Frances is getting ready to go on holiday in California and Las Vegas from Auckland. But once she arrives in the USA chaos ensues people begin to stalk and harass her and ends up drugged.
Harold her husband is a control freak, psychopath and vindictive narcissist, motivated to play mind games on Frances. This book provides a fictional account of a woman's experience of mental and emotional abuse at the hands of her narcissist vindictive husband and her fight for freedom and recovery for 25 years. No one would help me all this time. Descriptions of my book by the brilliant artist who created my wonderful book cover,
The disturbed mental state of the incognito man refers to the extremely bizarre world you were pushed into. A great classic horror story. Then you emailed me You would never believe this could happen in NZ. Eh!
You also want to make everyone in NZ aware of the extremely dark side of some peopleâs greed. His despicable actions have maimed me for life, yet the corrupt police will do nothing. They condone domestic violence. Eventually I will be vindicated.
Frances is getting ready to go on holiday in California and Las Vegas from Auckland. But once she arrives in the USA chaos ensues people begin to stalk and harass her and ends up drugged.
Harold her husband is a control freak, psychopath and vindictive narcissist, motivated to play mind games on Frances. This book provides a fictional account of a woman's experience of mental and emotional abuse at the hands of her narcissist vindictive husband and her fight for freedom and recovery for 25 years. No one would help me all this time. Descriptions of my book by the brilliant artist who created my wonderful book cover,
The disturbed mental state of the incognito man refers to the extremely bizarre world you were pushed into. A great classic horror story. Then you emailed me You would never believe this could happen in NZ. Eh!
You also want to make everyone in NZ aware of the extremely dark side of some peopleâs greed. His despicable actions have maimed me for life, yet the corrupt police will do nothing. They condone domestic violence. Eventually I will be vindicated.
As Frances readied herself for flight AA2 to Los Angeles
on Friday night, "fifteenth August 1997, she tried vainly.
to brush aside the humiliation and psychological abuse she
had been subjected to by the company she had worked for.
recently.
The Daphne-patterned drapes nestled next to the opened.
ranch slider door of the dining room. A wooden wrap-around
deck outside the door looked serenely over vacant land. On the
other side of the dining room was the lounge with a light green.
corner lounge suite and two Rimu China cabinets set in one.
corner. A television sat on a cream two-door cabinet that held.
dozens of videotapes, most of them Haroldâs; he was avid.
movie buff.
Seated at the dining table, Frances was a small, slim.
woman in her late "fifties. She flicked through her documents.
quickly, checking and rechecking. Her green eyes glanced at
the TV. She sighed. She was only allowed to watch when the
TV was free. It was too uncomfortable to watch the small TV in
the bedroom. Nervously she chewed her fingernails and
smoked one last cigarette.
âI intend to enjoy this trip,â she whispered, completely.
unaware that her nightmare was about to begin, one far
beyond the realms of reality that would last six whole years.
âFrances!â Harold yelled from the garage. âItâs time to
leave.â
âWonât be long,â she replied as she stubbed the butt into
the ashtray and rushed down the hall which led from the
dining room to the bedroom for her luggage. She dragged it to
the garage and rushed back to the dining room.
He never helps me.
Harold was five foot ten, stood with a slight bend at his
waist, and walked with a limp. Three and a half years after
they married Harold had a stroke and was left partially.
paralyzed.
His bushy grey hair half covered his ears and his sharp eyes.
pierced right through you. He had a long-hooked nose and
above these cruel thin lips, he had a bushy moustache.
In the privacy of his home, he was impatient, distant, aloof,
and self-destructive. Frances sometimes thought he had two.
personalities -; lots like his father, a Jekyll and Hyde. He never
wanted to socialize with France and at times was a loner.
Haroldâs appearance was all too deceiving.
He was popular, self-confident, and a plausible person. He
delighted in humiliating Frances in public whenever he could.
He was unfeeling to her sensitive nature despite her
persistent complaints. She had learned to cope with his
hurtful, sharp cutting barbs and sarcastic remarks. She loved.
him so much.
Harold entered the dining room from the hallway and closed.
the ranch slider. He picked up the "flowers Francesâ colleagues.
had given her yesterday, her last day at work.
âI will put these on the bookshop counter,â he said as he
limped off.
They drove in almost silence to Auckland Airport in
Haroldâs 1996 Toyota Hi Ace van, and she mused to herself that.
at least she would have a well-earned break.
Away from grumpy. He never wants to do anything or go.
anywhere.
Harold drew into the curb outside the terminal. The wide
glass doors opened immediately as she stepped on the rubber.
pads and struggled inside with her luggage. Queues of
impatient people waited at airline booths which lined the back.
wall.
Harold went and parked the van while Frances joined the
queue to book in. Then Harold returned to the terminal to meet
Frances.
Do not help me. Frances thought.
Harold leaned against a pillar as she joined him, her.
boarding pass gripped tightly in her hand. With a meagre peck
on her right cheek, he left.
âRather unusual, but at least I get a break from your
sarcasm,â she whispered.
With time to fill, she entered the departure lounge and
browsed the duty-free shops where merchandise was.
displayed on neat and tidy shelves. Liquor, perfumes,
toiletries, films, and cameras.
âMaâam, can I help?â enquired the young male assistant.
who approached her.
âIâll have a bottle of JB Gold, Black Heart Rum, and a bottle.
of Drambuie. Thank you.â Frances said.
âAlso, a carton of mild cigarettes.â She added.
âThese Iâll collect on arrival, take a carton with me.â
âArrival date, please.â The assistant asked her.
âTuesday, second Septemberâ
The young man completed the documents and handed her.
a receipt.
âIâve put thirty first August, maâam. The date does not
matter. You never know what can happen,â he said.
Strange remark, she thought as she cringed inside while she
tucked the receipt into her wallet and headed towards the
departure gate. She quickly brushed aside the remark and
climbed the steep stairs of the aircraft up to the cabin with its
pink and green interior and settled herself in the economy seat.
she had been allocated.
âAll passengers, fasten your seat belts. We will depart soon.
for Los Angeles for a twelve-hour "flightâ the captain said over
the intercom as she relaxed in her seat.
Frances sat idly gazing out the window as the plane.
ascended into the dark cloudy sky.
Frances was meeting her friend Rita in a few daysâ time in
Los Angeles. Rita had "own from Auckland to Memphis for the
twentieth anniversary of Elvis Presleyâs death, now Rita was.
"Flying back to Los Angeles to meet Francis.
Frances hoped to visit Catalina Island a one-hour boat trip.
from Los Angeles and walk Hollywood Boulevard, and visit the
Yosemite Valley nestled in the Sierra Nevada near Yosemite
National Park. From there they were traveling to San Francisco
and then Las Vegas to see the shows.
Houses and buildings below grew smaller. Their lights
twinkled in the dark beneath her as the 747 glided into the
clouds for the twelve-hour "flight.
When she woke with a start, she stretched and yawned.
Her cares and worries of the last few months were no longer on
her mind. The breakfast trolley rattled past. The crew, dressed.
in smart, fresh uniforms that matched the interior of the plane,
stopped, and served passengers as they moved along the aisle.
Frances became concerned when the hostess bypassed her but
consoled herself, she would be served soon.
âPancakes or eggs and bacon, maâam?â the hostess
inquired.
âPancakes, thank you,â Frances replied as she lowered the
tray table from the seat in front of her.
âEnjoy,â the hostess said as she placed the tray down in
front of Frances.
Frances was astonished when she lifted the aluminium.
warming cover off and peered at her breakfast. Pancakes
inedible hard brown burnt offerings and a dirty orange juice
container sat on her tray. Not one to complain, she bypassed.
her breakfast and rested until arrival at LAX,
Visibility was poor due to fog and the descent slow, but at
last they landed. The customs arrival hall was a big barn that.
had to cope daily with large volumes of passengers. She found.
her wait in the alien queue long and arduous.
Hot and muggy weather greeted Frances as she stepped.
outside the terminal pushing her trolley. The courtesy van for
her hotel, Halswell Inn LAX, was parked at the curb and she
climbed aboard.
Twenty minutes later, the door of the Inn swung open.
automatically and she was propelled into a smart tidy.
reception area, the lobby desk on the far side in front of her.
Nervously she handed her voucher over and waited while a
woman with a pin that said her name was Jean tapped on the
keyboard to confirm her reservation.
It didnât take long to find her room. She swiped her card in
the slot in the door and pushed it open. A double bed, bedside
cabinet, small table, and chair greeted her as she walked into
the pleasant room. A kettle, sachets of coffee, tea, milk and
sugar sat on the table beside the cups.
She heaved her luggage onto the rack set into the wall near the
open wardrobe and unzipped one. She pulled out a few clothes and
hung them on hangers. Then she slipped off her shoes, reached for
some brochures on the table and lay down on the soft bed.
Deep blue water with the sun shining on the ripples as the
ferry cruised over huge waves formed in her mind as she read.
about Catalina Island. Frances was agitated so she jumped off.
the bed, slipped on her shoes, and left her room, quickly.
turning back to make sure her door was locked before rushing.
towards the lift.
The doors swung open she stepped inside the lift and
pushed the button to take her to the lobby.
âHow do you get to Catalina?â Frances asked the lobby.
clerk.
âYou can use our courtesy van to LAX,â the clerk said,
pointing towards the entrance. âThe coach to the ferry is from
Long Beach.â
Back in her room she lay down exhausted and fell into a
deep sleep.
When she woke suddenly and glanced at her watch, she
reached for the compendium and perused the meal service.
menu and decided on a light meal in the Blue Room Bar.
Wandering into the bathroom, she eyed herself in the mirror,
applied fresh lipstick, and quickly combed her hair. Then she
grabbed her handbag and closed the door behind her. The
handle rattled as she checked the door, then she walked along.
the hallway to the lift. She entered the lift after a couple.
stepped out, then pressed the button for the Blue Room Bar.
The doorway to the Blue Room Bar was straight ahead.
when she stepped out of the lift. She strolled into the room.
Bright blue walls dazzled her as she seated herself in a booth. It
was a pleasant room. Booths with seating for six lined the
walls. After studying the menu, she decided on a steak.
sandwich on rye, with chocolate fudge cake for dessert.
A pleasant blonde waitress dressed smartly in cream and
blue approached with her notebook ready.
âAre you ready to order?â she asked in a soft, twangy voice.
âYes, thank you,â Frances replied and placed her order. âIâd
like a glass of dry white wine, too,â she added.
âYour wine, maâam,â the waitress said as she set the glass.
on the table a few minutes later. Ten minutes after that, her
meal arrived.
After she had finished, she sat and watched other guests as she
sipped the last of her wine. Then she signalled to the waitress
for the bill.
She felt relaxed and calm and couldnât wait to get to her.
bed and relax on the soft mattress. Before she went to bed, she
rang the cafeteria and ordered her breakfast for room service.
the next morning.
When I first started this book I was very unsure how I felt. I almost at one point thought about putting it down and not continuing because I just didn't feel connected to the story but then it hit a point where I seemed to just understand all of a sudden and it completely changed my reading experience. The synopsis did confuse me a bit too so it would make sense that I would take a while to blend myself into the novel. I think that the story here is brilliant and I will always absolutely adore a feminist story and I specifically love the way it's blended with horror to create not only emotional and psychological trauma for the character but also for us as a reader. I felt trapped by the story and even when I put it down, it's all that clouded my brain and sometimes I felt no choice but to come and read a few more pages for some relief.
I have nothing bad to say about the story. I think it takes something that we've seen done many times before but shapes it into something new and fresh. I felt so many emotions whilst reading, mostly being anger towards everyone. The way the author managed to manipulate the way I felt so easily with every page was impressive. I like the way the story progressed, the pacing was well done and I thought the ending was appropriate to the book and not too predictable but also not completely out of left field.
I do feel the writing style is going to be a bit like chalk and cheese to some people. As I said I felt completely baffled at first and I think a lot of that was to do with the writing style but it did grow on me with time and once I was used to it I was fine so if that seems to be a problem for anyone whilst reading, see if you can stick it out a little longer!