Peter, Ciaran, and Gary sat across the table at a cafe in Glasgow from Dennis and Marcus; photos of Carla and Frank sprawled on one side and a map of Edinburgh and the surrounding counties with several red and green dots littering its surface, was spread in the centre of the table, as the early morning sun peeked its way into the windows.
They had managed a few hours shut eye, all except for Peter who spent the majority of the night trying to repel the craving to down a bottle of whiskey as his mind painted all sorts of sickening pictures involving Carla and Frank...and so he lit cigarette after cigarette as he fought the urge to drown the images from his brain, and the anxiety that threatened to overtake him.
He wanted to head right back to Edinburgh the moment they arrived in Glasgow and was filled in by Dennis and Marcus that Carla was last seen at a hospital in Edinburgh.
But he was outvoted; they had to wait to trade in the car they rented for a larger van in order to take Dennis and Marcus along with them. They also needed to make a stop to pick up Aidan, who had insisted on helping to find Carla.
Peter knew it was the right decision: them rushing back in the dead of night all guns blazing wouldn't help them find her any faster. They needed a plan and he knew it. But it didn't stop the fear of what may await them when they did find her...
And to him it was a when, not an if. If Peter Barlow was sure of anything, it was that.
"So once we discovered she was at this hospital, we started googling and checking the surrounding motels." Marcus explained as he pointed to the red dots. "He used the names 'Barlow' and 'Gordon', so we checked with the staff at the motels, sent them photos via email when they requested it. Each red dot represents the places we've checked. The green dots represent the places we need to check."
"So why did he use your name Peter?" Dennis asked, eyeballing the man who sat biting his fingernails and anxiously drinking his coffee.
"'Cause she's my mate. He knows we're close, and I would be someone she would come down to see if she thought I was there; and hey, he couldn't very well use his name now could he?" Peter snapped.
Dennis puts his hands up in mock surrender, "Hey easy man. I just like to know the full scoop before getting in deep into a love triangle."
"A what?" Peter scoffed.
"Oh come on. It's as plain as the nose on your face! She's in love with you but you're married so she tried to move on with this guy. And it worked for a bit until she got cold feet and she called off the wedding. He suspected it had something to do with you, wanted to punish her, and he raped her. Then, after a few months and still being obsessed with her, he finds out she'll be here for a few days, allowing him the perfect opportunity to break his bail restrictions because theres no border checkpoints. So he follows her out here but knows she'd call the police if she knew he were nearby, so lo and behold, he uses your name knowing she'll see you." Dennis sat back smugly.
"Got it all figured out don't you?" Peter gritted out.
"Yup, and I'll tell you what else I figured out," Dennis leant forward onto his elbows, "you're in love with her and all!"
"Really?" Peter challenged.
"Yes, sir." He lowered his voice, "Look Barlow, I know, okay? I know what it's like to be in love with a woman who's not your girlfriend, or your wife in your case. I can see it in your eyes when you look at her picture, I can see it in your antsy movements, I can see your uneasiness behind the relaxed façade." Peter's mouth formed a tight line, unable to come back with a quip. "The problem is, he sees it too. And he'll use it against you, whenever you should make your appearance." Dennis leaned back again.
"Fine, I admit it. I care about her... very much," he acknowledged quietly, fiddling with his coffee mug, as Dennis and Gary shared a knowing glance with each other, accepting that he wouldn't admit to anymore than that at the present time, "the question is are you going to help me find her?"
"Was never a question in my mind mate," Dennis said as he reached out his hand, Peter gave a derisive chuckle and shook the outstretched hand. "But you need to hide those feelings man, or I guarantee you he will use it against you…and win."
Ciaran leaned in to Gary and whispered, "Did you know?"
The redhead smirked, "I had my suspicions."
"So am I just daft?" Ciaran exclaimed.
"Nah mate, you've just been too wrapped up in your own love life to notice the subtleties." Gary said lightly punching Ciaran in the shoulder.
"So these green dots, are they all motels?"
"Yeah, we figured he would want to keep a low profile, and motels are usually good for that." Marcus stated.
"Yeah, but you don't know this bloke. He's got cheek and dosh. He's the type to hole up in a ritzy place, and believe me he could talk his way out of a police lineup. But what I don't understand is how Carla hasn't screamed bloody murder yet? I refuse to believe that she's just given up!" Peter furiously rubbed his brow.
Dennis and Marcus exchanged a glance, before Marcus spoke up, "Umm we were gonna broach that subject eventually; see ummm" he took a deep breath, "she hasn't quite given up…she's got amnesia."
"What?" Peter breathed out disbelievingly.
"Post-traumatic amnesia." Dennis continued. "It's usually temporary, brought on by a head injury, unless she is subconsciously trying to repress something traumatic…like a rape for instance."
"So what you're saying is that she is with Frank now of her own free will…because she can't remember who she is?" Ciaran asked
"More importantly, because she can't remember who he is. Apparently she was discharged into her fiancée's care." Marcus responded. "The good news is, while she doesn't remember anything, he is going to be trying his hardest to not spark that memory back. According to James and Phil, he was beside himself in the hospital with worry that she might die. The guy is twisted, but he believes he loves her."
Gary spoke up, "all the more reason for him to lay on the romance in a posh hotel and not in a seedy motel. He won't want to draw suspicion from her, and memory or no memory, that Carla is a smart one; she will figure out what he's hiding, eventually."
Peter stared at the photo of her; smiling and carefree; his heart sank as he thought of her in even more of a vulnerable state than she already was in, and left under the protection of that animal...
He shuddered at the thought and absentmindedly stroked her cheek before asserting, "We need to find her..."
Her eyes flickered open as the sun poured in from the slightly pulled back curtains. She blinked her heavy eyelids trying to adjust her vision, as she took in her surroundings. She was in what appeared to be a hotel room, in a plush king-sized bed. She could hear the TV on in the adjoining room and could hear a man's voice speaking, followed by another male voice. She turned her head slowly, hissing slightly as a sudden ache throbbed through her head. The room had multiple vases full of flowers and on the pillow next to her, on the side of the bed that remained un-slept in, was a single bloom of the same flower that filled the vases; a white freesia.
'Freesia' her mind raced, 'why is that so familiar?' Her thoughts were interrupted as two men walked through the door to the adjoining room.
"Ah, you're awake Miss Gordon, hope we didn't disturb you?" said the shorter and older of the two men.
"No, no it were the sunlight actually," she said quietly. Her voice was hoarse and when she swallowed it felt like sandpaper. She closed her eyes in confusion and shook her head softly as she asked, "I'm sorry, but do I know you?"
"No, Miss Gordon. This is the first time we have met. I'm Dr. MacLeod. I'm a private doctor who runs a very exclusive practice of mainly running house calls. I came here to the hotel at the request of your fiancée to check on your progress." He gestured to the bed, "May I?" At her small nod, he sat down on the bed facing her and flashed a light in her eyes. "Well your eyes are fine. If you could just turn your head towards me so I can check the stitches." He slowly unwrapped the gauze and carefully moved her hair. "Ahh luckily just below the hairline; it was more of a superficial wound but the bruising is definitely beginning to set in. You will have to avoid washing your hair and be very careful when washing your face for a few days, I'm afraid. Try to use a cloth gently around your cheeks and forehead and avoid this area," he circled around the wound, "all together just in case you get the stitches wet."
"When will they come out?" she asked.
"I would say in a few days. Like I said it was a superficial wound mostly; there was quite a bit of blood but that's a combination of both where the wound is and how long it took for you to get to the hospital, as opposed to it being because of the depth of the wound. But you gave yourself quite a hit there. It's no wonder you're having some trouble remembering things." He said, and she noted the kindness in his voice. "Any pain?" he asked as he stood up and helped her to prop her into a seated position.
"Oh, just a…lot." She replied a bit surprised at her humour. The doctor gave a small laugh.
"I'll prescribe you some painkillers to take for the next couple of days." He turned to look at the other man in the room, the one she recognized from the hospital. "There's a chemist's not too far from here, Mr. Barlow," he informed him, "the concierge should be able to provide you with the directions."
'Barlow', she thought. 'Why is that name familiar?' The doctor watched her as confusion spread across her features.
"Miss Gordon, I want you to think of your mind like an elastic band. It is incredibly pliable, but if you add too much force, it simply" he snapped his fingers "snaps. There are many theories in the medical world as to what causes amnesia. Other than the obvious physical cause in this case - the injury to the head - I personally believe that dissociative amnesia is the body's way of trying to heal itself. It makes a clean slate if you will of certain parts of your brain, so that it is able to repair any damage sustained to it. Once it has achieved this, your memory will come back."
She nodded her agreement, though the thought of simply "waiting" for her memory to come back frustrated her to no end.
"Type A personality, Miss Gordon?" the doctor seemed to read her thoughts.
"That's an understatement if I've ever heard one." Frank stated with a smirk, and the doctor chuckled.
"Well, if all goes well, you'll begin to remember things in pieces; déjà vu may set in; little things could trigger a memory, and then one day it could just all come flooding back. Just try not to force them to come quicker because you may prolong the amnesia further. Doctor's orders!"
She nodded her agreement as a frown graced her face. "I'll be back to check on you tomorrow." Dr. MacLeod stated and he reached out and touched her shoulder, feeling her flinch beneath him. He curiously rose an eyebrow at the movement.
"I'll see you out." Frank stated.
"Mr. Barlow, has Miss Gordon experienced any type of traumatic experience recently?" Dr. MacLeod asked Frank as they stood at the door.
Frank looked uncomfortable for a moment, before he placed his hands in his pockets. "Yes, uhhh, yes unfortunately she has," he swiveled his body to look back to where Carla was on the bed, before turning back to the doctor, his voice low so she couldn't hear. "She was attacked a few months ago, you know…attacked."
The doctor nodded his understanding, "well, it's possible that this bout of amnesia may be more about her subconsciously trying to repress those memories, than the injury itself. I recommend you keep her as comfortable as possible, and ummm, maybe refrain from anything intimate-wise that may trigger memories of the assault, if you know what I mean, don't hold onto her hands or wrists too tightly, try not to be too aggressive for lack of a better word. Her current state is quite fragile, and doing so could potentially cause further irreparable damage." Frank nodded his agreement as he opened the door for the doctor.
"Oh Doctor?" He asked as Dr. MacLeod stepped into the hallway, "How did you know she had a traumatic experience?"
"She flinched, Mr. Barlow. When I put my hand on her shoulder just now. There was no rhyme or reason as to why, as she was fine with me before, but she flinched…and it was involuntary." Frank looked down to hide his apprehension; a move that did not go unnoticed by the doctor. "Keep me posted should there be a sudden change in her demeanor." He looked inquisitively at Frank, before walking away.
Frank closed the door, and stood there for a moment, before he finally turned back and walked to Carla who was attempting to get out of bed,
"Whoa whoa hey there Cinderella, where do you think you're going?" he jogged around the bed, carefully placing his hands around her shoulders and began easing her back down onto the bed.
'Cinderella' her mind raced as images flashed before her eyes.
"What's the matter?"
"I've lost my flamin' flat keys," she said as she dug through her purse
"Okay, fine, I've got a sofa bed at mine, you can stay there tonight, it's very comfy. Come on-"
"I'm sure it is, but that's okay I'll get a hotel thank you." Her feet were unsteady as she pushed herself away from the pole behind her and walked away from the man in front of her. She didn't get far before his hands grasped her upper arms and began pulling her back.
"Yeah a hotel, complete with a hotel bar, just what you need right now" the sarcasm evident in his voice along with worry.
"Oh fine whatever." She relented, unable to shrug him off and too dizzy to figure out which direction was where she wanted to go.
"Let's just umm, park yourself on this bench – "
"Easy" she squeaked, his grasp a little tight on her arms,
"-right here Cinderella, and I will get the car. Just stay there." His voice took on a more gentle tone, "Carla, just stay there will you?"
"mmm I'll stay here." She repeated as she swayed.
"Carla?" his voice snapped her out of her flashback. He was now crouched in front of her a look of worry washed over his features as her eyes finally met his.
"Cinderella," She whispered, her voice shaky, "you've called me that before."
Frank dropped his head in frustration, silently berating himself for being careless, before thinking quickly on his feet.
"That's right. That was my pet name for you." He laughed as he raised his gaze back to hers. "I forgot that you don't like it much, I'll try to remember not to call you that in the future."
"No umm it's okay." She gave him a small smile and his heart fluttered. He hadn't seen her smile at him like that since before their engagement party. "I ummm, need to go to the washroom…" she said, lowering her eyes as her tone became slightly embarrassed.
He smiled up at her, using his finger and thumb to caress her chin, "alright, lean on me, then,"
He helped her to a standing position, steadying her as she swayed slightly. He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her in close to his body as they walked to the bathroom. Once inside, and confident she would be fine on her own, he gave her some privacy.
Stepping away from the bathroom door, he headed over to the large windows, pulling back the curtains slightly to reveal a stunning view of Edinburgh Castle.
He smiled. He knew they couldn't stay in Scotland forever.
He needed to be back in Weatherfield by Friday for his bail signing at the station. But staying at this exclusive hotel would guarantee their privacy would be ensured until he could get her to their final destination.
Her having amnesia just provided the perfect icing on the cake for him: he would be able to dote on her without her being distracted by thoughts of Peter Barlow. As she recovered, he would ensure he had her total trust. She was definitely in a more submissive state than she'd ever been, and it might give him the opportunity to exploit that; to mold her into the image of his perfect fiancee that he always saw her as.
She would learn to love him again.
He turned when he heard the door click open, and he walked towards her and held out his hand for her to grasp.
"Look let's get you back under those covers, and order you up some breakfast okay?" he smiled at her, "and then I'll head out to the chemist and get you those tablets."
"Okay." She responded as they approached the bed. He lifted her feet and helped her to swivel around, before placing the blankets back over her. When she was settled he ran his hand over her hair, leaned in and kissed the top of her head. He moved away from her briefly before handing her the remote for the TV. After she accepted it, he moved to the desk where he picked up the phone to order them both breakfast.
Holding the phone to his ear, he turned slightly and looked at her as she mindlessly surfed through the channels.
She was slowly becoming his again.
