The tranquillity of the countryside gave Sarah little comfort. For the first time in her career she was perplexed by indecision; to tell her board members of Richard Caswell’s unscrupulous behaviour in marketing PKL shares, or join in his deceit. Even on her walk she became confused over which path to follow. Her normal route to the right led through pine and dappled sunlight, the left fork traversed meadowland to Rattlers Wood, a place of dark and heavy deciduous trees, a place never visited.
She chose the left fork. Logic told her it was foolish, she would be late back for her meeting, late back to reveal that for two years PKL had used subliminal psychotic induction to influence sales and make their games the best selling in Europe.
Five days ago she had been the first person ever to reach level ten and walk through the gate into Kay-ling’s Garden of Serenity. But for the first time, the screen showed graphics without action. Without the distraction of moving characters her keen eyes saw the flickering pulse and read the same as the constant thought in her mind. Buy PKL shares. Realisation and anger came immediately. Throughout hundreds of hours playing PKL, Caswell had influenced her to buy shares. She held ten percent of stock. To tell the truth would hurt the finances of every shareholder.
Ahead of her, at the boundary of Rattlers Wood, raucous crows tussling on the ground caused her to hesitate. Go into the forest or turn back?
More crows sat on the wire, all watching her with bright, hard eyes. Those on the ground were fighting over the carcass of a dead ewe, the victim of some dog. They picked out its eyes and squabbling greedily as they pluck putrid flesh.
Sarah turned away. She wanted the solace of rural England, not its dark side.
A fence post gave support as she braced herself to precariously straddle over wire. She had no right to be there. Rattlers Wood was private, but somehow as if in a dream, she had visualised it for weeks, a beautiful place, a place of sanctuary.
Trees enclosed her and she returned to thought. Accumulation of wealth was no excuse. Children played computer games. Subliminal psychotic induction had the premise of evil.
She found the clearing as imagined; she had seen it many times. Where? She thought, how? “Take off your clothes,” she whispered. “Buy shares, visit Rattlers Wood. Oh my God!”
“Knew you’d come,” a voice called. “Shame about the clothes, but don’t worry, I’ll deal with them.”
So well did his camouflage blend with the trees she did not see him until he moved.
“I’ve been watching you, waiting on you for days.”
“What do you want? I don’t carry money.” She fumbled for her mobile.
His speed was startling. She started to run but the next moment was full stretch on the ground. One of his hands pinned her throat, strangling her voice as another hand unfastened her trousers. She thrashed and kicked, startling crows out of the trees and into the sky. The next moment she was turned over, her face rubbed into coarse grass, her trousers yanked around her ankles.
“Welcome to Zoby’s world,” he said from behind, pressing her shoulders
to the ground. She screamed again, screamed to the crows and the empty forest.