Scorpio Series Boxed Set

by Monique Domovitch

  “Don’t worry, Alex. I’ll take care of it,” said Natalia.

  Gerald cleared his throat. “Alex, I’ve made a few discreet inquiries and I’ve found a private clinic I feel would be better equipped to take care of Brigitte. I don’t like the idea of her being in a psychiatric ward.”

  “I’ll make the decisions regarding my wife, if you don’t mind,” answered Alex sharply.

  “Have you thought about David’s obituary?” asked Natalia. “There are the newspapers to contact, services to arrange…”

  Alex looked at her blankly, and suddenly his whole body was wracked with sobs. “I thought he was just fooling around. I had no idea he had epilepsy. If only I’d known…”

  His advisors looked on in disbelief as the head of Power Properties dissolved into a shaking, sobbing mess.

  * * *

  Alex had Brigitte transferred to a private clinic in Connecticut. The building was set on acres of beautiful grounds with majestic trees and flower gardens. The bedrooms were pleasantly decorated with floral wallpaper and coordinating balloon curtains on the windows. Schubert played softly from a central sound system and patients had twenty-four hour private nurses. Still, Alex was not satisfied. The next day, he placed calls all over the world and flew in the top psychiatrists from France, Switzerland, and Germany.

  After thoroughly examining the patient, the doctors concurred. “Severe catatonic shock,” said Doctor Lemieux from France.

  “I already knew that. The question is will she get better?” asked Alex, dreading the answer.

  “It’s hard to say,” replied Doctor Shumaker from Germany. “Sometimes, a patient can make a complete recovery, but sometimes they remain in a semi-responsive state for years.”

  “Isn’t there anything that can be done?” asked Alex. “I’m a wealthy man. Whatever she needs… Surely, something can be done.”

  “Arrangements have been made to start ECT tomorrow,” said doctor Lemieux.

  “ECT. What’s that?”

  “Electroshock treatment,” replied doctor Moreland from Switzerland. “Under these circumstances, it is our best recourse.”

  Alex gasped. “Electroshock treatment! I thought that went out with the dark ages.”

  “Not at all! The treatment is still very common and very effective, I might add. There is no danger whatsoever, and the patient feels no pain,” doctor Lemieux explained patiently. “There are three different kinds of catatonia. There is schizophrenic catatonia which occurs when a schizophrenic patient becomes completely disassociated. That is not the case here. Nor is the second type, which occurs because of some form of pressure on the brain, mainly associated with large tumors. What your wife has hysterical catatonia, which is the type that responds best with ECT.”

  “How does the shock treatment work?” asked Alex as nightmarish visions of Brigitte being electrocuted flashed through is mind.

  “The ECT will transmit an electric current through her brain, rendering her unconscious. When she awakens spontaneously—that can be anywhere from a few minutes to half an hour after the treatment—there is a good chance that she will be fully conscious as soon as she opens her eyes.”

  Alex thought furiously. Brigitte had already been catatonic for over forty-eight hours. “How many of these treatments would she need?”

  “The average is usually between four and six.”

  “What about possible side effects?”

  “She might feel slightly disoriented for a short time. She might even have some memory lapses, but generally those symptoms leave after a few days. Otherwise, she will communicate, think, and act quite normally.”

  Still Alex hesitated. “Do-do you really think…?”

  “You have to understand one thing. Even though her shock is of a hysterical nature, it is just as dangerous as any other form of shock. Unless we can decelerate her heart rate and relax her muscular tension, she could go into cardiac arrest. If that were my wife in there,” said doctor Moreland sympathetically, “I wouldn’t hesitate for one minute.”

  Alex slowly nodded, accepting it. Then dully, “Fine, do whatever you have to do.”

  “We’ll need you to sign some forms.”

  “I’ll sign them. Just do it.”

  After signing the necessary papers, Alex hurried back to Brigitte’s room. The nurse looked up from her reading. “Good evening, Mr. Ivanov.”

  Nothing good about it, thought Alex. “Any changes?” he asked, still hoping that the ECT would not be necessary.

  The nurse shook her head sadly. “No, no changes whatsoever.” She picked up her book and left discreetly.

  Alex sat by Brigitte’s bed. He held her hand and listened to the sound of her breathing, in and out, slow and regular. He closed his eyes and pretended that she was only sleeping. When he looked at her, though, she stared straight ahead, her face the same mask of pain and horror.

  God why? he asked. He knew the answer. This is my punishment for all the times I’ve cheated on her. God had decided that he did not deserve to have a wife and a son, and now He had taken both away.

  Alex was not a praying man, but he tried to strike a bargain. Please, if You save her, I’ll do anything.

  Then he denied God. If there really was a God, He wouldn’t punish the innocent. What kind of a God would kill off a brilliant young man with his whole life ahead of him? What kind of a God would make a mother witness such horror?

  In the end Alex accepted that this was one situation in which he had no power whatsoever. He had never felt so helpless.

  Hours later, Alex was awakened by the apologetic nurse. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ivanov. You fell asleep. There’s nothing more you can do here…”

  “It’s all right. I was just leaving.” He struggled out of his chair and left. There’s nothing more I can do.

  * * *

  The following day at three o’clock in the afternoon, visitors were ushered out of the funeral parlor and the director prepared to close the coffin.

  “Wait!” Alex stepped forward. “I want to be alone with him for a moment.”

  The director nodded and left. Alex looked down into the coffin. David looked so young, so peaceful.

  He’s only twenty-four. Alex leaned over and kissed him. This is for your mother. Then he turned and walked out. Outside the door, he nodded to the funeral director. “You can go ahead, now.”

  * * *

  At three-thirty, Brigitte was strapped to a table. Two electrodes were placed on her temples, and an injection of Celucurine, forty-five milligrams, and Brevatonal, four milligrams, was administered to paralyze her muscles, preventing them from contracting during the ECT.

  Doctor Lemieux checked the dials, pushed the switch, and Brigitte’s body stiffened.

  At that same moment, miles away, David’s body was rolled into the mouth of the crematorium.

  * * *

  After the ceremony, Alex rushed back to the clinic with an enormous basket full of pink roses. Maybe, just maybe, Brigitte would be better. He walked into Brigitte’s room and the young nurse greeted him with a smile.

  “Good evening, Mr. Ivanov,” she said. It was the first time he had seen her look so cheerful.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Is it really a good evening?”

  She nodded and smiled. “Indeed it is. Mrs. Ivanov is sleeping now, but she was awake a few minutes ago.”

  Alex spent the night in the armchair next to Brigitte’s bed. It was such a relief to see Brigitte sleeping peacefully. Her face was relaxed, the expression of pain gone. He looked at her and wondered at his own stupidity. How could I have been such a fool? I love her. I always have. I swear I’ll make it up to you, my darling.

  In the small hours of the morning, he fell asleep. When he woke up, the sun was shining through the window and Brigitte was watching him.

  “Sweetheart! I’m…” Alex started to speak but the look in Brigitte eyes stopped him. It’s like she’s looking at a stranger, he thought. “Brigitte? Sweetheart, can you hear m
e?”

  There was no response. Brigitte was not looking at him, she was looking through him. Alex felt sick to his stomach. He rushed out of the room.

  At the reception desk, the secretary was busy filing charts. “I want to see doctor Lemieux,” Alex demanded. He felt ready to kill.

  “Right away, sir,” she answered and picked up the intercom. “Doctor Lemieux, come to reception, please. Doctor Lemieux.” Her voice echoed through the clinic.

  A moment later, the doctor hurried down the hall. “Mr. Ivanov,” he greeted him cheerily. “I have some very good news.”

  Alex was livid. “I just saw my wife. She looked right at me and she didn’t even recognize me.”

  The doctor smiled benignly. “She is doing very well. The catatonia has receded considerably. This was just the first treatment and she is already responding—”

  “She did not recognize me!” shouted Alex. He was frantic. “How can you stand there and tell me she’s doing better?”

  “Come with me,” said the doctor. He guided Alex down the sterile hall to a small office. “Please forgive the mess. Since I am not regular staff, this is the best the clinic could provide me with. Would you like a drink? Scotch? Gin?”

  “Scotch,” said Alex weakly.

  “As I was saying,” continued Lemieux gently, as he handed Alex the drink. “You wife is doing very well.” Alex glared at him with doubt. “This was only the first treatment and she is responding beautifully. Her heart rate is normal, her sweating has disappeared. She is even reacting to pain.”

  “Did-did she feel…?”

  “The electroshock?” the doctor completed the question for Alex. “No, of course not. Only the needle test. We pricked her lightly when she regained consciousness and she responded. That is not to say that she is cured. Her condition is simply not as severe. She will still need further ECTs, just as we had anticipated.”

  Alex listened to everything the doctor said. Queasiness overtook him and he did not feel any better. She looked right through me, he kept thinking. As if I was a complete stranger.

  Over the following weeks, Brigitte was given six more ECTs. After each treatment, her condition improved slightly. After the last session, the doctor asked for a meeting with Alex.

  “Your wife is no longer catatonic, but there is still an emotional block of some sort. Although she is completely aware of her surroundings, she refuses to respond. It is almost as though she doesn’t want to recover. In order for me to be able to help her any further, I need to know what she is repressing. I don’t think giving her any more ECTs is the answer. I suggest trying sodium amytal.”

  “Sodium amytal? Isn’t that some kind of truth serum?” asked Alex, worried.

  “That is the popular misconception. Under the influence of sodium amytal, your wife will simply be dis-inhibited. I am convinced that there has to be something more than just seeing her son drown. Guilt, rage—some emotion so powerful she is afraid of allowing herself to feel it. Discovering what that emotion is will give me the information I need to help her. Without that knowledge, it could take months, or even years of therapy before we find the answer.”

  Alex sighed. “Where do I sign?”

  * * *

  Chapter 17

  A few days later, Doctor Lemieux sat by Brigitte’s bed and spoke softly. He had a needle in hand, but she ignored it. They were always doing something to her.

  “There is nothing to worry about. This is just a small injection to help you relax.” He pushed the needle into Brigitte’s arm. He waited for a few minutes, then spoke slowly and gently. “Brigitte, I am going to ask you to listen very carefully. I want you to answer my questions as honestly as you can. Will you do that for me?”

  Slowly, Brigitte nodded. Her eyes were closed. As long as she was sleeping, all of it was just a nightmare. So Brigitte continued the game with herself. She would continue sleeping, because she knew that if she woke up, David would be dead. It was all her fault. She had tried to kill him when he was still in her womb. She had lied about his condition and allowed him to go swimming. As long as she was sleeping, David was there with her.

  Hi, Mom. Did you see my painting? Can we put it up in the library?

  * * *

  Over the next few months, Alex felt like he was on a giant treadmill. Although Brigitte was improving, the progress was slow. Every week, he drove out to the clinic to see her. During those visits he talked, and for the most part she seemed to hear him, but she never spoke, or smiled, or even looked at him.

  “She is consumed with guilt over her son’s death,” explained the doctor.

  “But that’s ridiculous,” said Alex. “She wasn’t even near the pool. There was nothing she could have done. If anything, she should blame me.”

  “When she was pregnant with David, she attempted to perform an abortion on herself. That guilt, combined with the fact that she hid his true condition from you during all those years, is why she blames herself for his death. She’s being treated with antidepressants and I’m continuing her therapy.” He tried to sound convincing. “I have every reason to believe that she will get better.”

  She must get better. What would I do without her?

  Over the last few months, Alex had come to realize how much he depended on her. During all the years of their marriage, she had always been there for him, supporting him, encouraging him, and always believing in him. Brigitte was more than his wife. She was his best friend. Why did I need all those other women? he often thought. I had the most loving woman in the world right there waiting for me.

  As if Alex’s worries about Brigitte were not enough, for the first time since the birth of Power Properties, the company was experiencing financial difficulties.

  The directors gathered in the conference room.

  “How can we be in this situation?” asked Alex as he pored over the financial statements.

  “It’s really very simple,” explained Gerald. “We are overextended. The cost of renovating the Royal Victoria was three times more than what we had budgeted. We’ve had to contend with labor strikes, increases in the cost of materials, and we are still facing endless delays. Every time we turn around, there’s some new problem. No matter how soon we finish the project, we can’t possibly make it profitable for at least five to seven years.”

  “What about the casinos in Atlantic City?”

  “The first casino was remortgaged to pay for the building of the second, and the second casino was remortgaged to pay for the Royal Victoria,” said Natalia. “Although they are both grossing more than any other casino in the country, all the money goes to the mortgages and the costs of operation. Not only is there nothing left over, but we’re falling behind on payments.”

  Andrew spoke. “I’ve been looking for possible buyers…”

  “I don’t want to sell,” interrupted Alex. “Every one of those projects is gold mine. All we need is time. I’ll talk to the bank myself,” said Alex. “They’ve been doing business with Power Properties for years. I’m sure they’ll allow us an extension.”

  Andrew shook his head. “Alex, be reasonable. We could liquidate a few—”

  “You are either with me, or against me! Is that clear?” Alex was livid. He glared at Andrew.

  Andrew stared back. “Perfectly,” he answered icily.

  Natalia broke the tension. “Alex, Andrew did not mean to sound disapproving. We’ve all been under a lot of pressure the last few months. And Andrew has been taking most of it.”

  Alex nodded glumly. “I understand. Now, as far as the bank is concerned, let me take care of it.”

  After the meeting, Gerald waited for Alex in the hallway. “How’s Brigitte?” he asked. “Is she responding to her treatments?”

  “She’s fine,” answered Alex abruptly. “Don’t worry about my wife. She’s getting the best care available.”

  Gerald nodded quietly and walked away.

  The next day, Alex went to see the First Country Bank. The president, a wiry
old man with eyes like steel, ushered him into his office and Alex opened his briefcase. Alex took out the company’s statements and projections of earnings and spread them before the man.

  “As you can see,” Alex explained. “This difficulty is only temporary. All we need is time. In a few months, the Power Hotel and Casino will be fully paid off, and that will alleviate our debt considerably. After that point, we will have no trouble meeting our payments.”

  “I understand your position, Mr. Ivanov. But you must also understand ours,” said Sidney Elmsby stiffly. “You owe this bank nearly one-billion dollars. And you are in default on your payments. That puts us in a very shaky position. When you started falling behind on your payments, I took the initiative of looking into your company. Now I find that the figures you gave us were grossly inflated. Your properties are not worth nearly as much as you reported.” He pulled out a folder and began to read. “According to our independent real estate evaluator, the Hotel and Casino is worth—”

  “—is worth whatever I can get for it,” said Alex confidently. “And I have an Arabian sheik willing to buy it for double the amount of your estimate.”

  The president hesitated. “Are you absolutely sure about that?”

  “Would you like to speak to him? I also have a buyer for the Royal Victoria.”

  The president held his breath for a moment. Maybe he was being paranoid. After all, Ivanov did have a point. An evaluation was, after all, only an opinion. A property was worth as much as anyone was willing to pay for it. If Ivanov had a potential buyer lined up, then… “I would like to speak to him,” he said tersely.