Matronly Duties (7 page)

“Ms Greene,” George says, getting my attention. “Howard James is the leader of the Trads. He’s the one who organised your abduction.”

“No, you’re wrong, he had nothing to do with that. He wasn’t even there. You were there. He rescued me from those vile men.”

“Ma’am, it was all a cleverly crafted ruse.”

“No, you’re wrong!” I run towards Howard, needing to help him.

Someone grabs me from behind and lifts me off the ground. I kick and scream trying to free myself, but the strong arms hold tight.

“She’s obviously in shock,” says a voice I don’t recognise. “We need to get her back to MITI and have her checked out.”

“No! Let me go. I’m fine. You don’t understand.” Try as I might to loosen his hold, I can’t. “Howard!”

I don’t even realise we are moving until suddenly we are in front of some kind of weird-looking cart with no windows. The person holding me shoves me inside and shuts the door, leaving me in the dark.

With nothing else I can do, I curl up on the floor and cry.

Chapter 6

Four hundred and forty-eight.

I sigh loudly and close my eyes after counting the ceiling tiles for a second time. It’s been almost two hours since we arrived at MITI, and they brought me to the infirmary, locking me in this exam room. George has stood guard the entire time, and after multiple failed attempts to engage him in conversation, I’ve been sitting here trying to keep myself occupied.

My thoughts wander to Howard. I hope he is okay. I also hope that they’re not treating him as abominably as they are me.

A loud knock sounds at the door and I sit up, hoping that
finally
I’ll receive some answers.

George hops up from his chair, checking to see who it is before letting them in. A man enters the room and I recognise him as one of the staff physicians who work exclusively for MITI. Following close behind is Headmistress Carpenter, a scowl on her face.

“You may leave now,” she says to George, who does as she says and closes the door behind him.

The doctor steps towards me. “Hello, Bethanie. I’m not sure you remember me, but I’m Doctor Sloane,” he says and sits on the edge of my bed. “You have had quite the ordeal the last couple of days, haven’t you?”

“I’m fine. I want someone to tell me what is going on, though.”

He quickly glances at Headmistress, who shakes her head slightly and then smiles placidly. “Well, let’s check you over and make sure you don’t have any injuries first.”

He hands me a medical gown. “Headmistress Carpenter and I are going to step outside for a minute. When you’re changed, please lie down on the bed and call out. I will come and complete your exam.”

I take a little longer than necessary to disrobe, using the time to process everything that has happened since I awoke at the Jameses’ house this morning. Everything is topsy-turvy. I’m locked up like I’m the criminal instead of the victim, which leads my thoughts to Howard. I refuse to believe he is some evil terrorist mastermind like George said.

He can’t be. Yes, they’re traditionalists, but . . . he and his family took care of me.

I gasp at the thought that something has happened to his family because of me.

“You ready, ma’am?” the doctor asks, his muffled voice startling me.

“Almost,” I call out.

I quickly finish up and call for the doctor. He and the headmistress reenter the room and I tense, wondering what exactly this examination is going to be. Dr Sloane pulls a tray of instruments over next to the bed and I glare at him wearily.

“Relax, Ms Greene. I promise this isn’t going to hurt a bit.”

He starts his examination with my head, feeling all over the surface of my skull. “Is anything sore?”

“No.”

He checks my vision and then my reflexes before making sure I can move my neck properly and there is no soreness.

“The next part is going to be a little harder.” The hesitance in Dr Sloane’s voice concerns me. “I can see the bruises on your wrists. And after an ordeal like the one you’ve been through, I suspect they aren’t the only ones. I’ll need to catalogue all of your marks and abrasions, so I need to check all of your body.”

Panicked at the thought of this man looking over my body, I glance at the headmistress for reassurance.

“Go ahead,” she says in an emotionless voice.

For the next fifteen minutes, Dr Sloane checks every inch of my body, making detailed notes of all my bruises, scrapes, and other injuries. He finishes up by asking me what I had to eat or drink while I was there. He writes down everything I consumed as I list it. When I am done, he gets a needle and takes a syringe full of blood.

For a moment, I think he is through and relax a little. However, he isn’t finished.

“Okay, lastly I need you to bend your knees and bring your feet up to your bottom so I can do a gynaecological exam.”

In an instant, every muscle in my body is rigid. “Why?”

“The marks on the inside of your thighs indicate someone tried to force themselves upon you, and I need to make sure you’re not hurt on the inside.”

The doctor’s words cause the memories to bombard me again.

I close my eyes and pull my knees to my chest, rocking back and forth. I wish these flashbacks would stop. It was horrible enough the first time. I don’t want to keep reliving it.

A hand on my shoulder causes me to jump, and I open my eyes to see the doctor standing next to the bed with a look of pity on his face. “It’s going to be all right. I won’t hurt you.”

Wanting it all to be over, I bend my knees and spread my legs, giving him access. I fix my gaze on the ceiling and return to counting tiles. It’ll all be over soon. I hope. Thankfully, it only takes a couple of minutes, and when he finishes, he grabs the bag with my clothes and asks Headmistress to join him in the hall.

Annoyed he didn’t tell me whether I was okay or not, I hop out of bed, intent on getting dressed and heading back to my room. It takes me a second to remember I don’t have any clothes.

As I open the door, I see the doctor and Headmistress standing very close together against the opposite wall and talking in hushed tones. Though I can’t hear what they are saying, the serious looks on their faces tell me it can’t be anything good.

As I clear my throat to announce my presence, both of their heads snap in my direction, the expressions on their faces making them look like naughty children caught with their hands in the cookie jar. “Can I have some clothes brought down so I can get dressed?”

“They have already been sent for,” Headmistress replies, then shoos me into the room. She closes the door behind me, and I crawl onto the bed and lie down, hoping a few minutes of peace will calm my raging emotions.

Two hours later, I’m in my own clothes but still trapped in this damn exam room with George standing guard outside. I have waited patiently for someone to come and explain what is going on, and when the door opens to reveal George and Mr Denham, head of the Matron Selection Committee, I almost sag with disappointment. Then the door opens wider and a third man I don’t recognise, but has a very official look about him, becomes visible.

“Come with us,” Mr Denham says.

“No,” I reply, tempted to stomp my foot to get my point across. “Not until someone explains what is going on and why I am being held prisoner.”

Mr Denham and the other man exchange a glance, and then with a nod, the man in the stuffy suit steps forward. “I’m afraid that’s my fault, Ms Greene. I’m Chief Detective Simpson from the investigations division of Oceania Security Patrol. I needed to make sure you wouldn’t speak to anyone before I could ask you what happened while you were a prisoner of Howard James.”

“I wasn’t his prisoner,” I state. “Howard rescued me from the men who kidnapped me, and took me back to his family home not knowing who I was.”

“I know that’s what you think, Ma’am, but Howard James is the leader of the Trads. He is the one who orchestrated your kidnapping. It was all a ruse.”

“I don’t understand. Howard was nice to me. He didn’t harm me in any way. In fact, if it wasn’t for him, one of the men who kidnapped me would have likely raped and murdered me.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you, Ma’am, but facts are facts. Mr James was the one who organised your kidnapping.”

I shake my head. No matter how many times people say it, it still doesn’t sit right with me. “No,” I say with as much authority as I can muster. “I want to see Howard. I want to hear him tell me he kidnapped me.”

“I’m sorry, Ms Greene, that’s not possible.”

I growl with frustration. “Not possible now? Or not possible ever?”

“Ma’am, the accused and the accuser are not allowed to speak with one another until after a trial has taken place.”

“But I am not the accuser. I haven’t accused him of anything.” I am getting sick of him not listening to me.

“Yes, Ma’am, but the government is and as a representative of the government—”

“But I am not a representative of the government! Not for another five and a half weeks!” Lowering my voice but keeping my tone firm, I add, “I want to speak to Mr James, and I want to do it now.”

“You’re not allowed, Ma’am. I’m sorry.” He shakes his head as he says it.

Argh!

I choke down the scream threatening to spill forth. This talking in circles is getting tiresome. Detective Simpson stares at me, a look of concentration on his face. I try to school my features so he can’t see my aggravation.

Without saying a word, the detective sighs and leaves the room. George and Mr Denham follow him. I flop down in a chair. It appears I won’t be going anywhere anytime soon. When he returns, he’s alone and has a thick folder in his hands. He opens it and flips through the pages.

Too curious for my own good, I ask, “What’s that?”

“Oh, this?” He waves the file as if he isn’t sure what I’m talking about. “This is Howard James’ official criminal record.”

I hate the condescending tone he uses, but there is no point reacting because that is probably what he is aiming for. Instead, I shake my head. Even though the frustration and confusion I’m feeling is tearing me up inside, I concentrate on making my face a mask of indifference.

He pulls out a long piece of paper and hands it to me. It’s an OSP report in which Howard is accused of stealing food from government stores. As I read the details, I should feel shocked by the report, but I’m not. From everything I saw and all the stuff we discussed during our brief time together, I had pretty much deduced Howard was involved in stealing from the government. His words had indicated to me, though, that everything he did was because he needed to survive.

Trying to be as passive as I can, I say, “I’m sure any citizen who’s starving and needs food would do something similar.”

“And you’re fine with that?” he asks.

“No, I’m not. However, I understand why people might steal. There are always two sides to a story, and desperation can make even the best of men turn to extreme measures to feed his family.”

He huffs at my words and then starts flicking through the folder’s contents again.

“What about this? Do ‘the best of men’ destroy government property?”

The document he hands me is yet another security report, along with a photo of Howard. He is in the background, watching as a group of men vandalise a building.

“If I’m not mistaken, all this photo shows is that Mr James witnessed others committing a crime.”

“Do you honestly think he isn’t barking orders at them?” he growls.

I tuck my hands under my thighs so he can’t see them shaking, and take a deep breath. I am starting to worry the detective is correct, but I’ve been taught to be objective and hear all sides of a story. Something tells me I haven’t heard everything there is to know yet.

“What I think is irrelevant. You came here to ask me about my kidnapping, and as I’ve tried to tell you, Howard wasn’t the one who kidnapped me.”

Detective Simpson’s eyes flash, and he flicks through the file again.

“Maybe this will remove the blinders you’re wearing.”

Frustrated, I’m unable to hold my tongue any longer. “Just because I don’t see everything from your point of view does not mean that I’m wearing blinders—”

He shoves a photograph into my face, and my voice catches in my throat. It’s a picture of Howard, as clear as day, with a hand around a man’s throat. He has him pinned to a wall and with a Taser pointed at his chest.

“See anyone you recognise?” Detective Simpson asks, sounding extremely pleased with himself.

The roar of blood in my ears makes it hard to concentrate. I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants but keep my posture stiff and my expression blank. I struggle to keep hold of the tears that threaten to overflow. I cannot deny that the image in front of me paints a picture of a violent criminal. The longer I look at it, though, the harder I find it to reconcile the man I met with the one in the picture.

“How about this one?”

This time, I gasp before I can stop myself. The image the detective shoves in my lap is one of Howard with three men whose faces I recognise. Two of them were part of the group that kidnapped me, and the third is the man who tried to rape me.

“Why?” I ask, my voice shaking far more than I would like, “if you had all this evidence of his criminal acts, why was he not already in jail?”

The detective returns my question with venom. “Because, missy, even though OSP surveillance teams and undercover officers have collected evidence of his crimes, they have all been minor infractions. Which means that we can’t just arrest him on sight. We have to have a warrant first, and every time a warrant has been issued for him, he’s disappeared.” The detective returns the photos to the folder and closes it. “Thankfully, we have him in custody now and there isn’t a chance of him going free.”

His tone is far too gleeful for my liking. I don’t even try to hide my reaction. The tears run unbidden down my cheeks.

He frowns and cocks his head to one side. “How he managed to get you under his control so quickly I have no idea, but I suggest you wise up, Ms Greene. You’re treading a dangerous path.”