Shelby Rivers only has a few months of secondary school left when, along with a group of friends, she narrowly escapes with her life after a terrifying car accident, thanks to the kindness of a complete stranger. As she recovers, Shelby realizes her friends are no friends at all. Years later, she feels compelled to carry out a meticulously crafted plan to exact her revenge, in an attempt to wipe away the painful memories. When Shelby returns to her hometown after a considerable absence, she finds that although the landscape has changed, her feelings have not. After gathering information on her so-called friends with the sole purpose of ruining their lives, Shelby is quickly sobered when she realizes that she too has been the focus of someone else's attentions, and this person has pieced together her catalogue of deceit. Once Shelby puts her vengeful plan into motion, there is no one left to catch her fall-except, once again, a complete stranger. In this engaging tale, deception envelops a dysfunctional quest for absolution as a woman faces the demons from her past once and for all.

Haunting My Ghosts

A Novel ExperienceBy Noëlle Blake

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2012 Noëlle Blake
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4759-6014-3

Chapter One

Think and Become Thin

Opening my eyes, I was greeted by the voracious Sunday morning sunlight streaming in through the venetian blinds. I stretched, turned, and lay in bed a while longer, enjoying the luxury of a lie-in. I smiled at the simplicity of one of life's undervalued pleasures. Usually for me there was some form of work to be done, like a trip to the local library to trawl through another reel of microfiche, but not today. Some time ago, I had set the wheels in motion for phase one of my plans, and for now at least, I just had to ensure that everything stayed on track. Today I could drop my guard and relax.

Home was currently a rented two-bedroom ground-floor apartment in an area called Bell Bridge, in Sandenham. The main bedroom and lounge looked out onto the newly modernized and beautifully reconstructed canal side. The replica cobbled walk and the old locks that leisurely meandered their way through the town told tales of a bygone era to the contrasting architecture, whose smooth cylindrical ears listened keenly, twitching from time to time as sun reflected off glass and chrome exteriors of the new shopping complex beyond.

Although it was a gorgeously bright morning, the early morning chill was still evident. Winter was ending, but the gloom of the previous season was reluctant to relinquish its hold on the surrounding frost-kissed habitat. I curled myself into the foetal position and drank in the tranquillity experienced through all my senses: the softness of the brushed cotton bed linen against my skin, the smell of spiced apple from the scented candle on the dressing table, and the calming sounds of birds twittering in the trees behind the courtyard. Momentarily, my head was clear. A mind devoid of planning, plotting, or pain, I savoured the moment and then slowly uncurled.

Today's fun was to come in the form of the Green Lawns Spa and Gardens. It was my friend Imogen's birthday. We had met at university in West Hampton, about a hundred miles from Sandenham, where she was completing a business and finance qualification and I was doing my degree in art and media studies. We'd shared a room at our halls of residence during our first year and had stayed in touch ever since. We were about the same age; our birthdays were exactly six months apart. For hers, she wanted to go to a health spa for the day, to get pampered, plucked, and quite possibly peeled for the finale of her self-confessed metamorphosis. I think she grudgingly mentioned exercise at some stage in the conversation too, but the point wasn't laboured. If I knew Imogen, any form of exercise would only be carried out with the sole purpose of creating a calorie deficit, which could be combined with the day's remaining calorie allowance, which would then allow her to confidently consume copious amounts of alcohol to make up for it. Personally, I was looking forward to the exercise but was less enthused about having all manner of chemical evil performed on my favourite layer of epidermis.

I called for a taxi and arrived at the expansive Green Lawns Spa ahead of Imogen. My ascension up the long tree-lined gravel driveway to the courtyard with the stone fountain in the middle was an experience in itself, let alone being surrounded by the decadent interiors of the former stately home. Quietly seated in reception while I waited for Imogen, I instinctively corrected my posture and re-crossed my legs at the ankles, trying not to tap my foot impatiently.

Imogen arrived at twelve minutes past ten, looking stunning.

"Wow!" I exclaimed, opening her slightly parted beige trench coat for a better look. "Immy, you look amazing," I said genuinely. Imogen beamed.

"It's been a bloody hard nine-month slog to achieve it, but it has been so worth it." Imogen's grin was testament of how proud she was of her efforts to shed the three stones of weight that she had struggled with for nearly twice as many years.

"Well done. I can't believe how great you look," I said, still stunned, still staring. "You didn't even mention you were trying to lose weight again."

"I know, but I got to the point where I needed to stop talking about it and just do it instead," she said with a smile. "Anyway, look who's talking. You've been working out yourself ... and that dress!" I did the required twirl for extra effect as she spoke.

"Well," she carried on, imitating an American accent, "that body has got `take me now' all over it. You go, girl." We both laughed.

"Okay, come on. We'd better get checked in; I've got so much to tell you." I could see from the sparkle in her eye that there was gossip that she was just itching to divulge. Imogen had a great personality; she was excitable, kind-natured, and could talk her way out of anything. Even though we didn't get the chance to meet up very often, we seemed to be able to pick up where we left off without any real effort.

At the desk, we received the keys to our twin room for the day and a brief outline of what our schedule would consist of. We were handed scented lilac bags with numerous complimentary items inside and then introduced to Raul, who would be our personal assistant during our stay. Raul carried our bags, and showed us to the room we were sharing.

"I will be available for you in the east wing once you have finished your morning session. Will you need anything else for the moment?" Raul asked, placing our bags on the chaise opposite the bed.

Imogen eyed him suggestively before answering. "No, thank you. I think that will be all ... for now."

Shaking my head and tutting at her, I placed my own query. "Once we're changed, do we just make our way to the gym?"

"That is correct, madam. You will find the gym on the ground floor. The programme you have also contains all the details and locations for each session."

"Okay, great," I enthused. "Thank you, Raul."

"Yes, thank you, Raul," Imogen added.

"You are most welcome," Raul said professionally, turning to leave the room.

I laughed at Imogen. "Relentless."

"What?"

"You were drooling all over poor Raul."

"I was not!"

"You were so letching."

"Well, what exactly did he mean, anyway, about whether there was `anything else he could do for us'? A bit suggestive, don't you think ... while he's showing us to our room?"

"Eww! He was just doing his job and trying to be professional about it, even though he was probably shaking under the pressure of your stare!"

"I wasn't staring. That was my subtle I'd-like-to-get-to- know-you better sort of look." Imogen walked over to the mighty oval-shaped mirror on the wall above an ornate side table and demonstrated her point.

Laughing even harder, I said, "Personally, I think it's less get to know you better and more I'm going to eat you alive."

"Umm, hello, it's my birthday, and the birthday girl is always right, remember," Imogen announced, waving her hand in the air.

"Don't you mean the customer?"

"Let's not split hairs, honey. What do you think of the room, anyway? Huh, did the girl do good?" Imogen asked, nodding her approval of her own choice.

"I love it," I replied, looking around at the flocked sage-and-ivory wallpaper, the gold gilded mirrors, and the elaborate highly polished maple wood furniture. There was a huge armchair near the expansive window, the upholstery of which matched the decadently draped cream-and-gold jacquard curtains.

"Isn't it fabulous?" Imogen...