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"Got out?" I exclaim in disbelief, and sink onto one of the chairs. He sits down opposite me.

  "Yes. She's disappeared. We're doing a search for her now."

  "She's still here?"

  "We don't know."

  "And who are you?" I ask.

  "I'm Dr. Azikiwe, the on-call psychiatrist."

  He looks too young to be a psychiatrist. "What can you tell me about Leila?" I ask.

  "Well, she was admitted after a failed suicide attempt. She tried to slash one of her wrists at an ex-boyfriend's house. His housekeeper brought her here."

  I feel the blood draining from my face. "And?" I ask. I need more information.

  "That's about as much as we know. She said it was an error of judgment, that she was fine, but we wanted to keep her here under observation and ask her further questions."

  "Did you talk to her?"

  "I did."

  "Why did she do this?"

  "She said it was a cry for help. Nothing more. And, having made such a spectacle of herself, she was embarrassed and wanted to go home. She said she didn't want to kill herself. I believed her. I suspect it was just suicidal ideation on her part."

  "How could you let her escape?" I run my hand through my hair, trying to contain my frustration.

  "I don't know how she's gotten away. There'll be an internal investigation. If she contacts you, I suggest you urge her to come back. She needs help. Can I ask you some questions?"

  "Sure," I agree, distracted.

  "Is there any history of mental illness in your family?" I frown, then remember that he's talking about Leila's family.

  "I don't know. My family is very private about such matters."

  He looks concerned. "Do you know anything about this ex-boyfriend?"

  "No," I state, a little too quickly. "Have you contacted her husband?"

  The doctor's eyes widen. "She's married?"

  "Yes."

  "That's not what she told us."

  "Oh. Well, I'll call him. I won't waste any more of your time."

  "But I have more questions for you--"

  "I'd rather spend my time looking for her. She's obviously in a bad way." I rise.

  "But, this husband--"

  "I'll get in touch with him." This is getting me nowhere.

  "But we should do that--" Dr. Azikiwe stands.

  "I can't help you. I need to find her." I head to the door.

  "Mr. Reed--"

  "Good-bye," I mutter, hurrying out of the waiting room and not bothering with the elevator. I take the fire escape stairs two at a time. I loathe hospitals. A memory from my childhood surfaces: I'm small and scared and mute, and the smell of disinfectant and blood clouds my nostrils.

  I shudder.

  As I step out of the hospital I stand for a moment and let the torrential rain wash that memory away. It's been a stressful afternoon, but at least the rain is a refreshing relief from the heat in Savannah. Taylor swings around to pick me up in the SUV.

  "Home," I direct him, as I get back in the car. Once I've buckled my seatbelt I call Welch from my cell.

  "Mr. Grey," he growls.

  "Welch, I have a problem. I need you to locate Leila Reed, nee Williams."

  GAIL IS PALE AND quiet as she studies me with concern. "You're not going to finish, sir?" she asks.

  I shake my head.

  "Was the food okay?"

  "Yes, of course." I give her a small smile. "After today's events, I'm not hungry. How are you bearing up?"

  "I'm good, Mr. Grey. It was a total shock. I just want to keep busy."

  "I hear you. Thanks for making dinner. If you remember anything, let me know."

  "Of course. But like I said, she only wanted to speak to you."

  Why? What is she expecting me to do?

  "Thanks for not involving the police."

  "The police are not what that girl needs. She needs help."

  "She does. I wish I knew where she was."

  "You'll find her," she says with quiet confidence, surprising me.

  "Do you need anything?" I ask.

  "No, Mr. Grey. I'm fine." She takes the plate with my half-eaten meal to the sink.

  The news from Welch about Leila is frustrating. The trail has gone cold. She's not at the hospital, and they're still mystified as to how she escaped. A small part of me admires that; she was always resourceful. But what could have made her so unhappy? I rest my head in my hands. What a day--from the sublime to the ridiculous. Soaring with Ana, and now this mess to deal with. Taylor is at a loss as to how Leila got into the apartment, and Gail has no idea, either. Apparently, Leila marched into the kitchen demanding to know where I was. And when Gail said I wasn't there, she cried out "He's gone," then slashed her wrist with a box cutter. Fortunately, the cut wasn't deep.

  I glance at Gail cleaning up in the kitchen. My blood runs cold. Leila could have hurt her. Perhaps Leila's objective was to hurt me. But why? I scrunch my eyes, trying to remember if anything in our last correspondence might give me a clue as to why she's gone off the rails. I draw a blank, exasperated, and with a sigh I head into my study.

  As I sit down my phone buzzes with a text.

  Ana?

  It's Elliot.

  Hey Hotshot. Wanna shoot some pool?

  Shooting pool with Elliot means him coming here and drinking all my beer. Frankly, I'm not in the mood.

  Working. Next week?

  Sure. Before I hit the beach.

  I'll thrash you.

  Laters.

  I toss my phone onto the desk and pore over Leila's file, looking for anything that might give me a clue as to where she is. I find her parents' address and phone number, but nothing for her husband. Where is he? Why isn't she with him?

  I don't want to call her parents and alarm them. I call Welch and give him their number; he can find out if she's been in touch with them.

  When I switch on my iMac there's an e-mail from Ana.

  * * *

  From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Safe Arrival?

  Date: June 2 2011 22:32 EST

  To: Christian Grey

  Dear Sir,

  Please let me know that you have arrived safely. I am starting to worry. Thinking of you.

  Your Ana x

  Before I know it, my finger is on the little kiss she's sent me.

  Ana.

  Sappy, Grey. Sappy. Get a grip.

  * * *

  From: Christian Grey

  Subject: Sorry

  Date: June 2 2011 19:36

  To: Anastasia Steele

  Dear Miss Steele,

  I have arrived safely, and please accept my apologies for not letting you know. I don't want to cause you any worry. It's heartwarming to know that you care for me. I am thinking of you, too, and as ever looking forward to seeing you tomorrow.

  Christian Grey

  CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

  I press send and wish that she was here with me. She brightens up my home, my life...me. I shake my head at my fanciful thoughts and look through the rest of my e-mails.

  A ping tells me there's a new one from Ana.

  * * *

  From: Anastasia Steele

  Subject: The Situation

  Date: June 2 2011 22:40 EST

  To: Christian Grey

  Dear Mr. Grey,

  I think it is very evident that I care for you deeply. How could you doubt that?

  I hope your "situation" is under control.

  Your Ana x

  P.S.: Are you going to tell me what I said in my sleep?

  She cares for me deeply? That's nice. All at once that foreign feeling, absent all day, stirs and expands in my chest. Beneath it is a well of pain I don't want to acknowledge or deal with. It tugs at a lost memory of a young woman brushing out her long, dark hair...

  Fuck.

  Don't go there, Grey.

  I respond to Ana's e-mail--and as a distraction decide to tease her.

  * * *

  From: Christian G
rey

  Subject: Pleading the Fifth

  Date: June 2 2011 19:45

  To: Anastasia Steele

  Dear Miss Steele,

  I like very much that you care for me. The "situation" here is not yet resolved.

  With regard to your P.S., the answer is no.

  Christian Grey

  CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

  * * *

  From: Anastasia Steele

  Subject: Pleading Insanity

  Date: June 2 2011 22:48 EST

  To: Christian Grey

  I hope it was amusing. But you should know I cannot accept any responsibility for what comes out of my mouth when I am unconscious. In fact--you probably misheard me.

  A man of your advanced years is surely a little deaf.

  For the first time since I got back to Seattle, I laugh. What a welcome distraction she is.

  * * *

  From: Christian Grey

  Subject: Pleading Guilty

  Date: June 2 2011 19:52

  To: Anastasia Steele

  Dear Miss Steele,

  Sorry, could you speak up? I can't hear you.

  Christian Grey

  CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

  Her response is swift.

  * * *

  From: Anastasia Steele

  Subject: Pleading Insanity Again

  Date: June 2 2011 22:54 EST

  To: Christian Grey

  You are driving me crazy.

  * * *

  From: Christian Grey

  Subject: I Hope So...

  Date: June 2 2011 19:59

  To: Anastasia Steele

  Dear Miss Steele,

  I intend to do exactly that on Friday evening. Looking forward to it.

  ;)

  Christian Grey

  CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

  I'll have to think of something extra-special for my little freak.

  * * *

  From: Anastasia Steele

  Subject: Grrrrrr

  Date: June 2 2011 23:02 EST

  To: Christian Grey

  I am officially pissed at you.

  Good night.

  Miss A. R. Steele

  Whoa. Would I tolerate this from anyone else?

  * * *

  From: Christian Grey

  Subject: Wild Cat

  Date: June 2 2011 20:05

  To: Anastasia Steele

  Are you growling at me, Miss Steele?

  I possess a cat of my own for growlers.

  Christian Grey

  CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

  She doesn't respond. Five minutes go by and nothing. Six...Seven.

  Damn. She means it. How can I tell her that while she slept she said she wouldn't leave me? She'll think I'm crazy.

  * * *

  From: Christian Grey

  Subject: What You Said in Your Sleep

  Date: June 2 2011 20:20

  To: Anastasia Steele

  Anastasia,

  I'd rather hear you say the words that you uttered in your sleep when you're conscious, that's why I won't tell you. Go to sleep. You'll need to be rested, with what I have in mind for you tomorrow.

  Christian Grey

  CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

  She doesn't respond; I hope for once she's doing what she's told and she's asleep. Briefly I think of what we could do tomorrow, but it's too arousing, so I push the thought aside and concentrate on my e-mails.

  But I have to confess I feel a little lighter after some e-mail banter with Miss Steele. She's good for my dark, dark soul.

  FRIDAY, JUNE 3, 2011

  * * *

  I can't sleep. It's after two and I've been staring at the ceiling for an hour. Tonight it's not my sleeping nightmares that are keeping me awake. It's a waking one.

  Leila Williams.

  The smoke detector on my ceiling is winking at me, its flashing green light mocking me.

  Hell!

  I close my eyes and let my thoughts run free.

  Why was Leila suicidal? What possessed her? Her desperate unhappiness resonates with a younger, miserable me. I'm trying to quash my memories, but the anger and desolation of my solitary teen years resurfaces and it won't go away. It reminds me of my pain and of how I lashed out at everyone during my youth. Suicide crossed my mind often, but I always held back. I resisted for Grace. I knew she'd be devastated. I knew she would blame herself if I took my life, and she'd done so much for me--how could I hurt her like that? And after I met Elena...everything changed.

  Rising from the bed, I push these disquieting thoughts to the back of my mind. I need the piano.

  I need Ana.

  If she'd signed the contract and everything had gone according to plan, she would be with me, upstairs, asleep. I could wake her, and lose myself in her...or, under our new arrangement, she would be beside me, and I could fuck her and then watch her sleep.

  What would she make of Leila?

  As I sit down on the piano bench I know that Ana will never meet Leila, which is a good thing. I know how she feels about Elena. Lord knows how she'd feel about an ex...a wayward ex.

  This is what I can't reconcile: Leila was happy, mischievous, and bright when I knew her. She was an excellent submissive; I thought she'd settled down and was happily married. Her e-mails never indicated that anything was awry. What went wrong?

  I start to play...and my troubled thoughts recede until it's just the music and me.

  Leila is servicing my cock with her mouth.

  Her skilled mouth.

  Her hands are tied behind her back.

  Her hair braided.

  She's on her knees.

  Eyes cast down. Modest. Alluring.

  Not seeing me.

  And suddenly she's Ana.

  Ana on her knees before me. Naked. Beautiful.

  My cock in her mouth.

  But Ana's eyes are on mine.

  Her blazing blue eyes see everything.

  See me. My soul.

  She sees the darkness and the monster beneath.

  Her eyes widen in horror and suddenly she disappears.

  Shit! I wake with a start, and a painful erection that wanes as soon as I recall Ana's wounded look in my dream.

  What the hell?

  I rarely have erotic dreams. Why now? I check my alarm; I've beaten it by a few minutes. The morning sunlight is creeping between the buildings as I rise. Already I'm restless, no doubt as a result of my disturbing dream, so I decide to go for a run to burn off some energy. There are no new e-mails, no messages, no updates on Leila. The apartment is quiet as I leave. There's no sign of Gail yet. I hope she's recovered from yesterday's ordeal.

  I open the glass doors in the lobby, step outside into a balmy, sunny morning, and carefully scan the street. As I start my run I check down the alleys and in the doorways I pass, and behind the parked cars, to see if Leila is there.

  Where are you, Leila Williams?

  I turn the volume up on the Foo Fighters and my feet pound the sidewalk.

  OLIVIA IS EXCEPTIONALLY IRRITATING today. She's spilled my coffee, dropped an important call, and keeps mooning at me with her big brown eyes.

  "Get Ros back on the line," I bark at her. "Better still, get her up here." I shut my office door and go back to my desk; I must try not to take my temper out on my staff.

  Welch has no news, except that Leila's parents think their daughter is still in Portland with her husband. There's a knock on my door.

  "Come in." I hope to God it's not Olivia. Ros pokes her head around.

  "You wanted to see me?"

  "Yes. Sure. Come in. Where are we with Woods?"

  ROS EXITS JUST BEFORE ten. All is on track: Woods has decided to accept the deal, and the aid for Darfur will soon be on the road to Munich in preparation for the airlift. There's no news yet from Savannah about their offer.

  I check my inbox and find a welcome e-mail from Ana.

 
* * *

  From: Anastasia Steele

  Subject: Homeward Bound

  Date: June 3 2011 12:53 EST

  To: Christian Grey

  Dear Mr. Grey,

  I am once again ensconced in first class, for which I thank you. I am counting the minutes until I see you this evening and perhaps torturing the truth out of you about my nocturnal admissions.

  Your Ana x

  Torturing me? Oh, Miss Steele, I think it will be the other way around. As I have a great deal to do, I keep my reply short.

  * * *

  From: Christian Grey

  Subject: Homeward Bound

  Date: June 3 2011 09:58

  To: Anastasia Steele

  Anastasia, I look forward to seeing you.

  Christian Grey

  CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

  But Ana is not satisfied.

  * * *

  From: Anastasia Steele

  Subject: Homeward Bound

  Date: June 3 2011 13:01 EST

  To: Christian Grey

  Dearest Mr. Grey,

  I hope everything is okay re "the situation." The tone of your e-mail is worrying.

  Ana x

  At least I still earned a kiss. Surely she should be airborne by now?

  * * *

  From: Christian Grey

  Subject: Homeward Bound

  Date: June 3 2011 10:04

  To: Anastasia Steele

  Anastasia,

  The situation could be better. Have you taken off yet? If so, you should not be emailing. You are putting yourself at risk, in direct contravention of the rule regarding your personal safety. I meant what I said about punishments.

  Christian Grey

  CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

  I'm about to call Welch for an update, but there's a ping--Ana again.

  * * *

  From: Anastasia Steele

  Subject: Overreaction

  Date: June 3 2011 13:06 EST

  To: Christian Grey

  Dear Mr. Grumpy,

  The aircraft doors are still open. We are delayed but only by ten minutes. My welfare and that of the passengers around me is vouchsafed. You may stow your twitchy palm for now.

  Miss Steele

  A reluctant smile tugs at my lips. Mr. Grumpy, eh? And no kiss. Oh dear.

  * * *

  From: Christian Grey

  Subject: Apologies--Twitchy Palm Stowed

  Date: June 3 2011 10:08

  To: Anastasia Steele