Pressure: a dark and disturbing psychological thriller

by Betsy Reavley

  Then the screaming begins, and it takes a moment before I realise that the sound is coming from me.

  36

  Child

  After I killed her I sat down in a chair, where she used to do her make-up, and just looked at her for a while. She didn’t look so scary anymore. She looked sort of sad.

  The curtains had been closed and the room was quite dark. Outside I heard a bird cheeping and remembered Robin and the reason why I had done what I did. At last Mummy couldn’t hurt anyone anymore.

  I went over to the window and drew the curtains back. The sun was shining. I looked down into our overgrown garden and my eyes settled on the burnt mattress that lay at the end of the garden. The ground around it was black and scorched and it gave me an idea. That was where I would put Mummy: in the ground underneath the mattress. That is where I would bury her. It seemed fitting somehow. But I wasn’t ready to let her go yet. I wanted her with me for a little while longer.

  Looking down at my hands I saw that the blood had dried. It was reddish brown and cracked on my skin. I was reminded of the pottery I’d done at school.

  Staring out of the window again, I felt sad remembering the day Mummy set fire to my mattress. I looked at her lying dead on her bed and had a thought. Then I went over to her and leant over. Her eyes were open and looking up at the ceiling but the light in them had disappeared.

  I went around the bed unfolding all the corners of the sheets so that they were loose. Next, I wrapped them around Mummy and using all my strength pulled her off the bed and onto the floor. She hit the carpet with a thud. Her mattress was stained with blood so I flipped it over. It was surprisingly heavy. The other side was clean. This would be my new bed and my bedroom from now on. Mummy could just stay there on the floor for a while.

  I got onto the bed and curled up, the warm sun flooded through the window onto my back, and I closed my eyes. It was the best sleep I’d ever had.

  When I woke up, a few hours later, I got off the bed, stepped over Mummy and went downstairs. I was now the boss of the house and I wanted to make it my own. I went through the kitchen reorganising everything in a daze. It felt so surreal to be able to move around the place without the fear of being yelled at or beaten.

  I made sure to take the jam out of the cupboard and put it in the bin at the front of the house then I made a start on the living room.

  Mummy used to be mean about the fact that I like to read and I took pleasure in binning all of her DVDs, even though I liked films, to make space for the books I planned to read and collect. I moved the TV upstairs into my new bedroom so that I could watch it in bed, which is something Mummy would never have let me do. Her body remained on the floor as I set it up and it felt like she was watching me. But I liked the feeling she might be watching and couldn’t do anything about it. It made me feel powerful.

  The next thing I did was to write a letter to Mummy’s work, from Mummy, telling them that she quit and had found another job. I would post it the next day.

  I spent the next two days doing exactly as I pleased and it was bliss. I ate what I wanted and went to bed when I felt like it. Everything was great but it was soon spoiled, once again, by Mummy.

  The smell was vile but I could just about cope with that, because I kept the bedroom window wide open. But when the maggots and the flies settled in I knew it was time to move her. They came and started living off Mummy. It was disgusting.

  I went into the shed in the garden and found a spade. After dragging the burnt remains of my old mattress out of the way I started to dig a hole in the large charred part of the ground. It was hot and tiring work. I dug for hours until I was sure the grave was deep enough before clambering out of the hole, sweaty and covered in earth. It made sense to wait until it was dark to drag her down the stairs and into her final resting place. I would have to fill it in under the cover of night.

  When my work was done I got myself a picnic and went and sat in the garden. The weather was good and I was pleased to be away from the rotting smell and the flies that now buzzed around the house. After lunch I settled down with a book I’d borrowed from the library and enjoyed the sunshine.

  When darkness fell I was ready to move Mummy – but I knew it wouldn’t be easy.

  I had to tug her along the landing wrapped in the blood-stained sheet, which actually made it easier. It also meant I didn’t have to touch her decaying body. The flies left her in a black cloud and I noticed that her corpse had gone stiff as I started to move it. When I’d managed to position the body at the top of the stairs, I had to give it a hard shove to get it to fall down. She fell awkwardly and I am pretty sure some of her bones broke as she tumbled.

  I stood at the top of the stairs for a moment looking down at Mummy’s crumpled corpse. An arm was sticking out from beneath the sheet and the skin looked all grey and mottled.

  By the time I got her to the edge of the grave I was exhausted. As I bent down so that I could roll her in, I felt a twinge of sadness. This would be the last time I would ever see her. I had enjoyed spending time with her over the last few days. It was nice being with her when she wasn’t angry. But I knew the moment couldn’t last and I said goodbye as I pushed her into the deep dark hole before piling the earth on top of her and patting it down, then dragging the mattress back over the gravesite.

  That week I concentrated on applying for part-time jobs. Although I hated school I knew I had to keep attending otherwise it would arouse suspicion. Luckily, I knew the pin code for Mummy’s credit card so I was able to live off her savings. She’d inherited a bit from her parents and I was surprised and delighted to discover she had over fifteen thousand pounds in her account. I would be able to survive off that for some time as long as I kept it topped up with some money from a part-time job. Mummy didn’t have a mortgage, either, so all I had to do was have enough for the bills and food.

  For once everything was falling into place without any difficulty and I planned to make as much as I could out of my new life.

  37

  The Pica Explorer

  Day five. Hour 22:30.

  I must have fainted because when I come round, Frank’s dead body is no longer lying on top of me and I am able to sit up freely. His large torso has been rolled over onto his side and his small piggy eyes are staring at me, glazed with shock.

  Scrabbling on my bum, away from the dead man, I end up backing into a chair and hitting my elbow on a metal leg.

  Susie is standing glued to the spot, her hand over her open mouth, looking down at Frank in horror, while Sam remains motionless. All of the colour has drained from his face.

  ‘What did you do?’ Susie stammers.

  I look down at my hands, seeing they have blood on them and watch as they begin to shake uncontrollably.

  ‘I… I…’ Sam swallows hard. ‘I actually did it.’

  Susie, to my surprise, takes a step towards Frank and stands over the body for a minute before bending down and taking hold of his wrist to check his pulse.

  ‘He’s gone,’ she tells us, closing her eyes and shaking her head.

  ‘You saved me.’ My eyes fill with tears and I look up at Sam who is looking down at his own hands in awe.

  ‘I did it,’ Sam says again, sounding proud rather than ashamed.

  ‘We know you were only trying to save Zara.’ Susie gets up. ‘It was an accident. We know that.’

  ‘I did it,’ he says again and a smile creeps across his face. ‘After all this time…’ His words fade away.

  Susie and I share a look of concern. Where is the remorse?

  ‘You’re in shock. It’s okay, just sit down for a moment.’ Susie tries to guide Sam over to a seat but he won’t budge.

  ‘You don’t understand!’ He lets a little laugh escape. ‘You don’t get it.’

  ‘Sam, you’re not making any sense.’ Susie puts her arm on his shoulder and he flinches.

  ‘My mother.’ Sam stops and swallows hard. ‘Frank killed her.’

  Now
I know that Sam has lost the plot and I wish I was anywhere else but here.

  ‘He raped her when she went to America. She never recovered.’

  I try to tell myself that this is all insane but, given what just happened to me, I decide to hear Sam’s story.

  ‘I was a child when she went to New York. She was offered a role on Broadway and she was gone for a few months. When she got back she was a different woman. Sad all the time, tearful and had lost the light in her eyes. None of us understood what was wrong. My brother and I thought that maybe she was sad to be back with us and was missing the stage, but then one night I heard her tell my father what had happened. Frank had come backstage, promising her he wanted to talk about a big role he had coming up that she would be perfect for. Then he raped her. She never told anyone – she was so ashamed. It broke her.’

  I can’t help looking at the body of the man Sam is talking about and all I feel is relief.

  ‘He was a vicious piece of work,’ Sam continues, trying to justify his actions to himself. ‘My mother killed herself because of him. Our family was never the same again. My father fell apart and I have never forgiven this pig for what he did to her. He might as well have murdered her himself.’ Sam leans over and spits on Frank’s body. ‘Good riddance to bad rubbish.’ He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

  Susie slowly moves over towards me and encourages me to get up off the floor while Sam’s tirade continues.

  ‘I found her body. I will never forget the moment I came home and found her dead. I was a boy, a young kid, and it destroyed my life. At her funeral, standing by her grave, I promised my mother I’d have my revenge.’ He starts circling Frank’s body like a vulture and once again I don’t feel safe.

  ‘I became an actor because I was determined to find a way to make Frank pay for what he did to her.’

  My head pounds and the room begins to feel very small, as if it is closing in around me.

  ‘I didn’t know it would end like this. I wanted him to hurt but I didn’t know the sub would sink. I could never have foreseen that. None of us could. But watching him lose control, watching him suffer has made this all worth it.’ Sam stops and lifts his right foot, before resting it above Frank’s face for a moment. ‘The monster is dead!’ he yells and brings his shoe down onto Frank’s cheek slowly and deliberately. ‘Eat shit!’ He spits on Frank again.

  ‘You’ve suffered a terrible thing,’ Susie agrees, taking small steps backwards towards the exit pulling me with her, ‘but it’s over now.’

  ‘No.’ Sam shakes his head sadly. ‘Not quite.’ Susie and I freeze, not wanting to antagonise Sam in any way.

  ‘Yes, it is. He’s dead,’ she speaks softly.

  ‘We are all dying,’ Sam says wistfully as he struggles to remove the large knife that is sticking out of Frank’s broad back. ‘It’s over.’ He looks down at the blood-covered blade, which is now missing its tip. ‘You need to leave.’ Sam turns to us with a sombre expression. ‘Now.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ My words come out in a squeak.

  ‘It’s time for me to join my mother.’ Sam lifts the knife to his own throat and closes his eyes.

  ‘You don’t have to do this.’ Susie lunges forward with her arms outstretched. ‘Please.’

  ‘Go.’ He opens his eyes and we know he is serious.

  ‘Come on’—I pull Susie’s arm—‘we need to leave.’ As we fall back into the corridor I hear a gurgling sound and spluttering coming from the living area and slam the door shut with my foot.

  ‘It’s just us now,’ Susie says as a single tear rolls down her pale cheek.

  ‘And Luke,’ I add looking over at the locked door that contains the only living male on board.

  38

  Child

  At sixteen I left the small village I’d spent my life in and moved to a city to attend sixth form. I’d considered going straight to London but the thought of the big city was too daunting.

  I’d once been on a day trip to the city with the school, to visit the historic centre. It seemed like a nice place and so I decided to make it my new home.

  Pretending to be Mummy, I arranged for an ad to go into the local paper and rented out the house. I couldn’t sell it without raising suspicion so renting it out was my best option. Besides, it would give me a monthly income that would allow me to study properly.

  During the summer term, after my sixteenth birthday, I paid the city a visit one weekend and arranged a tour of a sixth form college, which was one of the most prestigious in our area. It was so much more than I could have expected, so different to the over-subscribed, run-down school I’d attended. I knew, as I walked around the building, that it was where I wanted to be. All I had to do was make sure that my exam results were suitable.

  That same day I took a big gamble and found a room to lodge in. If I wanted to get into that sixth form then I needed a local address.

  On a road, very close to the college and the station, stood a number of grand Victorian houses. In one of them lived an old lady called Mrs Sturdy. She was a widow in her eighties who rented out the numerous spare bedrooms in her large home and had done so for years.

  She showed me around the house, explaining I could use the kitchen and that I had shared bathroom facilities before showing me the bedroom, which was at the top of the house in the attic. It wasn’t the largest room but it had a bed, wardrobe, chest of drawers and desk. The monthly rent included all bills and more importantly it was an easy walk to the college.

  I gave Mrs Sturdy a cash deposit and said I intended to move in during late July. She asked me why my parents hadn’t come with me to see the house and I had explained they were busy working. The lie rolled off my tongue with ease.

  Mrs Sturdy was a strange little old woman, whose back was very bent. She smelt of rosewater and urine. It was an odd combination. From our first meeting it was clear to me that she would not interfere with my life as long as I paid my rent on time, which suited me down to the ground.

  I was introduced to the other lodgers in the house. One was a Chinese man by the name of Wang Li. He didn’t speak to me very much and spent a lot of time in the kitchen cooking. He was harmless enough. In the room opposite me lived a fat girl called Lucy. She had a permanent scowl on her face and I often saw her sitting on her bed eating biscuits while studying. Whenever she saw me looking she would slam the door. I didn’t like her. She used to look at me like I was a pervert.

  The other residents of 49 Barnabus Road included a man in his forties who was a computer technician. He was only there from Monday to Friday and had a family in Wellingborough, near Northampton, who he returned to every weekend. There was a Polish couple in one of the rooms, who I often heard arguing in Polish. And lastly there was a Cambodian nurse. She was a small and gentle woman who was a bit lost on her own in the city. She worked in a large teaching hospital so that she could send money home to her family in Siem Reap. Her English was lousy but she tried her best and would often offer me her leftovers. She always cooked far too much.

  Returning to the cottage in the countryside, I set about making it fit to be rented out. That meant moving the mattress, which had lain discarded in the garden for a few years. The only way to get rid of it for good was to douse it in petrol and set it alight. I felt nothing as I watched the angry flames devour the fabric and when the ground was no longer hot I raked it, making it ready for grass seed, which I planted a few days later.

  It didn’t take very long for me to get the garden looking respectable. No one would ever know the secret it concealed.

  After learning that I’d achieved the right grades to go to Hills Road, I packed up all of Mummy’s belongings and took them to a charity shop. After that I was ready to leave the cottage for the last time.

  It had been easy arranging for an estate agency to take on the house. They didn’t need anything more from me than Mummy’s signature, which I’d become an expert at faking.

  I delivered the keys
to them in an envelope and then got a bus to the train station. I knew it would be the last time I’d ever set foot in that village or that house.

  By September I was raring to start college. I’d decided that photography would be my main focus alongside English.

  During the four weeks I’d spent living at 49 Barnabus Road I’d also worked on changing my appearance. I was sick of being the child everyone bullied. I got new clothes, like those I’d seen the other cool kids wear, started to listen to the music I knew they liked and got my hair cut. I put posters up on my wall of the films that I’d heard classmates talk about and made sure I was unrecognisable as the kid who’d lived in Suffolk.

  On that first day I walked into my new classroom at Hills Road with my head held high. All the shit from my past felt like a distant memory and I now had an opportunity to rewrite history and make something of myself. At last I was really free from Mummy.

  The first few months were great. I enjoyed the course, the teachers were easy-going but engaging and I made a lot of friends, but as Christmas approached I started to have problems. I’d have moments where I’d black out and then start to panic.

  One of the nicer tutors took me aside and suggested I met with the college counsellor. I didn’t like the idea of it at first. I had more pride than that but as the problem escalated and began to interfere with my work, I realised I didn’t have a choice.

  For a few weeks I had regular appointments with Ed Potter. He was nice enough and eager to help. He listened to me describe what was happening to me and how I felt, without interrupting. I never mentioned Mummy or my family. I pretended that Cynthia Sturdy was my grandmother who I lived with. No one ever questioned any of it.