Fan Fears: A collection of fear based stories (11 page)

She shuffled across the room, vaguely aware of the glass breaking and breakfast cereal crunching underfoot as she walked towards the microwave. She stood in front of it, the frosted glass hiding whatever was inside it.

"Are you there, Mrs. Sandoval?" Reeves asked.

"I am. I'm here," she said, her voice cracking.

"Good. Open the door, please."

"I can’t."

"You can and you will."

"What's in there? What have you done?"

"Something to deter you from calling the police and to show you that we are serious."

"Serious about what?" she screamed.

"Your treatment."

"I don't understand," she said, breaking down and starting to cry. It was impossible to see or breathe. Even the act of standing was difficult due to the tremble in her legs.

"Open the door and all will become clear," Reeves said, as happy and light as ever. It was as if they were discussing the weather or the latest events in the news.

She reached out, hand shaking towards the microwave door.

"Prepare yourself, Mrs. Sandoval," Reeves said. "I'm afraid what you are about to see might cause some distress. It would be in your interests not to scream"

She pressed the button and the door opened. Screaming was what she wanted to do, but she swallowed it back, instead breathing in great gasps and murmuring to herself.

Inside, the microwave was filled with blood. On the turntable in the centre, Shawn's severed hand had been positioned in such a way to hold a note. The corners of the paper were bloody. His wedding ring shone through the blood.

"Do you see the note, Mrs. Sandoval?" Reeves said.

She couldn't answer him. All she could do was stare. Her brain was filled with static, her stomach a hot ball of the purest, most concentrated fear she had ever experienced.

"The note, Mrs. Sandoval. Do you see it?"

"Y...Yes."

"Take it please."

"I can’t reach in there, please, I can’t...."

"If you don't, I'm afraid we will have to hurt your husband some more. We've patched up his wounds, so it would be a shame to cause him more distress. As you can imagine, he is quite confused about this whole situation."

"No, don't hurt him. I'll do it," she said.

She reached into the microwave and plucked the note from Shawn's severed hand.

"I have it, I took it. Please don't hurt him," she pleaded.

"I need you to tell me what it says. Proof you did as I asked. I'm sure you understand."

Fighting the panic, she unfolded the note. The page was blank apart from an address scrawled across the middle of the paper.

"An address. There's an address on it," she said, sure she was going to be sick.

"Good. Very good. I have high hopes for you completing the program, Mrs. Sandoval."

"I don't understand..."

"One hour. Be at that location and you shall be instructed further. Tell nobody of your intentions today."

"But I..."

"Don't be late or your husband loses an eye. One hour."

The line disconnected. Chrissy lowered the phone, then looked around the room. She was still stunned and had no idea what to do.

SIX

The address on the note was taking her out into the country. She had left the city behind, and with each move closer to her destination the fear in her grew. The car sat-nav told her she was nearing her destination, which looked to be the middle of nowhere. Green fields surrounded the dirt road the car now jostled down. The area looked like it once housed an industrial plant, the buildings dilapidated shells collapsed in and forgotten. The sky was slate gray, and rain was in the air. She was about to consider that she had come to the wrong place when she saw Reeves. He was standing by his car, an S class Mercedes. His coat flapped against his legs. He waited there, hands folded in front of him, watching for her. She pulled the car up next to his and got out. The wind was picking up, and whistling as it blew between the shells of the surrounding buildings.

Reeves checked his watch. "Just in time. You only had three minutes to spare."

Chrissy stood by her car, fighting the urge to run with each passing second.

"Are you alright?" Reeves asked, still as pleasant as ever. "You look pale."

"Where's Shawn?" she asked, unable to keep the tremor out of her voice.

"Ah, she speaks!" Reeves said, widening his grin. "For a second there I thought I would be fighting against the silent treatment. Don't worry, though, this is normal. The initial shock is the worst part of it.

"I don't understand any of this, why did you take my husband?"

Reeves thrust his hands into his pockets. "I thought you might have figured it out by now, Mrs. Sandoval."

She looked at him, too afraid to speak.

"This is all part of the program to rid you of your fear," Reeves said.

"I don't understand. I don't understand any of this. You took his hand...."

"Which has been dressed and patched up. Please, walk with me, Mrs. Sandoval. I assure you, I mean you no harm. Please, this way."

"I'll call the police unless you let him go."

"No, you won’t."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do, Mrs Sandoval. I've been doing this a long time. If you were going to call them, you would have done so already. Please, follow me."

Reeves walked away out of sight around the back of the building. Knowing he was right and she couldn't possibly call the police, she followed, matching pace with him as he walked.

"None of this has anything to do with my fear of heights. I...please don't do this."

"It has everything to do with it. I promised to help you." Reeves said.

"Then I change my mind. I want out."

Reeves stopped and looked at her. "You assured me you were committed. That you were certain."

"I didn't know you were going to do this. This...whatever this is. I'll even pay you, just give me Shawn back."

"No," Reeves said as he started walking again.

"What do you mean? You can’t do this. This is insane."

"I believe you can be cured, Mrs. Sandoval. That’s why we offered you a place on this program."

"By kidnapping and disfiguring my husband?" she screamed.

Reeves smiled. "It's not quite as dramatic as you imply. It's a simple case of motivation. People are difficult creatures to get out of their seats and make move, Mrs. Sandoval. Without a reason, it’s hard to motivate. Look at today for example. If I had called you and asked you to come out here to meet me today without the motivation of reuniting with your husband, would you have come or would you have made an excuse? It's too far, it’s inconvenient, any one of another hundred excuses of which I've heard before. This way I can ensure the maximum use of my incredibly valuable time is made."

"You won’t get away with it. I'll call the police, this is illegal."

She said it with the intent to shake Reeves, but all he did was smile. "And tell them what? That instead of calling them straight away, you left the house, came out here to meet me and see what I had to say even after finding your husband's severed hand in the microwave? I'm sure they would love to hear that."

"I made a mistake. I should have done it straight away, but I wasn't thinking. They will understand."

"Perhaps they would," Reeves agreed. “Either way, it's too late now."

There was a green van ahead of them. A huge hulk of a man stood beside it. Black jeans and jacket, sunglasses covering his eyes despite the dull day.

"Ah, here we are," Reeves said. He walked to the van and stood beside the man. "At last, we are ready to begin."

Chrissy stood, unsure what to say or do.

"Do you remember in my office when we were talking about the brain and how phobias were simply a case of bad programming?"

She nodded. She did remember. That was a lifetime ago, though. That was when she still thought Reeves was a nice man. When she still thought he was a small, harmless businessman trying to help people. That was before she knew he was a monster. A polite, well-spoken monster.

"Motivation and reprogramming. The very basis of our reason for being here."

"This doesn't make any sense," she said, determined not to break down and show weakness in front of Reeves.

"It makes perfect sense," Reeves said. He turned to the muscular man by the van and held out his hand. The man took an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to Reeves, who in turn handed it to Chrissy.

"What's this?" she asked.

"That, Mrs. Sandoval, is your motivation."

She tore open the envelope and looked inside. There were photographs in the envelope. She looked at them and was unable to fight it any longer. She stared at them then at Reeves.

The first picture was of Shawn. He was bloody and shirtless and tied to a chair in a dark, dirty room. His severed hand was bandaged, his good hand shackled to his legs which in turn were tied to the chair.

The second photograph was taken in the same room. There was a woman shackled to a chair, and even though her head was down, Chrissy recognized her sisters multi-coloured hair. She glared at Reeves. "You have Lisa too?" she mumbled, staring at the photograph of her sister.

"All clients need a different level of motivation. Some more than others. We looked into your history, Mrs. Sandoval based on the email questionnaire you filled in. We watched you, investigated you and your life."

She was barely paying attention. There was a third photograph behind the one of her sister, but she was too afraid to look at it. Reeves saw the uncertainty and smiled.

"Go ahead; it's important that you see the final photograph."

She wiped the tears away with the palm of her hand and turned to the next photograph. This time, the scene was different. It was taken outside in natural light. Keisha was handcuffed to a chair by the hands and feet, her mouth gagged, face bloody. Chrissy stared at it, unsure how much more she could take, then at Reeves who was still cool and calm as he watched her reactions.

"Why are you doing this to me? This has nothing to do with why I came to you."

"Oh but it does. This is your motivation, and, just to clarify, I'm doing nothing you didn't ask for. You signed a contract asking for my help. Everything that has happened, everything that
will
happen, is at your request, Mrs. Sandoval."

"No, don't you put this on me. This is insane. This is crazy and sick."

"It works," Reeves said. He held out his hand for the photographs. Chrissy passed them to him. The images were burned into her brain now either way. The photos were unnecessary. Reeves put them back in the envelope and handed them back to the muscular man. He then turned back to Chrissy.

"Now, allow me to explain how this will work. As you have seen, we have three key people in your life captive. In order to retrieve them, you will complete an exercise designed to rid you of your fear of heights once and for all."

"I don't want this, please just stop. I don't want to do this."

"I'm afraid the time for that is passed, Mrs. Sandoval. We signed a contract, and what kind of honourable man would I be if I didn't adhere to it."

"Please, just let them go. Don't kill them."

"Kill them?" Reeves repeated, flashing a bemused grin. "I have no intention whatsoever of doing that, Mrs. Sandoval. I'm a businessman, not some vile thug or killer."

"Then why are you doing this?"

"It's quite simple," Reeves said, then turned and pointed behind him. "That chimney tower was once part of this industrial facility. It would churn black smoke out into the atmosphere day and night. Of course, when the industry was outsourced to foreign countries, there was no need for facilities like this to stay open, and so they were closed. This particular one was purchased by my company in the nineties for a small sum of money."

"I don't understand."

"The tower is two hundred and ninety-eight feet tall. Access is gained to the top by a ladder that runs up the side of the tower, although, age has taken its toll and it isn't in the best condition sadly."

Chrissy stared at it. It didn't look too tall from where she was but knew that was an illusion created by distance. The old red brick cooling tower was huge, and she thought she knew where Reeves was going at last.

"Here, take a closer look," he said.

He had produced a small set of binoculars, which he handed to her. She took them from him and looked at the tower. Long weeds and grass grew at its base, the crumbling brickwork covered in graffiti around the bottom, the top untouched.

"Look to the top, Mrs. Sandoval," Reeves said.

She scanned towards the summit, the zoomed in view of the tower filing her view until it exploded with light. The top of the tower was black with soot, but she barely noticed. She now knew where the photograph of Keisha had been taken. The chair she was chained to was on the very edge of the tower, her feet hanging over the dizzying drop below. The wind whipped her hair and clothes against her skin as she sat there, perfectly still, her head down. Chrissy dropped the binoculars to the ground and stared at Reeves.