Horror Thriller Box Set 1

by Amy Cross

  There's a part of me that wants to sit here with his body and just stare at his dead face, but I feel I should probably get on with the job of hiding him away. I carefully lift him off the bed and set him on the floor, before opening the door and dragging him out into the corridor. After double-checking that there's no-one nearby, I start hauling him toward the abandoned ward. He's fairly light, and I've started to get better at pulling bodies along, so it doesn't take too long before I'm at the door. I reach into my pocket and pull out the key, before opening the padlock, pushing the door open, and dragging Dr. Larson's body into the cold, brightly-lit corridor. Soon I've managed to maneuver him all the way to the rec room, at which point I start glancing around for Jennifer Mathis. She usually meets me as soon as I enter the abandoned ward, and shows me where to put the body, but this time there's no sign of her.

  "Hey!" I call out.

  Nothing. No reply.

  "Jennifer!"

  I wait. Where the hell is she? I want her to see what I've done; I want her to finally understand how important it was for me to kill this man. She's the only person I can share these moments with, which I guess means she's my only friend. I smile, feeling kind of pleased that I've finally got someone in my life who understands me.

  "Jennifer!" I call out again, but there's still nothing. Leaving Dr. Larson's body on the floor for a moment, I head through to the next corridor. "Jennifer!" I listen out for some sign of her, but there's nothing. Suddenly, I feel very cold and alone in this part of the building, and I feel a slight sensation of panic in my gut. "Jennifer!" I call again, hurrying back through to the rec room and almost tripping over Dr. Larson's body. "Jennifer!" I try to keep calm, but there's something strangely ominous about her disappearance. "Jennifer!" I shout as loud as I can, determined to make her hear me. Still, something tells me that she's nowhere around. "Jennifer!" I pause for a moment. "Jennifer! Where are you?" I wait. Nothing.

  "Jennifer!"

  Chapter Six

  Eleven years ago

  "There's no need to be afraid," Dr. Larson says, dropping the pill into my hand. "It's not magic. It's a drug that has been designed specifically to help people like you. It stimulates certain hormones, and represses others, and it makes changes in the chemical balance of your brain. The aim is to reduce your negative thoughts and generally make you more open to positive ideas. Most importantly, it helps you overcome certain barriers that you might have erected in your subconscious. What do you think of it?"

  I stare at the pill. The thought of swallowing this thing is terrifying. I don't want to change; I don't want to have chemicals balanced in my head, or whatever he's talking about. For the first time since I started coming to see Dr. Larson, I'm feeling genuinely scared. Whatever's in this pill, it could change me in a way that I wouldn't be able to resist; it could enter my body and rewire my brain, turning me into someone else.

  "I've spoken to your father," he continues, "and we've agreed that it would be in your best interests to take a single course of these pills, to see whether they can help you. What I'm hoping, Juliet, is that they'll help boost your endorphin level. Do you know what that means?" He waits for me to answer. "Basically, it means that you'll be happier. My theory is that if you're happier, you'll be more engaged with the rest of the world, and you won't dwell too much on negative things. Do you think that might be something that could help you?"

  Still staring at the pill, I slowly shake my head.

  "I'm afraid you're just going to have to trust me on this," he says. "I've treated a very great number of people who have problems that are very similar to the issues you're dealing with, and I can assure you that these pills have worked wonders for them. All you have to do is take one every day, and wait for the results. It won't be instant, and you might feel a little nauseous at first. I've told your father all about the possible side-effects, and he knows how to help you if you feel ill. It might be hard at first, but I assure you that eventually you'll be very grateful for these little white miracles. And don't worry. They're not a permanent solution. Eventually we'll have retrained your brain, and you'll be able to stop taking the pills. Doesn't that sound good?"

  I close my eyes. Is this really happening? Are they really planning to change my brain? Why don't they just cut my head open and start poking me with knives? Why don't they fill me up with chemicals, or attach electrodes to my temples? A pill seems like such a cowardly method; it's as if they want to sneak into my body and slowly force changes over an extended period of time.

  "Say something, Juliet," Dr. Larson continues.

  "I don't want to take it," I reply.

  "Why not?"

  I stare at him.

  "Are you scared? Do you feel as if your current emotional state is something precious? Something to be preserved and nurtured? Do you feel that you're unique, and that you don't want to get better? After all, getting better might seem like a way to just sink into the crowd and become forgettable. Is that the problem?"

  I shake my head.

  "Then what?"

  I sigh. Why doesn't he understand? Damn it, why can't I work out how to explain it in a way that he'll understand?

  "You don't have a choice," he continues. "In my professional opinion, this is the only way to help you. You're a good girl, Juliet, but you need a little nudge in the right direction. You're going off the rails, but fortunately you have people around you who are only too willing to make sure you get sorted. Would you prefer that no-one bothered? Would you prefer it if you were just left to drift?" He smiles, as if he's trying to be my friend. "This pill is a lifeline. It's going to solve your problems. It's going to take all the darkness out of your soul and leave behind the real you. Doesn't that sound exciting?"

  "What does it taste like?" I ask.

  "I don't know," he replies. "Probably nothing. But you can wash it down with juice."

  I can't take my eyes off the pill. It looks so small and innocent, but it has the potential to change my brain completely. There's a part of me that wonders whether I should just surrender, start taking the medication, and hope that Dr. Larson is right when he says that I'll feel better. I've fought against him, and against my father, for so long now; I'm tired, and I just want to rest. The thought of my life always being like this is terrifying, so perhaps the best option would be to start taking the pills and let myself float away into a new life of happiness and comfort. Besides, I doubt I've got much choice: my father will insist I take the pills, so I'll have to work extra hard to trick him if I want to stay clean. Slowly, and with a mounting sense of fear, I reach out to take the pill from Dr. Larson's hand.

  "Not this one," he says, closing his fist to keep the pill from me. "As I said, your father has the prescription and you'll start taking one every morning from tomorrow." He puts his hand on top of my head and ruffles my hair. "You won't regret this, Juliet. One day you'll thank me. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually you'll realize that this was the day everything started to get better." Standing up, he walks back over to his desk. "You'll still have to come and see me sometimes, Juliet, but perhaps we can cut it down to once a month. Does that sound like a good deal?"

  I nod, feeling relief that at least I'll be free of these meetings.

  "Okay, Juliet, I think we're done for today. Is your father picking you up?"

  I nod again.

  "That's great. You can wait outside until he comes. I hope you'll start to feel the benefit of the medication soon. It might take three of four days to kick in, but you'll slowly feel yourself becoming more settled. The pills won't make everything better, but they should help enormously." He smiles. "Off you go."

  Getting up, I hurry over to the door and leave the office. I don't look back as I pull the door shut.

  "Hi," says the receptionist, smiling. "Your Dad's not here yet, but you can wait in here if you like. We've got magazines you can take a look at."

  I stare at her.

  "They're kind of boring," she continues, "bu
t you don't want to be waiting outside. It's raining."

  Without saying anything, I wander over to a chair at the far end of the room and sit down. I can't help thinking about my father going to a pharmacy and picking up the pills; he'll probably think he's won the battle as he carries the big jar home. I guess I'll have to take one a day, and he'll smile as he watches each one slip down my throat. Then we'll have to wait for the effects to kick in, and I suppose I'll feel my old personality slip away until I become someone else. Still, it's easier this way. If I keep fighting, I'll end up dying of exhaustion. I tried, and I failed. My father's going to get his way, and who knows where I'll end up? It's possible that the pills will be a total success and I'll become just like everyone else. Maybe Dr. Larson is right; maybe in a few years' time, I'll be a happy and sociable girl, and I'll be totally grateful for these pills. It seems unlikely that such a complete transformation could take place, but it might be worth a try. The alternative would be to just stay as I am, and right now that seems like a fight I can't win.

  Suddenly I realize that there's a single tear forming in the corner of my left eye; a moment later, it starts rolling down my cheek. Rather than brush it away, I let it dribble across the skin. It's such a weird sensation.

  "Here," says a voice nearby.

  Startled, I look up and see that the receptionist has come over with a box of tissues. It's weird, but normally I'm completely alert to the people around me, so I don't quite understand how she managed to sneak up on me like that. Cautiously, I reach out and take a tissue, before dabbing my cheek.

  "Anything you want to talk about?" she asks, sitting next to me.

  I shake my head.

  "Do you know what I tell myself whenever things seem bad?"

  I stare at her.

  "I tell myself that no-one can see the future, and that whatever I think is going to happen, probably won't. Sure, things might be even worse, but they might also be better." After a moment, she reaches out and puts an arm around me, pulling me closer and giving me a hug. "Don't be too sad. You're stronger than you think. You can get through anything."

  I want to pull away from her, but there's something about her perfume that makes me stay. It's been so long since I felt a woman's arms around me; the last time was in the hospital when my mother hugged me for the last time and then ended up bleeding all over me. This time, with the receptionist, I feel safer somehow. I know most people would probably prefer to be hugged by someone they know, but in some ways the fact that the receptionist is a stranger makes her seem safer. She doesn't know the real me, and she doesn't need to know anything about my life; it's just nice to smell her perfume and feel her arms around me. Besides, she's just about the only person I've met recently who hasn't felt compelled to ruffle my hair. For that alone, I'm extremely grateful.

  "You hungry?" she asks, releasing me from the hug and pulling a chocolate bar from her pocket. She removes the wrapper, breaks the bar in half, and hands me the slightly larger part. "Go on, take it," she says. "I'm trying to cut back."

  I take the piece of chocolate and start eating. We sit together in silence for a couple of minutes, until finally the chocolate's all gone.

  "You did me a big favor there," she says. "It's really bad, but I keep bringing chocolate to work. I need to eat a proper lunch, but I just..." She pauses for a moment. "Sorry, I shouldn't ramble on like this. Are you feeling a little better?"

  I nod.

  "Okay," she says with a smile, just as the door opens and I see my father walk into the office. "Hey," she says, standing up and walking over to her desk, leaving a faint hint of her perfume still hanging in the air. "Juliet's been very good," she says as she hands my father some forms. "I gave her some chocolate. I hope that's okay."

  "It's fine," my father says, signing the forms and then running his card through a machine to pay for the session. "I already spoke to Dr. Larson on the phone, so I guess I don't need to see him. I think we've got an appointment booked for the first day of next month?"

  The receptionist checks her calendar. "Yep," she says. "11am on the first." She turns to me and smiles. "See you then, Juliet."

  "Come on," my father says, reaching into his pocket, pulling out a large bottle of pills and shaking them as he grins at me. "Let's get home. We've got some medication to get started."

  Taking a deep breath, I stand up and walk over to him. He leads me to the door, and I glance back one final time at the receptionist. I can still smell her perfume in the air, and she smiles at me as the door swings shut. Finally, I follow my father across the car park and over to his car. As we walk, I can hear the bottle of pills rattling in his pocket. I want to grab them and throw them away, but I know I'm never going to do anything so drastic; I'm going to be a good girl and take the pills, because I don't have the energy to do anything else. Getting into the car, I glance back at the building and realize that by the next time I come here, I might be a completely different person; I might be a happier, healthier, more rounded individual. I guess Dr. Larson and my father will be happier about that. The car pulls away and I continue to stare out the window. Strangely, despite the fact that the car smells like a cross between cigarette smoke and garlic, I can still just about smell the receptionist's perfume; I can't explain it, but for some reason I find myself thinking about her all the way home.

  Chapter Seven

  Today

  After stuffing Dr. Larson's body into the old medical supply cupboard, I carefully push the door shut. Turning to look along the corridor, I half-expect to see Jennifer watching me, but there's nothing. It's as if she's completely vanished. I step back, pausing for a moment to make sure that the door doesn't spring open and allow the corpse to come tumbling out onto the floor; once I'm satisfied, I turn and head back through to the rec room.

  "Jennifer!" I shout again, even though I know it's hopeless. If she was here, she'd have appeared as soon as I brought the body. The fact that there's no sign of her means she's clearly staying away on purpose. I guess this is her way of trying to prove something to me.

  Hurrying back through to the main part of the building, I carefully re-lock the door before heading to the red ward so I can start checking on the residents. My mind is racing as I try to work out how I'm going to sort everything out without Jennifer's help. I've got Dr. Larson's body hidden away, so that's not a problem; however, at some point someone's going to wonder where he is, and that's the part I was hoping Jennifer would solve. She managed to make sure that no-one asked questions about Lizzie or Piotr Cymbalista, and I need her to do the same thing now with Dr. Larson. There's simply no other way I can keep his sudden disappearance a secret.

  As soon as I turn the corner to walk toward the first room on the red ward, I realize there's a problem. As I hurry to room 109, I hear someone groaning in pain; I hit the light switch and immediately see that Kenneth Jenkins has fallen over. He's clutching his left leg, and he's clearly in agony.

  "What happened?" I ask, kneeling next to him.

  "I slipped," he says. "Where have you been? I pressed the button to call you, but you didn't come."

  "I was with someone else," I say, trying to work out what to do.

  "For a whole hour?" he asks, before letting out a grunt of pain. "I think it's broken! Why didn't you come?"

  "I was..." I take a deep breath, before reaching out to his leg. "Tell me if this hurts," I say, but he screams as soon as I touch him. "Okay," I continue, realizing that he needs medical attention. "I'm going to call an ambulance," I say, pulling my phone from my pocket but seeing that I don't have any signal. I don't know what it is about this place, but my phone signal seems to suspiciously vanish at very inconvenient moments, almost as if someone is doing it deliberately to cause me problems. "I'm going to go and use the phone in the office," I say, getting to my feet. "It's okay. They'll be here soon."

  Heading out of his room, I run through to the main reception area and into the office. As soon as I get there, I'm shocked to see Mr. Taylor sit
ting at his desk.

  "Hey, Juliet," he says. "Have you seen the purple accounts book?"

  I stare open-mouthed at him. Of all the things that could happen right now, this is by far the worst.

  "Juliet?" he continues, clearly stressed. "This is important. I need that book. There's something in there I need to check. I just found out that we're being audited tomorrow. Do you understand what this means? Everything has to be in order." He reaches out to grab his cup of coffee, but in his agitated state he accidentally knocks it to the floor. "Fuck!" he shouts as the cup breaks.

  "I need to call an ambulance," I say.

  "What?" He stares at me, with an obvious look of panic in his eyes. "Why? What happened?"

  "Kenneth Jenkins," I stammer. Once again, my mind seems to have gone completely blank. "He... He..."

  "What the fuck's going on?" he says, getting to his feet and rushing out of the office. "Don't call anyone!" he shouts back at me. "Just wait there!" He races off to the red ward, and it's clear that this is a major problem. If anyone finds out that I was the only person on duty tonight, there's going to be an investigation into Crestview, and then... A cold shiver runs through my body as I realize that people would start asking questions, not only about what happened to Dr. Larson but also about the other people who've disappeared recently. People might even start poking about in the abandoned ward, which would mean that they'd find the bodies. It's as if everything is going wrong all at once.