Page 4 of Property of Doc

“Shhh, he’ll hear you and come back downstairs,” a voice hisses. Turning my head, I see… Alfie? What in the fuck is happening?

“Alfie! Are… are you okay?”

He waves his arm and I see an IV in it, and after following the tubing, I spot a bag of something hanging there. He looks terrible, his eyes are sunken in and he’s disheveled and unkempt. “What do you think, Gretchen?” he asks. “Nine months. Nine months flushed down the fucking drain.”

“Oh, Alfie,” I cry out. “Whatever’s going on, it’s not your fault.”

“I mean, you’re not wrong, it’s definitely not my fault, but the monster is back, Gretchen,” he replies as I watch tears drip down his face. “I knew I’d always have to fight it, of course, but I never expected to be forced to do so like this.”

Gazing around again, I want to ask, but HIPAA prevents me from finding out if Louis or Gordon are here as well. Then it dawns on me how I can check and I question, “Do you know anyone else here?”

“Some of them are familiar from group,” he admits. “I don’t know everyone’s names and since we can’t let him know we’re trying to figure out what’s going on, we don’t talk all that much. If you were across the room, we wouldn’t be speaking, Gretchen.”

“So, we need to be quiet and keep our voices down,” I reply.

“Yeah, unless you want them to hook you up like they did to us,” he retorts.

Not. Fucking. Happening. I’ve worked too hard for my recovery, and no two-bit asshole is gonna make me break it. If that means biting my lips until they bleed, so be it.

CHAPTER

TWO

Gretchen

Time has become… illusive. I manage to keep my mouth shut at first, but the day I see several of the people from the clinic being dragged in, I lose my shit, demanding to know what’s going on and why we’ve all been abducted.

Apparently, the minions who are in charge of the dirty work didn’t like that too much and before I know it, I have an IV in my arm pumping me full of drugs that have me not caring about my surroundings.

“Sixteen years,” I mumble, my sweat-soaked hair clinging to my face as tears continuously fall. “Down the fucking drain.”

“You’ll get it back,” Alfie whispers. “We all will, once someone realizes we’re missing and comes to find us, Gretchen.”

“I hope you’re right.”

I know I sound defeated, and I guess it’s because the guilt over being abducted is riding me hard, but so is whatever they’re shooting us up with. I can tell when the bag is getting low and it’salmost time for another one to be placed because my body starts reacting as though I’m having a hypoglycemic episode—I get the sweats, nausea, and gnawing pain in my gut, as though I’m going into withdrawal or something.

Since my detox was done with medication, I had minimal side effects. The ones Ididhave were monitored carefully, so what I’m experiencing now is unlike anything I’ve ever gone through before. I don’t know how long I’ve been gone at this point, but my clothes hang on me and as disgusting as it sounds, I can smell myself thanks to the stress sweats. What I wouldn’t give for a shower, a decent meal, and to get the hell out of here.

Sadly, outside of my coworkers and a few friends, I don’t really have anyone who will miss me. Even if they did file a missing person report, with me being an adult, how much effort will go into finding me? I know from my whispered talks with Alfie that most of the people in this place are without anyone who’ll care if they disappear.

“You know I am, Gretchen,” he insists. “The clinic is run by Dr. Brooks and he’s part of the Kings of Anarchy MC. Once he figures out that something’s going on, you know they’ll be looking, because nobody fucks with them.”

“Well, somebody has decided to,” I snark.

“Then they’ll pay with blood,” Alfie asserts.

“From your lips to God’s ears. Alfie, how long do you think I’ve been here now?” I ask.

“A few weeks at least, based on how you look,” he replies, his voice low.

“Guess I won’t win any pageants, huh?” I tease. I’m trying to distract myself because my skin is starting to itch and all I want to do is scratch my arms until they’re bleeding.

I know it’s the cocktail of drugs they’re giving me. I briefly wonder if I’ll ever be free of this monkey that was thrust on me. I’m trying to stay strong, but right now, I feel hopeless, as though every single thing I’ve worked for is gone.

“Sorry, Gretchen,” Alfie whispers. “Don’t think I can hold out much longer.”

“Alfie? What’s going on, what’s happening? Talk to me,” I demand.