You Belong To Me: a psychological thriller with a brilliant twist Read online

  You Belong to Me

  Mark Tilbury

  Copyright © 2019 Mark Tilbury

  The right of Mark Tilbury to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First published in 2019 by Bloodhound Books

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  www.bloodhoundbooks.com

  This book is dedicated to Brian, my father-in-law, who taught me so much by example.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Epilogue

  A Note from Bloodhound Books

  Also by Mark Tilbury

  Acknowledgments

  1

  The present day.

  Cassie Rafferty wanted to die. Go to her grave and let the worms consume the shitty contents of her brain. This was no attention-seeking gimmick running around her head to post on social media. It was the real deal. The end. Her Nanna Joyce had died when she was eight, and she’d lost three hamsters and a gerbil before her fourteenth birthday, but none of those losses compared to this. It felt as if stomach acid had leaked into her heart and was trying to digest her boyfriend’s betrayal.

  As if sensing her mood, the sky had emptied a month’s rain in half an hour. Good job too! No one could see the tears streaming down her face or the snot leaking from her nose. She was only wearing a thin red summer t-shirt and pink shorts. Her pink and cream canvas handbag swung on her shoulder like a pendulum. At least it was waterproof, unlike the mascara running in black rivulets behind her glasses.

  The day had started off hot and bright when she’d left home to walk the two miles to her boyfriend’s house. Darren wanted to tell her something, but he wouldn’t say what it was on the phone. Cassie had foolishly believed he was going to ask her to get engaged. They’d been going out for over a year now, and her sixteenth birthday was less than a month away. The more she’d thought about it, the more excited she’d become. He might even have a beautiful diamond ring sitting in a velvet-lined box waiting for her.

  Cassie had always wanted to get married on her eighteenth birthday. That would mean a two-year engagement and plenty of time for them to find jobs and set up a home together. The thought of sharing a flat with Darren made her tummy tingle. He had some nasty habits to iron out – you only had to look at the chaos in his bedroom to see that. Clothes didn’t need hangers or a wardrobe in Darren’s world, and his bed always looked as if it had just spent the night hosting a pack of wild dogs. But a girl could work on these things. Men just needed convincing that they no longer lived in caves.

  Darren had looked nervous from the minute he’d opened the door and invited her inside. His parents were at work, and Darren, like Cassie, was sitting GCSE exams at school. She’d walked into the lounge and sat in a leather recliner. It was a disgusting lime-green colour but comfortable enough to put an insomniac to sleep.

  Cassie kicked off her shoes and asked for a glass of cold lemonade.

  Darren looked at her for a few seconds before heading off through an archway into the kitchen. She had no idea what to read into that look, but he seemed to be on the verge of saying something important. And he was sweating badly enough to stain the back of his t-shirt.

  ‘What do you want to ask me?’ Cassie said, as he handed her the drink.

  He sat down opposite her on a brown leather sofa. ‘You know I love you, don’t you?’

  Cassie grinned. She was now certain he was going to propose. ‘Course.’

  ‘And you know I want to be with you for, well, forever.’

  She took a sip of lemonade. The gassy liquid brought tears to her eyes. She nodded. Waited. Prepared her answer. Her don’t-rush-in answer. Her don’t-give-yourself-away-too-cheaply answer.

  ‘And if we’re going to be together, we have to be honest with each other, right?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘No secrets that might come out later?’

  ‘You’re starting to scare me, Darren.’

  ‘I want you to promise not to fly off the handle.’

  Cassie’s vision of rings and proposals and happy-ever-afters evaporated. ‘Why would I do that?’

  ‘Because I don’t think you’re going to like what I’m about to say.’

  Cassie put her glass on the oak coffee table. She fiddled with the rim and searched Darren’s face for clues.

  He looked away. ‘I want you to know I’m sorry. I’m the dumbest twat on the planet. But it was just a… stupid mistake.’

  Cassie’s tummy flipped over. ‘What have you done?’

  ‘I didn’t mean nothing by it.’

  Cassie stopped fiddling with the glass. ‘Just spit it out, Darren.’

  ‘I… kissed someone.’

  Cassie felt her heart jump, pumping blood to her face. She must have misheard him. ‘Say that again.’

  ‘I kissed someone.’

  She was suddenly consumed by an overwhelming urge to hurl the glass at him.

  ‘I didn’t mean it.’

  ‘You’re telling me it was an accident?’

  ‘I–’

  ‘Who was it?’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Who did you kiss?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  Cassie picked up the glass. Gripped it tight enough to break it. ‘Of course it fucking matters.’

  ‘Hailey Connor.’

  Cassie’s heart plummeted. Hailey Connor was just about the biggest tart in the school. With her stupid dyed blonde hair, false eyelashes and orange foundation, she looked like a cross between a pumpkin and a whore.

  ‘But it meant nothing. I swear.’

  ‘Where did you kiss her?’

  ‘At school.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Three days ago… after the history exam.’

  Cassie laughed. ‘Appropriate.’

  ‘I don’t follow.’

  ‘Seeing as that kiss means you and me are history.’

  ‘Don’t say that. It was nothing. A stupid mistake.’

  ‘Yeah. And you’re going t
o spend the rest of your life regretting it.’

  ‘I’m only telling you because I don’t want no secrets.’

  Cassie shook her head. ‘No, Darren, you’re telling me before someone else does.’

  ‘But no one else saw us.’

  ‘I’m not talking about anyone else. I’m talking about that tart. She’ll get a kick from spreading it around.’

  Darren opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to think better of it.

  Cassie’s dream of marriage and living with Darren in a flat of their own vanished like steam from an open window. She put the glass on the table and stood up. ‘Take a good look at what you’re going to miss, Darren Clarke. And remember, when you’re all alone and no one gives a toss about you, I loved you. Loved you more than life itself.’

  ‘I know you’re angry, but–’

  ‘I’m not angry. I’m heartbroken.’

  Darren stood up and took a few steps towards her. ‘We can put this behind us. We just give it time.’

  Cassie flounced into the hallway. ‘Piss off, Darren. We’re finished. And don’t bother trying to call me because I won’t answer. I never want to see you again.’

  Darren made a half-hearted attempt to grab her as she opened the front door and stepped outside. She strode up the garden path towards the main road, biting down on her lip hard enough to draw blood.

  Within ten minutes of leaving his house, the skies had opened. And with the rain, a resolve to never go near another boy again. By the time she’d crossed Feelham Bridge and turned right along the dirt track by the derelict pub, she’d just wanted to go to a place where no one could ever hurt her again.

  Cassie usually walked home through the town and along St George’s Road. It was a practice born of her mother’s frequent warnings not to go anywhere isolated on her own. But the track was familiar. The school used it as a route for cross-country runs, and it didn’t seem very threatening in daylight.

  With the rain driving into her face and rendering her glasses useless, she didn’t notice the man standing under the back porch of the pub watching her. There was little point removing her spectacles because the world just existed in a series of fuzzy, ill-defined blobs without them.

  Cassie’s mind hopped from wanting to kill herself to wanting to kill Darren. How could he even consider going near a slag like Hailey Connor? And she was older than him. Already in the sixth form. Not to mention ugly as sin beneath that barrier of war paint she always slapped on her face. Why were boys such weak, pathetic creatures? One smile and they were anyone’s.

  How could she have been stupid enough to think Darren loved her for who she was? Didn’t care about the bump in her nose, or the gap in her front teeth. Didn’t give a hoot she had a slight lisp when she talked too fast. Darren had seemed like a breath of fresh air compared to most boys. Now, it turned out he was worse than all of them. He’d taken her heart and thrown it in a ditch.

  So, you’re just going to throw your whole life away over one stupid boy? a voice whispered in her head. He’s the one who ought to jump off the water tower.

  Cassie stared at her trainers. White Nikes with a pink trim. The muddy lane had turned them as black as her mood. She wasn’t aware of the man stepping out of the porch and onto the track. He was maybe twenty yards behind her, dressed in a dark-blue hoodie, combat trousers and black trainers. Hands thrust in his jacket pockets. Face like a slice of moon beneath the dark hood.

  The track was about a mile long. It was a dried up brook, but heavy rainfall could rapidly restore it to its former glory. It ran from the river to the back of the park, and from there it was just a short walk along St George’s Road to her house.

  The rain had slowed to little more than a light drizzle by the time she was halfway along the track. She stopped and swatted at something buzzing around her head. The man stopped and stood as still as the trees lining the trail.

  Cassie checked her airspace for more invaders. Birds and butterflies aside, she hated anything that flew. A wasp had stung her in the garden when she was twelve, and the experience had left her with a pathological hatred of airborne invaders.

  As her tears subsided to an occasional sniffle, she opened her bag and took out a packet of tissues. She plucked three from the plastic wrapper, blew her nose and wiped her face. She dropped the tissues back in her bag and snapped it shut. She threw the strap over her shoulder and started walking again.

  Why did her mother have to choose this week of all weeks to take time off work? Now she would face a salvo of questions the minute she stepped through the door. And it was no good thinking she could make it upstairs without being spotted; her mother had an inbuilt radar fine-tuned to Cassie – both emotional and physical.

  What does it matter what she says if you’re going to kill yourself?

  Cassie ignored the voice. She would have a shower and change her clothes before she did anything else – including leaping off the water tower.

  The man gained a few yards on her. He kept his head down, as if fascinated by his trainers. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and then rubbed it on his trousers.

  Cassie stopped to negotiate a fallen tree blocking her path. It wasn’t too big to clamber over, but awkward, greased with rainwater and covered in moss. She noticed brambles had scrawled a bloody signature on her bare legs.

  The man took his chance. He closed the gap in a matter of seconds like a lion moving in for the kill. Cassie had just got her leg over the trunk when he told her to keep still.

  At first, she thought he was going to warn her that there was something dangerous lurking on the tree. A scorpion. Maybe even a rat. She turned her head round to see him standing a few feet away. She couldn’t make out his features beneath the hoodie. He was wearing mirrored sunglasses, and a beard obscured the bottom half of his face.

  Cassie felt her stomach tighten. ‘What is it?’

  He didn’t answer. He pulled a gun from the waistband of his combat trousers and pointed it at her chest. ‘I want you to come with me.’

  Cassie’s legs lost all their strength. She thought about trying to scramble over the tree. Make a run for it. It was only a few hundred yards to the park. If she wailed like a siren all the way, perhaps he would back off and give up.

  Or shoot you.

  ‘Turn around slowly and face me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Just do as I say.’

  Cassie turned around, barely able to stand. A tear slipped from the corner of her eye. ‘Please don’t hurt me.’

  ‘I won’t, as long as you do as you’re told.’

  ‘My mum’s expecting me home.’

  ‘Then she’s gonna be disappointed.’

  Why was this happening to her? She’d already had the shittiest day imaginable. ‘Please, I just want to go home.’

  The man shook his head. ‘You can’t always get what you want. They ought to teach that in school. Now, walk past me and head off back towards the river. And don’t think about legging it. I ain’t seen no one outrun a bullet yet.’

  ‘My feet hurt.’

  ‘And so does my head. Now move!’

  Cassie took a wide berth around him, eyes trained on the gun. He wasn’t as tall as Darren, and thin enough to suggest she might have stood a small chance of fighting him off under normal circumstances. But these were not normal circumstances. The gun seemed to wink at her in a shaft of emerging sunlight.

  Cassie shuffled forward. There was a nightclub just before the bridge. The Millhouse. It boasted a beautiful riverside terrace. Maybe she could get someone’s attention if she screamed loud enough.

  You might as well run, a voice whispered in her head. You’ve got nothing to lose. Better to get shot than to end up somewhere alone with him.

  She could hear him behind her, breathing heavy, sniffing, muttering something under his breath.

  ‘Where are we going?’ she asked again. ‘Please tell me.’

  ‘Home.’

  ‘I don’t unders
tand.’

  ‘You will.’

  Cassie walked past her own footprints as she headed back towards the river. The ones made before the man had appeared out of nowhere and turned her heart to dust.

  He told her to stop at a wooden gate leading to the pub garden.

  Cassie glanced behind her. Gawped at the gun.

  ‘Go through the gate.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You ask me one more question and you won’t see tomorrow. You’re mine now. That’s all you need to know.’

  She could see huge banners on the wall outside the Millhouse declaring the latest offering from Sky Sports. Someone walking along the wooden terrace, which wrapped itself around the building to the riverside view at the front.

  Do it, Cassie’s mind screamed. Run. For Christ’s sake, run.

  But she could barely move. She stifled a sob as she walked into the overgrown garden. The place resembled a cross between a jungle and a tip. Overturned tables, two fridges and a sofa bleeding its stuffing, nestled among the tall grass and brambles. Most of the fence surrounding the garden was leaning over and broken.

  ‘See that door over there?’

  Cassie nodded. She felt as if she would throw up any minute.

  He threw a bunch of keys at the door. ‘The silver one’s for the padlock. Open it.’

  She trudged towards the door, bent down and picked up the keys. Maybe if she did as he asked, he might let her go. She’d read a case in a magazine once about a girl who’d been taken captive by a man and held in an underground bunker in the woods. Over time, she’d convinced him that she was his friend. Had feelings for him. He’d eventually trusted her enough to allow her certain freedoms. One day she’d escaped by persuading him to let her pick wild mushrooms for breakfast. The terrible level of abuse he’d subjected her to read like something out of a horror movie, but she’d outsmarted him in the end and lived to tell the tale.