To Spill Blood

Chapter One: The Therapist

I first met my therapist when I was eight years old.

His name was Dr Balding, which was an aptly fitting surname for him, as he had virtually no hair. The few greasy strands he did have were combed over his raw pink scalp and were sort of... flaky. I remember walking into that room the first day and thinking to my young self, Oh dear, help me.

In his nasally voice, Dr Balding said, "Good morning, Claire."

"It's Bella," I had said quickly.

The therapist frowned. "It says here in my notes that your name is Claire Oswald. Is that incorrect?"

I sighed. "No, that's correct. But Claire is a horrible, boring, old-fashioned name. So I go by Bella."

It was quite obvious by his expression that he thought there must be something incredibly psychologically wrong with me if I deviated from my birth name to use something completely different. But instead of saying anything, Dr Balding clicked his pen and scrawled something on his clipboard.

He then threw Bella an easy but inquisitive smile. "So..." He paused. "Bella, then. Do you understand why your parents have asked you to come see me every week?"

I shrugged. I didn't really understand - I mean, they'd tried to explained their reasons why, calling me their beloved baby girl and that they just wanted to make sure I was safe, but it didn't make sense to me. "I guess."

Taking my answer to mean no, Dr Balding said, "Your parents are concerned, Bella, that you might have some issues that you would feel more comfortable to confront with me. Now, from what your parents told me -" he flipped a piece of paper up off of his clipboard - "you seem to have a little... fascination."

"It's a hobby," I corrected. I sighed. For eight and a half years old, I was strangely articulate and mature, which is why my hobby had stunned everyone around me into thinking I was insane. "I like to collect stuff about murder."

Dr Balding's face didn't give anything away, but his eyes did. They were dark and almost void of anything, but something flickered in them as he leaned forward eagerly and asked, "What kind of stuff, Bella?"

"Newspaper articles, magazine pieces, things I print off of Mother's computer." I bit my tongue. A little girl calling her mother Mother instead of Mum or Mummy didn't exactly sound normal. I cleared my throat. "I also go to car boot sales and charity stores and second-hand shops to buy books and videos and DVDs about criminal psychopaths. Fa- I mean, Daddy, he records documentaries on the telly for me, too."

I opened my dark blue Little Miss Sunshine handbag and pulled out a chunky camera. I quickly snapped a picture of Dr Balding.

"What was that, Bella?" he asked in a gentle but firm voice.

"I'm going to put together a file on you," I said determinedly. I had lost my tooth the week before and I had a gap in my bottom teeth that slightly slurred my words. "What is your first name?"

"Okay, Bella, here I ask the questions," Dr Balding said politely.

"Just tell me what your first name is," I said, cocking my head to one side. "And your age, actually. In fact, when I come back next week, you can give me a piece of paper with all your details and I can make a profile."

Dr Balding pursed his lips. I wasn't testing his patience, so to speak, but I was giving him something to consider. On the one hand, he could refuse and try to get me to open up about my hobby. Or, he could agree and give away all his personal details in the blink of an eye.

It may sound like I did, but as an eight-year-old I didn't want his details so that I could track him down or stalk him or anything. I wouldn't do that even now as a sixteen-year-old. But I wanted to make a profile on him. I had over thirty profiles had made on people I knew; my parents, my aunt and uncle, my cousins, my teachers, even my dentist.

I also had one on myself.

Each file contained general facts, such as their names (forename, surname, and sometimes middle name), age, date of birth and addresses. It also contained more personal information, like if they had any health issues or if they had criminal records, et cetera. On my father's file, I had written about his six-week imprisonment when he was nineteen for public urination. Nothing got past me.

I had had to hack into the school systems to get all of my the school staff'a details, which had taken some extra help from one of the older lads in the school (bribed with a granola bar and a copy of a Batman comic). But I'd done it and I could now tell you everything you wanted to know about Class 3H's teacher, Miss Parker (like her type 1 diabetes) or the school caterer Mr Sobb (such as his clinical depression).

I knew everything about everyone that I associated myself with.

Dr Balding finally answered. "All right then," he said, but before I could grin he added, "on the condition that I get to see the file afterwards."

I raised an eyebrow. I didn't show my files to anyone, not even my parents, although they knew I had them. Each file was colour-coded and arranged alphabetically in a big storage box that I kept underneath my bed and locked with a padlock. The key to said padlock was hidden under a loose floorboard. Nobody was allowed to see them.

I shook my head. I'd pick up details on Dr Balding some other way. My files were too valuable to share with anybody else, especially some greasy buffoon with a fancy degree.

He scowled a little, but then smiled. "All right, Bella, that's fine." He stood up and walked to the door, holding it open for me to walk through. "Why don't you go wait in the patients room whilst I have a quick word with your parents?"

I nodded but inside I was curious. Even if I was just a regular eight-year-old and didn't have my analytical prowess, I would still have been able to tell that this man was cleverly trying to distract me whilst he told my parents what a hopeless case I was. So I stuck my hand out and said, "Let's not do this again, Dr Balding."

The therapist shook it, hesitantly, as if my little paw might reach out and clobber him. "That's up to your parents," he said.

"We'll see," I had replied, and I'd walked away, knowing I'd never see him again.

That was eight and a half years ago.

Now, just five months shy of my seventeenth birthday, I sat in Dr Balding's office with my arms crossed and my lips pursed.

"You know why you've come back, don't you, Claire?" Dr Balding asked. I didn't bother to reply, or to even correct him as he was goading me to do.

"You're here because of your obsession, Claire," he continued. "Because your obsession has now got you into trouble.

"Because you're now being accused of murder."

***

Hi! So this is my first proper novel and it's called To Spill Blood. It's about Bella, a sixteen-year-old who has always been obsessed with crimes and danger and violence ever since she was a little girl.

I just think I should point out that Bella isn't the villain of the book - she isn't a psychopath, and she isn't the murderer.

That doesn't mean she's innocent, though.

I hope you really like this book!

- Lauren x