They Call Me Remedy

By Esta C

An international assassin accidentally saves the life of a man while on a retrieval mission in Alexandria, Egypt. She takes him back to her desolate Karoo farm in South Africa where she eagerly awaits his awakening, in order to question him. He awakes, but suffers from amnesia and can't remember who he is or what happened to him. It's a catch 22 situation and just when she thinks her week can't get any worse, her long time friend crashes his aircraft on a neighbouring farm, during one of his monthly supply drop-off's to her farm. After tracking down the crash site and finding that he was killed on impact, she discovers that all is not what it seems on the neighbouring farm. She is left with limited options when she discovers an orphaned girl living alone...

This is the first in a three-part series called Remedy- The Complete Journals.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Esta C
• Release date: Nov 25, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370413850

Esta C

Esta Claassen is a South African author, living in Cape Town, South Africa. She writes part time as a hobby, but dreams of writing full time one day. She currently works in the Construction Industry and enjoys Project Management. If she’s not working, she enjoys spending time with her kids. She is also a Vegetarian and very passionate about preserving the environment and fighting for good causes.

Book preview

They Call Me Remedy

Copyright 2018 Esta Claassen

Published by Esta Claassen at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

About Esta Claassen

Upcoming books by Esta Claassen

Connect with Esta Claassen

Acknowledgements

Writing doesn’t necessarily come natural to all authors. Sometimes words, ideas and concepts lay dormant for months, even years, until one day, when inspiration arrives at exactly the right time. For me, this is what acknowledgments are about – the right people who showed up at the right time to inspire the process of releasing one’s imagination and capturing it on paper.

I would therefore like to thank my sister, Elma, for always being my inspiration and lighthouse through dark times and for being a pillar of strength and support throughout this journey.

I would also like to thank my kids, N/M/A for their love and support. Without their encouragement and patience, this would not have been possible.

Lastly, this page would not be complete without mentioning my Dad, who is my hero and who has always been there for me to encourage and support me.

I love you all.

Chapter One

I don't remember how or when or where it happened. I remember waking up. My head was throbbing. I tried to open my eyes, but something stuck to my eyelids and it didn't want to open at first. I tried to lift my hands in order to rub my eyes, but I couldn't move. The stench of rotting faeces and urine was unbearable and that was the first new memory my mind formed and to this day, I can still recall the memory as vividly as if I was there in that moment again.

After a few dazed minutes, I tried to open my eyes again, but it was pitch black and I couldn't discern whether my eyes were open or not. I tried to wink, but my eye lids felt heavy and I couldn't keep them open much longer. I was so cold. I shivered, and I tried to stop my teeth from chattering, but it was an involuntary movement and I couldn't manage to make it stop. The floor below me was hard and cold too. I tried once more to open my eyes in the hope of figuring out where I was, when I felt something to my left. It was cold. It had an awkward familiarity but was unlike anything I had felt before. I tried to move my arms, to stretch out my hands to feel what it was, but the effort exhausted me, and I drifted back into unconsciousness again.

I woke to the sudden realization that freezing water was hitting my face. I waited for the initial shock to subside, but it continued to pound my numb body from all directions and I thought I was going to drown in it if it didn't stop. I must have jerked up into a sitting position as it happened, because when it eventually stopped, I realized that I was sitting up and that my hands were covering my wet face, this time to try and shield it from the intensity of the bright light that temporarily blinded me.

I heard people talking in a strange language and removed my hands from my face to try and focus my eyes in the direction from where I heard the voices, but my vision was blurred, and I could hear them, but not see them.

Where was I? What was going on? In those split seconds, just before I felt a stinging sensation in my left upper arm, I tried to remember what had happened to me, but my mind was blank, and my head was still throbbing. I tried to turn my head to see what stung my arm, but I felt the numbing sensation making its way throughout my body again and I slowly fell back onto the cold floor. I recall catching a glimpse of the inside walls of a freight container, which I realized was what I was in, and the last thing I remember seeing as my head hit the floor, just before being swallowed by the black emptiness of unconsciousness, was a pair of emotionless eyes that stared frozen into eternity, from what looked like a young girl's corpse that lay a few feet from me.

I don't remember feeling afraid. I don't remember feeling anything in those wakeful moments, except the coldness and hardness of the floor.

What happened in the hours, days and months after that, remains a puzzle to me. When I think back to that time, I remember things in bits and pieces and I'm oblivious to when what happened. I know that I was in a small dark room, with no windows, and that I never left the room (that I know of). I remember that my arms were tied above my head and that I never left the bed, unless I needed to use the latrine, which was a bucket next to the bed or when I needed to eat or wash. I remember having one of my arms untied to use the bucket. I remember an old lady that used to collect the bucket. I don't recall who untied me when I needed to use it, or when I ate. The men that came always wore masks.

Time became irrelevant. The only reason I kept track of it, was because of the anticipation with which I waited for the needle to be inserted into my arm every few hours to experience the warm tingling feeling that crept up my spine, that numbed me and helped me to not care about what was happening to me. I only needed to know that someone would be bringing me my injection. I didn't care about anything else but that.

I was kept drugged