"Good morning Lizzie." Jill rang out in the most cheerful voice she could muster.
"Good morning doct-" She stopped as her eyes fell upon Jill's face. "Doctor, what did you do? Does it hurt? What happened? What did you do?"
"It's nothing really Lizzie." She actually smiled genuinely. The receptionist's frantic tone both amusing and touching her
"Sorry about what happened to your windows doc." Ken suddenly called from the back of reception to Gordon who was standing just to the side of her. "Me nephew in Whitby fixes windows. He can do 'em on the cheap for you. At least 10 Bob less than most."
"How did you know?" Gordon asked, incredulity lacing his voice as well as his expression.
Ken grinned. "Small town doctor, small town."
"Oh!" Lizzie exclaimed and their attention was drawn back to her. "Were you at Doctor O's house? Was that how you got hurt."
"I was babysitting." Jill said hastily, not wanting any suspicions to arise. "Can I have my files please, before Harper catches us wasting hospital time, money, resources and whatever else he can think of."
She nodded, flicking her blond hair behind her ear before picking up a stack of papers and files and depositing them in Jill's arms. "There's one problem doctor."
"What Lizzie?" She sighed, she'd hoped today would be free of complications, a little optimistic being a doctor, but nevertheless, she'd hoped.
"This house call." She placed another sheet on the pile. "Mr George Sullivan called, said he was your patient and gave this address. The only thing is, I can't find his file at the moment." She looked nervously up at Jill.
"It's okay Lizzie. If you don't find it I'll have to manage. Is that all?"
At a nod from Lizzie in response, Jill walked towards her office, ready to start another day ridden with complications. Little did she know how complicated it would be.
She drew up outside the house of Mr George Sullivan. It looked deserted; the door half rotten, half the windows were either cracked or smashed. The gate hung off its hinges and the path behind it was almost totally obscured by weeds. She checked the address Lizzie had given her to be sure, but, no, she was at the right place.
She got out the car, then made her way towards the house. The gate scraped along the paving slab and the hinge squeaked, both noises combining to create a somewhat eerie sound.
She picked her way along the path, being careful not to get her ankles stung by the vast array of nettles. When she reached the door, she rapped loudly on it, some flakes of what was left of the red paint fall off as she did so. After a few moments, when there was no answer, she knocked again, then tried opening it. Despite its state, the lock held firm, and still, no one came to open it.
An uneasiness began to form in the pit of her stomach. She couldn't say why, but things just didn't seem right, and it went beyond the physical appearance of the place. She began to wonder if there was a patient at all, after all, the place looked uninhabitable. Despite this, she started down the side of the house, looking for another door. She couldn't just turn away and potentially leave an ill or injured person just because of a 'feeling'.
She tried to convince herself she was being ridiculous. There were plenty of potential explanations. She'd visited numerous patients in poor houses, though admittedly none as bad as this. Nevertheless, it wasn't inconceivable. And the reason for Mr Sullivan not coming to the door might be because he was hard of hearing. He might even be in the back garden, thought judging by the state of the front garden, Jill thought it unlikely.
The path she took round the side of the house was worse than the previous one. It was barely recognisable as a path. She winced numerous times as nettles snagged at her tights and skin around her ankles, and nettles stung at her. She glanced down briefly and tutted to herself at the newly created ladders making their way up her leg.
She'd just rounded the back of the house when a movement caught her eye. She spun round, her heart beginning to pound out of nervousness. She was just beginning to feel foolish when an arm snaked quickly around her waist from behind and pulled her against the body it belonged to. A scream escaped her but was quickly smothered when a hand was clamped over her mouth.
"There's no use screaming, no one can hear you." This came from another person who moved to stand in front of her. The face was covered by a black balaclava, leaving only the eyes visible. Hard, cold, sinister, blue eyes, boring intently into her.
She could tell by the voice that it was a man, but that was all; everything else being obscured by the balaclava.
She tried desperately to free herself, tried biting and spitting on the hand covering her mouth, tried hitting, kicking, stamping, anything. Fear made her wild, she flailed desperately, all the could think of was escaping, and she might have, except the man moved his hand down from her mouth to rest his arm around her neck, pressing firmly against her windpipe. She let out an ear piercing scream, but stopped struggling, for fear he would strangle her. She panted, suddenly exhausted and glared at the man in front of her. She saw a movement of the balaclava and imagined him smiling sinisterly at her.
"What did you do to you face, my dear Jill?" He reached out and ran a finger over her injury. She flinched, both from pain and from disgust at being touched by him. She tried to jerk her face away, but the arm around her neck prevented her, so she did the only thing she could. She spat. Her spittle landed just below his eye.
Slowly, he reached up and wiped it away, his eyes darkening with anger as he did so, making her instantly regret her actions. Moments afterwards, the man holding her pressed his arm harder against her throat. She tried inhaling, but couldn't; her windpipe was being crushed. She scratched frantically at the arm and tried to draw breath. Darkness was beginning to creep in from the edges of her vision. Dizziness and fuzziness increasing affected her brain, making it difficult to think straight. Her head felt like it was going to explode with the increasing pressure of blood pounding, pounding, pounding, carrying some of the last oxygen in her body from her burning lungs. Just when she thought she was going to pass out, the arm loosened, allowing her to gasp and painfully fill her lungs with much needed oxygen. The sudden inrush of air chocked her and she coughed dryly to the extent that she heaved but she swallowed back the bile that rose in her throat.
The man facing her moved closer and placed his hand on her cheek again. "If you don't obey me, Jill Weatherill, there's more where that came from. Now," he stepped away from her and abruptly changed his tone of voice into some more brisk. "I want to know why you didn't obey me last night."
"I don't know what you're talking about." Jill croaked, deciding to act ignorant, but instantly regretted it.
"DON'T TREAT ME LIKE A FOOL!" He screamed.
The sound seemed to echo around the otherwise quiet rural area. It resounded in her head long after it had been uttered. It terrified her more than she had since it had all started; all the letters, demands, threats, even the horror of the night before. This scream was much worse than all of them.
She didn't know what to say. She didn't doubt he would hurt her again, or at least have her companion do it. And she forced herself to realise that he might even kill her.
She looked around wildly, hoping against hope that there would be some escape, or even just an idea of what to say that wouldn't anger him further. She was desperate to know why they were doing this to her, but it wasn't an option to ask; the consequences could be just too great.
After what seemed liked hours, he finally spoke, providing her with minute relief that she didn't have to speak. This time, his voice was quieter, lower and he started intently at her, all contributing to make what he said more sinister and threatening.
"I'm going to ask you again, and this time, I want a proper answer. Understand?"
She tried to utter a 'yes', but no sound came out. Her throat constricted in panic. She nodded quickly.
"Now, why did the police coppers come last night?"
How could she answer that without provoking fury? If she said she'd phoned them, he'd be sure to hurt her, after all, she'd broken one of his 'rules'. But in no way was she going to mention Gordon. He was more involved than she would have liked in to be already. If she said he phoned, there was no telling what would happen to him.
She shifted nervously on the spot, immediately stopping when the arm tightened slightly, exerting more pressure on her already bruised throat.
The eyes of the man in front of her darkened with each second she remained silent, and the more they darkened, the faster her heart beat. Blood pounded around her head, creating the only noise in the otherwise deadly silent area. There wasn't even a single song of a single bird. It was as if they sensed the danger, the anger, the fear, and stayed well away. The only solitary bird, a jackdaw, had flapped away when he'd screamed, squawking above them. How she'd wished she could follow it.
More seconds passed, and still, she was silent, wracking her brains as to how to respond. But she was silent too long.
"Tell me!" He roared. Spittle flew out his mouth, wetting the black material on his face, creating an even darker patch. Eyes bulging, the small area exposed by the balaclava visibly flooded with crimson.
Whereas she was shaking with fear, he was shaking with anger.
She drew in a deep breath, finally at a decision.
