Doctor of Darkness 1 - Cold as Ice

It was hot... So hot that the child in front of me couldn't breathe. Every time she took a breath, it burned in her throat. I heard her coughing as she tried to crawl to the nearest window. It all seemed so far away, but I was actually standing right next to her, watching everything. The house in flames, the corpse of a man and the desperation as the little girl smashed the window with her last ounce of strength.

Even though she lived on the third floor and there was no one there to help her, she jumped.

Pain, screams and endless tears. She held her shoulder tightly while her little hand was covered in blood. There were shards everywhere in the open wounds. Nevertheless, she breathed out in relief as her lungs were flooded with fresh air.

Change of scene...

As if a hand were tugging at me, images of time raced past me, like barely recognisable wisps of light, to a small dojo surrounded by blossoming cherry trees. An old man with three swords, wearing a kimono he had worn many times before, was teaching a young girl. She had escaped the flames and grown into a teenager. Every day she trained with her grandfather until perfection... Because that was all that mattered: perfection. Under a glove on her right hand, she hid her scars while she tremblingly held the two wooden swords and trained. Again and again and again. She never managed to please the old man. There was hatred in his eyes and after she had failed to put her foot down properly for the 100th time, he grabbed a bamboo stick and hit her on the back. Incessantly, until red stains soaked her training clothes.

Screams and angry curses accompanied my awakening. Drenched in sweat, my heart was still racing as the horror of the night slowly subsided. They were always the same, repeating nightmares that never really left me. They weren't as bad every night as they were tonight, but they were always there in the end. I shook myself completely awake and finally managed to get myself up.

It was still too early for work, but too late to go back to sleep, so I went out into the garden and practised simple movements with two wooden swords to keep in shape. At least a little, until my muscles stopped twitching and my nerves were calmed. Only then could I shower and change. My purple-coloured Chanel blouse was from a time when life was much kinder to me. The black pencil skirt had been sewn by me once before and my boots had also seen better days.

Looking in the mirror hasn't appealed to me in a long time. My appearance was different... And that often made it so damn tough in this society. My hair was medium-length and blonde, almost white in the sunlight. In contrast, my eyes were a bright and clear blue. Even the shape of my eyes was different and clearly Asian in nature. At 1.65 metres, I was short but well-trained. A mixture of bloodlines that my family had thrown into the gene pool radiated from me: First there was my father, who was Japanese from an honourable and old family. He unexpectedly married my mother, who was British by birth and also had a long and very British-Welsh pedigree. The only small anomaly in the family register was my grandmother, who my grandfather had brought with him from Germany after the Second World War. I probably got this blonde colour from her.

In short, my family was more cultural and multilingual, but also so far removed from being normal that there was no place for me anywhere. Well, enough self-pity for one day - I had to go to work!

I grabbed my coat and umbrella, put on my leather gloves and left the house. I was immediately surrounded by the vibrant streets of London with their babble of voices and variety of smells, including the bad ones. It took me a moment to get to my destination on the underground. From the outside, it looked like an old industrial building from London's glory days in red-brick splendour. Inside, however, was a kind of emergency hospital. Set up by a Red Cross foundation and funded by donations, mainly from the royal family, we looked after everyone. No health insurance, no residence permit, not really wanted by society. From the unemployed to asylum seekers and the homeless, we cared for everyone who couldn't afford a normal doctor's surgery or hospital.

Anyone who saw me at first glance would say I didn't belong here. I was an excellent doctor, with top marks from university, a breathtaking professional CV and years of being courted by the most prestigious clinics in the United Kingdom. But that was all taken away from me. Now I was here, where nobody was interested in me as long as I came to work. Thanks to my sleep problems, I passionately took on the late and night shifts, where hardly anyone asked questions anyway and you always had the same colleagues. In the end, I fitted in perfectly with those who visited us.

On my coat hung my name badge - Dr Selena Darvis - and as soon as I'd fixed it, work began. Today was going to be another one of those days! Starting with homeless people with alcohol problems, followed by the junkies. I tended to cuts and bruises and, and, and. Things quietened down a bit after 11pm. Not surprising for a Monday. I finished writing my reports and waited. At some point shortly before midnight, Louise pushed a young woman in a portable bed into the room, unconscious.

"So, who do we have here?"

"Young woman without a name, age maybe 25, no visible injuries. Her companion has already brought her in unconscious."

Nodding slightly to myself, I put on a new pair of rubber gloves and took my time examining the sleeping woman. In fact, there was nothing outwardly recognisable. No wounds, no traces of any kind of injury, no bruises. Even a brief intimate examination revealed nothing to indicate bodily harm or rape. Just a sleeping woman with orange-red hair in a red dress. So why was she here?

"Louise? Are you sure we don't have any more information about our red-haired princess here?"

"I'm afraid not, Selena. But she did, as I mentioned before, come in with one of those handsome men in a suit. Maybe he knows more. He said she just fainted."

"Hmm, she certainly doesn't look like a courtesan to me."

"A what?"

"A prostitute, Louise. Read a little more, it might broaden your horizons."

Louise laughed, her 80s curly hairstyle bobbing as she left the room again. I cheched the woman again and once more I couldn't find anything to explain her condition. There wasn't even a stain on her red dress. So I had to ask her boyfriend.

I left the treatment room and looked for the only person wearing a suit in the whole area - and lo and behold - I found him!

"Is the red-haired sleeping beauty with you?"

"What do you mean?"

The man turned towards me and for a moment the world seemed to stand still. A pair of deep brown eyes, flecked with gold, sparkled at me. I took a step back and looked at the man, just as he seemed to be checking me out. He was tall and apparently well-trained, judging by the bulges in his perfect silver-grey suit.

He had very long black hair, longer than many women out there and definitely longer than my own. The beginnings of a dark three-day beard played around his square chin. Damn, he looked good and for a second I wondered what this man was doing here in this part of town. He was clearly too good for this place. Concentrate, Selena. This is going to be embarrassing!

I shook myself and remembered the woman on my examinati