Chapter Two.
Wednesday 30th May, 1984.
Russia – Somewhere in Siberia.
"Alex …." The word was expelled on a long groan of pain and disorientation.
Stringfellow Hawke sat huddled in the corner of a dark, damp and extremely cold concrete box …. which his captors had the audacity to call his 'home' …. and shivering uncontrollably, came slowly back to wakefulness.
There wasn't much difference between having his eyes open and having them closed ….
Just deep, uninterrupted blackness ….
It didn't really matter that much, because the stuff they kept pumping into his veins made his vision blurred anyway.
Which didn't help with the disorientation that he was feeling ….
Floating ….
Free falling ….
Nothing to anchor him ….
He really didn't know which way was up ….
Lord, but he was cold ….
The fatigues they had grudgingly allowed him were thin summer issue, threadbare and shrunk through over laundering and the pant legs were way too short, revealing calves and bare feet. Not for him the luxury of shoes and socks ….
He couldn't remember where he had been, or what he had been doing ….
He couldn't remember how he had gotten here ….
All he could remember was a white light shining incessantly in his eyes and the same monotone voice drilling into his brain ….
And another noise ….
Except that he wasn't hearing it with his ears …. But inside his head ….
Pounding away ….
Buzzing infuriatingly like a bee trapped inside his brain ….
Everything was just a fuzzy muddle, all jumbled together …..
He wasn't sure what was real ….
Or what was induced by the stuff they kept jabbing into his arm ….
Man what was that stuff ….
Whatever it was, they were feeding it to him like candy to a baby ….
Making the world a terrifying place that refused to stay still and focused ….
At times his perception was so clear it was painful ….
And then at other times, it was like wading through marshmallow ….
It was getting harder and harder to separate out what was real and what was a manifestation of the drug ….
Except the pain.
Oh yes ….
That wasn't a dream.
His head ….
His chest ….
His groin ….
Belly ….
Wrists ….
Ankles ….
Nose ….
The drug certainly didn't inhibit his ability to feel pain ….
Hard to breathe through his nose …. He realised now ….
He was having to draw in oxygen through his mouth …. And now that some semblance of awareness was returning, he could detect a bitter, metallic taste in his mouth ….
Blood ….
Hardly daring to move because of the pain, he carefully lifted his stiff, swollen, trembling, fingers up to his nose and felt dried blood crusted around his nostrils and upper lip ….
A dribble which had run down his rough, unshaven chin ….
That answered that question ….
Busted.
Nose ….
Definitely ….
Another reason why he couldn't focus properly and his eyes kept watering ….
Fingers ….
Probably ….
Like practically every other bone in his body ….
At least that was what it felt like.
Or maybe that was just made to feel worse by the cold.
He doubted that anything was really broken ….
After all, they were meant to be taking extra special care of him ….
They seemed to be concentrating their efforts on inflicting as much pain as they could ….
But only on soft tissue ….
Especially his belly and his back ….
And places that were most delicate …. Most sensitive to pain because the pain receptors were close to the surface of the skin ….
Backs of hands ….
Soles of feet ….
Other places that a gentleman just didn't talk about in public ….
Obviously, he had passed out from the pain ….
Not before time too ….
They hadn't allowed him to sleep ….
Not proper, restful sleep ….
Just a few snatched naps ….
Trying to weaken him both physically and mentally ….
Someone delivering yet another blow to some part of his anatomy every time it looked like he might be succumbing to sleep …
So it stood to reason that that was why he found himself back here.
Home sweet home …. He thought sourly.
Then winced as another, new pain registered in his brain ….
Lower back ….
Kidney punch ….
Oh yes ….
The big guy with the ugly mug …. And a total sense of humour failure ….
Yeah a real laugh riot ….
Oh God ….
What he wouldn't give for a little of Dom's caterwauling …. Mangling Italian Opera …. Right now ….
It was starting to coming back …. slowly ….
Snatches of memories …. here and there …. Bits and pieces ….
Memories? Or dreams?
He couldn't be sure …. His memory no longer a thing he could rely on implicitly.
But there were some things he was still sure of ….
Because he associated them with pain ….
He remembered now ….
They had shot about a zillion volts of electricity through him too ….
Just for good measure ….
There was another thing that he found disconcerting ….
He was losing track of time too ….
He had no idea how long he had been here ….
Didn't know what time of day it was ….
What day of the week it was ….
Days and nights merged endlessly into each other ….
He let out another low groan as he hung his head briefly.
How in the hell had he gotten himself into this mess?
More to the point ….
How was he going to get himself out of it ….
Nobody worth a damn even knew that he was here ….
That he wasn't still fixing the Stearman back at the hangar ….
The other guy ….
The guy with his face ….
The guy living his life …. Back there in LA ….
Nobody would suspect ….
If they did nothing but look at him that was, he told himself sternly.
Dom ….
Dom would know ….
Wouldn't he?
It just couldn't be that easy ….
Could it?
For someone else to simply step into his life ….
His shoes ….
Assume his persona ….
Pick up the threads of his life …. without causing the slightest ripple of suspicion ….
Just because he had that face ….
His face ….
He recalled it now ….
The last image burned into his brain before he had succumbed to the powerful effects of the drug ….
Looming over him ….
Looking in to his eyes ….
With eyes that were just as blue ….
But completely devoid of life ….
Wasn't there more to him than just a face?
Sure ….
And surely someone who knew him well would be able to recognise that the other man simply wasn't him ….
Oh sure ….
Dammit ….
He should have been more careful ….
More suspicious ….
Damn.
Damn.
Damn.
It couldn't be that easy ….
Not unless the Russians had somehow managed to make the other man sound like him ….
Act like him ….
He let out another low groan.
You could be sure that they would have covered every eventuality …. Every possible pitfall ….
What was he doing now?
The man with his face, living his cosy life ….
Kidding around with Dom ….
Fishing in the lake ….
Making love to Alex ….
No ….
Don't go there ….
But no matter how hard he tried ….
He couldn't shake the picture out of his mind ….
Alex ….
So warm ….
So loving ….
So passionate ….
He closed his eyes against the images swimming around before him, but the only thing that changed was the degree of darkness …. From a deep smoky, shadowy black to an impenetrable, uniform black ….
Making him feel queasy as the room span around him.
Stop that ….
Right now.
It wouldn't do him any good.
That would be a worse torture than anything that the Russians could come up with ….
Picturing her entwined in his arms ….
His own damned imagination ….
Surprisingly vivid ….
He could feel her warm, slender body in his arms ….
Snuggling into him as she slept ….
Smell her perfume ….
The scent of her freshly washed hair ….
Tears pricked at his eyes then and he let out another low moan of anguish.
Dammit ….
God, I love you, Alex, but you have to get out of my head ….
No ….
Wait ….
He mustn't think about her …. At least not with him ….
But, dammit ….
Maybe thinking about Alex was exactly what he needed to do to get through this ordeal ….
Thinking about her lovely face ….
That beautiful smile ….
The heart melting way she had of looking deeply into his eyes, that made his knees buckle ….
The way she had felt in his arms when they had danced ….
Kissed ….
Made love ….
The laughter they had shared ….
Her wicked sense of humour, totally English and eccentric …. The zany, cockeyed way she looked at the world …..
Her bravery ….
Her determination not to let a life threatening brain injury stop her from really living ….
How much he loved her ….
And he surely did ….
And what a wonderful wife she would make ….
Loving and supportive …. The perfect companion for the rest of his life ….
Their lives together ….
Mrs Alexandra Hawke ….
It had a wonderful ring to it as he kept it running through his mind like a mantra ….
She wanted to know how he felt …. How committed he was to their relationship ….
Well, he planned to show her exactly how he felt as soon as he got the hell out of here and back to the US ….
If he thought about all those things ….
It might even help him to endure this ….
May just keep him alive and coherent long enough to figure out how he was going to get out of this hellhole ….
One small piece of reality that they couldn't deny him ….
An anchor ….
It wasn't hard to picture her face ….
A beautiful smile on her lips and so much love in her dark eyes ….
I love you, Alex ….
Thank you for that precious gift ….
The gift of really living again ….
His only real regret ….
That he hadn't had a chance to tell her how he really felt ….
That it didn't matter if they only had a few hours together ….
They could and would pack a lifetime's worth of loving into the time they were allowed ….
I love you, Alex ….
Thank you …. for loving me too …
I'll be seeing you ….. He vowed, silently to himself, trying to remember the lyrics to the tune they had danced so sublimely to ….
Recalling the conversation he had had with Alex about Dominic's opinion of his singing ….
And suddenly, he found himself smiling through his tears as he clearly heard Alex's voice, edged with laughter, in his head, encouraging him, telling him that if he sang badly enough, maybe, just maybe, the Russians would throw him out, just to get a little peace ….
And he suddenly found himself laughing out loud ….
Wondering just when exactly he had made the decision to marry Alex …. But not really caring ….
It was the right decision ….
And he could hardly wait to get home to her and make it a reality ….
I love you my darling …. And I will be seeing you …. Real soon ….
Friday 8th June, 1984.
Park High School - Morning Recess.
Fighting to hold back the tears, Alexandra Beecham made her way to the ladies room and shut herself in a stall.
As she expected, just a few seconds after her, she heard the outer door open and another person enter the washroom.
"Alex …. Honey …." Sophie Rutherford's soft, concerned voice wafted over the top of the stall. "What did I say?" She asked with genuine anxiety in her voice.
Poor Sophie ….
She had no idea ….
And dammit ….
Alexandra knew that she shouldn't be so damned sensitive ….
After all, it wasn't as if she hadn't known that this could happen ….
Better that she had found out now ….
Before things had gotten out of hand.
Damn him.
"Honey …. What's wrong? Did I put my big foot in it again?"
Sophie had been chatting with her in the teachers lounge, over coffee, and she had quite innocently asked if she had seen Stringfellow Hawke lately.
Without warning, Alex had felt her heart constrict in her chest and tears well up in her eyes, and she had found herself dashing out of the teachers lounge and heading for the ladies room, before she made a complete fool of herself in front of her colleagues.
"Oh no …. I did, didn't I …. I'm sorry honey …."
"It's all right, Sophie …." Alex sniffed, dashing away fresh tears as they trickled down her pale cheeks and joined together to drip off her chin.
"Hawke …." Sophie said scornfully now. "This is to do with Stringfellow Hawke …." She sighed deeply. "I'm sorry, honey …. I took a chance introducing the two of you …. But …. I thought you were perfect for each other …. Two lonely people …."
"Don't, Sophie, don't you dare apologise …. This has nothing to do with your introducing us."
No, this was all down to Hawke's own fair hand ….
And her own.
After all ….
She had been the one to give him the get-out he had probably been looking for all along ….
"I thought you two were hitting it off …. You've been so happy lately …."
"We were …." Alex confessed at last, taking a handful of toilet tissue and blowing her nose noisily.
"Oh …." Sophie sounded surprised. "So what happened?"
"Cold feet …. The worst case of cold feet in history …." Alex sighed, wadding the used tissue and dropping it into the toilet bowl before flushing.
"Care to fill me in?" Sophie asked softly. "Hawke never struck me as the type to balk at the idea of a little romance …."
"Nor me …. I guess we live and learn …." Sophie could hear the anger and bitterness in Alexandra's tone now and frowned.
"Are you coming out of there, so I can see your face when I speak to you …."
Alexandra drew back the bolt on the stall door and emerged with her head held high, heading for the nearest sink, where she ran cold water into her hands and splashed it carefully over her flushed face.
"What happened, Alex?" Sophie came up behind her now and placed a soothing hand on her narrow shoulder. "It was all going so well …. I really thought …."
"So did I …." Alexandra's voice was barely audible, and fresh tears were immediately swimming in her dark eyes.
"Oh love …. C'mon, tell Sophie …."
"I told him, Sophie …. I told him about my …. Problem …." Alex confessed raggedly on a gulping sob.
"The epilepsy?" Alex nodded. "And?"
"And at first he was a little overwhelmed, but then I thought he was starting to handle it …. Accept it …."
"Well honey, I never did believe that he would have a problem with it …." Sophie confided. "He's a pretty sensible and level headed kind of guy …. I just knew if you gave him a chance, he would take it in his stride …. So what happened?"
"I don't know …. I haven't seen him for almost two weeks now …. Haven't spoken to him since he called to tell me his friend Dominic Santini was sick and that his workload was piling up …. I was snowed under too, preparing tests for my class and grading papers, and I thought that by giving him just a little more time …. He would have answers for me …. The right answers …." She explained vaguely, gulping down another sob. "We were meant to go to dinner two weeks ago tonight …. But he never showed …."
"And he hasn't called you?" Alex shook her head, bending over the sink to splash more cold water on her overheated face. "Have you tried calling him?"
"Of course I have …." She responded impatiently. "The number he gave me just keeps ringing out …."
"And what about Dominic Santini, did you try calling him?"
"I'm not even sure he would know who I am if I did call him …. I don't think String has told him that much about me …. You know what a very private man Hawke is …."
"Well you don't have to tell him who you are, dummy …. Call and ask for Hawke …. Make up some excuse about wanting flying lessons …." Sophie grinned conspiratorially then.
"I think it's obvious why I haven't heard from him …. He can't handle it, Sophie …. He's avoiding me …. Because he can't face me and tell me that he is a weak coward …."
"Now wait just a minute, love …." Sophie bristled, after all, Stringfellow Hawke was her friend too. "Not turning up for a date is hardly the crime of the century …. But it isn't something that Stringfellow Hawke would do …. Not without a damned good reason …."
"Then why didn't he call me …."
"Maybe he had to go out of town …. That flying job of his takes him all over you know …. Maybe Dominic Santini was sicker than he thought …. Maybe he got sick himself …. Maybe he went back to his cabin …. I don't think there's a phone up there …. To recuperate …. Or maybe they had to go on location …. Flying stunts for some movie he forgot to mention …."
Alexandra was touched that Sophie could make up so many excuses for Hawke, to try to make her feel better, but she knew in her heart that she was right ….
Hawke couldn't hack it ….
And he hadn't the guts to come and tell her to her face.
"Don't give up on him just yet, honey …. I'll get Bob to give him a call .… We never did make good on our invitation to dinner …. It's high time I put that right …."
"No, Sophie …. This is between the two of us …. Please stay out of it …."
Alex turned off the cold water faucet then and pulled down a handful of paper towels to dab her wet face with.
"Maybe I've had a lucky escape …." She drew in a ragged breath then, straightened her shoulders and back and regarded Sophie Rutherford with steady brown eyes. "Maybe he's not the man I thought he was …."
She made her exit out of the ladies room with as much dignity as she could muster, leaving Sophie Rutherford frowning at her departing back.
What was the girl talking about ….
Lucky escape ….
Not the man she thought he was ….
And what the devil was Hawke playing at ….
Oh ….
They were both such children ….
It would all turn out to be a misunderstanding ….
A storm in a teacup, Sophie was sure, for she knew it as a truth in her heart that no two people had more right to be together than Hawke and Alexandra ….
No matter what the girl said, Sophie knew that the first thing she was going to do when she got home that evening was to get Bob to call Hawke ….
And if he couldn't get Hawke, she would have him call Dominic Santini …. And keep making a nuisance of himself until he got some sense out of one of them ….
She was determined to get to the bottom of this.
For she felt sure that there was more to all of this than met the eye ….
She had seen her young colleague and friend fall head over heels in love with a good man ….
Yes …. a man who had a painful past ….
A man who yearned for and deserved the kind of unconditional love that Alex Beecham had to offer.
Sophie suspected Alexandra Beecham also had pain in her past, some tragedy that she was, even to this day, unable to bring herself to speak about, but which sometimes made its self known in her dark eyes ….
Sophie had seen the girl open her heart ….
Open up to life and love and happiness like a flower ….
And she had heard wedding bells in the air, and nothing was going to deny her the happy ending she knew these two wonderful people deserved ….