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This shit was giving me a headache.
That headache wasn’t going away anytime soon.
I looked down at the doctor Matthias had put on his knees in the lobby. The clinic or whatever they called it was remote and only contained a handful of patients. Mostly women who had been prostituted and addicted to drugs. We released the ones who were obviously sober and being held against their will. Vas was taking care of how to get them where they needed to go. We kept the ones that were still strung out locked in their rooms until we could transport them to another facility. One that didn’t hold them against their will.
“What is your name?” My gaze was cold and expressionless, head cocked to the side.
“Peterson,” he stuttered. “Derek Peterson.”
“How long have you been attending the woman in room eight?”
The doctor fidgeted nervously. “Um—” His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat and sweat had begun to collect on his brow. “Three years.”
“And who attended to her before then?”
“Dr. Williams,” he told me without hesitation.
“Anyone before him?”
The doctor shook his head.
“Where is he now?”
His eyes darted to the room where my mother lay in a coma before they settled back on me.
“She strangled him with one of the cords from the monitor.”
Badass.
“When was the last time she was awake?” my father questioned harshly.
The doctor licked his lips. “Three years ago.”
Elias must have put her back under as punishment. I couldn’t believe she had been awake just three years ago. She’d been here this whole time, right under my nose, and I didn’t know it. It broke my heart to see what Elias had been doing to her. The medical records were detailed. There were times when she wasn’t fully unconscious. When she could hear and feel everything that Elias did or said. If that fucker wasn’t already dead…
The whir of a helicopter met my ears.
Dr. Radick had arrived.
It took several more minutes for the copter to shut down, but soon Dr. Radick and his team were pushing through the clinic’s door with a gurney in tow.
“I take it this is thesukin synwho’s been keeping your mother in a coma?” Disgust and contempt rolled off the Russian doctor in waves as he glared down at the man on his knees.
“One of them,” I told him. “The other one is dead.”
“Khoroshiy.”Good.“I looked over the reports, and despite the flagrant disregard for human rights, she is in good health.”
“She’s in a coma,” my father deadpanned.
“That is right,” Radick nodded sympathetically. “But she has been receiving not only daily physical therapy but also Botox injections to help maintain muscular efficiency.”
“Should we applaud the good doctor?”
“I’d shoot him.” Radick shrugged. “But that’s not really my decision.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle at his humor.
“They’ve been using a pretty heavy cocktail of propofol, phenobarbital, and thiopental,” Radick explained. “These drugs have a continuous effect on the patient, keeping them in a sustained state of unconsciousness for as long as the drugs are flowing.”
