Her Dark Retreat: a psychological thriller with a twist you won't see coming

by J. A. Baker

  ‘She’s here!’ A man’s voice filters through the air, deep and warm. Music to her ears.

  Audrey slumps forward, her arms hanging over the sill, head lolling. She thinks her eyeballs are going to explode, about to burst into tiny fragments and float around in her head. She starts to mumble, her words febrile and delirious, then she stops. It hurts too much to say anything. Her brain feels as if it’s burning up. She can’t think about anything except how to breathe. And even that is excruciating.

  ‘Come on, love, we’ve got yer,’ the voice says. Big, strong arms are placed under her head and around her waist, and Audrey feels herself being dragged through the window, over the hot metal frame and out into the cold, night air.

  ‘Are they on their way?’ another voice says, ‘Feels like bloody ages since I rang!’

  Gentle hands place her down on the grass, cool and soothing, ‘You’re gonna be all right now, love. Take some deep breaths. The fire brigade are on their way,’ the person with the strong arms says. His voice is soft, like dripping honey. A blanket is laid over her body. Something spongy is placed under her head. She wants to cry but hasn’t the energy.

  ‘Fucking ‘ell! Give ‘em another call,’ a voice shrieks from somewhere behind her. Guttural and emotive. Full of anguish.

  ‘Give ‘em a chance, man,’ a woman’s voice says, pleading and desperate, ‘we only rang them a couple of minutes ago.’

  An unearthly shattering sound surrounds them and Audrey feels herself being pulled away across the grass away from whatever is happening.

  ‘FUCK!’

  ‘Get back everyone! GET BACK! The fucking window has blown out!’

  A ferocious roar fills Audrey’s ears and if she had the energy she would howl and scream. Her house is being destroyed. Everything gone. All turned to ash. Her entire life ruined. Everything she owns going up in smoke.

  ‘Ring them again! Jesus fucking Christ. Give ‘em another call, will you?’

  At that, a sound pierces through everything; a cacophony of unsynchronised sirens, wailing and screeching as they edge closer, the noise nightmarish and distorted in Audrey’s head. Is this what it feels like when you die? She senses hot breath on her neck as the honey voice comes again, ‘Just stay still, love. They’re here now. Everything’s gonna be just fine. Stay still and don’t try to move.’

  She couldn’t move if she tried. She has nothing left. No energy in reserve, no breath, no house, no family. Nothing. Audrey blinks, her eyelids dragging over her irises and pupils like sandpaper. She may as well be dead. It would have been easier if she’d just thrown herself into the flames, let the fire take her away from it all.

  Her last thought before breathing apparatus is placed onto her face, is Peggy. The words stay safe rattle though her brain as a row of hands hoist her onto a stretcher and she closes her eyes against the huge wave of pain that threatens to engulf her.

  31

  Alec

  They can’t arrest him. He hasn’t fucking well done anything. What are they going to charge him with for God’s sake? Hating his own father? Since when has that been a crime? In fact, it’s a pre-requisite, especially if Barry Wilson is the father in question. Such a horrible, lying bastard. Never changed.

  The two police officers sit at the dining table, their expressions unreadable. Who the fuck do they think they are, these people? Marching into his house, sitting here at his table, wielding power with their authoritative air and superior smiles. This is his house. He’s the one in charge here.

  ‘Well, here we are again,’ Rollings says with a slightly southern drawl as he eyes up the eggs and coffee and smiles, revealing a row of uneven, yellow teeth. Alec curls his fists up under the table and cracks his knuckles, enjoying the sensation it affords him as he feels the release of tension flood through him. He imagines the softness of Rollings’ skin when it connects with his fist and pictures his decaying teeth exiting his head as the punch takes hold, Alec’s knuckles embedding themselves in his podgy, pale flesh.

  ‘Yes, here we are again,’ Alec replies, trying and failing miserably to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. He sees Peggy flinch and wants to smile. He has no idea why. It’s not as if this particular incident is even her fault. It’s the frustration that’s driving him. The frustration and pent up anger; years of it, simmering and boiling away inside of him, eating at his very core. A cauldron of childish fury directed at anyone who is unlucky enough to get in its way. A dark, unfortunate upbringing has resulted in him having two policemen sitting here in his kitchen, glaring at him as if he’s something they’ve just scraped off their shoes. How is that his fault? Being born into a destructive, violent family, being beaten and then abandoned. How is any of it his fucking fault?

  ‘Don’t let us stop you,’ Rollings says as he continues to stare at the food. He taps his fingers on the large, oak table, a solid, dull beat full of menace. ‘Thought you would have already eaten, actually. I was just thinking you look like the kind of guy who’s always up early. A go-getter if you know what I mean.’

  ‘Sorry, no,’ Alec says through gritted teeth, ‘I don’t know what you mean. Would you care to elaborate?’

  ‘Shall I make some more coffee?’ Peggy’s voice cuts through the charged air of simmering anger, ‘Nothing too flash,’ she says, a definite tremor in her tone, ‘we don’t have one of those fancy coffee machines that grinds the beans and everything, but we have got a Tassimo machine if anyone’s interested?’

  Alec watches as Evans looks to his superior for the nod to say he can go ahead and agree.

  ‘Sounds perfect, Mrs Wilson. Black, no sugar.’ Rollings smiles.

  ‘How about you?’ Peggy asks, staring at PC Evans. She actually feels sorry for him, Alec can tell. The way she’s looking at him, all doe-eyed. Always one for the underdog is Peggy. Typical.

  ‘Same for me,’ Evans replies dryly.

  Alec doubts it, imagines he probably has cream, sweeteners, the works, but sees it as too much hassle so goes along with whatever his boss says. Alec wants to laugh out loud at it, a grown man under the thumb of his superior. Like a baby.

  ‘Nothing for me,’ Alec whispers grimly. He turns to look at Rollings and holds his gaze, their eyes locked together, ‘So, I’m assuming you didn’t call up here just for coffee?’

  ‘Indeed, we didn’t,’ he replies, a darkness spreading over his face. Alec feels his insides shift slightly, an iron fist slowly squeezing his intestines, making him woozy and sick. A disquieting veil settles in the room, bleak and heavy. Peggy is at the stove, setting mugs out, humming slightly. To an untrained eye, she appears like an everyday woman making coffee for a small gathering of friends but Alec knows better. He can see the slight tic at the corner of her mouth, the nervous quiver visible through her t-shirt, the way she keeps sweeping her hand over her right eye …

  ‘Ah, that’s perfect, thank you.’ Evans takes the cup from Peggy’s grasp, steam billowing up in small wisps and circling round his face.

  Peggy hands Rollings his coffee and sits down next to Alec. A thin sheen of perspiration is coating her face, tiny droplets sitting in an arc around her hairline and slowly trickling down her temple.

  ‘We were at the hospital first thing this morning,’ Rollings adds, enunciating every syllable for effect.

  Alec feels a bubble of air catch in his throat. He swallows hard and forces it down. Why is he dragging this out? Why can’t he just come right out and say whatever it is he’s got to say?

  ‘How is he?’ Peggy asks. She keeps her eyes firmly fixed on the policeman, never once glancing Alec’s way.

  ‘Well,’ Evans says as he blows a cloud of steam away from the rim of his mug, ‘considering the severity of the attack, he’s making quite good progress.’

  ‘Still got a long way to go until he’s fully recovered, however,’ Rollings adds, staring at Alec as if this piece of information will somehow impact on his conscience. Alec knows what he is about, this Rollings guy. He’s trying make him squi
rm, see how far he can go before Alec snaps. Well, it won’t happen. He’s bigger than such a scenario. He is better than that.

  ‘So, what happened while you were there, then?’ Alec asks. He’s had enough of this dramatisation now, this contrived, badly acted piece of nonsense. It’s about time they explained their presence in his house. He’s been more than cooperative, remained calm in the face of adversity and their accusatory bollocks. It’s about time they just bloody well came out with whatever they’re here to say.

  ‘Well, as it turns out, your father’s memory has miraculously returned.’ Rollings pauses, watching Alec closely. He raises his eyebrows and takes a sip of his steaming coffee. Alec meets his gaze and watches how the policeman casually drinks the boiling liquid. Burning and black - just like his soul.

  ‘And?’ Alec asks tightly.

  ‘And it looks like he met up with a couple of acquaintances after you dropped him off.’

  The silence is deafening. Peggy’s eyes are wide as they all wait for the next part.

  ‘He’s a real character, your dad, isn’t he?’ Rollings adds, waiting for Alec to agree. Alec is rigid. He will not become embroiled in this - this banter about a father he despises, with a policeman who is virtually a stranger to him. He simply will not do it.

  ‘So anyway,’ Rollings says through clenched teeth, obviously annoyed at Alec’s lack of response, ‘they got into a scuffle over some unpaid debts. Apparently, your father owed them quite a bit of money. Still does.’

  ‘Really?’ Alec says sarcastically, as he pictures himself driving his fist into Rollings’ tired, flabby face.

  Evans slurps his coffee, the noise not dissimilar to the last dregs of water being sucked down a drain.

  ‘It all got out of control and they ended up beating your father pretty viciously after he told them he didn’t have the money to pay them back.’

  Another heavy silence descends as they all wait for Alec to say something. Instead he stands up and holds out his hand for Rollings to shake then offers it to Evans who almost spills his coffee as he reciprocates.

  ‘Well, thank you for stopping by and informing us of this latest development. I do hope the offenders are brought to justice.’ Alec can see Peggy, all nervous and edgy as he steps out from behind the table and indicates, with an outstretched arm, that the officers now need to leave.

  They both stand, eyeing each other cautiously as they slowly make their way out of the room and back into the hallway, the two steaming mugs of black coffee barely touched.

  ‘Would you like to know what ward he’s on so you can pay a visit?’ Evans asks. Alec isn’t entirely certain but thinks he can see a glint of sarcasm in his eye, a sparkle of something dark, something slightly malevolent, as if he’s enjoying this.

  ‘Not really,’ Alec replies stiffly, ‘but thanks for the offer. If I feel like going to see him, I’m pretty sure I can find out that information for myself.’

  Evans purses his lips and nods approvingly, suddenly seeming to comprehend Alec’s hatred of his father; a man beaten black and blue by more people he has wronged with his actions - a man who deserves all he gets.

  ‘We’ll be in touch if we need any further information,’ Rollings adds, for no other reason than because he can. It’s as if he has to have the last word to exert his control over this situation. Alec suppresses a cackle. It must have half-killed him, having to come all the way up here to exonerate a man that only yesterday they thought was guilty of nearly killing his own father. He should feel sorry for them really, these two guys. It can’t be easy, having to admit that you were wrong, that all your instincts and policing skills are completely and utterly way off beam. If anything, these men deserve his pity.

  ‘I look forward to it,’ Alec adds, unable to disguise the edge that has crept into his voice, ‘and don’t worry, chaps, I don’t plan on leaving the country.’

  He makes sure the door slams just loud enough as they leave, to let them know what he thinks of them and their shoddy detective work. What a complete bloody shambles. Only when he’s certain they are far enough away does Alec relax and let it all out; all the pent-up hatred and anguish, all the worry and horror he has been subjected to comes out in a torrent as he leans back against the wall and howls.

  32

  Before

  Everywhere. They are everywhere - crawling over me, under me, around me, their dry, scaly feet skittering over my face, sitting on my stomach, sniffing at my legs, their long tails swishing over my face. They’re going to eat me, I just know it. They hang about, gorging on my vomit, drinking up the urine, bathing in my excrement. The noise gets to me - more so than the feel of them. The scratching and scurrying sets my nerves on edge. It’s a sign that they’re on the move, ready to bite. Hungry rodents who will stop at nothing to fill their bellies.

  Hoped I’d be dead by now but it hasn’t happened. Too long. Death is taking too long. So much pain. Every limb, every organ, every inch of skin hurts. It’s indescribable. Woke up earlier, disappointed at still being alive. No chance of getting out of here now. I know that for certain. All hope vanished. Everything gone. A dull ache travels up my spine. I try to shift to alleviate it, to move away from the rats and the shit and everything that has leaked out of me, but can’t seem to do it. No energy. Too tired to move. Too exhausted to breathe.

  Lots of memories though, thousands of them buzzing round my head. Seems like the weaker my body becomes, the sharper my thoughts are. Loads of recent things swimming in my head - nights out with Rachel, laughing with Polly when she fell over drunk, her ringing me the next morning asking me how my hangover was. Such good times; fun times. Then memories of being in town with Alec. Him taking me to a coffee shop and talking to me about Peggy, thinking I was her friend. Asking me about her issues, why she won’t leave the house, the fact that she doesn’t love him anymore. Me watching his mouth move, unable to give him any real answers. Unable to give him the answers he so craves. The answers he deserves.

  Pain bites at me as I try to move, as I try to get away from the pool of urine under me, the cold, wet liquid that is seeping into my pores, covering me with its stink. Agony pierces me, pummels my back, stops me from getting away from it, so I lie here, like a dead body; wet, immobile, rotting in my own blanket of death.

  Why did this happen? Why like this? I remember the cottage, the howling wind, the seagulls overhead. The beautiful, blue sky and the sound of the sea. Couldn’t get inside. Wouldn’t let me in there. Kept me on the step. Like a stranger. Like a nuisance.

  I try to turn my head but can’t. Pain shooting up and down my skull, around my neck, behind my eyes. Vomit rises. I swallow it back. Wouldn’t have thought it possible for there to be anything left inside of me. I’m a dried-up cadaver - all but dead anyway. Forgotten about, unloved. Left to rot.

  I remember banging my head. I was hit, pushed, told to go away but I wouldn’t. Know now that I should have. Shouldn’t have gone there in the first place. Should have let things be, got on with my life on my own. Managed as I was before. Not impossible. Better than this. Better than being here. Better than being dead.

  I wasn’t wanted. Thought it was mutual, thought we would be together. How wrong I was; so very, very wrong on that score. Everything will continue without me, friends will mourn, family will cry but everything will go on as before. They will go on as before, carrying on with their lives as if I never existed. But one of them will know. They put me here and they will always know. That will be their own personal hell.

  It’s hot in here. No rats at the minute, but they’ll be back. Perhaps I’ll be dead by then. Hope I am. Don’t think I can last much longer. So many strange feelings, so much hurt.

  I close my eyes, overcome with a strange sensation. My head is light. Everything feels different. As if something momentous is about to take place. Maybe I’m thinking too much. Trying too hard. I need to stop raking over things in my mind. Panic grips me once again. Been quite calm lately. No choice really. Only the ra
ts and mice have set my heart racing, but now I feel frightened. Really scared. Terrified, actually. It’s getting hard to breathe. Not enough air. There are people here. I know them, these people - my nan, my grandpa. My mother. A wall of familiar faces hovering around me, smiling, beckoning me to go with them. The pain begins to leave me, leaches out of me in great waves. I visualise it, drifting out of my skin, sharp needles of torture slipping out from under me. Then I am filled with a feeling of euphoria, a sensation so powerful it makes me want to weep. No more panic or fear, no more darkness. I am suddenly overwhelmed with it all. I have never felt like this before in my life. The tears now begin to well up. Not tears of sadness or fear, but tears of joy. The closed-in space around me begins to widen and I can move. I look down and grieve for the woman I was before I finally take the step to the other place. The place where I will be free.

  33

  Brenda

  ‘Hang on a minute, Andrew, I’m just getting in the car. Give me two seconds, will you?’ Brenda bends down, throws her handbag onto the passenger seat and slides into the driver’s side, closing the door with a thump. What a shift. Only ten days to go and she has two weeks off. It can’t come soon enough. The thought of what she will do with her mother while she has a weekend away with a few friends hangs heavily in her mind. She banishes it. One thing at a time, Brenda, one thing at a time. She grapples with her seat belt and then retrieves her phone, tucking it under her chin as she puts the key in the ignition and turns it. She wants the heater on. It’s bloody freezing and she can’t wait to get warm. Her fingers are like ice as she fumbles about with the dials, turning it up to full.