The Rattler (Rattler Trilogy Book 1) (17 page)

1

Zoe
was sitting up in bed, watching television. She was feeling bored; Karen had
been discharged, and mum had left for the day. Vana couldn’t visit because
there was something going on at school. Zoe flicked through the available
channels – all five of them! There wasn’t any satellite or cable TV in this
particular hospital; “Cheapskates,” said Zoe.

“I’m
so bored! PlayStation, I miss you,” she moaned, throwing the television remote
down on the bed, where it bounced down onto the floor. Zoe struggled out of
bed, and slowly walked over to where it had landed, just underneath a small
cabinet. As she reached out for the control, she caught sight of herself in a
mirror which was on the inside of the partially open door. She looked at her
reflection in horror. She opened the door wider, and knelt there – trance-like.
Suddenly, she got to her feet and dashed out of the room, past Nurse Madison
who was sorting out patients’ medication at the Nurses’ Station, and headed
towards the bathroom.

“Zoe,
whatever’s the matter?” called Nurse Madison, horrified at the look on Zoe’s
face. “Why are you running?” Zoe ignored the nurse’s call, and dashed into the
bathroom, closing the door firmly behind her. Nurse Madison
ran to Zoe’s
room, saw the mirror on the cabinet, and realised that Zoe had caught sight of
her reflection. “Damn! Why was this in the room? How did I miss it?”

She
turned, and moved quickly to the bathroom, slowly pushed open the door, and
found her patient kneeling over the toilet. “Oh, Zoe, my dear,” she said,
softly, as she helped Zoe to her feet. “Come on, lass, let’s get you
refreshed.”

Nurse
Madison gently washed Zoe’s grief-stricken face, and guided her back to her
room, where she tucked her up in bed. The poor girl was definitely still ill;
all of Zoe’s efforts, and those of the doctors and care team, had been undone
by one look in a mirror. Madison settled Zoe down, and then walked out of the
room, leaving the door slightly open. She went back to the Station to make her
report to Dr Smith. A single tear ran down her face.
This was a
heartbreaking moment for the conscientious nurse, and one of the few times she
had shed a tear for a patient in the whole of her 20 year career. This was the
reality of Anorexia. It was an on-going battle. She composed herself, sat down
at the desk, and picked up the telephone.

Zoe’s
care continued for another couple of weeks, during which time she seemed to be
making progress. There had not been any further blips and she was now eating
small portions of solid food. The doctors agreed that she could be discharged,
so she left hospital with a treatment plan in place, which included medical
appointments, dietary changes and psychological therapy.

2

Barbara
recalled that this was the start of her long-standing relationship with Zoe.
The psychologist sipped some water. “Zoe, let’s leave that behind and I would
like you to flash forward now to the point in time that caused you to be unwell
again.” As soon as she spoke, she felt a sudden chill in the room which made
her shiver. Zoe’s hands started to tremble again. “What is it? What do you see?
Just relax, breathe slowly, in and out, in and out. That’s good. You are
perfectly safe here. When you’re ready, tell me where you are and what do you
see.”

“I’m
walking around my new bedroom.”

“Are
you alone?”

“Yes.
The others are downstairs.”

“Good.
Now tell me, what
do you
feel?” asked Barbara, as she
continued to take notes. “My room’s empty. The sun is shining through the
windows, and it is highlighting the particles of dust floating in the air. I
can hear partying and singing coming from the neighbours, and several police
sirens in the distance. I had the choice of bedrooms and, somehow, felt drawn
to this one.” Barbara stopped writing.

“Why
do you think that was?”

“I
can’t explain it; it’s a strange feeling – spooky if you like.”

“Zoe,
what do you mean by
spooky?
”

“Well,
I felt as if I was being watched.”

“By who?
Who would be watching you?”

“Not
sure really, but I think it’s the old woman.”

“The lady from your dreams?”
Barbara started to make notes
again. “Yes,” replied Zoe, quietly. “OK,” said Barbara, taking another sip of
water. “Well, I think we need to banish her once and for all from your memory.
She can’t hurt you. She’s just part of your imagination, that’s all, nothing
else.”

“She
feels so real.”

“Dreams
often feel very real. Now, I want you to think of a blackbird chick, waiting in
the nest for its mother to return. The mother comes back, bringing food. Even
when the mother is away hunting, the chick feels safe and secure because she
can hear the adult singing; she knows she is never really alone. Whenever you
feel uneasy, or frightened, I want you to picture that young blackbird.” Zoe
began to sweat. “It’s OK, Zoe; just relax and listen to the bird sing.” Barbara
paused for a few seconds. “Now I’m going to count, slowly, and when I get to
ten, you will wake up, and you will feel relaxed and refreshed.”

3

Zoe
slowly came round from the hypnosis. She lay on the bed for a few seconds
before sitting up and stretching. “How did that feel?” asked Barbara, as she
poured Zoe a glass of water. “Good, thanks. I feel so relaxed. It’s as if a
huge weight has been lifted from my shoulders,” smiled Zoe. Barbara felt
re-assured – but still had reservations. “Good, but I think you should have a
chat with your doctor. He might feel you need to go back on your medication for
a short while. We can’t really afford for you to relapse – your body won’t be
able to cope with it again.” She took out her diary.

“Would
you like to come and see me again next week? I shall be here in London until
Monday morning,
then
I’m on the train back to Leeds.
You can always give me a ring while I’m here if you need a chat.”

“Yes,
I’d like that.”

4

As
Barbara was going back up to her suite after saying goodbye to Zoe downstairs
in the Reception Hall, she was not as confident as she appeared. Zoe certainly
seemed to be more relaxed, and positive that she had this beaten, but she was
fighting the supernatural – and that was something Barbara did not have a lot
of experience about.

Barbara
bit her bottom lip; she watched from the window as a cheerful Zoe got into a
taxi. She knew she had to sever the link between the bad memories and Zoe’s
Anorexia. The problem was, how?

And
worse still, Hagatha knew Zoe’s weakness –
Little Miss Piggy
.

1

Zoe
walked back into the house just after 5.00 pm. All was quiet as she hung up her
jacket. The house felt warm; at last the heating was working. The spare keys
were on the side so she knew that Vana was around somewhere. “Hello there!
Anyone home?
Vana – you back yet?” shouted Zoe. “In here –
in the kitchen,” replied Vana. “Come here, you’ve gotta see this.”

“What’s
up?”

“Just
look at this. Park your bum.”

“Where
are the lads?”

“They’ve
just gone for a run. They’ll be back soon, but never mind them. Here, look.”
Vana pointed to Zoe’s laptop lying open on the table. The screen was showing a
news report from a local Leeds newspaper. “What am I looking at?” asked a
confused Zoe. “Scroll to the picture at the top of the page. I’ll make you a
coffee.”

“It’s
not going to freak me out, is it?”

“Just
move the mouse up the page.”

Zoe
did as she was told, and saw a photograph of a 19 year old girl. It didn’t take
long for Zoe to recognise the young woman – it was Helen Blackwell, the wannabee
model and school bully. She quickly scanned the text, and was horrified by what
she read. Vana brought over the coffee.

“Well,
what do you make of that?”

“I
don’t know. My mind’s gone blank.”

“You’ve
got to have some reaction to that news, surely?”

2

Helen
was expensively dressed in a black and white compact jersey short-sleeved dress
by Stella McCartney, with black heels, and carrying a white Radley handbag –
all perks of being a model. On her left wrist she wore an Omega watch, and gold
bangles jangled on her other arm. Her nails were brightly manicured. Her blonde
hair was neatly styled with long extensions, and she was expertly made up –
with special emphasis paid to her large, blue eyes. She acted every inch the
model, and was pleased with the admiring looks she got from men as she passed
one of the local pubs. She ignored the crude comments they made as she
continued down a narrow cobbled street which opened up to a paved area
alongside the Leeds/Liverpool canal. She didn’t, however, notice the attention
she got from a female on the other side of the street, who was watching her
like a hawk.

Helen
sauntered towards a lively pub. The weather was hot, the sun was shining, and
tables spilled out onto the pavement. Two men were smoking and drinking
outside. They both grinned with dirty thoughts as she approached, then stared
at her arse as she entered the bar in search of her friends. The men turned and
sucked in their cheeks. “The legs on that,” said one, enjoying his pint. “I’d
definitely kick the missus out of bed for a piece of that,” said the other.

The
pub was crowded with a mix of young professionals from the finance sector and
students from Leeds University. “Over here, Helen. We’re over here in the
corner!” shouted someone. As Helen turned, she saw her three friends sitting
near to the bar. These were the girls she had been at school with, and they
were now studying at Leeds University. The girls, Tracy, Kaz and Julia, were
all slim, and dressed typically as students with expensive Diesel jeans and
hoodies. The girls certainly attracted a lot of attention from the red-blooded
males around. “You took your time; we’ve been waiting ages for you,” said
Tracy, pointing at her designer watch. “Sorry, girls,” replied Helen with a
false smile. “Got delayed – stupid, inexperienced photographer!”

“Never mind.
You’re here now. What’s it to
be? Red or White?” asked Julia, as she got up from the table.

3

The
four friends enjoyed a bottle of red wine, and some shots, with their lunch,
and the conversation got louder and louder. Helen checked her watch.
“Sorry, girls.
That’s me done, I’ll have to go.”

“What?
It’s a bit early,” said Julia, who was just about to order another bottle of
wine.

“I
know, but I’m meeting Mike.”

“Enough
said,” grumbled Kaz. “Never mind, we’ll just get pissed without you.”

The
girls hugged and said their goodbyes. Unbeknown to them, that would be the last
time the four friends would be together. Helen tottered out of the bar, getting
even more male attention than she got when she went in. She crossed over a
bridge, and started walking along the side of the canal. Suddenly she heard the
sound of footsteps running behind her. She instinctively stopped, and stepped
aside to make room. No-one passed. She turned, expecting to see a runner in the
distance.
No-one.
She was all alone.

As
she carried on along the path, the trees on the embankment swayed gently in the
breeze, and the noise from the pub became just a distant murmur. Her phone
beeped and, taking it from her bag, Helen saw that it was a message from Mike,
asking where she was. She answered, saying
5 mins away
. Helen soon
approached a bridge which led to a footpath into Mike’s estate. All of a
sudden, a cold breeze shot across the canal, making ripples on the water. The
swell seemed to speed towards her. The sky darkened as she walked under the
dark, eerie bridge. Graffiti covered the walls, plastic bags found homes
amongst the weeds, and an old, rusty, shopping trolley could be seen just below
the water-line. She shivered. “You must be Helen,” a voice said.

She
turned, but there was no-one there. Not a soul in sight. As she turned back
towards the footpath, a smelly old woman blocked her way. “Jesus Christ, you
scared me!” said Helen, hugging her handbag to her chest. Hagatha stood there.
“Can I get passed, please?” demanded Helen.

Hagatha
said nothing, just shook her head slowly from side to side. “HELLO! I need to
get passed,” Helen said, angrily.

“Not
this time.”

“Come
on, you old hag. Move it.”

As
Helen tried to force her way through, Hagatha pushed her backwards. The model
flew across the ground and landed on a plastic bag in the middle of the path.
As she fell, she felt her ribs crack and she was completely winded. Helen tried
to scream, but all she could manage was a single yelp. Hagatha started towards
her, and, in desperation Helen attempted to move backwards – in vain. Black
mascara tears ran down her face, and she sobbed. “What do you want? Here, take
my handbag; you can have my Omega as well – just let me go,” she pleaded.

Her
attacker stood over her. “There can only be one person in charge of
Little
Miss Piggy,
”
Hagatha croaked. “What are you talking about?
You’ve lost me, I don’t know what you mean?” cried Helen, wiping the hot tears
from her face. No response. Instead the old woman ran her long, dirty, green
fingernails down Helen’s beautiful, porcelain-like face. She then placed her
hands around the model’s neck and slowly and deliberately throttled her.

Helen’s
mutilated body was found some time later by a horrified dog-walker.