by Sibel Hodge
I dressed in a pair of jersey shorts and vest top, grabbed my bag, and headed out into the already-sweltering air. A few students jogged past me in running gear as I walked to the union. Outside on the terrace, a cleaner was picking up plastic cups and remnants of food wrappers. I fanned my face as I walked. Even now I couldn’t seem to cool down.
I found room three and opened the door. Eight students already sat cross-legged on mats in front of the… I didn’t know what to call him… Guru? Zen master?
‘Hi,’ Mr Guru said. He was slim built with long hair tied back in a ponytail. ‘Welcome to this morning’s guided meditation. This is your first time, right?’
‘Yeah.’ I smiled around the room at the other students, hoping to be noticeable in case anyone remotely cult-like wanted to approach me later. And no doubt I was very noticeable with my sweaty forehead and lobster face.
Mr Guru put his hands together in a prayer position. ‘Lovely to see you here. I’m Dave.’ That threw me for a moment. I was expecting him to be called something new-agey, like Arlo or Leaf.
‘I’m Becky.’ I gave a little wave around the room and spotted Curtis. He grinned at me, and my temperature spiked again.
‘Grab a mat, and we’ll start in a few minutes.’ Dave nodded towards a stack of soft mats in the corner of the room.
I took one, positioned it in a gap in the middle of the room, then sat down in a cross-legged position. Or I attempted to. Ouch. I wasn’t sure my hip flexors could take that for a whole hour. I lifted one butt cheek, then the other, trying to get comfortable.
‘Have you done any kind of meditation before?’ Dave asked me.
‘No.’
‘No worries. I’m glad you’re curious. With our practice, we’re able to tame the mind, release any tension or stress, and help to build patience, compassion, and generosity, or just simply live mindfully in the present moment.’
‘Sounds good,’ I said, but his ‘tame the mind’ phrase had jarred with me.
‘You don’t have to sit like that if it’s too uncomfortable. You can find any kind of position that feels good. Lean back against one of the walls, or even lie down, if you prefer.’
‘I’ll move over so then you can stretch out,’ a girl to my right with dreadlocks said. She shifted the position of her mat and sat down in a perfectly straight-backed lotus position.
‘Thanks.’ I smiled my appreciation then lay on my back, surreptitiously checking out the other students. They seemed a complete mixture.
Dave glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘Today we’re going to do a meditation for letting go of anxiety. Okay, let’s begin. Gently close your eyes. Relax the muscles in your body. Breathe in as deeply as you can through your nose. Hold the breath. Now push all the air out through your mouth. Breathe in deeply again. Hold. Let go of the air. Experience the chest rising and falling and the rhythm of your breath.
‘On the inhale, repeat in your head the word “calm”, On the exhale, repeat “relax”. Feel your mind calming and relaxing. Let go of any critical thoughts or tension. Become aware of how you feel. Give yourself permission to let go.’
The sound of deep breathing filled the room.
‘Now direct your awareness to your body, starting at your toes. Get in touch with any sensation you might feel and let it be. Move slowly on to your calves, your knees. Breathing. Calming. Work your awareness up to your thighs. Move up to your pelvis, your spine, where we can naturally hold a lot of tension…’
I woke up to someone shaking my shoulder. I opened my eyes, and Dave was kneeling beside me. Everyone else had left.
I sat bolt upright. ‘Oh! What happened? I usually have trouble trying to relax.’ I rubbed at my face, trying to wake up.
He observed me, head tilted to one side. ‘Yes, you seem like you have a lot of energy bursting to get out.’
‘How embarrassing. Sorry, you weren’t boring me or anything.’
‘You must’ve needed the rest. You need to listen to your body.’ He stood up lithely and picked up his mat. I bet he did yoga, too. ‘Did you enjoy it?’
‘I did, actually.’ Weirdly, I hadn’t been expecting to. I felt energised. Like I’d had an extra night’s sleep. But was it possible that people could be hypnotised through a guided meditation? That I’d been subjected to some kind of subliminal messaging? I remembered listening to Dave’s voice and the sound of the others, but then… nothing. ‘Is there any difference between meditation and hypnosis?’ I eyed him carefully as he rolled his mat up.
‘Absolutely. The biggest difference is that meditation is induced purely by yourself. You have full self-awareness throughout. Whereas hypnosis is induced by another person, and if you’re under hypnosis, you’d be in a state of trance or unconscious. But even with hypnosis, the person hypnotised would still be in control. They’d be able to wake themselves up.’
‘But I was unconscious just then.’
He smiled. ‘No. You were just asleep.’
‘Right.’ I stood up and yawned.
‘Thank you for showing up on the mat today. If you fancy doing yoga, I teach the active student yoga classes.’
Sherlock Holmes had nothing on me. ‘Great. I might do that.’
He turned around and put his mat on top of the pile in the corner. ‘Cool. Have a peaceful and happy day,’ he said before leaving the room.
I put my mat on top of his and went out into the corridor. No one was waiting to ambush me into cult recruitment. No one was lurking around to convert me to Buddhism or a radical splinter group. No one was there at all.
Chapter 19
Toni
I’d tossed and turned most of the night, unable to settle. Whenever I almost drifted off, a sickening image of Marcelina’s head cracking on the pavement reared its way into my brain, the sound reverberating through my skull.
I rang the hospital at just gone 7.00 a.m., and Marcelina’s condition had worsened to what they called a ‘vegetative state’, due to widespread damage to her brain. I felt sick as I got off the phone, wondering if her parents had arrived at the hospital yet. What a terrible thing to hear about their daughter.
I hadn’t eaten since the previous lunchtime, but I still couldn’t face the thought of food. Instead, I forced down a glass of orange juice to keep up my energy levels before I headed to the university.
My car was the first one outside the Student Counselling Services block as I parked up. I unlocked the main door then locked it again behind me. We didn’t officially open until 9.00 a.m., and I didn’t want to be disturbed. I walked down the corridor, past reception, and into my office. I slid the key in the lock and went to turn it, but the door was already unlocked.
I frowned as I pushed open the door, certain I’d locked it when I left yesterday. Client confidentiality was of utmost importance. The database for inputting our client records wasn’t connected to the internet, so it couldn’t be hacked, which was something that had been put in place about six months before I’d arrived, after an ex-student had got into the uni’s system and leaked confidential information about other students online as a revenge vendetta. But we also had written patient notes, which we kept in filing cabinets, that we took during sessions or shortly afterwards so we had a backup.
I glanced around the room. Everything seemed normal. Had I just forgotten to lock the door in the midst of everything after I’d rushed through typing Marcelina’s notes into the system before leaving?
I sat at my desk and turned on the laptop. I entered my password and looked at the screen. It all looked okay. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe I was overreacting. But I had a sixth sense that something wasn’t right.
I went to the filing cabinet in the corner of the room and opened the drawer. I’d slowly built up a client base in the last month since I’d started, but there were only two Cs. Claybourn, Marcelina and Cotton, Jake. And that was the weird thing. After I wrote Marcelina’s paper notes, I’d filed the page in a buff client folder alphabetically. Jake Cotton’s file should�
�ve been behind Marcelina Claybourn’s, but it wasn’t. It was in front.
A cold prickle danced its way over my scalp. Again, it was possible I’d misfiled it yesterday in the panic of the moment when I was rushing to get to the hospital. Possible, but not likely. I was fastidious about a lot of things. It was one of my quirks. I liked order. Neatness. And I’d never misfiled anything before.
I pulled out Marcelina’s file and heard footsteps and voices outside my office. I took a quick look inside the folder as they got louder. Just the one A4 page of handwritten notes. Exactly as I’d left it yesterday.
A knock sounded on my door before it swung open, and Phil poked his head around. ‘Oh, good, you’re here. How are you feeling today?’
I forced a smile and put the file back in the drawer. ‘Better, thanks.’
‘Glad to hear that.’ His smile was more genuine than mine as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. ‘How did you get on at the hospital?’
I told him about Marcelina’s injuries. ‘What happened when you spoke to her parents?’
‘They were going to drive down straightaway. They probably arrived late last night.’
‘I hope so.’
‘We should schedule a supervision session for later this afternoon so we can chat properly about things. I’ve got some time after three.’
‘Yes, of course.’ I leaned over my desk and called up my online diary. ‘I’m free at four.’
‘Lovely. In the meantime, I’ve got a police officer in reception who wants to take a statement about the accident. You’re free until nine, aren’t you?’
I nodded. ‘I was just going to catch up on some admin.’
‘Okay. I’ll tell him to come in.’ He turned and reached for the door handle.
‘Phil… before you go, did anyone come into my office last night after I’d left?’
He twisted around towards me. ‘Yes, Janet came in to make sure your oil burner was off. I asked her to because I thought you might’ve forgotten in the heat of things.’
‘Right. Thanks.’
He hesitated. ‘Is something wrong?’
I didn’t want to get Janet in trouble in case she’d forgotten to lock up afterwards, so I smiled again and said no. I’d have to ask her about it. Either she had forgotten, or it was possible someone had been inside my office and looked at Marcelina’s notes. But why would anyone be interested in them? Or had Phil been checking them to make sure I’d covered myself and the department? ‘Did you have a look at the paper notes I wrote for Marcelina?’
‘No. I did read the computerised ones on the system yesterday after you left. They’re fine.’
‘Okay. Thanks.’
Phil stepped outside, and a male police officer in uniform came in, introducing himself as Sergeant Wilcox with the Road Policing Unit.
We sat on the armchairs, and he asked me about the accident, wanting me to run through it in detail as he wrote down my statement.
After I’d finished telling him that Marcelina had had a brief appointment, that she’d left suddenly, upset, that I’d gone after her, and that she’d stepped out in front of the car, I asked, ‘It was an accident, wasn’t it?’
He looked up at me from the paperwork balanced on a clipboard on his knee, pen in hand. ‘What do you mean?’
I thought about the strange things in her journal, the weird comments Marcelina had made about the shadow man and hearing voices, and the blackouts. I didn’t know what I even meant myself, so it would sound ridiculous to him, and anyway, I couldn’t tell him what Marcelina had confided in me because it was protected by client confidentiality. And then I wondered again… had she stepped out in front of that car on purpose?
‘She didn’t look to see if any vehicles were coming,’ I said. ‘She was just running away, and when she got to the road, she just stepped out in front of one.’
‘Are you saying she was suicidal?’
‘No, I’m not saying that at all.’
‘Why did she come to see you?’
‘I can’t tell you that. It’s confidential. But she didn’t mention suicidal thoughts.’ I thought about handing over Marcelina’s journal, but what would that prove? The police wouldn’t be interested in pursuing it because what she’d written was all too vague. It would most likely get filed in a drawer somewhere because none of it related to her accident.
‘So you weren’t concerned for her safety?’ he asked.
‘I was concerned she was upset, which is why I went after her. But there was nothing that led me to believe she’d be at risk.’
He looked down at the statement again, rereading some of what he’d written, then looked back up at me. ‘So what are you saying?’
I opened my mouth and closed it. I had no idea what I was suggesting, just that something about this wasn’t right. Eventually, I said, ‘I’m not suggesting anything.’ Then I had another thought. ‘The driver who hit her, who was he? Did he know her?’
‘I can’t tell you who he is, I’m afraid. But what I can say is that he’s a Greek national who was in the UK visiting a sick relative. He’s got nothing to do with the university, and he said he’d never seen her before until she stepped out in front of him. From other witness statements, it seems Marcelina was just distracted. From what you’ve said, she was obviously upset. It looks like the driver didn’t have time to stop. Accidents happen. Unfortunately more often than I’d like. A momentary lapse of judgement, switching off or being distracted for a few minutes, that’s all it takes to have serious consequences.’
I nodded, looking like I agreed with him, but my gaze drifted back towards the filing cabinet as unease rippled through me.
Chapter 20
Detective Becky Harris
My stomach twisted with hunger. I hadn’t eaten since lunchtime the day before, and it was way past my fuelling-up time. I thought about the packet of cereal back at my accommodation, but I wanted to be as visible as possible. If there was a dodgy element of people here, they needed to notice me.
I sauntered down the hall to the food court, but most of the vendors didn’t open until 10.00 a.m. I wandered past a table tennis table and a loungey seating area, saying hi to everyone I passed. A few people smiled and returned the greeting; others blanked me as if I were a weirdo for being too friendly. Good old British reserve.
A queue straggled out the door of the coffee shop, which was called Beanz and Thingz. A few years back, it would’ve been students surviving on tuna pasta and banana sandwiches for weeks at a time. Judging by the amount of people in the bar last night and here, it looked like they were spending their cash on booze and food. That was the trouble with student loans—it didn’t feel like they were spending their own money. These young people were away from home for the first time, probably budgeting for the first time, until they were left with a huge debt to pay off at the end of it.
I joined the line of customers and eyed the large display counter of goodies, trying to decide between an avocado fudge brownie, a vanilla cupcake, and a flapjack. It all looked amazing. Maybe both, or a—
‘Hi,’ someone said from behind me, interrupting my conundrum.
I looked around and came face-to-face with a grinning Curtis.
‘Hi.’ I stared into his amazing hazel-green eyes. And then the flush was back. Oh, God, what was wrong with me?
He stared back, his gaze locked onto mine, studying me with a cheeky grin. ‘So, you enjoyed the meditation then, huh?’ He chuckled.
‘I wasn’t snoring or dribbling, was I?’
‘Maybe just a little snore every now and then.’ He put his forefinger and thumb about an inch apart.
‘Do you go every day?’
‘Most days.’
‘And you haven’t had any weird kind of effects?’
He lifted an eyebrow, an amused smile on his face. ‘Weird, like how?’
‘Like someone using suggestive thoughts to make you do something you didn’t want to do?’
He frowned
with confusion. ‘I think that would be pretty impossible in meditation. You’re in complete control of it.’ He studied me carefully, his gaze searching mine, as if he could see right through me. ‘What are you here for?’
‘What?’ I half laughed. There was no way he could know who I was, could he?
‘I saw you looking at the display. What are you getting?’
‘Oh! Uh…’ I looked back at the goodies on offer. ‘I haven’t decided yet. You?’
‘Overnight oats with chia seeds and cinnamon. Maybe a topping of blueberries. I can definitely recommend it.’
‘Sounds yum.’ It didn’t. It sounded yuck. I’d always hated oats. My mum had forced me to eat porridge when I was a kid, and it was always either lumpy and dry or a sloppy, watered-down consistency, but hey, undercover work was all about adaption and improvisation. I’d force the gloopy frogspawn down if I had to. As the queue shuffled forwards, I asked, ‘How’s your friend? Marcelina?’
‘Worse.’ He pulled a solemn face. ‘Still in a coma, and it’s not looking good.’
‘Oh, dear. I’m really sorry to hear that.’
He sighed and was silent for a moment. ‘What course are you studying?’
‘English lit. You? It’s got to be some kind of sports programme, I bet.’
‘Physiotherapy.’
I raised my eyebrows. ‘Wow. Do you like the course?’
‘Yeah, it’s great. Hard, but good.’
‘Do you have Professor Cain as a tutor?’ I doubted it, since he taught cadaver dissection, which wouldn’t be included in Curtis’s physiotherapy course, but I wanted to find out if he knew Cain.
‘No. Never heard of him.’
The line shuffled forwards as we made small talk.
The barista took my order for overnight slop and a large latte, and then I asked Curtis if he wanted to join me to eat, which he did. Lucky me.
We wandered outside to the picnic tables. A few people said hi to Curtis as we passed.
‘You’re a popular guy.’ I sat down.
He shrugged. ‘Just friendly, I guess.’ He tucked into his bowl and swallowed a mouthful. ‘It’s my second year, so I know a lot of people now. But it’s hard when you first get here and don’t know anyone, so I try to take an interest in new people. Say hi, ask them how they’re doing. Get them involved in stuff so they can meet other people and make friends.’