Lead Me Home: a clever and engrossing psychological thriller

by CS Savage

  Clancy nodded, pulled forward a chair and motioned towards it, watching as Emily, pristine as ever, placed herself gently on the seat.

  'It's about that SCID. I've completed the assessment, and there is no doubt he has a narcissistic personality disorder. He can't empathise with other people, has an exaggerated sense of his self-importance, and seems to think that he is special and should be treated differently from everyone else. He also comes up high for antisocial traits. Based on this assessment, I would say his current behaviour is down to his personality, not to psychosis.'

  Clancy felt her hand creeping up the back of her neck, fingers feeling for the scab. God, it’s sore. She took her hand away. Her instincts had been right. There was nothing she could do with medication, and he wasn't going to engage in therapy. All she could do was keep monitoring him.

  'Thanks, Emily, that's helpful. Really grateful for you doing it so quickly for me.'

  Clancy expected Emily to get up and leave, but instead, she remained perched on her chair.

  'How are things with Dan?'

  'No change there. Haven't seen much of him, thank the lord. He's still fuming with me for not telling him about those letters. I'm treading carefully, though, waiting for him to kick off again. How about you?'

  'I just try and keep out of his way. He's been looking moody recently, though, I've no idea what's going on his personal life to piss him off so much. It's like he just hates women…and patients.'

  'He's a dick,' Clancy said emphatically.

  Emily gave a snort of laughter. 'Yeah…you could say that. Well, let me know if there's anything I can do.'

  Clancy was already back reading emails before Emily left the room.

  54

  Rowan

  She wondered where Beth was, how she was. She had been shocked at her sudden departure – the thought of how it had ended between them left a bitter taste in her mouth. Perhaps she should text her, make amends. She tapped her phone, almost typed out a text, but her finger hesitated. She didn't know what to say, no way she was crawling to her. She placed the mobile back on her bed, maybe later.

  The morning was bright, a break from the interminable rain. Today, she was busy, had to prepare herself perfectly before meeting Fariq. She hadn't been able to eat breakfast, the excitement gurgling in her stomach. Her outfit was laid out on her bed, white lace push-up bra with matching G-string, cream silk stockings, a cream ruched silk dress. It was great to have money to spend on herself.

  When she was finished, she checked her refection critically, pulled the hem of her skirt down, straightened the jacket, added a simple, silver, chain-link necklace and pearl stud earrings, and stood back. She was happy with the overall effect, couldn't believe how mature she looked, how she had changed in such a short time. She checked the time on her phone, hurried downstairs, grabbed her bag. When she had finished scribbling a note for her mum, she left, racing down to the corner of the street where she could see a black car waiting.

  The passenger door swung open when she arrived. As she slid into the car, Fariq picked up a curl, ran it through his fingers, leant forward and kissed her lightly on the cheek. He'd left the engine running, just indicated and pulled into the traffic.

  'Where are we going?' Rowan asked.

  Fariq tapped his nose twice, but then smiled. 'Croydon,’ he said. ‘Wait 'til we get there. I think you'll be happy.' Just before Croydon Airport, he indicated left, turned and pulled up. The Croydon Hilton stood before them, multi-story, imposing grey stone and sheets of glass. Fariq drove into the underground carpark, reversed into a tight space. As she got out of the car, she had to squeeze through a gap so small, it nearly snagged her dress. He took her hand, and they walked up the stone steps to the entrance, and in through the sliding doors. Fariq walked to the reception desk. She watched him conversing quietly, a credit card being passed over, Fariq inserting an envelope into his chest pocket. He returned to her, and just as he arrived, a waiter joined them.

  'Your table, madam.' He ushered them into a restaurant, tables laden with snow-white cloths, silver cutlery, crystal glasses. Each had a floral central piece. A few of the tables were occupied, couples dressed smartly, leaning towards each other. Fariq turned, gave a little wave to a smartly-dressed man at another table and nodded his head, but didn't make a move to go and talk. The waiter arrived, white tea towel folded over his arm, a silver ice bucket on a stand. A bottle of champagne clinked inside. He gave Fariq an almost half bow before uncorking the bottle and poured a little in his champagne flute. He sipped, tilted his chin at the waiter who filled both glasses and handed him a menu.

  Fariq smiled across at Rowan, took her hand. 'Happy?'

  She smiled, squeezed his hand. He looked down the menu, ordered, and then, the waiter left them to it.

  'I've been looking forward to seeing you,' he said, slipping his hand into his chest pocket and pulling out a tiny plastic bag. She reached across as he handed it to her, took it, looked at it. Two tablets, white.

  'Take one. It'll make you feel good, babes.'

  She looked at him, hesitated. Her heart raced, and she felt her mouth go dry. She opened the packet, took a pill between her fingers, moved her hand to her lips. Fariq looked at her, gave a nod with his head. She placed it on her tongue, picked up her champagne, gulped, swallowed. He smiled.

  'Well done. You are going to feel so good.' They both sat back as the waiter arrived with their plates of prawns. The food was exquisite. Rowan chewed slowly, her mouth still dry. When she finished her champagne, Fariq re-filled her glass.

  By the time the mains were served, Rowan's body felt heavy. The lights around her seemed bright, but noises were dimmed. Fariq's voice, melodious, rumbled in the background, as if through curtains. She was having difficulty making out the words, distracted by the softness of the seat below her. She leant forward, tried to reach her glass. Fariq guided her hand, she attempted a grin in response, then clutched the stem and raised it slowly to her lips. She took a large gulp to moisten her dry mouth. She heard a phone ring, sounded like it was across the room, but saw Fariq reach into his pocket. He pulled out a BlackBerry, pressed at it and spoke quietly, briefly, said, 'Ten minutes.' Strange, she had never seen that phone before.

  She concentrated on placing forkfuls of chicken into her mouth, could no longer taste it, the texture seemed dry, chewy, took an age to swallow. When she had eaten half of her main, she placed her knife and fork together on her plate, pushed it forward.

  Fariq frowned slightly, but then did the same, before standing up. 'I'll be two minutes. Sorry, need to use the rest room.'

  Rowan watched him walk through the foyer, head towards the gents, but before he reached them he stopped, spoke briefly to the man he greeted across the room. She thought she saw him pass something, a card or small envelope. Then, he opened the toilet door, disappeared from view.

  Five minutes later, he returned, sat down before her.

  'Who was that?' she mumbled, but stopped immediately when she saw Fariq's expression change. Clearly, it was not for her to know. Instead, she sank into her seat, her muscles soft, her eyelids a little droopy. He took her hand, 'Shall we?'

  They stood and walked from the restaurant, through the sliding glass doors and into the foyer. Rowan was expecting them to head for the exit and out to the car, was surprised when he led her towards the lift, but felt her body following him, as if she were observing from above. The lift was chrome and mirrored. She looked at herself, her make-up was still good, but her skin was pale, her eyes glazed. A bell pinged, the lift doors drew open, he led her along a corridor, past numbered doors all firmly shut. When they got to 323, he reached into his chest pocket, pulled out a card and slipped it into the card reader. The light flashed green, and he pushed open the door. The room was large, a massive white bed dominated the centre. Rowan blushed at the sight of it. Despite her wooziness, she felt a small thrill run down her. He turned towards her, led her to the bed, touched her gently on the cheek.

/>   'Don't worry, we won't do anything today. I just want to see you, touch you.’ He slid her jacket off her shoulders, placed it neatly on the leather-covered stool in front of the glass and chrome dresser. Turning her round, he inched down the zip at the back of her dress, then took the hem and very gently pulled the dress over her head. She felt the curls tumble soft down her back as he pulled the dress away, placed it on top of the jacket. She tried to turn towards him but he put his hand out, stopped her. He stood back, looked her up and down.

  'You are amazing. Perfect, even.'

  He motioned to her to sit on the bed, raised her legs for her and rested her head against a pile of crisp linen pillows, the coolness of them made her flinch. There was an ice bucket and two glasses on the bedside table, along with another bottle of champagne, uncorked. He filled both glasses and held one to her lips. She sipped greedily, still so dry.

  'Relax. Close your eyes.' She leant back. He sat apart from her, at the end of the bed, didn't touch. She smiled at him but he didn't seem to notice, his face mesmerised. She felt her eyelids close, her mind drifting, began to feel as if she were floating. She had no idea how much time had passed when she heard a click, jolted awake, alert. Fariq was standing at the end of the bed, had his phone pointed towards her. Her legs were spread, she clamped them together, her hands moving down her stomach to cover her groin.

  'Did you take a photo?' she tried to speak clearly, diction still difficult with the dryness.

  'Yes, only one, babe, a keepsake for me for later.'

  'Delete it. Please? I hate photos of me. I don't want anyone having a photo of me.'

  Fariq looked pensive then smiled, picked up his phone, scrolled and pressed. 'All gone. Good girl, you're right. I didn't think.'

  She smiled – relieved, trusting. 'Thank you.'

  He sat next to her, took her hand. 'Anything for you, babes. You know that. Now rest while I drink in the sight of you. Your breasts in that bra are just…beautiful. Beautiful.' She felt her eyelids droop again, and her thoughts drifted off.

  Her shoulder was being rocked when she came to, her head pounding. The curtains were still open but it was dark outside. As she sat up, she saw Fariq standing above her, champagne flute in hand. She looked down, her lingerie was all still in place.

  'Hi, babes. It's time to get going, I'm afraid. I've got some business to see to.' He held her dress out towards her. Slipped it over her head. She stood and pulled it into place, a little wobbly on her legs. She rubbed her eyes, tried to wake up, but she still felt drowsy. What sort of business was done on a Saturday night? She didn't bother asking. It felt like too much effort to open her mouth.

  As he drove home, her thoughts drifted. The journey seemed to only take one minute. Before she knew it, he was leaning over her, opening her door from the inside, pushing it free. She gathered her things, proffered her cheek for her goodbye kiss. He grabbed her hand, brought it to his lips. Gently pressed them to it.

  'You've been a good girl, thank you. Next week, I think I am ready to bring you to my home. Would you like that?'

  At last. If he was ready to take her home, things must be getting serious. She couldn't wait to tell Amy. She slipped the fifty-pound notes he had given her into her purse, climbed out of the car, and stumbled home.

  55

  I am nearly ready. The waiting has been hard, so hard. I am, after all, a young man with needs. I have emptied my balls, tried to drain my lust, but just knowing you, knowing I will have you, is almost more than I can bear. On more than one occasion, I have been close to relenting. It would be so easy to touch you, to enter you, to cleanse you. But I know that everything must be in place before I bring you here, let you in. And then, you will never leave, you will be here with me for eternity.

  56

  Beth

  Her feet pounded the pavement. The street lights threw shadows over the road, the air was crisp, the night dry. She turned along Carshalton Road, her footsteps falling in time to the music bursting from her headphones. Her thoughts churned as she ran, her focus on Suze. She almost had to stop and rub the burn on her cheeks as she thought of their fallout. So far, she hadn't had the guts to make contact with her, still hadn't heard from her. But every day, she thought of Suze, and her chest felt heavy. She made a decision. When she got in from this run, she would text her. What did she have to lose? She felt her steps lengthen and relaxed into her stride.

  When she reached her front door, she stopped, held her hands on her hips and puffed. It was going to take a bit of time to get her fitness levels up, but boy, had she missed this freedom. She stretched her calf muscles, her quads – following her regular routine – and then let herself into her flat. The smell of cooking potato made her stomach rumble; she had put one in the oven to bake before leaving. Just time for a shower, then she would eat.

  Dressing gown wrapped around her, she walked into the kitchen and prepared her salad. She took her Olanzapine out of the cupboard, hesitated just briefly, popped the pill from the packet and swallowed. She wasn't going there again; it might make her fat and drowsy but that beat being terrified. Her cheeks flushed at the thought of how confused she had been. She leant across the table, picked up her phone, stood staring at nothing while her thoughts cranked round – what should she write? Eventually, her fingers started tapping.

  Hi Suze, how are things? Been thinking about you lots.

  I'm so sorry about being difficult and causing somuch hassle.

  I'm much better now, everything is going well.

  Would be great to hear from you, to meet up?

  Let me know when would be good? Lots of love, Beth.

  She heard the whoosh as the text sent and then placed the phone on the table. She tried to stop her eyes flicking to the screen as she worked her way through her potato, but the screen remained dark. Why am I always messing things up with friends? Her thoughts turned to Clancy and Ro. No time like the present. She picked up the phone, tapped out a text.

  Everything is going well, I'm not scared anymore, promise.

  I won't need another appointment with you, but it would be lovely if I could drop in on you and Ro sometime.

  She pressed send, then carried on typing, this time to Rowan.

  I'm so sorry for splitting on you Ro.

  I hope you know I did it because I was worried.

  Hope it didn't get you in too much trouble. Be great to meet up x

  Her breath out was long. She hadn't realised how much the guilt had been playing on her mind. The phone buzzed with a text alert.

  Is ok. Pls dont say bout Fariq. B gd 2 meet.

  Beth snatched the phone, tapped back,

  Definitely. I'll come round soon x.

  Thank God for that. Ro was going to forgive her. And of course, she wasn't going to say anything about Fariq – she had learnt her lesson.

  57

  Clancy

  She opened the text, typed a reply.

  So glad to hear things are going well. Definitely, come round for dinner one night this week.

  Wednesday about 6?

  Be really good to see you.

  She almost added a smiley face to the text. It seemed like seconds later that the reply pinged in.

  Great, see you then x

  It was mid-morning, and she was flicking through her appointment diary. Mr Hussein was due in that afternoon for the results of his SCID assessment. She wondered how he would take it. She picked at her scab, stared at the screen. Hamish was coming with him, so it should be ok, but even so, she would be glad when it was over.

  He was her first appointment that afternoon. He followed Hamish into the room, for once, his face not set with hostility. In fact, amazingly, he seemed very pleased to be there. The question burst from his lips before he had even sat down.

  'Well, how did I do?' His face was almost split into halves by his mouth – clearly, he was expecting good news.

  Clancy took a deep breath, picked up the psychologist's report and started to flick thro
ugh. 'I've explained to you that this assessment gives us an insight into people's personalities. Some people have patterns of behaviour that tend either to get them into conflict with society, as they find it hard to follow the rules, or to cause them significant distress. We use the term personality disorder to describe this, but I want to emphasise that this does not mean we are saying anyone has a horrible personality, just that their personality may tend to cause them problems. Particularly important is that these sorts of difficulties are very rarely helped by medication, although there are some exceptions to that rule.' Clancy flicked her eyes over Mr Hussein's face, tried to read his response to this. He stared back at her, didn't falter. She continued. 'You meet the criteria for two types of personality disorder…narcissistic and dyssocial.'

  'How does that work? I'm not “distressed.” At least I wouldn't be, if you lot would just leave me alone.'

  'Actually, that would fit. In these two types of personality disorders, the patients themselves frequently don't report distress. It is more that they find it difficult to fit into society. So, their distress might be caused by not being able to follow the rules set by society. They may, for example end up breaking the law and coming into conflict with the police…or mental health services.'

  'Ahh, I get it,' Mr Hussein interrupted her flow. 'What you are saying is that just because you lot disagree with me, that means that I have a disorder.' Mr Hussein leant towards her. 'I knew it. It's what I've been saying all along. There's nothing wrong with me. It's you lot!' He looked like he was trying to suppress laughter.