by Dan Scottow
She scurries through prickly vegetation, slicing her hands and knees, but it doesn’t matter anymore.
Diana’s weapon would slice her more than the thorns.
A sound nearby makes her wheel around.
She’s not sure how it’s happened, but Diana has come full circle, and now stands a metre or so away, staring down at her. A smile creeps onto her lips.
‘There you are, you naughty squirrel!’ she says, lunging towards Lucy.
Lucy swings the cane up, holding it in both hands as Diana comes down in her direction, swinging wildly with the razor-sharp blades. Lucy knocks her with the stick, and she falls backwards, landing in a heap on the ground. Lucy springs up, trying to dart away, but a hand clasps around her ankle. She trips, falls down flat on her face. The cane flies into the undergrowth, too far to reach.
She rolls onto her back as Diana crawls over her. She kneels over Lucy, with one arm raised, holding the shears, staring into her eyes. Lucy grabs Diana’s wrists, pushing up as hard as she can. Diana is not a strong woman, but the madness within her, and gravity, of course, gives her the advantage.
They struggle. Lucy continues to push, but the tip of the blades is getting ever closer.
She writhes, struggles, thrusting the entire time. Diana cackles like a witch.
‘You thought you would beat me, didn’t you?’ she says, pressing down with all her might.
‘But I will always beat you, you stupid little girl! Mylo is mine, you hear? He’s mine!’
The tip is touching Lucy’s chest. She wriggles, but it breaks her skin. She winces as pain shoots through her.
‘Please, Diana, it’s me… I’m not Rose… I’m Lucy. Remember? Lucy, from Willow Cottage?’
Diana relaxes for a second. Her eyes cloud over, something flashes on her face… for a moment she seems to calm, but it is fleeting.
‘You’re trying to trick me. You were always tricking me! But I won’t fall for it…’
She pushes again, and Lucy screams.
There is a dull thud.
Diana’s eyes seem to glaze, and she falls down on top of Lucy, easing her grip on the scissors which tumble into the mud beside them. Lucy peers over Diana’s shoulder. Cassie stands glaring down at them, a huge rock held in both hands.
‘Cassie! I told you to stay in the house!’
‘Yeah, but aren’t you glad I didn’t?’
She kneels, flipping Diana’s body off of Lucy, holding out her hand. Lucy grips her friend’s palm, as she pulls her up from the ground. They both stand together in silence, staring down at Diana.
‘You shouldn’t have come back…’ Lucy whispers, shaking her head slowly, wiping mud, and blood from her face. Cassie drapes an arm around her shoulder.
‘I’m not losing another friend today.’
‘She really thought I was Rose. But when I pleaded with her, there was a flicker. She’s not gone completely.’
Lucy kneels down, placing her fingers on Diana’s throat.
Cassie watches on.
‘Is she…’
‘No. There’s a pulse.’
‘Okay. The police and ambulance are on their way.’
They turn, heading back towards the cottage.
87
Lucy
The red-and-blue lights of the ambulance flash through the window. They drove it right down the side of the cottage into the garden. It’s parked beside the old willow tree, rear doors wide open.
Lucy sits in the kitchen, as a paramedic tends to the gash on her head.
‘It’s not too serious. I’ve disinfected it. It won’t need stitches. Try to keep the bandage on for a few days and avoid getting it wet if you can.’
Lucy nods. The paramedic turns, heading to join her colleague with Diana in the back of the ambulance. She is strapped to a wheelchair. They’ve administered a strong sedative, so at least she is calm now. Lucy stands, crossing to the window. Cassie joins her by her side.
‘And you say she’s been behaving erratically for a while now?’ the policeman asks, holding his notepad.
Lucy nods.
‘Yes. A month or so. She’s been drinking a lot of alcohol, and she’s on loads of different medication. She’s been having delusions about her house being haunted. Calling me Rose. She attacked Cassie this morning… but I had no idea it would get this serious.’
He scribbles this down on his pad.
‘Right. We’ll take her to the hospital. Someone will be in touch over the next few days to take a formal statement, if that’s okay?’
‘Of course.’
‘And you’re sure you don’t need us to find a bed for the husband?’
‘No, that’s fine. I can look after him until Diana is better. That’s what I’m here for.’
He purses his lips, nodding. They walk outside, towards the ambulance.
‘She’s poisoning me! She wants to kill me.’ They hear Diana mumbling nonsense from inside.
‘Nobody is going to hurt you, Diana. We’re here to help you,’ one of the ambulance crew says soothingly, closing the doors. The siren starts as the vehicle pulls away. The police officers climb into their patrol car, following behind it.
Richard is in bed. Lucy saw to him while they waited for help to arrive. She pops her head in the door. His eyes are still open, but she doesn’t have the energy to deal with him right now. Cassie joins her inside the house.
‘Are you okay?’ she says.
Lucy lets out a long sigh.
‘I think so.’
Cassie nods.
‘What a day, huh?’
‘You get home, Cass. It’ll do you good to be in your own bed.’
Cassie frowns.
‘No way… I’m not leaving you alone tonight.’
‘It’s fine. Diana is gone. And Richard… he’s harmless.’
‘Don’t you want some company?’
‘Honestly… no. I think I’d rather be alone.’
Cassie bites her bottom lip, nodding.
‘I’m pretty sure the alcohol is completely out of my system now, anyway. But I really don’t feel great leaving you by yourself.’
Lucy places her hand on her friend’s shoulder.
‘I’ll be fine. Go on.’
They walk out the front to Cassie’s car. She climbs behind the wheel, waving before she heads off. Lucy stands watching as the car disappears into the woods.
The woods where she very nearly lost her life today. They both did.
She wraps her arms around herself, hugging her body for extra warmth. She wants to shower, but it’s too much faff to keep her head wound dry. She walks inside, using Diana’s bathroom. Stripping off her filthy clothes, she tosses them into a pile on the floor.
Taking a flannel from the linen cupboard, she runs the tap, waiting for it to get warm, and wipes it over her skin, cleaning away dried blood and crusty mud. The heat feels good on her body. She rolls her shoulders as she glides the cloth over her armpits. Red-brown water trickles down her legs onto the floor.
Once she is clean, she dries herself with a fresh, fluffy white towel, and grabs Diana’s gown from the hook on the back of the door, sliding it on.
She saunters down the hallway, entering Richard’s room. Crouching beside the bed, she strokes his hair with one hand.
‘It’s just you and me now, buddy,’ she whispers, smiling as his eyes wobble from side to side as usual.
‘I know you hear me. And I’m fairly sure you understand.’
She straightens, staring down at his face. The smile fades from her lips.
‘Try to sleep tonight, Richard. Tomorrow we’ll have a proper talk. Would you like that? I’m sure you’re dying to hear what I have to say.’
She crosses to the door, turning for one final look. His eyes remain wide open.
A single tear meanders down the side of his cheek.
She smiles, leaving him alone in darkness.
88
Diana
Dr Miller sits behind his
desk, tapping away at the keyboard. Now and then he stops, peering over the monitor at her. She looks away, feeling ashamed.
It’s the first day in as long as she can remember that her head is clear. She feels like herself. The events that led to her incarceration are a blur to her. She gets the odd flash, cringing as she does, but on the whole, she draws a blank.
‘And how are you feeling now, Diana?’
She fixes him with a stare.
‘I feel fine. I’d like to go home to Richard.’
‘I’m informed that your husband it being well cared for. Your live-in carer is with him at your cottage. No need to worry. The main thing is to get you well again.’
‘I am well. I’m totally fine.’
‘Okay…’ He glances at the screen over the rim of his thin, wire-framed glasses, frowning.
‘Your substance abuse is something of a concern, Diana.’
She actually laughs, a high-pitched, hyena-like bark.
‘I have a prescription for those meds. It’s all above board. I suffer with a great deal of pain. I need them to get by. You know that. And the drink… so I like a drink. But who doesn’t.’
‘Diana, there was extraordinarily little by way of prescribed medication in your blood work. Some over the counter stuff, yes, but I’m talking about the recreational drugs.’
She stands up, indignant.
‘I do not take recreational drugs…’ She pauses. ‘A little dope now and then perhaps, but not much.’
‘And the ketamine? The salvia? There were also some troubling herbal substances in your blood. An extremely high level of St John’s Wort, for example. Need I go on? You’re lucky you didn’t poison yourself.’
She sits back down in her chair, mouth hangs open, but she doesn’t respond.
‘Together with the amount of alcohol you’ve been consuming, along with the fact you’ve cut the heavy pain meds, sleeping pills and antidepressants etcetera out without doing it gradually… it’s no wonder you experienced a psychosis like you did. I’m amazed it didn’t happen sooner.’
‘You must believe me… I have never taken any of those things you say are showing in my blood, and as for the pain meds and sleeping pills… I’ve been taking them regularly… probably more than I should.’
‘The only medication showing in your blood is paracetamol and some aspirin.’
She frowns.
‘Diana, I think you’re still a little confused. That’s understandable. You were in an awfully bad way when they brought you in. We’ve flushed you out and had you on a drip to administer some fluids into you, but it will take some time to get you right.’
‘But I’m telling you, I am right. I feel fine. Listen to me… my speech is clear, I can articulate, my thoughts are coherent. Surely you can see that?’
The doctor leans back in his chair, lacing his hands together behind his head.
‘You seem much better, yes. But… I’m afraid unless you can admit that you have a substance abuse problem… I won’t be able to let you go home. We’re looking at a spell in a rehab centre in Glasgow for you. It will take a while to get you back on the straight and narrow.’
‘Won’t let me go home? I don’t need your permission!’
‘I’m afraid you do, actually. You’ve been sectioned, and you’re under my care now. You won’t be able to go home until I’m satisfied that you are no longer a danger to yourself, or others. You attacked two girls. With a bladed instrument. You don’t need me to tell you how badly wrong that could have gone for everyone concerned.’
Diana frowns, cocking her head.
‘It must be the girl,’ she suddenly says out loud, interrupting whatever the doctor is saying. He pauses, staring at her.
‘What must?’
‘Drugging me, of course! I assume she’s been mixing it into my food and drinks. It’s the only explanation.’
The doctor looks sympathetically at Diana, sighing.
‘Can’t you see… she must have been doing this since she arrived. Trying to make it look like I’m crazy.’
‘And why would she be doing that?’
Diana pauses. She hasn’t thought this through.
She chews at the corner of her mouth.
‘I don’t know. Maybe she wants to steal my house from me.’
She scratches at the inside of her elbow, glancing down at the red dots there. What she had assumed were bites. She gasps.
‘She’s been injecting me. That’s how she was doing it. While I was asleep. There were a few nights I woke and felt there was someone in my room. I wasn’t in my right mind then, and I thought it was Rose… but now I’m thinking clearly, I see… it was Lucy. Look!’
She jabs at the red marks with a bony index finger.
‘What am I looking at exactly?’
She stands, approaching his desk, extending her arm out, thrusting her elbow towards his face.
‘Injection sites. That’s what they are. They were always itchy first thing in the morning. She was sneaking into my room at night and drugging me! See?’
The doctor removes his glasses. Closing his eyes, he squeezes the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He sighs and meets Diana’s eyes.
‘Diana, please take a seat.’
She goes to speak, but thinks better of it, returning to her chair. Her mind is racing. She has not been sure of anything for a long time, but she is sure that Lucy is responsible. She doesn’t know why, but she knows it’s her. And right now, that woman, who drugged her, and made her think she was losing her mind, is alone in her house with Richard.
A wave of panic washes over her. Sweat beads on her brow. She will have to play this one cleverly.
‘Okay,’ she says, letting out a long breath. ‘I admit it. You’ve got me. I guess there’s no point denying it anymore. You’ve got it there right in front of you. I’ve… allowed myself to become somewhat of an… addict, I suppose.’
The doctor nods, smiling patronisingly.
‘Good. There you go. That wasn’t so hard, was it?’
She’ll have to play the game if she wants to get home.
She doesn’t know why Lucy has been doing this, but she intends to find out.
89
Mylo
Lynda Checkley twitches her net curtain, watching as Mylo pulls his pickup truck to a stop outside her cottage. Turning off the engine, he sits for a while staring out over the loch.
She opens the front door, and waddles down the garden path towards him, waving. Her jowls wobble as she trots along.
‘Good morning, Mylo, my dear!’ she calls, her usual smile beaming from her face.
Today, she wears a turquoise kaftan, with a butterfly print. A thick, chunky woollen shawl covers her shoulders. Her hair, as always, is wild and unkempt, but has a sunshine-yellow scarf tied through it, with a bow on top of her head. Cheeks rosy, as always.
‘Hello, Mrs Checkley!’
‘Oh please, call me Lynda. Mrs Checkley makes me sound like an old lady!’
She winks playfully. She glances as a rust-coloured leaf tumbles from a tree, drifting down to join others on the lawn.
‘Autumn is on the way,’ she says wistfully. ‘I’m sure it comes earlier every year.’
Mylo simply nods as he begins to unload the shopping. She joins him by his side, helping with a few of the lighter bags. Once inside, he places the groceries on the worktop of her kitchen, which overlooks the garden.
‘Will you stay for a coffee?’ she pleads.
He nods.
‘Terrible business with the artist… over at Willow Cottage last week,’ she says, raising an eyebrow.
He nods again but says nothing. She’s testing the water.
She pours two cups, handing one to Mylo, and they cross through to the living room. He sits on a comfy couch, looking out through a large bay window to the front of the house. She perches on a rocking chair in the corner next to him.
‘Oh damn it!’ she curses. ‘I forgot the biscuits
.’
‘It’s fine, honestly. I don’t need any.’
‘Nonsense,’ she says, swatting her hand dismissively in his general direction as she disappears through into the kitchen. She returns a moment later with a plate full of pastel-coloured Party Rings, offering them to Mylo before she sits. He takes one, placing it on the arm of the settee beside him.
‘Where were we?’ she says, as if she has forgotten what they were discussing. But she knows full well.
‘Oh yes! The artist.’ She doesn’t even attempt to hide the disdain from her voice.
‘I hear she went quite mad!’
‘Apparently so.’
‘I’m not surprised. Keeping herself all cooped up in that place… never mixing with folk. It’s not healthy. I know I live alone, but I try to get into town as much as I can. I meet friends for lunch. People visit me.’ She reaches for a biscuit, hovering her hand over the plate, trying to decide which colour to take. As if it makes any difference.
‘I’m surprised the girl is still there. All alone in that house. After what happened. I’d have been out of there in a shot if it were me.’
‘She’s a good person. She’s continuing to look after Mr Davenport. I imagine he would have had to go into a care home if she hadn’t stayed.’
‘Not her responsibility.’
Mylo shrugs.
‘She seemed like a lovely girl though. You’re right there.’
He cocks his head.
‘Oh, you’ve met Lucy?’
‘Yes. She came by on her bicycle the week she arrived. Not seen her since, mind.’
‘She never mentioned it.’
‘Don’t suppose having lemonade and gossiping with an old lady was high on her list of exciting things to chat about.’
Lynda leans in, taking another biscuit, crunching it noisily before she continues. She wipes crumbs from the corner of her mouth and slurps her coffee.
‘I maybe said too much that day. Probably scared the girl silly with all my stories.’
