NUMB - Judy Colella (good beach reads txt) 📗

was carefully weighing her reply. “Maybe it was,” she finally said, her voice so low he almost didn’t hear her.

“Maybe it was what? Something else? Like on purpose? Or maybe that there was no accident?”

She sat forward, looking upset. “What do you know, Jax?”

“What do you know, Ondine?”

Stalemate.

And then the girl got up and went into another room through a door Jax hadn’t noticed before. When she came out, she was holding a plain, white envelope with international stamps on it. “The only reason I think I can show this is because I’m pretty sure you already know what’s going on. The blue one arrived about six months ago.” She held it out to him, nodding for him to take it.

Inside, he found two letters, the first from Chara on light blue paper that explained the situation, her plan to save Atarah from her husband’s obsessive, stalking neurologist. She went into detail about how her daughter had been injured and lost her memory. She explained to Ondine that her friend was living safely with her and Seth, but that there was a good chance she would never recover from her amnesia. There was more, too, about the back-story they’d fed Atarah so she wouldn’t question too many things, about the woman posing as Atarah’s mother, about the new name they’d given her and what it meant – Narkissa Xenakis, or Numb/Sleeping Stranger. Not much more after that, except to say it was all right if Ondine wanted to stay in the loft studio. She ended with a promise to let Ondine know if anything new occurred.

The next letter was in a handwriting familiar enough to Jax to make him nearly leap off the chair.

“Dearest Ondine,” it began, “I hope this makes it to you. I’m not yet familiar enough with the Russian language to be sure I sent it the right way. I have been through a very odd journey, my friend, and you are the only one I feel can hear of it safely. Whether my mother chose to tell you what really happened that day I traveled to Greece to see my father before his operation, I have no way to know. So I will tell you what I do know, and hope you indulge me if you’ve heard it all before.

“As we neared the coastlines of Greece, the pilot told me that my mother had asked him to help me jump from the plane, and let it go down into the ocean so everyone would think I was dead, but that she would pay him for a new one, as well as for his help. He said the reason she wanted him to do this was that Dad’s doctor had been stalking me for several years, and in payment for the operation which no other doctor could do, he wanted me. He didn’t care I was married, either. He wanted to own me, make me his prize, give me children. How sick!

“As I told you, I was already pregnant with Jett’s and my first child, but at that time was only about a month along. It seemed safe, then, for me to jump from the plane, and the jump itself went fine. I did exactly as the pilot instructed, and the landing was soft. Wet and cold, yes, but soft. A large fishing boat was nearby that we were to board, but before that could happen, our plane spiraled too close to where we were (I’m told – I still don’t remember that part), and when it exploded on the surface of the sea, I got hit with some of the flying debris. The worst was a head injury that knocked me out. When I awoke, I was bandaged in several places, had an awful headache, and absolutely no idea who or where I was.

“A woman calling herself Helene Xenakis was sitting by the bed and said she was my mother, that I’d had a terrible car accident which aggravated a pre-existing neurological condition, but that I was going to be all right. Over the next week or so, she showed me trinkets and places, which she accompanied with stories that she said might help me remember. I now realize, of course, that she was trying to replace and not restore my memories. Once I was well, she sent me to see someone for a job because my former employer had fired me after the accident. I had horrid headaches, and rarely felt like questioning anything, so I went along with her explanations. Anyway, this ‘new’ job was for a Mr. and Mrs. Johanan. Ha, ha, right? As you know, I grew up speaking Greek, and this was all anyone spoke around me, so it wasn’t until later that I found I also could speak English. Not like a Greek person with that lovely, clipped accent, but like an American!

“I worked as a maid and personal assistant to, well, to my mother, but I thought of her only as Kyria Johanan. It wasn’t until my real memory came back that I understood why she had always been so kind and affectionate toward me. There were other things, too, that I couldn’t grasp the reason for at the time, but was sure I shouldn’t ask about.

“One day, this doctor came to the house. I had gone to Athens on a shopping trip, which I now realize was designed to keep the doctor from seeing me. Even though they had cut my hair short (do not, despair, sweet Ondine – it has grown back!), and dressed me in unattractive maid-like clothing, there was nothing they could do about my features or my height, and within minutes, the doctor recognized me.

“To go back, I returned from Athens in time to see him. Little fool that I am, I asked if he could examine me to see if there was a cure for my headaches and memory gaps. He was only too happy to comply! I went with him (idiot!), thinking myself very clever for having found a solution to my problem all by myself. Ha. All by myself, indeed, because I was alone, and in the hands of the very man I’d been injured in an effort to avoid! He gave me an MRI at the main hospital in Athens, then told me I needed an operation as soon as possible. He said he’d do it for free, because Mrs. Johanan had been so generous with him over her husband’s operation.

“We ended up at his clinic in Russia, right outside St. Petersburg. I was given my own room and treated well. He operated on me twice, and then started giving me medication that he claimed was preventive only, and would keep any headaches from returning. Stupid me, I took it twice a day, an obedient little patient. And then one day another doctor showed up. A woman, who made it clear she was interested in me not as a patient, but as a sex toy. That was the day I decided to get the hell out of there. You see, she made her salacious remarks in front of Kobienko (my doctor), and all he did was imply that she’d have to wait a while longer. Something about his time-table. I suspected it had to do with my pregnancy, and that after I’d had the baby, he wanted me for himself first, before letting her have fun with me.

“Did I tell you how much I wanted to vomit? So I had to come up with a plan. It occurred to me that I’m as tall as most men, and had a boy’s haircut, so if I disguised myself as a male nurse, I could escape. It was more complex that that, but in the end, I did get away and eventually made my way into the city. There, I got help from some kind people, got a job, and have been living here since.

“Details: that medicine I was taking had to be left behind, and two days later I suddenly began getting flashes of memories that I’d not had yet. They kept coming, and within two weeks, I remembered almost everything! My first impulse was to contact the local American Embassy and call Jett. But then I thought about the doctor. He had to know I remembered since I no longer had that dastardly medication, so if he thought that my husband had been contacted, would he do something desperate? Would my entire family perhaps be in danger if I re-emerged into the public eye? There were things about Kobienko, words he used, things he did, that made me believe those I love would, in fact, be in jeopardy. So I decided to wait. I was also very concerned about my little boy.

“Yes, Ondine, I had my baby. He’s beautiful beyond words. Big and strong for his age, he has my eye color, Jett’s hair, and a pleasant combination, I think, of both of our features. That last one is a little hard to tell yet, since he’s only a few months old. But he’s quiet and good, and eats like a pony! I know what you’re doing about now, so I’ll tell you: his name is Chasin. I didn’t give him a middle name, because I believe I will one day be reunited with my love, and he can provide that. In the meantime, my boy is doing well, as am I, considering the bizarre circumstances. I’ve been struggling to learn Russian as well and quickly as I can, and so far I think I’ve done a pretty good job of it.

“Before I tell anyone else that I’m still alive, I have to be sure no one will get harmed when I do. So this is where you come in. I want you to contact the FBI. Or is it the CIA? Whichever one handles overseas problems, I suppose. I have no passport, no papers, very little money, and I’ve noticed people beginning to look at me more. So my situation is dire, lovely friend. Get hold of any authorities that are able to deal with this according to our diplomatic and international restrictions and laws, and get me out of here. I need to come home, Ondine. I need Jett, he deserves to see his son, and oh, what a mess! Do not, under any circumstances, write back to me. Instead, give this letter to the whoevers and tell them to find my address through investigation means. I’m not hard to spot, being six feet tall with long hair, a familiar face in the art world, and always dragging a stroller with me, lol. I will tell you I’m in St. Petersburg, but it’s a big city. Still, I’m sure experienced agents will be able to locate me with very little effort.

“Most important, tell them about Kobienko. That man is dangerous, Ondine, and if anyone is hurt by him because of me, I don’t know what I’ll do! I love you and hug you from afar, kissing your face all over with gratitude. Forgive me, sweet friend, for taking so long to tell you, but as my very long letter must make clear, it was impossible to contact you sooner.

“Tell Jett only if the FBI/CIA says it’s okay.”

 

She signed with a heart and her name. Jax closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath.

“Is this the first you’re learning of this?”

“No, Ondine.” He opened his eyes again, revealing tears. “I knew she was alive. But I didn’t have all these details. My God, she’s strong!”

“Yes. And smart. And you, sir, are an uncle.” She smiled.

“So now what? Oh – when did you get this?”

“Three days ago. I’m still waiting to hear back from the FBI. I left several messages, and was told they were already working on the case, but that they’d get back to me. I guess Chara is involved somehow, too, but if ‘Tarah didn’t write to her, how much could she know?”

“She contacted Interpol and