Chapter One

The weather forecaster had said that with the low pressure hanging over practically the whole of the country at the moment, the combination of still air, change in temperature etc. etc., there was a high possibility of fog. Motorists and others travelling to work the next morning could experience some problems.

"There had better not be," said Chris, as she prepared for bed.

"Better not be what?" asked Rob, sleepily.

"Fog," Chris replied. "The man said there might be fog in the morning and I say that there had better not be. I take my exams tomorrow and I can't afford to get held up because the buses can't run on time."

Chris was a third year student at the local teaching hospital and Rob worked in the administration section of the same hospital so that, under normal circumstances, it was only a short bus ride away from their apartment.

On the odd occasion, if there were any problems with traffic jams, strikes or fog, then they found it easier to allow for the extra time and simply walk to work.

There hadn't been a real 'pea souper' of a fog for years. Smokeless zones, catalytic converters and a multitude of other things had helped to prevent that but the next morning proved such things were still possible. When Chris looked out of the window at first light, a blanket of grey blotted out the view and it was not possible to see the proverbial hand in front of your face.

"The traffic looks as if it is snarled up already," she said, turning to Rob. "The walk will do us good, although I don't fancy breathing in that pollution."

"You can always wear that surgical mask you always seem to be wearing at the hospital. It might help to improve your looks."

She threw the newspaper at him, then left the room to get ready. Half an hour later they were walking down the street, dodging through the fog bound traffic and cutting through side streets wherever they could to try and avoid breathing in as little of the fumes as possible.

"I do hope that I get through these exams today," sighed Chris. "I think that whatever happens, I'm going to do something tonight, either in celebration or consolation."

"Oh, you'll be all right," reassured Rob. "You've passed every other exam with flying colours and I’m quite certain this will be no exception. It's your last exam and a foregone conclusion."

"I hope you’re right," said Chris, tucking her arm in his as they crossed the fog enshrouded park, then changed the subject. "Well, what shall we do tonight?"

"How about ..." Rob paused and looked at his girlfriend.

"How about a bit of bondage? Some sort of bondage game. Something similar to the game we played last time."

Chris pulled his arm closer. "Yes. I’d like that. It’ll give me something to look forward to when those rotten old professors are asking me all those stupid questions."

"Have you any special ideas for the game?" Rob asked.

"I'll leave it up to you. It will give you something to think about while your doing that boring old desk job of yours."

"It’s not a boring old desk job and anyway ..." he never did finish the sentence.

They had crossed the road from the park and were now walking along a road of large Victorian style, terraced houses; which at one time, would have housed a family complete with servants. These days they were almost all converted into flats. This was bed-sit land and most were occupied by students from the nearby colleges, which included the teaching hospital where Chris and Rob worked.

What had interrupted Rob and stopped him in his tracks was a middle aged lady leaning against the iron railings of one of the larger terraced houses. She was crying, her head tucked into her arm, noisily sobbing.

Rob had stopped within a few feet of her and turned to say: "I know it’s none of my business but can I help in any way?"

Chris pulled at his sleeve, feeling sorry for the woman but not wanting to get involved and then, thinking better of it, put her arm round the woman's shoulders and tried to comfort her. They were in plenty of time so a few minutes trying to comfort someone in distress seemed the least she could do.

"It's my husband," the woman mumbled into her sleeve.

"Your husband?" repeated Chris. "Is he ill?"

"Upstairs," the woman pointed up the steps to the front door, then buried her head in her arm again.

Chris noticed that the woman had exceptionally nice hands and couldn't help thinking that perhaps she wasn't as old as her hair and clothes indicated. Dismissing the thought as totally irrelevant, she squeezed the woman's shoulders and urged her to go into her home, by saying. "Come on then. I'm a doctor, or will be by this time tomorrow." She looked at Rob and pulled a bit of a face and he looked skyward as if to say `some hope!' Then, urged on by the couple, the woman struggled up the steps, opened the door and walked inside.

"Up there," she pointed and Chris led the way. They climbed several flights of stairs, up to the top floor, to enter a room that the woman indicated.

Chris opened the door and stepped inside and found herself in a reasonably large room which probably appeared larger than it really was, due to the fact that it was devoid of any furniture, apart from two single beds and a chair. The curtains were drawn but there was sufficient daylight available, to see that there was no-one in either bed, or indeed, anyone that she could see in the room at all.

She turned to question the woman just as the door slammed shut and to see Rob standing directly behind, with his back to her, facing not the woman, as she had expected but a bizarre figure standing with a gun pointed directly at Rob's head. That the figure held a gun was bad enough but what was totally bizarre was the fact that the figure was dressed as if it were going to an operating theatre. She was quite tall and slim and by the way she stood, probably had a good figure. All that could be seen of her was her eyes, which were bright blue and, peeping from under the head covering, just a hint that her hair was blonde. The remainder of her body was hidden under the green operating gown, green head cover, white rubber boots, rubber surgeon’s gloves and a white surgical mask, which was pulled up as high as it would go without obstructing her vision through those bright blue eyes.

Of the distraught lady, there was no sign.