by Andy Lucas
With no way to gauge day or night in her cell, let alone hours or minutes, Deborah could not tell how long it had been since anyone had come for her but it had been far longer than normal, for which she was grateful. When they did come, she knew only pain.
She had no idea of exactly how long it had been since she’d sneaked her way into the ARC facility, set slap-bang on a privately-owned area of Namibia’s infamous Skeleton Coast. At the time, self-assured and confident in her own sleuthing, journalistic abilities, she had seen no danger in a little trespassing. It might have been a week ago now, perhaps two?
But then she had been introduced to the CEO of ARC. After an initial interrogation by the muscle-bound figure of Fiona Chambers, she’d expected far better from Ms Roche.
Rich and well-educated, Josephine Roche should have swallowed her story about getting lost in a sandstorm. She should have poured sympathy upon her and given her a soft bed, silk sheets and a fine meal before sending her back to the waiting Munambe.
Deborah had no way of knowing that Josephine was a worse sadist than her assistant. She had swept into the conference room, dressed in a gorgeous Stella McCartney-designed gown, in ivory and lace. Their eyes had met, Josephine had smiled, then stepped forward and slapped her stingingly across the cheek.
Too stunned to react, Deborah hadn’t even raised her arms to ward off the flurry of punches to her face that came next, raining down with the surprising strength of an angry man, knocking Deborah off her chair and leaving her bewildered and scared, in a heap on the carpet.
Blood oozed from her nose and poured from a nasty split in her lower lip. At the sight of her wounded victim, prostrate before her, Josephine felt a rush of power and pressed her attack. While Fiona and a couple of guards looked on, she kicked Deborah senseless, blackening her eyes, stamping on her hands, all the while shrieking like a banshee.
Dropping to her knees, she pinned the battered journalist to the floor, on her back, pinning her arms with her knees. Deborah was totally helpless as Josephine clenched her bloodied fists and began to pound her face with slow, heavy, repeated punches.
Mercifully, she had lost consciousness quickly and not felt her nose break, her top lip split open or feel the loosening of a couple of front teeth. She didn’t know it but it was only Fiona stepping in and dragging her enraged boss off that had saved her life. Josephine would have happily kept pummelling her face until she was dead.
There were no mirrors for her to check out her injuries but tentative exploration with fingertips told her that she was gravely injured. The last couple of sessions with Josephine had focused on the rest of her body, leaving her face to heal a little. This had also allowed her wobbly teeth to firm up again in her gums.
It had now slipped into a familiar routine. Two smirking guards would come and half drag, half carry her down a corridor, into an elevator, and present her, still naked to Josephine, leaving her standing in front of a large desk in her opulent private office. Then the guards would withdraw and Josephine would question her about Munambe, and the investigation into the dead villagers. Deborah could only give her the same answers, which were never good enough, so the beating would start again.
Deborah had only tried fighting back the first time she was taken to the office. As Josephine had stepped forward to punch her, she had dodged away and swung a punch of her own that connected with brutal satisfaction against Josephine’s temple. As she’d staggered back and Deborah had moved forward to make the most of her strike, guards had poured into the office, alerted to the situation by hidden surveillance cameras set up throughout the room.
They had pinned her arms, checked that Josephine was alright, and then waited around to watch as Deborah was pounded into unconsciousness again.
Now, when they came, she answered the same questions and just waited to be beaten. If she showed any resistance, it would be worse for her.
Deborah sat, cross-legged, on the hard floor. She stared at the walls as her mind wandered aimlessly over images from the past. Suddenly she was snapped alert by the sound of soft footfalls outside the door. Not the heavy stomp of guard boots this time but her stomach still lurched sickeningly.
The lock turned and the door swung open, revealing a young Asian woman, wearing a white coat and sporting a stethoscope around her neck. In her late thirties, her long, wavy black hair was scraped back in a ponytail. As she stepped inside the cell, her eyes darted nervously around the little space, as though half expecting someone to jump out and attack her.
Satisfied that the prisoner was alone, she allowed a brief smile to flicker on her lips and a look of vague compassion creased the edges of her limpid, hazel eyes. Possibly Chinese, or Korean, she was typically petite and carried herself with natural poise.
‘Miss Miles. I am sorry to meet you under such circumstances,’ she began, her English delivered flawlessly but, surprisingly, with a German accent. ‘I am Doctor Shilan.’
With difficulty, Deborah struggled to her feet, wobbling unsteadily but waving the doctor away when she moved in to help. Gritting her teeth against a wave of pain, she leaned a hand against one wall and waited for the room to stop spinning.
‘Please, don’t,’ she croaked, barely able to hear her own words. ‘There’s no point trying to help me. That sick bitch is just going to keep fucking with me until I die.’ She paused, fighting to breathe from a combination of broken ribs and a swollen diaphragm. ‘Better to finish me off, eh?’
‘I’m a doctor,’ replied Shilan, stepping forwards and steadying Deborah, despite her feeble protests. ‘I’m not here to watch anyone get killed.’
‘Does Josephine Roche know that?’ spat Deborah, feeling herself fading just as her knees buckled beneath her. She did not hit the ground because Shilan caught her under the arms and called out to the guards, who appeared in seconds.
‘We need to get her up to one of the guest rooms in the staff quarters,’ Shilan instructed. ‘One of you will have to help me carry her. The other can lead the way.’
The guards looked uncertain. This had not been on their briefing. Their orders were to keep an eye on the prisoner, taker her to their boss whenever summoned, and wait for her to die.
‘She isn’t leaving this cell,’ stated one guard emphatically. ‘My orders are to keep her here.’
‘Then she’ll die.’
‘Tough,’ he replied coldly. ‘She should have kept her sticky beak out of ARC affairs.’
Shilan regarded the man thoughtfully. ‘I suggest you go and speak with Ms Roche,’ she commanded. ‘My orders come directly from her. The plan has changed. Go and check, but be quick.’
The man was used to reading people and everything about the doctor’s tone and manner told him that she was telling the truth.
‘Why should I believe you?’ he stalled. ‘Maybe you’re trying to bust her out?’
‘Don’t be such a fool,’ Shilan snapped, losing patience. ‘I don’t need you to believe me, just check with your boss.’ Then, more softly she added a sweetener. ‘Look, I found something interesting in the prisoner’s most recent blood sample and Ms Roche now has a new plan for her. She needs her alive. Come on, help me.’
Finally deciding the doctor was not a threat, the guard stepped inside and positioned himself under Deborah’s left arm, just as she passed out completely. With Shilan under the other arm, they carried her inert form out of the cell and down to the elevator, following the second guard as he dutifully led the way.
Five minutes later, Shilan stepped away from the bed in a comfortable guest bedroom and looked down on Deborah with mixed emotions raging through her. She desperately wanted to help this poor woman but that was not why she was here. This was not the time to deviate from the plan.
Before leaving Deborah, she gave her a sedative injection, ensuring her body would begin the process of healing. She also set up a saline drip and a separate infusion bag of broad-spectrum antibiotics. As she left, Shilan gave the two guards, now repositioned outside the doo
r of the guestroom, clear instructions to leave Deborah to sleep.
‘Only call me if there is a problem but,’ she added, ‘I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Then I shall stay with the patient overnight to make sure she starts improving.’ She went to leave but then turned to give them a final instruction. Her tone was flinty. ‘You’re job is to protect her now, not harm or humiliate her. Understand?’
Neither man responded but Shilan easily read the thoughts behind their eyes. An unconscious, sedated female prisoner, with nobody around, and a couple of hours to kill. Who would know?
‘We will take care of her,’ sniggered the guard who had earlier helped carry Deborah to her new accommodation.
‘Yeah,’ agreed his associate. ‘I promise that she’ll still be alive when you get back.’ His smile was sickly to behold.
‘Not only will she still be alive,’ Shilan corrected, ‘but untouched. I will be checking every part of her thoroughly and Ms Roche was very specific that no further harm must come to her. That includes any fun you two might be thinking of having. I know there was a standing instruction that she was not to be sexually abused by security staff, which I’m sure you’ve complied with. That has not changed.’
The guards shifted a little uneasily on their feet as she stared them down until, finally satisfied that Deborah would be safe for a while, Shilan headed for the elevator, and a meeting with her client.
When she returned just over an hour later, still wrestling inner demons as she stepped out of the elevator, she was pleased to see the two guards on duty outside the door to Deborah’s room. Neither had dared act out their fantasy and Shilan relieved them immediately, telling them that she would take responsibility for the prisoner overnight. The guards did not argue and headed off to get something to eat.
Back inside the room, she made a quick check of the sleeping Deborah and was satisfied she had not been interfered with. The sedative would knock her out all night so it was just a babysitting job now.
She planned to fix up her injuries properly the next day but one needed to be attended to while Deborah was still unconscious. That was her badly broken nose.
Although swollen and bent, Shilan’s professional eye spotted a clean break, aggravated by a dislocation of the floating cartilage. Leaning in, she studied the shape carefully for a full minute before gripping the nose and skilfully manipulating it back in place.
A couple of strips of white tape would keep everything locked in place and the improvement in Deborah’s breathing was immediate to hear, softly filling the air with an easy rhythm.
Shilan noted that both drips were feeding perfectly well before settling down for the night in a comfortable armchair, over in one corner of the room.
Leaving a single bedside lamp on, the room took on a peaceful, calm atmosphere that soon drew yawns from Shilan. Her eyelids began to prickle at the edges and she gratefully snuggled down further into the floral fabric upholstery as they became leaden with sleep.
She awoke with a start, bolting upright in the chair, heart racing. The room was still dimly lit and quiet. She had no idea what had roused her but pulled herself out of the chair and used it as an opportunity to check on her patient again. Her watch told her it was a little after three a.m. and a quick glance told her that Deborah remained in a deep, serene slumber.
Still none the wiser as to what had awoken her, Shilan returned to her warm chair and soon dozed off again, waking more naturally just after six o’clock. This time, Deborah’s increasingly restless movements in the bed were the cause of the creaking and groaning that woke her this time.
Stretching out her aching muscles, Shilan changed the drips and waited for the remnants of the sedative to wear off. Today, Deborah would have to find out what Josephine had in store for her and why that needed a surgeon to be present. It was not a conversation that sat well with her, and definitely not one she was looking forward to having.
Shilan felt genuine pity for the imprisoned journalist and would help her as soon as she could. Her own secret was more important, however, and if that meant the sleeping woman in the bed ended up dead, unfortunately that would just have to happen. The doctor fervently hoped it would not come to that.
When the last vestiges of sleep lifted from her consciousness, Deborah surfaced feeling strangely alert and energised. The fluids and medication were working their magic in her system and the enforced rest had allowed long-depleted batteries to begin recharging.
The first thing she focused on, as her eyelids flickered open, was Shilan, staring down at her with the same concerned look she’d been wearing the day before. It took Deborah a few moments before the change in her environment fully registered and then, out of nowhere, the tears started. She managed to keep the noise fairly muffled as she sobbed into her pillow, resurfacing after five minutes feeling drained but more in control of her emotions.
As the tears subsided, Shilan returned to her bedside with a small medical bag from which she produced equipment for a standard check-up: heart, eyes, ears, blood pressure. She was slow and methodical but pronounced Deborah to be in fairly good shape, all things considered.
After tightly bandaging up her broken lower ribs, and applying antiseptic cream to the deepest of her lacerations, she helped her to sit up in bed and watched as she drank a full glass of water, from a jug on the bedside table. Shilan knew it was fresh because as she had ordered it herself an hour earlier, along with a bowl of grapes, strawberries and blueberries. Deborah needed to recover her strength quickly.
The berries tasted phenomenal to Deborah’s deprived taste buds and she gorged herself, emptying the bowl without pausing. She wanted more but the doctor advised against it, cautioning that her stomach needed to adjust to the food for an hour or so before eating anything else.
Feeling vaguely human again, Deborah studied the doctor closely, as if for the first time. She had a faint recollection of seeing her in the cell but her memories were jumbled and confusing. She couldn’t remember if the woman had said who she was, so she asked.
‘I am Doctor Shilan,’ explained Shilan soothingly. ‘I am here to get you well again.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I have been asked to, by Ms Roche.’
‘The same Ms Roche who has beaten me nearly to death? The same Ms Roche who has sadistically enjoyed crushing my bones and smashing my face? The same evil, conniving bitch who wants me dead?’
‘I don’t pretend to know what’s been going on here,’ admitted Shilan. ‘She contacted me with a...er...a proposition.’
Deborah noted the slightly German lilt to her voice, suddenly remembering it from the night before. ‘What proposition? Come and kill me humanely? Maybe she’d had enough of killing me in person.’ She spat the last words with venom, eyes ablaze.
‘Nothing like that,’ promised Shilan. ‘She does not want you dead. She actually wants you to help her bring new life into this world.’
It took a few moments to register the meaning behind the words and Deborah was still not clear what she had just heard.
‘New life? You mean, a child? What the fuck does that even mean? How can I help her with new life? If she wants to have kids, she should spend more time looking for the right man and less time beating innocent travellers senseless.’
‘Unfortunately, Ms Roche is unable to bear children at the moment.’
‘At the moment?’
‘Let’s just say that her organs are not compatible with childbirth,’ Shilan explained, without really explaining anything.
‘So,’ Deborah said coldly, ‘she needs a surrogate?’
‘In a way.’
‘In a way? Please stop dancing around and tell me what the hell is going on. Please,’ she repeated.
Any trace of compassion faded from Shilan’s face as she moved into clinical mode. This was a job.
‘Ms Roche needs your womb and your ovaries. I have already matched your blood and it is close enough for a transplant procedure to be successful, altho
ugh she will have to take anti-rejection medication for the rest of her life.’
Deborah stared from her bed, stunned at the meaning of the doctor’s words. Suddenly, that crazy Roche woman did not want to kill her. No...she just wanted to harvest the most precious, intimate organs that any woman has. She planned to rob Deborah of her own chance of being a mother by stealing her womb.
‘Can you even hear yourself?’ Deborah rose from the bed, feeling a renewed strength coursing through her body as anger turned to fury. ‘And you call yourself a doctor?’
Shilan stepped away from the bed and waited. She ignored Deborah’s words, and the truth behind them. She knew it would not take long and it didn’t. Barely had Deborah stood up than a wave of tiredness washed over her with such sudden power as to drop her back on to the bed, flopping like a jellyfish.
‘I am truly sorry, Deborah. I am very gifted as a surgeon. I promise you will feel no ill effects from the surgery and I have been given assurances by Ms Roche that you will be returned home as soon as you are well enough to travel, after the procedure.’
‘Nobody is taking my ovaries,’ mumbled Deborah, unaware that the words she thought she was uttering were actually coming out slurred and unintelligible. Awake but suddenly gripped in the vice of a chemical straight jacket, her eyes opened wider as the terrible realisation struck home. ‘You...drugged...me?’
Shilan said nothing but simply watched as the powerful drug took effect. Tasteless and odourless, the clear liquid had been tossed over the berries. The patient would need her strength to survive the operation that was coming, so Shilan needed her to eat. She also knew just how devastating the news would be and had been unwilling to risk Deborah getting aggressive, and potentially injuring herself, including her precious reproductive organs.
As an accomplished gynaecologist and reproductive surgeon, specialising in genital reassignment and reconstruction, she had been the obvious choice for ARC to approach. A love of high fashion, travel and expensive living, coupled with years of toxic personal debt, despite being excruciatingly well paid, had made her easy to target. Despite taking her Hippocratic Oath seriously, as far as Josephine was concerned, Dr Shilan considered this job to be a lucrative private surgery, nothing more.