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Continued from previous page…
It was the sound of a man’s voice.
Kathy abruptly turned to look towards the sound over by the cot. She eagerly lunged towards the man’s voice, then pulled back, as if she suddenly realized that her enthusiasm was somehow premature. All of this happened within seconds, as she regained her composure and sat down on the cot, leaning her head towards the crack in the wall. She nervously addressed the man.
“Hello?” she called, softly.
“Hello,” he answered back. “It appears that I have a new cell-mate… And you are a woman.”
Kathy instantly calculated that the man was of eastern European decent, a feat performed much more easily by already knowing that she was supposedly in Greece. Also, by watching several James Bond movies.
“Yes, I’m a woman,” Kathy responded. “I’m also an American… What is this place?” she asked. “What am I doing here?”
The man shrugged off Kathy’s inquiry.
“The Cassadines do not usually kidnap women,” he informed her. His accent was thick and thud-like, as if his lips, cheeks, and tongue were made of paste. Then he made a friendly gesture.
“Would you like a cigarette?” he asked.
“Oh, hell yes,” she answered, completely ignoring her instincts.
Kathy waited a few seconds as a filter-less cigarette slowly made its way through the tiny crack in the wall. There was only one, miniscule spot it could squeeze through. It was followed up by a wooden match that Kathy could strike against the wall. She lit it up.
As she took a deep drag and allowed the smoke to swirl around in her throat and enter her lungs, she waited for the obligatory pangs of guilt to follow for giving in to her previous addiction. They never came. Her understanding of this obviously came from her surroundings. Additionally, the cigarette failed to taste like cherry cola, nor did it provide the pleasurable head and body rush that it used to in the past. It was just there and she needed it.
“What do you do in America?” the man continued on.
“I’m a television star and a musician,” Kathy answered. “In no particular order.”
“If you are a T.V. star, you must be very rich, no?” the man pondered.
“Yes, I am.. Very.. But that’s not where most of my wealth comes from,” said Kathy. She decided it was time to cut to the chase and explain to this man why she was there. Perhaps this man could offer some insight as to where Charlotte was.
“My friend is a major shareholder in several large corporations.. as well as owning a few companies herself,” Kathy explained. “She shares this money with us. We’re a rock and roll band… I believe she’s here, on this island.”
“Are you talking about the woman upstairs?” the man asked.
“I don’t know… Who are you talking about?” asked Kathy.
“The beautiful blonde woman upstairs… The musician,” he answered. “The wealthy woman from America, like you.”
“YES, YES, that’s her !!!” Kathy shrieked. “She’s here? She’s upstairs? !!”
“If that is your friend, then yes, she is upstairs,” the man posed. “That is the woman that Mr. Cassadine wishes to marry… But she refuses… She is being stubborn.”
“Hah, that’s gotta’ be Charlotte,” Kathy said, with a smile on her face. “You don’t push her around easily.”
“If that is your friend, I hope you get to see her soon,” the man said, with a tone of caution in his voice that Kathy could readily detect
“I want to see her right now,” Kathy pleaded to herself. “Is she alright? Do you know if she’s been harmed?”
“I believe she is alright for the moment,” the man answered.
“What do you mean by that?” begged Kathy.
“From what I understand… if she does not marry Mr. Cassadine soon… your friend’s life will be over,” he informed her.
MEANWHILE… UPSTAIRS IN THE CASTLE…
Mr. Cassadine arrived at Charlotte’s room and softly knocked on the door. Charlotte had been sitting at the window of her lofty accommodations for the last few minutes looking out over Aegean Sea, wondering if her current situation would ever change. She turned to look at the door, but said nothing. She knew that her silence would not stop him from eventually coming in. It was becoming a routine that made her sick and depressed. The sight of her lunch sitting on the table signified that his visit was for other reasons. More than likely, she assumed, he came to ask her if she had reconsidered marrying him.
Mr. Cassadine fumbled with the lock and entered Charlotte’s room, just as she imagined he would.
“Hello, my love,” he greeted. “How are you?”
Charlotte continued to be silent for several seconds. Then she spoke.
“You know how I am,” she stated, with a blank look on her face. “Why do you bother asking anymore?”
Mr. Cassadine looked down at the floor in a forlorn manner. He had grown tired of this routine himself, and had started to wonder lately if this entire machination was worth all the pain and effort.
Still, he realized, if she refused to marry him, he would have no alternative but to dispose of her.
“I.. uh.. have some enlightening news for you, my dear,” he stammered.
Charlotte turned to look at him. As usual, her silence indicated her skepticism that he indeed had anything positive for her to hear.
She blinked deliberately and said nothing.
“I have a friend of yours from California,” he said.
Charlotte’s eyes perked up.
“What?” she asked, excitedly, as she stood up. “Someone’s here? Someone’s in this castle?”
“She’s downstairs… I’ll bring her up to you,” he answered.
Charlotte instinctively knew that this was the appropriate time to inject some compassion into the situation. She gathered herself together, managed to muster up a faint smile, and looked into Mr. Cassadine’s eyes.
“Thank you, Mikkos,” she said.
Mr. Cassadine paused for a moment.
“You’re welcome, Charlotte,” he said, as he exited the room.