Produktdetails
- Verlag
- M-Y Books
- Erschienen
- 2019
- Sprache
- English
- Seiten
- 250
- Infos
- 250 Seiten
203 mm x 127 mm - ISBN
- 978-1-912875-42-9
Kurztext / Annotation
Annalee Theakston likes to play games; deadly games. It's of no matter how many years it takes or who gets hurt along the way; what counts is the intellectual challenge; the ability to hide evil under the veneer of respectability.
A young, beautiful and extremely intelligent woman Annalee's friendly exterior masks the coldness in her heart.
People like her are everywhere.
Textauszug
CHAPTER 2
S t Joseph's Psychiatric Hospital stands imposingly on the crest of a hill, looking down on the town of Endover like a medieval fortification only instead of keeping marauders out it incarcerates the region's 'undesirables' under the auspices of the 'caring profession'.
My sojourn under its roof was occasioned by a car accident, entirely my own fault for which I paid dearly; broken ribs, broken collar bone but more worryingly, severe head trauma. Put into a medically induced coma for several weeks I was, when considered physically stable, transferred from the General Hospital to St Joseph's for assessment; not just due to the accident but due to my actions and behaviour prior to it, which gave the police and the psychiatric profession reason for concern.
Dr Metcalfe seemed to think he had a need to rid me of my delusions and paranoia but I was well aware that I was neither deluded nor paranoid. I'd known exactly what I was doing but I also knew if I was ever to be discharged I had to play their game. That was OK though; I'm good at playing games.
Seeking revenge on DCI Munroe had become a game, albeit a deadly one. When I was younger I'd dreamt up various ways of killing him, fantasising as to time and place but later I realised that wouldn't be much of a game; it would all be over too soon. I'm not into physical torture although I understand some people find it quite stimulating but no, it isn't for me, at least, not for the present; I lean more toward inflicting emotional pain, the sort that can last for years; that way I get the pleasure of observing my handiwork for longer.
What was Munroe's offence? He ignored me and that I will not countenance.
I'd been nine years old when my brother, Matt's fiancée, Addie Baxter had tragically drowned in what the police initially considered suspicious circumstances. They were quite right, of course although I hadn't actually pushed her in or held her down; I was only nine after all but I had manipulated her into taking a swim in what I knew was a dangerous part of the river. Looking back I'm quite proud of my young self.
Of course nobody was aware of my r ô le in Addie's demise, the police attention focussed entirely on my brother. I couldn't have that; the whole point of getting rid of Addie was to have Matt to myself again so I tried to speak up for him.
Munroe was only a Detective Sergeant, at the beginning of his career, when he'd entered our house that day at the start of his investigations into Addie's death. What was it he'd said, as my mother pulled me out of the room at his request, as I'd tried to defend Matt?
'This is not the place for little girls with wild imaginations. They're merely an irritation.'
Well, I'd shown him just how much of an 'irritation' I could be and I wasn't finished with him yet.
Personally, I blame my parents for everything.
I'd learnt at a very early age that I was an unwanted addition to my family. Six years old, sitting on the stairs at home, I'd secretly watched and listened to my parents in the lounge; even today the image is so sharp it threatens to cut into my psyche like the razor blade cuts I hide under my sleeve.
'If you'd had the snip when I asked you to, she would never have happened. You're so bloody selfish!' Dropping heavily onto the sofa, my mother almost spills red wine on the carpet.
Calmly my father replies, 'It wasn't all my fault; it does take two to tango you know.'
'Don't be so damn facetious; if you'd done as I asked we wouldn't be in this position now. I mean, it's ridiculous; Matt's nearly twenty one with a six year old sister who hangs onto him like some sort of limpet.'
'Matt doesn't seem to mind,' my father replies reasonably.
'Well he should! It's not healthy.' My mother takes another gulp of wine. 'And another thing, there's something not normal a
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