Lead Me Home: a clever and engrossing psychological thriller

by CS Savage

  As soon as the door closed behind him, she felt the tension slide from her – the effect almost narcotic. She found herself staring at Hamish. She froze slightly as his eyes met hers, but she didn't look away. 'Well, he was a treat.' She spoke to break the moment. 'Not that I expected anything else, to be honest. What do you reckon?'

  Hamish shrugged his shoulders. He was one of Clancy's allies in the office. They shared similar views about management. This included meetings in the pub after hours to “de-stress” – which was sort of effective, although the relationship brought its own challenges. She knew he would be anxious about the finger being pointed in his direction if things went wrong and Hussein did something bad. It was just the way it was. As he left the room, she put her hand to the back of her neck and rubbed – if anything, it was aching more.

  3

  Rowan

  The house was so cold. But what was worse was that it was empty. No Vic, no no-one. She knew it was her fault, she should have gone in to college, but she just hadn't been able to face it. Now, the loneliness crept around her. She needed to drown it. Grabbing another coke, she settled herself at the aged oak table and searched through her bag for her box to roll a joint. She knew she shouldn't. She rarely smoked, unless she was out, but there was an exception to every rule. The routine of the rolling and the spicy smell of the weed usually cheered her, but not today. She just needed the inhale of smoke – as soon as possible. She perfected her roll with a practised eye. Satisfied, she pinched the end, leant forward and lit it, inhaling deeply. Her eyelids lowered, she pressed her back into the chair – wow, she loved weed. She knew she shouldn't be smoking inside but sod going out in the rain. She'd just have to open some windows. Flipping open her laptop, she scrolled to her Facebook page. More messages from Vic. Piss off. Instead, she messaged Amy.

  U up yet?

  The response popped up immediately,

  Yes

  Home at mo. Fancy a smoke?

  Yes, just picked up, come round in 10.

  Half an hour later, she was perched at the end of Amy's bed. The room was small but neatly decorated. The dressing table was tidily adorned with make-up and perfume bottles. A poster of One Direction had pride of place above it. It was all very familiar to Rowan, she knew Amy inside out. They’d been best friends for years. Although Amy sure needed to start acting her age – One Direction, really? Rowan looked up at her – felt herself soften a little. So what if she was a bit square? She was a good mate.

  'I can't believe he's upset you again. What's he done this time?' Amy's face, bare of make-up, was screwed up, lines evident, despite her youth.

  'Added five girls on Facebook. Of course, he denies anything's going on with them, but funny how they all appeared just after he went clubbing that night. And how they're all stunning.'

  Rowan twisted a stand of hair around her finger, grabbed her phone and opened his Facebook page, holding it out to Amy. 'Look. That one's a right tart…' She pointed at a picture of a girl with long blonde hair, pouting towards the camera.

  'Typical of him, he's such a smarm. I don't know why you put up with him. You could do much better. I told you he tried to get off with me that time.'

  'That was a mistake, I asked him about it.' Rowan felt her face curl. Shut up Amy, you're just jealous. Vic was gym obsessed, with Italian skin and dark hair. She formed a picture of him in her mind, felt her resolve soften. God, what am I thinking, I can’t help myself – I’m no better than an animal. Irritated, she made herself think of those Facebook profiles. She took some deep breaths, knew she shouldn't have snapped at Amy. 'Anyway, I know he loves me, he's always sorry. It's so fucking frustrating. He just can't seem to help himself.'

  Amy gave Rowan's arm a squeeze, 'Well, you know what I think. Let's smoke.'

  Vic didn't stop texting all afternoon, but she ignored him. She had to stop her fingers tapping out a reply – knew that if she did, he would think he was forgiven. By four, the room was filled with a thick smog. It was just as well Amy's mum was out; she'd go ape shit if she knew that they were smoking weed. How she got away with it, Rowan didn't know. Amy's mum was strict, but she was also really naive.

  'I'd better be off,' she said, sweeping some rubbish on the floor before stuffing her rolling box in her bag. 'See you later, Ames, I'll drop you a text.'

  As she let herself out, she saw it was already dark, and it was freezing. The atmosphere clouded with thin, cold rain. She tugged her denim jacket tight around her, put her head down and set out past the ponds, and then on up the high street to home. Closing the front door behind her, she walked down the hallway towards the light in the kitchen, kicking her boots off as she went. Her mum was standing holding the fridge door open, a glass of wine in her hand. She turned at the sound of Rowan's steps.

  'No point looking in there, it's empty…I did text you and say there's no food,' Rowan said.

  Her mum stood back, glanced at her bag. 'You did? Sorry, haven't had a chance to check my phone.'

  Rowan's eyes flicked towards the glass of wine. She made an effort to bite her lip, knew how stressful her mum's work was. And she looked knackered tonight. She changed tack.

  'Um, sorry to ask again, but I'm supposed to be going out later. Is there any chance of some cash?' She gave her mum what she hoped was an endearing smile.

  Before her mum could reply, they were interrupted by the sound of the doorbell.

  'Expecting anyone?'

  Rowan shook her head, and her mum went to answer it. Rowan stood, head tilted to the side, trying to make out words from the murmur of conversation, then jumped back as her mum marched into the kitchen, her expression pinched.

  'He won't leave until you see him.'

  Rowan tensed but still carefully checked her make-up in the cooker window before she went to the door. His hair was wet – tucked behind his ears – he wasn't wearing a coat, and his jumper was soaking .

  'What the fuck are you doing here?' She put as much fury as possible into her stare, in the hope it would burn him. His eyes were shadowed, not helped by the rain dripping from his hair.

  'Please forgive me, Ro. I was only flirting. You know how I feel about you, I'd never hurt you.'

  She stood opposite him and held her breath for what seemed like a whole minute before replying. 'Give me one good reason why I should trust you again. You know it does hurt me when you look at other girls. You're supposed to love me. I've had enough of you, you're just a slag.' Despite her anger, she kept her voice as low as she could. She didn't want her mum interfering.

  He was persistent, leant forward, tried to take her hand, but she snapped her arm back, kept her face hostile – although, damn it – it was starting to work. Perhaps this time he means it?

  'Please Ro, I'm begging you…give me a chance.'

  God, why does he have to be such a dickhead?

  She could hear Amy's voice whirring round in her head, 'Shut the fucking door on him, don't let him in.' But her own thoughts fought back. Look at him, he's so sorry, he must have learnt his lesson…and the sex is so good… She stood on the doorstep, as if in a trance. Eventually, she pulled the door wide. 'You'd better not make me regret this.'

  'I won't, I won't…thank you, Ro.'

  She held her back rigid, but allowed him to kiss her neck, cuddle into her. She could feel the dampness of him against her skin. Despite herself, her body started to respond to the pressure of him.

  'You'd better come in before you freeze to death.' They turned and walked into the hall. She could hear her mum bashing around in the kitchen, knew she was going to be pissed, but she would just have to understand. Rowan was eighteen now, she was a grown-up, and it was her life; she could make her own decisions.

  4

  Beth

  She slammed the cupboard door shut. She didn't care what anyone said, she wasn't taking them anymore. She'd put them in the back of the kitchen cupboard, still in their foil wrapper and box. If she needed them, she knew where they were. But she wasn't goi
ng to. The doctors talked crap, she wasn't going to get ill again. She picked up her cooling mug of tea, grabbed at her laptop and sat herself at the kitchen table.

  As she opened the profile picture, she took a deep breath. He was hot – smooth skin, dark eyes. And he looked fit. He had liked her photo – apparently, they were a match. She checked his profile. Odd, he only had a few friends, and very scant information. Scrolling down his page, she tried to glean more information. Great – it revealed he was from Croydon – local, so it was worth a try contacting him. She paused for a minute. Then typed.

  Hey this is Beth. Do you fancy meeting up?

  She was just turning away, off to make a fresher cup of tea when a ping indicated that she had a reply. She threw herself back down in her seat and held the monitor with both hands.

  Sure, you look cool. Where do you live?

  She wasted no time.

  I'm in Sutton

  And again, before she could move, a message returned.

  Oh, great I'm in Wimbledon. I can easily meet any night this week. Just tell me when and where and I'm your man.

  Beth punched the air. Good news at last. They arranged to meet up in Sutton, on Wednesday at six, for a drink. Maybe this time, she would have some luck, it would work out. She hated being single, having to do everything alone. Her imagination started to run wild – white dresses and beautiful children flashing through her mind, even though she knew she was reading far too much into a first date. She knew over-excitement was her enemy. She needed to calm herself down.

  She stood under the warm spray of the shower and closed her eyes. She needed to quell her enthusiasm, it was no good for her, it would keep her awake. She took deep breaths, focused her thoughts on the sound of the spraying water, tried to push all hope of romance away. But the techniques she had learnt were failing miserably. Thoughts of the date popped relentlessly into her mind.

  As she wrapped herself in her towel, the flat seemed eerily quiet. It had felt like that for weeks, ever since Bry had finished it. Like someone had turned the volume on her life down. She pulled on pyjamas, put the radio on for distraction and prepared herself a salad, making plenty so she had leftovers for lunch the next day. She looked at the kitchen cupboard, thought about the packet of Olanzapine tablets that was sitting in there. Did she need them? She was well now, and she had something to look forward to; she couldn't rely on tablets all her life. And it hadn't changed anything, missing it for the past few days. And she would be so much perkier in the morning, if she went without. She would be fine. It wasn't like she was going to tell anyone, so no-one would be any the wiser. What she needed was the energy to focus on getting her life back in order, and now, she had a chance to make a start.

  5

  Clancy

  As she followed Hamish down the corridor to the morning meeting, she felt her heart sinking. The room was always hot and stuffy. The meetings were inevitably long. Often, she had to keep herself awake by surreptitiously answering emails as she listened. As usual, the community mental health team were congregated around the large table. Everyone was looking towards the team manager – Dan – who was giving one of his infamous monologues.

  God, he’s dull. Clancy stifled a yawn, wished someone would open a bloody window. Dan was mid-forties. He had dark hair that was, as usual, flecked with dandruff – Does he ever wash it? And that irritating goatee beard. Today, he was dressed in a casual suit jacket and black chinos. He genuinely thought he was something.

  Clancy sat and shuffled her papers, told herself to focus on the agenda. She let her mind wander as she listened, and it immediately returned home. She couldn't believe Ro had forgiven that idiot again, would she never learn? The conversation rolled around her as she daydreamed. She jolted, nearly knocked her drink over, as Hamish jabbed her sharply in the ribs. She was aware of her eyelids blinking as she brought her focus back into the foetid room, felt Dan's gaze on her. Damn! Another black mark. The topic was Mr Lowe, who Salim had seen yesterday. When Dan eventually stopped for breath, Salim took over, wind-milling his hands. She put on her “serious” face – tried to look like she was listening. However, as Salim continued speaking, some of what he was saying actually started to register. Her ears pricked, it sounded like something she should be aware of.

  'Look, Mr Lowe told me he had been chosen. He was guarded when I asked him what for… But he seemed to think women were sending him messages.'

  'Did he say what they mean?' Clancy wrinkled her brow, looked directly at Salim.

  He cleared his throat. 'No, I asked, but he wasn't making any sense. He did say he was finding it hard to resist.' Salim mocked a pleading face as he spoke. 'Any possibility you could see him with me?'

  Dan was watching the conversation from across the table, pulling at his goatee, his face holding an expectant expression.

  Feeling the pressure, she flicked open her diary and started to scan down the page. Great, it would make her late home. Again.

  ‘I'll fit him in this afternoon – about four. Do you think he'll come?'

  'Hope so… I'll give him a call, thanks, Clancy.' It was at least flattering to see Salim smile with relief.

  When Mr Lowe walked into her office, the sweat was beading on his forehead. He was dressed in black jeans, black trainers and a heavy dark jacket. He had removed his cap and was kneading it with both hands.

  'How are you?' she asked.

  'Fine.' He sat in the chair beside her, his shoulders square with rigidity. He rested his hands, still folded tightly round the cap, on his lap.

  'Salim told me you were having a few problems…' She paused, waiting for a response. The answer seemed a long time coming.

  'No…I haven't got any problems.' His gaze was intense as he tilted towards her slightly.

  'Something about messages?'

  'Oh, that.' He looked away from her as he spoke, stared instead at the window, despite it being mostly obscured by blinds. 'I was online last night, and three girls messaged me wanting to meet up. What's so special about that. Does that sound like a problem to you? I've arranged to meet someone.'

  'Salim mentioned you were getting messages from other people as well. Even when you're not online?' Clancy ran her fingers down the side of her neck as she spoke, tried to soothe herself with the soft sensation as she watched the shade of Lowe's face turn a gradually deepening pink.

  'Well, yes…they are coming from other places…even actresses on the TV. Like I said, I'm not sure why they are trying to contact me. I think it's a test of some sort. Not that it's got anything to do with you.'

  Clancy could feel the irritability he was radiating. She watched as he gripped the cap in his hands tighter. He started to pummel it with his fingers, and she noted how stiffly he was sitting, the back of his donkey jacket not quite resting on the back of his chair. She was just about to prompt him when he started to speak again.

  'Yesterday, a girl on the bus was messaging, she looked about fourteen. I knew that was a trick from the start. I read the papers, I know what people think – she just wanted to land me in it.'

  Clancy tried hard to stop the anxiety showing in her face. 'You sound as if she made you angry?'

  'She did. I've told you, I'm not sure which is the right one, but I damn well know it wasn't her,' he replied.

  Clancy's fingers crept from her neck to the back of her head, found the small scab and ran her finger over it as she listened, tried to lift the scab, felt the catch of it under her nail. With effort, she pulled her hand back onto her lap. Stop picking! 'Would you do anything about your anger?'

  'Depends how much they provoke me. I'm not going to be taken for a mug, put it that way.'

  Shit. Clancy really didn't like the idea of him being out and about, at large, with the public. 'Do you not think you would be safer in hospital?' she asked. She noticed him stiffen. She knew he’d say “no,” but she had to ask. It was protocol. She couldn't request a mental health act assessment otherwise.

  'No way. I'm not
being locked up with those nutters. What would everybody think then? That I'm a madman? That wouldn't make me any safer.' His cap was starting to look crumpled, she wondered if he might actually tear it. She rubbed the bridge of her nose, fiddled again with her pen before looking up.

  'How about if I refer you to the home treatment team. They'll visit you daily and can see how you're doing. It'll give you someone to talk to if you want to…to talk things through.' And it’ll give me more evidence to bring you into hospital. She let out a huge breath as he nodded in reply, hadn't realised she'd been holding it in for so long. 'I'm going to increase the dose of your tablets, ok?' He didn't argue, so she wrote out a prescription and handed it to him.

  'Make sure you don't do anything rash,' she said, 'If you do touch one of these girls, you'll be in real trouble. If you think at any point you're getting closer to acting on it, for God's sake, ring me or the home team immediately. We'll be able to help. I'll see you tomorrow, and someone from the home team will ring you tonight.'

  He looked at her, his expression blank. She tried, but was unable to read it. Have I got through to him? She watched as he stood up, stretched out his hat, tried to un-crumple it, then placed it on his head. The peak sat comically to one side. It wasn't funny, but sometimes hysteria took over. She had to wipe her eyes with a tissue as he closed the door behind him. God, am I losing it? She returned to her screen and forced herself to concentrate. She had a lot to do before she could go home.

  She checked her appointments for tomorrow in her diary, noted that she had the risk forum. An opportunity to meet with the police, social workers and other professionals to discuss high profile cases. Scanning the agenda, she saw that Hussein was also on the list. She moved to check apologies for the meeting, noted with a jolt of satisfaction that Steve would be there. She had a lot to pick his brains about. She settled into writing her notes up, checking her watch as she started. Late again. She was eager to get home and have a chat with Rowan, to find out what was going on with her and that idiot. Hopefully, Ro would still be there when she got back. Maybe she could talk some sense into her.