Lead Me Home: a clever and engrossing psychological thriller

by CS Savage

  9

  Rowan

  Rowan grabbed the eyeliner, added another layer under Amy's eyes, stood back and scrutinized her.

  'That's better…Do you want to borrow my denim jacket? It'll look cool.'

  She held it up, but Amy shook her head. Some people just don’t appreciate good advice. Even so, she definitely looked better than usual.

  When they were ready, they posed on the stairs for a double selfie. Amy had wanted to take it in her bedroom, but there was no way Rowan was posting anything with One Direction beaming in the background. She uploaded the pic to her Facebook profile, and typed:

  Girls night out to All Bar One.

  'Come on, Ames, let's go,' she said as she watched Amy trying to rub off some of her make-up. 'You look awesome, honest. And if we go quick, your mum won't get a chance to complain.'

  Amy looked uncertain. 'You sure?'

  'Positive.' She grabbed Amy by the arm, and dragged her into the hallway, and towards the front door. 'Got everything?' Amy checked her bag, nodded her head, and then, they left.

  By the time the bus had crawled through the rush hour traffic it was gone six pm. The bar was busy, but most of the tables were free. Rowan surveyed the crowd, saw loads of lads. A slim blonde girl sitting by the window stood out. She looked a little restless and kept checking her phone whilst also fiddling with her hair. Wonder what she's waiting for?

  Rowan led Amy to the bar by clutching her arm. She waved her ID cheerfully at the barman, still getting a kick out of being able to purchase alcohol. She ordered two large glasses of wine – she wanted to relax quickly, and she wasn't going to let Amy slack off. They perched on the bar stools and not ten minutes had passed before the guys at the bar started to joke with them. A rather scrawny-looking dark-haired guy called Dave took an interest in Rowan, and as they chatted, he bought both her and Amy a few more wines. About an hour later, a mate of his joined them. Dave introduced him as Sam. He was tall, had stooped shoulders, dark floppy hair and had evidently walked to the pub as he was dripping wet. Ro watched as Amy started chatting to him and found herself grinning. She likes him. Either that or she's had too much wine. Amy was laughing, fluttering her eyelashes. Damn, I was so right about that eyeliner. She turned her attention back to Dave. He was a bit cocky for her liking and not a patch on Vic in the looks department. She'd have a few more wines, then she'd go.

  By eleven p.m., her head was swimming. And she had college tomorrow. Fuck. She mouthed at Amy to tell her she wanted to leave, but Amy was laughing with Sam and barely even looked up. She tapped her on the shoulder.

  'I'm gonna head off, it's getting late. You coming?'

  'No, I'll stay for a bit longer,' Amy said, and gave her a quick wink.

  Before she left, she gave Amy a kiss on the cheek and whispered, 'Don't do anything I wouldn't.' She decided to walk home to clear her head, couldn't be bothered to wait for a bus. Pulling her hood up against the rain, she set out trying to ring Vic. True to form, he didn't pick up. She wondered where he was, what he was up to, and tried to focus on that rather than the dark and the shadows. It was with relief that she closed her front door behind her.

  10

  I am anonymous. It's as if I don't exist. The high street is busy, office workers scurrying amongst the shoppers. Everyone is caught up in their own world. I lean against the wall and try to blend into the shadows, take a deep breath. The rain soaks into me, the street lamps glow, and the air is heavy with the scent of ozone and exhaust fumes.

  As I peer under the brim of my cap, I watch through the steamy window, my eyes straining to see you through droplets that track down the glass. You look younger than in your picture, but it is clearly you, you are unmistakable. There's a pulse in my throat as I “meet” you for the first time. You are perfect. I knew you would be. You sit upright, smoothing your hand over your hair and sipping your drink, tapping your phone screen. Your eyes flicker as you read. You do not look up, you are unaware of my gaze.

  I turn my collar up against the damp and step back into the bus queue. I will wait, I do not need to rush you. I have no other plans for the evening but to let you lead me home.

  11

  Beth

  Sitting on the bus in a seat behind the driver, she hunched and stared out of the window. She should be safe in this seat. Still, every time she heard someone speak, her whole body jolted. She had to physically restrain herself from turning around to look at the source of the voice. As soon as she had woken up that morning, she had been alert, listening for any unusual sounds. Not enough sleep had left her thoughts jumbled. Still, she could feel the blood racing through her arteries – but her brain couldn't tell her where the danger was coming from. She shook her head from side to side, ignored the temptation to bang it against the window. Thank God she hadn't taken her meds last night. She needed to be alert, as vigilant as possible.

  As the bus pulled up, she threw herself down the step and onto the pavement, which was crowded with pedestrians. The relief at being off the bus was short lived – quickly she started to think people were looking at her, watching her. She pulled her hood up, stared at the pavement and walked as fast as possible to the hospital.

  Making her way towards the ward, she walked through the main site, past a new build to the old block which had been designed in Victorian times. The card reader was at shoulder height. She pressed her card to it, waited for the click and then walked through the airlock onto the ward. It had high ceilings, large sash windows, all with safety locks, which faced onto the opulent lawn. At the rear of the ward, the bedroom windows overlooked a courtyard that was surrounded by high metal grill fence. A small crowd braved the drizzle and stood huddled at the far corner, the orange of cigarette tips flickering in the gloom.

  The ward was busy. NHS cuts meant that only really disturbed people warranted care as an inpatient. Beth surveyed the environment – nobody who didn't need to be here would want to be here. The central area looked like the lounge in a care home. Industrial strength, patterned, stained carpet covered the floor, and saggy armchairs with torn covers sat around a Perspex-covered TV. The faint scent of overcooked vegetables hung in the air. Patients were wandering around, most still in dressing gowns and slippers.

  Beth tried to help serve breakfast, while struggling to keep her thinking straight. But her mind felt fragmented and slow. She checked the clock – half past eight – hours until three pm, her home time. Rubbing the back of her neck, she twisted her watch while she struggled to keep her mind on one subject. She kept thinking back to those footsteps and then had a realisation – it was a premonition. Something bad was going to happen. She looked at all of the patients. Which of them might try to harm her? There was a young man by the office window, tapping impatiently, staring intently. A woman dressed in a pink shell suit was curled on a sofa looking out into the high fenced garden. Which of them is trying to play with my mind?

  The woman in the shell suit turned and stared at her, shouted, 'What are you looking at?'

  Beth's hand flew to her chest, she walked backwards, 'Nothing, nothing.' She looked from side to side, checking for other staff. She shouldn't let that go, should speak to the patient, but today, she couldn't risk it. She was too scared. Fortunately, no-one seemed to notice, everyone was engrossed in supervising the meal.

  By lunchtime, she was exhausted and felt like she'd been awake for five nights. Her body was heavy, her legs like stone. She still hadn't eaten and couldn't imagine doing so. She headed to find Carol, who was sitting in the stuffy ward manager's office, looking harassed, running a pencil down a large spreadsheet. She looked up as Beth walked in.

  'Hi Beth, how are things?'

  It took Beth a few seconds to make her thoughts into a sentence. 'Actually, not too good, I think I might have eaten something dodgy last night, and my guts are killing me.' There was no way she was admitting to feeling stressed. It took her long enough to get back to this job last time she was off.

  Carol tapped her pen
cil on the desk, looked up at her. 'If you're not feeling good, just go home, we can manage here. We're one up this afternoon, anyway.'

  Beth leapt at the chance. Her mind was racing. She was starting to imagine harm coming from everywhere. She drew her lips into as sincere a smile as she could manage, then muttered a thank you before backing out of the office. She headed to her locker to gather her things.

  As she left, she kept her arms wrapped around her, her head down, avoided any eye contact. She still managed to scan from side to side, looking for danger. She heard whispering behind her and swung around to check the source but, again, saw nothing. She had been convinced before, and it had proved to be her mind playing tricks on her. There's no one there, there's no one there… But could she believe herself, even?

  As the bus arrived she leapt on, again sat near the driver, bouncing her foot off the ground. Hurry up. She got off at Carshalton Road and walked down to her door. When she arrived, she saw something on the doormat. Looking closer, she could make out a small wreath. She bit her lip, leant forward to focus more, just to make sure she wasn't mistaken. Her hands started to tremble. Who on earth would leave this on my doorstep? She had no admirers, no boyfriends. The wreath was small, circular, holly and pine – adorned with red berries. She picked it up, her fingers shaky, looked at it closely, looked again at the mat but saw no card. No indication of who had left it. She unlocked her front door, shut it firmly behind her, leant against the back of it and began to breathe more quickly. Walking into the kitchen she placed the wreath carefully on the table and then rummaged in her bag for her phone. She dialled Suze as quickly as she could.

  'Please come round, Suze, come round now–'

  'What's wrong?'

  She took more deep breaths, then described the wreath.

  'Are you certain it isn't just an old one that's been kicked off the street?'

  'Of course I'm certain. It’s newly made. Honestly. Please come...'

  When Suze arrived, she sat opposite Beth at the table. Beth shifted from side-to-side, unable to find comfort. They stared at the evidence. There was no doubting it, the wreath was new.

  'What you think it means?' she asked.

  'I've no idea. I'm sure it's nothing…just been dropped accidentally.'

  'What, on my doorstep?' Beth started sobbing, her breaths falling heavily. 'You can't say this is in my mind.'

  Suze looked at her, her face a picture of concern. 'I don't know what to think, Beth, but I know this stress is no good for you. Why don't you come and stay at mine for a couple of days?'

  Beth shook her head, scratched her hand. She loved Suze but hated knowing that she didn't believe her. And she knew how busy Suze was, too, she didn't want to burden her.

  'Thanks, Suze,' she said. 'I'll be fine.'

  12

  Rowan

  She checked her phone and noticed it was lunchtime. Fuck. She'd overslept. She was never going to make ninety percent attendance at this rate. The phone screen was clear, she bit her lip in frustration. Nothing from Vic. Twat! She texted Amy again; this time, it didn't even come up as delivered. Amy's phone must be off. Rowan guessed she was with Sam. That made her smile. Amy had her to thank for that, for sure she had looked hotter than normal last night. She tried to think of someone else to text, but no one came to mind, everyone would be at work or college. She leant across, grabbed her laptop and stabbed at the keys to start an episode of Breaking Bad.

  She had finally managed to follow the plot when her phone rang. A portrait of Amy’s face flashed up on her screen. She answered immediately. 'Yo, dude, where you been?'

  'Sam's.' Amy's voice sounded lighter.

  'You need to tell me everything,' she said. 'What's he like?'

  'He's amazing. We've got so much in common…and he seems to really like me…'

  'Did you…you know?'

  'No, of course not.' Amy sounded indignant. 'We just spent all night watching films and talking. He's asked me out again.'

  'Wow, you sound well-loved up,' Rowan said, before adding, 'What happened to Dave, then?'

  'He left straight after you. I think he was a bit put out, to be honest. But at least it left me alone with Sam.'

  'He didn't ask after me, then?' Rowan couldn't help herself. Nice to have a backup, if Vic carried on messing her around.

  'Like I said, he was a bit pissed off you went. I think he liked you.'

  Rowan felt a warm glow run through her. 'Good. What you up to later? Do you want to bring Sam round for a smoke, we'll get some pizza in?' Rowan could hear the pleasure in Amy's voice.

  ‘Yeah, thanks. See you later…about seven?'

  They said their goodbyes. Now, she just had to get hold of Vic. She screwed her fingers up. Where is he? Why hasn't he texted?

  Eventually, after two hours of obsessional phone checking, he answered her call. As soon as he picked the phone up, she could tell he was having one of his tantrums.

  'Where were you last night?' he shouted.

  'Out in Sutton. Why? How did your night with the boys go?'

  'Great. Simon got pissed, and I had to take him home early. How come you didn't tell me you were going out?'

  'Dunno, I haven't seen you. Do I have to tell you everything?'

  'Nice to know your girlfriend's out looking hot. I saw you in All Bar One when I passed. Felt a right idiot in front of everyone. You looked dead cosy with some guy.'

  Shit! She raised her hand to her mouth. Just as well she hadn't got anything to feel guilty about. 'You should have come in and said hi. I was looking out for you. And it wasn't cosy.' Vic was jealous. Rowan couldn’t help but feel pleased. 'Look, Vic, why don't you come round?'

  'I'm busy,' he said, and put the phone down.

  Rowan texted him again. Sorry u no I luv you please come round xxx

  Thirty minutes later, the reply pinged in.

  Ok

  No kiss. He sure has the hump.

  She had everything ready by the time the doorbell rang. When she opened the door, Vic pushed past her and into the hallway without saying anything. She followed him through to the lounge, where he had plonked himself on one end of the sofa. Next to the coffee table, she had already stacked with wine, beer and glasses. She needed to lighten the atmosphere. Knowing it would help, she got her box out and rolled a joint. He didn't speak as she did this, just sat and stared at her laptop screen that was still playing Netflix. When she'd lit it and had a drag, she passed it to him. He didn't say anything but took it and inhaled deeply. Almost immediately, she saw his shoulders relax.

  By the time she heard Sam and Amy arrive, she felt stoned. Her head spun as she got up to answer the door. Sam stood behind Amy on the doorstep, his arms crossed, and as he followed her in, he didn't raise his eyes from the floor. He sat down next to her on the sofa, nodding cursorily at Vic. Vic looked on, his expression flat and cool. Rowan, watching him, could see immediately that he was riled.

  'Don't I recognise you?' Vic shot the question out. It almost made Rowan jump.

  'I don't know you,' said Sam.

  'Oh…now I remember.' The tone was sarcastic, flinty. 'I saw you with Amy in the pub last night. Didn't realise you two were an item?'

  'Well, we aren't, exactly,' said Sam.

  Seeing Amy's face fall, Rowan elbowed Vic in the ribs and mouthed, 'Shut up’. The atmosphere was tense, she quietly watched everyone, tried to work out what had gone wrong. Eventually, after about ten minutes, Sam asked Amy if she was ok. He reached out and took her hand. They began chatting. Rowan breathed a great sigh of relief.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Vic sitting upright, face full of frown. Why is he so bloody grumpy? She left Sam and Amy to it, moved next to him and reached towards him to rub his arm. He flicked his arm dismissively, stretched across, picked up his can of Fosters. He took a long swig and as he reached forward to put it back on the table, he landed her a sharp jab in the breast. Rowan flinched, her eyes watering. Did he do that on purpose? She couldn't
be sure. She hated it when Vic was cross. She daren't question him, that would just make him worse – he just got angrier when she pestered him. She sat still, knees tucked together and clutched her drink, gently rubbing the side of her breast to soothe the aching.

  'Are you hungry?' she asked tentatively.

  'Of course I am,' he snapped. 'You did say come over for food.' Just as he finished speaking, she heard keys in the front door, looked up and saw her mum peer into the gloom. She saw her take in the scene, then walk through to the kitchen. She followed her. Rowan could see her mum looked tired.

  'You ok, Mum?'

  'Yeah, great.' she replied. 'You could have asked before asking people round. And the place reeks of smoke, how many times have I told you not to smoke inside?'

  'I didn't think. I'll tidy tomorrow, honest…and we'll be quiet.'

  Her mum slammed a cupboard door, turned to look at Rowan. 'And who's that guy with Amy?'

  'Amy's new boyfriend. Why?'

  'I know him…he's…oh, I just know him, that's all…'

  Her mum's expression had changed, she no longer looked cross. She looked at Rowan, rubbed the back of her neck. This is odd. If Rowan hadn't known better, she would have thought she looked embarrassed.

  She took the opportunity to continue, 'I'm sorry Mum.' She rubbed her hands together, took the plunge. 'Any chance of some money for pizza…there's, eh…nothing to eat.'

  Her mum just stood and stared at her. Then, she reached for her purse and handed her a twenty-pound note.

  'That'll have to do. Don't make a noise, and don't make a mess.'