Lead Me Home: a clever and engrossing psychological thriller

by CS Savage

  After clambering over her bedroom floor, she went into the bathroom and sat on the loo, her bladder was bursting. How could it have got to this? She couldn't believe he had actually hurt her. The memory seemed unreal, but the evidence did not lie. He had always had a temper, but this was something else. And when she thought of the note, she felt a shudder of fear move through her. What else was he capable of? She examined the bruise in the mirror. Fortunately, it was at the back of her neck and would be covered by her hair. If she kept it down, no-one would see. She would die of shame if anyone found out what had happened. She could hear the “told you so’s” ringing in her ears. She splashed her face with water from the sink to cool down, but her cheeks still burnt.

  She had college today, some health and safety lecture. She had to go in. Her mum would kill her if she got kicked out. She walked to her bedroom and started dredging through clothes on the floor to find something wearable.

  An hour later, she was on the bus to college, earphones clamped in her ears, hood down, staring at her phone screen. When the bus stopped outside the college, she stepped down and hurried through the kissing gate, down the paved path towards the modern high building with large sliding glass doors at the entrance. The lecture had just started, so she slid into a seat at the back of the classroom. Her eyes skimmed over the rest of the class. Amy gave her a small wave from her window seat across the room. She tried but didn't quite manage a smile in return and then turned to face the lecturer. Her body was present, but her mind was in a dark street in Sutton.

  When the lecture had finished, Amy charged across the room towards her and grabbed her by the hand. 'Canteen?'

  She nodded and they walked across the courtyard together, Amy chattering away. After a few minutes, she stopped talking, seemed to notice Rowan's silence. 'You ok, Ro?'

  Rowan shook her head, trying to hold back the tears.

  'Oh, Ro, what's wrong?'

  Rowan's head moved from side to side again; she couldn't seem to get her mouth to work. Amy dragged her into the toilets, and they perched in a cubicle. Between gulps, Rowan filled Amy in.

  'He did what?' Amy looked at her, flabbergasted. 'God, I knew he was tosser, but I would never have thought he would do anything like this. And how did he get to leave the note? How did he get in?'

  'Don't know. No doubt it's his writing, though. It's so creepy.' The tears started to fall again.

  'Have you told your mum?'

  'No, no, she can't know about this. No-one can. I shouldn't have told you…'

  'Ro, stop, calm down. I won't say a word to anyone, promise. I'm just worried about you. Have you thought about going to the police?'

  But Rowan shook her head. 'No way,' she muttered.

  Amy handed her more tissue. 'Let's go for a fag.'

  The pair left the toilets and walked, arms linked, through the reception and out to the smoking area at the front of the building. Neither of them noticed the figure, dressed in black, watching intently from the bus stop.

  23

  Clancy

  'You did what?' Dan was standing, fists clenched, leaning towards her across her desk. She could see the veins pulsing on his temples, red capillaries flecking the whites of his eyes. She couldn't stop herself from leaning back, as far back as the chair would let her, trying to avoid the intense gaze. She could imagine the foulness of his breath, she really didn't need to smell it. She took a few deep breaths before answering him.

  'I went to see her last night…'

  His voice was low, but Clancy couldn't miss the menace in his tone. 'I told you to not to go round there!' He bashed the surface of her desk in time with his words,

  Clancy had a picture of it splintering beneath him. She tried to avert her eyes from the speck of dandruff that sat in his parting, looked down at the Parker pen she was rolling between her fingers. 'Look, I just popped to see her. I really think I'm getting somewhere. She let me in, and we've arranged to go for a walk today. She's clearly not well, but she's adamant she won't take any medicine.'

  'You're being completely inappropriate,' Dan shouted. 'You're a psychiatrist, not a social worker. For God's sake, start acting like one.' And with that, he turned on his heels and stomped off, a sheet of paper fluttering to the floor in his wake. She sat and stared at the door that had shut behind him, almost boring holes into the wood. God, he was such a twat. She hated him. And sometimes, she hated this bloody job. But she wouldn't give up on trying to help patients, so she was stuck with it.

  Looking at her diary reminded her that, at twelve, she was supposed to be reviewing Mr Hussein. Sadly, Hamish was bringing him in, so there was little chance of a no-show. She tapped the keyboard irritably while she was waiting, flicking through emails. She tried to avoid the sight of the pile of letters in her in-tray that seemed to have a life of its own. She still had all her notes to write up, what a great way to spend a Saturday morning. At least she had a walk with Hamish to look forward to. She leant back in her chair, her mind wandered, and suddenly, she found herself thinking about Mr Lowe. Quickly, she grabbed her mouse and brought up his records. Damn. Nothing. I’ll check up on him later. A bang on the door disturbed her. Mr Hussein walked through, his smile set. Hamish hovered behind him.

  'Hello, Clancy.'

  God, he was smug. She dug her nails into the palm of her hand. 'How are you?' she replied. Today, she could see a glint that had not been there at their last meeting, his eye contact was more insistent, his shoulders tilted towards her.

  'Same as…' he replied. He didn't invite her to say how she was.

  'So…what have you been up to?' she asked.

  His lips curled. 'Wouldn't you like to know. Actually, I've been getting myself a woman.'

  'Really?'

  'Yes, been going out to clubs, looking on the internet. I've found a few lucky candidates,' he smirked at her. 'I'm going to start setting up some dates. A man's got to…' he left the sentence hanging but winked at her.

  Clancy swallowed hard. She really didn't need a mental picture of that. She took another deep breath. 'No-one in particular, then?'

  'Yes, there is someone. I'm not sure yet, all still in the early stages. I'm fussy. It's difficult to find someone with all the necessary qualities,' he replied, running his tongue over his bottom lip, without dropping eye contact.

  Clancy decided to change tack, get off that subject. 'How have your thoughts been? Have you been hearing any voices?'

  He stared her straight between the eyes. 'Nothing, no.'

  'You still won't be persuaded to take any medicine?' He just glared at her, his mouth didn't form a reply. She tried, very hard, not to glare back, dragged her eyes away and back to the notes. 'Well, I suppose we'll just have to keep monitoring you. See you next week.'

  It was with a feeling of relief that Clancy headed out of her office at four-thirty. She rang Beth's doorbell promptly at five and, despite herself, was surprised to hear footsteps coming to the door, followed by the clunking of locks. When she saw Beth, she could see no improvement. Beth's skin looked grey and drawn. The old jogging bottoms and hoody she was wearing were hanging from her. She watched as Beth stood back in the doorway, eyes flickering up and down the street, her mouth moving as if to start speaking. She reached for her hand to pre-empt any sudden change of heart, encouraging her off the step and into the street. Beth was stiff, but she gave into Clancy's gentle pressure and started to move. Clancy tried to question her about how she was feeling, but Beth gave one-word answers and could not be drawn into conversation.

  'I've got a daughter, she's a bit younger than you,' Clancy said. 'She's called Rowan.'

  Beth's expression didn't change, but she managed to mutter a response. 'What does she do?'

  'Not a lot, she's supposed to be at college doing beauty, but she doesn't seem to have to go in much…' It was Clancy's turn to lapse into silence.

  They walked towards Morrison's, through the automatic doors onto the shop floor, people with trolleys milling around them.
Beth picked up a basket, and they moved down the fresh goods aisle, Beth adding some salad and bananas, all the time scanning the crowds. She nudged Clancy in the ribs. 'Did you hear that?'

  'What?' All Clancy had heard was the store manager calling spare staff to the checkout. She looked at Beth, her expression puzzled, as Beth pointed to the ceiling.

  'Don't tell me you didn't hear that, I can't believe this. Are you all in it together? Why would you lie? That announcement was clearly telling everyone that I'm here, I'm in the store.'

  Clancy grabbed her arm. 'Calm down, calm down. Let's buy this stuff and get out of here.' She led Beth to the check-out, could hear her breaths heavy and fast, her panic was contagious. Clancy almost thought she was mistaken, that someone was after Beth. Fortunately, check-out staff had responded to the call, so Beth's items were scanned through quickly, and they headed though the exit and back out onto the High Street. As they walked towards Beth's home, the girl started to breathe more normally. Thank God for that. Clancy could do without an incident in public.

  When they reached the front door, Clancy waited while Beth unlocked all of the latches, and let herself in.

  'I'll be in touch,' Clancy said before turning and walking towards her car. She flung herself in the driver's seat. God, she could do with a glass of wine. As she pulled away, she remembered she had forgotten to contact Steve again about Mr Lowe. She dropped her head back against the head-rest. Tomorrow would have to do.

  24

  Rowan

  Despite it still being afternoon, Rowan grabbed a glass of water and went straight up to her room, collecting her laptop on route. Stripping off, she dropped her clothes on her bedroom floor, closed the curtains and pulled on pyjamas before slipping under the duvet. Firing up Netflix, she curled up, arms wrapped around herself, staring blankly at the screen. The house was quiet, she could hear the boiler kick in, the pipes creaking, some street noise. She pulled the duvet up around her, jamming it against her ears. Darkness fell. She didn't turn on the light, but lay in the gloom, still as stone.

  It seemed like two hours later that she heard the front door rattle, a light click on, bags rustle. The fridge door opened, what must be provisions banged against the plastic. She heard her mum call her name but didn't move, stayed curled up in foetal position. Half an hour later, the aroma of frying onions reached her and just about gave her the motivation to get up. She headed downstairs while wrapping her dressing-gown around her body.

  As she pushed the kitchen door open, she could see her mum standing at the stove, stirring onions around a frying pan and simultaneously reading the back of a sauce packet.

  'I'm making Spag Bol as a treat, want some?'

  Rowan shrugged and collapsed onto a chair, eyes fixed staring at the kitchen table top. Her mum was stirring in the mince.

  'What's up?'

  'Nothing, just tired.'

  Her mum smiled sympathetically. 'Well, have some tea and an early night, that should make you feel better.'

  Rowan suppressed a groan. Mum thought that everything was solved by food and an early night. As if.

  'Vic came round when you were out last night.'

  'Really…did he come in?'

  'Yes, why?'

  'Why the hell would you let him in?' Rowan shuddered. He had been there, watching her, while she was sleeping.

  'He had some flowers for you…'

  'I don't care,' Rowan shouted. 'Don't let him in. We're over, get it? I never want to see him again.' She stood up, tipping her chair backwards, and stormed out of the door, slamming it behind her and stamping up the stairs. She threw herself on the bed and pulled her laptop towards her, opening Facebook and immediately clicking on Vic's profile. He'd posted pictures of himself drinking with his mates on his time line, was clearly not concerned she was out of contact. Seconds later, a message pinged into her inbox.

  How are you slut?

  She flinched. Quickly, she deleted the message and carried on scrolling through her notifications, blinking back the tears that welled. A friend request from Dave, she clicked accept. And then another from someone she didn't recognise. She opened his profile. Fariq. And he was fit. Older than her, but who cared about that? Studied at University College London, and apparently local, but she didn't recognise him, and they had no mutual friends. She pressed accept with a shiver and started looking through his photos. Lots of them, him in pubs and restaurants, at a ball dressed in Black tie. Nice.

  Thirty minutes later, he came on line.

  Hi babes, how are you?

  She hesitated.

  Been better tbh...

  Whazzup?

  Normal shit. Split up with my bf, he turned out to be a right psycho...

  Shame babes. Don't be down. Plenty more fish and all that. Girl like you must have loads of fans.

  What makes you say that?

  Despite her mood, Rowan felt the corner of her lips turning up.

  I've looked at your pics. You're special babes.

  She felt her cheeks flush, again she hesitated before typing. But, hey, in for a penny and all that.

  Not so bad yourself...,

  The reply pinged in.

  Nice of you to say so. Look, gtg, catch you later sweetie.

  His profile confirmed he had gone offline. Rowan spent a little longer looking through his pictures, smiling to herself. She could smell the spaghetti bolognese drifting up from the kitchen, and suddenly, it seemed very appealing. She pulled her dressing gown back round her and headed off downstairs.

  25

  Mother keeps going on at me, telling me I ought to get out more, meet new people. All right for her to say. There are so few people out there I would wish to spend any time with. I find normal people dull. Generally, when I'm with a group, I'm bored by the conversation, the tittle-tattle that they find interesting. It's rare for me to find someone who’s on my level, who can see me for who I am. Even when they think they are being clever, they are usually just pontificating crap. Stupid fools, they take my quietness for lack of intelligence. They don't know that I sit and analyse each and every one of them, study their behaviour, work out how they tick. Usually, after an evening out, I know most of the group better than they know themselves.

  My preparations are going well, and soon, I will have my partner for life. Yes, I know, brains are not her strong point…but to be fair, when she is with me, she will not need to use words. Her body will be enough.

  26

  Clancy

  Dear Dr Vikaj,

  It is with regret that I feel the need to write to you about the conduct of one of our psychiatrists, Dr Mclean. She persistently works against me and refuses to follow my advice or guidelines, she is a poor team worker and puts her priorities over and above those of her patients. Despite many requests from me, she is not fulfilling her contact targets. In addition, I have concerns that she is becoming inappropriately involved with certain patients. I would be grateful if you could address this with her forthwith.

  Yours sincerely,

  Dan Monk

  As she opened the email, she felt her blood pressure surge. How bloody dare he? She couldn't believe the nerve of him, the two-faced, bigoted sneak. And to the Medical Director as well. How dare he interfere with her clinical work, he was a bloody manager – not a doctor. She typed an email back.

  Dear Dr Vikaj,

  I note the email sent to you yesterday by Dan. I want you to know I completely reject his allegations. I have been extremely busy with some very complex cases, which, in my view, have required the extra time I have been willing to spend, often out of hours. I'm very happy to discuss more.

  Regards, Clancy

  She jabbed the send key. Take that, dickhead. Moving on to the next email, she found no comfort. A MERLIN report from the police. Looking at the subject name, she didn't know whether it was good news or not – Mr Lowe had shown up. She quickly scanned the information. The police had been called to a disturbance in Sutton High Street on Tuesday. He and a
young girl had been screaming at each other in the street. She scanned further. When the police had approached them, Lowe had looked agitated, they had tried to speak to him, but he had run off. They had managed to hold the girl back and speak to her. Allegedly, she had been drunk, staggering about, they had almost arrested her for drunk and disorderly.

  She picked up her phone and dialled Steve again, was amazed when his voice came down the line. 'At last. You're actually in.'

  'No need for the sarcasm. I've been on nights, now, what’s up?' he said.

  'That Lowe chap I was talking to you about…I’ve got a MERLIN report. The police were called to a fracas a couple of days ago. Can you look him up for me?’

  'Sure. What’s his full name again?' She gave his details, could hear the keypad tapping, the steady sound of him breathing. Clearly, he was relaxed, at least.

  'Yep…you're right. They were called, he was having a stand-up row in the street with a drunk girl. He looked paranoid, wouldn't stop to speak to them, ran off. No evidence he had done anything wrong, so they didn't go after him. They managed to talk to the girl, though. Although she wasn't making much sense. But she was extremely distressed, wouldn't tell them why. They nearly brought her in, but in the end, they called her a cab when she told them she suffered from mental health problems.'

  'Did they get a name?' She could hear the keyboard tapping again, crossed her fingers.

  'Yes. Emma Stacey. Date of birth second of Feb 1998.'

  'Great. Thanks, Steve. Is there anything else?'