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

  She fumbled with the lock, hands shaking.

  ‘What the hell are you playing at?’

  Cassie wanted to turn around and throw the keys at him. Tell him to open his own fucking door and let her go home. ‘I can’t get the key in.’

  ‘Don’t make me have to come over there and do it for you,’ he warned.

  She finally pushed the key home and twisted it in the lock. The bar popped up. She removed it from the latch.

  ‘Go inside and wait by the bar.’

  The place reeked of piss. She walked across broken glass, discarded wrappers and cigarette packets. She stood at the bar, holding on to it for support. The mirrored glass behind the bar was smashed, displaying the optics in dozens of tiny reflections.

  He took a torch from his combat trousers and shone the beam at her. ‘Don’t look so worried. Everything will be fine as long as you do as you’re told.’

  Cassie wanted to tell him that her boyfriend would come looking for her if she wasn’t home soon. And her dad. And her brother. The whole town. But her tongue was glued to the roof of her mouth.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  She shook her head, trying to stop her thoughts setting fire to her brain. He would rape her. Torture her. Kill her. This was all the worst stories she’d ever read about in magazines coming to life. The ones that scared the crap out of her on cold winter nights and made her feel grateful she had people around her who loved her.

  ‘What’s your name?’ he asked again, waving the torch as if trying to coax an answer with it. ‘I think we ought to get on first-name terms considering we’re going to be spending a long time together.’

  ‘I… want… to… go… home.’

  ‘And I want to be a millionaire, but you might as well want a mile as want an inch.’

  Cassie forced herself to tell him her name.

  He was silent for a short while as if savouring it. ‘That’s a strange name.’

  ‘It’s short for Cassandra.’

  ‘Makes you sound like a film star.’

  She shrugged.

  ‘Mind if I call you Cass?’

  You can call me what you like as long as you don’t hurt me. ‘I don’t care. I just want to go home.’

  ‘You are home. I know it needs fixing up a bit, and it’s a pain in the arse the electric’s off, but it’s all about making the most of what you’ve got, don’t you think?’

  ‘My mum will be worried about me.’

  ‘So you said. Now, put your bag on the floor and empty your pockets. I know how attached you girls can be to your mobile phones.’

  Cassie dropped her bag on the floor. ‘I haven’t got anything in my pockets.’

  ‘Take your shorts off and put them on top of your bag.’

  ‘But–’

  ‘Now!’

  Cassie peeled off her soaking wet shorts and kicked them towards the bag. The humiliation of standing almost naked in front of this vile man made her feel as if she was already dead.

  ‘I’ve got new clothes for you down in your room.’

  ‘I don’t want new clothes. I want to go home.’

  He ignored her. ‘It’s only charity shop gear, but I ain’t exactly flush at the moment. Maybe when I’m better fixed I’ll get you something a bit more upmarket.’

  Cassie stifled a sob. Coughed. Wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

  He retrieved the padlock from the outside catch, closed the door and slid two bolts across the inside. ‘All safe and sound,’ he said, putting the lock in his hoodie pocket.

  Cassie felt as if she’d just been locked inside a condemned cell. She clasped her hands in front of her crotch. ‘Why are you doing this?’

  ‘Because I can.’ He pointed the torch at a door to the left of the bar. ‘Off you go. Mind the steps on the way down, they’re a bit dodgy.’

  ‘I’m claustrophobic,’ Cassie said. ‘Especially in the dark.’

  ‘It’s not dark. There’s some battery-operated lights down there. Make sure you use them sparingly though. I’m not going into town for fresh batteries every five minutes. Your clothes are on top of the mattress.’

  Cassie gawped at the door as if were the gateway to hell.

  ‘Get going. I’ve got things to do.’

  Cassie trudged towards the door. She looked over her shoulder. Thought about making one last plea for him to let her go, but knew it was pointless. She would die in this stinking pub. And it was all Darren Clarke’s fault. If he hadn’t kissed that slag, they would be curled up on the sofa watching a film right now. Or making plans for what they would do after they’d finished school.

  She didn’t know who she hated most – Darren or this vile man. She opened the door and walked down the cellar steps. Halfway down, the door slammed behind her and a key turned in the lock.

  She reached the bottom. Only one light was on. It cast a dim glow across the cellar. Metal beer kegs lined one wall like a pub’s version of tombstones. A wine rack took up most of another wall. The floor was littered with debris. Broken bottles. Upturned crates. A mattress with a small pile of clothes scattered on top. Something scurried behind the beer kegs. Cassie didn’t need an overactive imagination to conjure up an image of rats. And spiders. And cockroaches.

  She fell onto the filthy mattress and buried her head in the clothes. No one knew she was here. He could do exactly as he pleased with her. Her parents would call the cops as soon as it became clear she was missing. Ping a million questions at Darren. Go frantic with worry. And there was nothing they could do to help her.

  Welcome to hell.

  2

  Danny Sheppard spooned cornflakes into his mouth and tried to keep his eyes open after another sleepless night playing The Spoils of War on Warcraft. His addiction to the game had started about a year after insomnia had turned up unannounced six years ago. He would sometimes drink vodka to snatch a few hours precious sleep, but it always seemed to put him in a worse mood the next day. And the last thing he needed was to lose his licence and his job with Greyhound Parcel Delivery. GPD paid the bills and just about kept him on the right side of sane.

  His mother sat opposite him puffing on a cigarette and sipping black coffee. Not yet fifty, Rose Sheppard looked old enough to claim a pension. She’d declined rapidly after Danny’s father had tragically died when Danny was nine. Sixteen years of grief had painted her hair grey and drawn bags under her eyes. Her skin had a sickly pallor and she was missing two of her top teeth after a nasty fall down the stairs.

  ‘You’d look better if you shaved that beard off,’ she said, lighting another cigarette off the butt of the first.

  Danny watched her face disappear behind a veil of smoke. ‘If you say so.’

  ‘I’ve never liked beards. Your dad grew one once, about a year after we got married. It was like kissing a privet hedge.’

  Danny opted for a lighthearted response. He didn’t want to argue with her. ‘You telling me you’ve kissed a privet hedge?’

  She waved a hand and swatted smoke. ‘I’ve kissed some rough buggers in my time before I met your dad, but I suppose you’ve got to start somewhere.’

  ‘True.’

  ‘You need a nice girl to–’

  ‘I’m all right as I am.’

  ‘Are you?’

  Danny nodded and plonked his spoon in his half-eaten cereal. He was about to stand up and take his bowl to the sink when the local news came on the radio station:

  ‘Police are appealing for anyone who has seen missing schoolgirl, Cassie Rafferty, to contact them. Cassie is white, five foot five inches tall and has shoulder-length blonde hair. She has green eyes and wears glasses. She was last seen leaving her boyfriend’s house in Knott’s Lane, Hazlemarsh, at around 11am on Tuesday, third of June. Cassie was wearing a red t-shirt, pink denim shorts and white Nike trainers with a pink trim. She also had a pink and cream canvas shoulder bag. Police say they are concerned for Cassie’s welfare. She hasn’t contacted anyone by phone or been on social media f
or seven days, and her phone goes straight to voicemail. If anyone has seen Cassie, or knows of her whereabouts, they should call 101 and quote incident 946.’

  ‘What’s the matter, Danny? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.’

  Danny’s heart shivered. ‘Nothing. Just tired.’

  ‘Do you know the missing girl?’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘No, the bloke standing behind you.’

  ‘I don’t know her, Mum.’

  ‘How can someone just vanish like that?’

  Danny shrugged.

  ‘Someone must have seen her.’

  ‘Let’s hope so.’

  ‘I wonder if her boyfriend had anything to do with it?’

  ‘Who knows?’

  ‘How many times do you see so-called loved ones making appeals on the telly, and then they turn out to be the guilty party? You don’t know who to trust these days. You remember that other girl that went missing in Feelham about nine years back?’

  Danny chewed his bottom lip. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What was her name?’

  Danny didn’t answer. A headache throbbed just behind his eyes. He needed painkillers just to get through the day.

  ‘My mind’s not what it used to be,’ Rose said, stubbing out her cigarette with unnecessary force. ‘Was it Helen something-or-other?’

  ‘Ellie Hutton.’

  ‘They never found her, did they?’

  ‘Not as far as I know.’

  ‘Poor kid. Just vanished off the face of the earth walking home from school. Doesn’t bear thinking about, does it?’

  ‘Then don’t,’ Danny snapped. ‘Done is done. Torturing yourself with imaginary details won’t bring her back.’

  ‘I’m not torturing myself.’

  ‘You know what the doctor said about worrying over things you can’t control – it’s pointless and self-destructive.’

  ‘That’s easy for her to say – she didn’t lose her husband like I did.’

  ‘I know. But try to focus on yourself, Mum. One day at a time.’

  ‘Her husband works at the practice. They get to go home together and make plans. Eat together. Sleep together. Wake up in the mornings with each other. Not lie awake half the night thinking about what sort of low-life callous thug would throw a concrete slab off a bridge onto a car.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I wish I could have ten minutes locked in a room with the swine who did it.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘They’re too soft with ‘em these days. No one has any respect for the law. Your father was a good man. He didn’t deserve to die like that. I’ve lost count of how many times the police told me they were looking into it. They obviously didn’t look very hard, because they never caught the bastard, did they?’

  Danny remembered getting his taekwondo white belt just before his father had died. He had a picture on his dressing table of the two of them together at the award ceremony. ‘Cops couldn’t catch a fish in an aquarium.’

  Rose nodded. ‘Tell me about it. I went to a medium once, trying to get answers. But all she told me was he was at peace now, and he loved us all very much. Bloody waste of time and money.’

  Danny walked to the sink and plonked his bowl on the drainer. ‘Mediums just prey on people’s grief, Mum.’

  Rose nodded. ‘All a load of charlatans. I feel so sorry for that young girl’s parents. I know how it feels to have someone leave the house and never come home.’

  ‘It’s a dangerous world.’

  ‘The world’s not dangerous, Danny. Just the people in it. There was a time when folk could leave their backdoors unlocked and never have to worry about it.’

  Danny thought about reminding her of wars and poverty in this mythical world where people didn’t need to bother with security, but he didn’t want to get his mother worked up any more than she was already.

  ‘I hope they find the girl alive,’ Rose said. ‘It would be nice to see a happy ending for once.’

  ‘Maybe she’s just gone to stay with a friend.’

  Rose seemed slightly cheered by this prospect. ‘Let’s hope so.’

  ‘I’ve got to go. I’ll be home around six.’

  She ran a hand through her mop of tangled hair. ‘Drive carefully.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘You look tired.’

  ‘I’ll have a Red Bull.’

  ‘That stuff will rot your guts.’

  Danny pointed at the half-empty packet of cigarettes. ‘And they’ll rot your lungs.’

  Rose didn’t answer, but her eyes seemed to say she couldn’t care less about her own health.

  He kissed her on the cheek and headed off to work. After stopping at the Esso garage to buy three cans of Red bull, he parked his Skoda outside the Greyhound depot and chugged a can straight down. He sat behind the wheel waiting for the caffeine to boost his energy levels.

  He wound down the window – no electric wizardry in this boy’s seventeen-year-old car –and took several deep breaths. His heart fluttered in his chest. Just the drink kick-starting his knackered body. Nothing to worry about.

  Keep telling yourself that, Danny-boy. Keep burying your head in the sand. Trouble is, you’re on a pebbled beach.

  Danny squeezed his eyes shut. ‘Go away.’

  Truth hurts, doesn’t it?

  His mind’s eye treated him to a picture of his father’s car after the slab of concrete had redesigned the bonnet and smashed the windscreen. His mother had kept a newspaper cutting of the tragic aftermath. The slab itself hadn’t killed him. Nor had swerving into a ditch. Alan Sheppard had suffered a fatal heart attack, most likely brought on by shock.

  He needed to get into work. Load his van and try to take his mind off things. He would feel better once he was out on the road. Wind down the windows and get some fresh air into his lungs. He got out of the car and locked the door. No central locking. Danny Sheppard didn’t have an image to uphold. Just a never-ending battle to keep his sanity in check.

  Someone spoke to him as he walked through the gates. He raised a hand, but didn’t speak. Work colleagues didn’t interest him. Some socialised outside work, but he couldn’t think of anything worse than making idle chat with a group of blokes who probably never got past the subject of cars and girls.

  Danny had no interest in either. Especially the latter. At least not the sort of interest you could talk about in public.

  3

  Josh McBain had a headache that felt as if his brain was being fed through a garbage disposal unit. Considering the contents of that brain, it wasn’t a bad analogy. There was also a dull ache in the bottom of his back. Josh didn’t have a clue to the origins of that pain, but the headache was simple enough though – eight cans of strong cider and a spliff.

  A fart and a groan rolled around the room courtesy of Sid Haggerty, his flatmate of nine months. Not for much longer though. They hadn’t paid the rent for the last four months and eviction was just a formality. Sid had already located a place they could squat in Randolph Street. Empty and boarded up. A dream hotel for a pair of losers whose only income came from begging and jobseeker’s allowance.

  At twenty-five, Josh was an alcoholic. He even needed a can to get himself up in the mornings. It was a damned good job he wasn’t still trying to do his window cleaning round. Ladders and booze made a lethal combination. It was a much safer bet to sit outside Marks and Sparks with his acoustic guitar and strum for his supper. He’d even burst into song if he’d had enough to drink.

  Sid reckoned he had enough talent to go on X Factor. Win the fucking thing. They could go on tour together. Sid could be his manager. Tell Simon Cowell to go sit on a rusty spike if he got too high and mighty. They could drink proper booze. Snort cocaine and fuck all the girls they wanted. Live the dream.

  Josh went along with his mate’s fantasies, but he knew as well as the next man there were better sounding tomcats wooing females in back alleys. But it didn’t hurt a man to dream. Especially one who’
d had a nightmare of a life like Sid.

  Josh often returned his friend’s compliments by telling him he could do a comedy routine to warm up the audience before he sang. Sid seemed to like the idea of making women laugh.

  ‘Best way into a bird’s knickers,’ Sid had said one night as they’d jumped aboard the Special Brew Express to oblivion. ‘Make ‘em laugh, and you’re home and dry.’

  Josh liked Sid. He was a good laugh. A happy piss-head, just as long as you didn’t get him onto the subject of his old man. Then he could change in an instant. Josh had long since learned not to talk about Sid Senior. A brutal bastard who seemed to speak a language all of his own – fluent fist.

  Josh had no such problems with his own family. He liked his parents and adored his sister. He was also okay with all but one of his three brothers. It wasn’t anything in particular about Terry, they just didn’t get along.

  Josh had seen very little of them since he’d left home eight years ago to live with his girlfriend. Kate had been the girl of his dreams for a while. Plain as a pebble, but a heart of gold and, for reasons beyond Josh, besotted with him. He remembered telling her one night that he’d wanted to be a racing driver when he was a kid. No one ever took him seriously because he couldn’t see two feet in front of him without glasses, but Kate had told him to go for it. Maybe Formula One was out of the question, but something like banger racing or kart racing might be worth a try.

  Josh had never got as far as trying anything once the lodger had moved in and destroyed their relationship. At first, the three of them had lived together without issue. Kate had even turned a blind eye when Mr Cheap Cider had encouraged Josh to wrap his hands around her throat hard enough to leave marks.