Читать книгу Close Your Eyes: A gripping psychological thriller with a killer twist! - Darren O’Sullivan - Страница 18

Chapter 7

Daniel

Stamford

1^st January 2018,11.47 p.m.

I was back in the car. In the dark. Bright lights of a lorry blinded me, and then I was rolling over and over and over until I rested upside down, blood coming from my head, the same place it always comes from. Dripping onto the sunroof. Drip, drip, drip. Then someone was shouting. I tried to move but couldn’t. A hand reached in and dragged me out. This time I was able to see who it was coming to my aid. It was my father. He spoke to me, telling me to run. Telling me to go to the place where it all began. I got up and ran as fast as I could away from the car. I couldn’t get caught, I knew I couldn’t be found. I didn’t know why. As I ran, the world went dark. A thick smoke enveloped me, blinding me. In my hands was a rope. There was an explosion above and I began to fall. As I hit the ground I expected it to be hard, like concrete. But it wasn’t. It was long, soft grass that cocooned me. A caterpillar waiting for its metamorphosis. When I wriggled free I sat up next to a river bank, the water fast moving, a tree shading me from the sun.

I snapped awake, my heart pounding, sweat sticking my hair to my forehead. The dream again, and again it had evolved. I looked over to where I thought Katie would be. Her side of the bed, empty. It took me a moment in my post dream state to remember why she wasn’t there. She was in a hospital ward down south.

Slowing my breathing, I swung my legs off the bed onto the cold wooden floor. I was glad in a way that Katie wasn’t with me while this was going on. She worried a lot when I woke with a dream. She asked a lot of questions, wanting to help decipher them. She would write down in the book any words that jumped out and then try to connect them to something else I had said or done in my sleep. Katie had enough on her plate without having to manage her boyfriend who was, by definition, mentally unstable.

I reached over and picked up the book. Skimming the contents I could see the same phrases repeated over and over. Grabbing the pen that was clipped to the top I wrote down that I saw my father and the dream had ended with me on a river bank. Getting out of bed I went into the bathroom to splash my face with water. Switching on the bathroom light hurt my eyes and as they adjusted I caught my reflection. I was pale. I expected that. Every time I dreamt I felt sick after. That and my scar always hurt as if dreaming about cutting my head gave me the psychological symptoms. Lifting up my hair, I looked at it. Faded, but still very noticeable, fortunately hidden below my fringe most of the time. My eyes were bloodshot and heavy. Wrinkles were beginning to set in around them, fine, but they were definitely noticeable as was the odd fleck of grey hair. Getting older worried me, mainly because I couldn’t remember being young.

From my place in the bathroom, I heard the phone beside my bed start to ring. It was the middle of the night. It must be Katie, calling to tell me that the thing that we were dreading had happened, or was about to. Moving quickly to the bed, I fumbled to pick it up. I expected to see Katie’s number on the screen, but it just flashed as unknown, probably a hospital landline. My breathing was quick and nervous as I spoke.

‘Katie?’

The line was quiet.

‘Hello?’

Still no response, but I could hear someone on the other end.

‘Hello? Katie? Can you hear me?’ I said again, a little louder.

‘You need to listen to exactly what I have to say.’ The voice was male, deep. It wasn’t one I recognized.

‘Sorry, who is this?’

He didn’t respond.

‘I think you have the wrong number? I’m going now.’

‘I don’t think that would be a good idea.’

The statement left an eerie silence, the force in which he spoke it made me pause, but after a few moments I pressed on.

‘What do you want?’

‘I’ve waited a very long time to have this conversation with you.’

‘I’m sorry, but I really don’t—’

‘A long time ago you took something that didn’t belong to you.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘I want it back, Michael.’

‘My name isn’t Michael, you have the wrong number.’

He laughed. The sound menacing and full of intent. He spoke like he was toying with me. His voice calm and measured, it was clear that he had done this before.

Then my tired mind caught up with me and I relaxed a little, there was only one feasible conclusion; ‘Is this some sort of sick joke? Matty, is that you?’

‘This is no joke.’ There was not even a hint of humour in his voice.

I placed my hand on my pillow and screwed a handful of it up in my fist. My knuckles turned white. ‘Listen to me. I don’t know anything about taking something from anyone. If you call me again I’m going straight to the police.’

‘I wouldn’t if I were you.’

His comment fired something inside, an anger I hadn’t felt before, yet it felt normal. Like a song that I’d not heard in a very long time, but still knew the words to.

‘Are you threatening me?’ I said, getting to my feet. I pushed my shoulders back, stood up straight, planted my feet. It was as though I were ready for a fight.

‘Just giving you some friendly advice.’

‘I’m hanging up now.’

Just as I moved the phone away from my ear I heard him speak again. One word that snapped me from anger to terror. The name of my son.

‘Thomas is a handsome little boy, isn’t he?’

My entire world shifted under my feet as I could feel panic rising up in my throat, its white heat burning until it blurred my vision. This man threatening me filled me with rage, and in saying Thomas’s name, he made me feel afraid, like a child lost.

‘He’s safe, so is Rachael. For now.’

‘What?’

‘Michael, you have something I want. I have something you want.’

‘Who is this? Rob? Stop pissing around would you.’ I clung to the hope that this was just a joke.

No sooner had I said that than the phone pinged against my ear and, looking at the screen, I saw there was a new text message from an unknown number. I saw it was a multimedia message and once I opened it, everything changed. The image I looked at knocked me backwards and I had to grab the wall to stop myself from falling. It caught my breath and pulled it out from my chest, crushing my lungs as it did.

I could feel my heart pounding, blood rushing through my ears, my lips tingling. The picture was of Rachael. She was gagged with her hands tied behind her back looking at the camera, terrified. In the picture I could see a wheel arch that you would find in the back of a large van. Beside her, in the shadows of her body, against the camera flash was Thomas. He looked asleep, almost peaceful. I thought I was going to pass out.

‘Does it look like I’m pissing around?’

‘Who are you?’

‘That doesn’t matter.’

‘What have you done to them?’

‘Nothing. Yet.’

‘Have you hurt my son?’

My question was answered by silence.

‘Please, please let them go. If you want me for something come to me, take me, just let them go, please, please let my boy go home.’ I was grasping at anything I could. This had to be a horrible joke, surely? Things like this didn’t happen outside of movies.

‘As I’ve said, Michael. I will, when I get back what is rightfully mine. There is an easy deal on the table here.’

‘Please, don’t hurt Rachael. I’m begging, please don’t hurt them.’

‘Give me back what is mine and I won’t.’

‘But I don’t—I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve never taken any—’

‘I know I don’t have to tell you this’.’ He cut me off. ‘But if you call the police, the next time you’ll see your family is on the news when they’re dragging their bodies out of a river.’

‘Please, I don’t understand, I—’

‘You have until Friday.’

And then the line went dead.