Lasha's Story

Part One

September 20, 1983

My Dearest Nikolas,

I feel it is important for you to know your history. And I am your history for right now. I believe you should know what went on between me and the Cassadines, no matter how painful the memories are to me. I am leaving this with Stefan, with the hope that someday, when you are old enough to understand, you will read it and learn from it. You must learn why I was forced to leave... and why I may never return. If you ever read this, then I beg of you to contact me so I may at least see you one more time. It is doubtless that someone will keep track of me on that island.

Even after over two years, I still remember that night as if it were yesterday. I suppose that you remember most time that change your life like that. The last thing I remembered before I saw him for the first time was a ring. A ring with a sapphire on a man's hand. When I awoke, he was sitting across from me on a boat moving swiftly through the dark water.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"I advise you not to ask me questions, Laura. You are no longer his." the man replied. I didn't know whom his was referring to until he tore the pendant from my neck and threw it into the sea. My hand instinctively went to my throat and I found myself wondering who this man was and why he hated my husband so.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked, almost fearing his response.

"Do not worry, Laura. You've been there before... with him." The man seemed to grow angry at the mention of "him".

"How do you know my name?" I was beginning to fear this strange man sitting across from me, oddly unemotional and intense at the same time. He began to smile, his eyes focused on an object behind me. I turned around to look.

"Oh my God," I whispered, catching sight of the island.

"Perhaps now would be an ideal time for me to introduce myself," the man started to say. I turned around and stared at him, suddenly recognizing the Cassadine features in him, the proud chin, the distinguished nose, and especially the cold dark eyes.

"My name is Stavros Cassadine. I doubt you even knew of my existence, Laura, because my mother kept us away from Father's inventions." My eyes widened and I couldn't help but stare in horror as he said what I had just come to realize.

"Your husband killed my father, Laura. Yes, it is true. I am Mikkos' son." As if an ending to our conversation, we arrived at the shore. Stavros walked off the boat and pulled me up after him.

"Ah, we meet again, Mrs. Spencer," a somewhat familiar voice called. I took a deep breath and turned to face Helena standing on the pier.

"Is this the outcome of your curse on my wedding?" I asked brazenly. Helena laughed.

"No, no, silly girl. This is the outcome of my darling son's ingenuity." Helena chuckled. For the first time, I could hear the evil harmonies within that laugh, although I soon learned that it would not be the last time.

I was taken from the pier and led to the main house, which I had never entered before. I have never seen much of that house. I doubt anyone has except for Helena, and perhaps Mikkos. The elegance of the house was clear from the entrance, but still I was surprised when I saw the double winding staircases and the refined Oriental rugs, all identical, a large one in the center of the room and two smaller, thinner ones, used on the staircases. I never got a chance to see much more because Helena made a motion and I was blindfolded and led, after countless turns and passages, to a room where I was told I would be staying. Yet, if I was, God forbid, taken back there, I know I could find my way to my room from the countless number of times I went through the passages.

I am still not certain what they hoped to accomplish. They could have wanted to set a trap for Luke, or to kill me, or even perhaps to hold me captive for the rest of my life in an attempt to drive Luke, or even myself, insane. I would be disillusioned to think that you have never heard of Luke. However, please remember that Mikkos was out of control and had to be stopped. If Luke had done nothing, then millions would have died, among them, myself, and through me, you. Perhaps, on some subconscious level, knowing how many lives and potential lives would be lost, motivated Luke to stop Mikkos not matter what the method or what the consequences might be.

The next thing I remember was waking up in the room that was to be my home for two years. It took me a few seconds to realize where I was. I swung my bare feet off the bed, sinking them into the thick white rug next to the bed. I walked slowly over to the door. Locked. I examined the lock and, although I did not know why then, I now recall Luke telling me how to pry open a door that was locked a certain way. The lock was old and worn. It seemed like belonged in an antique shop in the country, not in this strange alternate-universe of an island.

A knock came at the door. I nearly laughed. Imagine, someone knocking on the door where you were being held prisoner. The person knocked again.

"Come in," I called. A woman entered.

"Hello. I'm Martha. I'll be tending to you if you need anything." Martha was thin and graceful. I later wondered if she had trained in ballet at some point for she had the figure of a ballerina, her hair was even up in a bun. But at that moment I was too distraught to think of anything but myself.

"Why am I here?" I asked impertinently. Martha seemed taken aback, not knowing what to answer. I knew whatever she said would be an eluding of the truth.

"I'm not sure, Ms. Webber, I-" she began to stammer.

"What did you call me?" I cut in, outraged that apparently I was to be called by my maiden name.

"Ms. Webber. It's your name isn't it?" I had her nervous now.

"Most certainly not! I have not been Ms. Webber for three years! I am Mrs. Spencer." I replied patronizingly.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. That is what Master Cassadine told me you were called. I'll call you Mrs. Spencer here, but not around him, or the Mistress," Martha replied, in an attempt to please both parties in question.

"That will do, I suppose." Martha stood there expectantly. I looked at her blankly. I now realize how many other questions I should have asked her so that I would know more than I do even now. I do not know how many people were, or rather are, in that house, nor whether there were more Cassadines around the world, although I am certain that there must be.

"Would you care to get dressed before you go down to breakfast?" Martha asked. I stared at her as though she were completely mad.

"I cannot. Silly me, I forgot to pack before I was kidnapped." I replied sarcastically. Martha's shocked look instantly told me that no one was aware I was here against my own free will.

"Well, now, I don't know about that, but I do know that there's a bounty of clothes for you in the wardrobe there." Martha gestured towards a large wooden piece of furniture, delicately engraved. I walked over to see what was engraved upon it. Squinting in the dark room, I could barely make out the words "Mikkos and Helena Cassadine" and "Alexei and Sofia Davidovich" before Martha interrupted my train of thought.

"Mrs. Spencer, ma'am, you might want to get ready. They don't like to be kept waiting." I looked at Martha strangely. Who were "they"...I only knew of Stavros, Victor, and Helena to be alive, and Victor was in jail.... yet, Martha spoke of "they" as if five or six people were awaiting my arrival. I thanked Martha for her help and prepared to go downstairs.

When I emerged from the room, I found Martha waiting outside, a nervous look on her face, a long thin black cloth in her right hand. She smiled sympathetically at me. I realized what she was to do, so I closed my eyes as the blindfold was placed upon my head.

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