Obsessions. (A Julique story)

Chapter One.

Head pounding, ears ringing, and stomach queasy, Doctor Julia Hoffman sat at her desk in her office, exhausted firstly from another of her infamous hangovers and secondly from the 10 year old boy who had been spinning to her one of his many, detailed anecdotes. Upon his heavily awaited exit, Julia propped her elbows up on her sturdy desk, and her head followed suit, resting her temples in the palms of her petite, pink manicured hands. "My God." She sighed to herself in exasperation before lifting her face from her hands, reaching towards the top drawer in the desk she was currently sat at, flicking through the many pill canisters that had been ordered for patients, yet she often delved into such a hefty supply.  Once her deft fingers had found the appropriate medication, with expertise, she twisted the cap in a swift movement, pinched a pair of pills between her peony fingernails and tossed them into her mouth, before throwing her head back with a swig of bourbon, the medication would now disperse into her system, it's desired effect occurring within a few short, head pounding, palms sweating moments. 

Likewise, another woman in Collinsport, only a few minutes drive from where the doctor sat in shambles, was sat at a particularly sturdy wooden desk. She was not alone, however, but was in a meeting with some rather rotund, idiotic fishermen. This particular businesswoman was growing tired of the tales these, notably repulsive men, and she had better things to occupy her sharp mind with than fables of such mundane matters. "Enough!" The blonde ordered in a barking tone, her hypnotic, ice blue eyes piercing every wrinkled face in the room. As she had barked such an order, the palm of her slender hand had slapped down on the table, the sound of such an action reverberated around the room, bouncing violently off the four walls that surrounded them. Like minion responding to master, the fishermen stood and filed out of the room without a second word. As the door slipped shut in it's frame, the closeted witch propped her feet up on her desktop, kicking off the high heeled boots she had been wearing which had only extended her height. Recently, the problems that Angelique Bouchard of Angel Bay had pushed away all her many years, two hundred and twenty five, to be exact, yet she appeared only in her early thirties, were fogging her usually articulate mind. The trauma she had faced as a child and a youth had caught up to her, and it seemed now, that she, no matter how powerful a witch she was, could no longer rid them from her memory. Unsure exactly how to approach such an idea of acknowledging her troublesome past and present, her mind resided on the psychiatrist who inhabited the house of the Collins family she so despised. Angelique had thought of Julia Hoffman softly from time to time, she had no qualms with the woman, and was rather drawn to the alcoholic. She had always been fascinated by the orange haired woman, and was finding it hard to find a reason not to go and find Julia then, to drive to Collingwood and let the doctor fix her many overwhelming problems, as the witch had no doubt in her mind that Julia could fix such issues with just a few soft words. After several moments of failed debate within her mind, the witch stood up and pulled on her boots, before heading swiftly out of her office and to her red Plymouth Barracuda that she had parked outside Angel Bay hours earlier. Briskly fixing her already perfect head of platinum hair and reapplying her scarlet lipstick before smiling that ever so famous Angie grin. After a turning of keys in the ignition and a steady foot on the accelerator, the most successful businesswoman in Maine sped off to the quarters of the Collins family, moments later arriving before the stairs and with a sweep of a slender arm, her door was thrust open and she strutted purposefully towards the heavy double doors of the Collins residence. After several, heavy handed knocks with the metal knocker attached to the door, the house servant, Willie came to the door, just as grumbling as usual. 'Keep your damn panties..' his garbled voice rang out as he jerked open one door to see the tall, statuesque figure of Angelique Bouchard, the woman that every man and many women lusted endlessly for. 'On.' he finished, eyebrows furrowed as he concentrated on the red smirk adorning her face. "I'll try." the gravelly voice of the witch responded, entering past the mildly drunk Willie, heading off in the direction to Julia's office, which she remembered very clearly, if not perfectly - her previous intrigue had sent her eye wandering the quarters of the psychiatrist a few times. Once at the door of Julia Hoffman's office, she stopped in her path, briefly arguing with herself whether it was a bad idea to disturb Julia from any work that  she may be in the midst of, but soon, confident, level headed Angelique returned to her senses, straightened her skirt - it was the one with splits, she then mentally recalled a compliment Julia had given her once on it and a small smile, a genuine smile, twitched on her lips. After a sharp intake of breath, the witch raised her hand to the door and knocked, this time as a normal person might knock, only once.