Past Present Future

by Alexander, N J.

  The next few hours of my life were spent learning about mental breakdowns – I read all that I could about breakdowns from various Internet sites. By the time I’d finished my emotions had turned.

  Richard had been station hopping on the car radio again.

  It was stuck on his usual talk station, but I didn’t want to mess with it while I was driving; I still wasn’t that familiar with the entertainment system in Richard’s car. Like some cruel twist of fate, the topic of conversation was stalking.

  ‘…the problem is that one type of stalker can very quickly turn into another…the once harmless stalker could become dangerous. Sometimes that stalker can become phenomenally angry with their victim. Rejection, or betrayal could trigger it, for example. It doesn’t even have to be real – they could have an imagined wrong. What matters to them is that they feel like they’ve been victimised.’

  I’d had enough, heard enough. Richard had refused to go to the police over the text messages, he’d advised me not to dump my manuscript on my doctor’s desk bound with a ribbon that said “help me”, and writing a book was clearly going to see me hanged like some psychotic crazy stalker if everyone saw the game in the same light as Juliet, the journalist.

  All I wanted was to get to the truth, but getting to the truth was going to have consequences no matter which way I turned. I felt nauseated and wronged by the whole thing. But inertia was permitting slow mental rape.

  And to do nothing was not an option I was willing to take.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Extracts from Police Witness Statement taken by London Metropolitan Police:

  Signature: A Hope

  Date: 7th January 2010

  I am a musician and singer in a band called The Rocx based in London. I live at the address shown overleaf. But I am a US citizen.

  I have been living at that address for 3 years (approx)

  I have a smart phone and a laptop which I use when I am traveling to and from various gigs up and down the country to keep up with friends on social networks. I removed myself from Facebook and deleted my profile in October 2009 for reasons I do not wish to disclose, but I have never encountered any problems until now.

  In 2000 I met a female through work who I knew only as ‘Nicole’ or ‘Little N.’ Her Facebook name of Nicole Hollis might not be her real name (surname.) We were both working for Opus Management at that time and I understand that Nicole was on temporary placement. We occasionally spoke but we were no more than colleagues. Nicole left the company a year later and I heard nothing more from her.

  In July 2008, Nicole sent a friend request and brief email via Facebook which is private and not viewable to my contacts. Nicole asked me if I remembered her, calling herself ‘Little N’ and I did. I replied, more out of courtesy than anything else and told her that I remembered her. I received a further email from her but she stated that she was drunk and apologised for the typing. I ignored this email and did not reply.

  On another occasion (I don’t remember the date) she sent an email saying that she was sorry that she had been mistaken for thinking that I had feelings for her or something of the sort. I didn’t know what she was talking about, or what had provoked the email. So I tried not to get into an email exchange with her.

  In November 2008, out of the blue I received another email from Nicole which stated that she could no longer play games with me and that she was attracted to me but it was destroying her current relationship. Her letter took me completely by surprise. I replied and asked her to re-read the few email exchanges there had been. I told her I was very much in love with my girlfriend. She was no more than an old work acquaintance. I didn’t really understand what the game was that she was referring to. But I respected her wishes to stay as a friend on my Facebook. I didn’t consider her dangerous at that point, just irrational.

  Sometime in July 2009, I was scheduled in for a recording session at the studios on Harwood Street, London. When I got there the receptionist gave me a hand written card. I opened the card and it simply read: “HELLO JACK, JUST PASSING THROUGH THE CITY”. It was signed off with something that looked like a cat or a mouse. The note confused me to say the least. I did not know what it meant, or who it was from. The receptionist said the woman was small with shoulder-length blonde hair probably in her thirties. Because of my job I do get considerable amounts of female attention and the receptionist’s description didn’t help me. I left the card knocking around my apartment and forgot about it.

  On the 7th January 2010 (today) several of my friends and relatives contacted me and asked if I had seen the book written about me that has a link from Facebook back to a website: (trueanthonyhope.com) The website has a free PDF download for the book. The book names me and was all about me and very true to life. It quoted information from my old Facebook account and used other information taken from other sources on the Internet. The book implied that I was involved in some kind of on-line game with this woman Nicole. From what I can tell she appears to have emailed it to over a thousand people connected directly or indirectly with me. The above-mentioned card she delivered to the recording studio on Harwood Street is mentioned in her book. But as I have already stated, I have had no contact with this woman since the email in November 2008.

  The appearance of this book is quite disturbing and has threatened my relationship with my now fiancé who I am very much in love with.

  The emails sent 7th January 2010 (today) have been sent from an account in the name of Nell Gwyn. I reported the emails to

  Facebook at 1pm on the 7th November 2010. Nell Gwyn is mentioned in the book which is why I know that the emails are connected to Nicole. I believe Facebook have now taken down the page. The Facebook page for Nicole Hollis also appears to have been taken down from what I can see.

  I would describe Nicole as a white female aged late 30’s to early 40’s, between 501 and 504 tall, slim build, pale to medium complexion, mid-blonde hair. She has no distinguishing features. This description is clearly quite old as I have not seen her for almost a decade and I didn’t pay any attention to her Facebook profile. The website does feature a photograph of a woman with blonde hair, but her skin has been painted gold and you can’t see her face. I have no other contact for Nicole and have never known where she lives. Opus Management where she worked a decade ago was in Coventry, but I don’t think she was local. Opus Management closed down several years ago after the owner died.

  I cannot say if the book is an accurate portrayal of Nicole’s life as I do not really know her or anything about her life of significance. But information in her letter of November 2008 seems to tally with information in her book.

  At 14:01 hours on the 7th January 2010 I produced a copy of the email sent to me by Nicole along with the card which had been dropped off at the recording studio. I now refer to the copy of email as Police Item AH/01 and the card as Police Item AH/02. At the above time and date I handed AH/01 and AH/02 to PC 3072 Stafford.

  I will abide by any decision the Police or CPS make with regard to this matter and I will attend court and give evidence if required to do so.

  The victim Personal Statement has been explained to me and I wish to state the following:

  I am in fear for my own safety as I now realize that Nicole has a fixation with me and as her advances have been rebuffed, she is now out to seek what she feels is revenge. She is clearly very clever and has found out many facts about me so it would not be difficult for her to find out where I live, so my property and my fiancé are also under threat. Everywhere I go I now have to look over my shoulder and I am turning into a nervous wreck.

  Signature: A Hope Signature witnessed by: PC 3072 Stafford

  RESTRICTED (when complete)

  14:35 Details passed on a hand over to e-crime unit. E-crime to arrange court order to close down website and trace suspect. At this stage it is not known if Nicole Hollis is also a victim of a cyber-crime using pieced together information taken from her Facebook page and various other o
n-line sources.

  FTAC unit notified.

  PC 3072 Stafford.

  I sat on the train with my head resting against the window. I didn’t particularly like the reverse-facing seats but it was the only one I could book with a table. Reserved cards were poking out of the top of the other three seats around me. I hoped the other passengers wouldn’t be joining until much later – a no show would have been preferred.

  I didn’t know what I was going to do in London when I got there; I had several hours to kill before I needed to be at the other side of the city. If Harrods stayed open late I supposed I could browse around there for a bit.

  As the fields flew past I exhaled heavily on to the glass then drew an eight in the residue of my breath. I felt bad about leaving Richard with little explanation, but I knew he would have stopped me. I needed closure for my sanity.

  I double-checked that my mobile was switched off and placed it into my cream raincoat pocket that was lying on the empty seat. As I did so, I felt the cold metal object in the pocket – it was Richard’s Swiss Army knife I’d bought for him the previous Christmas. I played with it for a few moments feeling the sharp point of the blade.

  I placed the knife back in the pocket, took my book off the seat and placed it on the table pushing it up against the window. Then I scanned the few fellow passengers: they were mainly smartly dressed business travellers, a couple of elderly people, some arty-looking types in need of a haircut, and a stressed-out mother with a stropping toddler I hoped would be getting off at the next stop.

  In front of me was a businessman wearing a suit with a laptop resting on the fold-down tray I could see he had Facebook open and I continued to peep at him through the gap in the seats. He clicked onto the profile of an attractive blonde woman. He was obviously reading her comments. Then he clicked on the comments left by other men on her wall. He was not only checking her profile, but also those of the men she knew. He clicked on her photos lingering longer on some of them. Who was this woman? I wondered if he fancied her, or whether he was her jealous boyfriend. His behaviour fascinated me.

  Then he closed his account and started typing emails in a foreign language. I could barely see the words let alone understand them so I turned away thinking Facebook usage was the same world over – its language was universal.

  I tried sipping the tea I’d fetched from the café bar but didn’t particularly fancy it as my stomach felt a little off. I put it down to butterflies. So instead I chewed the cardboard edges of the cup while staring trance like at my book that I’d put in a Tesco’s carrier before leaving the house.

  I wondered how many people had bothered to download the book – two, three, a hundred. It could even be none. The only one I really cared about reading it was him. I switched my mobile back on, logged on to the train network, and reinstated my Facebook page. I’d taken it down earlier in a temper. But now it seemed a better idea to warn Anthony that I was heading in his direction with my book. I didn’t want to cause him a fright by turning up unexpected. At least this way I would be less of a shock. I typed in my Status: Anthony Hope…Heading for Kings Cross Dead Man Walking!!!!!!!! I put the phone back in my pocket and allowed myself to doze.

  As the train passed The Emirates Stadium I knew that we would be arriving at Kings Cross within minutes.

  I made my way off the train with the other passengers, pulling my raincoat as tight as possible around me. It wasn’t the most suitable coat for January, but I’d left the house in a rush and it had been conveniently draped over the hall chair.

  I focused on the tremendous arched window that reigned over the top end of the station. Unlike the grey pigeons I always associated with the place, I’d never really noticed the window’s dominating presence before. But then, I’d never arrived in London alone before now. I made my way through hordes of zigzagging bodies to find a machine to purchase a one day, zone 1-4 underground pass.

  I had been loitering about the city aimlessly for what felt like hours. There was an icy chill in the air as the night started to fall. I continued to lean against the brick work of a second-hand shop that sold collectable old toys and ornaments with handwritten price tags. I had already bored myself silly playing a memory game trying recall as many items and their price without looking, so I twiddled with the Swiss Army Knife in my pocket. I was glad it was there, as it made me feel less vulnerable as a lone female in an unfamiliar part of the city. The area looked relatively run down with tired looking one-man-band shops which were now closed for the evening and I still couldn’t shake the permanent feeling of being watched. I thought of the unexplained text messages sent to Richard’s phone – particularly the last one that had been different from the previous two. I had no way of knowing whether the threat in the last text would ever be carried out.

  The poster for The RocX was stuck on a display board that was positioned next to the door of the Devonshire Arms. I’d checked it earlier, so I knew I was at the right pub, on the right day, but had resisted the urge to sit inside and draw attention to myself, which is why I was hanging around on the opposite side of the road.

  I had no idea what time Anthony would show or how he would receive me. I didn’t even know whether he would be alone. I just wanted him to understand what he’d done to me, and how damaging his stupid game had been to me. And I needed to see my book in his hands.

  Then I spotted him. I stopped leaning against the wall. His unmistakable stride was making fast pace down the opposite side of the road. He was wearing jeans with a shirt hanging loose. His guitar was strapped to his back and he was carrying his hand as though holding a cigarette, but he was still too far away for me to know this for sure. He was alone. I didn’t know whether that was a good or bad thing.

  I darted into the doorway and stealthily poked my head round the corner every second or so. My breathing was laboured and the increased oxygen made me feel dizzy. I resisted the urge to bolt in the other direction.

  I was right about the cigarette. He threw it down and used his foot to stub it out. And just as his hand pulled at the pub door, I stepped out onto the pavement and shouted before I could change my mind.

  ‘Anthony…Anthony Hope!’

  He paused for a second then spun round. It was then that he checked the road before crossing and I could see his face was contorted and his eyes squinting. His body language said rage. He got closer. I couldn’t move. I knew I wouldn’t be able to speak.

  He was a few feet from me.

  ‘You fucking psychotic b…What the fu—’

  It was then when I saw him reach for his pocket. I panicked, pulled my hand from my own pocket and lunged at him with the knife. I could hear the groan of my voice as dark red blood spurt onto the sleeve of my cream raincoat.

  I dropped the knife, and the carrier containing my book, then ran without looking back. It wasn’t until I reached the tube station that I realised he wasn’t following. I had no idea if I’d killed him.

  Running against cold air made my head and ears ache, and my lungs feel like they were spiked with icicles – I deserved to feel the pain. I felt feverish and it was then that I vomited with nothing to clear the lingering putrid taste. I had sick in my hair and pulled it back using the metal clip taken from my left pocket.

  I don’t recall how I found my way back to Kings Cross. It was as though I’d blacked out or something. It was only a matter of time before I would be taken by the police.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  The arrest happened as I was stepping over the train threshold. I felt my arm twist back and cold metal slide around my wrists.

  ‘…you have been arrested on suspicion of…’

  The man’s voice vaguely filtered through my senses in the same way that words do when you’re coming out of anaesthetic. My head was heavy and I could barely keep it raised. But I was aware that I was surrounded by police officers and could see train passengers’ feet clearing a path to let me through. I was disorientated and my legs buckled. All I remember is
being pulled back to my feet then pushed into the back of a police car.

  I didn’t speak in the car. The last time I had been in police transport, I was a teenager – this was a much bigger mess.

  I had no idea which station they’d taken me to, all I know is, I wasn’t in the car for long. I was led to a small room where I was told to strip. I could see my clothes being placed into brown paper bags that were then marked and sealed. They emptied my raincoat pockets. Amongst small bits of screwed-up paper, I saw my hairclip. I asked for it. They refused. The Fendi watch that Richard had bought for my birthday a few years earlier was now in a polythene bag along with my iPhone; I wondered if I would ever get them back. I could also see the Swiss Army Knife also in a polythene bag. I felt sick from shock.

  I vomited into my hands – my futile attempt to stop it – and it hit the floor where I was stood. My body began to shake involuntarily and my teeth chattered uncontrollably while the officers cleaned me and mopped the floor around me. The strong disinfectant failed to disguise the strong smell of vomit in my hair. They gave me a white forensic jump suit that was too big – a woman rolled up the sleeves and appeared to check my arms for some reason.

  Then I was asked question after question: my name; date of birth; did I have any illnesses? Was I on medication? My dietary requirements…they seemed endless…did I want a solicitor? I thought of Richard. I asked for my phone call.

  Richard picked up the phone. He was shouting as soon as he realised it was me. He rarely shouted.

  ‘What the hell is going on? I’ve got the police crawling all over the house, tipping cushions off the sofa, bedding off the beds, going through every fucking drawer. They’ve walked out with the computers, laptops, your blue study folders – why on earth would they want those? Your crystal memory stick that Maddy bought for you – they’ve had that. What have you gone and done now? All I know is they have a warrant to search the place on suspicion of Malicious Communication and that you’ve been arrested on further charges. Where the fuck are you?’