Forgotten: a truly gripping psychological thriller

by Heleyne Hammersley

  Kai shook her head. ‘But the birds still end up in the cage.’

  Mark just shrugged then sighed and shook his head. ‘Look at that!’

  ‘What?’ she asked, squinting in the direction he was pointing.

  ‘Those women over there. They make me sick. They come to Thailand and think everywhere’s a bloody beach. No respect for anything.’

  Kai could just make out two young women giggling together as a third ushered them into a pose in front of one of the elephants. They were all tanned and wearing shorts and vests, obviously keen to show off their newly browned skin.

  ‘Are photographs not allowed?’ she asked, puzzled.

  Mark shook his head. ‘It’s not that, it’s the way they’re dressed. They have no respect for the religion. They’re supposed to cover their shoulders and legs when they go into a temple. Just because they’re outside it doesn’t make the place less holy or the rules less strict.’

  ‘You really love this stuff, don’t you?’

  He shrugged. ‘People come here and complain about all the hassle they get. They’d not stick out as much if they’d show a little respect. They can’t expect the Thai people to have any regard for tourists if they dress like that. Maybe I should say something.’

  He made a move to get up but Kai put a gently restraining hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Please don’t. I can’t cope with a scene. Let’s leave them to it.’ She stood up, wanting to be somewhere else, despite the heat and her fatigue. She was feeling the results of two early beers, not a pleasant buzz but a woolly feeling in her mind and on her tongue.

  As they crossed the square she felt strangely conspicuous as though some unseen sniper had her in his sights and was only waiting for an unobstructed shot. The paranoia gave her an unexpected chill and she was surprised to feel goose bumps prickling her arms and neck. Depression dragged her back to the details of Ellen’s death, hit by a speeding car and left to bleed in some filthy gutter. No matter how the rational part of her mind screamed accident, the insidious whisper of fear wouldn’t let her be.

  She thought about the journal and the paranoid conviction that she was being followed, about the past that she was running from. Suddenly she longed for the security of her room in the hospital, for the familiar. Outside was too big and too dangerous. She wanted to curl up with her journal and hide from the present, from the unexpected.

  ‘Hey,’ she said squinting up at Mark. ‘I think I’ve had enough for today. Can we get back to the hospital please?’

  ‘Tired?’ he asked, concern showing in the lines on his face.

  ‘Shattered,’ she lied, unable to explain her true feelings.

  ‘How about coming back to the hotel? You could have a lie down in my room, it’s cool and quiet and it’s not the hospital.’

  Kai’s unease intensified, this didn’t feel right. She’d asked Mark to take her back and suddenly he was trying to get her alone in his room.

  ‘Just take me back to the hospital,’ she snapped.

  He raised his hands, palms outwards in defence.

  ‘Hey, I’m sorry. You told me earlier that you needed to get out of the hospital; now you want to go back there. I’m only trying to help. The hotel’s nearer that’s all and I thought you might appreciate a change of scenery. No problem, the hospital it is.’

  He marched off across the square forcing Kai to trot to keep up with him. She gave up as soon as they reached the moat from where she was confident that she could find her own way back and squatted on the grass contemplating the murky water. She remembered her flicker of memory in Ellen’s office, light through trees dancing off water. This water seemed to absorb the light, trapping it beneath a dull, flat surface that looked like a tear in the universe.

  She sensed rather than heard Mark come up behind her.

  ‘You okay?’ he asked but it sounded mechanical, like a question that was expected of him. She thought he didn’t really want an answer so she simply shrugged and continued to study the water.

  ‘I’m sorry if I got a bit ratty back there. I’m hot and tired and when I think I’m trying to help you just seem to throw it back in my face. I know you’re struggling with your friend’s death on top of everything else, I should be more sensitive.’

  She turned to look up at him but he was a silhouette, flat black, as though a man-shaped hole had been cut out of the washed-out blue of the sky. She couldn’t read his expression, couldn’t tell if he was sincere, couldn’t allow herself to trust him.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said standing up unsteadily. ‘I’m sorry I snapped like that. I do it all the time, it’s like an automatic response. I really would like to get back to the hospital because I feel safe there and I’m really freaked out about Ellen’s accident. I appreciate your offer of a rest in your room but I know I wouldn’t be able to settle and that’s nothing to do with you, it’s just the idea of being in a strange place, shut in. I think coming out here was probably a bit much, but what I said earlier still stands. I would like to leave the hospital and, if you’re not too pissed off with me, I would like to borrow some money.’

  ‘No problem,’ he said and this time she could see the kindness in his eyes – or was it pity?

  They walked back to the hospital in silence.

  I knew that Phet would come in useful. Her connections, people she knows, doors she can open for me. It cost me though. Christ, she drives a hard bargain! I could have probably beaten her down but it was too risky, better to give her what she wanted – I can always get a refund later, when I’ve got her on her own.

  It had all been so easy – so straightforward. I’d waited outside the hospital the previous day, watching, assessing. The shrink had left at exactly 6.30, perfect, just gloomy enough for me not to be seen. I’d followed as she left the hospital and headed for the centre of town. As soon as she got to the moat I gave up, I’d seen enough.

  The car was a battered Japanese model, completely anonymous. Something that your eyes would slide off in a second. Phet had chosen perfectly. I’d arranged to meet her in a café, well away from my hotel and somewhere that I wouldn’t be recognised. Phet, as instructed, parked the rusty old heap in a side street about ten minutes’ walk away from the café. Somewhere quiet where it wouldn’t stand out too much and where I could easily pick it up. I knew she was suspicious but it was none of her business and she knows better than to ask questions, I taught her that lesson pretty soundly.

  After that it was easy. I was thankful that the Thais drive on the proper side of the road so at least I hadn’t needed a practise run. All I’d done was walk my getaway route to make sure that there weren’t any one-way streets or unexpected obstacles. It was a beautiful plan, so simple but potentially so effective.

  I pulled the car up on the same road as the hospital entrance and waited. Nobody paid me any attention as I sat pretending to read a Thai newspaper, just low enough in my seat to be inconspicuous but not huddled down far enough to look like I was trying to hide. And there she was, the shrink, just at dusk, a bit earlier than the previous day. I drove slowly, waiting until she slowed to cross the busier road that runs around the centre of town and then I hit her. She stepped out, judging me to be going slowly enough to leave her plenty of time to get to the other side, which, of course, I was – until she stepped out. The feeling when I floored the accelerator was incredible. The surge of power, not from the car but from my body. Jesus, it had been better than an orgasm, newer, different. Phet really got the benefit of that in my hotel room later.

  The noise was pretty bad though. The scream and the sickening thud as I sent her flying into the dead air above the tarmac. I hit a cat once driving home from the pub down a country lane. I felt sick as my car had bumped over the body, jolting me into momentary sobriety. This had been the opposite – after the initial shock I felt drunk with power. I wanted to get outside my body and stand at the side of the road to see how it had looked. Had the thrill shown on my face?
Could the straggling group of pedestrians see my strength, my control?

  But it was over too quickly. I kept the accelerator pressed down to the dirty matting and sped down a narrow lane, following the route I’d planned, to a quiet alley where I dumped the car and then I ran back to my hotel. There had been a dodgy moment when I nearly ran straight into reception, but I managed to hold myself back and leaned against a wall until I felt like I could move without panting, until I could disguise the excitement behind my usual placid exterior.

  And the job was done. I promised myself that I wouldn’t read the paper the next day. I want my surprise to look as genuine as possible when I got to the hospital. I want to look shocked, but I’m not sure what will shock me most, if I’ve killed her or if she’s still alive. It’s good to have that uncertainty. One flicker of the wrong emotion could have given me away and I’ve come too far to lose everything by over-acting.

  And it was a shock. A pleasant one but nonetheless a shock. I hadn’t expected such a dramatic reaction. Her face had told me what I needed to know. She was angry and lashing out at anything and everyone. I could tell from the doctor’s face that he’d had an ear-bashing, probably just for being the bearer of bad news and I easily stepped into the role of rescuing hero, again. It was like I was leading a charmed life. When she asked to borrow money so she could check into a hotel I’d hardly been able to cover my jubilation. It was exactly what I wanted, to have her dependent on me, beholden to me. How easy it’ll be to manipulate her when she owes me money and her freedom.

  The only problem now is time. I didn’t know how long it will take the embassy in Bangkok to actually do something once they have her picture. I might only have a few days left to get her away. It’ll be tight but it’s probably long enough.

  I have a plan, I don’t need much time; all I need is for my luck to hold. I practically have her where I want her. No friends, not even the doctor once she gets away from the hospital, no money of her own and nowhere to go, unless I come up with a few helpful suggestions. And God, do I have a suggestion!

  XIII

  The room wasn’t quite what she’d imagined. Nor was her arrangement with Mark. The former was quite drab and dingy after the brightness of the hospital room, the latter was a lot less casual than she would have wanted.

  He had loaned her some money. He’d turned up at the hospital the day after she’d found out about Ellen’s accident with a wad of notes which he counted out on to her bed. She hadn’t liked his expression much, miserly and a little suspicious, but he’d seemed keen enough to give her the cash. The problem was that it hadn’t been as much as she’d expected. Mark had explained that he hadn’t been able to withdraw as much as he’d wanted from the cash machine, but he’d found a way around the problem. She could keep the cash and he would pay for her hotel room on one of his credit cards. She didn’t like it. She felt kept. But she wasn’t in a position to choose.

  After his initial protestations, Ekachai had been very understanding – he knew that he couldn’t keep her there any longer as, physically, there was nothing wrong with her- and he agreed to allow her to leave as long as he knew where she was. He had been very keen that she should be in regular contact, not only with the hospital, but with him personally. She’d given him all the details of the hotel and she’d promised to see him every two days so he could monitor her progress. She also assured him that she would see him immediately if there was any change at all in her condition. He’d agreed to contact the British Embassy and send some photographs and he was willing to use the hospital as a contact address. He seemed a little embarrassed that this had taken so long, but nobody had been sure that she was British until Mark had turned up.

  Mark. Her knight in shining armour. He’d organised the hotel, given her money, even taken the pictures that Ekachai would send to Bangkok and hopefully home to the UK.

  This had seemed like such a good idea, such a positive step, but now Kai was having doubts. At least the hospital had been safe. She had people she could call if she had a panic attack and she had people checking on her regularly. Of course she had come to resent her lack of freedom, but now it seemed that she had too much freedom. It made her dizzy, like she was standing on the edge of a high precipice and didn’t know whether to take a step back to safety or simply to jump and trust to fate. And Mark.

  She studied the room, trying to familiarise herself with her new surroundings. It was smaller than her room in the hospital and more oppressive. The walls were hung with bamboo matting which looked like it had collected the dust of a couple of centuries. At one time it had probably been bright and may have added depth to the room but now its sheen was dulled, the varnish cracked and peeling and gaps were appearing between the strands of bamboo straw, gaping cracks allowing glimpses of the dirty white wall beneath.

  The floor was dark wood, scuffed and chipped but at least it had been swept and polished recently, even if some of the dust had been polished into the cracks. The furniture matched the floor, dark woods with a collection of circles made by glasses and cups and the darker scars of cigarette burns. In the midst of the darkness was the bed – an oasis of white sheets and a creamy duvet cover. Both spotlessly clean. Both inviting. But Kai had resisted the urge to lie down and pull the covers over her head. She sat in a straight-backed chair next to the bathroom door and tried to decide her next move. Her few possessions were scattered on the bed looking like the leftovers from a jumble sale. The clothes were crumpled; the empty rucksack looked like overgrown litter and her journal could have contained a dusty Victorian manuscript.

  Excitement and depression warring within her, Kai picked up the rucksack. This time she knew where to look, this time she could remember. She flipped back the top section and slid her hand down inside the main part of the bag. The internal frame was sewn into the fabric of the rucksack but there was a gap, almost like a pocket, about three inches across. Kai gently manoeuvred her hand underneath the material and her fingers brushed something. She grabbed with her fingertips and withdrew her hand, holding on to her prize carefully.

  Smiling she unrolled the bundle of papers, each one a crumpled note. Three hundred dollars in fifties. Just as she’d remembered. She hadn’t told anyone about her secret stash, or the way her memory had been jolted when she’d packed her rucksack last night. She hadn’t dared to look in case this small memory had prompted Ekachai to keep her a little longer so that he could perform more tests. Some instinct told her that this was something she should keep to herself despite the fact that it made her reliant on Mark’s money. She didn’t want Ekachai to know that something had come back to her because she couldn’t risk him wanting to keep her in the hospital, especially now. She saw her memory block as a dam and now there was a crack, seepage. Somehow Kai understood that if there was one flaw in the structure then eventually the whole thing could be swept away by the rising pressure of memories.

  Energised by her discovery, Kai peeled off fifty dollars and slid the rest of the money back into its hiding place. It was time to go out, on her own, and face up to her loneliness. Instead of being led, looked after, patronised, Kai wanted to try to find some independence. She picked up the bundle of clothes from the bed and threw them on to the top shelf of the wardrobe. As an afterthought she buried her journal underneath the pile, locked the wardrobe and slipped the key into her pocket. Time for a shopping trip.

  The bustling streets were less intimidating than Kai had expected. She decided that the buzz of independence was probably making her feel more confident than she’d been when she was out with Ellen or Mark. She’d felt a little foolish creeping past Mark’s room as she left the hotel, but she knew that it was important to do this on her own. In some strange way Kai felt like she had to show Mark that she didn’t need him, to shake his perception of her dependence on his charity and time.

  She crossed to the moat, the speeding cars and tuk-tuks a stark reminder of Ellen’s accident. Kai remained unconvinced that an intelli
gent woman would be foolish enough to get herself hit by a car on a road she walked every day. Her mind was still struggling with the accident theory and, for some unknown reason, rejecting it as unlikely.

  Her first stop was a clothes shop, its windows bright with flowing cottons in rainbow shades. She stopped at the threshold and added her sandals to the assorted shoes waiting patiently for their owners. It was a familiar movement, removing her footwear before entering a building. More seepage.

  She browsed among the racks of trousers and skirts, occasionally holding something up to her waist and inspecting the mirror. Kai found her reflection less daunting now. The scar on her forehead was shrinking and her forays into the sunlight had helped to disguise it beneath a flush of mild sunburn. She could sense that, not far beneath the composed exterior was another Kai, an animated face trying to tell her its name, its secrets, its fears.

  Settling on a pair of dark blue baggy trousers, which claimed to be silk, and a white cotton T-shirt Kai approached the counter. Trying to look more confident than she felt she asked, ‘Is there somewhere I can try these on?’

  The sales person smiled at her as though she approved of the clothes and gestured to a curtained alcove in a gloomy corner of the shop.

  ‘Back there.’

  Kai ducked through the curtain and quickly changed clothes. She felt different instantly, like she’d shed an old skin, cleaner, newer somehow. Invigorated, she marched back to the counter wearing her new clothes.

  ‘I’ll take them,’ she announced to the smiling woman. ‘I’d like to wear them now. And could you put these in a dustbin for me please?’ She handed over the bundle of old clothes, strangely relieved to be rid of a small part of her past.