Don't Let Me Die: A gripping psychological thriller Read online

  “What’s your problem? I’m doing it at home, before I go to school.”

  “After going to bed in the early hours of the morning? Should be your best work to date.” I can’t help myself. I know I’m only making him resent me more than he already does, but someone needs to get through to him, and it sure as hell won’t be Darren.

  Within a few days, the two will go back to being great buddies again, like the grounding never happened. Before the punishment has time to sink in and take effect, Darren will drop it and let Frank go back to doing whatever he wants. I am always left to be the bad guy.

  I stand back while Frank slides out his homework and haphazardly works on it one-handed as he eats his breakfast.

  “Do you need any help?” I ask.

  “No. I’m fine,” he grunts back.

  By then, I’m ready to scream, so I leave the room and grab my gym gear, using it as an excuse to get away from Frank before I escalate things. I head upstairs and walk into my bedroom, shutting the door behind myself. The day feels like it’s getting to me, and I haven’t even left the house yet.

  After taking a moment to scream into my pillow, I find my gym gear and change in the bathroom. When I view myself in the mirror, I’m frustrated as hell with the bags under my eyes. My blonde hair is a mess and needs a good wash, but I don’t feel like spending several hours sorting it out. I just want to hit the gym and burn off some of my frustration.

  Before I have a chance to finish covering up my face with makeup that I will sweat right back off, my cell beeps back in the bedroom. I had forgotten to take it off charge when I woke up.

  Needing to know what the notification is, I leave the bathroom and sit down on our bed to pick up my phone. A message without any words is staring back at me on the lock screen from an unknown number. A single, tiny image is waiting for me to unlock the device and discover what exactly it is that has been sent to me.

  When I open the picture, I drop my cell on the bed and watch as it bounces and falls to the floor. Both hands fly up and cover my mouth.

  Knowing what’s sitting on the screen, I slowly bend down and pick up the phone as if it might bite me. I have no choice but to look again.

  There, staring back up at me is a photo of the front of our house, taken this morning as Darren left for work. I can see myself standing in the entry, watching my husband leave.

  My head shakes as a single thought pops into my brain and comes out of my mouth. “Frank.”

  Eleven

  I charge down the steps and run to the kitchen to find Frank still sitting by the counter doing his homework. I move behind him and sneak a glimpse out the front window to where the photo would have originated. I hold up my phone for reference and realize it’s been taken from our neighbor’s house, where a line of small bushes sit. Had one of Victor’s family members been hiding in those shrubs, waiting for Darren to leave for work just to scare us? Was it the same person in that car last night?

  The thought of a creep watching our house pulls me back and away from the door. As I spin around, I bash into Frank, causing him to drop his half-full cereal dish to the tiled floor. The bowl makes a hideous sound as it shatters into what seems to be a million pieces.

  “Whoa, Mom. Watch out,” he says, half shouting.

  I grab hold of his wrist with one hand and stare into his eyes with two wild pupils.

  “Mom?” he asks me, realizing something is wrong.

  “You can’t go to school. You can’t leave the house. I have to call the police.”

  “What?” he lets out. “Is this because of last night?”

  I shake my head. “You don’t understand. Someone is watching us. There’s no time to explain, but your father has been receiving threats. We think it’s from Victor’s family.”

  “The guy that broke his spine?”

  I nod as I swallow. My throat suddenly feels dry.

  “What kind of threats?” Frank asks as his voice cracks a little.

  I still have the phone in my hand and debate whether to show him. The picture might freak him out even more than I already am, so I keep it hidden. “That doesn’t matter right now. We need to stay put. I’m calling the police and your father. Please don’t move.”

  He nods his head quicker than is necessary as his eyes continue to focus on mine. There’s nothing like an emergency to get your teenage son to listen to you for a change.

  I dial 9-1-1 and get straight through to a dispatcher, who asks me which service I’m after. The word “police” creeps out of my mouth as I try to remain calm and responsible. I need to be the strong parent now and not let the thought of a stranger breaking into our house during the day upset me.

  After a slight delay, I’m patched through to the police. I explain everything to the operator and then go through the frustrating process of giving her my details. Why can’t they use some fancy technology to work out who I am and where my house is in an instant? I’d be all for the invasion of privacy if it meant the police could stop someone from harming my family before it’s too late.

  The operator directs us to hide somewhere in the house with a locking door. I instantly think of the basement and take Frank by the hand like he’s three years old again. The dispatcher tells me to keep my cell handy, as the police will be calling it the second they arrive.

  Frank and I head down to the basement. I lock the door behind us at the bottom of the stairs and pull him farther into the back of the stairwell. We have a small storage section there that might hide us if someone made it this far into the house. I also take the opportunity to grab one of Darren’s old baseball bats we keep stored away under the stairs. At least now I’m not unarmed.

  “Mom?” Frank asks with a whisper.

  “What is it?”

  “We should pull out Dad’s gun for protection.”

  “Out of the question. I don’t know how to use it, and you’re too young.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing. We’re going to stay put here and keep quiet until the police arrive. Got it?”

  Frank eases back. I remember to breathe and take the opportunity to call Darren. The call goes straight through to his voice mail. I leave a panicked message and hope he gets it sooner than later.

  In the limited light from the dusty bulb that hangs low in the storage area, I see Frank give up on his idea to play hero as he quietly retreats into himself.

  All I can hope for now is that the police arrive before our house gets broken into.

  Twenty minutes later, my cell blares out loud, startling us both. A blocked number comes up. I assume it’s the police, so I answer. “Hello? Officer?”

  My words are met with some muffled sounds in the distance, as if someone is covering the microphone.

  “Hello?” I ask again. “Are you calling from the police station?”

  The line goes dead with a solid crack, sounding almost like a call from an old landline. Before I have time to understand what happened, my cell rings again, but this time with an actual number on my display.

  “Hello? Who the hell is this?”

  “Ma’am, my name is Sergeant Cole with the CPD. We received a report that you believe someone is trying to break into your home.”

  “Yes, that’s correct, sir. My son and I are in the basement with the door locked, as instructed.”

  “I see,” the officer says. “Well, we are parked in your driveway now. We will check out the exterior entries to your home and try to determine if anyone has broken in. Just stay put. I will call you once we get the all-clear.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I say. “The back gate is unlocked. Our Labrador, Bessie, is harmless, despite her bark.”

  “Not a problem, ma’am.”

  The line goes dead, allowing me time to let out a huge sigh of relief. I find myself leaning back into an old pile of bedding we never got around to taking to one of the charity drop-offs around town. I feel guilty about that while also enjoying the comfort of the material, despite the old smel
l filling the space.

  “So?” Frank asks.

  I slap my head, feeling stupid for not relaying the current happenings to him. I fill Frank in and take a moment to reassure him everything will be okay. Immediately after, my cell rings again. Cole asks if we can come to the front door. He and his partner can’t find any evidence of a break-in. I’m not sure whether that is a good thing or not.

  We climb back upstairs and head to the main entry. I ask Frank to stay back for his own safety while I slowly unlock the thick door. I open it only enough to let my head poke through. An officer in his fifties is standing in front of the house with a younger partner. The two men both have their hands close to their pistols.

  “Mrs. Turner?” the first man asks.

  “Yes, that’s me.” I see that two officers are standing not far from their white cruiser with the slogan, “Justice with honor” written on the rear side panel.

  “Sergeant Cole here,” he says as he puts one hand on his chest. “This is my partner, Officer Jordan. Is everything okay? May we come inside?”

  “Yes, I think so. Please come inside,” I say as I open the door the rest of the way.

  The two men take their hats off as they enter. They are wearing black uniforms that rattle with the numerous tools of the trade as they move into my house.

  “You reported a potential break-in. Would you like us to search your home for anything suspicious?”

  I think about it for a moment. “No, that’s okay, sir. If there is no sign of someone trying to break down the doors or windows, then everything is fine for now.”

  Cole purses his lips and nods. “Very well. Is there anything you would like to report? We were told you received a threatening message.”

  “Yes. I called you here today because I got a picture sent to my cell from an unknown contact. It was a photo of our house taken this morning as my husband left for work. It appears to have been taken by the bushes across the street.”

  I can hear Frank’s reaction to the description of the image sent to my phone. He is breathing faster than normal.

  “Okay,” Cole says without sounding too concerned. He’s probably seen it all, based on his age. He walks toward me, both hands holding his overloaded belt. “Can you show me this photo?”

  I nod with half a smile. “Yes. It’s on my phone.” I pull my cell from my pocket and navigate to the messages. An obstacle fills my stomach with concrete. “Wait, where is it?” I continue to search for the message. It should be showing up as the most recent one, but all I can find are texts from Darren, Frank, and some of my girlfriends. “This can’t be right.”

  “Let me have a look,” Frank says, sounding a little embarrassed. I hand it over and watch him go through my phone with absolute efficiency. He opens apps I didn’t even know exist and searches everywhere. No photo shows up.

  “I don’t understand,” I say. “It was there, plain as day.”

  “Did you save the attachment? Did you send it to your son, by chance?”

  I shake my head. “I never thought to.” I turn to Frank, realizing he never saw the photo. No one did.

  Cole clears his throat. “Unfortunately, ma’am, some criminals are now using technology that allows a threatening photo to delete itself after a short time automatically. They also make the image impossible to save digitally unless you take a picture of the message with another device.”

  “I had no idea. I thought . . . ” I trail off as a wave of embarrassment bigger than I believed possible hits me.

  “It’s fine, ma’am. Happens all the time. Regrettably, this means we have nothing for our report other than your statement. And I’ll be honest, this is not going to be a lot to go on.”

  The officer continues to tell me the futility of it all. All he suggests to me is that I should keep the doors locked and consider getting some security cameras installed. I want to kick myself as I continue to feel stupid.

  Once Cole finishes warning me about how little the CPD can do given the situation, he takes my statement, including what I saw last night after Frank went to bed.

  When the police finally leave, I lock the front door and fall in a heap, sliding down the entryway. I begin to cry like a young child and cover my face with both hands, knowing Frank is sitting in the kitchen, seeing it all.

  Twelve

  After.

  Doctor Shaw looks at me with her laser focus as I finish telling her about the first time the police were called to our house.

  “That must have been quite a blow,” she says, leaning toward me from her armchair.

  I shrug. “I guess so. With everything that followed, it doesn’t seem all that bad now. Funny when I think about it.”

  Shaw shakes her head. “It wasn’t funny, Emma. Nothing that happened to you can be regarded in that way. You are finding it odd now as a coping strategy. Unfortunately, this kind of mentality only gets worse the more you employ it. We can’t always trivialize our problems or shrug them off. Sometimes, they must be faced, head-on.”

  I find myself looking away from Shaw. I understand what she means, but I can’t help but feel like this is all one big joke. Why am I bothering with any of this? What happened could not be undone. No amount of talking would change that.

  I give the doctor what she wants by pretending to agree. She doesn’t appear to be convinced in any way and can see right through me.

  “We still have some time left today, so I wanted to ask you about your brother.”

  “James?”

  “Yes, James. He visited you earlier this morning. Is that correct?” Shaw studies me carefully, not allowing her eyes to leave my line of sight to blink.

  “Yes, I saw him today for the first time in five years.”

  “And how was that for you? It couldn’t have been easy.”

  “No, it wasn’t. Honestly, I’m surprised you people let him in here given my current state.”

  “Doctor Gaertner and I both agreed it would be good for you. We received word from James after the funeral that he wanted to speak with you and make things right again. Did you manage to patch things up at all?”

  “You might say that,” I let out. “I wouldn’t exactly say we are close again just yet, but some issues were brought to light. With enough time and effort, we could be brother and sister again, if that’s what he wants.”

  “Do you want that?”

  I shrug. “In my heart I do, but I’m not sure if I’m capable of trusting anyone.”

  Shaw nods as she jots something down in her notes. “What is holding you back at the moment from trusting him again?”

  I scoff. “It’s obvious, right? I mean, you know his history. You know that he took off after my father died. He’s unreliable. He’s also a recovering alcoholic, so you can understand why I don’t want to put what little faith I have left in humanity on the line.”

  Shaw stops writing and glances up at the clock as it ticks over to the hour. “That’s all we have time for today. We’ll pick this up again tomorrow.”

  I stand and head for the door. Doctor Shaw follows. She has to escort me back, as per normal. Before the door opens, she places one hand lightly on my shoulder.

  “Emma?”

  “Yes?” I answer, doing my best not to cringe away from her touch.

  “If you are uncomfortable with your brother visiting, just say the word, and we’ll tell him that now is not the right time.”

  I think about it for a moment. Seeing James was hard and added more stress to my crumbling mind. But at the same time, it felt amazing to reconnect with my brother, especially given what happened.

  “It’s okay,” I say. “I want to see him again. He can visit anytime.”

  She smiles at me. “Speaking of visits, we are slowly making progress toward that moment you are struggling to remember. When the time comes, we will ask him to come in for a visit, but not a second before. I want you to be ready to face him again after what happened.”

  I can sense my mind darting around in my h
ead as my breathing quickens. Shaw only ever refers to the one I saved as “him.” I remind myself to calm down and take a breath. I stare into Shaw’s eyes and nod, not knowing how else to react.

  Whether I want to face my demons or not, they are coming for me. It’s only a matter of time.

  Thirteen

  After my session, I decide to go outside for the first time. The ward I am forced to stay in has a small garden attached to it to allow us some time out in the winter sun and fresh air. Of course, most patients in the hospital are too paranoid to go outside, fearing invisible threats.

  As I step through the double doorway that leads out to the courtyard, a howling wind pierces through me in an instant, reminding me how cold the tail end of this winter has been. The hospital, despite its flaws, possesses reliable central heating.

  The chill is nothing compared to the sting of daylight. The clear sky above allows the sun to punch straight down into my retinas, forcing me to take a few moments to adjust.

  “First time’s a bitch, isn’t it?” asks a voice off to the side of the courtyard. I stare around at the source of the words and see a blurry patient wearing the same drab colors as me. I blink a few times to allow my eyes to adjust and see an older woman, maybe in her late forties, leaning against a tall, brick wall that no person could scale. She’s smoking in the corner like a teenager skulking behind the bleachers of their school, even though smoking is allowed.

  “I didn’t think it would hurt this much,” I say as I stumble toward her. My eyes start to refocus as I come within an acceptable social distance of the woman. She swaps her cigarette into her left hand so her right can extend out to greet me.

  “The name’s Andrea,” she says as a cloud of smoke billows out of her mouth.

  I accept her hand and give it a weak shake in return, not wanting her smoke-damaged fingers to stain me with their foul odor. When I pull back, I can sense the transference of stench on me. I’ll need to scrub my hands clean the second I can.