Story: The Cleaner Returns. Chapters 17-18.

by BigBird74

17 & 18.

When Dahlia emerged from her cocoon, just like a butterfly, her appearance was immaculate and primped to perfection. Ever the professional, she had doubled down on her strict diet and exercise this past week and everything seemed to be floating along as expected. Fortunately Tommy had ensured that the show was to be held relatively locally, meaning a limo ride of two hours or so. She looked at the clock and thought how the day might pan out. Makeup and dressing would take approximately three hours, the show itself would last an hour. Once the after show photos were out of the way and she had been escorted home, she could expect to be back in ten hours.

Wincing a little at that thought, she nevertheless pressed on, being polite to all those hanging around her trying to help and never giving a hint of the irritation she felt at their ‘fussing’. Her entourage was there to help of course, but Dahlia could not help but see them as unnecessary. None of them were close friends. Indeed a good number of them were a decade or so younger, so she could expect very little sympathy from them. They were all climbing up the career ladder that Dahlia was perched precariously on top of.

Sure that this would be the last show for some months, Dahlia could almost see a finish line ahead of her and a time she could live a little more freely. Though this thought may have been expected to cheer her up, she actually found herself getting as wound up as before her last show, if not somehow worse. She had been fine on the drive over, but almost as soon as she had sat in the makeup chair, her nerves had started jangling, as powerful as ever.

As the time ticked by, Dahlia’s fears seemed to crowd in upon her, with her mind cycling through all that could go wrong. She had almost balked at wearing the diamond-encrusted lingerie when it was brought to her for the first time and, as her makeup was applied, her eyes constantly found their way to the tiny ensemble that she was expected to parade herself in. The sickness in her belly would not die down and she was not able to douse it with water. Drinking before a show was a no-no as it made your tummy poke outwards!

Her sense of claustrophobia, of being trapped, really began to tell. The lights, the noise and crowds, everything seemed designed to place her ill at ease and filled her with a nagging sense of dread. “Just one more show,” she kept reminding herself, but her nerves bubbled up out of control and she began to tremble. A light sweat appeared on her brow and she felt the room spin a little. Asking for a few moments to visit the ladies’ room, Dahlia managed to secure a little time alone.

Panicked, she searched for her little pills. Or as she had come to see them after her last show: her little friends. She felt truly awful resorting to this again, but consoled herself with the fact that this was the last show this season. By autumn, with her doctor’s help, she was sure things would have resolved themselves. Why worry herself sick now? She downed a few pills.

Steadying herself, she felt the fast-acting compound do its work as her heart rate fell and the panic that had felt akin to a dark miasma lifted from around her, leaving her feeling more composed. Regaining a sense of equilibrium left Dahlia feeling unusually elated. It was not till a further ten minutes had passed that she and those around her began to sense something was wrong. Whatever those pills contained, the instructions were quite clear: one tablet. Now, in her moment of weakness, Dahlia had managed to overdose on a drug that was typically taken only under close supervision.

Her risky decision was now making itself apparent. The makeup artist found that Dahlia was slumping in her chair, seemingly unable to hold her own body upright for more than ten seconds. In the time it took for the supervisor to make his way to Dahlia’s chair, she had almost slid all the way down the seat. A moment of consternation followed as the supermodel’s slumped form dropped forwards, her head bowed down, prompting those around her to reach out and hold her up.

As her condition worsened, a doctor was called and, in the pandemonium that followed, Dahlia lost her place in the show.

When she first awoke a few hours later, she struggled to recognise her surroundings. Her vision was bleary and her senses were horribly dimmed. Initially she thought she might be at home. It was only after Tommy spoke to the watching nurse that she opened her eyes more fully, startled and disoriented.

“Welcome back!” He said in his typically upbeat manner, which took the sting out of the moment. However Dahlia had known Tommy long enough to hear the underlying strain in his voice.

“Dahlia… they ran some tests and it seems you had a certain substance in your blood. We searched your bag to find what you might have taken and found some pills,” Tommy spoke haltingly, not wanting to jump to conclusions, but heading in that direction.

“We contacted the doctor whose name was on the prescription. He seemed concerned and …..” Tommy did not finish the sentence. Like the cavalry arriving just in time, a confident looking Doctor Mark Jacobs strode into the room. At least that was how Dahlia perceived it. Tommy meanwhile seemed suspicious. He knew nothing of this ‘doctor’ and was concerned at Dahlia’s wellbeing.

“I would like a few moments alone with Dahlia. If that is quite okay?” It was not really a question and the room duly cleared. “Just a moment with my patient,” he said by way of explanation.

Once everyone had shuffled out of the room and the pair were left alone. The doctor checked Dahlia’s pulse and then her heart. It was all for show. He had barely no hospital experience, but knew enough to play the part and to a despondent Dahlia, he very much appeared the knight in shining armour.

“I am arranging for your release Dahlia, but well…. questions were asked about the pills you had been taking. It seemed you overdosed. How many did you take?”

“Two…. Maybe three, I think,” she croaked, her mouth dry.

He leaned in with a cup of water, shaking his head as though she had been a bad girl. “Well, it is unusual, but they would only release you so long as you were taken into my care for now. I am signing you out and taking responsibility for you. I assume you agree to this course of action?” His manner was authoritative and caring and it made Dahlia feel aroused as she lay in the bed gazing up at him.

Of course, she relented in a flash, not really thinking anything through, and had signed the piece of paper thrust into her hand. When the others returned to the room, Tommy was not among them. Only Dahlia noticed his absence and, for a moment, she pondered if something might be wrong. But her train of thought was broken suddenly. The doctor was keen to move her to a private clinic and she had little time to think. Besides her head was thumping and she was not feeling up to much more than just lying in bed.

The drive to the clinic was through unfamiliar countryside, Dahlia fell asleep for long periods, as the car’s rocking motion left her eyes heavy and body limp. For his part, the doctor was smiling. This had been an entirely fortuitous sequence of events. Dahlia could now be secluded away, out of sight for some time. Like any celebrity going to detox, she would have privacy and lots of space to find herself. Not only that, but she would need his signature before being signed out. The staff at this place were strict and demanding. Still, he was confident Dahlia would only need a little coaxing towards where he hoped to take her.

Gazing across at the supermodel, he felt his pants tighten. She was so tender and easy to manipulate. His fantasies swirled around in his head, quickening the pace of his driving – he could scarcely wait to arrive at the clinic. He could not help but think that moments like these are almost divine in nature. One had to reach out and take what you could when the opportunities presented themselves. His plans would need to change, but only a little, almost everything else remained in place. Before receiving the call from a confused sounding Tommy, he had been checking that Melissa had arrived at her ‘boot camp’. Before long the two sisters would meet again, only this time, who knows how different things will be?

When the clinic finally came into view, the doctor felt relieved. The facility was so remote and secluded that it did not even feature on many maps applications; mobile access was limited and the nearest settlement was a few hours walk away. This was an elite private clinic for the drunk and despondent with no expense spared. It specialised in drug users and the doctor had needed to pull some strings to get Dahlia in so quickly.

As the car crunched the gravel beneath its tyres, two staff members approached the car to help guide their new patient to her room.

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