Don't Wake Up: A dark, terrifying new thriller with the most gripping first chapter you will ever read!

by Liz Lawler

  ‘Do you really believe that?’ Alex said firmly. ‘She was telling me something! I know she was, because I was there. On an operating table! Waiting to die!’

  ‘Were you? How were you there? How is it possible you were there?’

  ‘He knocked me out, anaesthetised me. He gagged me with a cloth and knocked me unconscious.’

  Maggie let out a deep sigh. She briefly shook her head as if trying to dislodge an annoying thought. ‘The old rag anaesthetic trick is a cheesy Hollywood invention,’ she said slowly and succinctly. ‘You’d need a Schimmelbusch mask at the very least, a long time, some ether, and to be there continually to make it work—’

  ‘He had a Schimmelbusch!’

  ‘Out in the car park, Alex! I’m talking about out in the car park! You’d have been struggling to get away, even if he managed to knock you down. He would have to get you flat on your back, hold the mask over your face, drip ether through it for a long while, and all the time this is going on he would be out in the open for anyone to see.’

  Alex’s heart was thumping. Maggie was saying things she didn’t want to hear. ‘You’re saying it’s impossible?’

  ‘I’m saying it didn’t happen that way.’

  Chapter twenty-six

  Nathan heard the telephone ring just as he covered his face in shaving foam. He considered not answering it – it was the third call he’d received in the last hour and he had no doubt it would be the nursing home again, with more instructions from his mother.

  In a carrier bag on his bed he had already packed her ancient button-through dressing gown, a collection of Catherine Cookson audiotapes and her smelling salts. His mother seldom went far without them, and was probably panicking about the small brown bottle. She always carried smelling salts in her cardigan pocket and a cotton hankie tucked up one sleeve.

  As a child he had lived with the odour of ammonia on the cotton hankies she used to wipe his face– his eyes had watered when the material touched his face. And he was always left with a guilty feeling because the restorative medicine was only used when he had caused an upset. Smelling salts and her cries of woe were the memories of his childhood. Could he not behave better? Could he not be more thoughtful, be less selfish? What she’d really meant, but was never quite cruel enough to voice, was could he not learn to hide the one side of his face?

  The phone stopped ringing, and, relieved by the sudden silence, he quickly shaved and then dressed in preparation for the visit. Today he would sit on her stroke side so that she didn’t have to see his face.

  Ten minutes later the phone rang again, and, stifling his impatience, he went to answer it. Alex Taylor said hello and for a moment he was lost for words.

  ‘Nathan, can you hear me?’ she shouted now.

  ‘Yes. You caught me by surprise. I was expecting someone else.’

  ‘I erm . . . noticed you have the day off.’

  Briefly he wondered, and then half-hoped, if she was going to ask him to cover her shift. It would give him a legitimate reason to get out of the visit to his mother.

  ‘Well, I’m off as well and I wondered, if you didn’t have plans and were at a loose end, if maybe we could do something together. You know . . . erm . . .’ She gave a rushed, girlish laugh. ‘I thought we could do something fun.’

  Immediately, ideas formed in his mind about how to extricate himself from the visit to his mother. He could ring the nursing home and say he’d been called in to an emergency. ‘I, well, that is—’

  ‘I’m meeting Seb Morrisey this afternoon. You know Seb, don’t you? I thought perhaps you might like to join us?’

  The disappointment was like a slap, and in the mirror above the mantel the pale side of his face flushed. She obviously felt she owed him a favour for supporting her over the last few weeks and was offering to share some of her and Seb’s day with him. ‘I’m sorry Alex, but I’m not—’

  ‘It’ll be fun as long as you can put up with me in the driver’s seat.’ He sensed a false note and now he cringed. She felt sorry for him. This was why she was calling. She was like all the others, they all just felt sorry for him. He had been hoping for so much more from her. She was different, he had been sure. From the moment he met her he had wanted her to look at him and see him as normal, and now he found himself bitterly disappointed.

  ‘Alex, I’m sorry to be blunt, but why are you calling me?’ He sensed her shock and quickly spoke again. ‘It’s not a good idea. Thank you all the same, but I already have plans for the day.’

  Her goodbye was rushed and filled with embarrassment, and he knew he should feel apologetic for his rudeness, but he didn’t. Several minutes later he was still standing by the phone, staring bitterly at his reflection in the mirror and wondering, not for the first time, why his mother hadn’t suffocated him at birth. He was a freak and it would have been kinder to put him out of his misery. But then if she had done, Cecilia Bell would not have been able to live her life as a martyr – an expression often used by her friends when they rallied round her as she took her smelling salts.

  A martyr for keeping him.

  Chapter twenty-seven

  Greg could see his eight-year-old son was annoying the people swimming in the fast lane beside them. Joe kept swimming under the rope and interrupting their strokes. The flumes and slides in the children’s pool were closed, and the only swimming Joe and he could do was in the lanes. After being in the water for nearly half an hour, Joe was clearly bored. They couldn’t even play tag or throw a ball to each other, and Greg was feeling guilty for not checking out the timetable and planning their day more thoroughly. He could see it was time to go, and he would have to think of something else to do to keep a small boy entertained . . .

  Perhaps they could check out the Theatre Royal and see if there were any seats left for the afternoon pantomime. Peter Pan was on, although he wasn’t too sure of the show times, but he’d overheard two female officers raving about it the other day and now thought Joe would probably love it. But he didn’t want to scupper any plans or surprises that Sue may already have to take him over the Christmas holiday – she usually had something planned for his first day off school. Maybe they could go to the cinema instead; there was bound to be something on that they could both enjoy.

  It would be better than staying here and letting Joe annoy people. Greg had had enough of the water as well. He wasn’t much of a swimmer as a rule, preferring a workout at the gym or a game of football.

  Still, he decided determinedly, the day was not over yet. There was plenty out there to do. They could play tourists and visit the Pump Rooms and the Roman Baths . . . His son would probably be happy kicking a ball around in a park as long as there was a promise to visit McDonald’s afterwards.

  Every other Saturday he spent the day with his son. Between his work and Joe now living in Oxford he couldn’t commit to more. It didn’t bother his ex-wife, Sue; she never moaned at him for not seeing their son more often, nor badgered him about too much else for that matter. She just did what was right by Joe and supported their relationship in any way she could. She was a good woman, and a good mother. Their marriage ended not because she hated her husband, but because he was never there to love, and her feelings for him had simply stopped. Like an unwatered plant, her love had slowly died until it was impossible for it to grow again, and then she had asked him for a divorce.

  Greg still loved his ex-wife, but not in the same passionate way he used to. She was more like a close friend, someone he would never hurt and would always help, no matter the situation. He would always love her for being Joe’s mum, and that was a fact.

  He shivered, realising he was cold, and called over to Joe that they were getting out.

  ‘Can I just jump in once?’

  Greg looked around and saw that if Joe was quick enough he could get out and jump in before anyone noticed.

  ‘Go on, then, but make it quick.’

  A woman had come out to swim; she had her back tow
ards him as she hung her towel over a rail. She had tawny wavy hair, loosely pinned up to the back of her head, trailing damp tendrils. Her legs were slim from what he could see, ankles finely boned and calves well defined. She slipped off a towelling dressing gown and he saw a long slender back and a small curvy bottom.

  Too thin, he thought, maybe even a little skinny, but she was beautifully shaped and her bottom in the olive-green swimsuit was pert and sexy. She turned and he swallowed hard, and felt his face suddenly warm. Alex Taylor was about to step into the pool.

  Then Joe let out a blood-curdling scream.

  Chapter twenty-eight

  The sight of the blood cleared the pool fast. When he saw his son’s bloody face, Greg almost flung people aside in his frantic haste to get to him. There was blood all over his lower face and Greg feared he was going to find something serious.

  Alex Taylor took control of the situation by leaning down over the edge of the pool and hoicking Joe out. She immediately wrapped him in her towel and then grabbed someone else’s to hold against his face. When she saw Greg hurrying towards her and saw his anxiety she guessed the boy and the man were related.

  ‘Let’s get him to the first-aid room,’ she calmly instructed. ‘I can look at him better there.’

  Joe cried all the way to the first-aid room, and Greg was churning with guilt for not seeing what had happened because his eyes had been busy elsewhere.

  In the small room, Alex Taylor again took charge. She informed the first aider that came rushing to help that she was a doctor and she would deal with it. She asked for some gauze, a bowl of warm water and some ice.

  Patiently and calmly, ignoring Joe’s hysterical cries, she wiped his face clean of blood with warm water. Next she pulled his lower lip down and inspected his teeth and gums before giving the same attention to his upper lip. She took a cube of ice out of a plastic container and put it in between Joe’s fingers. ‘Hold that between your lips as if it’s an ice pop. Only don’t suck it.’

  Amazingly, Joe did as he was asked. She took some more ice and wrapped it in gauze, and then with one hand holding the ice pack to the back of Joe’s neck she used her other hand to pinch his nose.

  ‘Well done,’ she said encouragingly. ‘We’ll have you sorted out in no time, and then Daddy can buy you an ice lolly to make your sore lip better.’

  She was amazing. In no time the blood flow had ceased and the damage was easy to see. He had bitten into the flesh inside his bottom lip and given himself a nosebleed. ‘I hit my head, Daddy, and my nose, and hurt my chin.’ Joe said, dribbling melted ice cube down his chin. ‘I tried to jump out and fell back in.’ Greg imagined he had likely shot up for the ledge, but hadn’t cleared it properly and instead crashed his head into it.

  He was grateful there was no lasting damage and that he could hand Joe back to his mother with the reassurance that he had been checked over by a doctor.

  ‘Sorry for mucking up your swim,’ he said to Alex Taylor.

  They were all dressed and standing in the foyer ready to leave. He felt real guilt when he saw the shadows beneath her eyes, and suspected she could have done without the hassle of this emergency. She should have been enjoying a relaxing morning.

  ‘I was only going in for a quick dip. I have to be somewhere else in an hour.’

  ‘What are we going to do now, Daddy?’ Joe demanded impatiently.

  His nose and lower lip were both slightly puffy and Greg’s guilt bit deeper. ‘Give me a minute, sport. Let me say thank you to Dr Taylor. She probably saved us a trip to A & E, which, believe me, sunshine, you would not have liked.’

  ‘But what are we going to do?’

  ‘How about the cinema?’

  ‘I’m going to the cinema tomorrow for Matthew’s birthday.’

  His whingeing tone was making him sound like a spoilt brat and Greg decided that when they were alone he would talk to him about his behaviour.

  ‘Joe, we’ll go back home if you’re not careful. I’ve got plenty to keep me busy back there.’

  ‘I don’t want to go home. I want to do something fun, and you said we were going to have fun today cos it’s nearly Christmas.’

  ‘OK, OK, pipe down. I didn’t mean it about going home. We’ll do something, just give me a minute to think.’

  Alex Taylor was watching the exchange with amused eyes, and Greg took the opportunity to reassess the woman. Could this woman be crazy? She looked sane enough right now.

  ‘Do you want to do something different?’ she asked casually.

  Greg didn’t. He would prefer to go to a pub and get an early lunchtime drink and then find a cinema where Joe could watch something and Greg could sleep. ‘What did you have in mind?’

  ‘Are either of you afraid of heights?’

  Greg tentatively shook his head.

  ‘Just give me a second,’ she said. She moved a short distance away and pulled out her mobile.

  After a couple of minutes of conversation she put it back in her coat pocket and rejoined them. ‘OK, it looks like you could be doing something different so long as the weather stays good.’

  Warily Greg found himself shrugging agreement to something he was still in the dark about. ‘What did you have in mind?’

  A small smile brightened her tired face. ‘A helicopter ride.’

  Chapter twenty-nine

  Saturday was a good day for a guided tour of the hospital. There were fewer heads of department on duty and fewer people about generally.

  Laura Best’s guide, Harry, a short and stocky man, was one of the longest serving security guards at the hospital and proved to be resourceful at gaining access to off-limits places. With an element of charm and a matter-of-fact manner he had introduced Laura as ‘the police’, who needed to have a look around.

  There was more to the hospital than she had ever imagined. Not just the wards and the operating theatres, but much that patients never saw – changing rooms, training facilities, offices. To begin with Laura was determined to pay attention, but as they proceeded her patience began to wander. Luckily Harry turned out to be a bit of a gossip.

  Laura had tuned out the boring bits: the cutbacks, the staff shortages, the closed-down departments and the history of the hospital, her ears pricking up only when the topic was useful to her.

  She knew several hospital workers’ names now, knew about two affairs that were going on in main theatre, knew of a nurse who had just been suspended for telling a patient to ‘fuck off’ and of another nurse who recently got his jaw fractured by a patient coming round from an anaesthetic in the recovery room.

  It was this last gem that encouraged her to talk to Harry, as he wandered down a short slope to show her yet more of the outdated piping system. ‘It sounds like you have as much violence to put up with as we do.’

  ‘Sometimes we do,’ Harry agreed, searching through his key chain. ‘Especially in A & E. And at night there’s only ever two security guards on. We have to ring you lot quite often to come and sort out the troublemakers.’

  ‘It’s a wonder more staff don’t get attacked.’

  ‘They do if they’re not careful. They get given these personal alarms to carry. They press a button and it bleeps the security guards to come running. But as I said, there’s only ever two of us.’

  ‘It’s a shame Dr Taylor wasn’t carrying one a few weeks ago.’

  Harry raised his head at this and stared at her strangely, and Laura worded her next comment carefully. ‘She could have bleeped for help and been found sooner in the car park instead of lying out there in the cold.’

  ‘Ohh arr,’ he agreed, revealing his Somerset accent. ‘She could have. It were blowin’ all right. For a minute I thought you were thinking she’d been attacked.’

  Laura shrugged. ‘Well she thought she was.’

  Harry shook his head. ‘It was me that found her, along with her boyfriend. Poor thing was just lying there.’

  Laura pressed her advantage. ‘So you didn’t think she’
d been attacked, then?’

  He shook his head again. ‘No. No reason to. There were bits of tree branches around her, a hell of a wind that night, and her clothes were all in proper order, if you get my drift? She was dressed, in other words. She’d been knocked down, hadn’t she? By a tree branch, I mean. I don’t know what all that commotion was about afterwards. She must have had a bit of concussion.’

  ‘I heard,’ Laura said more quietly, glancing up and down the corridor as if checking they were entirely alone, ‘that she had a bit of a strange time last year as well.’

  Harry’s eyes suddenly bored into hers and she saw what she had missed earlier beneath the charm, the chat and the gossip – the keen intelligence. ‘I don’t know too much about that. There was something happened, but I don’t know what it was about. The young doctor just took a bit of time off. Had about a month away from the place. The only reason I knew something happened was because I saw her with the consultant and Fiona Woods walking along the corridor and Dr Taylor was crying.’

  ‘And you have no idea what it was about?’

  ‘It could have been about anything. I see a lot of staff crying. It’s the pressure of the place, especially in A & E. It never lets up. I see a few of them crying when they lose patients . . . They have a hard job, you know, I shouldn’t—’

  ‘Don’t worry. You’ve been so helpful, thank you. I think we’ve seen everything we need?’

  Laura Best walked out of the hospital in a positive mood. She had got what she came for. She had met the man who found Alex that night and heard his take on what had happened. She had established that the doctor was involved in something else last year, and she had learned that Dr Taylor was a liar.

  It hadn’t happened. Alex Taylor had made it up, and it had something to do with what happened last year.

  Chapter thirty

  Wearing black protective earmuffs and a yellow fluorescent jacket with DOCTOR written in green on the back, Alex stood, like her guests, with her back to the helicopter, facing the bushes and wire mesh fence. The blades were still rotating and natural debris – twigs, leaves and even small stones from the ground – could be whipped up and flung into their eyes.