Fan Fears: A collection of fear based stories (10 page)

"Let’s just say I was interested, what do I do? How much does it cost?"

"The program is quite simple. Phobias and fears are in the mind. The brain processes reactions in different ways in different people. That’s why some people are scared or rats and spiders, others enclosed spaces or drowning, and some in your case are afraid of heights. Our program essentially reconditions the brain not to be afraid of such things. Have you ever heard of the rule of ten thousand, Mrs. Sandoval?"

Chrissy shook her head.

"It's essentially the idea that in order to be a master at a given vocation, be it a businessman, policeman, artist or writer, that an individual has to devote around ten thousand hours to a given subject. The idea being that many of the functions of the said task, those which require thought and specific application, become automated to a degree, allowing the individual to do those tasks automatically without thinking. Our program uses those same principles in a greatly condensed manner. We retrain that area of the mind to eliminate that particular fear forever. Think of it in the same way a magician performs his illusions. Smoke and mirrors for the brain. We change its perception."

"That's some guarantee."

"The figures don't lie, Mrs. Sandoval. Everything now depends on you and if you want to beat this fear and move on with your life."

"Which brings me back to my second question. How much?"

Reeves folded his hands on the table top. "This is where our service is unique."

"Why do I get the feeling this is going to be expensive?"

"I will be straight with you, Mrs. Sandoval. Our program is fifteen thousand dollars, all in. That gets you our tailored unique one to one service and a guarantee of a result."

"Forget it. That’s too much. Sorry to have wasted your time." She was about to stand when Reeves held out a hand to stop her.

"Wait a moment please, Mrs. Sandoval. I didn't tell you the best part."

"Go on."

"We are so confident that we can cure your fear completely, that we will put you through the program without charging you anything until it is complete. What I'm saying is that if we don't fully cure your fear of heights, if we fail in any way, then you pay nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing," Reeves repeated.

"Even so, that's a lot of money."

"It is. Which is why we also provide an easy monthly payment plan after successful completion of the program."

Her instincts told her to forget it, to walk away. The commitment was huge and there were no guarantees. The only thing that stopped her was remembering Shawn, and the things he mentioned that they could do together if she were no longer afraid. She asked herself if that was worth fifteen grand, and decided that it was.

"How would we proceed if I decided to go ahead?"

Reeves opened another drawer in his desk and slid a document to her. "Simple contract, Mrs. Sandoval. As you will see it is written in plain English and without jargon. Please take as long as you need to review it."

She had no intention of signing anything but decided a look couldn't cause any harm. Just a peek and nothing else. She picked up the contract and began to read.

FOUR

"You signed it?" Keisha said, shaking her head. "This is why they should have let me come in with you."

"Relax, I know what I'm doing. It's free unless they cure me."

"And how much is it if they don't?"

Chrissy hesitated, then looked away. Fifteen."

"Fifteen hundred? Are you insane?"

"No, fifteen grand."

Keisha stopped walking and stared at her friend. "Please tell me you're joking."

"No, I'm not, but look, it’s fine. If they don't cure me, I don't pay. It's in black and white."

"Companies like that have clauses, get outs. What makes you think this will be any different?"

"No, not this one. Here, take a look at the contract."

Chrissy took it out of her bag and handed it to Keisha, who stopped in the middle of the street to look at it. "Alright, credit where it's due, they wrote it in plain English."

"Look on page two," Chrissy said.

Keisha turned the page.

"See it there?"

"Oh yeah, payment will only be due upon successful and total eradication of phobia."

"Exactly."

Keisha handed back the contract. "So all you have to do if you want out of this is tell them you're still afraid at the end of it all and you walk away without owing them a penny?"

"Looks like it."

"Well, I still don't think you should have signed it. I bet Shawn will be pissed about it too when you tell him."

"Actually, I don't want him to find out."

"You're not telling him? That's a hell of a fifteen grand secret."

"It's not like that," Chrissy said. "I want it to be a surprise. I want to do the program then organize a trip to the Grand Canyon. I want to do this for him."

Keisha smiled and shook her head. "That’s either romantic or insane, I'm not sure which, but I get it. He'll love that if you surprise him with it."

"Exactly."

"So when does the program start?"

"I'm not sure. Reeves said he would be in touch to make arrangements. It sounds pretty exciting. If it works, it will change our lives."

"Exactly.
If
it works."

"They have a one hundred percent success rate."

"So they say," Keisha said.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well, if that’s true, that means all those people have paid fifteen grand for the privilege of having their phobias cured."

"And?"

"All I'm saying is that place we just came from didn't feel like a fifteen grand a client office building. It felt cheap and nasty."

"They don't take the money up front. They do payment plans. Don't worry about this, Keisha. I know what I'm doing."

"I hope so, if for nothing else but your bank balances sake."

"Yeah, well, since you mentioned it, you can buy the coffees."

"Ouch," Keisha said as the entered the coffee shop. "I walked right into that one."

FIVE

Almost two weeks had passed and Chrissy had heard nothing from Reeves. The initial excitement of the first few days had faded to the point where she had almost forgotten about the whole thing. The grind of daily life had taken over as it always did. She had, on a couple of occasions, tried to research Reeves and his company online, but nothing came up during the searches. He was an enigma, a dead end. She wondered if the whole thing had been a scam of some kind, or if the business had gone bust. It happened every day. Even those concerns were forgotten in the daily grind of work and making sure bills were paid and food put on the table.

It was a Friday morning, and she had been up and out early to the shops to get milk and bread. She paused outside the house, staring at the door.

It was ajar, and a smear of what looked to be blood was on the frame. She stood and stared, unable to comprehend what she was looking at. All around her, the world went on as normal. People walked the streets, cars drove by. She looked back at her front door, then at the blood on the frame. She set her bags down and pushed the door open. The hallways were a mess. Pot plants turned over, photographs knocked off the walls. There had been a struggle.

Fear, like ice, grew inside her. She opened her mouth, wanting to speak or call out, but no words came. She looked at the destruction, then noticed the blood, a trail of it in bright spots leading towards the kitchen.

"Shawn?" she called, her voice sounding alien and out of place in the place that was her home before she left that morning. Shawn had been getting up when she left and was going to make breakfast. She inhaled and could smell the unmistakable odour of burnt toast.

"Shawn?" she said again.

No reply came from the house. She stepped inside, knowing she was stupid to do so. She had become every horror movie cliché she had ever seen. She inched towards the kitchen door. As she passed the sitting room, she saw that it was untouched and how she had left it. That brought her no comfort, though. The burnt toast smell was stronger and told her that whatever had happened in the half hour she had been out of the house had been confined to the kitchen. She wanted to call out again but was too afraid now that she had crossed the threshold of the property. Outside, she could still see the normal world going on around her. Now, she was part of whatever had taken place in the house.

She arrived at the threshold to the kitchen, too afraid to look, equally afraid not to. She looked inside the room, knowing what would be there but feeling no comfort for seeing it.

Something had happened. The table was on its side, plates shattered on the floor, which was also covered with cereal and orange juice. Two slabs of black toast smouldered in the toaster, and the back door was open.

There was also blood. Blood on the floor.

Blood on the door handle. It was obvious to her that somebody had come to the house, perhaps had tried to force their way in when she went out and wrongly thinking the house was empty. A struggle had taken place between the intruder and Shawn, and now the house was empty. The hopeful part of her brain tried to tell her that Shawn had given chase to them after successfully fighting them off and injuring them, but his trainers were still in the hallway.

She should call the police; she knew that but didn't know what she would say to them.

It was then that her phone rang. She squealed, her heart almost leaping up to the back of her throat.

Shawn. It had to be him.

She scrambled for her phone, pilling it out of her jeans. The caller I.D wasn't one she recognized. Whoever was calling it wasn't her husband.

Maybe someone is with him. Maybe he's caught he intruders and called the police.

She said it to herself and hoped it was true, but wasn't convinced.

She pressed the green answer button and held the phone to her ear. "Hello?"

"Good morning Mrs. Sandoval, I hope all is well. Apologies for the delay coming back to you, but we have been backed up with clients. I'm sure you understand."

"Mr. Reeves?" she said as nausea swept over her. She was frightened and unsure what to do.

"The very same," Reeves said, his own voice happy and full of energy.

"Now isn't a good time, Mr. Reeves," she said, unsure how to even begin to explain what had happened.

"Oh, I do apologize if I've caught you at an inconvenient time."

"I... I can’t talk right now."

"Are you okay, Mrs. Sandoval? You sound upset."

"I'm fine," she heard herself say. She could feel the blood thundering in her temples.

Police.

Call the police.

Call the police.

She repeated it over in her head but still didn't move.

"Are you still there, Mrs. Sandoval?"

"No. Yes, I'm sorry Mr. Reeves, I didn't hear you."

"I thought not. What I was saying to you is that you shouldn't worry. Shawn is safe and with us."

Her heart, which had been in her throat, took an express elevator into her stomach. She was sure she must have misheard him, or that her brain had merged the two events together.

"Are you there, Mrs. Sandoval?" Reeves asked.

"I... I'm sorry, I thought you said...."

"Your husband, Shawn. I said he's with us. Do you understand what I'm saying to you?"

"I... I ...." Words would not come. Her mind was unable to process the information. "I don't understand."

"This happens," Reeves said. He was still warm and friendly as if he didn't have a care in the world. "Allow me to explain. Earlier this morning, just after you went out to the shops, two of my colleagues forced entry to your house and, on my instruction, took your husband Shawn, and brought him to my present location."

"What is... I don't...." She couldn't take it in. None of it made any rational sense to her at all. "There's blood," she said as if it made everything clear.

"Yes, there is. A necessary if unpleasant part of the process, unfortunately. Can I rightly assume you are standing in or near your kitchen, surveying the mess left behind?"

She nodded, then realizing he couldn't hear a nod, managed to say yes.

"Very good. Please go to your microwave oven and open the door if you will," Reeves said.

She looked at it and knew she couldn't do it. It would mean entering the room, walking into where it had happened.

"I can't do that," she said, numb and confused.

"I strongly advise you to do as I ask, Mrs. Sandoval. This is all part of your healing process."

"But you said, I don't, I mean..."

"The microwave please, Mrs. Sandoval," Reeves said, still calm.