The Quiet Ones: A gripping psychological thriller Read Online Free Page B

‘Jo, I get it. I really do. You’re hurting. But delving into a bottle isn’t the answer. I don’t recognise you some of the time.’
           ‘I know,’ I am frustrated by the truth. ‘How’s work?’
           ‘It’s a pain in the arse. The phone hasn’t stopped ringing and Michael is on my back.’
           Michael, Charlie’s boss, is a huge hunk of a man who spends hours in the gym when he’s not “closing deals” or “shagging birds”. He’s a fifty year old who looks like he’s in his thirties, due to his African skin. I’ve only met him once but I was struck by the cheapness of his shiny grey suit and mauve coloured tie. The faux diamond stud in his ear clinched the deal. It’s fair to say I think he’s a prick.
           ‘I want to the kill the sod.’
           In the background, I hear a phone ringing in Charlie’s office.
    ‘Jo, I have to go. Sorry. I’ll call again at lunch. Love you.’
           And before I’ve had a chance to respond, the phone line goes dead. For a while, I remain looking at the phone in my hand. I feel painfully alone. I’m reminded of my childhood. I grew up in the country and lived a privileged life. Yet, the one thing I really wanted was a real family, one I belonged to.
           Fiona and Harold Griffin adopted me when I was a tiny baby. She was a wonderful mother. The softest, most gentle woman I have ever known and so unlike me in every way. It must have been difficult for her when I was growing up. We are so different. She is calm, ordered and chic. I am a chaotic redhead with a temper to match. It must have been disappointing to discover she didn’t get the little darling she’d no doubt hoped for. None the less, she never showed it. She always told me she loved me and was proud of me and I am grateful for the effort she went to.
    The thing I remember most vividly about her was her hair. Long, blonde and poker straight, it would gleam in the sunlight like the surface of a lake. I thought she was a princess when I was little.
           As I grew up, we grew apart. Then, when I went off to university, the space between us grew wider. I saw them less and less and only spoke to Mum on the phone once every couple of weeks. Standing, holding the phone in my hand, I wonder if I should call her now. Would it make me feel better to hear her voice? The answer is no. I put the phone down on the table and decide the only thing to do is go back up to bed.
     
     
     

 
    March 13th
     
     
    This has got to be the dullest place on earth. The wet concrete roads slitherin’ through the countryside are never endin’. The grass fields go on and on and the only thing to break the monotony is a few trees or a wild hedgerow.
           It would have been impossible to make a note of the route; thank fuck for GPS.
    The damp scent of bark is all around me. I will have to wash my clothes when I get home.
    Funny what you think about when you are alone, in the woods, at nightfall. I never knew there could be so many shades of brown. Shiny brown, dull mustard brown, dog shit brown; fifty shades of crap. But, you know, I’m really very happy here, slitherin’ in the wet mud bidin’ my time.
    To hunt an animal, you have to put yourself in their shoes. Crawlin’ through the dark, damp woodland floor, I know I’m doin’ the right thing.
    My senses are heightened and I feel an electric current permeate the air around this place.
    Just as I beginnin’ to think I am makin’ some progress, there is a flash in the sky. A beam of light cuts through the trees and I freeze, droppin’ to the ground. Lyin’ perfectly still, I wait for a long time before the sight and sound have been disappeared for some time.
    I’m certain the car didn’t see me, but although I am hidden in the undergrowth, and the darkness blankets, me I will remain cautious.
    It’s best to remain invisible for now.
    And then as if on cue, the rain begins again. It is