Our Little Secret: The most gripping debut psychological thriller you’ll read this year

by Darren O’Sullivan

  They wanted to know why he had broken into the residence in Ely. But the questions had become overpowering and Steve couldn’t focus. They pushed him despite the doctor insisting he needed rest and before they left they asked if he knew who attacked him. For a second he didn’t, then the image of his best friend shot into his mind. Before Steve could begin to tell them about Chris he closed his eyes. Unable to stay awake.

  ***

  With Steve asleep the doctor ushered the officers out of the room, who quickly lost interest and left, asking Kristy to give them a call once Steve was ready to talk. Kristy was left to look out of the window of Steve’s hospital room, and wait. She felt relieved that after nearly twenty-four hours he was awake and knew who she was. It was a good sign. The nurse who was with the doctor filled in his charts and gave her weak smile.

  ‘Can I get you a cup of tea, Mrs Patterson?’

  ‘Please.’

  The nurse smiled again and left. Returning the room to silence. Knowing he was okay allowed her to reflect on the past day. There had been a knock on Steve and Kristy’s front door just before eleven p.m. the night before. When she opened it wearing a dressing gown and slippers, two police officers were there. A PC Hull, and another one whose name she couldn’t remember.

  She knew straight away something was terribly wrong with Steve. For all her husband’s faults he wasn’t one who didn’t come home at night without letting her know first. PC Hull, a huge but softly spoken man, told her that her husband had been found in a house in Ely. He had been injured and was on his way, via an ambulance, to Addenbrooke’s. They stepped inside and told her to get some things; they would take her to him.

  She had questions running through her mind as she panic-dressed. She wanted to know what sort of accident he had been involved in. How bad was he? What was he doing at a house in Ely?

  As she got into the back of their police car she finally asked one.

  ‘Is my husband going to be all right?’ They couldn’t answer directly, instead told her he was in the best hands.

  When she got there Kristy wasn’t allowed to see him straight away. He was in surgery. X-rays showed a small fracture on his skull, some swelling, but not as much as they first thought given the state of him when he came in. When he was finally moved into recovery in the early hours of the morning she was finally allowed to be with her husband. Seeing him made her choke back a sob. A nurse gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, but still, nobody could tell her that everything was going to be okay.

  It broke her heart to look at him, but she did so anyway. His head, heavily bandaged and with bruising that ran down the right side of his face. His right eye swollen shut. His eyelids dark, his skin ashen. The rhythmic beeping of his heart rate monitor giving the only indication he was actually alive. She had sat with him all day and in that time the shock had fully subsided and had been replaced with exhaustion.

  ***

  The police had questions, most like Kristy’s own. Apparently, no one had any idea what he was doing at a house in Ely. It belonged to a late Catherine Walker, handed down to her daughter who they hadn’t been able to find yet, and it had remained unlived in for the best part of two years. Kristy didn’t know anyone with the name Walker.

  The police asked more questions about who Steve associated with. Did he have any known enemies? They quizzed her about the connection to the small fenland city. She knew of none. Without any answers it became clear Steve was leading a double life of some kind. She tried to call Chris. If anyone knew what Steve might have been up to it would be him. He didn’t pick up.

  After the police had gone and the doctors’ visits moved from every thirty minutes to every few hours, all Kristy could do was listen to the continuous beeping and wait. Wondering what Steve had gotten himself into and whether he would wake up. She tried Chris again, his phone going straight to voicemail. Something fired in the back of her mind, a question about Chris. No doubt implanted by her husband’s doubts recently. But she dismissed it. It had been one hell of a twenty-four hours.

  ***

  Lost in her own thoughts about her horrid and confusing day Kristy didn’t notice Steve wake again.

  This time his vision coming back to him a lot quicker; this time knowing where he was. But, due to the wearing anaesthetic, the events that led to his head needing to be patched together were hazy. Turning his head he saw his wife, her head on her hands, looking out of the hospital window. He didn’t speak at first, just looked at her. The way her jawline angled almost ninety degrees from her small ear. Her delicate nose, narrow and sharp. Her large blue eyes, looking out of the window, lost in a daydream. He didn’t remember them ever looking so clear, like an ocean. Her lips were slightly parted, her breathing not as calm as it should be.

  ‘Kristy.’

  She turned, her eyes wide, her open mouth turning into a smile. Steve tried to sit himself up.

  ‘Hey, no don’t move. I’ll use this.’

  Picking up the bed’s remote Kristy gently raised the backrest till Steve was sat up. Not fully, but not lying down either.

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  His voice was tired, distant, but more like his than half an hour before. ‘Sore.’

  ‘I bet, darling. Can I get you anything?’

  ‘Can I have a drink?’

  ‘Of course; let me get a nurse.’

  Kristy tiptoed from the room, leaving Steve to listen to his heart rate monitor beeping. Its pulses around two a second. It was a little quick, but not dangerously so. Leaning forward on his right arm, careful not to catch any tubes that were in it, he reached to the back of his head, slowly towards the place where Chris had hit him. He ran his fingers through the smooth patch of skin where they had had to shave it before he felt the first of the staples that were holding his head together.

  He wasn’t sure if it actually hurt touching it or if it was psychosomatic, but he winced and pulled his hand away. Looking up he saw Kristy watching him. A sadness and resolve in her gaze.

  ‘How bad is it?’

  ‘Pretty bad, Steve. What the hell were you doing in that house?’

  ‘Trying to find Julia.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Kristy, I don’t think she’s in Australia.’

  As if on cue the nurse arrived with a jug of water and two glasses, followed by the same two officers who he had spoken with half an hour before.

  ‘Mr Patterson, how are you feeling?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Good, we are sorry to press, but do you remember anything about what happened? We just want to find out who did this to you.’

  Steve began to speak but stopped himself. He’d forgotten about Sarah; she was going to his house.

  ‘You need to get to his house.’

  ‘Whose house?’

  ‘Chris Hayes.’

  ‘Is he the man who attacked you?’

  ‘Yes, and there’s a girl in serious danger.’

  Chapter 46

  10.45 p.m. – March train station

  90 seconds.

  Chris didn’t remember falling. All he knew was that he was now sat on the floor on the empty platform, and tears rolled from the corners of his eyes and down the bridge of his nose. Somehow, reliving that night felt more painful than it had when it happened. There was no longer a disconnection to it. There was no shock to help protect him.

  The image of Julia’s open eye looking back at him lifelessly as he scooped up the final handful of mud to cover her face. He didn’t know why he hadn’t closed her eye first. But whatever the reason the image stuck with him. She was gone. Buried in a ditch under a few inches of soil.

  After climbing back up the bank he sat beside his car, allowing the cold rain to wash the dirt off of his skin and clothes. Washing the monster away with it. Allowing him to cry. Sobbing long and hard until he had nothing left. Chris placed his good hand on the ground to stand and felt something under it. Grabbing the object he held it up. A small back stone, much
like how he now viewed himself. His heart cold and hard and black. He subconsciously put it in his pocket. Not knowing how important it would become to him.

  He couldn’t recall the drive home or that he had to stop three times to be sick. He didn’t remember stepping into their house and falling into the shower fully clothed, trying to wash blood off of his skin, both hers and his. He didn’t remember sitting on his bedroom floor, stitching his shoulder back together and how for the entire night he couldn’t get into his bed or that he couldn’t look in a mirror in case the monster was still there to mock his weakness in not being able to control his own body.

  All he could remember was thinking about that last image of Julia’s open eye being covered.

  It had stuck with him all this time.

  Chris rubbed his eyes; he needed to focus. His death was so close now. His release was so close he could almost hear his wife calling to him.

  60 seconds.

  He knew that in the next twenty-five seconds he would hear the train rumbling in the distance, coming towards him at speed, not stopping. He had counted it before. At this time of night he always heard the train thirty-five seconds before it arrived. Then, fifteen seconds later he would see the headlights of it, two beams cutting through the night, attracting him like a moth to a flame.

  At least that’s what it should have done. It had a month before. But it wasn’t so clear any more. He couldn’t visualize in the same way he had. He couldn’t remember what carriage he wanted to aim for or why. Again he asked himself: would he even fit between them? Taking Julia’s picture from his pocket he looked into her green eyes. The amber flecks pleading with him.

  ‘I’m going to do this, Julia.’

  Putting her picture back in his pocket he looked down the line, hoping it was a fraction early. He wanted it done. Finished. He wanted to atone. It wasn’t there.

  45 seconds.

  He wondered: what if things had been different? What if Sarah never turned up? What if he just did it a month before? Or what if he didn’t confront Julia but waited for her to come to him. What if he never read her diary, or did and divorced her or sought marriage therapy? What if that night when Steve rang years ago to tell him they were going out he said no and he and Julia never met? What if he didn’t steal that first kiss as the rain warmed his neck outside the taxi? What if he just handed himself in after she died? What if he told someone about the monster in him when he was a young man and knew there was a darkness most people didn’t have?

  ‘But none of those things happened,’ he told himself out loud. ‘You buried her in the mud and then you made a promise.’

  Yes, a promise – one he would keep. Taking a deep breath he focused. He would do it. He would make it all right again. He couldn’t hear the rumbling of the train on the track, but it was coming. He would end it all in about sixty heartbeats.

  Chapter 47

  20 minutes before

  10.25 p.m. – London Road, Peterborough

  I was startled awake by the sound of a car door slamming outside, and instinctively I tried to cover up my almost naked body and hide. As I pulled the cord binding my wrists, it bit into me and I cried out, a muffled nothingness behind my gag.

  There was another bang, much louder and I heard the front door crash open, slamming into the hallways wall, glass breaking, and lots of shouting.

  ‘Chris Hayes, this is the police. Identify yourself!’

  I couldn’t believe it. I wasn’t expecting to be found so soon. Looking at the clock, my eyes struggling to see the red LED digits through swelling in both eyes, I saw the time. He hadn’t done it yet. His train was 10.47. But I didn’t know what it meant. How did the police know what I knew? How did they know he needed arresting?

  I could hear boots hitting the wooden floors in his hallway, lots of them, and they moved through the downstairs of the house, shouting clear as they moved through the rooms not finding him.

  ‘Sarah, Sarah, are you here?’

  I didn’t know how they knew I was there. But it didn’t matter. I began to scream as loud as my gag would let me and banged my head against the radiator, trying to get their attention.

  I heard footsteps coming up towards me, and as the bedroom door flew open I was blinded by a torch beam shining in my face.

  ‘I’ve found her, in here. She’s alive. Get a medical team up here, quick!’

  The main light was thrown on and I closed my eyes to adjust. As I did I felt something land on my body. It made me jump despite me not wanting to. I opened them to the image of bear of a police officer with a thick red beard, who was knelt down beside me. The thing that had landed on my body was his coat, in an attempt to protect my dignity, like it mattered. As he spoke I could see a tenderness in his eyes. His voice was a lot softer than his image would suggest.

  ‘It’s okay, calm down. If you struggle you’ll end up hurting yourself more.’

  I could hear his words and I knew he was speaking the truth but my body wouldn’t listen. It kicked and tried to pull away my hands, the pain almost unbearable.

  ‘Sarah, it’s okay. You’re safe now. Look at me.’

  I did as he said and as soon as my eyes met his I could feel my body calm, my muscles relax, and although I was still terrified I knew it was going to be okay.

  ‘I’m going to remove this gag and we are going to get a medic to look at you. Try not to move.’

  I nodded and he carefully removed the tape holding my gag in but it still pulled, making my bottom lip bleed. I didn’t care though. As soon as he had done it the sock fell from my mouth and I took a deep breath in. One that was jagged and hard. A pain shooting down my left side as I did, forcing a cry out of my mouth.

  ‘Try to keep still. I know it hurts. We are going to get someone to look at you.’ The kind red-bearded policeman helped me catch my breath and offered me some water. Holding a fresh bottle to my lips as I greedily drank, spilling water down my chin and top as I did.

  ‘Slow down, slow down; you’ll make yourself sick.’ I nodded and he moved the bottle away.

  He asked me if I could talk and was I in any pain. Another officer was behind, first freeing me from the radiator, then cutting the cord off of my wrists. As they did blood flooded into them and my hands hurt badly. I brought them in front and tried to move my fingers. They wouldn’t do what I wanted them to. I looked at my hands, swollen so much they didn’t look like mine any more. The pain throbbed into them with each heartbeat.

  The kind policeman, who told me he was called Peter, gently massaged them, trying to bring them back to life. As he did I looked at the people in the room with me. There were six in all. Everyone looking at me with either sadness or relief. One, who looked a little younger than the others, was ashen. Our eyes met, and he asked if he could leave the room.

  As he left I caught my reflection in the mirror on Chris’s wardrobe. My eyes swollen so badly they looked shut, one had a deep cut running through it that had covered my face in blood. My bottom lip was spilt. I could see bruising on both of my arms. My left had a deep cut that had bled down my side and onto my lap from where he threw me and I had hit the bedside table edge.

  The jacket covered my breasts, but I could still see my left side, black through heavy bruising. With how much it hurt to breathe I was sure some of my ribs were broken. My neck had bruising also, shaped like fingers. There was a portable camcorder. Filming for evidence. I knew then I would never want to see it. A medical person stepped in to check me over, shining a torch in my eyes, hooking me up to a blood pressure monitor, examining the cuts and bruises to my face, and arm. She was talking to Peter, using words I didn’t understand. She checked my hands, wrists, and ribcage before conferring for a second and deciding I needed a body board to transport me due to bruising and swelling on my neck as well as my ribs.

  I felt myself begin to shake. Peter lowered himself so we were eye to eye and held my hands gently.

  ‘It’s okay, Sarah. It’s over and you’re safe now. We
’re going to get you to a hospital.’

  I wanted to say something but couldn’t. Instead I just nodded as the medic used more words I didn’t understand while she spoke into her shoulder radio. I looked at Peter, scared.

  ‘It’s all right, Sarah, I promise you. Is there anyone we can call?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Family?’

  I nodded again.

  ‘Great, don’t worry; we’ll find them, okay?’

  I couldn’t catch my breath. It was all over and I was okay, but the man I had fallen for was a killer and I knew that somehow I was very lucky to not have shared the same fate as his wife. My hands shook even more and it flooded through my body until my teeth were chattering despite not feeling cold.

  ‘Sarah, it’s okay. You’re safe. Take a breath, that’s it; take a deep breath.’

  Peter started breathing slowly, and I mirrored him. In, out, in out. It hurt like hell but it helped and I started to feel connected with my body again. With it came fresh pain to my wrists and ribs and a new one to my neck they had spoken of.

  ‘Sarah. Did Chris do this to you?’

  I couldn’t say it out loud; it hurt too much so I nodded my head at Peter.

  ‘Do you know where he might be?’

  I nodded again.

  ‘Where, Sarah? Where is the man who did this to you?’

  It took me three attempts to form the words. The pain in my neck from where he choked me caught them. Like broken glass, the words scratched their way into my mouth.

  ‘March train station. But I think you’ll be too late. He’s gone there to kill himself.’

  Chapter 48

  10.46 p.m. – March train station

  Chris waited for the sound of the train approaching. Waited to feel its deep rumbling throughout his body as it came ever closer. He tried not to let himself panic, as he looked at the clock. His train was running late. It sometimes did. He just hoped there wouldn’t be much of a delay. Regardless, his train was coming, coming to take him to his wife.