by Rita Vetere
"I didn't tell you this earlier, but I know Dr. Stronik."
"You do?” She exhaled. Watching the smoke from her cigarette floating in the air around her caused her to feel suddenly anxious. The drifting smoke reminded her of Ahriman. Probably ought to quit these things.
"Yes. I met him when he testified as an expert on one of our cases. He's a good doctor. If he prescribed this medication, then he must feel you need it. We should get this prescription filled. I can go do it for you now if you want."
Jasmine felt a twinge of embarrassment. That explained the strange looks she'd gotten from the doctor earlier. He'd probably just been curious about Christopher's suicidal girlfriend. “It's all right, Christopher, I'm really okay. There's no need.” She had no intention of medicating herself. She needed to remain alert. For when Ahriman returned.
"Please,” he said, “do what Dr. Stronik says. I don't want you to take any chances. I need to know you're going to be all right."
His face was painted with concern. Not wanting to cause him any more worry, she said, “Okay, I guess you're right. It's only for a couple of months, anyway. I can do that,” she lied. I'll just pretend to take them, if it'll make him feel better. Besides, she wasn't depressed, really. She had a rational explanation for having tried to do away with herself. And she had already decided not to do anything drastic unless and until she sensed Ahriman's arrival.
He smiled and kissed her. “All right then. I'll go fill the prescription. I'll be right back."
He returned a half hour later with a little vial of yellow-and-white capsules. After removing one, he brought it to her with some water.
She popped it in her mouth, but tucked it between her teeth and cheek with her tongue before taking a swallow of water. “There,” she smiled, “all right?"
A couple of minutes later, before the capsule dissolved, she went to the bathroom and got rid of the pill, flushing it down the toilet.
* * * *
Over the next few days, Jasmine listened attentively to the news reports surrounding the bizarre murder of Dr. Tom Janzen. To her relief, no mention was made of a woman having been seen leaving his house. No one had spotted her entering or leaving, and she'd not been approached by the police in connection with his death. Jasmine was grateful the police hadn't connected her, but the horrible image of his corpse had been burned permanently into her memory. It proved to be more than ample fodder for her nightmares, when she wasn't busy obsessing over Ahriman's imminent return.
Days passed. Then a week. Then two. Still Ahriman did not arrive, nor was Jasmine able to detect his presence in the mortal world. Even so, she refused to allow herself to hope, convinced he would come back to finish what he had started with her. She worried constantly about the reason behind Ahriman's absence, while trying to hide her fearful feelings from Christopher. Despite her anxious state, she was grateful Christopher was in her life again, and did everything in her power to hold on to the one good thing she had left, besides Carla. She pretended to take her medication, and never spoke to him about the real reason for her attempted suicide, telling him she wanted only to put the episode behind her. After a while, he gave up asking, although she knew he had not given up thinking about it.
Jasmine had chosen not to return to University for the time being. She spent her evenings with Christopher. Most afternoons, while he was at work, she visited with Carla after her classes, but her best friend seemed different lately—distant, and wrapped up in her own little world. Jasmine suspected Carla was having an affair with a married man. She'd told Jasmine she'd fallen in love with someone, yet when she asked about him, Carla seemed short on details and gave only vague answers. Then, two days ago, Carla had dropped a bomb, telling Jasmine she was moving to England to be with her lover.
"Oh, Carla ... England?” Jasmine didn't know what to say. Her friend could be impulsive at times, but not to this extent. The idea of her moving to another country to be with a man she hardly knew seemed out of character. “Are you sure you know what you're getting into with this guy?” she asked. “You only met him a few weeks ago ... and now you're moving to England to be with him?"
Carla had just looked at her with a dreamy, far-away look in her eyes. “Oh, yeah. I'm sure. You have no idea, Jazzy. He's just the most fantastic man."
"So when do I get to meet him?"
"I dunno,” she'd answered. “He travels a lot. I don't even get to see him all that much myself. But when we're together ... God, you just can't imagine. My flight's booked two weeks from now."
Jasmine expressed her concern. “Why not give it a little more time? Get to know him better before moving in with him."
Carla sounded disappointed. “You know, I thought you'd be happy for me Jazzy. Instead, you're acting like I don't have enough sense to know what I want."
Jasmine didn't respond. Carla had fallen for this fellow like a ton of bricks, whoever he was, and it worried her. Still, the last thing she wanted to do was alienate her only friend. And despite her concern, Jasmine had her own problems to deal with. She decided she needed to trust Carla to do what was right for her.
"If you're sure about all of this, then I'm happy for you,” she'd told her, “even though I'm going to miss you. Promise me you'll stay in touch?"
"Sure,” Carla said. “You know it."
* * * *
After Carla left for England, Jasmine spent long, lonely days rehashing her encounters with Ahriman. She often thought about the strange voice in her head, the voice of the woman, as well. It had not returned since sending her the warning about Tom. Who was the owner of that voice? She supposed she would never learn the answer.
It wasn't until a little over a month following Jasmine's return home from hospital when disaster finally struck. She woke early one morning with nausea sitting heavily in her stomach, and raced for the bathroom, barely getting the door shut behind her before being sick.
A moment later, Christopher, who must have heard her get up, knocked on the bathroom door. “Jasmine?"
She knelt on the floor with her head over the toilet, unable to answer.
"Are you all right?"
"Fine,” she lied, when she came up for air. “Must've been something I ate.” Anxiously, she counted back the days since her last period and realized with a shock that she was already a week overdue. Oh, God. I'm pregnant? The thought was enough to start her retching again.
An hour and a half later, she found herself in the bathroom once more, this time staring at the test stick from a pregnancy kit. She had picked one up from the drug store the minute Christopher left for work. Trying to remain calm, she studied the piece of plastic in her hand. Maybe I'm just late.
Then she saw the symbol indicating a positive result, and her world crashed down around her. She sank to the floor and burst into tears.
There was a chance, she reminded herself, that the baby might be Christopher's. The thought did little to relieve her distress. Because in her heart she believed Ahriman had fathered the child. Hadn't that been his motivation in appearing to her in the first place? And, she realized with a shock, that was probably why he hadn't returned—he'd succeeded in his mission. He'd impregnated her.
For another half hour, she sat on the bathroom floor, staring at nothing, her eyes swollen from crying. Finally, she decided that, before she did anything else, she had to find out for sure who had fathered the baby.
Later, staring at the Google search results on the screen of her open laptop, she made a note of the name and phone number of a lab located downtown. Apparently, DNA testing could be conducted during pregnancy. She could determine whether or not the baby was Christopher's by providing a hair sample, which she could easily collect. She'd been surprised to find out the testing could be carried out before birth, but dismayed to learn the earliest the test could be conducted would be ten weeks into pregnancy, just before the end of her first trimester. It meant she would need to wait another six weeks or so. She knew they would be the longest six weeks o
f her life. The waiting would be hell, but she owed it to Christopher and to herself to find out if the baby was his. Just in case. If, by some blessing it turned out to be true, she'd devote the rest of her days to Christopher and the child produced by their love. If, on the other hand, her deepest fear was realized and the test concluded the baby had not been fathered by Christopher, she would face another, much more difficult, decision. One Christopher would never know about.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 23
A week before her scheduled paternity testing, Jasmine moved between the table and sink, clearing the dinner dishes. She watched Christopher out of the corner of her eye as, for the third time since they finished eating, he checked his watch.
He suspected something, she was certain. She'd done her best to hide the symptoms of her pregnancy from him. Nearly three months along, her shape had not yet changed, but she'd not been able to hide the stress of wondering whether she was carrying Ahriman's child. Christopher had asked her on several occasions what was bothering her. And he'd noticed immediately that she had stopped smoking.
When she caught him glancing nervously at his watch yet again, she opened her mouth to ask him why, but the phone rang, stopping her. As soon as she saw Carla's cell number pop up on the call display, she picked up.
"Hi, Jazzy. Sorry I haven't called until now, but I've been getting acquainted with my new home."
Jasmine laughed, genuinely pleased to hear her friend's voice. “So? Tell me everything. How's England?"
"Jazz, you wouldn't believe it. I'm living in the lap of luxury here. An estate home in the country no less."
"Wow. I'm impressed—what time is it there now?"
"Midnight. I was just about to hit the sack, but wanted to call and say hi, first."
Her conversation was interrupted by a loud knock at the front door. Christopher motioned to her that he'd answer.
"Sorry, someone's at the door, although I can't imagine who.” It was after nine o'clock, and she wasn't expecting anyone.
"Do you want me to call back?” asked Carla.
Jasmine turned, and was startled to see Dr. Stronik, the psychiatrist who had treated her at the hospital, standing in the kitchen doorway next to Christopher.
"Jasmine?"
"Uh, I'll have to call you back, Carla, okay?"
"Sure. Everything all right?"
"Yes. Fine. I'll call you back."
She hung up and directed a questioning glance at Christopher.
"I asked him to come, Jasmine,” Christopher said, ushering Dr. Stronik into the room.
"What for?” she asked in astonishment, noticing the small black leather satchel Dr. Stronik carried. She looked back and forth between the two men.
"What's going on?” she asked Christopher, suddenly alarmed. Her worry only deepened as she studied Christopher's face, the face of the man she loved. The look he gave her was completely devoid of emotion. He remained stonily silent. “Christopher..."
"We need to talk,” Christopher said, taking her by the arm and leading her to one of the kitchen chairs. “Sit down,” he said.
Dr. Stronik placed his leather case on the table and opened it, without saying a word.
The coldness in Christopher's voice felt like a slap in the face.
"I'm not going to sit down,” she said, trying to keep her anger in check. “And I didn't ask you to come,” she said to Dr. Stronik. “Please leave. Now."
"I've already told you, he's here because I asked him to come,” Christopher said, cutting her off.
Dumbfounded, she could only stare at Christopher.
"Did you think I didn't know?” he asked, in a quiet voice.
She froze. Her voice barely a whisper, she asked, “Know what?"
"About the baby."
So he did know. But what did that have to do with Stronik? Christopher's face took on a disdainful look when he next spoke.
"Did you really believe Ahriman would leave the fate of this child to chance?"
A stunned gasp escaped her at the unexpected words. “Ahriman? What do you know about Ahriman?"
The look he gave her was glacial. “He's my father,” came the devastating reply, “and you, the woman he chose to bear the first of his new race, have betrayed him."
"Your father ... then you ... you...” Comprehension began to sink in. She remembered how surprised she'd been on meeting him that she'd not been able to press her thoughts on Christopher.
"Yes. I'm like you. A Cambion."
The pain accompanying his revelation was stunning, but she pushed past the initial shock of his words to react, summoning her deadly anger to take aim at the two of them.
"Now. Do it now!” Christopher yelled to Dr. Stronik.
Jasmine's deadly wrath did not have a chance to coalesce before she felt the sharp prick of a needle on her upper arm. “What did you do, you bastard! Why—"
Suddenly, the world turned black and she felt herself falling. The last thing she remembered seeing were the arms of her betrayer as he reached out to catch her.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 24
"Come in.” Carla pulled the crisp, Egyptian cotton sheets up to hide her nakedness from the prissy-looking maid who entered, carrying a tray.
"Breakfast, Miss,” said the maid, whose name Carla remembered was Emma.
"Thanks,” she said, taking the tray from her. Emma left the room quickly and discreetly. British maids are nothing if not proper, she thought.
She checked her cellphone for any missed calls, and was surprised to see it did not show any. Jasmine hadn't called back last night, although she'd waited up to talk to her. Seven in the morning would make it two in the morning back home. She'd leave it until noon and then try her again.
Carla sat up in the king-size bed and lifted the silver lid off the plate on the tray. Eggs Benedict. Cool. As she dug into her breakfast, Carla reflected on the past couple of weeks and marveled at the wonderful turn her life had taken since meeting Ahriman.
Her arrival at Ahriman's estate had been nothing short of thrilling, the long drive from the airport notwithstanding. She'd been amazed when the car, a Rolls-Royce no less, stopped in front of tall, wrought iron gates set into a stone wall and she spied the mansion up ahead. The driver buzzed for the gates to be opened, and Carla heard the barking of dogs.
"Does Ahriman have dogs?” she asked the driver. She adored animals.
"They're guard dogs, Miss. For security."
"Oh."
The car travelled the long driveway and pulled up in front of a sprawling estate home. Just how wealthy was he if he could afford the upkeep on a place like this? An English garden surrounded the old stone manor. Behind the three-story structure loomed a forest. The driver retrieved her bags from the trunk of the car and accompanied her inside.
Then, disappointment struck. Ahriman had not been there to greet her when she arrived. He'd left word for her through his staff that he'd been called away on urgent business and would return in a couple of weeks. She was to make herself at home in the meantime.
Once her initial displeasure at not being able to unite with her inamorato right away had worn off, she consoled herself by exploring the stately old home and surrounding countryside. Her new home was fit for royalty, and provided plenty of distractions for her while she waited for Ahriman to arrive.
Decorated in elaborate Gothic style, the three-story manor resembled a small palace, and Carla had been amazed at the opulence of the place as she set out to explore it following her arrival. An enormous ballroom with an elaborately carved oak ceiling and arched stained-glass windows took up much of the main floor. The drawing room and library overlooked the formal gardens and were decorated with plaster frieze and cornice. The hand-carved floor to ceiling bookcases in the library contained many old volumes and fine porcelain displays. The stone fireplace in the drawing room was so tall she could stand inside it. Over the mantle hung a large portrait of a woman, ce
nturies old, by the looks of it. As she paused to admire the painting, she could not help but think that the woman's features appeared vaguely familiar.
The second and third floors were each made up of four suites. Carla's rooms were on the third floor and she'd actually gasped in surprise on entering her luxurious rooms, which were decorated in velvet and silks, heavy dark wood furniture, tapestries and plush carpets. A regal, four-poster canopied bed dominated the bedroom.
She'd spent part of each day since her arrival walking the formal gardens surrounding the estate that seemed to stretch out forever, although she avoided the front perimeter of the property because of the guard dogs. Security was certainly a consideration here. She'd been surprised to learn there were no telephones in the house when she'd asked to use the phone to call Jasmine. Emma explained Ahriman wanted complete and uninterrupted privacy while at home. She supposed it made sense, busy as he was. With each passing day, Carla's anticipation of seeing Ahriman again became more and more delicious. It'll be worth the wait.
After Carla finished her breakfast, she slid out of bed and entered the adjoining bathroom, admiring the old marble and elegant fixtures as she ran water for her bath. Yes, she decided, she was going to be very happy here.
* * * *
What have they done to me? Jasmine glimpsed a city nightscape flashing by with dizzying speed from a car window, and the view told her they were no longer in Florida. The stale air in the car, combined with the speed at which they were travelling, caused the nausea she'd been experiencing over the past three months to worsen considerably. She opened her mouth to protest, but only managed to moan weakly. Slumped in the back seat, she tried to lift her head, but the effort was too great, her head too heavy for her neck. Drugged. They drugged me. The thought surfaced through the cotton stuffing that seemed to occupy her mind. Only the back of the driver's head was visible to her, but she recognized the bald spot as belonging to Dr. Stronik. Christopher sat next to her in the back, regarding her with cool detachment. Jasmine had no idea how long they'd been travelling or where they were headed. Her eyes refused to stay open, and she passed out again.