Doctor Adams was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “Emily, as the person responsible for your wellbeing, I feel it’s best to continue as we are. Your treatment order is up for review in two months. Then, if I feel you’ve made adequate progress, we can talk about stepping down your treatment and discharging you.”
Emily swelled with panic. She would not remain incarcerated here. All she had to do was convince herself that she was strong enough to get over that wall. Her body would take care of the rest. They would go tonight, just as Grace had planned.
“Ms Swanson, are you being honest with me?”
Startled by the doctor’s voice, Emily looked up. How long had she been sitting there lost in thought?
“Of course,” she said, meeting his gaze. “I feel much better.”
“This is a very precarious time for you, so being honest with yourself—and with those of us trying to help you—is vital. As you say, you’ve begun to feel better, which is precisely why treatment needs to continue. To let you go out on your own now would be dangerous, not to mention unethical. You’re vulnerable, Ms Swanson. That wellness you feel is exactly what we want to hear about, but alongside wellness you need emotional strength and mental stability, and I fear you have yet to reach those plateaus. So, two more months. Then we’ll review.”
Emily clamped her jaws shut. She wanted to scream at him, to call him a liar. This man had stolen months of her life. He’d drugged her, experimented on her, held her against her will. Yet, all she could do was sit in the chair, hands resting in her lap.
“You know best,” she said, her voice flat and calm.
Doctor Adams returned to his computer. “Nurse, could you take Ms Swanson back to her room?”
“I’d like to go back to the garden actually,” Emily said. “We’re planting seeds.”
“No, I believe you need more rest. You’ve been pushing yourself far too much these last weeks. We don’t want to peak too soon, do we? Otherwise you risk undoing all of your hard work. I’ll have Nurse Berlinger come by with something to help you sleep.”
Emily’s heart thumped in her chest. “I don’t need to sleep.”
Doctor Adams looked up. “Thank you, Ms Swanson. That will be all.”
She felt the nurse looming over her. He placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Please, I don’t want to go to sleep.”
Panic overwhelmed her. She couldn’t breathe. How long would they put her to sleep this time? A week? Another three months? And what would they do to her while she slept? Would she still be the same person when she awoke? Would there be anything left of her?
“Please,” she begged. “Please don’t send me to sleep.”
Her mind left her body, floating above the room, watching as the nurse dragged her towards the door.
From the corridor came a commotion of raised voices. Then, all hell broke loose.
The office door flew inwards and Grace shot into the room, shrieking at the top of her lungs. She launched herself at the nurse, hooking her fingernails into his face. They fell against the wall, knocking Emily backwards. Grace shrieked and scratched. A horrible scream filled the air as she sank her teeth into the man’s ear.
Time froze. Then, as Grace and the nurse grappled on the carpet, as Doctor Adams stared in open-mouthed silence, Emily’s body took control.
Using the corner of the desk as leverage, she hauled herself up, moved towards the window, flicked the latch and pulled on the handle.
Spring sunshine hit her skin. Leaning back on the sill, she looked into the room. Doctor Adams shouted into the phone. The nurse clutched his bleeding ear as he pressed his bodyweight onto Grace’s back, pinning her to the floor.
“I saw!” Grace cried, eyes wide with horror. “I saw inside!”
Nurse Stevens appeared in the doorway, her mouth hanging open in dumbfounded disbelief.
“You have to help them!” Grace shouted. “You have to get them out of there!”
Then, Emily fell backwards through the open window.
She hit the grass hard, knocking the air from her lungs. Panicked voices filled the air above her.
Rolling over, she pushed herself into a crouching position. Nurse Stevens was at the window.
Emily lurched forwards, stumbling and limping. She moved around the side of the building, adrenaline pumping through her muscles.
“Emily, don’t do this! Please stop!” Nurse Stevens called out behind her.
Emily ploughed on, through the gardens, across the lawn, until she came upon the women. Some of them looked up. The gardener, who was old and doddery, had his back turned to her.
Moving in a wide sweep, Emily approached the wall and limped alongside it, the grass feeling like quicksand beneath her shaking legs. The lilac tree was just metres ahead. Move! she told herself. Keep going! You’re almost there!
Her hands reached out and wrapped around the trunk of the tree. Behind her, some of the women had realised what was happening and were now pointing and filling the air with excited chatter. Somehow, Emily found the strength to swing her legs over and straddle one of the branches.
Using her arms to lift herself up and along, she moved towards the top of the wall. Her muscles screamed with pain. Already, she could feel them losing strength.
“Come on!” she cried through gritted teeth.
Another surge of adrenaline crackled through her body.
The women’s chatter grew louder. She heard some of them shout encouragement. Seconds later, her body screaming with pain, she touched the top of the wall. A six foot drop lay on the other side.
Above the din of the women, she heard a door slam. Two figures, both male, had emerged from the side entrance of the house and now raced across the lawn towards the flowerbeds. Immediately, the women fell silent and resumed their work.
Emily closed her eyes, held her breath, and propelled herself into the air.
She landed awkwardly, hitting the ground and rolling hard onto her shoulder. She winced as pain racked her body. With no time to recover, Emily pushed herself up.
Ahead of her was a long stretch of woodland. She threw herself towards it, veering in between the trees, falling and getting back up.
Angry voices rose over St. Dymphna’s Private Hospital. Emily ducked and weaved, her limbs screaming, threatening to give in. Above her head, nests of birds sang out. Soft spring daylight peeked through the canopy. She had escaped. She was free. But with Doctor Chelmsford’s men close behind, there was no time to rejoice. Ignoring the pain that gripped her legs, Emily ploughed on.
THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The trees thinned out. A large field which had been ploughed and left fallow lay just beyond them. Emily stumbled between the harrowed rows, her limbs weak and painful. Another field lay in the distance, populated by flocks of sheep. She stopped to catch her breath and watched young lambs follow their mothers on unsteady legs. She stared up at the endless expanse of blue sky and white clouds.
Emily shivered. The clothes she wore were loose and thin, and although sunshine resided over the day, winter’s dying breath still hung in the air. The slippers on her feet were already swamped with mud and torn at the edges. Soon, they would become a hindrance and her feet would be vulnerable.
To the east, the land rose and fell over a great hill, while to the north and west, a patchwork of fields dipped and curved like the back of a great animal. She could see farm houses down there, scattered like grains of black pepper. What she wanted was a road, where she could hitch a ride back to the city.
Fatigue had set in. Her muscles were in agony. But Doctor Chelmsford would be looking for her, and wandering out in the open made her easy to find. Wincing, Emily set off down the sloping field, her eyes fixed on a cluster of granite buildings. Perhaps the occupants would have a car. Perhaps they would help her.
By the time she had stumbled over the last stile and into the concrete yard, her limbs were ablaze. Her left leg lagged behind her as she hobbled pa
st empty cowsheds like a lame dog. A pungent aroma of manure and straw saturated the air. Clucks and caws came from a nearby barn.
The yard bottlenecked between two low buildings and then opened up again, revealing a wide shed containing farming machinery, and an abandoned shack. A young tree had rooted inside, its branches sprouting out through smashed windows. There were vehicles here—an old estate car, its wheels propped up on bricks, and a mud encrusted Land Rover.
To the right of the yard, a small river flanked a slope of trees. At the top of the slope was the farmhouse. Emily moved towards it, crossing a narrow bridge and making her way up a gravel path. An unmown lawn circled the house. Food smells wafted from an open window and Emily’s stomach growled in protest. She knocked on the door and waited.
She was greeted by a grey-haired woman with soft wrinkles and fern-green eyes. She looked Emily up and down, the soft curve of her lips stiffening.
“My goodness,” she said. “What in the world has happened to you?”
Emily glanced down at her soiled clothing and ruined slippers.
“Please.” She set a steadying hand against the wall. “Can you help me?”
The woman looked into the yard below, as if trying to figure out where this stranger had come from.
“Has there been an accident?” she asked. “Should I call an ambulance?”
Emily shook her head. “No ambulances.”
“Well, you’d best come in.”
She led Emily through a cluttered kitchen, where pots boiled on the stove, and into a dimly lit dining area. A table covered in plastic cloth dominated the room.
“What’s your name?” the woman asked, guiding her guest to a chair.
Emily hesitated. “Helen.”
“Well, Helen, my name is Mary. I’ll put the kettle on. You have a think about what’s happened to you. And when the tea’s ready you can tell me all about it.”
Mary headed back to the kitchen and Emily heard the rush of tap water. She did not want to stay here. They would be looking for her and she was not far enough away from the hospital. But the allure of rest was overwhelming. And so was the pain in her legs. She stretched them out and her knees creaked. Perhaps a minute’s rest, she thought. And then onwards to the city. But then what? She had no keys to her apartment. She had no money. She didn’t even have proper shoes on her feet.
She could contact Lewis. Call the bank where he worked. A wrenching pain crushed her chest, but it was not caused by any physical exertion. It was a sudden longing to see Lewis again, a desperate need for a familiar face, for his arms to be around her. And then that longing quickly transformed into anger. Whether or not the doctor had really contacted Lewis (she doubted that he had), she couldn’t imagine for one moment that he would help her. Lewis had given up on her a long time ago. Why would that change now?
“Here we are!” Mary returned from the kitchen with a tea tray. She poured tea and milk into a cracked cup and handed it to Emily. “Now, tell me what brings a pretty young thing like you out here in the middle of nowhere with no proper shoes or a jacket?”
“I’m trying to get back to London,” Emily replied, carefully choosing her words. “I’ve lost my way.”
“I can see that,” Mary laughed. Her face creased with concern. “Are you hurt, dear? You were limping. You look awfully pale.”
“I’m ... I fell. Please, do you know how I get to London? Is it far?”
“No, not far.” Mary had begun to pick at a hole in the tablecloth. “The motorway is perhaps one or two miles. But tell me, Helen, where have you come from?”
Emily looked away, finding a black and white picture of a young couple in wedding attire.
“I came from the woods,” she said, knowing it sounded strange and unbalanced. “I was lost.”
The hole in the tablecloth opened up. Mary continued to pick at it. She raised an eyebrow and asked, “From the hospital?”
The women locked eyes.
“Please, it’s not like that,” Emily blurted, giving up her pretence. “I’m not supposed to be there. They’re trying to make it look like I hurt myself, like I’m not well!”
Mary smiled as the hole in the tablecloth grew wider.
“Why would they do that?”
“It’s safer if I don’t tell you. Will you help me? Can you take me to London, or at least to a road where I can hitch a ride?”
Mary looked up and her expression confirmed what Emily suspected—the old woman thought she was insane.
“I forgot the biscuits,” Mary said.
Excusing herself, she disappeared into the kitchen. When she returned, she carried a bright red tin, which she set down on the table. “Perhaps you’d like to take a hot bath to warm yourself up. I have some of my daughter’s old clothes here. You look about the same size.”
Emily sat in silence. Mary wasn’t going to help her. If she knew about the hospital did that mean she would tell them Emily was here?
“I’ll run the water. The hot tap is a tricky devil—you have to get it in just the right position or you’ll boil like a chicken.” Mary stood up. “Come along now.”
Not knowing what else to do, Emily followed her through a door and out into a dingy corridor, which smelled of mildew and was cluttered with junk-filled boxes. Moving past a staircase, they headed down a short flight of steps.
The stench of damp grew stronger, burning the back of Emily’s throat. The bathroom was long and wide. One small window of frosted glass let in just enough light to illuminate the room.
“Here we are.” Mary leaned over the bath and turned on the taps. “You wait here and I’ll go fetch you some clothes.”
Emily watched the woman leave, then turned her attention to the room. Wisps of steam snaked up from the bathwater, dampening the walls. Turquoise carpet stained with mould covered the floor. A medicine cabinet hung on the wall. Opening it up, Emily located a bottle of painkillers, tapped three capsules onto her palm, then swallowed them.
“I’m not sure how stylish they are, but at least they’ll keep you warm.” Mary hovered in the doorway, a pile of clothes in her arms.
“Thank you,” Emily said. As she took the garments, her hand grazed the old woman’s and she felt her recoil. “You’re very kind.”
“What’s the world coming to if we can’t help out a stranger, eh?”
Mary laughed. It was a strange sound. Locking the door behind her, Emily stripped out of her clothes and put on the loose-fitting blue jeans, grey t-shirt and black pullover that Mary had given her. There was also an old pair of running shoes, which she slipped onto her aching feet. They were a little tight but not uncomfortably so.
Pocketing the bottle of painkillers, Emily limped over to the bath, pulled the plug, and switched off the taps. When the bath was empty, she climbed inside, then opened the window. It was just large enough for her to fit through.
The rumble of a car engine confirmed Emily’s suspicions. Climbing onto the edge of the bath, she pushed her arms though the window, then her head. Placing her hands flat against the exterior wall, she hoisted herself up and out. For the second time that day, Emily found herself sailing from a window and landing heavily on her back.
The rumble of the engine grew louder. Rolling over onto her hands and knees, Emily watched as an ambulance crossed the bridge and entered the yard, followed by a black Mercedes. Doctor Chelmsford sat behind the wheel.
“Thanks a lot Mary,” Emily said, getting to her feet.
The vehicles ground to a halt. She moved as quickly as her legs would allow, skirting the perimeter of the house, then crossing through a small orchard of apple trees, and out through the garden gate. Crossing a winding, pot-holed lane, she disappeared inside a valley of trees.
Her legs complained, but the painkillers had taken some of the edge off. She pushed them on, one in front of the other, making her way between protruding roots and tree stumps, climbing higher and higher, cursing under her breath. Trees gave way to fields. She moved forwards, no
t once looking back, until she had reached the top of a hill. The view yielded a road, black and winding like a ribbon. She followed its path with her eyes, and in the distance, she saw it merge onto the motorway. London’s glimmering cityscape lay on the horizon.
Fifteen minutes later, Emily staggered onto tarmac.
A car was coming up behind. A thought struck her—would Mary tell the doctor where she was heading? Would he be driving this way right now, looking for her? Suddenly, waiting out in the open felt like a dangerous idea.
Ducking down into the scrub, Emily watched the car sail by. Pain shot up the backs of her legs. The pills were already losing their effect. She watched another two cars drive by.
Then, appearing from the bend in the road, came a white van. At first, Emily thought it was the ambulance that had pulled into the farmyard. But then, as it approached, she saw a large pane of glass attached to the side of the van by metal grips.
Using the last of her energy, Emily launched herself into the road.
The van swerved and skidded to a halt.
“What the hell are you doing? I almost hit you!” the driver yelled as she approached his window.
He was in his early fifties, his face tired and wrinkled from long hours on the road.
“I’m sorry,” Emily replied, barely able to stand. “Can you give me a ride?”
The man’s face reddened. “After the stunt you just pulled?”
“Please. It’s an emergency.”
He watched as Emily staggered, then leant against the door for support.
“Are you hurt?”
“I’ve walked a long way.”
“No car?”
“That hunk of junk went and died on me.”
“No breakdown cover?”
Emily shook her head.
The man’s face softened a little. “Where are you heading?”
“London.”
“A girl shouldn’t be hitchhiking on her own, you know.”
“Believe me, it’s not my usual style.”
The driver frowned. “Well, you best jump in before you make this delivery later than it already is.”
Lost Lives (Emily Swanson Mystery Thriller Series Book 1) Page 18
