Inside the Whispers (Dr Samantha Willerby [Chilling Thriller] Series Book 1)

by A J Waines

‘Felicity Hansson speaking…’

  I almost leaped up with joy, but reined myself in. I needed to get this next part absolutely right.

  ‘Hi, Felicity – it’s Sam Willerby. We met at your Mum’s funeral. I work with your father at St Luke’s Hospital.’ She didn’t say anything. ‘I’m so very sorry about what’s happened to him.’

  ‘Right…’ she said inconclusively.

  ‘Listen, I know this isn’t a good time, but there’s something I need to ask you.’ Again, nothing was coming back. ‘I think your father has some research papers we were working on together at his cottage. They’re confidential and it’s imperative that I get hold of them. Have you been over there, recently?’

  ‘No. I’ve never been to my Dad’s new place. And I don’t have a key.’

  Those last six words hit me like a steel wrecking ball. My vision went hazy.

  ‘No key?’ I said in a whisper. My neck barely felt strong enough to hold my head up any more.

  That was that. No key. No notes. No way to save Con. My mind was whirling with such confusion and despair that I barely registered she was speaking again.

  ‘Sorry?’ I said with a croak.

  ‘I said, we always used to leave one with a neighbour, but—’

  ‘Really?’ I swallowed. ‘Can I ask you to help me?’

  ‘I’m not sure I—’

  ‘Please,’ I interrupted. ‘It’s very important – one of your father’s patients could die.’

  I let her think about it. In the silence I could feel my world slowly splitting into pieces.

  ‘What do you need me to do?’ she said eventually.

  I sank against the kitchen wall. ‘Could you get over to Holland Park by about seven o’clock? Have you got his address?’

  ‘Yes. He gave it to me at the funeral.’

  We agreed to meet at his cottage and take it from there.

  I left Con and Miranda in charge of each other. It was like leaving two sticks of dynamite with lit fuses, but I didn’t have many other options. I only hoped the authorities didn’t track her down before I got back. Apart from the furore that would cause, I didn’t want Con to be left on his own.

  I walked under the mew’s archway at the entrance to the cobbled cul-de-sac and spotted her straight away. She seemed younger than when I’d seen her at the funeral and more fragile; trying to hold herself together, trying hard to be strong, just like her father. I noticed for the first time how very beautiful she was, real supermodel looks, with straight blonde hair shimmering like gold thread and Leo’s soft charcoal eyes.

  ‘I’ve been next door. Dad hasn’t changed his lifelong habits.’ She held up a key.

  I pressed my hands together in a silent moment of gratitude.

  We went inside. It was around twenty-two degrees outside, but inside it felt cold, damp and two-dimensional without Leo.

  ‘I’m so sorry about your father.’ She had the same sleep-deprived grey moons under her eyes that I had. ‘He’s a wonderful man.’

  ‘Everyone says that,’ she said neutrally.

  ‘How long has he lived here?’

  ‘Months – since Mum went into hospital. He gave up on the big house.’ She took in the décor. ‘I can’t believe I’ve never been here.’

  I followed her into the sitting room. ‘He never invited you?’ I asked.

  Her throat snagged on her reply. ‘He was always too busy.’

  ‘He does think the world of you and Kim – he really does. He knows he’s got plenty of ground to make up.’

  ‘He said that?’ She twisted her hands together.

  I nodded. ‘He feels terrible about the way things have turned out. I think he’d do anything to have his time with you again.’

  She stared curiously into my face like she was debating whether or not to believe me.

  The clock on the mantelpiece chimed and she shuddered.

  ‘Do you know where these notes are?’ she said. We both seemed uncomfortable being there without Leo. My eyes skimmed the shelves, but I could see nothing the size of the files I was looking for.

  ‘It’s all confidential,’ I replied. ‘Your father might have put them somewhere safe.’

  Felicity turned her back on me. I thought at first she was looking around the room, but it occurred to me she was, in fact, stalling. She looked like she was about to change her mind and ask me to leave.

  ‘I’m not sure we should be—’

  ‘It’s lifesaving work, Felicity. I wouldn’t ask unless it was crucial,’ I explained. ‘I’ve got at least one patient waiting, depending on it.’

  She gave a brief nod as if she’d silently agreed something with herself.

  ‘I know Dad had the safe brought over from our family home. He might keep files in there. It’ll probably be in the cellar – if there is one.’ She went back into the hall and snapped open a sloping door under the stairs. She ducked inside and found the light switch. ‘Yes – it’s here. I’ll bet he kept the same combination.’

  Moments later she joined me, holding an armful of folders. We went into the kitchen and she laid them on the table.

  ‘Any good?’ she said.

  I spotted a blue and a green file lying next to each other and slid them out.

  ‘This is what I’m looking for,’ I said, recognising the first few sheets.

  ‘What’s it about?’

  ‘Oh…psychology stuff.’

  The side of her mouth crept up. ‘I’m training to be a doctor.’ I heard Leo’s pride in her tone. It reminded me of that first time I’d bumped into him and how I’d concluded in about five seconds that he was the most arrogant man I’d ever come across. ‘Let me see.’

  I had to let her take a look, dread crawling up my legs like a swarm of ants.

  She laughed. ‘Gobbledegook to me. I know Dad likes probing the hidden depths of the human psyche even though he’s a plastic surgeon, not a psychologist.’ It was the first time she had referred to him with any degree of tenderness.

  ‘You’re fond of him…’

  ‘I’m very angry with him,’ she said bitterly. ‘About everything. His sole drive in life was to be respected, to be a luminary. He got involved in his work and made a lot of money. The key to everything…’

  She sniffed and turned away, as a glassy tear dribbled down her cheek.

  ‘Have you been to see him?’ I asked softly.

  She stiffened. ‘Yes. As soon as I heard. He looked dreadful. Grey and so still. Like part of him had already gone…’

  ‘He was trying to save a man’s life,’ I said. ‘I was there when he fell.’

  ‘I didn’t know that.’ She took my hand and led me back into the sitting room. ‘Tell me what happened.’

  I told her in as much detail as I could. Once I’d finished, she sat staring at the soggy tissue scrunched in her palm. ‘He’s not going to regain consciousness is he?’

  ‘We don’t know yet.’

  Her head fell forward. I reached over and she let me hug her.

  ‘You seem close,’ she muttered. ‘Are you the one who chose the necklace for Kim?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Will you be honest with me?’ She looked up, her eyes red-rimmed. ‘Are you and my dad...?’

  ‘No. Absolutely not,’ I assured her, before she could get the words out. ‘I think very highly of him, but it hasn’t gone any further.’

  ‘You’re good friends, though?’

  ‘I think so – yes.’

  ‘I’m glad.’

  Adrenalin was coursing through me like a water main about to rupture by the time I got home, but all was well. Con and Miranda had ordered a takeaway and left a plateful in the oven for me. Miranda put it on the kitchen table. She seemed remarkably normal after the outburst with my mother, but I was still mystified over what had brought on such an extreme attack.

  ‘I’m sorry I’ve been such a useless sister to you,’ she said unexpectedly. ‘I’ve seen a lot of things more clearly recently and…I want…I hope
things can be better between us.’

  Flashes of compassion from her like this made me see how much Miranda was worth fighting for.

  I ate properly for the first time in ages and spent the next hour running through Leo’s notes, making sure I was absolutely clear about the reversal process. I was no longer allowed inside the hospital, so we would have to carry it out right here, in my flat. Fortunately, it looked possible to erase a small bank of memories without any specialist medical equipment, other than a syringe.

  Con had drunk at least one glass of wine and I was too exhausted to attempt it that night. I told him we’d do it first thing in the morning.

  After that, Con tuned up my old guitar and began strumming through some old Paul Simon songs. We all joined in. I had to hold back tears, thinking first about Leo in intensive care, then the three of us sitting together like a family. Miranda would soon be carted off and Con – well, I might be about to cure him or kill him – I had no way of knowing which way it would go. If I didn’t act, it was only a matter of time before another flashback caught him unawares and his suicidal impulses got the better of him.

  Miranda knew the drill, pulling the spare duvet out of the airing cupboard and draping it over the sofa. She went to bed first and Con started to undress in my room. I got into bed quickly, hoping he wouldn’t see me shivering. I was desperate to sleep, but terrified to close my eyes in case more of the hellish images came for me again.

  I was grateful for his warm body. For the familiarity of it, but I wasn’t in the mood for anything else. I wasn’t sure, with Con, if I ever would be again.

  My feelings for him had slumped down another notch, even before Leo had fallen off the roof. I knew the false memories were making Con act out of character, but his perpetual suspicion that I was being unfaithful had been simmering long before then. Con had been exciting and dynamic at the start, but having met Leo, I could see there were too many holes in our relationship.

  Con stroked my back and pushed closer.

  ‘Not tonight, Con.’ I said. ‘I’m knackered and we’ve got a big day ahead.’

  There was an uncomfortable silence and he turned over with a grunt.

  Chapter 37

  When the alarm went off, I felt the warmth of Con’s body snuggling into my back – and for five seconds, I forgot everything. Then it hit me. Leo was in a coma with his life in the balance. And saving Con was all down to me.

  I hated the idea of messing with Con’s mind, but the only alternative was to abandon him to his suicidal compulsions. That would be tantamount to letting him wander into an enclosure of crocodiles – he wouldn’t stand a chance for long. It was entirely in my hands. Hands that were shaking before I’d even got out of bed.

  I didn’t remember any disturbing dreams during the night, but I must have been crying, because my eyes were puffy, my lids like shiny slugs.

  Miranda was already in the kitchen pouring orange juice. ‘You look like shit,’ she said, never one to mince her words.

  ‘Cheers,’ I sniffed.

  Fears started escalating inside my head. What were my chances of getting this procedure right? Of Leo coming out of his coma? Of my own sanity surviving in one piece?

  The room shifted to the right all of a sudden and I sat down. I just had to hold it together for another hour or so. Ironically, Con had slept peacefully, for once. He rolled into the kitchen wanting a glass of milk. I suggested he shouldn’t have anything except water until we’d finished the process. He grumbled something and sloped into the bathroom.

  I opened my laptop and started writing a letter to Linden Manor Residential Care Home. I told them I was Miranda’s sister and, in my medical opinion as a Clinical Psychologist, suggested Miranda be removed from the secure ward and returned to the open unit where she’d spent the last few years. I left it in an envelope by the front door.

  Before I did anything else, I rang Dina, my psychotherapist, to make an emergency appointment. I’d meant to get around to it earlier. I hadn’t seen her in years, but she’d made it clear that her door was always open to me. She didn’t have any spaces for three weeks, but offered to fit me in on her day off, on Sunday.

  ‘That’s incredibly kind,’ I said, touched by her generosity.

  ‘I know you well enough to recognise this is a crisis, Sam. I can hear it in your voice.’

  I looked at the clock as I put the phone down; it was eight-thirty. I couldn’t put this off any longer.

  Miranda was going to stay in the kitchen. She was under strict instructions not to disturb us unless I called for her. I left her my mobile, unplugged the mainline phone and disconnected the doorbell.

  I ran through the procedure again in my mind. I’d briefed Con that at exactly the right moment, he had to bring his disturbing memories forcefully into his consciousness – he needed to see them, feel them, conjure up all the sounds and smells, with every ounce of energy in his body.

  I’d played several relaxation discs to Con earlier, and he preferred the one with sounds of the ocean, so I set it up. He told me he’d done meditation classes at the theatre and it came easily to him, so that, at least, was something in our favour.

  I filled the syringe with the right amount of tronocept and laid out my notes, then washed my hands for the fourth time. I was feeling hot and prickly all over.

  Con strolled into the bedroom and laid down. I smoothed his hair on the pillow as he got comfy.

  ‘Okay,’ I said, trying to hide my anxiety. ‘We’re ready. I’ve led relaxation and guided imagery before. It’s not that different.’

  In fact, it was as different as sugar was from salt, but the last thing I wanted was for Con to be alarmed. I needed him to be in a super-relaxed state if any of this was going to work.

  ‘I’m more worried about that needle,’ he said, drawing back as though it was a venomous snake. ‘Have you done this before?’

  ‘Of course,’ I said dismissively. A friend who had diabetes let me administer her injection once, when I was in my teens. Hardly a level of experience likely to set Con’s mind at rest, but it wasn’t a lie.

  I pressed play and the soft, rippling sounds began. Con’s breathing slowed a little. The gentle rush of the water changed subtly, getting slower and steadier and Con’s eyes stopped fluttering. I waited. There was no sound other than the soothing rhythm of waves rolling onto a beach. Roll and splash…roll and splash.

  I watched his chest rise and fall, waiting for the moment when it slowed right down. When his mouth fell open, I began reading out Leo’s instructions from the green folder, following everything to the letter. I felt my own heartbeat thumping away as the ocean waves swirled around us. If Con was at one end of the stress scale, I was certainly at the other.

  He appeared to shudder when I inserted the needle, but I continued reading and he didn’t stir. I pressed the plunger and instructed him to relive the tortuous memories in as much detail as he could. He squirmed and moaned, but didn’t open his eyes.

  Around two minutes passed before I reached the final section:

  …and when you wake up you will have forgotten every single harrowing image relating to the fire on the Underground. You will have no more flashbacks or nightmares. You will feel relaxed and at peace and forget everything we’ve done here.

  I counted down slowly from ten to one, guiding him back to the here and now. The recording stopped.

  Silence.

  Con didn’t move. I leant over him tentatively. He didn’t seem to be breathing. I grabbed a mirror and held it above his mouth. Suddenly he twitched and sighed loudly.

  ‘What time is it?’ he muttered blearily, as if he’d been asleep for hours.

  I quickly pushed the syringe and the notes under the bed.

  ‘Nearly half-nine.’

  ‘Blimey – it’s late. Why didn’t you wake me? Has Danny called?’

  ‘No, he hasn’t.’ I willed my voice to stay flat, matter-of-fact.

  ‘I’m starving.’ He got out of bed and
went to the kitchen.

  I rang Imogen straight away.

  ‘I think I’ve done it,’ I whispered.

  ‘Well done, girl. How are you holding up?’

  ‘I’m okay,’ I said. ‘Just coping hour by hour, right now.’

  I didn’t dare tell her I might have to call on her as a last resort, if my own nightmares came back. I had enough of the reversal drug left to do the procedure on myself, if it came to that.

  Miranda put her head round the door. ‘All done?’

  I nodded cautiously.

  ‘Before I forget,’ she said, ‘you had a call on your mobile.’

  She handed me the phone. It was the hospital number. I sat on the edge of the bed and listened to the message without thinking. It would be about the suspension; the police investigation.

  ‘I knew you’d want to know, Sam,’ came Debbie’s voice. ‘Dr Hansson died during the night.’

  I slid to the floor, breathing fast. There had to be a mistake.

  Debbie’s recorded voice went on. ‘He didn’t regain consciousness.’ No. No. It can’t be true.

  Miranda was still standing in the doorway. She came over and crouched down to hold me as I sat spread-eagled on the carpet. ‘Is it that plastic surgeon?’

  I nodded.

  I rang Debbie’s number immediately.

  ‘It was good of you to call,’ I croaked. I had to draw on all my reserves to push the words out. ‘What happened?’

  ‘His internal injuries were too severe in the end, Sam. He passed away at around five this morning. Everyone here is still in shock.’

  I’d been so certain he would come round. This was too cruel.

  ‘I’d like to see him, if I can.’

  ‘Hold on,’ she said. There was a rustle followed by a murmur as she spoke to someone. ‘I’m sorry, but it looks like it’s family only,’ she said. Her tone was warm, but the words themselves were wrapped in barbed wire.

  ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I understand.’

  I let the phone fall from my hand.

  ‘You really liked him?’ Miranda asked, her gaze soft and sad.

  ‘He was a very special person,’ I muttered. I got up and wandered blindly around the room.