Untouchable: A chillingly dark psychological thriller

by Sibel Hodge

  ‘Well, phone me if you need to talk, all right? Anytime, it doesn’t matter. I don’t sleep much these days, anyway.’

  I leant back on the sofa with exhaustion, closed my eyes, and gave another yes.

  JAMIE

  Chapter 16

  I awoke in the same bedroom the next morning with every part of me throbbing or burning or aching. It took a while for my eyes to focus on the room, but the pounding in my head made it hard. The only good thing about the situation was that I was alone.

  I sat up, dizzy and nauseous, and rested my head in my hands for a moment to stop the spinning. A glass of water was by the bed, and it was gone in seconds as I gulped greedily. I was naked, and bruises were all over me. I listened to the sounds of the house to see if anyone was around, but I couldn’t hear a thing. My own clothes were on a chair by my bed, and I dressed slowly, wincing at even the fabric touching my sore skin.

  I tried the door, but it was locked. I went to the window and lifted the thick red-and-gold curtains, staring into a huge rear garden that was completely private from any neighbours, with tall trees and high walls. I tried to lift the window, but it wouldn’t open. Some kind of lock was on the bottom of it. What would I do if it did open? Where would I go? Who would I tell?

  I spied on a table in the corner a framed photo of the Fat Man dressed in the same judge’s costume. He was with an important-looking couple, accepting an award, and the realisation dawned on me that the men’s costumes weren’t fancy dress at all. One of them was really a judge, and one was a policeman. God only knew who the others were. I wouldn’t be allowed to tell. And no one would believe me anyway.

  The sound of a key turning in the door made me jump half out of my skin.

  Please, not again. Please leave me alone.

  The door swung open, and Barker was there, a jovial smile in place. ‘Come on, then.’ He jerked his head in the direction of the corridor. ‘Let’s go.’

  Gingerly, I got up and followed him to the front door, where Trevor, Billy, Dave, and Sean were waiting in silence, their heads hung low, looking as pale and hurt and hopeless as I felt.

  We never spoke about it between ourselves. We just noticed the bruises on each other as we undressed that night. Noticed the haunted look in the others’ eyes and kept quiet.

  A few days later, we were outside during free time when Dave plucked a silver cigarette case from his pocket with the initials HS engraved on the front.

  ‘What do you think of this?’ He held it up to us. ‘I reckon it might be worth something. It’s going into my running-away fund.’

  ‘Where did you get it?’ Trevor asked, taking it from Dave and examining it.

  ‘Stole it from the Big House.’ Dave’s chin jutted defiantly in the air. ‘There was so much stuff in there, I bet they don’t notice it missing.’

  ‘You’re running away?’ I asked.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ Trevor scoffed. ‘Where are you going to run to? There’s nowhere to go.’

  I nodded, wishing I was braver so I could go with Dave, but I knew it was useless. ‘He’s right. There’s nowhere to go.’

  Dave shrugged. ‘I’ll live on the streets. Anywhere has got to be better than being here.’

  ‘You’re eleven years old. How are you going to live on the streets? Where are you going to get money for food from?’ Trevor asked.

  Sean stared at Dave with glassy eyes.

  ‘I’ll just steal it.’

  ‘They’ll find you,’ I said. ‘They’ll just bring you back.’

  ‘At least I’m going to try. You lot are pathetic! I’m sick of it. I can’t wait another five years until I’m sixteen and they let me out of this place.’ Dave jumped to his feet, his nostrils flared, his face flushed, and he ran to his favourite spot under the trees to be alone.

  ~~~~

  Our nightmare carried on, and Dave didn’t run away. He became angrier, though, choosing to spend more time on his own. I became even more introverted. Sean became more vacant. Billy and Trevor became more scared, jumping at every little sound. Scholes and Barker carried on abusing us, and the parties happened every Friday night. Sometimes there were ‘special guests’, other men who came to take their turns. A particularly sadistic one, with a wide mouth and thinning hair, had been there for the last few weeks running, taking his turn with me, Sean, and Trevor.

  One Saturday night following Billy’s turn with him, when we were back at Crossfield, I was asleep in bed. Usually, after one of their parties, I was so tired the next day it was the only time I fell into a deep sleep. But that night, I was woken suddenly by the familiar silhouette of Scholes creeping into the room, his footsteps creaking on the floorboards. I watched through my lashes, praying it wasn’t going to be me again. My pulse clanged in my ears. My chest tightened. I fought to take a breath.

  He walked to Billy’s bed. I saw him lean over. Heard Billy whimpering. Heard Scholes whisper, ‘If you make a sound, I’m going to kill you.’

  I pressed my hands over my ears and squeezed my eyes shut. Somehow I must’ve fallen asleep again, and I was awoken later by Billy’s muffled sobs.

  At least he’s come back, I thought, remembering all those boys who didn’t. I tried not to think about them. I knew all too well by now what happened in the cellar. I heard Scholes’s voice in my head telling me no one cared about what happened to us and how they could do anything to us. And he was right.

  Again I drifted off to sleep, only to be woken by shouts in the corridor outside our dormitory. I sat up in bed along with the other boys.

  ‘Get him down!’ Barker shouted, his voice higher than usual and sounding urgent.

  ‘Take his weight,’ Scholes said. ‘I’ll undo the sheet.’

  I crept towards the door and opened it an inch, but I couldn’t see anything.

  ‘Come on!’ Barker shouted.

  ‘The knot’s too tight. I’m trying!’ Scholes replied.

  I opened the door wider, and that was when I saw Billy, hanging from the banisters, with his sheet tied around his neck, his battered body jerking, spittle on his mouth, his eyes bulging. Barker stood on the landing below, trying to take Billy’s weight and hold him up to slacken off the sheet. Scholes fumbled with the knot Billy had tied around the banister as he and Barker shouted to each other.

  Finally, Scholes untied Billy, who dropped limply into Barker’s arms, a rasping sound coming from his mouth as he gasped for air.

  ‘I’ll take him to the sick bay.’ Barker hurried down the next flight of stairs and disappeared.

  I found myself wishing Billy were dead. At least that way, he could escape it all. But he came back four days later with a necklace of bruises on his skin. He didn’t speak for weeks. I didn’t know whether that was because his throat was too painful or because there was nothing left to say. He couldn’t take anymore. And the horrific irony was that the men he was trying to get away from were the very ones who found him and stopped him succeeding. He didn’t try to kill himself again.

  Not then, anyway.

  MAYA

  Chapter 17

  I woke up early the next morning on the sofa in Ava’s lounge with a single duvet over me and a cushion under my head. My head throbbed. My stomach grumbled loudly. Had I eaten anything last night? I couldn’t remember.

  I reached for my mobile phone on the coffee table to check the time. Five thirty. Ava would be up soon with Jackson, and I wanted to leave before she surfaced. I had things to do. Despite Ava’s reasonable explanations for what I’d told her, I couldn’t just forget things and get on with my life. My brain refused to let go of the questions surrounding Jamie’s death.

  I drove back home, feeling light-headed and weak and nauseous. I needed to eat something. After stopping off at the all-night garage, I put a loaf of bread, some peanut butter, cheese, milk, soup, and four bottles of wine in a basket.

  The Asian guy behind the till laughed as he rang up my purchases. ‘You having a party for b
reakfast?’ He wiggled a bottle of wine at me.

  I glared at him.

  He shrugged and put them in a bag.

  As I walked back to my car on the forecourt, the bag split. It was just about the last straw.

  I let out a loud cry, bending down and stuffing everything back inside, clutching the split as I marched to the Jeep. When I got inside, I caught sight of a bald man with tattoos, filling up with petrol, watching me with a look of pity.

  I arrived home, let myself into the silent house, and put two slices of bread in the toaster before I unpacked the rest of the bags. I stared at a bottle of wine. Was it really too early to carry on drinking?

  I made a coffee instead, with three heaped teaspoons of instant and two sugars. Sitting at the kitchen table, I forced myself to chew and swallow the toast lathered with a thick mound of peanut butter. All the time, I stared at the list, knowing it meant something crucial. Had the girl in the squat been lying? Or had Jamie really been trying to visit Billy, asking Neal about him and talking about a Big House? Something Jamie had been having troubled nightmares about? Did Jamie know something about Moses’s disappearance? And if so, surely he knew Moses had never been found. Or was he trying to tell Moses’s mum something? Was Jamie involved in something illegal?

  There was only one way to find out, and that was to work through the rest of the list.

  At 9.00 a.m., I phoned Paul Porter.

  ‘Hi, it’s Maya.’

  ‘Oh, hi.’ There was an uncomfortable pause as he probably wondered what to say. ‘Um…how are you?’

  Confused. Angry. Devastated. Feeling like my world has imploded. Take your pick. ‘Yeah, I’m…’ I stared at the list. ‘I wanted to ask you something.’

  ‘Oh, right. Okay.’

  ‘Before Jamie took time off, what was he working on?’

  ‘Uh, let me think. Hang on a sec.’ Another pause. ‘He was designing some new software for Levenson Accounting.’

  ‘Where are they based?’

  ‘In Bedfordshire.’

  ‘Did he tell you he was stressed out about it?’

  ‘About the project? No. It was something he could’ve done with his eyes closed. Why?’

  It was the answer I’d been expecting. I was pretty sure by now that Jamie had told me a lie about work being the reason he’d been having nightmares and was distracted. I ignored his question and asked one of my own. ‘I found some notes when I was looking through his things, and I didn’t know if they were to do with work. Do you recognise these names?’ I read them out from the list, one by one.

  ‘Not off the top of my head. Let me just check our client list. Hang on.’ I heard the clatter of a keyboard as he checked them all, each time saying no, he’d never heard of those people.

  ‘Is it important, do you think?’ he asked.

  I thought about telling him what I’d told Ava, but he would just find a way to explain it in a logical, rational manner, too. Plus, how did I know I could trust him? I’d only met him a few times, and while he seemed very nice, a thought was worming its way into my brain. What if the list was to do with work after all? If Jamie dealt with IT, people’s computers, maybe he’d discovered something on the computer of a colleague or one of their clients’ employees? Something that related to Moses’s disappearance? ‘No, I’m sure it’s nothing. Thanks, anyway.’

  ‘I’ll see you at the funeral, then.’

  A lump rose in my throat. ‘Yes.’

  ‘If you need anything, if I can do anything…you know, just, um, call me,’ he said in a voice that really hoped I wouldn’t in case things became awkward.

  I hung up and stared at the next address on the list. Enfield wasn’t that far. It would probably take me an hour to get to Sean Davidson’s address. Then an idea struck me that would prove whether Jamie had really gone to see all these people.

  I got into the Jeep and looked up the history of recent journeys on the satnav, expecting it to confirm my suspicions, but according to the screen, the only recorded journeys were the ones I’d programmed in yesterday. So what did that mean? That Jamie had deleted the history, just as his laptop had been wiped?

  I drove through rush-hour traffic, so lost in dark thoughts that I ran through a red light, narrowly missing an oncoming Mini who slammed on the horn. By the time I’d pulled up outside a tower block of dilapidated flats, my hammering heartbeat had returned to normal. I parked the car next to an abandoned old Fiesta with a smashed-in wing.

  I got out of the car and found the lifts. They had graffiti on the doors, and when I pressed the button, nothing happened. Probably a good thing, I thought, climbing the stairs to the seventh floor and walking along the outer balcony that ran the length of the flats.

  Number 28 had a front door that probably used to be white but was now a filthy kind of beige. Next to the door was a small window with a grimy net curtain. I forced my trepidation back down and knocked on the door.

  No answer.

  I knocked again, louder this time.

  Nothing.

  I bent down and flipped open the letter box. ‘Hello? Mr Davidson? Are you in there?’ What I could make out of the narrow hallway was dark. I smelt greasy fat and cigarettes. I stood up again and knocked once more.

  When no one came, I stood with my back to the door. I could go and find a café somewhere and come back later. With that decided, I was about to leave when I saw a woman with brittle-looking bleached-blonde hair and black roots looking at me from the identical window of the flat next to Sean’s. She pointed towards her front door then disappeared for a moment before opening it.

  ‘Are you looking for Sean?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you from social services?’

  ‘No, I’m…a friend of a friend.’

  She put a hand on her hip. ‘Well, they’ve taken him off to hospital again. He’s in the Kingfisher Unit.’

  ‘Is he ill?’

  ‘Mental health problems.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I wish they’d rehouse him. I’m sick of his carrying on. He’s in and out of the hospital all the time. They should just bloody-well keep him in there. I keep complaining to the council, and they don’t do anything. There are kids round here. He’s a friggin’ danger.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Barricaded himself in and wouldn’t come out this time. His community nurse arrived, and Sean was shouting and screaming about people coming to get him.’ She blew out a frustrated breath. ‘Honestly, he was screaming the place down. My little girl couldn’t get any sleep! Paranoid, he is. Schizophrenic.’

  ‘Oh, how awful.’

  ‘Awful for us, too.’ She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

  ‘Was he sectioned?’

  ‘Nah. He went voluntarily in the end. He prefers to be in hospital, I think, but they keep letting him out again. Care in the community, they call it. Then he forgets to take his medication and he ends up back in there again. It’s a joke.’

  ‘Do you recognise this person?’ I got out the picture of Jamie from my purse and showed it to her. ‘I think he might’ve been to see Sean recently.’

  She took it, squinting closely. ‘Hang on. I’ll get my reading glasses.’ She disappeared back inside, and I glanced around me. The place was deserted, except for a group of teenagers on what I assumed passed for a play area, the swings rusty and decrepit, the see-saw broken in two. She returned with the glasses perched on the end of her nose. ‘Actually, yeah. I was coming back with some shopping and saw him talking to Sean on the doorstep. It was just before Sean’s latest episode. Before they carted him off to hospital.’ She handed it back to me.

  ‘Okay, thanks.’

  She nodded towards the photo. ‘Is he a bloody nutter, as well? Not that I’ve seen Sean with many friends.’ She tilted her head. ‘Come to think of it, I don’t think anyone’s visited him for years, apart from the community mental health nurse.’

  ‘No. Nothing like that.’

  ‘I think it’s outrageo
us they leave them to just get on with things, don’t you? What if we’re not safe? You hear about it all the time, these people they let out and then they go round chopping people up with machetes. He’s probably dangerous!’ She leant on the door frame, in full flow now. ‘And then if—’

  ‘Well, thanks for your help,’ I said again, interrupting her and hurrying back to the car.

  ~~~~

  The Kingfisher Unit was a separate block at the back of the main hospital site. I asked the young lady on reception if I could visit Sean, and she looked something up on the computer before directing me to the wards. Outside the unit was an intercom that I had to use to gain access, so I pressed it and repeated my request.

  A tall, harassed-looking man in a nurse’s uniform eventually came and buzzed open the security doors.

  ‘You want to see Sean Davidson?’

  ‘Yes, is that possible?’

  ‘Are you a friend or relative?’

  ‘A friend.’ The lie rolled off my tongue easily. ‘Is he okay?’

  ‘He’s calmed down a lot now. He’s back on his medication. He’s in the day room. Follow me.’ He led the way past some four-bed cubicles and private side rooms towards another door at the end. The day room was a bright, open space with views of the grounds. A TV was mounted high up on the wall, and plastic chairs dotted the edge of the room. Books stood on a shelf in one corner, and in the other was a large table. Only one person was in there, and he sat with his back to us, staring out the window, jigging his knee up and down repeatedly.

  ‘Sean, you’ve got a visitor.’ The nurse stood beside him and smiled.