No Reception

by Maisie Porter

  I am trying to focus on what she is babbling about, but whatever it was she put in my drink has left me not being able to focus on sound, only on the persistent itching. The combination of itching and her sharp floral scent is making me want to vomit.

  “Becoming a photographer with your level of success will be a different experience for me. I am trying to be you, but I have a two-year-old child, so naturally I can’t be as carefree as you are,” Helena says. “Speaking of life with children, Zody, can I leave Marla here with you?”

  She answers her own question. “No. No, I cannot leave Marla; you are in no condition to look after a child, are you? I should go; it’s time to be you,” she says, finally taking the sharp keys away from my face.

  I’m not sure if I feel worse about her being next to me and talking to my face or to be left alone. Surely the second choice is better, or does the frightening anticipation of her coming back make it worse than her being here the whole time?

  “One more tidbit to help me get ahead in the photography industry,” she says, walking to the hallway to where I can see my backpack. I watch as she removes my phone from the bag.

  “Let’s see, is your phone password protected? No, no, it’s not, well, aren’t you the trusting one,” she chortles.

  I watch the pleasure in her face grow as she mockingly plays with my phone while she walks back towards where I sit.

  “Here we go, this is what I am most interested in, your Instagram account. When you go back to being you, there might be a whole lot less work for you to do. Well, you enjoy my house. It is nice here, isn’t it? You could pretend to be me, well technically you already have, when you were sleeping with my husband. Let’s chat later when we swap lives back, okay?”

  I jerk my body forward, then back, but I’m overcome by pain caused by the rope digging into my skin. I lift my shoulder up to my cheek and continue to soothe the itch.

  The door closes. I hear two clicks of a lock.

  Helena

  I push the pram down the path and look over my shoulder at our house; my heart races excitedly knowing who is inside it. She can’t say I am unkind or not thoughtful, I have left the dining room light on for her. I try to see if I can make out the shadow of a person sitting on a chair but unfortunately the new window blinds don’t give anything away. I do hope she enjoys her stay and she can take a break from all that work. I am feeling much more accomplished than I have in a long time. I feel that thrilling sense of adventure I felt whenever I went out to do my photography jobs. The air is thick with the sharp scent of moist soil, I hope it doesn’t start to rain before I get to her place, I don’t want to muddy her floor. I walk past the church, and I take a shortcut through the school grounds and down the lane. As I pass the eucalyptus tree, I tell it that I am not sticking around today.

  I’m here! Whirling with excitement I stand to wait for the elevator doors to open and take me to level 4. It certainly is very convenient for me that we live so close; we should visit each other more often.

  “Marla my dear, make sure you don’t vomit on anything in this house,” I say as I open her door with her key.

  Her apartment is small but cool. I flick a light switch next to the door that lightens up the room only slightly, how does Zody edit photos in a dimly lit room? When I edit photos, I need lots of bright light, technicalities.

  Her apartment is very neat, so to be polite I take my sneakers off and place them on a small shoe bench next to a pair of lime green leather boots. I lift Marla out of her pram, put her down on a brown rug and give her an animal cracker to eat.

  “No touching these photo books,” I say lifting the books off the coffee table and putting them on a desk that holds a computer, notebook, and hand written notes. Marla takes a bite of her cracker and, with a full mouth, mumbles her newly-learned favourite line when things are taken away from her: “not your photo book” and throws the remaining cracker up onto the sofa.

  My head spins with excitement as I run my fingers over the gold notebook eager to sit down and read it. In case I forget, I put the book into my bag as well as the notes; I will have time to analyse them later. I tap the keyboard to turn on the computer, it light up but prompts me to type in a password. I hit my hand on the keyboard, but as I had expected, I am not able to access the computer.

  I enter the kitchen, which is small and brown, and decorated with pot plants, hanging from the ceiling – not exactly my choice of décor but I make a mental note to implement this into my kitchen once Archer is gone.

  How does her water flow? The water pressure at my house has been poor recently, Archer hasn’t had time to fix it, I will have to call the plumber. I lift up the lever and watch the water run, imagining what would happen if I didn’t turn the water off. My foot brushes a plastic bag lying under the bench, who leaves plastic bags in the kitchen? I thought her apartment was neat, I look at the bag, recognise the logo, and turn off the tap.

  On the fridge stands a vase with one yellow flower. The fridge has two photos stuck on it. I had imagined a whole refrigerator door decorated in photographs from wild parties and overseas working holidays. But instead there is just one picture of an older couple standing on the porch of an old farmhouse.

  I open the fridge. On inspection, I find a variety of chocolate bars. So she keeps chocolate bars in the refrigerator.

  Lying between the chilled chocolate and an open beer bottle are the leftovers of a pie. I take the half empty beer bottle out of the fridge and go back to her lounge.

  “How are you feeling, my baby?” I lift Marla onto my hip and take a swig of the beer bottle, the beer is flat, but it tastes like success.

  “Let’s go and sit outside.” I open the sliding door and take a step onto the cold tiles of Zody’s balcony.

  “Actually it looks like we won’t be able to enjoy sitting out here on the balcony, Marla, there are too many cactuses.” There’s a watering can covered in dried blood. “Please do not touch anything,” I say looking around the tiny outdoor area where many times I’d seen Zody’s selfies. Sometimes I saw it when the photos were on my screen, sometimes from across the road when they were taken. It was harder to look from across the road as I had to fit my body behind the tree so she didn’t see me.

  Usually with the photos she takes of herself she is staring into the distance, it looks like her mind has left her body. I wish I knew what she was thinking about. I tried to achieve the same look in photos of myself but, when I examine them I don’t look ethereal like she does, it’s just me in the photos stuck in my own dull body. It doesn’t look like my mind is travelling anywhere.

  I look around the balcony soaking it in, wondering why she confined herself to such a small place; I think she would much rather the vastness of the outdoors, my villa in the mountains, maybe. It’s not as if she couldn’t afford a larger house, perhaps she’s staying in this apartment to be closer to Archer. I step back inside the apartment and slam the balcony door behind us.

  Zody

  The screw on the lamp wobbles and moves around freely, about to fall on me. I struggle to hold the lamp upright, but it bends and sways as the pin becomes looser. Frustrated at its inability to stand I lay the light on the floor and lie down next to it. I take my mirror and look at my reflection. I can only see a blur of bright colours, but I still take out my camera and take a photo of my kaleidoscope face. I write an Instagram post about a new photo session I am offering. Immediately I receive a flurry of replies. Comments fill my inbox, the words start to grow and swim in my brain. Then the words magnify until there are only letters. Letters are swimming in my mind. I try to swat them away but something is holding my hand back, and I can’t free myself from this avalanche of letters.

  ***

  I feel my dry mouth filling with cold water, and my eyes spring open to bright lights shining above me. My head is held back, and water poured into my lips. I start to cough then choke as the water expands the material that fills my mouth. At the same time, my need for water ha
s me sucking at the gag that is rapidly growing. Through my tear-filled eyes, I can see Helena’s face leaning over mine, holding a plastic water bottle near my lips.

  “I came back earlier primarily to give you some water,” she whispers in my ear. I can smell stale alcohol on her breath. I try to strain my eyes to beg her to end this and to let me go.

  “Look, Zody!” she exclaims excitedly. “I’ve taken care of business for you.” She takes out my phone and waves the Instagram post she created close to my face.

  To My Dear Clients,

  It has been an amazing experience providing my photography service to you all. Regrettably, I will no longer be taking on any new wedding or family bookings. I’m forwarding all of my work to Helena Hoath, so for any enquiries, please email HelenaHoathPhotography@ gmail.com. She will also be looking after my admin as I wrap up the last of my editing.

  Zody

  I shake my head vigorously but regret it immediately because it sends an ache shooting across my forehead. I can feel a sob forming in the pit of my stomach. The cry rises through my gut to my chest and finally to my mouth. When it comes out I sound like a severely wounded animal.

  “A reply, already?” Helena questions mockingly and continues to read the message.

  “‘I’m so shocked by this; I was looking forward to booking you for next summer. Thanks for the recommendation, I trust your style and who you recommend. I will be sending Helena Hoath an email.’”

  Once she has finished reading the message, she grins at me proudly.

  “I have received many other emails, all your clients are entrusting me with work, but don’t feel left out as they do trust what you say. Oh dear, what’s this, a text message…” her voice trails off and she stops talking to read the message.

  “Should you have been at work today? Oh yes, you did mention you had a job starting at 5:30 pm, well I guess that time has come and gone, and you are very late for your job. You naughty girl!” She says and giggles, reading the text I have received from Joe, my disappointed client.

  “‘Zody where are you? Our ceremony is about to start in half an hour. Please call or message me immediately, before I tell Gwen that our photographer hasn’t turned up to photograph our wedding. Joe’.”

  She clears her throat and starts to read another. “And here is one more text,” Helena says. “‘Zody, I cannot believe you did this to us, the ceremony is about to start, I’m going to have to break this news to Gwen, and I will make sure you will never photograph another wedding again. Joe’. You have made so many mistakes today that will affect your future, let me make this even worse for you… reply and send.” Helena pushes the screen of my phone deliberately with her finger.

  She holds the phone close to my face for me to read the response she has sent on my behalf. I scan the words she shows me.

  ‘Hi, Joe, so sorry I wasn’t able to make it to photograph you getting married to Gwen today. The weather was just too gorgeous, had to take advantage of it, and went on a road trip. I do hope you are enjoying your wedding day. Zody’

  I try to flick my head to hit her, but she leans back and avoids a blow.

  Helena

  I need Archer to come back home. Not just yet but very soon. It is essential that he finds his love tied to the stairs in his house. I text him a rescue message from Zody’s phone.

  ‘Hi, Archer, I’ve lost the keys to my apartment. I’ve looked, but can’t find them anywhere. Can we meet at your house at 6.30 pm? The locksmith will not be able to open my front door until 7:30 pm, and I have some appointments until 6 pm. See if you can get Helena to leave the house and let me know. Zody’

  The text message I receive from Archer is not what I had envisioned would be his reply.

  ‘Hey, Zody, It’s good to hear from you, and I would like to help you out, but I need to stay back at the office today. If you require somewhere to stay urgently, message Helena on 95796543, she is usually home in the evenings.’

  Is Archer onto my plan, why doesn’t he want to rescue Zody? This is not supposed to be happening. In my triumphant plan, Archer eagerly finishes work just before 6 pm to drive home to help his locked-out-of-her-apartment girlfriend.

  In the meantime, I’ve parked my car next to Mrs Jennings’ house further down our road. I would take out a recently purchased new phone. ‘Hello – police, I have just heard some screams coming from number 45 Case Street, Teabrook.’

  I’d explain as I’d watch Archer park his car in front our house. ‘I was just walking past the house with my dog, and I heard a woman’s scream. I was too terrified to stop, so I kept on walking…’

  I would disconnect the call and start the engine. I would watch Archer step out of the car and walk towards the door, hoping he walks slowly to keep in time with the police. Inside our house he would come across the scene in our dining room of discarded ropes, and blood, which one or both of us had lost following our scuffle where I was dragging Zody into the garage.

  As I would slip away, I would hear his almighty wail pour from my house. At the same time, the police would be surrounding our home. Archer would struggle to explain that he knew nothing about the ropes and blood; the police might believe him until they check his phone.

  One hour later I would be grateful that Marla has slept through the drive. I would manoeuvre the car between fallen branches and rock that had cascaded recently onto the road. I’d begin the descent down a steep hill that indicates that we are nearing the house.

  I would press the accelerator down and increase speed then decrease immediately, I know that road well, and I know how to manipulate it. I would bring the car to a stop in front of the garage next to the secluded house; a house that you would avoid if you were walking out alone in the bush.

  Hauling open the door of the garage, I’d drive my getaway car inside, satisfied that it is well hidden. Grateful that the house has an entry straight from the garage, I’d lift Marla out and carry her inside. I’d pause at the mirror in the hallway and look at the image of myself holding the little girl. “I’m so, so sorry” I would whisper in Marla’s ear. During the night, I would take Zody out of the trunk and find her a bed in the hospital located down the road.

  ***

  However, now I am still in my house with Zody tied up on a chair; where do I go from here? Archer does not appear to be interested in rescuing her. Therefore, there goes my chance of framing him for kidnapping Zody. I can’t let her go; she will run straight to the police. Maybe I should blackmail her. But with what lurid material? I may just have to leave her tied up in the chair for Archer to find, while I take Marla and flee. How long would it take for the police to find me? What would I do for money? More importantly, I can’t run away now the emails with client enquires have started to arrive.

  Hi Helena,

  Zody recommended you for wedding photography. I’m getting married in March next

  year. Could you please provide me with a price for 10 hours? I am so upset that Zody

  has suddenly quit, I have been counting on her, but since she has recommended you, I

  thought I would book you in before you get too busy.

  Gemma

  My heart dances. That part of my plan has worked. I have done well. What would my newly acquired clients think of me if I didn’t turn up to their weddings; I will not be as unreliable as her. I write my best reply. All these people wanting to book me is like a dream coming true. Then, because I couldn’t possibly let this end, I create another Instagram post for good measure.

  Thanks for all your support through your messages. I have had a few of you ask ‘why’ but it’s just not a reason I feel that I can share with you all. I honestly don’t want to disappoint and leave you without a photographer for your special events, so if you need a photographer email HelenaHoathPhotography@gmail.com.

  I am so greedy; now I have an influx of Zody’s work and the satisfying pleasure of knowing that Archer isn’t interested in her, does she know he doesn’t care for her or does she th
ink he would really choose her over me? How did I ever believe that he could touch her? I’m actually not that upset any longer, and it’s okay. This kidnapping I orchestrated has not been a total loss. I’m going to set her free; really she can actually leave now. She wasn’t that difficult to capture – I could arrange this again if the enquiries I am receiving should stop – if she tries to take her clients back I will stop her for good.

  Which scissors will cut these thick ropes, I wonder, and walk to the kitchen to find something strong enough to break through the bindings. For a second my mind entertains the idea that I could get a knife instead and let her final moments be in these ropes. I take the scissors from under the sink, the same ones I used to cut the poisonous flowers, and return to the lounge.

  “Guess what, Zody?” I whisper in her ear. “I’m going to let you go, but there’s one thing you have to do for me. I need you to vow that you will not start taking on bookings again. I trust you not to go back on your word. It’s essential that I have these enquiries coming in or the next booking you take will be your last.”

  Zody

  Helena kneels next to my feet, and cuts the ropes binding my hands together with scissors that look like they belong in the garden, then she wraps her thick arms around to the back of my head and unties the material from around my mouth. I moan. The words I have wanted to say have dried up on my lips.

  “Fuck you,” I sneer, when I’m able to put two words together. “Why didn’t you just kill me?” I ask.

  Without answering my question, she crouches in front of me. I grab the scissors from her grip and cut myself free of the ties holding my ankles together. She is still crouching, watching as I free myself. The way she watches me makes my skin crawl.