How was I to know if she was okay?
Had my stepfather cleared out her stuff or had Emma got there first and made a break for it?
I hugged my arms around me, trying in vain to ease the pain.
Now wasn’t the time for debate, whatever had happened I needed to get out of the house.
Getting to my feet, I turned to leave, but the sign of a blemish on the otherwise immaculate cream carpet caught my eye.
Alarm bells rang as I immediately hit the light.
The mark was red, a deep shade. I dropped back to my knees for a closer look, ice racing through my veins as I realized my worst fear: it was blood.
He wouldn’t kill her, I quickly told myself, he wasn’t a murderer.
But how could I know for sure? I hadn’t taken him for a man to steal my inheritance either. And those screams, they’d been so real...
Shooting to my feet I raced through the house as fast as my drug-inflicted body would allow me.
I knew I shouldn’t drive but I didn’t feel I had a choice.
I had to track Emma down and fast. The only way I could think to do that was through Dr Tate, he must have a correspondence address for her, Emma didn’t live with Dad all the time.
Grabbing my car keys and pocketing my iPod, I flew out the door.
I drove to his office building on auto-pilot, every effort going into making sure I drove safely and pushing out all thoughts of “What if?”.
It was six in the morning when I arrived in the parking lot.
He wouldn’t be in yet, his first appointment slot was seven-thirty.
I intended on getting to him first. I would use the recording to make him hand over Emma’s personal details and certify me as sane, or whatever it was that I needed to prove that I could inherit.
Then I would go straight to Emma’s and seek her out.
Settling back into the driver’s seat, I could feel my eyes closing, the hangover from the drugs weighing me down.
Pulling out my iPod, I set the alarm, afraid that I would run the risk of falling asleep and missing his arrival.
Satisfied it would wake me within the hour, I used my jacket as a blanket and let sleep take over.
My phone woke me in plenty of time to catch his car turning into the parking lot at seven-fifteen. I had to stop myself from jumping out too early. I wanted him away from his car before I sprang upon him. I didn’t want to risk him trying to bolt.
He had blipped his car and was halfway across the lot when I stepped into his path.
“Abi?” he said in surprise, a hint of fear in his tone.
“Dr Tate.”
“Should you be driving?” his eyes scanned the lot as though looking for someone to have accompanied me. “I wouldn’t expect you to be—”
“I don’t have time for your concerns, Dr Tate,” I said sharply. “I’m in a hurry, can we take this inside?”
He hesitated but as another car pulled into the lot, his nerves got the better of him and he gestured for me to precede him into the building.
We didn’t speak as we walked through the various corridors that led to his office.
There weren’t many people about and I wanted to be in the sanctity of his office in close proximity of his arriving clients and his receptionist before I pushed him to provide all that I wanted.
As we entered his waiting area, his receptionist was already in situ, a coffee for her boss ready and waiting. She greeted us both politely, any curiosity at my presence well masked.
“Thank you, Cara,” he said, taking up his drink with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eye. “Would you care for a drink, Abigail?”
“Not particularly,” I said, the coldness to my tone earning a questioning glance from the receptionist.
“Very well,” he said. “Can you delay my seven-thirty appointment please, Cara? Abigail and I are not to be disturbed.”
“Of course,” she replied, her focus turning to the computer screen as she began to tap away.
I could feel her gaze flicking back to me as I followed Dr Tate into his office.
I knew her brain would be doing overtime trying to guess my reason for being there but I didn’t care. Having her present made me feel safe.
“Take a seat, Abigail,” he said to me as he closed the door behind me.
“I’d rather stand, if you don’t mind.” Not that I truly cared if it did bother him, the words just came out automatically.
“As you wish,” he said, turning away and heading to his desk. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to take a seat though.”
“Suit yourself, you’re probably going to need it.” He paused halfway to taking his seat, his eyes flicking nervously to me before he continued back, unbuttoning his jacket as he sat. I could see him fighting for composure but the pulse working in his clamped jaw spoke volumes.
“So, are you going to tell me what brings you here?” he said, casually leaning back in his chair.
Here we go. I kept my steady gaze on him and, without ceremony, issued my first command. “I want you to get me Emma’s personal details.”
His eyes widened with surprise and he shook his head. “I can’t do that.”
“I’ve not finished, Dr Tate. I also want you to certify me as mentally sound so that I can inherit what is rightfully mine.”
His eyebrows positively hit the roof; if he’d been surprised before, then he was stunned speechless now.
“Look, Doctor, I have somewhere else to be so if you can—”
“Now, Abi,” he cut over me, giving a nervous chuckle, “I’m not sure what you think is going on here, but I assure—”
“Save it, Doctor! If you don’t get me those things immediately I will make public this rather interesting recording I have of our session last night.”
He turned white as a sheet, his body flinging forward in his seat as his hands planted into the desk before him. “A recording?”
“Yes,” I said, taking great satisfaction in the effect my words were having and the amazing control to my voice as I successfully hid the rampaging butterflies in my belly.
His brow furrowed. “An actual recording?”
Now he just looked stupid and I had to resist the temptation to tell him as much. “Yes, you must be familiar with them since you often record sessions with your patients, do you not?”
He dropped his gaze, his eyes flitting about his desk as a look of sheer panic befell him.
My confidence sky high, I pressed further.
“But, you see, in this recording you quite clearly abuse your position. Several times over in fact. It will definitely see you struck off, completely ruined, for sure, and there will undoubtedly be some form of legal suit. So, you see, the choice is yours, give me what I want or this will be circulated to all and sundry.”
He pushed himself back in his chair, forcing himself to appear untroubled I surmised, and his eyes returned to mine.
I knew he was about to call my bluff even before he spoke, he had to try and I expected no less.
“Do you take me as some kind of fool, Abi? Why would I believe that you have such a recording?”
I took the iPod out of my pocket along with a portable speaker and watched his face turn from forced calm to dawning horror to outright panic as the recording played out.
It started right in the middle where the distinctive sound of his wanking interlaced with the words coming out of his mouth. It was perfect.
“And this isn’t my only copy,” I assured him. “Don’t be fool enough to think I’d risk bringing the only one I had.”
He studied me, long and hard, the tension in the air palpable as the gravity of the situation really started to hit home for him.
The only sound in the room was the clock ticking away, an incessant reminder that I didn’t have time to hang about but I didn’t dare press him further.
Ultimately, we both knew he had no choice.
The shrill sound of the phone ringing suddenly pierced the air and we both started.
“Christ, I told her we weren’t to be disturbed!” he exclaimed, ramming the intercom button. “What is it?”
“Apologies, Dr Tate, but I have Mr. Sawyer on the line” — the doctor’s eyes shot to mine — “he says it’s urgent.”
Shit! Why was my stepfather ringing? Had he already discovered I was AWOL? I nodded at the doctor to take the call. “Don’t you say a word out of line.”
The stress in his gaze was enough to assure me that I had him by the balls; he wasn’t going to say anything, not just yet anyway.
“Very well, put him through, Cara.”
He snatched up the receiver and thrust his free hand through his hair, his frenzied gaze fixed on the iPod in my hand.
“Edward,” he said in brusque greeting, and then he turned away, clearly unable to face the evidence of his perverted act while speaking to my stepfather.
He was quiet for a while, listening to whatever Dad was telling him and then he finally spoke.
“No, she should be out for at least another two hours with the dose she had” — he flicked his eyes at me briefly — “where are you? No, I wouldn’t worry, I’m sure she will be out of it when you return. Not a problem. Goodbye.”
Slowly he hung up the receiver, his mind elsewhere, probably pondering a way out of the mess he had found himself in.
“Where is he?” I asked, forcing his attention back to the present.
“He didn’t say, just that he had some business to take care of and that he was on his way home, he’d had to leave you unattended and was concerned that you’d make a break for it.”
I smiled scornfully. “Concerned, was he? How very noble.”
“He is your stepfather, Abi.”
“I’m not here for a session, Dr Tate, I want those documents and I want them now.” I raised the iPod in my hand, an attempt to spur him into action.
“Okay, okay,” he said, raising his hands to me in an “I’m on it” gesture. His attention turned to the computer screen and busily he typed away, his eyes permanently fixed to the monitor as he purposefully avoided my gaze. Not that I cared. I just wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.
Before I knew it, the printer fired up and several pages spurted out. He snatched them up, scribbled on one and tossed them across the desk at me.
“Your mental health...” he said, by way of explanation before pressing the intercom for his receptionist. “Cara, can you get me the file on Miss Emma Jones?”
“Yes, Dr Tate.”
“Quickly, please.”
Mere minutes passed and his receptionist swept into the room, file in hand. She eyed me suspiciously, taking in my standing form and the Doctor’s harried state. She was astute enough to know that something was amiss but too professional to question either of us as she took her leave.
Pulling out the top sheet containing Emma’s personal details, he tossed it at me. “Write down what you require and leave.”
Part of me wanted to insist on the whole file, curiosity about the woman I was crazy about making me thirsty to know everything, but I didn’t push my luck. I jotted down her address and number, picked up the official document he had drawn up and walked to the door.
“For what it’s worth, Abi, your stepfather does care about you in his own way.”
I laughed derisively.
“Just as you cared for me, Dr Tate,” I flung over my shoulder, pulling open the door and walking out.
I continued to walk right up until I reached the parking lot and then I ran. Desperation to get to Emma’s home to see if she was there, to see if she was okay, taking over.
Swinging into the seat of my car, I checked the location of her apartment block. It was in the city, not far from here. Ramming the car into reverse, I sped out of the parking space and exited the lot, my focus solely on getting to her as soon as possible.