Close Your Eyes: A gripping psychological thriller with a killer twist!

They didn’t have a care in the world. Not one.

After they had passed and I could no longer hear the baseline of whatever track they were listening to, I stepped out of the shadows. The road, town and sky were all silent. Poor Sean hadn’t been discovered yet. If he had, there would be more happening. Stuffing my hands into my pyjama pockets, and keeping my head low, just in case someone saw my muddy, bloodied face, I headed towards my mum’s. Most of the houses were in total darkness but a few had upstairs lights on. One had light coming from the lounge and another from the window directly above. I saw through a gap in the curtains that it was a nightlight making stars on the ceiling. There was a baby in that house. Asleep, and warm. His or her parents safe in the knowledge that no harm would come to them. I hoped that would always be the case. Walking away I forced back a tear. There wasn’t time for that now. I could cry tears of joy once I had them back.

A few minutes later I was at my mum’s front door. I took my keys out of my pocket and let myself in, closing the door quietly behind me.

Chapter 12 (#ulink_831ca03a-99ce-5e94-951c-6594f6d3ade8)

Daniel

Stamford

2

January 2018, 1.58 a.m.

Mum was asleep, I could hear her heavy breathing as I moved around the house. I looked up the stairs as some light spilled over the top, coming from her room. Her TV was still on but whatever programme she had been watching on catch-up had finished. I knew this because she had always fallen asleep this way, ever since I could remember at least. Quietly, I moved into the kitchen and pulled the door to. I turned on the light and it blinded me temporarily. I knew I needed to wake her up and talk about the things we never spoke of, but I needed her not to get upset. She had to be able to think, remember something that would tell me what I had done. Seeing me in the state I was wouldn’t help. With the light on I could see myself clearly in the kitchen window. My lip was worse than I had thought and opening my mouth I could see I had also broken one of my front teeth. I ran a tea towel under the tap and pressed it on the cut. The cold water slapped against the exposed nerve sending white heat through my jaw. I wanted to cry out, but I took a deep breath. Then something from the depths of my brain told me what to do.

Super glue.

I had no idea where the thought came from, and at first didn’t know what it meant. But then I thought about it. Glue would stop the bleeding and cover the exposed nerve. I didn’t know why I knew that. Rummaging through Mum’s junk draw I found a small tube of it and going into the toilet under the stairs I pinched my bottom lip together and applied some. My hands shook as I did, the tube slipping in my fingers as my blood ran onto them. I continued to pinch for another minute and then let go. It seemed to work.

Opening my mouth I then applied some to my front tooth which hurt so much that my vision blurred. Using sticky, crimson fingers I rubbed it in, forming a layer over my broken tooth. I could feel my pulse throbbing through my whole face. Eventually it began to die down enough for me to look at myself in the mirror. I looked a mess, my skin covered in blood and dirt, but better than a few minutes before. I rinsed my face and looked again. It would have to do for the moment.

‘Hello?’

Mum’s voice called out from the top of the stairs, sleepy and on edge. A hint of fear bleeding through.

‘Mum, it’s me,’ I called up, my words slurring as the swelling in my face had begun to flare.

‘Daniel? Oh God, Daniel what are you doing? I thought someone was breaking in. Are you okay?’

I didn’t know how to respond, instead I pretended I hadn’t heard her and went into the kitchen and waited, knowing she would come downstairs. When she walked in, she stepped back, covering her hand with her mouth.

‘Daniel, what’s happened to your face?’

‘Something’s happened, Mum, something terrible.’

Mum came towards me to look at my cut, but I stepped away, I didn’t have the strength to keep my emotions in if she touched me.

‘Daniel, what’s happened?’

‘Mum, sit down.’

She did as I asked, looking at me with tenderness and fear mixed in equal measure. I could see her holding her breath, waiting.

‘Mum?’ I began slowly, frightened of what I was about to ask. ‘What’s my name?’

‘What?’

‘What’s my name?’

I saw a reaction in her. It was small but noticeable, my question had shocked her rather than confused.

‘Daniel, we need to get you to a doctor.’

‘I haven’t got time.’

‘What do you mean, “time”? Daniel, what’s going on?’

‘Mum, please, just tell me the truth, for once.’ I sounded exasperated, desperate, my voice on the verge of breaking.

‘I don’t understand what you’re asking.’ She looked away from me, not able to meet my gaze. I struggled to hide my shock at seeing that she knew I knew something.

‘Yes you do, Mum. You do, and I know it. I need you to tell me. What’s my real name?’

‘It’s the middle of the night, Daniel, you’re bleeding. Why does that matter?’ she asked, standing and taking a step away from me, busying herself by digging out a first-aid kit from under the sink and putting it on the table beside us.

I couldn’t look at her, I could barely get the words out at a whisper. I felt if I said what I said next any louder I would lose the fragile composure I was keeping.

‘Thomas has been taken.’

‘What?’ She stopped and looked up at me, her mouth agape. As I spoke I did so slowly in an attempt to make it clear and hold my composure. But as the words fell from my mouth they came out as a sob.

‘Mum, someone’s taken my little boy.’

‘What do you mean? Daniel, what do you mean someone’s taken him?’ Her voice became louder, started cracking.

‘And Rachael. Someone’s taken Thomas and Rachael.’

‘Taken? What do you mean “taken”?’ She turned frantic and fidgeted, her voice high-pitched and breathy.

‘And they’ve told me they will hurt them unless I return something to them.’

‘Who’s “them”, Daniel, who?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Daniel, you need to go to the police. Why haven’t you rung the police?’

She stepped away to grab her phone, but I got up and stopped her, taking her firmly by the hand.

‘Mum, they killed Sean.’

I watched the colour drain from her face, mirroring my own. As I spoke I did so at barely a whisper, as if by saying it quietly it might not be true.

‘They said if I go to the police they’ll kill them too.’

She tried to say something but just the sound of her breath escaping came. ‘They said I have something that belongs to them. Something from the time I can’t remember.’