Chapter Three
Alexandra
“Our human compassion binds us the one to the other – not in pity or patronizingly, but as human beings who have learnt how to turn our common suffering into hope for the future.”
- Nelson Mandela
Michigan,
Memorial Hospital…
There it was again, fear and pain that had become so familiar in so many but were still the emotions that I had the most difficulty dealing with. I often heard people say that the more pain you endured, the sooner you would be numb to it.
That was pure bullshit!
There were just too many damn variations of pain for anyone to be numb to it.
“I am Dr. Alexandra Gauthier,” I told the little boy on my examination table. I was careful to speak softly with a gentle smile.
The boy didn’t look up or utter a sound. If it wasn’t for his occasional hisses of pain, I might have concluded that he was mute.
“You can call me Dr. Alex if you like.” I continued my slow, methodical examination of his body. He was so skinny that he bordered on malnutrition. Not only had someone beat the crap out of this kid but they were also not feeding him. “What’s your name?” I asked him.
“His name is Carlos,” the young woman hovering in the background, who was probably his mother, answered impatiently.
I looked over my shoulder at her briefly before turning back to my patient. “Carlos can speak, can he not?” I asked mildly.
“Of course,” the young woman huffed, “but stop asking him stupid questions. Just treat him and let us get out of here. We have been waiting hours already.”
I continued checking Carlos’ vitals before turning to examine the x-ray images I had ordered. I noted the broken bones my physical examination had already uncovered, along with the more visible cuts and bruises. I caught the eye of the nurse who was assisting me without bothering to respond to the woman’s agitation.
The nurse quietly left the room. She would have gotten my signal to call the police and child protective services. I understood that there could be so many things triggering his mother’s behavior, but my first concern and focus remained on my patient.
“You are his mother, correct?”
“Well, who else would I be?” Carlos’ mother bit out. “Can you give him something for those bruises so we can get out of here?”
“I could, but that will do nothing to address his broken bones,” I told her, wondering whether I could bitch-slap this woman on the sly.
“He is so frail, always falling somewhere and breaking something,” his mother dismissed. “His bones will eventually heal. Just give him some medication. You can do that can’t you?”
I ignored her ass.
The fear and pain he felt filtered into my mind. However, it was so intense that it clouded everything else. I was used to my young patients being unable to articulate what happened to them, especially if their abuser was in the room with them. And when the adults in their lives were unwilling to disclose events, I had my own way of finding out. So, I bent my knees until I was at eye level with little Carlos. I held his big dark eyes framed with thick sooty eyelashes as I easily slid into his three-year-old mind and had to suck in a harsh breath at the sharp pain assailing me.
No matter how many times I felt it, there were always different degrees and variants of the pain that my young patients experienced. For sure, fear not only came at different levels and variations, but it was almost always accompanied by anxiety, sadness, despair, and helplessness. And God, this kid had endured so much of them all in his short life.
While I tried to block as many of the emotions of others as possible, I refused to block the emotions and thoughts of children. And this little boy on my examination table, with an arm broken in several places, bruised ribs, a fractured leg, and cuts all about his body, had experienced more than his fair share of fear and pain.
I spoke softly to Carlos as I meticulously dressed his wounds and readied him for the braces that would keep his arm and legs immobile while they healed. At the same time, I delved into Carlos’ mind to find out who’d done this. I had seen too many injured children who couldn’t or wouldn’t tell me what happened because of their trauma.
I saw in Carlos’ mind a man belting him about the body over and over again.
“Pick up this shit!” the man in Carlos’ mind yelled.
The floor was littered with beer cans, cheap wine bottles, plastic, and boxed food containers.
“Not mine,” Carlos whimpered.
“Who gives a fuck? Clean it up!” The man slapped the back of Carlos’ head, sending him careening across the room. Carlos screamed in pain as his little body made a sickening impact against the sheet-rock wall before he rolled to a pathetic, broken heap on the floor. “Pick this shit up and then get back in your cage!” the man said in a menacing voice.
Carlos looked at the cage that was pushed into a dark corner of the room. Carlos’ mind filled with dark despair on sighting the small, dirty cage. It was where he slept and where he spent most of his day. The cage was barely big enough for a small puppy, much less a three-year-old boy. It was a little more substantial than a bird cage but not by much.
I wanted to pull away and slam up my shield from his mental images then.
I hesitated though. I needed to know who this adult was and what part he played in Carlos’ life, and I needed to push some positive energy into Carlos.
It wasn’t something that I did often, but I did it for this kid because what I was seeing was just too much for such a small boy to endure. I psychically sucked away his pain, ensuring that he would feel no pain for at least twenty-four hours. However, it would only mean that I would be feeling his pain until I was able to replenish my strength. And I wouldn’t be able to do that until much later.
I finally pulled away from Carlos’ mind once I had done all I could to help him psychologically. His young mind refused to name his abuser. Even subconsciously he was trying to protect himself.
“Did Carlos’ dad come with you today?” I asked his mother as casually as I could, even though I was almost vibrating with the need to make the adults in Carlos’ life pay for what they did to him. In my book, crimes against children should be punishable by death. You didn’t deserve the basic human right of life if you were depraved enough to hurt kids.
Carlos’ mother curled her lips. “What are you? A doctor or the damn moral police?” she sneered. “Are you one of those people who think that a woman has no right to raise a boy on her own? Don’t worry. My brother lives with us and provides all the male influence Carlos needs.”
Ahh, so this was the brother’s work. “I wasn’t questioning Carlos’ male influencers, ma’am. I was simply asking to determine how much help you will have when Carlos goes home tomorrow. He will be unable to lift anything with his arms over the next few weeks and the fracture of his leg will force him to use crutches. He has a mild concussion that requires us to keep him overnight in the hospital.”
“No! Absolutely not. I have to work, and I can’t come up here again for this foolishness. Carlos will be going home with me. Just bandage him up and we will be on our way.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t release my patient before tomorrow afternoon,” I told her calmly.
“You can’t make us stay here if we don’t want to! I’m not putting any more of my hard-earned money into a hospital bill for a few cuts, bruises, or broken bones that will heal on their own. That’s your scheme, isn’t it?”
The escalating wild anger in her words and eyes forced my hand. I braced as I slid into Carlos’ mother’s mind.
Holy-mother-of…!
I recoiled inwardly. Her mind was a tangled web of dark emotions. Despair, pain, disillusionment, anger, and hopelessness poured into me. I wanted to immediately slam up my shield and depart this host. Avoiding this level of bleak, chaotic existence was the main reason I usually didn’t breach the minds of adults unless I had to. Tired and bitter, this woman had not an ounce of gentleness or maternal love left in her. And in fact, she had ensured that none of her children had been a burden to her.
Horror and then anger filled me.
There was a reason that Carlos’ cage was so small. Apparently, none of his previous five siblings made it past their first birthday.
I pulled away from her mind and shielded up, knowing everything about this woman and wanting to break her, wanting to hurt her as she hurt so many innocents that had been in her care. This woman didn’t deserve the air she breathed.
This was not the first time I had wished that I could use my abilities for violence. Even though I had given in to it on occasion, I knew that my mentor would not be happy with any violence from me. He was more of a forgive-and-forget sort of person.
I would give anything to not see the look of disappointment on my mentor’s face. So, I rarely used my other powers for violence or stepped a foot wrong if I could help it.
Of course, I often debated with myself about why there were so many damn depraved humans walking on this earth. Why would God give me the ability to bury these suckers ten feet under after I’ve seen into their vile minds and not want me to do anything about it? Even so, why would God tell priests to listen to such depravity and do nothing about it other than give them words of forgiveness? My mentor being a man of God was probably even more adamant about free will and the need for benevolence instead of violence.
He was a bleeding heart, but I loved him!
“Portia.” I was seething and didn’t try to hide it as I held her gaze. I wish I had the power to make this bitch sterile!
She looked back at me with utter fear and submission, as I had deliberately injected both into her psyche.
“Go and sit in the waiting room. Do not move until I tell you. Do not even speak another word until I tell you to.” I was pissed and trying like hell to not end the bitch.
Benevolence, my ass!
She nodded jerkily and swallowed hard.
“Go!” I commanded.
Portia scurried away as though the hounds of hell were on her heels.
I glared at Portia until she exited the room. Bitch better be glad I didn’t jab her in the eye with my damn scalpel. My control of her mind would last for a few more hours. In that time, she would tell the police everything, where she buried the bodies, her abuse of Carlos, and even her brother’s part in her crimes.
While sometimes I welcomed my ability, at times I wished that I’d never discovered that I could do this. And then there were opportunities like this when I could help a child, and it made the mental pain worthwhile.
Ever since my mentor came into my life that fateful night in Ireland, I had been growing and learning to live with who I was.
Ten years ago…
That night, both Father Jessup and I had spun toward that disembodied voice in surprise. A tall, salt-and-pepper dark-headed, handsome gentleman with piercing silver-gray eyes stood nonchalantly in the doorway of my room. How did this man get in here without me hearing him? I hadn’t even heard the door open. Given my enhanced senses, I was stunned by that.
He was dressed in an expensive-looking dove-gray suit and a calf-length trench coat of the same color.
“Your Excellency,” Father Jessup breathed out. He was shocked and was clearly struggling. “No one told me to expect you. Please forgive my absence. If I had known that you were coming for a visit, I would have greeted you on arrival.” Not only was Father Jessup babbling but he seemed panicked, his skin looking pale and flushed.
In fact, the fear emanating from him spiked my fear as well.
Wait, was this him? Father Jessup called him “Your Excellency,” so he could be the man who brought me here or someone very important in the Catholic Church. My heart was beating so fast with excitement I could barely contain myself.
“Be assured that all is well, Father Jessup.” The man’s velvety voice immediately had a calming effect, on me at least. His Russian accent was distinct, but his English was flawlessly precise. “However, I would like to have a private word.” He smiled gently.
“Oh yes, of course,” Father Jessup agreed quickly.
“Not you, Eric.” The man looked at me, and I could have sworn that his eyes glowed when he did. “I need to speak with Alexandra. Please wait for us back at the vestry.”
Ah hell! It was him! What did he want from me? Was he taking me from here? Did he know about the mobsters?
“But...but…” Father Jessup sputtered.
The man looked at Father Jessup calmly, his gaze never wavering. He simply waited until Father Jessup slowly moved toward the door. His reluctance was more than evident.
Terrified and excited in equal measure when Father Jessup left me alone with him, I tried reading the man’s mind.
His gaze swung to me, and I swear he looked back at me in amusement as if he knew what I was doing, or at least trying to do. But how could he?
“Now that we’re alone, let me introduce myself.” He smiled down at me. “I am Father Alexi Petrov. I am a cardinal really, but to you, I am Papa.” His smile brightened as though that fact made him very happy.
I was speechless. His words made no sense, and I couldn’t hope to process proper Catholic Church protocol of address. And I suddenly knew for damn sure that he wasn’t my papa. I didn’t know how I knew that for sure, but I just did.
“Now”—his smile changed to more of paternal indulgence— “as I believe you have just found out, you can’t breach my mind.”
“Wa…wa…what?” I stammered in shock.
He nodded as though understanding my dilemma. “Let me assure you that you don’t ever have to fear me or worry that I will ever do anything that is not in your best interest.”
“Who are you?” I was still in shock over Father Petrov’s unexpected arrival, and my voice emerged paper-thin. Something was tingling in my memory, but I couldn’t quite grasp it. “You don’t look like any priest that I’ve ever seen.” He was too incredibly handsome, sophisticated, and distinguished looking for that. He seemed more like what I would expect a wealthy king to look like when he wasn’t wearing his royal robes.
Father Petrov laughed softly. “I am unlike any other priest you will ever encounter. And for you, that is a good thing. I am here to help you. And I think right now you need to leave this place.”
“Why do you want to help me?” I asked in bewilderment. This all felt surreal. “And how do you know about my ability?”
Father Petrov never stopped smiling, but I sensed that I wouldn’t like what he said next. “I will give you back what I took from you three years ago,” he said quietly.
And then it felt as though someone suddenly blew air into my mind, and the cloudiness of my memories suddenly dissipated.
“Whoa!” I was almost choking on the flood of emotions: fear, sadness, disappointment, pain, desolation… so many that my knees grew weak. My abandonment, my sale and abuse… The memories threatened to bring me to my knees. I remembered it all and wished that I didn’t.
“I am here, and I will always be here for you,” Father Petrov said gently.
I couldn’t speak. I was still trying to process who I was, what I was. I was fairly certain that this man before me had no idea what I was. My memory told me that he didn’t know because I never told him. If he did, he would do as my father had tried to do and destroy me. He certainly wouldn’t be trying to help me. Yeah, I could tell that this man before me was no mere human male and had some power of his own. It seemed different from my father’s though. He seemed stronger than my father.
I had so many questions, but I needed to be careful now.
“It’s going to be okay,” he soothed.
“How did you find me? Why did you leave me here?” It was surreal that this man had saved me before, and it looked as though he was trying to save me again. “Without my memory, I could have hurt someone.” My voice was laced with alarm at how incredible it had been that I didn’t inflict harm in my ignorance. If I’d gotten angry enough, I could have easily killed. God, this man had unknowingly taken too much risk!
He held my gaze calmly, conveying his total lack of concern about my harming anyone. “Three years ago, I found you by coincidence. I often go to slaver auctions and purchase every woman that they have in their inventory to give them a restart. You were in a reinforced steel cage, feral and unwilling to trust anyone.”
“My father made me that way,” I told him hesitantly.
Father Petrov nodded as if he had thought something like that. “To be restrained the way you were, it had to be someone who knew you. I wiped your memory to give you a restart,” he said patiently. “The way you were, afraid, distrustful, and in pain, you were in an unproductive state and a danger to yourself. Here you got a reboot and a re-education.”
“I was never allowed an education before,” I confessed and then immediately felt the shame of my ignorance. I had become the abomination my mother and grandmother, in their fear, thought I was, and that was how they treated me. They didn’t understand my gifts or my feeding needs, and I made the mistake of showing them too much too soon. I had learned to hide that part of myself, and it seemed that, by instinct, even though I had no memory, I continued to guard my secrets.
“I didn’t know that,” Father Petrov revealed, and he frowned, seeming troubled.
“I caught on quickly here,” I assured him. “I can now read and write and can even speak a few languages. You were right. The school here was great for me.”
“Within three years? My goodness, that is remarkable.” He smiled in approval.
I nodded, not really feeling right taking credit for something that came so easily to me.
Father Petrov sighed. “The women we rescue are usually placed in programs that my family funds until they have the tools to support themselves. However, you are special to me and my family.” He smiled at me again, trying to convey that he held some affection for me.
I didn’t understand how or why that would be. No one in my life had ever cared for me. I had only known violence, pain, and fear before Father Petrov found me.
“I placed you here because you are a fated-mate. You will always be cherished and protected by me and my family,” Father Petrov said calmly. “Unfortunately, you were not equipped to survive in the human or our world in the state you were in. People who should have taken care of you abused you instead. Your time here was to give you an opportunity to catch up to where you should be in the human world.”
“What…what do you mean survive in the human world?” I was confused. “Do you think I’m an alien because of my gift?” There was no way he knew what I was. Hell, I hardly knew what I was. “What is a sacred mate?”
“Fated-mate, my dear. And you are most definitely not an alien.” He laughed. “One day I will explain all, but not today. Today, I must take you away from here. You are no longer safe in Ireland.”
He held my gaze, and I swear I think I would have agreed to anything he said at that moment. There was something so compelling about him, something that told me that I could trust him implicitly. I had never had that before.
“I will always keep you safe.” He held his palm out to me. “Will you trust me to take care of you?”
It took me a few tense moments, but after my discussion with Father Jessup, I knew how hopeless my situation here was. Not so much for me, but for the mob men after me. Now that I remembered what I could do, no one was safe.
“What about the people here at the church? Father Jessup?”
“No need to worry. My sons will deal with the persons who want to do harm.”
I needed to take a leap of faith with Father Petrov, especially since he’d saved me before, and I hoped that I could permanently change my violent tendencies. I didn’t have to be what my father and mother thought I was.
Father Petrov’s idea of taking care of me turned out to be an exclusive boarding school for gifted people. They taught the next generation of top scientists, doctors, and engineers. I hadn’t known that I had such an aptitude for science or could channel my abilities to such a productive endeavor. Before I was placed in that church in Ireland, I had been little more than an illiterate child with adult problems of survival. So, to think of myself as gifted? It was so far from what anyone had thought of me.
However, Father Petrov believed in me, and that meant everything. My powers were no longer things I needed to be ashamed of. I could forever more think of them as gifts. Over the years, I had been tempted to confide in Father Petrov, but I never lost the caution or sense of self-preservation that prevented me from having complete trust in another living being. So, I lived in ignorance of some of the things that Father Petrov could have probably helped me with.
Thinking of myself as gifted made all the difference in the world.
I was elated when I was tested and accepted into the school.
The discreet school was located on a large private estate with state-of-the-art labs, the most recent cutting-edge technology and equipment, and some of the most renowned professors on the planet, who were rotated from some of the top universities around the world. And given Father Petrov’s connections with the Catholic Church, I shouldn’t have been surprised that the estate was part of the many acreages of land owned by the Catholic Church.
With the drastic change in our interactions and relationship, Father Petrov asked that I call him either Papa or Alexi. Smiling at his generosity, I settled on calling him Alexi.
Obviously, with a benefactor and mentor as wealthy as Alexi, anyone could be forgiven if they thought that I would have been lavished with the same wealth. However, Alexi, from jump, insisted I earn my way. Alexi encouraged me to use my natural gifts of perfect recall and scientific ability to earn extra income outside the monthly allowance he gave me.
So, I had been investing portions of my allowance into pharmaceutical drugs. Drugs that I came across in my studies at the special school Alexi enrolled me in. Part of the school program was a review of all research drugs being developed, and I found that I was usually drawn to one drug or another. My abilities proved spot-on with every investment I made.
Within two years, I was a multimillionaire. And now, three years later, I maintained my wealth status, despite Alexi’s insistence that I donate half my annual income every year to some worthy causes.
With Alexi’s help and encouragement, I opened a safe house for children two years ago. It started out small, a four-bedroom house with a few nurses for babies from drug-addicted mothers. Now I owned five twenty-room dormitories that housed babies and children between the ages of two and seventeen with nurses, caretakers, teachers, and an entire administration to ensure that everything worked, from the kitchen to the classroom to the living quarters of the children and their minders.
I was very hands-on in interviewing all staff at the safe houses, even down to the grounds staff. I let no one near the children in my organization’s care that didn’t pass my mind scanning.
My financial contribution and my gift made my organization possible. And I had Alexi’s guidance to thank for that. In the past year and a half, utilizing the local schools and high schools in the area, I’d had almost eighty children in our safe houses.