Lead Me Home: a clever and engrossing psychological thriller

by CS Savage

  Rowan took the note gratefully, gave her mum a hug and rushed back into the lounge. 'Result,' she said.

  Vic looked up. 'Well, order it, then, and make sure you get some money off that prat, if he's joining us. We're not a charity.' He stared at Sam.

  Rowan had no idea why he had taken such a dislike to him, he seemed harmless enough to her, though she made a vow to herself not to get into any further conversation with him. It just wasn't worth it.

  They carried on drinking and smoking. Vic sat rigidly at the end of the sofa and scarcely joined in. Sam seemed tipsy, was sitting with his arm around Amy. Why couldn't Vic be like that with her? Ro signalled to Amy with her eyes, pointed to her watch. Amy took the hint, stood up and led Sam from the room. Following behind, Rowan gave her a quick hug.

  Amy took the chance to whisper, 'What the hell's wrong with him?'

  'Dunno…he saw me out last night, been funny all evening. I think he's just jealous.'

  'He's a dick.' Amy smiled, before walking out and shutting the front door behind her.

  Rowan took a deep breath before walking back into the lounge. As she pushed open the door, Vic was standing, waiting on her by the doorway, his face puce.

  'Why do you have to be such a flirt?' His voice was quiet but sinister, steely.

  'I wasn't flirting. He's Amy's boyfriend, why would I want to flirt with him. I was just being friendly, I'm the hostess.'

  'He's clearly only with her to get close to you.' He grabbed her wrist, pulled her towards him, his voice rising slightly. 'I'm not stupid. I could see the way he was looking at you. I don't want him round here again, got it?'

  Rowan's arm was stinging, she tried to pull it back but he held her firm, pulling his face closer towards hers, she could feel his breath hot against her lips. She bit the inside of her mouth, tried to stop herself from crying out. She didn't want to wake her mum. Suddenly, he threw her arm down, stood back.

  'I'm going home. Text you tomorrow.' And he strode down the hall, yanked the door open and headed off into the night.

  Rowan shut the front door gently, went and sat down on the sofa while rubbing her arm. Her eyes filled with tears. She leant forward, rolled another joint and poured herself another glass of wine.

  13

  Now I know where you live, and I can prepare. I just wish Mother would be quiet for a bit; she always seems to be with me now, shouting instructions. Does she not realize I need a break sometimes? I try hard to concentrate, to follow everything she says, but it doesn't stop her being critical. I carry a note pad and pencil everywhere, I find myself scribbling notes, even in the night, my list is growing. There is so much at stake, I must not mess this up. Now I have found you, I am well on the way.

  I rub my eyes, they feel itchy and tired. I wish I could go to bed, but she prefers to talk to me at night, she always was a bad sleeper. When I drop off, she wakes me, calls me a lazy good-for-nothing oaf. So, I try my best to stay awake, focused. Cocaine is a wonderful stimulant. I take out my tin, tip a little powder onto the table, cut it into lines with care, inhale. My energy returns with a boom, my thoughts race. And mother congratulates me.

  My head aches with concentration, it feels like my blood pressure has doubled. I need to focus, to follow my plans. I know it will all be worth it in the end. I look around my front room. I see dust resting on the mantelpiece, the empty takeaway wrappers and cartons strewn across the floor. I know that my first task is to clean, so I walk to the kitchen, take a roll of black bags out of the Wilkinson’s bag on the side. I have j-cloths, dusters, Mr Sheen. I have bleach, bathroom cleaner. And I have time.

  Two hours later, I can hardly recognise the place. The carpets are dirt free, no visible specks sully the crimson. I allow myself a break, a cup of tea, a Penguin biscuit. Mother is quiet, for once. She must have dropped off. The silence is uncomfortable – despite her nagging, I miss her when she leaves me. I take my list from by the bed, sit at the dust-free table and pull out my laptop, flipping it open. The page takes ages to load, but eventually, I can start typing into Google. If I do as Mother says, I will never be lonely again – I believe her, she never gets anything wrong. I enter “Embalming fluid” into the search browser, press return and wait to see what comes up. Irritatingly, most of the pages offer novelty items, joke signs, antique products. I do not want antique, I want effective, discreet. I type in “Industrial Embalming Fluid,” press return again. This time, the pages are far more useful.

  Embalming products supplier, EEP Company. The page offers me the Global website, but I choose to enter the UK site instead. Wonderful. I can log in, create an account.

  The site promises, “Your solution for embalming supplies at the forefront of technology.”

  “Sign up to receive the latest embalming news.”

  I enter the site. The company provides “a comprehensive and innovative variety of products including high quality instruments.”

  I tap “fluids.” Genelyn Arterial Enhanced. Twelve Litres for fifty-nine pounds. I click “add to basket.” Genelyn Cavity Fluid, twelve litres for fifty-three pounds. I add that as well. A pump, some plastic jars. This is not going to be cheap, but Mother has given me the money, and, in the long-term, it will be worth it.

  14

  Clancy

  When she got into the hospital, she went straight into the zoning meeting, sat down and sent apologetic looks to the team. The atmosphere was tense.

  'Mr Lowe has gone AWOL,' Salim said. 'The home treatment team haven't see him at all this week.'

  Clancy fingered the stone pendant that hung around her neck, flicked a look at Dan. Shit. 'He didn't come to his appointment on Wednesday. But I didn't worry too much. I…eh…I thought he was seeing them.'

  She was sure Dan gave a smirk before he intervened. 'Well, he's not, and you should have checked. God knows what he's up to. You've told me he was receiving messages and being controlled, he's unpredictable. I would have thought you'd have tried a little harder, to be honest.'

  The silence hung in the air as the team sat with concern etched on their faces. She briefly imagined her fist landing a satisfying punch on his nose, knew she was overreacting, but for fuck’s sake, why was he always on her case? She looked down at the table, picked at the scab on the back of her head, waited for her pulse to slow.

  'We'll do an unannounced home visit later – that ok with you, Salim?' He agreed, and the team moved on to discuss another patient. Clancy was still seething. She walked back to her office and sat for a second with her head in her hands. She had tossed and turned through the previous night – the noise downstairs hadn't been so loud, but it had been enough to make her restless. When Vic was around, she was hypervigilant, always waiting for the next slammed door. And in the morning, when she had reached the lounge, the smell of stale alcohol and smoke had hit her. Rowan was curled up on the sofa, surrounded by a debris of cans, bottles and wrappers. Then, as Clancy had been making tea, she had heard a stumbling up the stairs. Ro had just left the mess and taken herself to bed. Clancy had grabbed a bin-bag, ranted to herself under her breath. She was unable to go to work while the house was in such a state. She'd have thought about it all day, knowing it was waiting for her when she got home. But it had done nothing to lift her mood.

  Later that afternoon, she and Salim climbed into her Golf and drove south through Sutton towards a concrete council estate opposite the old Sutton Hospital site. She tapped on the steering wheel as she drove, swore occasionally under her breath at other drivers performing stupid manoeuvres. She didn't make small talk with Salim, just couldn't be bothered.

  He sat tensely beside her, eventually piped up. 'Dan's really hassling you, isn't he?'

  'He's driving me potty. Always nagging and picking. I don't know why the hell he can't just leave me alone. The job's shit enough without him.'

  Salim rubbed his chin. 'Too right. Hey, it’s just here, do a left…'

  The brakes screeched as Clancy tore around the corner and pulled into the ho
using estate which was large, built of grey concrete, imposing balconies in row after row, cluttered with a motley of children's bikes and rusty garden furniture. Clancy suppressed a shudder. Having checked at least three times that her car doors were locked and her laptop hidden, they left the parked car and walked along the concourse, the aroma of stale urine floating like a mist from dark stairwells. They passed a variety of gardens. Some were beautifully maintained, but most were neglected, full of rubbish and old machinery. The place seemed deserted, not a person in sight.

  Having walked up and down staring at door numbers, they eventually found the right flat. The garden was one of the more neglected ones, a half-filled open bin liner flapped in the wind by the gate. Clancy pulled herself up tall before walking to the door and rapping the knocker. On getting no response, she put her ear to the paintwork, held her breath, but could hear nothing. The door remained shut. The curtains were drawn, there were no visible cracks of light. Clancy looked through the letterbox. She could just about make out a couple of unopened letters and pizza menus on the hallway carpet, but there was no sign of life. She grabbed a sheet of paper, scribbled a note.

  Hi, Mr Lowe, I came to visit you, sorry I missed you.

  It would be good if you could ring me on 02085 546 6588 as soon as you get this. Just want to catch up.

  Dr Mclean.

  She turned to Salim. 'I hope he gets it. It all looks a bit dead in there. Wouldn't put it past him to bugger off somewhere else altogether to avoid us.'

  As she spoke, they turned and walked back down his path and onto the concrete concourse, returning to the car. Clancy was pleased to be back in the driving seat and heading back to the team-base. Again, the conversation was at a minimum, this time, Salim was also pensive. Clancy glanced up at him, could see his face set with tension.

  'Look, let's just keep trying…he's got to turn up somewhere...' But she knew her attempt at optimism didn't quite match her voice.

  When she got to her office she picked up the phone and dialled the home team before she had even taken her coat off. 'Dr Mclean here, I'm ringing about Mr Lowe. I just wanted to check if you've managed to catch up with him yet?'

  'Afraid not, we've not seen him at all. We've been round twice but never got a response. We discussed him today. As he's not engaging, we're going to have to discharge him,' the nurse replied. She didn't wait for Clancy to intervene and carried on speaking. 'We've got thirty-two patients on the caseload, and we can't keep someone open we're not even seeing. I'm really sorry, but I'll have to leave this for you to follow up.'

  Clancy felt her blood pressure surge. If it got any higher, she'd have a bloody stroke. 'What on earth are you talking about? This man is risky, you can't just do nothing and leave him out there.'

  The line went quiet for a moment, then, 'I'll pass you to my manager.'

  But Clancy had no more luck with her and was eventually told her tone wasn't appreciated. She slammed the receiver down and threw herself down in her chair, kicking the leg of her desk in frustration. It was always the same. Everything left for the community team to do. They had no option but to keep trying him, and if he didn't turn up in a couple of days, they would contact the police and ask for a welfare check. She looked at her monitor, opened his notes and updated his risk assessment. God, she could do with a fag. She gulped, opened her desk drawer and, with her spare hand, rummaged around. She must have some painkillers somewhere. Finding a strip of aspirin, she grabbed her water bottle and downed two. Bloody headaches. She turned to face her computer screen and started typing up his notes. Where the hell was he? And how was she supposed to catch up with him, if he wasn't at home? She looked up sharply as she heard a knock on her door, felt her face crease as she saw Hamish's head pop round it and beckoned him into her room. He shook his head,

  'No, I'm in the middle of something…just wanted to catch you before you left. Walk and lunch Sunday?'

  'Try and stop me…see you at the normal place.' She stared at the door as it closed behind him. At last, something to look forward to. Now, to finish up her notes and then home to the bottle of wine that was beckoning her.

  15

  Beth

  The leisure centre was bright. She had to squint against the light, which seemed overwhelming. The girl at the cashier’s desk smiled at her, but she couldn't hold eye contact – instead, she put her head down and shuffled through to the changing rooms. They were busy – preschool children running around screaming, their mothers chatting between themselves. The acoustics were bad, every sound seemed amplified, and the smell of chlorine was pungent. Beth pulled her swimming hat low, her goggles down over her face and then strode through to the pool, feeling safer in her disguise.

  The pool was full, lessons being taken by young people in tracksuits, but there was a roped area for lane swimming which she ploughed up and down, trying to erase her thoughts. As she glided through the water, she thought back to earlier that morning, when she had sat slumped at the kitchen table, her head in her hands. She had known she couldn't manage work. She hated being off sick, her stomach muscles had clenched at the thought of what people would be saying, but she knew she couldn't make it in. She had picked up her phone, dialled, cleared her throat before talking to Carol, told her she was still fighting her stomach upset.

  And then, to ease her guilt, she had planned to focus on de-stressing herself. All she needed to do was follow the advice she had been given last time, manage her emotion. As if it was that easy.

  After half an hour, she felt the tension between her shoulders start to ease, her muscles going fluid. She told herself she was being stupid, just winding herself up about nothing. When she had finished, she moved into the sauna, but despite her body glowing, she was still on edge. She showered slowly, dressed without blow-drying her hair and left the leisure centre, deciding to walk home through the park. As she strode, she looked at her surroundings, refused to think of anything past or present, just the moment, as she had been taught. The grass was damp and dark clouds were low over the trees, casting shadows over the ponds which were busy with ducks. But despite everything, she couldn't stop herself looking over her shoulder. Had she heard something? Was someone in those bushes?

  Relief washed over her when she got home. She undid both locks, swung the door open and walked into her hall. But before she had even shut the door behind her, she jolted herself to a stop. Why is my kitchen light on? She felt blood drain from her face. Tiptoeing towards the kitchen, she peered past the door, looked to see what lay behind. The room was empty. But the blinds in the kitchen had been moved. She always left them exactly halfway down. Now, they were at three quarters. She stared at them, surveying the kitchen. She knew that someone had been there whilst she was out. She didn't know who, but there was no doubt somebody had been in.

  The hairs lifted on her arms as she scanned for other signs of intrusion, checked the windows and door locks for any damage or breakage. She found nothing. The doormat had shifted forward slightly, maybe the intruder had come through the back door? She rattled the handle, but it was locked. None of her valuables were missing – her laptop still sat on the lounge table, her emergency cash was safe in the knife drawer. She ran upstairs to check her bedroom, but there was no sign of any tampering there. She still knew someone had been in her home. Despite her certainty, she knew she would sound paranoid. The police would never believe her. So, again, she rang Suze.

  As soon as Suze answered the call, Beth spoke, the words tumbling out. There was a brief silence.

  'Are you sure?'

  Beth could hear the sceptical tone in her voice, hated it.

  'You know I believe you…but it does sound unlikely. Surely you could just have forgotten to open them this morning? Perhaps you don't remember because you're…so stressed up at the moment?' Suze's voice faltered slightly as she spoke.

  Beth felt like stamping her foot. 'No, this time someone really has been here. I can tell. I know it sounds strange, but you have to believe me. Ple
ase Suze, come round, I don't know what to do.'

  When Suze arrived, Beth was making tea in the kitchen. She knew she must look a sight, her hair still tangled from her swim, and her eyes felt swollen. Suze embraced her and then led her to the sofa. Beth couldn't control her breathing, her breaths were fast, light and shallow.

  'Look, Beth, I need to get you some help. Come to the hospital with me. I can't help you on my own.'

  She couldn't reply, her voice was drowned by whimpers. Suze tried to make her stand up, she tried just as hard to resist. But Suze was patient, and in the end, it was just easier to give in. She allowed Suze to put some things in her bag and then direct her out of the house and into her car passenger seat, before getting in the driver's side and pulling out.

  When they arrived, she could see that A&E was busy. They walked through the sliding doors, into the queue for reception and booked in. Beth looked into the waiting room and whispered to Suze, 'I told you I shouldn't come in. Look how ill everybody else is, and there's nothing wrong with me.' Suze didn't respond, just kept a firm grip on her arm. Amazingly, before long, her name was called, and they headed to the triage room to see the nurse. Beth was too tense to sit, so Suze took the chair while Beth towered beside her, moving from foot to foot and gripping her bottle of water. Beth listened as Suze explained, waited to hear the nurse's response with gritted teeth.

  'Hi Beth. Have you ever seen a psychiatrist before?'

  'Yes. They gave me a diagnosis of bipolar disorder and stuck me in hospital twice.'

  'Are you on any medicine?'

  'I was being prescribed Olanzapine by my psychiatrist.'

  'Have you been taking it?'

  'Well, no, not recently...'

  The nurse's face said it all. Shit, I'll have to stay now, otherwise, I'll never get them off my back.