Fan Fears: A collection of fear based stories (17 page)

She sat upright in her chair, seeing the glimmer of hope. That was why Goodfellow seemed so short with her. He knew he was wrong and he feared for his job.  “I remember,” she said, the fog clearing a little as adrenaline took over.

Goodfellow opened the folder and slid several papers towards her. “Do you recognise these people?”

Joy. In its purest form, it was exhilarating. She looked at the photographs of Greg and Courtney, taking in every detail. It felt like a lifetime since she last saw them. “That’s them. That’s my family.”

Goodfellow reached across the table and pointed to the photographs. “This is your boyfriend Greg?” he said, tapping a manicured finger on the picture.

“Yes.”

“And this is your daughter, Courtney?” he asked, repeating the finger tap.

“Yes, like I told you. Now I demand to go home, and the first thing I’m going to do is get in touch with a lawyer and the media. I think you –”

“They don’t know who you are, Lorraine.”

She stopped mid-sentence, staring at him, then looking at the pictures of those closest to her. “What are you talking about?”

“They don’t know you. We showed them photographs, asked them if they knew you. They said no.”

“Did you say, Christina or Lorraine?” she said, feeling the anxiety start to build.

“Both,” Goodfellow said.

“That’s impossible. I don’t believe you. My name is Christina Cooper. What else do I have to do to prove it? Check my records for god’s sake.” She could feel herself losing it again.

“We did that too.  This person you claim to be doesn’t exist.”

“My Facebook, my horror blog. They can prove it. There are pictures of me,” she said, feeling the hot sting of tears again.

Goodfellow slid more paper across the table. “We searched for those too. We could find no matches.”

“This makes no sense. I’m just supposed to believe you that my family don’t know who I am? That I just ceased to exist?”

“I think you need to start considering the fact that your point of view on this is incorrect and that we, in fact, are right. All we want to do is help you. Somewhere in there, Lorraine is hidden behind this persona you’ve created. We want her back. We need to get her back so we can get you well.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know who this person is. I just want to go home. You have to understand you’ve made a mistake. I have a family to get back to.”

Goodfellow closed the folder and shook his head. “I’m afraid that isn’t going to be possible until we make some kind of breakthrough.”

“Fine. Then I’m Lorraine. If that’s what you want to hear that’s what I’ll say if I get to go home.”

Goodfellow sighed and put his fingers to his lips, brow furrowed in concentration. “I’m afraid that’s not how this works.”

“Then what do you want? What am I supposed to say?” She was screaming again and knew it, but fear and rage were proving to be a potent mixture.

“You’re not supposed to say anything. I don’t want empty words, Lorraine. That will do nothing to help anyone. I want progress,” Goodfellow said, still calm, still cool. She wondered if it was possible for someone like him to be unsettled, and what would happen if he lost that cool exterior.

“Then what am I supposed to do? Just stay here until you say I can go home?”

“Yes,” Goodfellow said, the word cold and the meaning exploding through her.

Without any conscious thought, she screamed and ran for the door, realising she was repeating history and with likely the same outcome. As she was administered her sedative and once again her last waking vision was of Goodfellow putting his papers away, she wondered if she was dead and this was what hell was like.

THREE

She couldn’t stop screaming. This time, she was taken to a different room and restrained to the bed by the arms and legs. There were no windows, and the lights came on and went off at intervals which were random to her. When she eventually stopped screaming there were tears, and when they too stopped she simply lay there on her back, staring at the white cushioned roof, wrists and ankles sore from the restraints. Eventually, the restraints were removed, but she was still confined to her room, which other than the bed and a bucket for a toilet, was devoid of furniture. Food was delivered to her on a plastic tray through a hatch in the door, none of which she ate. She threw the trays of unidentifiable slop at the walls, staining the white walls in a variety of colours. Eventually, even the anger faded, and she was reduced to sitting in the corner, knees pulled up to her chin, hair greasy and sticking to her skin, trembling and trying to piece together what had happened. After what felt like an eternity, someone came to her. It was Goodfellow. He was standing by the door, this time, clad in a lemon polo shirt and chinos.

“How are you feeling, Lorraine?” he asked.

This time, she didn’t fight the name. There seemed to be little point. She didn’t answer.

“I’m sorry we had to put you into solitary, but you were unstable and you know the rules on disruption.”

She glanced at him, wishing she could muster the energy to tell him she didn’t know the rules on disruption, that she was totally oblivious to how the place she was being held prisoner worked. Goodfellow took her silence as acceptance of the apology. He spoke again, his tone soft as if speaking to a child.  “You’ve been here in solitary for three weeks now. Today, though, it’s a new month and a fresh start.”

“Three weeks?” she repeated, not thinking it possible

“Today I have good news for you. You have a visitor. Your daughter is here.”

She looked at him, the surge of emotion threatening to explode from within her. “She’s here?”

Goodfellow nodded.

“My daughter Courtney?” she asked, remembering the picture of the other woman she had been shown.

Goodfellow nodded again. “Yes. But because of the recent volatile nature of your outbursts, we will have to restrain you for the visit.”

She nodded, barely listening to him. She stood, trying to do something to make her greasy mop of hair look presentable. She had no idea how she must look, but if it was anything as bad as she felt, she didn’t want to scare her daughter away.

“How do I look? Is my hair okay?” she asked

“It looks fine.” Goodfellow said, smiling at her “Ben is going to come in and apply the restraints now, okay?”

She nodded again, anxious and excited to see her family. Now it seemed she was at last going to be discharged. She stood and allowed the restraints to be applied to her wrists.

“How did they find me? Did they prove who I was?” she asked as they walked out of the room and down the corridor.

“They did. It was a terrible mix-up I’m afraid. An administration error.” Goodfellow said.

She nodded, thinking about how hard she was going to go after the hospital. Compensation. False imprisonment, mental trauma.

Goodfellow glanced at her. “Are you alright?

“I’m fine, just nervous. It feels like forever since I saw her. Is Greg here too?”

“He’s signing your release papers. This way please.”

Goodfellow showed her into a small room. Unlike the one where she was questioned, this one had real furniture and a window – although that too still had bars. She took a seat at the empty table, and then looked at Goodfellow. “Where is she?”

“Patience, please. You need to be restrained to the chair first for your own safety.”

She would have asked why that was necessary when she was going home, but she was too excited and didn’t want to rock the boat. She sat and allowed the hand restraints to be connected to their counterparts on the arms of the chair. She felt sick, partly from nerves and also from excitement. She was desperate to go home, desperate to see her family after what felt like an age. She waited as the orderly checked she was secure, then nodded to Goodfellow, who in turn turned to her.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

She nodded. Goodfellow turned to the orderly. “Bring her in.”

The orderly left. Goodfellow checked his watch. He looked nervous and agitated, and she thought it was because he was stressing about how much trouble he was going to get into when she took her legal action. The door opened again, and she flicked her eyes towards it. Any notion that it was some kind of trick were dispelled. It was Courtney, her daughter. She looked frightened and confused.

“Thank god, thank god you’re here,” she was babbling, crying again as was the norm recently. That emotion doubled when Greg followed her in. They looked as stressed and exhausted as she did. There was a police officer with them, which she was elated to see. She could only imagine how furious he must be about the whole situation. They stood on opposite sides of the table, one side silent and watching, the other sobbing and trying to form the thousand things they wanted to say.

Goodfellow spoke, his voice taking on a new authority in the presence of civilians. “Are you able to identify the patient?” he said to Greg.

Greg glanced at Goodfellow, then across the table. “Yes. That’s her. That’s Christina,” he said.

Elation. She felt the pressure lift, the terror, the frustration melted away.

“Thank you, both of you for coming in,” Goodfellow said, then turned to talk to the officer. “Do you need anything else?”

The officer stepped forward, addressing Greg. The room grew silent. “Is this the woman who was stalking you?”

Greg looked at her, then at Goodfellow. “Yes. This is her.”

“Greg, it’s me. What are you saying?” Her voice felt distant as she said the words. She looked at her family. She realised that the expressions on their faces were that of fear. Fear of her.

Greg looked at Goodfellow, who nodded. “Go ahead. You can speak to her. Tell the officer what happened.”

“A couple of years ago she started following me. First at work, then standing outside my house.”

“No, that’s not true,” she said, fighting against her restraints. “Why are you saying these things?”

Greg went on. Holding Courtney close to him. “I reported her, told her to stop following us. Telling her to get out of our life. She started following my partner, Christina, home from work. Threatening her.”

“No, why are you saying this? You’re supposed to love me.” She was ranting again, but so completely broken she couldn’t muster the energy to fight. Greg continued to tell his story, gathering momentum.

“She got violent, threatened my girlfriend to the point where she left me. We were buying concert tickets for Courtney, she went out to the shops and we never saw her again.”

“That’s not what happened. I had a headache remember? You told me to go to bed.”

Greg glared at her and she saw it. No love. Worse than that, no
recognition
. Just absolute hatred.

Greg faltered, looking at the floor.

“Please continue,” Goodfellow said. “It’s perfectly alright. She needs to hear this as part of her therapy.

Greg cleared his throat and went on. “She still didn’t leave us alone. I reported her, had restraining orders taken out. But she was determined. She said she was part of the family. One day she…she….”

“Go on,” Goodfellow said.

“She tried to abduct my daughter from school. They found a knife in her bag.”

“That’s not true. I’d never hurt you, I’d never hurt any of you.” She was sobbing again, fighting the restraints despite the pain it was causing.

Goodfellow took over then, addressing everyone in the room. “That was when we took Lorraine in. She was unfit to stand trial, deemed delusional. For two years we have tried every course of therapy possible, but this idea that she is a part of your family refused to go away. We fear that she can never be cured.”

“I don’t care about a cure, I just want to know we’re going to be safe,” Greg said.

She stared at him, unable to comprehend what was going on.

“You will be quite safe. Her daughter recently approved a course of extreme treatment which we hope will help.”

“This is insane,” she screamed, able to taste blood in her throat. “We’ve been together. You’re my family. Look at me, just look at me?

Neither of them would.

“Why won’t you make eye contact with me? You know I’m right. You know I don’t belong here,” she screamed.

“Do we have to stay any longer?” Greg said, looking at Goodfellow.

“No, thank you for coming in to do this. We appreciate the circumstances are unusual but necessary. You and your daughter can rest assured we will make sure your safety is never threatened again.”

“And what happens when she gets out of here?” Greg said. “What if she comes back?”

Goodfellow smiled. “That won’t happen, sir, I assure you. The treatment she is about to undertake means that she will never again leave this hospital.”

“Treatment? What are you going to do to me? What are you going to do? Don’t touch me, you don’t have the right, you don’t have the right.”

“Mike,” Goodfellow said to the orderly. He grabbed her arm and injected the sedative, her vision fading along with her screams. She saw something as she lost consciousness, something that would have made her scream forever if the medication hadn’t overwhelmed her so quickly.