“Better than good.”
“I know, right?” He gives me a satisfied, mischievous smile. “The primordial fish inside you is in its element at last!”
The gentle lapping of the water against the tiled walls of the pool creates a soothing soundtrack to the exercises that I begin to perform, finding them surprisingly easier in the aquatic environment. The water’s resistance helps me build strength, while its support alleviates the pressure on my injured limbs.
My therapist explains, “The water is also great for increasing flexibility and resilience in your muscles.”
His words reinforce my determination to overcome this challenge and regain most of my former mobility in two weeks’ time. I have a job to do when I’m back on my feet. Not just a job, but the most important assignment I’ve been given yet. It will be my chance to play a significant part in saving my country.
As I move through the exercises, my thoughts return to the briefing that Adam Von Dietz, the interior minister, and Elias gave me on my second day at the hospital.
My euphoria related to Stella turned out to be short-lived. My Key to the Key was a woman called Charlotte Gotteland, thirty-three, born in Vosier-en-Haut and currently residing in Annecy. Charlotte, or Charlie as everyone calls her, is a conservator-restorer of antique books. She has many friends, but she isn’t romantically involved at present. Both her parents died two years ago. A cancer relapse claimed her father, and heartbreak drove her mother to take her own life.
I asked Adam if there was a chance of mistaken identity with this Key to the Key, like it had happened before. But he insisted that no, they were certain this time.
During her vision, Princess Felicia got a particularly good look at the woman. Also, the physical environment that Charlie was in turned out to be extremely helpful. Felicia watched a tall, short-haired blonde in her early thirties rummage desk drawers in what looked like a home office. The woman pulled out and browsed through folders, books, and notebooks. Some of the documents had a name on them that Princess Felicia was able to read—Gotteland.
The Mount Evor Police, MESS, and MINDFUCH ran the name through their various databases. They pulled up photos of all adult women with that name and showed them to the oracle.And, lo and behold, one of them was a 100 percent match!
The woman in the oracle’s vision was a French national Charlotte “Charlie” Gotteland, living in Annecy. MESS did a background check on her and put her under surveillance. Charlie is a well-adjusted, well-respected, and dependable person. She’s pretty, too, according to the photos I saw.
Every evening at nine, the agent tailing her in Annecy sends me a confidential report of her activities during the previous twenty-four hours. When I read it, I look for anything in her daily life that could give us a clue about the nature of her relationship to the fifth key. Does she currently have it in her possession? If she doesn’t, then what knowledge might she hold that would lead me to it? Our working hypothesis is that her profession as an antique book conservator might be a lead.
The other thing that those daily reports do is help me build an understanding of Charlie’s lifestyle, likes, and dislikes. This can come in handy when I approach her. Now that I’ve read a week’s worth of those reports, I’m beginning to gain valuable insights into her character and temperament. On a personal level, it’s clear that if she is to become my life partner, I couldn’t dream of a better one.
Fate made an excellent choice for me. Charlie is perfect. She’s a ten to Stella’s one, and that’s without factoring in the sixteen-year age gap between Stella and me. Charlie has purpose, ambition, maturity, and emotional intelligence—everything a man would want in a wife.
And that’s why the regret I feel about not having had time to honor Stella’s request to be her first lover is unconscionable. Still lusting after her is incomprehensible.Pure lunacy!A shameful lapse of judgment.
Hopefully, it’ll pass, and soon.
The way forward is to get over my ludicrous fantasy about Stella like I got over my ordeal at her parents’ hands. Not only haven’t I considered revenge once since my extraction, but I’ve barely had a thought to spare for Yvonne and Jean-Claude. And when I do, I feel nothing but contempt. The psychotherapist who saw me last week couldn’t believe how quickly I turned the page on my captivity. I told him that I never look behind when I can look ahead.
Ahead is a hunt for the fifth key. And Charlotte Gotteland.
DARREL
Igrip the steering wheel as I drive through the picturesque streets of Annecy with the morning sun peeking out and casting a warm glow on the iconic pastel-colored buildings. The clock on the dashboard tells me I’m cutting it a little close to the start of Charlie’s hearing. There was a difficult balance to strike between arriving too early, which could draw unnecessary attention to myself, and too late, which would make me miss the beginning.
Finally, I spot the courthouse on rue Royale. Its imposing concrete-and-glass façade clashes with the rest of the town’s architecture and makes thispalais de justiceseem cold and intimidating, despite the greenery outside. Which was, no doubt, the intention when it was built. In the mind of modern urban planners, a high court must inspire awe in the criminal and the law-abiding citizen alike.
I park my car and take a deep breath before climbing out. This isn’t about my physical shape. I walk fine now, and only those who know me well can see a difference in my gait. A stranger would never guess what a struggle it was for me to stand up a mere three weeks ago! No, what I’m nervous about is approaching Charlie after her hearing is over and getting her to work with me.
OK, let’s go.
The sounds of the bustling city fade away as I push open the door and step into the cool, vast lobby of the courthouse. The air is thick with the gravity of what goes on inside. Footsteps echo on the marble floors as small groups of people, some in black robes, walk back and forth and speak in hushed voices.
I stride up to the reception desk, where a young woman sits behind a glass partition.
“Bonjour,” I say. “I’m here for the hearing of Charlotte Gotteland. Can you tell me which room it’s in?”
The woman looks up from her computer. “Room 207, second floor.”
Nodding my thanks, I head upstairs. The elevator would’ve been kinder to my legs, but the stairs provide exercise.
I reach the second floor and walk down the corridor. The muffled sound of a gavel echoes through the hallway, and I quicken my pace. As I approach room 207, I take a moment to collect myself and then I slip into the room as unobtrusively as possible. It’s a smallish, simple room, with wooden panels lining the walls and a few rows of benches occupied by the participants and spectators. My guess is, they are family, friends, and associates. It doesn’t look like there are any journalists present. But this isn’t a high-profile case either.
But it will put an end to Charlie’s career, not to mention bankrupt her, if she loses it. In short, she’s in serious trouble. Bad for her, but good for me, because I have a golden ticket.Destiny, baby!
