Leticia

by Lindsay Anne Kendal

  Leticia

  By

  Lindsay Anne Kendal

  World Castle Publishing

  http://www.worldcastlepublishing.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used factiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  World Castle Publishing

  Pensacola, Florida

  Copyright © Lindsay Anne Kendal 2012

  ISBN: 9781937593926

  First Edition World Castle Publishing February 20, 2012

  http://www.worldcastlepublishing.com

  License Notes

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover Art: Lindsay Anne Kendal

  Photo: Shutterstock.com

  Editor: Beth Price

  Dedication

  For my mum, Trish, thank you

  for all your support and listening to me

  constantly going on about my stories.

  I love you.

  I’d like to say thanks to Jay for

  always taking me to Saddleworth Moors

  where this story is set.

  In loving memory of Frances Moloney, who

  knew this book was being written, but sadly

  never got to see it finished.

  Epilogue

  Around midnight, 2nd March 2001.

  A haze... no, wait...what... what is that? A bed? Where am I? Why won’t my eyes focus properly? I tried to move but felt as though all my energy had been sucked out of me. I lay still for a while, waiting for my vision to clear. The nerve endings throughout my body started to tingle, the same feeling you get after lying on your arm too long. It was slightly painful to move, but eventually I managed to drag myself to my feet with the aid of the bed post. I looked around the room and saw what an awful mess it was in, furniture broken, the TV smashed, shards of glass all over the floor. However, that was the least of my worries.

  I slowly made my way into the bathroom and stood in front of the large mirror. As soon as I saw my refection, sorrow and anger filled me. I must have been attacked; there were cuts and bruises all over me, and yet, I couldn’t remember anything. Maybe I had a concussion. There was dried blood in my hair from a wound just above my forehead. If the blood had had time to dry, then I must have been out cold for quite a while. I turned the shower on and washed all the blood from my skin and hair. It was a power shower, so the water beating against my body seemed to relieve some of the aches and pains that had now started.

  I dried my hair, dressed in something comfortable and threw all my clothes into my suit case. I went into the bathroom for my toiletries and briefly looked into the mirror again. ‘Time to move on’, I said to myself, ‘again’. I threw my case onto the back seat of the car, started the engine and floored it out of the hotel parking lot. One thing was certain, I had to leave Colchester.

  Chapter 1

  Nine years later.

  The faint beeping of my radio alarm clock slowly became louder. I opened my eyes, reached over and clicked it off, then lay back thinking about my clients booked in for today; what nail treatments and designs each one was having done. I begrudgingly dragged myself out of my bed and walked to the bathroom feeling a bit groggy and lethargic. I had a nice shower, brushed my teeth, then peered at myself in the mirror for a moment. My eyes looked unusually dark today, a deep brown instead of the normal hazel. I grabbed my brush and pulled it through my long, slightly curly, dark brown hair. Now it was time to get dressed and head out for my first appointment.

  My first client, Mrs Denny, seventy-two years of age, but in the head, not a day over twenty-one. Always full of life and energy. Every time I come to her house she gives me a big loveable hug, a lovely cup of tea and some of her life story; and what a colourful life she has led. I could sit and talk to that lady all day; I probably would do if I didn’t have to work.

  The second client, Miss Marion Wilson, a pleasure as always. Oh how she droned on about all that’s going wrong in the world. By the time her appointment is over, I feel like I should be going to the doctor to get a prescription for Prozac. But she’s a harmless woman, young, single and no children. Without sounding awful, people can kinda understand why she is on her own. Before leaving she always says the same sentence to me ‘Now you take care, Leticia, and be on your guard, there are some nasty people walking these streets’. If only she knew how well, when needed, I could take care of myself. When I walked out of Miss Wilson’s house my stomach started to rumble, it was definitely time for breakfast.

  While making my way to my car, I had a sudden feeling that someone was watching me; I could feel their eyes on the back of my head. There was nobody around so I disregarded it, got into my car and drove into town. I pulled into the small parking lot next to my favorite little sandwich shop; they do the best egg and sausage sandwich in the whole of Holmfirth.

  On my way out of the shop and after taking a bite out of my sandwich, I looked around at the other people going about their own business. I saw a middle aged man, well dressed in a suit reading his morning paper on a bus stop seat, coffee by his side. He looked like a real gentleman. To my left was a young mother with her son at the traffic light waiting to cross the road. I smiled slightly, watching the young boy pressing frantically on the button at the crossing.

  Directly across the road from me were two men in their early twenties, each smoking a cigarette. One seemed to be glaring at me, I stared back for a moment trying to work out whether I knew him or not, but couldn’t recall seeing his face before. I looked at the man beside him but didn’t recognize him either, however, unlike the other; he seemed to be going out of his way to avoid making any eye contact with me. I started to feel a little un-easy. I walked rather quickly to my car. I got inside and finished my breakfast, before heading to my next customer’s house.

  Luckily, the afternoon visits went rather fast. For some reason I really wasn’t in the mood to be sociable today, which isn’t me really – not any more. When I walked through my own front door and shut it behind me I felt relieved. Safe. Something about those two men before bugged me and I still felt a little on edge. It was now after six, so I had a quick bite to eat, changed into my comfy clothes and flopped in front of the TV. There wasn’t much on, so I decided to surf a few of the jewellery channels.

  A sudden bright flash of light made me jump, and then the thunder started. It made sense really; it had been a really muggy day, so we needed it to clear the air a little. I loved the thunder and lightning, so I turned the TV and light off and watched the storm. It was quite a severe one too, thunder roared every few seconds, fork lightning struck the ground. This was one of the perks of living in the middle of nowhere, just on the outskirts of Greenfield, in the Pennines; I had no neighbors for at least a mile which meant no houses to block my view. All that surrounded me was grassland and a few trees to the rear of the house.

  As I was looking at the amazing array of lightening, I got a buzz of excitement within me, like butterflies because of the sudden change in weather. That was until I saw a flash of lightning and a full upper torso silhouette of a person through the window. I was startled for a split second, as any normal person would be. I snapped out of it with the worried feeling that I may be about to be robbed, beaten up, or worse. My adrenaline started to flow, I tried to re
main as calm as possible, I couldn’t risk getting too worried I’d change and my secret would come out.

  I ran into the kitchen and pulled the longest carving knife out of the drawer, then turned and stared out of the kitchen window for a minute or so, looking all around. The rain was bouncing off the window ledge at least an inch, the apple tree’s branches were blowing heavily in the wind, but nobody was there. I turned and faced the kitchen door that led into the back garden, then double checked that it was locked. I pushed the top and bottom bolts over too for extra security before quickly making my way to the front door. After putting on all of the locks I checked every window in the house. I felt safer now and went back to the sofa, putting the knife next to me on the side table. I sat back and closed my eyes, “Do your best to get in here, but if you do, god help you!” I thought to myself.

  I woke abruptly, it was now 8:45a.m., my first client was in forty-five minutes. I flew up the stairs, washed off and threw my clothes on. I grabbed my car keys and pulled the front door shut behind me. I got to my clients house just in time.

  The day went by very quickly, which was a nice change; possibly because the events of last night were still running through my head. In all honesty I couldn’t remember one conversation I’d had today with any of my customers. I know it shouldn’t but that had really gotten to me last night. I got home at about 4:30p.m. and made the best cup of tea I’d ever had. I went back into the living room, clutching my cup and turned the TV on to see what time Death Detectives started. A guilty pleasure I know but I’ve become fond of this TV show over the past year or so. It was on at 7:30p.m., which meant I had just under three hours to have a nice meal, lovely hot bath and a bit of a pamper session. As I was about to get up, something caught my eye, a confused look swept across my face as I saw a note taped to the front of my mirror. I pulled it off and opened it with some caution. It read:

  “What a lovely home you have, see you at the full moon”.

  As soon as I read it, my blood started to boil, my jaw tightened in temper.

  “If you had only done your research you would know you didn’t have to wait that long,” I said out loud, as though the writer of the note could hear me. “Idiot!”

  Chapter 2

  The next few days passed by quickly. The daytime was filled with little talks with my clients, while the evenings were spent watching through my windows, waiting for someone or something to either attack, or taunt me. I could feel the anger building up slowly as I sat and thought about it more. I snapped out of it, looked at the clock and saw that it was 7:20pm. I made myself a cup of tea and sat back on the sofa ready for the next episode of Death Detectives.

  It was almost finished when I heard a scratching noise coming from the kitchen area. I ran in there to investigate. I flicked the light on but there was nothing there, I checked the back door - it was unlocked. How could that be? I knew I’d locked it earlier, it was never left open at night, I’m too security conscious. I’ve always had to be.

  I locked and bolted the door again; pulled the same knife out that I’d had a few nights before and made my way upstairs. At the top of the stairs I peeked into my bathroom, nothing. I crept over to my bedroom door and pushed it open, no one was there either. Next were the spare rooms, again, nothing. I started to doubt myself. Did I really lock the door earlier? Was someone trying to break in, then noticed my lights were on and decided not to? With a short sigh of relief and slight tiredness kicking in, I decided to take a quick shower and flop in front of the TV for the rest of the evening.

  I walked into my bedroom and clicked the light on. I stopped dead in my tracks and stared at the bed. What the hell was going on? After a minute or so, I walked over and saw seven pictures of me placed on the duvet. Each had been taken as I was about to go into one of my clients homes. I noticed they had been taken over the past three days. I looked at the back of the pictures; each one had a letter written on them in black marker. After moving them around, I found that they spelled my name. LETICIA.

  I grabbed hold of all of the pictures, ripped them up, then ran downstairs and set fire to them in the kitchen sink, watching them burn into nothing but black and white ash. I got my duvet and pillows off my bed and put them on the sofa, and pulled my book shelf in front of the living room door to barricade myself in. This was my home and no one was going to push me out of it, no way.

  I woke up slightly earlier than normal; it was 6:43am. Because of the photographs on my bed, I had a restless night. I decided not to go to work or out of the house for that matter, for the next few days. I called all my clients and told them I’d developed a migraine overnight and would re-schedule their appointments. Luckily all of them were very understanding.

  I ate my breakfast while watching a program about a couple buying a home here and abroad. Just as I took a sip of my tea, my phone vibrated and my alarm tone rang. I looked at it and my heart sank. I’d forgotten to put money in the bank for bills to come out tomorrow morning. Nerves started kicking in, I really didn’t want to leave the house at all, but I had to, otherwise not only would I have someone messing with me I’d also have companies chasing me. I threw on some comfy clothes and got my money together. This was definitely one of the downsides to working cash in hand.

  As I was walking out the front door I got an idea. If this person was truly after me, he or she would be watching, waiting for me to go out so they could sneak inside. Well, more fool them this time. I walked into the kitchen and closed all the curtains for a moment. I pulled one of my large glass bowls out of the cupboard and emptied my bottles of vinegar and lemon juice into it. I got the roll of string out of my draw and wrapped it around the bowl several times, before placing it on the shelf above the kitchen door. I led the string down and around the door handle and tied it tight. Now, if they tried to get in, not only would they get a nasty bump on the head, but also, when the liquid landed on them and went in their eyes it would hurt like hell. I couldn’t help but smirk at the thought. I opened the curtains again, then walked out the front door.

  I got in the car and drove off. It’s all well and good living out in the sticks, but it is a pain in the ass getting to a bank just to put money into my account. As soon as I got out of my car in Holmfirth Center, I felt as though I was being watched from every angle. I found myself looking over my shoulder most of the time, so much so, I bumped into an elderly lady. I screamed and jumped. It must have frightened the lady to death. I apologized profusely and ran the rest of the way to the bank. The line seemed to last a lifetime, finally I got to put the money in and left.

  As soon as I walked out of the building, I could feel the eyes on me once more. It felt like they were everywhere. I started to panic, I couldn’t help it. I had to get back to my car and get home. I ran through the center and down one of the back streets to the parking lot, rummaging through my bag frantically, trying to find my keys. Just as I found them I saw the reflection of two men in the window. I turned around quickly, and gasped as one of them grabbed hold of my throat and pushed me against the driver’s door.

  “Hello Leticia!” the guy who had hold of me smirked. “You’ve been a hard one to track, but we’ve got you now.”

  I tried to breathe but he gripped my neck so tight that it was nearly impossible.

  “This time…”

  Before he could finish his sentence, he let out a grunt and dropped to the floor, he was out cold. The second man looked around just in time for a fist to connect with his jaw; he hit the deck instantly, but sadly was still conscious. He looked up at the guy who had struck him.

  “Who the hell are you?” He managed to say.

  I looked at the man who had just saved me, I too wanted to know who he was.

  “Who I am is of no importance. What is important is what I will do to you if I ever see you or your crack-head friend ever again,” he replied with a blank but cold expression.

  The conscious guy picked himself up and grabbed his friend who was just coming to. Then they both ra
n away as quickly as they could.

  “Thank you,” I sighed, looking at the guy who helped me.

  “You’re welcome.”

  He turned and started to walk away from me.

  “At least tell me your name,” I shouted after him, but he didn’t reply, he just continued to walk.

  Chapter 3

  I walked through my front door and slammed it shut behind me. My adrenalin was still pumping from the attack. I ran into the kitchen to check on my trap, hoping to God nothing had triggered it. But that was too much to ask. The bowl was in pieces on the floor with a pool of my concoction around it. Someone had been inside again. The back door had been left unlocked and there were wet footprints leading into the garden. I locked the door once more, then searched the house for any little messages they may have left. But there was no sign of anything this time. Maybe my little welcoming gift had put them off; personally I hoped it had blinded the bastard.

  After cleaning up the mess in the kitchen, I sat down at my dining table and tried to relax, but so many questions were going through my head. Who were the guys that attacked me? Why had they come for me? And what the hell did they mean by ‘You’ve been a hard one to track’? How long had they been looking for me? I didn’t recognize them, and I have a fantastic memory. If I’d seen them somewhere before I would have remembered. Then I thought about the guy who helped me. Where had he come from? Why did he help me and threaten them so nastily? I didn’t know him either.

  I spent eight years completely isolated, in the last year I’ve been here, I’ve only spoken with my clients and a few shop owners, I don’t really know anyone else and don’t really want to. So how did the two guys know me? They didn’t look like the sort of people that lived in this area, nor the type of people I would associate with. I’m not a snob, I couldn’t be if I tried, but I don’t speak or have anything to do with druggies. And that was one thing they definitely were. One of them looked in his late thirties, he may have been younger but due to his lifestyle, the things he did and the way he treated his body, it’s probably a case of ‘looks can be deceiving’. The one who grabbed hold of me, yuk! I could smell the alcohol on his breath. He smelled like a brewery and then some. He was painfully thin though, his skin was really pale and he seemed to constantly glare. Probably a heroin user as well as a piss head.