Authors: D. T. Jones
Creighton pulled his car off the road and headed down a cobblestone path toward a small mansion settled in the midst of a luxurious manicured lawn and garden. The house was brown brick, three stories and looked to be around a hundred years old or
more. It had a number of large windows looking out onto the landscape and drive; a six car garage was located some distance back behind the house and just the edge of a swimming pool could be seen peeking out from the back of the house. There was a large circular drive in front of a wide porch that looked much smaller than one would imagine for the size of house it was. Two separate sets of stairs led to the main entrance and the drive was lined with small well maintained rose bushes.
“This is not what I was expecting,” Creighton said in awe as they stopped the car in the circular drive by the front porch
and turned off the engine. “I honestly thought it would be a warehouse of some kind, not a bloody palace.”
“I wonder how she got it,” Sandra said quietly. “I mean, it looks old and rather expensive even for a doctor.”
“Well, let’s find out. There she is.” Creighton nodded toward the door that opened and the attractive blonde stepped out followed by the young brunette they had seen in Paris at the book signing. He walked around to the passenger side, holding the door open for his bride then took her hand and smiled at the women who waited for them by the entrance.
“I’m so happy to see you again,” Miriam said, true enthusiasm echoed in her voice as she held her arms out for Creighton who quickly hugged her in return.
“Miriam, you remember Sandra,” he introduced them, pulling his wife to his side.
“Of course, who could ever forget such a lovely lady,” she said shaking Sandra’s hand.
“This is Juliet Harmon,” she said turning to the dark haired woman who waited patiently for the reunion to end. “Julie is my manager, my agent and my lover. Darling, this is Creighton Ashford, I’ve told you about him and this is his new bride.” They shook hands as Miriam led them inside the large double doors.
“Let me show you around,” she said, wrapping her arm in Creighton’s as Sandra stood near his side, frowning. “You’ll love what we’ve done; this is the most exclusive clinic in all of Europe.” Creighton glanced to Sandra
, taking her hand and pulling her closer to his side as they walked through the main entrance and into a sitting room style lobby with six long plush sofas of wine and scarlet, four wooden tables, a massive elegant fireplace with carved angles and enclosed bookcases filled with books. On the back wall were French doors that led out onto what appeared to be a veranda and just beyond that, the edge of a swimming pool could be seen.
“I don’t know what to say about all that’s happened in Yorkshire,” Miriam continued
softly. “I couldn’t believe it when your brother called us. Do they have any suspects?”
“One,” Creighton answered, tightening his grip around Sandra’s hand. Miriam stopped dead in the hallway that led to a number of closed doors and stared at him wide eyed.
“You don’t think it was my father do you?” she asked in a stunned voice.
“Miriam, I don’t know what to think. After reading your book it makes me wonder if he had anything to do with it or not.”
“My father may have been an overbearing bastard, but was not a murderer.”
“Miriam,” Sandra said interrupting the two before they
went any further in what started to look like an argument. “May I ask how you found this place? I mean it’s absolutely beautiful.” Miriam’s attitude changed immediately when she looked at Sandra and the smile she had worn a few moments ago was back.
“Believe it or not, it was my aunt’s home. My Uncle
Gustov made a fortune in oil and bought her this house as an anniversary present. It used to belong to a baron or something of the sort. When she passed away, she left it to me and I naturally took advantage of the seclusion and privacy to create my personal oasis and training facility.”
“Why didn’t she leave it to you and your cousin?” Miriam frowned at the thought and looked like she was about to say something rude, but quickly changed her mind.
“My aunt did not like Konrad, and since he is not blood she had no reason to leave the house to him.”
“What do you mean he’s
not blood?” Creighton picked up, a deep frown pulling his brows together.
“Konrad was adopted
. I thought you knew that? My Aunt Welda always wanted children but my Uncle Ludvig was injured in the war; he could not have them. They adopted Konrad when he was three years old from a neighbor woman who was a drug addict. She would beat him and lock him outside all day with no food, no clothing, even if it was snowing. My Aunt Welda took pity on him and would feed him and care for him, she even set up a room in her house just for him with toys, clothes, everything a young child could want. More times than not his mother would be too stoned to remember him so he would stay for days with my aunt and uncle. His real mother showed up one day and handed him to her and left, no world of explanation, nothing. They never saw her again. From what my father told me years later, they found her dead from a drug overdose.
“My aunt and uncle loved
Konrad, cared for him, gave him everything he could possibly want, but he was always a messed up kid; into trouble, fighting, drugs, drinking. When he was twelve he was accused of beating up a girl at school because she would not let him cheat off her homework. My Aunt Welda, who was a widow by then, didn’t know what to do with him. She asked my father if he would help her and sent him to stay with us. My father was ex-military and didn’t take any unruly attitude from anyone; he thought he could straighten Konrad out, but it didn’t work.”
They walked the main hall as they spoke; Miriam looked sad, whether for her father’s lack of restraint on his nephew or for the boy himself, they couldn’t tell.
“Enough of this; let me show you my clinic.” The mood shifted immediately as she began showing them the many rooms she had designed for
therapy.
They spent
over an hour discussing the theory behind her starting this clinic, all of which she had outlined in her book. She insisted that lovers needed to address their fears and inhibitions, to explore their fantasies and desires in order to embrace a healthy, whole relationship; a fact Creighton had confirmed to Sandra when they first received his old friend’s book.
Miriam
showed them several types of rooms; the first one that was closest to the entrance was very medieval in design with a large four poster wooden bed, a simple round wooden table and two chairs; an armoire and two night stands with faux oil lamps. The bedding was white sheets and a dark burgundy cover and the floor was wooden with a large burgundy area rug beneath the bed. In the corner was a chest of drawers and hidden inside the armoire were a television, DVD player and stereo system. She explained that every room was equipped with hidden cameras within the crown moldings and pictures that hung on the walls. There were six pictures each a different floral designs and she showed the hidden camera and microphones inside the center of the flowers.
“This way the entire session can be recorded from all angles so a proper critiquing may be accomplished,” she explained. “It is important for the couple to see their actions and to understand what they were doing, perhaps something upset the other person, or perhaps there was something in particular they enjoyed, either way they can see and understand what was happening to them.”
“Do you video tape everyone?” Sandra asked as Creighton looked around the room, opening the drawers to reveal a variety of new vibrators, anal plugs and beads, creams and lotions and more toys and instruments than he would have imagined, all sealed in new packaging.
“Yes, but only if they agree
; I insist on having at least one session taped for their therapy and we critique it together. It’s the only way to understand how they perform. Most of my clients are here at least four days, at which time we discuss as a group their performances and then individually. The final night is where they apply all they have learned and that is mandatory for recording so they can see before and after techniques. I give them a disc to take home and review together instead of renting a stranger’s pornography.”
“What if the couple doesn’t want to be recorded?” Sandra asked again, fascinated that this woman found such a need in helping people explore sex.
“I will allow them private sessions, but it is important to have the first and last encounters recorded for teaching. Remember, my clients are patients; they are here for specific reasons so it is not a brothel. They have come to me for help and that is what I am doing; helping them save their relationships, their marriages, in some cases even their own sanity.” She walked to the door and touched the switches.
“
The cameras are controlled with the light switch over here,” she told them pointing at the two separate switches. One was white, the other tan.
“The white one
is for both camera and speakers while the tan one is for privacy, a light only. When the white one is on I can record it in my office as well. It helps for their therapy sessions.”
“I’ve read your book,” Sandra admitted. “I found it very interesting, especially chapter four.” Miriam laughed out loud, bringing the eyes of Creighton and Juliet to her.
“Ah yes, my hayloft days,” she said smiling at the soft blush on Creighton’s handsome face. “Those were fun times…well most of them.”
“Why don’t we go have some tea?” Juliet suggested with a smug smile. “I’m sure Sandra would love to hear you reminisce somewhere other than a sex room.”
They walked down the hallway as Miriam continued to explain the many scenarios they had set up; a room where the sci-fi fan could live out their fantasy as a Storm Trouper or Captain Kirk; a jungle room where a couple could be Tarzan and Jane, another resembling the 1960’s when free love was first being introduced. There was a room she called her particular favorite and that was an old Victorian era bedroom, elegant and elaborately decorated where one might feel like a queen and her knight. The thought made Sandra blush when Creighton looked at her, his smile reminding her of just how erotic the idea was to them both.
Tea was served in a large cafeteria style room with a buffet specifically designed for each fantasy room. The one for the medieval room would serve a variety of fresh fruits and vegetables, meats, puddings and wines. The one for the jungle room would serve escargot, fish, tropical fruits, nuts and berries while the sci-fi room would serve a little of everything, but with a
variety of food coloring to make it appear out of this world. There were three full time chefs on staff who would prepare the food based on the type of clients that were currently occupying the clinic and a half dozen maids with two who would attend specifically to the instruments and toys in each room. Each client would receive a
kit
that would go home with them for private use and the items used would be replaced with fresh, unused toys for the next occupant.
“I have to admit, this is much more than I ever anticipated,” Creighton said, sipping the hot tea as Sandra slowly devoured a cream Danish. “When you came to London and told me you planned on a specialize
d home to teach couples how to play, I never would have imagined this.”
“After I left you, I decided to see what university life was like,” she said with a smile. “I barely managed to make it through school the first time, but formal training was different. I found a passion for therapy and I loved learning about the
mind and the reasons people do what they do. I have actually helped Scotland Yard on a couple of homicide cases, though I never had the misfortune of seeing your brother. I understand he’s a head investigator now?”
“Yes he is. He’s the one in charge of the bodies found on the farm.”
“I can’t imagine, I mean I’ve studied and even counseled murderers, but to find something that gruesome is unfathomable. When Andrew called me, I was in shock. I couldn’t believe it.”
“It was a shock to us as well,” Creighton said. “Finding bodies on the day of our wedding reception was not what I had anticipated.”
“I’m sure. Crey, you don’t really believe my father could have done those crimes, do you?” Creighton sighed deeply, gauging his response.
“I don’t know. I’d like to think not, but after your book…you described his encounter with Lynette Stone; it makes a person wonder.”
“But I never mentioned her name, how did you know it was Mrs. Stone?”
“She was the first body my crew found.” Miriam’s eyes widened, her cup perched in midair and she seemed to stop breathing for a moment. “You didn’t know?” he asked watching her nearly drop her cup to the saucer, shaking her head softly.
“How…I, I mean…when,” she seemed to be having a difficult time forming a full thought and her hands began to shake. For a moment, Sandra saw a vulnerable, frightened child and wondered how she ever made it to be the person who sat in front of her now.
“Forensics
estimates she’s been dead fifteen years. They are questioning her husband.” Miriam turned a shade whiter as she mentally calculated the time-frame.
“It can’t be,” she whispered. “My father would never have done that. I think he loved her, but he never said anything.”
“Miriam, what about Konrad?” Sandra asked in a quiet tone. “Where was he when your father had that encounter with Mrs. Stone?” Miriam looked at Sandra as though seeing her for the first time, her frown deepened.