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  Sitting in the waiting room, Bridget smiled nervously at Hilary, Daniel’s receptionist. Hilary appeared close to retiring age. Her voice was husky yet harmonic. Her silver hair was neat and likely styled with old-fashioned rollers. Wispy strands and tight curls framed her world-weary face, and deep lines danced around her eyes and mouth as she spoke. It was only when she stood from behind the reception desk that you noticed her bent back. It was as if she carried with her all the invisible weights of the world. A steady shuffle took her between the filing cabinet and copying machine. Bridget wondered if she had always been this way or had her aged shuffle replaced a youthful march. But it would be rude to ask. Scanning the waiting room she wondered if Daniel would be pleased with her latest revelations. She prayed he would acknowledge the positivity behind her plans. An eye for an eye.

  Finally the office door opened and Bridget was greeted by Daniel’s welcoming smile. He looked better than when she had last seen him. His slightly wavy brown hair was slicked back, his face freshly shaven. She looked him up and down and returned a smile. Today he was wearing his grey and snug fitting dress pants with perfectly ironed seams, a black leather belt, a white business shirt and his lavender silk tie. Bridget had given Daniel the tie as a Christmas present two years ago. She was thrilled he wore it and she loved it when he wore those pants. She could imagine every bulging bit. One silk tie, a leather belt and you absent of those snug pants could work wonders for my recovery, she thought as she brushed passed him. Sauntering over to the corner of the room she flopped down onto the chair. She always sat in the corner. No vacant space was allowed behind. It was imperative she see all aspects of the room. Daniel locked the door. He reached over and turned on his desk lamp then the tripod lamp, which sat to the right of the door. Bridget admired the way he stretched and walked. Even fully dressed she could tell he took pride in keeping fit. His body was toned. His strides were confident. The curtains were drawn. It was a regimented routine. Only when all these requirements were fulfilled was she able to relax. A patient needed to be comfortable to speak freely.

  Daniel sat in his chair and lent forward, he crossed his arms and rested them on his desk.

  “How are you Bridget? You look well,” he smiled.

  “I am well and I have so much to tell you Daniel. So much has happened since we last saw each other.” She took a breath then blurted, “Zack left me, he says I am a whacko.” Pausing for a moment she examined Daniel’s reaction. His raised eyebrows could mean anything.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, letting out a ragged breath while running his hands through his hair.

  “Yep, I am actually better than okay. You see I have a plan. A recovery plan…”

  Daniel remained silent, his head tilted slightly as he waited to hear more.

  Squirming around in her chair Bridget began to inhale deeply. Her lips twitched. Her eyes scanned the room. She rose to her feet and began pacing in front of his desk.

  “No one understands the effect bullying and harassment can have on a person. One day you are waking up looking forward to a productive and enjoyable workday. Before you know it you wake up filled with dread and fear of what will happen.” She battled to maintain her composure as she clenched her hands. “My happiness was stripped. I broke down easily. I began to stutter. I barely slept and I began to overthink everything. Everyone could be an enemy. I was guarded, walls went up, and I withdrew from the world. My trust evaporated. My paranoia increased. Haunting nightmares invaded. Their behaviour was so vicious and insidious.”

  Bridget suddenly paused then slammed her fists I onto Daniel’s desk. She gazed down at him. He sat still in his black high-backed leather chair, his feet firmly planted on the ground, hands clasped gently on his lap. His brow was furrowed in concern, his lips closed as he listened to her every word. It was important for a victim to speak, she knew that. Vocalising was a part of releasing the pain he’d told her; it didn’t matter that he’d heard the words before. The important thing was that she could release, release and release until release was no longer required. Only when the need to release had passed would she sit and accept her pain without the all-consuming sadness, guilt and dread.

  When Bridget first came to him for help her words had been limited. Guilt for being so weak had overwhelmed her. She would sit on the chair rocking back and forth, a blubbering mess. Sobbing incessantly. He would offer tissues to wipe away her tears. Discarded tissues piled high in the trash by the time her therapy session concluded. The road ahead would be long and challenging.

  Releasing a loud sigh Bridget shook her head, squeezed her eyes tightly closed and flicked her hands. Her heart pounded. Her frustration peaked. But his silence only urged her to speak – they both knew this path well.

  “I feared reprisals for taking a stand. I faked the smiles. I hid the pain. I continued to lodge complaints. I hated getting out of bed in the morning. I feared going to work. People asked why I just didn’t leave, but why should I? I loved my job, I needed to work, and no person should be forced out of his or her employment,” she said as her voice raised. She paused and stared into nothingness. Tears filled her eyes. She wiped her face and took a deep breath. “A wild animal should be kept within a contained environment. A bully should be controlled within a workplace. My employer should have protected me, but they didn’t. They, too, are responsible. They did nothing. They stood idly by. My attempting to seem unaffected got harder and harder. Reporting threats appeared useless but I continued. Can’t you see? I’m still hurting. I can’t tell my story without bursting into tears.” She shook her head. “My physical scars have disappeared but the memories remain. It was mental torture every day. Every. Day. I couldn’t sleep for worrying what would happen next. Others took Pierre’s side for fear of being picked on themselves. Some found it amusing. I’ve been to hell and back. It’s always there, lurking behind me. I look out while the monsters look in. I am trapped in my own mind forever. They’re right behind me. Always. The wind carries their voices. They come from the darkness, and that darkness is alive and hungry.” She looked into his eyes. “I have nothing left to lose. It’s funny what that can make you do,” Bridget said, before turning and collapsing onto the chair in the corner. She buried her face in her hands.

  Daniel sat still as he always did, allowing her time.

  When her sobbing subsided, it was his time to talk. “Your past may shape your future, but your mind determines your actions,” he replied, his voice calm and reassuring.

  “My mind…” Bridget snapped, then paused and chuckled. Tears streamed down her cheeks but nothing would wash away her determination. “Some people would say I’ve lost my mind. Maybe that could be my defence. I don’t know, I don’t know much anymore, but I do know one thing – I have been waiting for the right time but there is no right time. There’s just now. Time to jump off that hamster wheel,” she said, trying to gauge his reaction. “I can no longer allow the sadness to descend, the misery to consume or the haunting flashbacks to invade. I can’t live like this anymore. Something needs to change. Sometimes you have to lose everything to find out what’s worth fighting for. I’ve lost my identity, and so it’s time to create a new one. I’m telling you now, they won’t know what hit them.”

  Silence enveloped the room.

  “How? You can’t be… What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking I will make them pay,” she said. “Surely you understand.”

  “I do, I do,” Daniel said, leaning forward again. “I hear what you are saying, I know why you are saying it, but…”

  “Don’t you turn against me,” Bridget said with a snarl. “You’re either on my side or theirs,” she snarled.

  “I am not on their side,” he said firmly. “I am here for you. I want what is best for you.”

  “Then why can’t you be happy for me?”

  “I am happy for you, your new found determination is a step in the right direction but I fear your enthusiasm for revenge
will end up with you behind bars. I mean, seriously who are you after? What do you plan to do?”

  Bridget gaped at Daniel; his look of concern had been replaced by a blank stare.

  “You know who I have in my sights, those bullying bastards who ruined my life,” she said. “It’s time to turn the tables.”

  “You have to stop this Bridget,” he snapped. “I don’t want to see you locked up for the rest of your life!”

  Bridget shook her head then rubbed her brow before a laugh escaped her. “I won’t be locked up, I’ll plead insanity, diminished mental capacity, post-traumatic stress disorder, depression, anxiety… it’s all in my records. Can’t you see?” she said, pleading. “They can’t get away with it. It’s their time to suffer. I am fucken sick of being the only one who suffers from what they did. Why is it that I have the nightmares? Why is it that I feel so afraid and don’t dare walk down the street? Why is it I feel sick when I hear their names? Why? You tell me why! Give me one good reason why they shouldn’t pay for what they did to me. They’re bastards. They were men, full grown men. Men who decided to pick on a woman. What does that make them?”

  Tears welled in Bridget’s eyes. When she spoke about them she transformed. Anger erupted from within. Her eyes darkened. Her face reddened. Teeth clenched. Hands fisted in rage. Within seconds tears were again streaming down her face. She cracked.

  ***

  She was broken. They had broken her. Daniel was lost for words. He stood from his chair and walked to the corner of his desk. Paused. He wanted nothing more than to embrace her, to rid her of her suffering. Any man who abused a woman was not a man at all. How could he argue with her? Their callous comments and behaviour, their total disregard for Bridget had left devastation in their wake. It was sickening. The idea of revenge was no doubt delectable. Visualising the satisfaction of bringing harm upon those, of being able to vent aggression… Maybe an act of revenge would restore balance within the moral universe and enable Bridget to find peace. He winced at the thought. Turning, he walked back to his chair shaking his head. He remained silent. Nervously looking towards Bridget he battled with what he should say. Morality, he thought, who am I to question what is wrong or right? How can I argue with what a victim claims will assist in recovery – would revenge lessen her emotional pain?

  CHAPTER THREE

  M

  onday, the first day of September, was the day Bridget was to launch her first attack. It had been three weeks since she’d seen Daniel, three weeks since she’d spoken to him. He had phoned but she hadn’t answered. He knew only of her intentions. When she’d left his office she’d assured him she would give his words great consideration. Better to keep it that way. However, her determination had not swayed and in those three weeks she had dedicated her life to planning and surveillance.

  Her first priority had been changing the locks to her house. Zack had been over to collect more of his clothes, but clearing out his belongings would take several more trips. He had agreed Bridget could keep the furniture and the weight bench in the garage but insisted he take full ownership of the boat they had purchased together years earlier. Bridget concurred. The boat would be transferred into his name and he would be allowed to maintain storage of it in her garage until Christmas where he would then make alternative arrangements.

  Bridget was surprised at how amicable their discussions had been, but she didn’t want Zack turning up unannounced and entering into what was now her domain. She asked that in future he message her in advance and organise a time suitable to them both before coming over again.

  Everything was on track. It was all falling into place. Her plans had to be top secret. Zack’s leaving may have been the tipping point, but nothing was ever disclosed to him or put in writing. Every little detail had to be perfectly planned and stored in her mind. It was imperative no evidenced linked her to the acts. She established a regimented routine; created a systematic approach. Revenge returned a zest for life, and she felt more alive than she had in years – almost giddy with it.

  Now life held excitement. She had a reason to wake. Momentum was vital. Each morning she would rise at five, stroll into the kitchen and flick on the kettle then make her way to the shower. Daniel’s words of concern resonated but nothing could discourage her. After all, this was her journey. Propelling her enthusiasm forward she created a chant.

  “I am strong. Each day I get stronger. They are weak. They will pay.” She would sing this in the shower – over and over as the soap suds and warm water cleansed her body and washed away any doubt. Each day the positive effects of her actions strengthened. Her coffee was an essential part of her routine. Her requirement to leave her house by 6:30am became easier as the days passed. Opening her front door to the world no longer held fear but was a feat of bravery. Her confidence grew. She knew ease and comfort would eventually follow. It was all up to her, she controlled her own destiny. Her courage would set her free.

  Leaving her house she welcomed the world back into her life. She would drive, park, wait, and watch. Watching and patience were extremely important. Bridget was not the only one who had a regimented routine. Hunters never just rushed in. They possessed patience. The element of surprise was essential, otherwise the prey would be spooked and would escape. Her observations were crucial. Escape would not be an option. Now she began her quest there was no turning back. A half job was no job at all. It was a moment of great clarity. Bridget was committed.

  Samuel Easton would be the first.

  He had taken great delight in watching her humiliation. The enthusiasm with which he embarked on acts that would result in great embarrassment for Bridget was unrelenting. She had tried to reason with him – he was a married man with a teenage daughter, surely he of all people would understand and relate to the damage inflicted. How would he like to see his wife or daughter subject to such artful acts?

  Her begging still haunted her. ‘Please Samuel I am asking you, please leave me alone… think about your wife or daughter, what if they received this type of treatment? Surely you wouldn’t like it happening to them. I’ve done nothing to deserve this.’

  How weak she had sounded. He hadn’t listened to her pleas; he’d laughed in her face. Told her she was pathetic. He’d insisted she hadn’t deserved the job, and declared it took a man to run the show, not a weak, snivelling female.

  He’d sneered at her when he’d yelled she should find another job, that she wasn’t welcome there. He’d threatened that he’d only just begun. ‘Watch your step,’ he’d spat, ‘Arthur has you in his sights, as does Pierre.’

  Samuel Easton, Arthur Fuller, and Pierre Rainer had been mates for years. They ran in a pack, and were going to make her life a living hell. He’d been right. He’d run back to Pierre and Arthur and boasted of how he’d made her quiver and cry.

  The ferocity of his attacks increased. He stuck labels on the back of her chair at work with ‘we are watching you’ and ‘everyone hates you.’ She found funeral notices with her name on them in her desk drawer. He wrote ‘whore’ and ‘slut’ in the dirt and dust that appeared on her car. Laughed and scoffed when she walked past. Paranoia kicked in when she saw him whispering to other members of staff who would laugh as she walked by. He placed obscene and nasty drawings depicting her as a stick figure on the workplace notice board. Her name scrawled above the figure with oversized tits, down on hands and knees, being fucked by a dog. Everyone laughed. Samuel even hacked her work e-mail and changed her position title from Manager to maggot – anything to instil humiliation and embarrassment. It was mental torture. Paranoia was her constant companion. His punishment would befit his crimes. Samuel Easton would be seen for the prick he was.

  Sitting in her car she watched and waited. A wig, cap and sunglasses aided in her disguise. No one would recognise her car. No one would pay attention to a woman who appeared to be talking on a mobile phone, in a new model Ford sitting two doors down on the opposite side of the road from Samuel Eas
ton’s house.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  T

  he first glimpse of the morning sun peeked out from behind the clouds. New light revealed colour and life. The air was cool. All was still. All was quiet. A single light shone from inside Samuel’s brick Californian bungalow. His well-maintained and solid-looking house was set back from the roadway. It was a weekday, and he would soon leave for work. His wife would follow shortly after with their daughter. Pulling back the sleeve to her large jacket, Bridget glanced at her watch. Her attack was rapidly approaching. Nerves began to flutter in her stomach. Fear she would be caught began to create doubt. The steering wheel was slick beneath her sweaty hands. Perspiration trickled from beneath her arms. Bridget glanced over her shoulder checking that everything she required was safely stashed behind the passenger seat. It was. She was prepared. The windows in her car began to fog up, so she cracked her driver’s-side window and focused on his house. Waiting.

  A group of exercise junkies ran past, their chatter loud and startling. It launched her into a painful memory. She was back at Wolf Industries...

  She’d just arrived at work and was sitting at her desk when the telephone rang. She attempted to answer it, not knowing the handset had been stuck to the receiver. The telephone smacked her in the face. Her right cheekbone began to throb. Laughter erupted. She dropped the telephone. Tears welled in her eyes and she grabbed for a tissue. Pulling hard she got more than she bargained for. She screamed. Attached to the tissue was a large hairy spider. It all happened so quickly that she hadn’t the time to realise it was plastic. She burst into tears and ran from her office. Echoes of laughter erupted, followed her as she fled to seclusion of the bathroom. Her cheek was bruised and pulsating. She was embarrassed, upset, and humiliated. Fearful as to what would happen next, she hid in a cubicle.