Behind Shadows: A Psychological Mystery Thriller (The Adam Stanley Series Book 1)

by Netta Newbound

  "Oooh," she giggled, standing upright and arching her back. She was tall, as tall as he was.

  Her head tilted backwards, resting on his shoulder. The scent of soap and shampoo, mixed with her excitement, filled his nostrils. She pushed against him with her exquisite tight bottom and groaned.

  He could barely control himself. He placed his hands on her upper arms and tried to turn her to face him, but she shrugged his hands off.

  "No, wait! It's sexier this way. Close your eyes," she whispered.

  He did as she asked, anticipation surging through his veins. She was right—it was erotic not seeing her.

  She pushed herself provocatively against his engorged hardness, deliberately replacing her bottom with her hand, she rubbed at it with continual strokes, like a masseuse. Her touch grew more tantalising and urgent as she turned around and crouched in front of him, then with the other hand she unbuckled his belt. He felt her pull his trousers down around his ankles, his breath catching in his throat as his heavy penis sprang free.

  Sophie wasted no time. Her cold hands added an extra sensation to the red-hot silky skin of his huge, throbbing cock.

  "Oh yeah, good girl, yeah," he groaned as he wrapped one of his hands in her hair; with the other he steadied himself on the boiler.

  Sophie roughly pulled at him, making his breath hitch.

  "Steady, girl, take it easy," he moaned. Her breath was so close, teasing and driving him wild. He put the roughness down to inexperience which excited him all the more.

  The next sensation was unexpected, although not altogether unpleasant. Sophie, moving quite fast, grabbed at his testicles. He felt himself lifted briefly. A confused grunt stuck in his throat.

  A feeling of warm liquid running down his legs and splattering the floor, made him think he'd urinated. He groped for his penis, but his fingers sank into a squelching, empty space where it should be.

  He felt the cellar walls move in and out. He was dizzy and confused. It couldn't be what he thought. There would be pain. Someone was playing a cruel trick on him.

  Sophie had stepped away into the shadows.

  In his panic, he tried to get under the light where he could see, but his trousers, still around his ankles, made him stagger before he crashed backwards to the icy floor.

  As he hit the ground, Sophie took a step forward into the light, and the shock hit him like a freight train. Tightness in his chest prevented him from taking a full breath. Hot lava-like bile filled his throat and mouth. He swallowed it back down. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.

  "Still the same, I see. Prison didn't make a blind bit of difference to you, did it?" she said as she continued walking towards him. Blood covered the front of her pink blouse and had spattered down her jeans.

  He shook his head, his wide eyes blinking rapidly. "You," he managed to utter. As he scrambled backwards, his right hand still deep in his groin, pressing into the gaping, bloody hole where his penis and testicles should be.

  Hitting the far wall, he could go no further. Blood spurted from his crotch in terrifying amounts. He felt the life draining from him with every beat of his heart.

  He welcomed the darkness when it came.

  Chapter 4

  Amanda

  “Can we watch it again pwease, Mummy?” Emma said, still hugging the Toy Story DVD case.

  I glanced at Jacob who asleep on Michael’s knee. “Aren’t you tired of it yet, Em? We’ve watched it four times already. I almost know it word for word.”

  She shook her head.

  Michael disentangled himself from Jacob and lay him down on the sofa. “I’m going for some fresh air,” he said for the third time this afternoon. I noticed him check his jeans pocket for his phone before heading for the door.

  He'd also been sending and receiving numerous texts. When I asked who they were from, he fobbed me off with some story about a mate of his. I could tell he was lying by the way he avoided my eyes.

  “Don’t be long then, I was going to order pizza for dinner.”

  “Yay!” Emma said.

  ***

  The bright blue numbers on the clock rolled over to 4:00am. Michael's droning snores were normally a comfort but tonight they irritated the shit out of me. I sat up and hugged the pillow to my chest, feeling so betrayed and let down. I was tempted to press it down over his mouth and nose, to smother every lying, cheating breath from him.

  It had taken all my energy to keep quiet earlier, to act normal. There wasn't any point in accusing him without evidence. He'd only deny it and turn it around on me like he always did. But I'd be damned if I'd allow him to get away with it. Not this time.

  Feeling fidgety and fractious, I got out of bed and headed downstairs. My eyes were drawn to the silver-framed photo on the hallstand. It showed a different couple, smiling and loved up, taken soon after we'd met.

  I leaned against the wall and poked my fingers into the corners of my eyes, trying to prevent the tears from forming. This was such a mess. I knew I shouldn't have given him another chance. It was pointless, he couldn't change.

  The fact that he was having an affair hurt like hell, but didn't bother me as much as the lies and deceit. The accusations of paranoia, and the blatant way he sent and received his secret texts as if I no longer mattered—or maybe he thought I was too stupid to notice.

  I can’t say I was surprised. From personal experience, I knew the old saying of money makes the world go round was a load of old bull. It was sex—sex made the world go round and men were like wild animals when it came to having to get their end away.

  Michael was no different than most, but I'd had enough.

  I spun away from the wall and over to his phone. I yanked it out of the docking station and punched in his pin. The screen yielded. Typical Michael, any other guy wouldn't let their phone out of their sight, but not him. The cocky bastard hadn't even bothered to change his password.

  My heart thumped in my ears and my breathing felt forced. My trembling fingers trawled through his contacts until I came to Toni. Before I could think about what I was doing, I'd pressed edit and changed the number for my own.

  The maddening buzz of the alarm clock woke me. Thankfully I’d managed to get a couple of hours sleep. I was bog-eyed and could have stayed in bed for a while longer, but I had to go to Kingsley to check out the house belonging to the mysterious Judy.

  I'd had an email from her last night, and it was as vague as the phone call had been, giving me an address on the other side of the city and a key code. There was also a brief message asking me for a full report on the condition of the property, including photographs, to be emailed back to her as soon as possible.

  Ordinarily, I would have been over the moon, but instead I felt emotionally flat.

  I thought of the way I'd felt after the phone call on Saturday— so excited I'd almost danced back to the spot where I'd left Emma. Then I remembered the complete crash back to earth once I'd discovered she'd vanished.

  It seemed every time I allowed myself to be happy some unseen hand dealt a crippling blow.

  I was in the bathroom when I heard Michael and the children up and about.

  Emma and Jacob were still dressed in their pyjamas and were already munching cereal by the time I reached the kitchen.

  "Good morning, my babies," I said, kissing them both and dodging the spoon Jacob foisted in my face in an attempt to feed me soggy cereal. “No thanks, sweetie—you eat it.”

  We were lucky to have a huge kitchen that could fit a small sofa and our full-sized dining table and six chairs with room to spare. An old-style portable TV sat on a shelf in the corner and was blaring with unnecessary noise. I reached for the remote and turned it down.

  "Hey, missus, I'm watching that," Michael said. He placed a cup of coffee in front of me and bending to kiss my cheek.

  "Thanks, Michael, I need this, I've got a splitting headache—I didn't sleep very well."

  "Tell me about it. You were tossing and turning fo
r hours," he said.

  "I suppose I kept you awake, did I?" I looked at him, head cocked to the side, eyes wide, waiting for his answer.

  "Yeah, you did," he nodded, smiling.

  "So the snoring was just you heavy breathing then was it?"

  "Ah..." He seemed to think about it for a moment and puckered his lips. "Okay, maybe you didn't keep me awake, but I was aware of you tossing and turning." He laughed.

  "Yeah, thought not. You could sleep standing up," I grumbled.

  Emma laughed, "Daddy, can you sweep standink up?"

  "Quite possibly, Em, although I've never actually tried it." He rubbed Emma’s hair.

  I noticed the time—almost 8.30am. I swigged the last of my coffee and jumped to my feet. "Oh, well, best be off. See you guys later." I kissed them all goodbye before leaving.

  In the cold light of day, I was feeling a bit stupid. There was no reason to suspect Toni was a woman just because of the spelling—maybe Michael had just spelled it wrong. He was right. I was paranoid.

  As I drove out of the street, my phone beeped—a message.

  Heart racing, I pulled over to the side of the road. I reached into my handbag for my phone and held it tightly in my hand, just staring at it. Did I want to do this? If it was what I thought—how would I deal with it? It would change everything.

  For the first time, I understood why some women turned a blind eye to their husband's extra-marital antics; it was much easier than having to deal with such a messy situation. Anyway, the message was on my phone now—it wasn't as if I could ignore it. Taking a deep breath, I opened the flip.

  1 new message

  I exhaled through pursed lips. My thumb wavered then hit the view button.

  Hot Deals on Gift Ideas + Furniture Clear Out! Starts 10am TODAY!

  Relief flooded me—a sale! Not Michael.

  I laughed out loud, reached for the gear stick and pressed my foot on the brake, but before I could change gear my phone beeped again.

  1 new message

  Once again I pressed the button, but this time I was still smiling.

  Hey sexy—mrs has gone—what u doin today?

  Oh my God! I was right after all—the low-down lying cheat. Even though I’d suspected him, I was unprepared for the feeling of sheer devastation that enveloped me and the tears fell freely. I had a crushing feeling in my ribcage that was like a physical pain.

  The phone beeped for a third time, but I wasn't as quick to check it. My mind was still reeling and trying to process my thoughts. I rubbed my face in my hands to wipe away the tears and pushed my hair back.

  Back in control, I sighed and picked up the phone from my lap where it had fallen.

  1 New Message

  I hit the button.

  He doesn't deserve you. Get rid of him.

  How strange. The message had been sent from a private number. Surely it wasn’t a coincidence. But what other explanation could there be?

  ***

  I slowed the car along the tree-lined street, looking for number seventy-nine. My eyes almost popped out of my head as I pulled into the drive of the elegant, detached Edwardian house.

  From the first glance, I could tell the grand old lady had been neglected. The gutters on the side of the building hung loose and the brickwork needed pointing. A huge ivy plant was growing out of control across the upstairs windows. But it was still a stunning property.

  I got out of the car. Michael and the text business were forgotten, for the moment at least.

  Old houses were my passion and my excitement returned. I couldn't wait to get inside.

  The double-bay frontage looked as fabulous today as it would have done a hundred years ago. Solid, painted-brick handrails edged the wide concrete steps. I slowly climbed them, taking in every detail.

  Stained glass adorned the beautiful leaded windows on either side of the front door. A rare, copper turn-key doorbell sat in the centre, though a tacky keypad door lock stuck out like a sore thumb next to the original fittings.

  I took the printed email from my bag and punched in the four-digit number. The door opened against a huge pile of newspapers that had already been shoved aside against the wall.

  Musty unused air hit my nostrils like a sledge-hammer. I rummaged through the pile of papers, surprised that the earliest date was more than six years ago.

  The spacious hallway was as grand as I'd imagined it would be.

  A large fireplace stretched along the wall to the right while an ornate office desk was on the left, with an old-fashioned typewriter in its centre. I swiped my hand across the keys and looked at my fingers, then clapped my hands to remove the dust, wiping the remainder on my jeans.

  A sweeping staircase ran up the left-hand side of the hall, the banister continuing across the landing at the top. A doorway to the right led to a formal lounge. The architecture oozed old-English charm, with high ceilings, moulded architraves, and a picture rail adorning each wall.

  An elegant chandelier hung from the centre of the ceiling. The large, wide fireplace, back to back with the one in the hall, had built-in, cushioned benches in the alcoves on either side.

  Heavy curtains covered the windows. I pulled them aside and the light poured in. Houses of this type were built for the light with deep bay windows.

  The air was thick with dust from the curtains. It looked as though thousands of tiny fairies danced in the sunlight. My eyes stung. Blinking rapidly, I pulled my scarf over my mouth to stop myself from choking.

  The dowdy, mustard-coloured wallpaper needed replacing. However the Axminster carpet, although old-fashioned, was in great condition and suited the house to perfection. Some basic cosmetic changes would make a world of difference.

  Across the hall, I discovered a room almost the mirror image of the first, except for the fireplace being smaller.

  I wandered through to the back of the house and into a large kitchen. The heels of my boots were making a loud, clomping noise on the tiled floor and sounded like an intrusion in the still silence of this empty old house.

  Windows covered most of the left-hand wall. This room had been extended, but not in recent years. The curtains and curtain pole had fallen down from over the French doors, which led to a long, narrow back garden.

  Apart from the dust, the owner could have just popped out to the shops. The hair stood up on the back of my neck. Dishes were piled high on the draining board, with a dishcloth over the tap, and two cups and saucers sat on the bench top by the kettle. The oak table in the centre of the room was set for two and seemed eerily sad. I wondered what had happened here.

  I tried to imagine the room as it would have been years ago. The original coal range would have cooked all the family meals. This would have been the heart of the place. As it was now, the poor old house had no soul. It needed a family, laughter, and lots and lots of love.

  Back through to the entrance hall. The grand staircase wouldn't have been out of place in Gone With The Wind—well, maybe it wasn't quite as grand as that, but along the same lines. Climbing them, I appraised each hand-turned spindle and wondered how many bottoms had slid down the well-worn banister over the years.

  There were four large bedrooms on the first floor. Each of them had the previous occupants' belongings scattered through them, as if one day they had just up and left, leaving everything in its place. I understood furniture still being in there, but the personal effects were a mystery. I'd have to find out what Judy wanted done with them before I could do anything else.

  Another flight of stairs led to a massive attic. Easels and old canvases filled the room. One wall was lined with shelving, crammed full with paints and other art supplies. It must have been used as an art studio once upon a time.

  Back downstairs, I got my camera and Dictaphone to begin taking notes for the report. During the process, I discovered there was a door next to the kitchen that I hadn't noticed earlier.

  The handle was stiff, but after several attempts it opened. The skin on my face m
et with damp, cold air, vastly different to the rest of the house. I could tell by the smell of earth this was the cellar.

  I shuddered and slammed the door shut, leaning my back against it while I caught my breath. No way would I be stepping foot down there.

  Once I had finished, I closed the curtains and packed my things into the car ready to head home. I was still unsure of what I would do about Michael. I was glad I'd given myself chance to calm down, instead of racing home all guns blazing and shooting him through the head at point blank range—or something to that effect.

  As I locked the front door, tell-tale prickles on the back of my neck caused a shudder. I walked to the end of the drive and onto the street, peering around. I couldn't see anybody, yet I couldn't shake the feeling off—someone was definitely watching me.

  I got in the car. My phone flashed with even more texts from Michael.

  Very quiet today baby, normally hear from you before now x.

  She’s gone out, but I should get away later x.

  Miss you x what's wrong? x.

  Kids asleep—I'm lying here thinking about you, guess what I'm doing x.

  There were also seven missed calls and two voice messages. Luckily I hadn’t set my voicemail up with a personal message, so Michael still wouldn't know whose mailbox he'd reached.

  I felt sick. It was my own fault for snooping, any other woman would still be oblivious. Now I knew for sure I didn't have a clue what I was going to do about it, so I decided to do nothing for now.

  The strange text message from earlier bothered me, though. It had been sent from a withheld number and didn't make any sense. At first I thought it had, but that was just my confusion filling in the gaps.

  Thinking about it now, I knew that it couldn't have been related to my situation it must have been sent to me by mistake.