It was weird, how life had changed. Helen gone back to work as an agency nurse in Cambridge, living in shared accommodation with three student nurses. Too busy to be lonely or to dwell on the mountain still to climb. No point buying a new house until there were some certainties. Her son was more than living and breathing, he could understand and comprehend and only occasionally got frustrated with his inability to move and speak. She had not visited this week. She had applied for additional funding from the government and several charities rather than spend Ian's money on the necessities of speech aids and a fully adapted wheelchair. Hours filling in forms and on the phone. She had a medical background and going over details was taxing for her. She had been putting off her own therapy, but added that to her to do list.

…

Physio was like doing a cross word puzzle in a strange alphabet and a language you did not speak. His left side was getting there. He could move his fingers and toes with an almost full range of motion. The sixteen year old guessed his right side was kaput big time, he could feel pins and needles at odd times and barely stretching took all his effort. Steve the absolute bastard was moving his right arm at the moment. Alex wished he could move it, wished he could tell his physio to pack it on because he was bone tired. He sniffed trying to stop the snot tsunami, frustrated he screwed his eyes up tight.

Steve stopped, facing his patient and asked "Are you in pain, Alex? Blink once for yes and twice for no."

Thoroughly frustrated, he started tapping in morse. and then repeating it.

The physio then queried "Morse code? Wait I'll note this down." The man then looked the morse alphabet. "You're tired! Only one more rep to do?"

Alex sighed, but made the barest of nods for this torture to be over with .

"Good boy" as Steve started the slow torture of stretches and movement again.

….

Helen was surprised by the unexpected phone call, Alex had tapped out Morse code to communicate with the physio. She tried to think where he would have learned that, school was unlikely and he'd only been to Cub Scouts twice. It was just like something Ian would have taught him. She felt her grief sharp and hard, was she going to have to tell her son all over again that Ian had died in a pile up on the M4, an event that happened five months before his accident. The lorry driver responsible had also killed an entire family and was now in prison for ten years for multiple counts of causing death by dangerous driving. Her son had mourned Ian and then become righteously angry when John had insisted on visitation rights. She should have gone to court to refuse any access for a person with an Interpol red notice, not acquiesced to that bastard's demands to know his son. Making a cup of tea, she made up her mind to visit the rehab centre tonight. She pondered bringing a game but that would be too presumptuous, considering. Though, with a nurse helping, maybe Alex could now participate. Off at a tangent, she wondered if the swear jar would be reinstated. She shook her head as tapping out curses was a waste in communication, which at the moment was just single words.

…..

Three days after his all bells and whistles computer voice generator had arrived, two police officers and Mrs. Jones were due to question Alex about his recollections regarding his abduction and torture.

Alex we sat in his new wheelchair, which he operated with his left hand. The computer voice took time to operate. It took way too much concentration to get words into sentences. He had put in twenty useful phrases including Hello I'm Alex don't call me Alexander. I need a poo, I hate custard, yada yada.

His mum was sat looking pensive. He typed and the voice stated "I wish I didn't remember. I don't want to talk about it." He looked at his mother's stricken expression. She now knew he remembered enough. Things she'd already been aware of from the trauma unit assessment two years ago. Her son had had a night terror last night, the violent spasms had meant he'd been sedated. The seizure at hospital last month had been him remembering, hopefully not everything.

The Tulip Jones here still sucked on mints. Alex wondered if William and Sofia were at school or had they been kidnapped by Nightshade. This topsy-turvey place where Ian was not a big fat liar, working in Office 1403 at Royal and General Bank and this Alex had not been a spy, just had done the right thing and had suffered for it. Living was harder and sometimes worse than dying.

A button was pressed "Hello, my name is Alex, do not call me Alexander" was stated in an American accented computer generated Voice. The next phrase was practicalities of his voice generator "it takes me a few minutes to type a reply, patience is needed. I can hear fine and read lips." The teen in the chair then smiled, lopsided to the left, though drooling was inevitable.

The suits had come prepared and he now write an essay on "Did he remember any of the events on September 23rd 2001."

Alex closed his eyes, these were not his memories and sorting through two different lives was a bit daunting. Different school uniforms and different friends helped. He'd been a day pupil and the Chelsea Academy, Sabina's school. Was she in California? He typed in "cycled to school. Up Flood street down Kings Road. Stopped to visit Ian. Came out the side entrance and I think I was run over. Ohh, my bike? Was it totalled?"

Alex stopped and no one answered, as no one wanted to be the a-hole to point out he was never likely to ride a bike again. "Sorry, it's all a bit fragmentary. I woke up later, bad headache., very thirsty and tied to a chair. I'd wet myself. There were three guys. One with brown hair and a scar on his eyebrow. One with dark, dark hair and a beard and one older guy grey hair." Alex gulped. Typing was worse than speaking. "They hurt me. They hurt me a lot. Threatened me and then they raped me, each of them taking turns, told me to suck better, that I was not tight enough anymore." Alex then looked at his mum and a strange wail came out of his mouth. Full on flashback to Water boarding, slow drowning then actual drowning. He was wretching. Vomit over himself.

Helen then screamed "Enough!"

…

Through the sedation, Alex could here his mum and Tulip talking about his dad.

Tulip's nasally, bossy, even tones "I've not told John anything, neither has Crawley. It's your call, I advise the risk is too high considering SCORPIA will be looking for any excuse to silence John and Alex. Witness protection may be our only option."

His mum countered equally assertive "Alex's medical needs are my top priority and considering his flashbacks are extremely violent, he is being transferred to a suitable unit for traumatised teenagers. I will be following in a month or so. He refused to let his physio touch him yesterday, Alex adores Steve." Helen drew in a sharp breath, her heart breaking and her resolve steeling her to protect her child. "No more interviews until Alex is strong enough. Jesus!, Tulip. The medical assessment from the A told the fucking complete story! It's never going to trial, two of the bastards are dead and one as good as. We both know John will have found out which moron was stupid enough to cross him. That's his world, live or die. I would kill my ex myself for taking my son to that place." John had taken her son to Malagosto, he'd given Alex to monsters rather than be a real dad. Murder and terror were not lessons to teach a fourteen year old. The bastard was meant to have taken Alex surfing.

It was dark when Alex woke, he hated being sedated. Thirsty and needing a pee, nurse not answering. He had a full on moment, with a full audience. He called out, the distorted flat strange voice "need a wee"…gurgling then followed as saliva did its thing escaping down his chin. Alex then screamed. He lifted his left arm, to pull himself up, pull the guard down and ponder his next move. His wheelchair was on the other side of the room. He relaxed to reduce the chance of injury and slid onto the floor. Like a snake he made it to the bathroom, but there was no way he could get onto the porcelain throne. Man handling his pjs off, he pissed on his side into the floor drain. The effort put him into a deep, dreamless sleep on the bathroom floor, naked. The last month had removed any dignity or prudishness as he was a rag doll for nurses, physios and doctors to play with.