In Her Image

by Adam Croft

  I clench my jaw and try not to grind my teeth.

  ‘I’m not asking you to treat it as breaking and entering. I’m asking you to treat it as stalking,’ I say, quiet but firm. ‘The website address. I gave the police officer a website address when she came over. It had his website on it, and now it doesn’t. Now it’s disappeared. Have they looked into it?’

  She says nothing, but instead looks back at the notes for a few moments before answering me. ‘Yes. We contacted Nominet, the domain registry, later that day. The domain was registered using a silent registry company. People pay them a fee to keep their details secret.’

  I feel my throat constricting. ‘Can’t you get the details from them? Surely the police can force it.’

  ‘Possibly. If we can prove a crime has been committed.’

  My head is swimming and my chest hurts. I’m going round in circles. There’s nothing I can do.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want a glass of water?’ she asks again.

  ‘No. No I don’t want a bloody glass of water. I want to be taken seriously!’

  She’s silent for a couple of moments.

  ‘What’s the sertraline for?’ she finally asks.

  I blink. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Sertraline. The officer noted that she found a packet on the dresser in your bedroom.’

  I’m now finding it very difficult to keep my calm. I can feel my throat constricting and my blood pressure rising.

  ‘So what? What’s that got to do with anything?’

  ‘And fluoxetine?’

  I look her in the eye. ‘You know damn well what they’re for. They’re SSRIs. Anti-depressants. It means I have periods of extreme lows, where I barely function. It doesn’t mean I’m loopy, it doesn’t mean I’m a danger to anyone and it doesn’t mean I’m a fruitcake. It means sometimes I get ill. Sometimes I don’t go out for a while because I’m tired and can’t face the world. Sometimes my whole body moves at half speed. It’s an illness like any other. Alright?’

  I realise I was ranting.

  ‘Do you ever get hallucinations or any sort of mental confusion?’ she asks, clearly trying not to sound over-patronising, but her effort means nothing. The words are still the same.

  ‘Perhaps you need to look up what depression is,’ I say.

  ‘Oh, I know plenty. I’m trained in dealing with many different forms of mental illness, believe me. I know there are many different forms. Some make people panic and run away, start new lives. Some mean they push away the people closest to them, perhaps because they feel they’re a bad person and they want others to be happy without them. Some include auditory and visual hallucinations, often the brain’s way of making sense of things at a time when it’s overloaded.’

  ‘Well mine doesn’t,’ I say.

  She looks down at her notes again.

  ‘You started taking the sertraline fairly recently, didn’t you? Within the last few days.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s quite common for different types of medication to interact with each other and cause side effects. Particularly if it’s a form of medication you haven’t taken before.’

  Why is she being like this? Surely she can see I’m not lying. It’s her job.

  ‘I first met Gavin Armitage a week and a half before I started taking sertraline. Your officers have seen the images he took and the ones I didn’t know he’d taken.’

  ‘It’s not illegal to take photos of someone without their knowledge, though. No, it’s not nice. Yes, it’s creepy. But it’s not illegal. He hasn’t taken photos on your property, has he?’

  ‘Not that I know of. But the point is this all happened before I started the new medication, so you can’t blame that.’

  ‘It’s also worth noting that we still can’t find any trace of Mr Armitage. There isn’t anyone by that name in the town, and there’s no record of a photographic studio at the address you gave.’

  ‘He obviously used a false name,’ I say, ignoring the fact there’s no record of his studio. I can’t explain that bit.

  ‘You were prescribed sertraline on Monday, weren’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When did you start taking it? Morning? Evening?’

  ‘Tuesday morning. So I was taking it at the same time as my other tablet.’

  ‘And you discovered the photo frame had been changed on Thursday evening.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The half-life of sertraline is twenty-two to thirty-six hours,’ she says, looking at her notes.

  ‘That means nothing.’

  ‘Which would be round about Thursday evening,’ she continues.

  ‘It means nothing.’

  ‘My job is to consider all possible explanations. I know some of them might be difficult to think about, but they still need to be considered and investigated. And at the moment, as things stand — from the point of view of an impartial observer, you understand — there are no signs of a break-in at your property. You said yourself you’re the only person with a key. You’re also on two types of strong medication. It’s not for me to cast aspersions, but we need to consider all the facts carefully.’

  ‘I’m not—’

  ‘Now I think it would probably be best if you had some friends and family around you. I know how distressed you are, and I know you don’t feel safe at home. That way you’ll feel safe and there’ll be someone to keep an eye on you, too.’

  ‘I don’t need someone to keep an eye on me,’ I say, now weary and resigned.

  ‘I think it would be a good idea. At least for a little while. Of course, if anything changes or if there are any other signs that something isn’t right, or if you hear from Mr Armitage, do give us a call.’

  I look at McKenna for a few moments, trying desperately to think of some way to get her to change her mind, but I can’t. She’s already made up her mind. She thinks I’m a nutter.

  I nod. There’s nothing else I can do. ‘Thanks,’ I say, trying to sound gracious but not meaning it in the slightest.

  McKenna stands and leads me out of the room. She walks me back down the windowed corridor, and I glance inside at the officers working at their desks. Some are on the phone, some typing at their computers, others stand around talking. But one of the officers sticks out like a sore thumb. Because he’s just standing, staring at me. There’s no look of malice on his face; it’s completely neutral and devoid of any expression. And I recognise the face instantly.

  It’s him.

  31

  ‘Someone fetch a glass of water, will you?’ McKenna yells down the corridor as she hooks my arm over one of her shoulders and half-guides, half-pulls me forward down the corridor. ‘Come on. We’ll get you sitting down out front. It’s bloody warm in here and it’ll be more comfortable than sitting on the floor.’

  There’s a ringing noise in my ears and my chest hurts. I can feel myself hyperventilating.

  ‘It’s alright,’ McKenna says. ‘Nearly there now. You’re going to be okay.’

  I don’t know what’s happening. All I know is I feel bloody rough, and I don’t know what just happened. I must have passed out.

  We finally get to the other end of the corridor and back into the waiting area at the front of the station. As the security door starts to close behind us, I glimpse back behind me. I don’t know why, but I feel compelled to. And it’s then that I see the glass window again, with the officers on the other side of it. That’s when I remember. That’s when my breathing speeds up and I can feel my legs starting to go again.

  ‘Woah, okay. Sit down, sit down,’ McKenna says. ‘Now follow me. Breathe in through the nose, hold it for a couple of seconds. Okay, now out through the mouth. And hold it. In through the nose. Hold it again. Out through the mouth.’

  It’s a tried and tested breathing exercise, and it’s just about working. I need to try and remain calm, need to regain my composure, but I can’t. I know what I saw. Gavin Armitage was on the other side of that window. He’s a police o
fficer. But how the hell can I tell McKenna this? She already thinks I’m crazy. She’s latched on to this idea about me having mental difficulties and she’s decided that’s what’s behind all this. I can’t tell her seconds later that my stalker is a police officer, a colleague of hers. I’ll end up being sectioned.

  ‘Has this happened to you before, Alice?’ she asks, as my breathing begins to slow.

  I struggle to find the right answer. Do I say no and end up making a big thing of it, or do I tell her yes, and have her think I regularly black out and don’t know what’s going on?

  I wave my arms. ‘Uh, once or twice. A long time ago. Not really.’ I try to make my answer sound vague and noncommittal, but I quickly realise it makes me sound even crazier.

  ‘Do you want me to call you an ambulance?’

  ‘No, no,’ I say quickly.

  ‘Tell you what. I’ll fetch you a chocolate bar from the machine. Might be blood sugar. Did you have breakfast this morning?’

  I go to tell her that yes, I did, but she’s already walked off and left me with a male officer who’s handing me a plastic cup of ice cold water. I sip it gently, feeling it lubricate my dry throat. I didn’t realise how dry I was. Must have been the hyperventilating. A couple of minutes later, McKenna returns with a king-size Mars bar.

  ‘Amount of sugar in that, you’ll be dancing on the ceiling inside a minute,’ she says.

  I try to force a smile. All I want to do is get out of here. I can’t trust any of these people. And while Gavin Armitage is through there, in the office, I can disappear a million miles away. I can vanish into the distance. If I had a passport, I would. I’d be straight home, packing a bag and getting on the next plane out of the country. Start again. Fuck the lot of it. No. I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t even take a bag. It wouldn’t be worth the risk. Just straight in the first cab to the airport, no looking back.

  But I can’t. I’ve not been on holiday in almost a decade and my passport ran out four years ago. Besides which, if I disappeared now, who else would I be putting in danger? Would he come after Mandy? Kieran? My parents? It doesn’t bear thinking about. I need to end this. I need justice. I just don’t know how to get it.

  I feel trapped. I can’t run away, but I can’t stay here either. How can I face this on my own? And if you can’t trust the police, who can you trust?

  All I know is I need to leave the station. Quickly.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I’d better get going.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ McKenna asks. ‘You’re still pretty pale. I’d rather you stayed until you felt better.’

  ‘I do. I feel better already. Much better. Sorry. I’ve got to go.’

  I stand up and immediately my legs feel like jelly. A wave of nausea rises up from my stomach, making me feel for a moment as if I’m going to be sick. It passes, though, and I concentrate hard on putting one foot in front of the other, and slowly make my way towards the door.

  32

  By the time I get back home, I’m feeling a bit better. The fresh air seems to have cleared my head somewhat. I feel more defiant. I’m not going to run away. I’m going to stay here and fight. Why shouldn’t I? This is my home, my life. Why should I let some bloke I don’t even know try to ruin it?

  I can’t do it alone, though. I text Mandy to confirm she’s still on for tonight. I need to tell her everything, tell her that Gavin Armitage is a police officer. She might always seem like she overreacts, but I know she’s a logical thinker when she wants to be. She’ll be able to help me find a way out of this.

  A few seconds after I’ve sent the text, my phone rings. Mandy does this sometimes. She’s never been a fan of texting, and often tends to call in response to a text. As I look at the screen, though, I can see it’s not Mandy. It’s Kieran. I feel my heart rate increase. I really don’t want to speak to him right now, but he knows I’m not in a good place. If I refuse to answer his calls, he’ll turn up at the house. I know he’s worried about me, but it’s a little creepy.

  ‘Hi,’ I say, hoping I sound a lot calmer and healthier than I must have done at the police station earlier. ‘How’s things?’

  ‘Yeah I’m alright. Look, I wanted to call to clear the air. After last night.’

  I’ve got to admit it. That whole evening had slipped out of my mind after what happened at the police station today. After seeing Gavin Armitage again. As I remember yesterday evening, I can feel myself growing increasingly agitated and frustrated.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ I say.

  ‘Okay, cool.’ I can hear him smiling. ‘I just wanted to check everything was alright. Y’know. I know you haven’t been well lately, and I wanted to make sure you were alright with it all. Last night, I mean.’

  ‘Well, mistakes happen.’

  Kieran is silent for a moment. ‘Mistakes?’ he says, almost whispering.

  ‘Yes, Kieran. Mistakes. Things that weren’t meant to happen but happen anyway because something went wrong.’ The adrenaline is surging in my chest now. I’m not a confrontational person, but I can’t escape the feeling that Kieran needs to hear this. I need to know he’s heard it, too. We need to draw a clear line and make sure it isn’t crossed. Otherwise, how long will this go on? How many months or years will we spend bouncing apart and together, never knowing where we stand, not able to move on with our lives? It isn’t fair on either of us.

  ‘What do you mean went wrong? You mean you regret it happening?’

  I take a deep breath. ‘Yes. Yes, I regret it happening. Alright?’ I hear my voice gaining in force and volume. Kieran seems taken aback.

  ‘So... Well, I’m sorry for asking, but why did you do it if you didn’t want to? I mean, I didn’t force you or anything. You wanted to just as much as I wanted to, from what I can remember. Surely you would’ve told me if you—’

  ‘Just fuck off, Kieran, alright?’ I hear myself yelling before I’ve even realised what I’m saying. ‘Just fuck off!’

  I end the phone call and sit for a moment, my throat tight. It feels like I’ve got a golf ball lodged in my throat. My vision starts to blur and cloud and I feel my chest heaving, hear noises escaping my mouth that I don’t remember making. There’s an electrical buzzing in my head and a pain in my chest that feels like I’m being stabbed through the heart. I think I’m falling to pieces, and I don’t know what to do about it. I want it all to go away. I want it all to end, in any way possible. Before I know it, I’m curled in a ball, letting the pain and anguish envelop me.

  The only noise that punctuates my sobs is the sound of my phone ringing again.

  33

  I don’t even look at the screen. Not properly. Just enough to find the green answer button.

  ‘Just fuck off!’ My voice is strained and staccato. I struggle to push the words out between heaving sobs. Even with the blood rushing in my ears, I can hear quite quickly there’s another noise on the line which wasn’t there a moment ago. It sounds like traffic, and a passing train.

  ‘Alice? Is that you? Are you alright?’ the voice asks. I vaguely recognise it, but I can’t pitch it. I pull the phone away from my cheek and wipe my eyes, trying to focus on the blurred screen. I can just about make out the name. Simon.

  ‘Yes. Sorry,’ I reply, trying to force the sobs back down. It’s too late, though. There’s no way in hell I can make out that I’m not upset or haven’t been crying. I’m just going to have to be honest with him if he asks. Fortunately for me, he doesn’t.

  ‘It’s Simon,’ he says. ‘From the kickboxing class.’

  I cover the phone’s microphone and sniff deeply to try and stop my nose running. ‘Sorry, Simon. Hi.’

  ‘I thought I’d call because I noticed you haven’t been at the last couple of sessions. I wanted to check everything was alright.’ He leaves that hanging in the air, the unspoken words being I can tell it isn’t, but I’m not going to ask why. The contrast is incredible. If this was Kieran he’d be quizzing me, wanting to know why I was upset, needing every sin
gle piece of information. If it was Mandy, she’d be getting her knuckledusters on and asking me who she needed to beat up. Simon, though, is different. He’s calmer. More caring.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I lie. ‘I’ve just been ill.’

  ‘Oh. Nothing serious, I hope?’

  ‘No, no. Some sort of virus. A coldy-fluey type thing. I’m okay now, though.’

  ‘Alright, great. So we’ll see you next week then?’

  I hesitate for a moment. I can’t help it. I hope Simon doesn’t notice.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say, my voice slightly choked. ‘Yeah, you’ll see me next week.’

  ‘Cool.’

  The line is silent for a moment. The conversation feels far more awkward than it needs to. I get the impression that Simon wants to say something else, so I let him.

  ‘Listen, Alice, I was wondering something actually. You mentioned when you were last in about going out for a drink. That new bar you told me about. I just wondered if that offer still stands. Nothing like... Well, like that. But just to chat and catch up and get to know each other a bit better.’

  I try to work out my answer quickly. I can sense how embarrassed and awkward Simon feels and I don’t want him to feel like that. Part of me thinks it’s ridiculous to be planning to go out for a drink with my kickboxing instructor when everything in my life is going to shit, but somehow it seems to make sense. Why can’t I live at least one aspect of a normal life? Why should I let Gavin Armitage bully me into not even being able to enjoy a night out with a friend?

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I’d like that.’ And I mean it.

  The atmosphere of sheer relief floods down the phone line, closely followed by Simon’s voice.

  ‘Great! Well, when’s good for you?’

  I almost smile. ‘I’m free tomorrow if you are?’ The thought of having to spend time on my own fills me with dread, so I’m trying to cram stuff into every waking minute. I’m seeing Mandy tonight and tomorrow... Well, who knows? It makes sense to go back into work and try to take my mind off things, but I won’t truly know how I feel until the morning.