by NC Marshall
Sleep Peacefully
NC Marshall
Sleep Peacefully
Copyright © NC Marshall 2015
All rights reserved. No part of this e-book may be reproduced in any form other than in which it was purchased and without the written permission of the author.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Epilogue
My last intention is to scare you. I wish you no more pain than you have already suffered, but this is the only way I know how.
Remember when we were kids? You would take my hand and lead me to wherever we were going. I would follow you without question, mirroring your every move, trusting your judgement and knowing that you would get me to our destination safely.
Well, now it’s my turn to lead you.
You should see it here, it’s just like everyone imagines, but better. Only, I can’t explore this place in the way I should without your help. I am trapped, and feel as though I have metal shackles tying me to a world I should no longer be a part of.
Please trust me, and let me show you. Because if you open your eyes and take a good look, you will see what is there in front of you, and always has been. You will see the truth...
Prologue
It’s the night that I will always remember as if it were yesterday. I can still recite every moment, running it through my mind like scenes extracted from a well-written play. I can recall every last detail with remarkable clarity. Unfortunately, though, this wasn’t a play; there was no set, no cast or props, and I had no understudy to step in and seamlessly take my place if required. This was reality. It was my reality, it was my life, and in less than ten minutes time it was going to change forever.
It was approaching the middle of January, the tenth to be exact. It was the early hours of the morning following the coldest day we had experienced in a while, and had just turned twenty-three minutes past two. I knew this because I hadn’t slept a wink. I’d been awake all night, with an awful dose of a winter flu bug that had struck everyone I knew. I’d had it for a number of days, but it wasn’t easing in its ferocity and I couldn’t seem to shake it. Even though the temperature in the room had dropped drastically since I’d gone to bed a few hours earlier, I lay with the covers thrown back, hot and bothered, growing increasingly more aggravated.
The illuminated digital numbers on the clock next to me gradually increased. I lay watching them slowly roll by, the seconds crawling forward one by one. I counted them silently as they passed, wishing them to move faster so that the daylight would break and the long night would be over.
I wriggled my body, trying to loosen my aching muscles, then shifted from the cramped-up position that I had adopted, moving my legs and spreading them out across the other side of the double bed, which was cold and empty. I was alone that night; my husband had been working away that week, like he often did. It didn’t bother me, not anymore, I was now used to sleeping alone. My arm had gone dead from staying in the same position for too long. I removed it from underneath my pillow and wiggled it, resulting in a rush of pins and needles running from my elbow to my fingertips.
I’d pretty much given up on the idea of getting any rest at all that night, and had been contemplating going downstairs to get myself a hot toddy. It was a cold and flu remedy that my dad had always sworn by. The welcome haze of alcohol induced slumber seemed appealing, and I was just about to make a move when my mobile phone rang from somewhere beside me.
I glanced once again at the clock. It was two-thirty a.m. on the dot, and even though I was wide awake, the shrill tone of the phone ringing out into the silence still made me jumpy. I searched around, blind in the darkness, moving my hands in the direction of the sound, and eventually found the phone buried under the bedclothes.
I remember squinting my eyes at the caller display, its brightness making my vision go momentarily blurry. However, my eyesight quickly returned to normal, enabling me to make out the caller's identity; it was Matt, my brother-in-law. Before I even held the phone to my ear, a terrible and gut-wrenching feeling of dread hit me. It was almost as if I’d half-guessed his reason for calling. Of course, there was no way I could have possibly known. I hesitated a few seconds and tried to clear my throat before I finally answered.
“Hello,” I whispered, my voice croaky. My throat felt like I’d swallowed a pint of broken glass as I spoke. The line was silent. I was just about to hang up, assuming that Matt had called my mobile by mistake, when I heard the faint sound of breathing coming from the other side of the line.
“Matt, is that you? What’s wrong?” I felt myself physically tense up, my whole body freezing from head to toe as I waited for his reply.
“Natalie, something’s happened, it’s Jess, she...” Matt stopped mid-sentence and paused for a while before he continued. It was obvious something was terribly wrong. His voice barely resembled the one I knew, his words coming out rushed and muddled. I could tell he was in shock. I waited. He was trying to speak while choking back quiet sobs. He wasn’t making a lot of sense at first. Then he managed to compose himself a little and said three words that hit me like a forceful blow, three simple words that I won’t ever forget.
“Jess is dead.”
I remember thinking I’d misheard him at first, surely I had? But then the harshness of reality kicked in, and I knew I hadn’t. My left hand shot up to cover my mouth, desperately trying to hold back a scream that threatened to escape from my lips. My right hand lost its grip on the phone and it dropped to the floor. It landed silently on the carpet face down. I could still hear the sound of Matt’s muffled, distraught voice coming up from it.
I pinched at my bare arms, digging my nails deep into my skin, desperate to wake myself from the nightmare I had entered. In the dim light, I could see the marks I had created, but I didn’t wake up, I couldn’t wake up. Putting my hands over my ears, I shook my head, trying to block out the sound of Matts's voice. This can’t be happening. I’m dreaming, I must be dreaming. Wake up Nat, for God's sake wake up!
Reluctantly, I removed my hands from my ears, my already foggy head grew heavier, and the bedroom started to swim around me. Everything felt strangely dreamlike and progressed in slow motion. My lungs were burning and my heart hammered at lightning quick speed. I clenched my chest, trying to inhale more air, I felt as though I couldn’t get enough, as though my airways had closed up. I'm going to stop breathing. Do something!
After a few moments of frantically trying to catch my breath, I reached down to retrieve the phone. But as I did I knocked over a full jug of water from the bedside cabinet, which was still there from my bedridden day before. It fell to the floor, some spilled out over my bare feet and the remainder settled in a large pool near them. I steadied myself against
the bed, blood pounding in my ears and stood up shakily, feeling lightheaded. I tried to move my legs, but my knees buckled and I wobbled backwards. Eventually, I found my balance, rooted my feet to the spot, and bent down to scoop up the phone. Pressing it back to my ear, I prepared myself for what Matt had called to tell me.
Jess had fallen from a cliff top earlier that night. The police had shown up at Matt’s apartment shortly after discovering her body on the rocks below. Her handbag and ID hadn’t been far from where she had landed, so it had been easy to contact her next of kin.
I think he told me more, he’d gone into detail about what the police believed had happened, but at that point I couldn’t take in any further information. My brain had stopped working, it simply couldn’t absorb anything else. My little sister was dead.
I can’t recall much after that brief conversation with Matt. After I hung up I remember feeling totally numb. I’d slid to the floor, sitting cross-legged on the wet patch of carpet near the bed. Water soaked up through the thin material of my pyjama bottoms, but I remained in the same position, staring at a blank space on the wall of the room, unable to move. My skin felt cold and damp, and my body shook profusely.
The almost full moon outside shone brightly through a gap in the curtains, creating a perfectly straight line of white light, which settled on a chair at the far side of the room. For a brief moment, I even thought I saw her. Jess. She was sitting on the chair, her posture relaxed, with one foot up on the seat tucked under her leg and her head cocked to the side, as if carefully studying my state of despair. A look of concern clouded her delicately featured face. I shook my head and she disappeared.
I sat there in the dark for quite a while before realising that I was going to have to call my mum. Matt had found it hard enough to tell me; he wasn’t going to be making any other calls. My hands trembled violently as I tried to find her number on my phone. I was still conscious enough to know that it was my responsibility to alert the rest of my family about Jess’s death.
After two botched attempts at making the call I was successful. Mum answered on the third ring, and I took a deep breath to steady my voice before I slowly started to tell her that her youngest daughter was dead. To this day, it’s the most difficult thing I've ever had to do.
We soon found out that Jess was drinking heavily that night. She had been going through a few personal problems at the time, and turning to drink to kill the pain wasn’t out of character for her. The police had carried out a brief investigation, but nothing suspicious was found. They believed that she had been up on the cliffs alone, probably just walking, which she used to do on a regular basis so it was nothing out of the ordinary. She would have been unsteady on her feet under the influence of alcohol, and had roamed too close to the cliff edge. The surface there was very unstable and she could have easily lost her footing, sending her into a sheer drop to the rocks below.
For over eight months now, I have lived with the pain and persistent torture brought on from losing my sister that night. For all this time, I have had no reason to believe that her death was anything more than a tragic accident... until now.
Chapter 1
I awake to a bright mid-September morning. The sun is shining through the dipped venetian blinds and casts an almost-blinding glow against the white cotton bed sheets I am wrapped tightly in. I turn over onto my side, stifling a yawn, and rub my eyes. My neck is stiff from the position I’ve been sleeping in. I move it from side to side, trying to loosen the knots which have developed, while attempting to focus on the time shown on the clock sitting on my bedside table.
Did I dream last night? If I had, then the warmth of the morning sunshine must have washed away the memories. I am instantly grateful that I can’t remember, at least not yet anyway. I know the memories of the dream will most likely return to me at some time later in the day. They always do.
I glance out of the bedroom window down towards the driveway below. Dan’s car isn’t there, I must have just missed him. I’m surprised by the fact that I must have been sleeping so soundly that I hadn’t even heard him get dressed and leave for work.
After getting out of bed and padding across the thick carpet, I pull a dressing gown off the back of the bedroom door and throw it on.
Once out in the hall, I peer into the bedroom next door to ours. Our son Josh lies spread across his whole bed. His little body is clothed in red pyjamas, a picture of a cartoon dog sits in the centre of his small chest. The bedclothes that he had been wrapped in have now been kicked free, and lay in a crumpled heap at the foot of the bed. He clutches tightly onto a giant stuffed blue dinosaur that is taking up as much room as he is. The sun beams in from the large window and through the thin voile curtains behind his head, making his already light blonde hair look white. I’m not surprised he’s still flat out as he’d endured a full-on day yesterday at his friend’s birthday party. Five-year-old kids do have a lot of energy! I gently close the door and decide to let him sleep a little longer before I wake him to dress for school.
I creep downstairs and go into the kitchen, switching on the coffee maker as I walk past, then head to the fridge to find the milk, and grab a mug sitting on the drainer. I am not capable of functioning on a Monday morning, or indeed any other morning without a strong cup of coffee inside me to start the day. The kitchen smells of a mixture of burnt toast, strong coffee and remnants of Dan’s musky scented body spray. I smile as I see a note stuck onto the front of the fridge, secured with our son’s multicoloured alphabet magnets:
GOOD LUCK, KNOCK EM DEAD, XXX
The words have been scribbled across the paper in large letters, written in pale blue crayon. Dan’s messy handwriting is easy to recognise. This was a perfectly normal method of communication for my husband; over the eight years that we have been married, I’ve had numerous notes posted in various locations around the house. Usually, these are reminders to pay the gas bill or buy bread, that sort of thing. Although I would class myself as an organised person, I have the worst memory for mundane day to day tasks. This one, however, is a good luck message for the job interview that I have later on today. I smile to myself again, mindlessly stirring my coffee and start to open cupboards to prepare breakfast.
Although the interview isn’t until later this afternoon, I already feel anxious. I put a hand on my stomach and rub it, pressing hard in a circular motion, attempting to disperse the butterflies I can feel flying around inside its walls. I haven’t worked for over five years. I resigned from my full-time job as a personal assistant when I was seven months pregnant with Josh. Since then, my work has been looking after Josh as a full-time mum and housewife.
I enjoyed my job before I left. I know not a lot of people can say that they like their chosen profession, but it’s true, and I do feel lucky for this fact. I had been a personal assistant to Stephanie Coleman for almost six years. Steph had been, and still is, the senior editor of a well-known fashion magazine, and was a great boss to work for. I learnt a great deal from her over the years that we worked together. However, after a lot of deliberating, I eventually made the decision to resign and focus on raising our son.
Now that Josh has started school full time I already feel a bit of a loss, surplus to requirement in many ways, I suppose. So, when my friend Kate told me of an opening for a personal assistant at the marketing firm her sister works at, I jumped at the opportunity. I quickly submitted an application form and was offered an interview a few days later.
It’s not that we are desperate for the extra income, that's not what it's about. I need something to keep my mind occupied, as these days I find that if it isn’t firmly focused it will stray, usually onto things that I don’t want to think about. I’m glad I have been lucky enough to spend every day with my son for the past five years. As he grows, and his personality and traits develop, so does the love I have for him. Josh will always be my number one priority and has been since the day he was born.
As if reading my mind, a little voice behind
me breaks through my thoughts.
“Hi Mummy,” says a still sleepy Josh. I look through to the dining room where he stands. He’s holding onto the back of a dining chair with his little hand. The giant blue dinosaur is still clutched firmly in the other, its long spiked tail trailing the floor. I can see he has attempted to dress himself for school this morning; his socks are odd, and his school uniform sweatshirt is on inside out. My son’s bright blue eyes look at me intensely.
“Well, good morning sleepy head!” I say, moving towards him. “So good of you to join us this morning.”
Josh giggles and dramatically hoists himself onto the chair, picking up the glass of orange juice that I have already placed on the table for him. I put down his breakfast and he tucks in hungrily, preparing himself for the day ahead.
*
A short while later I drop Josh off at school, waving to his bright smiling face as he enthusiastically disappears through the school entrance, joined by his new teacher, Mrs Johnson, who he has taken an instant shine to. From what I understand the feeling is mutual. My heart flutters as I climb back into the car and start the ignition. I can remember the day he was born so vividly, it’s as if it were only yesterday.
He had been a month premature and so tiny and fragile, it's hard to believe when I look at him now. He has grown into such an independent little boy, with the nerve and courage to tackle anything that comes his way. Those are parts of his personality which I’m sure he must have got from his dad.
I suddenly imagine my son going off to university, meeting the girl of his dreams and then leaving home to start a family of his own. It’s silly, as I know that that is miles off in the future, but time is passing too rapidly. He is growing too quickly, and I worry that I will blink and miss a second of it.