Lost Child: A Gripping Psychological Thriller

by D. S. Butler

  My phone buzzed in my handbag. I guessed it was Mum replying to my text message, but I didn’t look at it. I had Phil Bowman in my sights, and I wasn’t going to lose him.

  The journey on the underground seemed to take forever. I lost count of how many stops the train made and didn’t dare take my eyes off of Phil to glance at the map of the underground displayed on a sign above my seat. The only thing I cared about was keeping my gaze fixed on Phil.

  When the train stopped again, and he walked towards the doors, I jumped up, making my way to the exit. To my irritation, a short lady with a ginormous suitcase was also getting off at this stop. She pulled the suitcase across my foot and then left it in front of me, blocking my path.

  Christ, I was going to lose him.

  Murmuring apologies, I pushed around the lady with the suitcase, who grunted something not very polite in return.

  I didn’t care. The only thing I was concerned with was following Phil.

  I followed him along the winding corridors, terrified he was going to spot me, but he didn’t once look back over his shoulder. Then again, how often did any of us do that? We were all lost in our own little worlds, focused on our own lives, giving little thought to the people around us.

  The day Jenna went missing, I had no premonition, no alarm bells sounding, no sixth sense warning me to keep a closer eye on Jenna. I hadn’t picked up on anything that indicated someone lurked close by, someone who was about to snatch the most precious thing in my sister’s life away.

  I tried to follow Phil through the gate at the exit of the underground station, but the gate refused to open. In my panic, I slammed the Oyster card hard on the top of the sensor. My actions caught the attention of one of the underground staff, who started making his way towards me. Thankfully, on the third attempt, the sensor read the card and the gates opened, allowing me to dart forward and race up the stairs after Phil.

  I was too disorientated even to pay any attention to the name of the station. The only thing I focused on was Phil.

  When I burst out of the underground station into the daylight and fresh air, I was terrified I’d lost him. I looked in every direction, but there was no sign of him.

  People were pouring out of the station behind me, making disapproving tutting noises because I had dared to stop rather than go along with the tide of commuters.

  But I couldn’t move until I knew which direction Phil had taken. Had he turned left or right out of the station? I was just beginning to think I would have to take a gamble when a bus pulled away on the other side of the road, and I saw Phil.

  There was a crossing a few yards away, and I ran up to it, jabbing the button. The road was far too busy to run across safely without waiting for the pedestrian crossing, and I’d already had one near miss with a car today. I didn’t really want to repeat the experience.

  But as Phil walked further and further away, I grew desperate. A red single-decker bus was coming towards me, slow and steady, and on the other side of the road, there was a white van, travelling at a sedate pace.

  I went for the gap, racing forward. I heard a collective gasp from the people who’d been waiting at the crossing beside me. I passed in front of the bus with plenty of room to spare, but the white van was a close call. A horn sounded.

  I held up a hand in apology and jogged to the other side of the pavement before ducking into a shop doorway. The blast from the van’s horn had drawn the attention of people nearby, and the last thing I wanted, was for Phil to turn around and see me.

  After a few seconds, I dared to move forward again. Had he seen me?

  But Phil was walking at a steady pace, and there was nothing to make me think he’d spotted me. I fell into step behind him, walking quickly to close some of the distance between us.

  I followed him for at least ten minutes. We left the busy streets, full of shops and people, and I pulled back a little. Phil’s pace slowed a little as we approached a school. A primary school.

  My heart beat faster. Was he here to pick up a child? Jenna should have started school by now. By the time we were level with the school, my heart was hammering in my chest.

  Then I noticed he’d only slowed to pull his phone out of his pocket and he carried on walking past the school without looking back.

  How stupid. It was almost seven o’clock at night. He wouldn’t be picking up a child from school at this time.

  Phil took the next left, and I followed him into a much quieter, residential road. Then he took the second turning on the left into Brierley Crescent.

  He stopped at the third house along, a narrow, terraced house, and jostled in his pockets for his keys. I waited on the other side of the road, half hidden behind a small birch tree and a parked car.

  When Phil disappeared inside, I stood there wondering what to do next. How could I tell whether he had a child in there with him?

  A light came on downstairs, but it was still light enough not to need them everywhere. Upstairs, I could see two windows. One looked like a bathroom window, with a blind pulled halfway down.

  There was a Velux window in the roof, so I guessed the attic had been converted. The house wasn’t huge, but there would certainly be enough room for a man and a small child to live there.

  Yellow curtains hung in the bedroom window. Was that an unusual colour choice for a man living alone? Not necessarily, but they could be the colour curtains someone might pick out for a child’s bedroom.

  I ran my fingers through my hair, debating what to do next. I had come so far to get answers and had managed to get absolutely nothing.

  I tapped my hand against the side of my leg, trying to think what to do. I should turn around and go home. I should admit my fears to someone else and talk it through. And I definitely should see that therapist. By anyone’s standards, including my own, I was going too far.

  But what would I say to the police? They were hardly going to investigate a man because I’d had a bad dream. They would laugh me out of the station, and who could blame them?

  I doubted myself, so why would anybody else take me seriously?

  Did I really think Phil could harm Jenna? No. He couldn’t have. At least, I was ninety-nine percent sure he couldn’t have.

  As I stood there, trying to talk myself out of this craziness, I came to realise it was pointless. I’d come this far and wasn’t about to give up now. I looked over my shoulder to check for traffic and then crossed the road.

  Luke was going to be furious, and if my Mum found out… Well, it would only add to her stress levels, but I couldn’t leave here without knowing for sure.

  I reached up and pressed the gold-coloured doorbell and stared at the green door until it opened.

  When he opened the door and recognised me, Phil Bowman stood perfectly still, and his face paled dramatically.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Phil stared down at me for so long I thought he was going to shut the door in my face, but after a moment, his pained expression faded, and he let out a heavy sigh.

  “Beth, what are you doing here?”

  I hesitated. Should I tell him the truth? No. If I told him the reason I was here, he would tell me to leave, and I needed to get inside to prove to myself that he didn’t have Jenna.

  “I was just passing,” I said and waited to see if he pointed out my obvious lie.

  Phil frowned. “How did you know where I live?”

  I could tell him that his brother had given me the address, but I didn’t want to drag Luke into it.

  “I’d been to visit a friend, and as I was walking back to the underground station, I saw you and thought I’d say hello.”

  “Right,” Phil said, making it clear with that single word he didn’t believe me.

  “Are you going to invite me in?” I plastered a smile on my face, trying to look like this was a normal social call.

  He hesitated for a moment, keeping his hand on the front door, and then finally took a step back, allowing me to enter.

  T
he hallway walls were painted magnolia, and the floor was covered with light-coloured wood. I wasn’t sure if it was real wood or veneer, but if it was veneer, it was pretty good quality.

  He led me down the hall and into an open plan living area. There were no pictures or mirrors on the walls. The kitchen was at one end, all chrome and black appliances and black tiles on the floor. A small, round dining table was wedged in behind a cream leather sofa. The living area looked a little bit bigger than it had from outside, but that was because it was sparsely furnished.

  There were no photographs anywhere. It didn’t look like a home.

  “So, what can I do for you, Beth?” Phil asked.

  “I’ll be honest with you, Phil,” I said, intending to be anything but. “I saw you the other day in Oxford and tried to say hello. I’m pretty sure you saw me, but you looked a bit anxious. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

  I hated myself for the false note of concern in my voice because I did care about Phil. Even so, my worry for Jenna trumped any concern I had for Phil.

  “Right.” Phil pushed his glasses back on the bridge of his nose and blinked a couple of times. “Sorry about that. I wasn’t expecting to see you, and to be honest, I don’t choose to spend time with people from Woodstock these days. I can’t stand people looking at me with pity and asking how I’m getting on all the time.”

  That I could understand. The concern of people who were practically strangers could be suffocating. It felt like they were delving into your life when you didn’t want or need their interest.

  But I wasn’t a stranger. I’d spent a lot of time with Phil and Luke when we were younger and thought he would consider me a friend.

  It was laughable that I was feeling hurt because he didn’t consider me a friend when I was wondering whether he was a child abductor.

  “I don’t want to pry. I just want to know if you are okay.”

  Phil stood rigidly beside the kitchen counter. He was determined not to make me feel welcome or offer me a drink. I could tell he was only barely holding himself back from telling me to leave.

  And that made me feel uneasy. The man who lived in this house was not the same Phil Bowman I’d known years ago. The cold, detached man in front of me was nothing like Luke’s nerdy, teasing, older brother.

  “How long have you lived here?”

  Phil blinked a couple of times as though surprised by my question. “Just over a year.”

  “It’s nice. I mean, it looks like the perfect place for a man on his own, a great bachelor pad,” I said and could have kicked myself as soon as the words left my mouth.

  Phil nodded stiffly.

  “I meant the design, you know, the black and chrome, not that…” I trailed off. “Do you live here alone?”

  Phil frowned, and a muscle twitched at the corner of his mouth. He was losing patience with me rapidly.

  “Of course, who else would live here?”

  He practically spat the words at me, and feeling nervous, I took a step back. I’d been so concerned about people thinking I was crazy that I hadn’t told anyone where I was going. If something happened to me, no one would connect that to Phil.

  “I told Mum I was popping in to see you,” I lied. “She asked me to say hello.”

  Phil nodded, and despite the atmosphere between us, he managed a small smile. “Give her my regards. I always liked your mum and dad.”

  Both Luke and Phil had spent time with my parents. They’d shared family events with us-going out for meals, sharing birthday celebrations, barbecues in the garden. The type of family gatherings that Luke and Phil’s mum never had time for. I suppose it was because, for most of their childhood, she’d been a single mum, struggling to bring up two boys. She didn’t have much time or money to spend on those sorts of things.

  Because Phil was older than us, he’d spent less time at our house than Luke, but he’d still come along to the occasional barbecue and meals to celebrate our birthdays. My mum and dad had taken Luke out for his seventeenth birthday when they learned his mother was going to be on a business trip. Phil had tagged along, playing it cool, but when we got home, I overheard him thanking my mum and dad sincerely.

  As memory after memory hit me in quick succession, I felt my doubts about Phil lessen. The Phil I’d known would never have taken Jenna. I felt lightheaded and clutched the side of the kitchen counter.

  “Are you all right, Beth?” Phil asked as he grabbed my elbow.

  I closed my eyes. “Yes, sorry, I just skipped lunch today.”

  “Come and sit down.” He waited for me to sit down at the small dining room table before going back into the kitchen and grabbing me a glass of water. He set it down in front of me.

  “Drink that and try to relax. I haven’t got much food in the house, but I could stretch to a bowl of cereal if that would help.”

  I shook my head. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine. I’ll get some dinner on the way home.”

  I rested my forehead in my hands for a moment and then took a sip of the water as I considered my options.

  If I had any sense, I’d say goodbye to Phil and go straight home. There was no sign of a child living in this house, no teddy bears, no toys. Nothing.

  The back of my throat ached, and to my horror, my eyes filled with tears. I was losing it again. Just like last time.

  Phil pulled out another chair at the dining table and sat down beside me. “Oh, Christ, Beth. Don’t cry.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, wiping my eyes and sniffing back tears. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” I watched him carefully. “Out of everybody, you should understand.”

  Phil’s expression grew guarded. “Understand what?”

  “I keep thinking about the day Jenna went missing, trying to work things out in my head, and I can’t. It’s driving me crazy.”

  Phil was quiet for a moment and then said, “You feel guilty.”

  Only three simple words but they packed so much emotional punch I felt like he’d thrown a bucket of cold water over me. I managed to nod.

  “I feel guilty, too. That’s why I can’t talk to people about them. I was driving, and by rights, it should have been me who died that day. It was my mistake. I should have been the one to pay, not my wife and daughter. How can anyone function normally after something like that?”

  I nodded again. “Exactly. Anyone else would be furious with me, or hurt, but I thought you’d understand.”

  Phil’s forehead crinkled in confusion, and he reached up to shove his glasses back on the bridge of his nose again.

  “I’m really sorry, Phil. I don’t really believe it…” I struggled with the words. “I had to come and see you to put my mind at rest. Deep down, I always knew you could never have done it.”

  “You’re not making any sense, Beth.”

  How could I expect Phil to make sense of what I was saying when I didn’t understand the way my own mind was working?

  “I remembered how alike Jenna and Isabel were, and I got it into my head….” I paused to wipe away a tear and take a breath. “For some stupid reason, I fixated on the idea you might have taken her because she reminded you of Isabel and –”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  I broke off and looked up at Phil. He was never going to forgive me for thinking these things. I shouldn’t have told him. I shook my head, unable to explain further.

  “And that’s why you’re here today? To see if you can find Jenna? You think I’m hiding her here?”

  “I don’t know where else to look.”

  My voice shook as I spoke, and Phil looked away from me as he shook his head in disgust.

  After a moment, he placed his hands flat on the table and narrowed his eyes. “So, what are you waiting for? Go and have a look around. Knock yourself out.”

  I hesitated. He was being sarcastic. I knew that much, but a chance to look around was what I wanted and why I’d come here in the first place.

  “You don’t mind if I have a quick look arou
nd?”

  His face paled. “Jesus, you really do think I had something to do with it, don’t you?”

  “No… Not really, but this way I get to make sure and stop thinking about it.”

  He flicked a hand. “Go ahead. I’ll wait here.”

  I got up from the table, pushing the chair back so it rasped against the floor tiles. Trying to ignore Phil’s eyes boring into my back, I walked out of the open plan area and back into the hallway. There was a small door under the stairs. When I opened it I saw it had been converted into a small downstairs toilet.

  I shut the door behind me and went upstairs. Although the stairs were laid with a thick new carpet, the stairs still creaked beneath my feet.

  Upstairs, there were two bedrooms and one bathroom. The one with the yellow curtains was at the front of the house, and I checked that first. It had white walls, and the bed was made up with white linen, with a bright yellow cushion as an accent piece resting on the pillows.

  A guest room. No surprises there.

  The main bedroom, I guessed was Phil’s room. It was decorated in various shades of grey, and there were no toys, puzzles or books to be seen. I walked forward and opened the wardrobe. No children’s clothes hung from the rails.

  I made my way back to the top of the stairs, and my gaze drifted up to the hatch in the ceiling. I’d seen the window in the roof from outside. Was there another room up there? Was it for storage?

  I was about to ask Phil if he had a ladder so I could look in the loft room because, well, why not? I’d already made a complete fool of myself. I might as well go for broke.

  The doorbell rang.

  I froze at the top of the stairs, feeling awkward, and decided to wait upstairs until Phil had dealt with his visitor.

  The front door wasn’t visible from my spot on the upstairs landing, and when Phil opened the door, I couldn’t see him.

  I waited silently.

  “I wasn’t expecting you,” Phil said.

  “Nice to see you, too,” came the reply.

  I recognised that voice. My stomach flipped over. I closed my eyes and covered my face with my hands. Luke. Jesus. He was never going to forgive me for this.