Trance Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2019 by Adam Southward

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781542093651 (hardcover)

  ISBN-10: 1542093651 (hardcover)

  ISBN-13: 9781503958661 (paperback)

  ISBN-10: 1503958663 (paperback)

  Cover design by kid-ethic

  To Kerry, Isla and Daisy, with love.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER ONE

  The professor kneeled with care to avoid the blood, which was already pooling on the cheap classroom lino, and placed his hand on the woman’s shoulder, wincing at the warm sticky fluid. He looked into her eyes and she blinked. She tried to speak, gasping as her throat bubbled with blood. Her lips parted but the words never came. The sight of her life slipping away caused the professor’s stomach to cramp, and he tensed with pain. Tears blurred his vision, but he was powerless to save her.

  Who was she? He recognised her face, but couldn’t place the name. She had pale, lined skin and red lips. Her hair was short and dark with specks of grey; a floral scarf was tied loosely around her neck. A colleague, perhaps. Or one of his students? So many people passed through his faculty on a daily basis, he couldn’t remember everyone.

  He glanced at his watch. He was late. His wife had tickets that evening to a performance at London’s South Bank. It was starting at seven o’clock. Elgar’s Symphony No. 2 was his favourite piece and he hummed it now, hitting the notes with satisfaction, as is only possible to do when music plays in your head. The music stopped with a sharp pain through his right eye.

  The woman moved, her right leg twitching, but it was wet, bloody. He watched her movements slow as her breathing quickened into shorter, shallower gasps. She was bleeding from several wounds to her chest, and her eyes were glazed. She was still alive.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered, and with his right hand he grasped the knife, pulling it clear. With a deep breath and all the effort he could muster, he forced it into her chest again.

  It was a kitchen knife, serrated but blunt, and he pulled it out with a shaking hand. He couldn’t remember where the knife had come from, but it looked old. He frowned as the blood dripped from the plastic handle on to his wrist and under his watch strap.

  The professor touched the woman’s cheek, leaving a smear, ruining her make-up, but she was dead now so it didn’t matter. Besides, the panic was coming in waves and he was forced to stand, head up, gulping air into his lungs, trying to push the bile back into his throat.

  The classroom was large, dark but for the illumination provided by the streetlights outside the northern window. The tables had been arranged in a loose U-shape for seminars, but it was a mess, tables and chairs strewn at various angles. It would take a while to put right.

  A few feet away from the woman lay an elderly gentleman, face down between the tables. The table legs had marked the floor – black lines where the man had lashed out, desperate to escape. The gentleman was the professor’s assistant head of faculty and a brilliant scientist. They had worked together for twenty years. He was dressed, as always, in a formal suit, with a black tie and polished brogues. His grey side parting was still in place, although his glasses lay shattered, one of the arms snapped and resting on his cheek. He was already dead. The professor had stabbed him four times in the back. He was supposed to be the only one, but the woman had turned up and interrupted him. What choice did he have?

  The professor stared at the broken glasses for several seconds before the nausea became unbearable. He turned his head to fight it, looking away from the two prone bodies, hyperventilating as his confusion spiralled. Glancing at the wall, a picture of Jung stared back at him. He’d hung the poster himself, along with the others. It was above the shelf of neatly stacked first-year texts, still in their place.

  The poster of Jung blurred as fresh tears welled in the professor’s eyes. He groaned as his chest tightened.

  He looked over to the classroom doorway, desperate for help, but the dark figure in the corridor shook his head, just as he had done earlier, and muttered something under his breath, before stepping forwards into the light.

  The figure emerging from the shadows was slight, but plump, dressed in a sloppy suit with scuffed shoes. His head was polished bald and his glasses were perched on the end of his nose. His eyes were fixed, his stare holding the professor’s mind in an unyielding grip.

  The figure remained in the corridor and whispered a few words, reeled off quickly. The whisper hissed across the space between them like a breath of wind, and although the professor couldn’t make out the words, the fog cleared in his head, the confusion channelling into purpose. The nausea was still there, and the bile rose in the professor’s throat once again. His legs filled with static as the suggestions were planted into his consciousness. He knew what he must do, and the realisation filled him with terror.

  The wave of panic caused his head to spin. He staggered, grabbing the nearest table. It screeched on the floor and he nearly fell, but stood his ground.

  ‘Why?’ said the professor, his voice rasping. ‘Please?’

  But the man shook his head, whispering again, making the instruction cle
ar.

  The professor pleaded, begging, but was met with a sharp pain in his temples. Each time he cried out the pain increased. He asked for mercy, but it was no use, and he lowered his eyes in resignation. There was nothing he could do. He had no control.

  The man backed away into the darkness, becoming a shadow once more, standing in wait.

  The words jostled in the professor’s mind, seeking their place, settling in the cracks, happy they’d found their target. The professor fought but the suggestions planted themselves firmly in the bedrock of his consciousness so that they became part of him, and their power was absolute. They told him what to do, and he did it.

  He had no choice.

  The professor found the knife went into his own neck more easily, and although he could feel the tugging in his throat, the pain was distant, dull and unimportant. He was aware of the blood pouring from his arteries, but it registered as a detached sensation, the metallic smell alerting his nostrils, but triggering nothing else.

  Within a few seconds he was too weak to stand, and his legs folded. He slumped, first to his knees, then his side. All the while his eyes were fixed on the figure in the doorway. The man who smiled, and spoke again to him, even as his hearing began to fail.

  The last thing the professor saw before closing his eyes was the man pull up a chair. He sat, looking exhausted, holding his head. His right foot tapped on the floor.

  The professor made out one last whisper from the man in the doorway. It was in a foreign tongue, and at first he didn’t understand it, but then the recognition came. Te iert. I forgive you. The language was familiar, and it brought a rush of memories, long suppressed, to the front of his mind. He knew now why the man had come, and he knew what was happening. He also knew it was too late to stop him.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Dr Alex Madison woke at 6 a.m., aching and groggy. The alarm clock had failed to go off – because he’d forgotten to set it. He pushed himself up and yawned, flexing his neck muscles, trying to ease the stiffness out of his back.

  He felt washed out, tired and gloomy. Too much red wine and not enough quality sleep. Alex slid open the bedside drawer and reached for his pills. He stared at the packet, willing himself to put them back as he did every morning. Just one, he thought, to settle him into the day. He popped it out of the foil and swallowed it dry.

  Jane lay next to him on her front, naked, sheets around her knees. Her blonde bob covered the side of her face, almost perfectly sculpted into place. Alex stared, willing himself to feel aroused, willing himself to manage more than six months of a relationship before getting to this point. He watched the back of her head, wondering what went on in it, wondering if he cared.

  Jane arched her back and rolled over. ‘You were home late,’ she said, wiggling her hips. ‘Fancy staying in bed for a bit?’

  ‘I can’t,’ Alex said with a frown. ‘Sorry. Work.’

  Jane huffed, blowing a strand of hair out of her face.

  Alex saw the flash of hurt in her eyes. ‘I would love to, honestly,’ he said, ‘but I can’t today. New referral. Maybe in a few weeks things will calm down.’

  It was only half a lie. He didn’t want to stay in bed, but he did have a new work assignment. That said, he could have taken the opportunity to finally break things off and ask Jane to leave. He owed her that much.

  As it was, Jane sighed and rolled back over, closing her eyes.

  Alex watched her, tracing the lines of her legs, over her buttocks and the small of her back. Her breathing was shallow, the tension clear in her shoulders. She was upset, angry, probably both. They’d performed this routine for weeks now, as Alex steadily demolished their relationship. She still tried. He’d pretty much given up.

  He reached out, placing his hand on her back. Her soft skin tensed, then relaxed. She didn’t move. He paused, staring at her, mentally checking off the things he should say, before withdrawing his hand. He stood and the bed rocked slightly.

  ‘See you later,’ he said, backing out of the bedroom, grabbing his robe from the hook on the door.

  After a quick shower, Alex slipped on his suit, grabbed his phone and wallet and headed downstairs to make coffee. Another two missed calls from Grace. He checked his watch. He had time to call before breakfast.

  ‘Alex,’ Grace answered, her voice conveying the usual disappointment in him.

  ‘You called,’ said Alex, stirring three heaped sugars into his coffee.

  ‘I call a lot,’ said Grace, ‘because our daughter is a busy girl and needs at least some input from her dad. You don’t often answer.’

  This was true, although Alex loved Katie and tried to be available. However, Grace frequently called late or at the crack of dawn. He suspected she knew he wouldn’t be able to pick up, giving her the higher ground from which to judge him. He deserved it, every bit, but it didn’t mean he liked it.

  ‘I can’t answer if I’m asleep and my phone’s switched off,’ said Alex, picking up several stray grains of sugar from the worktop and dropping them carefully into the sink.

  ‘Do you ever switch your phone off?’ said Grace. ‘That other woman managed to get hold of you night and day when we were married. Or have you forgotten?’

  Alex hadn’t forgotten, and was seldom able to suppress the waves of guilt when Grace brought it up. He had his excuses, albeit poor ones, but Grace had enough examples for the rest of their natural lives.

  ‘How can I help?’ said Alex. ‘What do you need? Can I speak to Katie?’

  ‘You could have done,’ said Grace, ‘if you’d called back two days ago when I first called you. She’s gone to the New Forest, camping. A place near Lyndhurst. I told you about this.’

  She was right. She had told him.

  ‘I don’t remember you telling me,’ said Alex, annoyed he’d missed her. ‘Does she have her phone?’

  ‘No mobiles except in emergencies. It’s a back-to-nature forest school. They can’t very well keep the kids’ attention if they’re all on Instagram. Mobiles stay in the tents.’

  ‘Sounds dangerous,’ said Alex, thinking that it sounded wonderful and exactly the sort of thing children her age should be doing.

  ‘Apparently people camped before mobile phones and the Internet,’ said Grace. ‘The teachers will call if anything happens. It’s safe, OK?’

  ‘OK,’ said Alex. ‘So—’

  ‘I was calling about a couple of things.’ Grace sounded reluctant. The hostility was gone and Alex knew this was about money. He paid Grace child support, over and above the court order, but as a single mum there were always expenses. Alex wished she didn’t feel guilty about asking.

  ‘First thing, the trip was expensive,’ said Grace. ‘Nothing I can’t handle, but I wondered if you’d like to contribute – you know, so we can say both her mum and her dad made it possible?’

  Grace’s tone was cutting, but he deserved it. Alex had always promised himself never to screw up his family. He’d hated men who broke up happy families. The kids never deserved it. Katie didn’t deserve it.

  ‘Grace,’ he said, ‘tell me how much a reasonable contribution would be and I’ll transfer it right now. You know it’s not a problem.’

  ‘Easy, Alex,’ said Grace, the hostility edging back in. ‘Money only gets you so far.’

  Alex swallowed. What a crappy start to the morning.

  ‘But three hundred should cover it,’ said Grace. ‘I had to pay for everything on the credit card.’

  Alex wrote ‘Grace – £500’ on a notepad. ‘It’ll be with you today.’

  ‘The second thing,’ said Grace, ‘is when she gets back she wants to come and stay with you.’

  Alex’s frown disappeared and he smiled. ‘With me?’

  ‘Just for a few days,’ said Grace. ‘I said it was OK.’

  Alex took a deep breath and the knot in his stomach relaxed. After the rather messy separation, they’d agreed Grace’s home was best for Katie. She had been eight years old and needed stability more t
han anything else. Alex took her out for midweek dinners and she stayed with him sometimes at the weekend, but it was difficult to make time around his busy work schedule and her burgeoning social life. She was now twelve and her days off from school were filled with piano lessons, gymnastics, parties and friends. Now that Katie had a phone, they sent each other texts and jokes, and had catch-up calls a couple of times a week. He knew he had been a disappointment as a husband, but he wanted to be a good father.

  Alex thought of Jane, still upstairs. He realised he didn’t want Jane here when Katie came to stay. Jane was so different to Grace – what would that suggest to Katie? Having a woman in his bed suggested some kind of permanence or commitment he didn’t want Katie to believe in. Not now, and not with Jane. He wanted Katie’s visit to feel safe and secure and, above all, normal. Jane couldn’t be part of it.

  ‘That would be wonderful,’ he said. ‘Thank you, Grace.’ He meant it. His heart melted at the thought of Katie. He tried to swallow the guilt away but it tugged at the back of his throat. When it came to family, he was a disaster.

  Grace was silent for a few moments. ‘It’s time she did,’ she said. ‘I can’t forgive a lot of the things you did, but neither can I keep you and Katie apart. I don’t want to.’

  ‘When?’ said Alex.

  ‘Not for two weeks,’ said Grace. ‘She’s away for a week and a half, then she’ll need a couple of days to recover and clean the mud from her ears and fingernails.’

  Alex smiled. Two weeks. His new case might be over by then, one way or the other, and he could take a few days off. His private psychology patients could be rescheduled, and he was already making plans in his head: the science and natural history museums, the theatre, the zoo. Had she been on the Eye? Katie had spent all her life in London. When Alex and Grace split, Grace had kept the family house in Ealing, and Alex had moved north into Harrow. Perhaps it would be good to take her out of the city, to the country or maybe the beach. They could head to the south coast and hit Brighton.

  ‘Sounds perfect,’ said Alex. ‘I can’t wait.’

  Silence at the other end, followed by Grace clearing her throat. ‘And you’re OK, Alex?’ she said. ‘I heard you’d taken a case. Back with the police?’