Poison Orchids: A darkly compelling psychological thriller Read online

  As she continued into the freezing cold room, her stomach twisted up. There was a set of short steps leading further down into the room. She took the steps at a steady pace, careful not to trip. At the bottom of the steps, Bronwen reached a second door with another padlock. She turned to Joe, and he nodded, still holding his handgun. Bronwen holstered her own weapon and retrieved Rodney White's second key. Her ears were filled with the incessant buzzing of the fans as she tried the key in the padlock. It unlocked.

  She retrieved her Glock once again and opened the door, keeping her gun high. It was unlikely anyone was here, but she couldn’t take any chances, and she didn't like the feel of the place.

  As the door swung wide, the chill hit her with its full force.

  The cold place.

  Bronwen was only vaguely aware of Joe moving behind her, despite his heavy footfall, she could barely hear them. Down here the sound of the fan was loud, blocking almost everything else out. She was on high alert now, listening carefully.

  “Make sure that door stays open,” Bronwen called out, suddenly imagining the two of them trapped inside this place. Who knew they were here apart from the rather unreliable Mrs Williams? Had she told anyone at the station?

  The place was pitch-black, so Bronwen groped in her belt for a torch, but just as she was removing it, Joe hit the light switch and the place lit up.

  “Holy fuck,” Joe exclaimed, taking the words out of Bronwen's mouth.

  “We need forensics in here,” Bronwen said, trying to stay calm.

  But it was hard to stay calm as she looked at the sight of the room. The room was square, windowless, and suffocating. In the space around her, Bronwen counted a dozen bodies. It wasn't the sight of the bodies that disturbed her, it was the way they were arranged. Every single one had been placed on a chair, held in position by restraints. They sat with their hands on their laps, with their clouded eyes open. Staring at her.

  10

  Hayley

  Hayley watched Dr Hibbett scribble something down on the clipboard, but she wasn't thinking about the doctor or whatever he was writing—she was thinking about Gemma. It was a couple of days since they'd both identified the keys as the ones that open the door to the cold place. What the police had found inside… she shuddered and tried to block it out.

  Gemma had made things sound different to what Hayley remembered, not that she was sure about anything anymore. Her memories still refused to emerge from the fog in her brain, and names and faces got all mixed together.

  Did Gemma go with her to the freezer? Or was it Rodney? Or was it someone else? She wasn’t sure, but what she did know was that seeing Gemma had made her feel stressed and afraid. Why did Gemma make her feel afraid? She knew there was a memory deep down in her mind. She wished she could push her hand through her skull and pull it out.

  She closed her eyes and imagined she was back at the farm with the sun on her skin. She felt calm and happy as long as she was back there. The cold place and Rodney White and everything else could be blocked out as long as she thought about the happiness she’d once felt.

  “Your vitals are good,” the doctor said, pulling Hayley from her thoughts. “But I'm still concerned about your memory loss. I think it's best that we keep you in for a little while longer.”

  “All right.”

  “Tomorrow we'll try out some cognitive tests. See if we can get the ball rolling.”

  “Fine.”

  Dr Hibbett placed the clipboard down at the end of the bed and crossed his arms. For the first time, Hayley really looked at him. He was young, mid-thirties, with a square jaw and green eyes. He was handsome, and that only made her feel even more uncomfortable, because now she could only think about what it would be like to have his hands on her skin and his mouth on hers, but all of that made her feel dirty. Why would she think of him like that so soon after what happened with Rodney? Was she sick and sadistic? Or just a slut?

  “Don't you want to get better?”

  “Not particularly,” she said. It was true. Why would anyone want to remember the horrible things that had happened? Why should she have to relive everything that Rodney White did to her? Every day she fought this battle. Part of her desperately needed to know what had happened and why, but at the same time she was too afraid to remember.

  And then there were those detectives and the psychologist forcing her to remember, making her feel guilty for not remembering. Making her want to help them. Every time they came into this room they helped her recollect yet another terrifying memory that her mind had blocked out. What else was lurking deep inside her mind?

  “This must be very difficult for you. But I know if it was me, I wouldn't want that man to have taken anything more than he already had from me. Especially not my memories.”

  “He hasn't taken anything from me,” Hayley snapped. “I'm still whole. I just don't want to remember.” Her words may have sounded strong, but deep down she felt fragile, and she wasn’t even sure the words were true. “Besides, I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

  But what did it matter now anyway? The police had basically closed the case, Rodney was dead, the bodies from the freezer room had been found, and they were working on identifying them. She felt sick every time she thought about the bodies. Why didn’t she remember them? All she could remember was the way that place had made her feel, and that was pure panic, like all her muscles were about to seize up.

  “Your parents are going to be here soon,” Dr Hibbett reminded her. “In less than twenty minutes in fact, depending on traffic. Are you looking forward to seeing them?”

  But Hayley didn't answer because her skin was hot all over and she felt like a porcupine was prodding her arms and legs. No. No. No. No. No. She couldn't face them. Not now, not like this. A deep sense of shame rippled through her, and she balled up the bedding in her fists. Suddenly, a searing pain ripped across her skull.

  “Hayley?”

  She was vaguely aware of Dr Hibbett rushing towards her and his hands on her shoulders.

  “Hayley, are you okay? Tell me where it hurts.”

  “Head,” she mumbled.

  “Have you hurt yourself?”

  His fingers probed her skull. As his fingers touched her, she pulled herself away, her stomach roiling with nausea. Her muscles tensed at his touch, and that feeling of shame returned. Shame because a man had his hands on her and instead of being repulsed, she almost felt comforted.

  He stepped away, and she tried to relax. When the pain was finally over, Hayley leaned back against the pillows and wiped away sweat with the back of her hand. The headache wasn't anything to do with the head injury she suffered—this was different. It came from stress.

  “Can you describe the pain for me?” Dr Hibbett asked. A nurse had also rushed into the room ready to administer extra pain relief should it be needed.

  “Sharp. Radiating over my skull,” Hayley answered. “It doesn't last very long though.”

  “Have you ever felt pain like this before? Before the accident, I mean.”

  “Yes,” she said. “I used to get bad headaches when I was at school.” She hesitated, not wanting to relive those awful years. “I went to the doctor, but he told me they were stress related and to take ibuprofen. But they never worked. Sometimes I'd be in bed for hours at a time with the curtains drawn because sunlight hurt my eyes.”

  Dr Hibbett retrieved his clipboard and started writing again. “Did you notice any stiffness in your neck? Loss of vision? Visual phenomena, such as seeing shapes? Difficulty speaking or numbness?”

  “None of the above. Don't worry, they checked the migraine checklist too. No, it was really bad tension headaches. Exam stress, that kind of thing. I guess I’m just that uptight.” She gave a lopsided smile, feeling more and more like an idiot as Dr Hibbett assessed her with his eyes. “They tested me for everything—brain tumours, eye problems, the lot.”

  “Perhaps these headaches are your body's way of dealing with stressful or traumatic ev
ents. I'm sorry that we can't do much for them, but if your doctor in England had you tested for a physical cause, it sounds like it might be psychological. I would firmly suggest seeking help from a trained therapist.” He raised his eyebrows to convey seriousness, no doubt used to receiving an eye roll whenever the word 'therapist' was thrown into a conversation.

  “I will, thanks,” Hayley replied.

  As Dr Hibbett turned to leave, Hayley leaned forward in her bed and reached out as though to grab him. “Wait.”

  The doctor turned around with a neutral smile on his face. “Yes?”

  “I don't want to see my parents yet.”

  “They've travelled a long way, Hayley.”

  There were voices in the hallway, distracting him. He kept glancing at the door. Her head hurt again. It was all too much, and she couldn't cope.

  “My head still hurts,” she said. Her hands flew up to her face, rubbing tears from her hot eyes before catching hold of her hair and tugging on it.

  The door opened.

  “Hayley?”

  There was her mother, five foot six, her face made up with precision, and her hair volumized to perfection. There was her usual skirt suit in stylish tweed and a silk scarf around her neck. There was her dad, with his left hand in the pocket of his smart chinos, and a polo-neck shirt open at the collar. Both of them were tall as houses to her, and she couldn't bear them staring down at her.

  “Hi,” Hayley said quietly. She tugged on her hair again, without realising, and her mother reached out to take her hand in a firm grip.

  “Hayley, stop that right now.” Pamela Edwards knew how to raise her voice in a classy way. Hayley never heard her mother scream or shout, but she'd seen her raise her voice to command respect and fear. “What is this nonsense?”

  “I… I can’t see you today. I’m sorry.” She forced herself to place her hands on her lap.

  “What are you talking about, sweetheart?” Her father tried to place a hand on Hayley’s cheek, but she turned her head away.

  The look of hurt on her father's face made Hayley wince, but only for a moment. She thought about her headaches, and she thought about the day she’d run away from home to get away from them. From their schedules, and their private tutors, all the mounting university pressure. They’d expected so much of her, and she’d failed. Here she was, broken and dirty, a failure as always.

  “Please. Make them leave,” Hayley begged.

  “But I thought you wanted them to come?” Dr Hibbett stared at her in surprise.

  “I was wrong.” Hayley pushed her blotchy face into the palms of her hands. “I was wrong.” She rocked back and forth. “I was so wrong. So wrong.”

  Somewhere at the end of the room, Dr Hibbett said, “Perhaps it's best you wait outside for now.”

  11

  Megan

  Megan sat at the desk in her office, trying to avoid looking at the towering pile of folders. She’d put everything that she could put on hold aside, so that she could concentrate on the freezer room case.

  The attention surrounding the case had been like an avalanche. Media from around the world had descended on Katherine. They were universally flustered to find a small town of friendly people in the middle of vast, empty plains—not some hotbed of murder.

  The two girls were at the centre of it all. They had to know so many of the shocking details about the freezer room, but they were largely unable to tell anything. Megan fiercely wanted to protect them. But at the time, she knew the police had their job to do and they needed the girls to talk.

  The problem was, the more she spoke with Gemma and Hayley, the more a divide was appearing—not only in their stories but between themselves. They were even blaming each other. What really happened in the months before they were picked up on the highway? Were they the victims that they seemed? Neither of the girls exhibited the classic signs of lying, but at the same time, there was something worryingly artificial in a few of the things they’d said.

  She began a file on the girls, writing up a quick summary of what she knew so far. She always started a file on a client by jotting down what she thought intuitively—more of a mind map than anything else. The clinical analyses would come later.

  Hayley: Suffering from a head injury and memory loss. Head injury was diagnosed as minor. Unable to give much of an account of what happened to her. Her mentions of the farm where she worked seem unrealistically glowing. Her hands and arms don’t show the same kind of damage from mango sap that Gemma’s show. Changes her story slightly under suggestion. Is she lying or just confused? Is she pretending that her memory loss is much worse than what is actually is?

  Gemma: Was able to give an account of what happened to them both, but some details are hazy or missing. Her story about being locked away in a shed for months doesn’t match with the girls’ tans. Appears afraid of Hayley but won’t say why. It’s possible that Hayley chose or was forced to do things that hurt Gemma in some way. Gemma shows distinct signs of avoiding a traumatic memory in relation to the freezer room. Is she telling deliberate lies or shielding herself from further pain?

  Opening her laptop, Megan tried looking up the girls on social media. She wanted a more rounded view of them, which was something she’d been unable to gain. So far, there’d been no one else to talk to who knew them.

  Hayley was on Facebook. But there were scarcely any of the usual teenage-girl pictures—no images of her blowing duckface kisses with groups of girlfriends. Instead there were photos of her at expensive European resorts with her parents. There was one photo of her in a one-piece swimsuit and oversize sunglasses, lounging on a yacht in Sorrento, Italy. She looked bored.

  Who could possibly be bored there? Megan would have died and gone to heaven to have gone somewhere like that when she was in her teens. But she had to admit that she had no idea what Hayley’s life had been like. Things that looked good from the outside were sometimes rotten underneath.

  One of the most recent images was of Hayley with her arms clasped around a young man. Megan guessed he was the guy who Hayley said had ditched her in Thailand. Her Facebook profile hadn’t been updated for months. Megan peered at the man. He had the look she despised—rich and smug. Hayley was also on Instagram, but those photos were mostly of her pets—a dog and cat that were both white fluffy balls of fur.

  She looked up Gemma next. Gemma proved much harder to find, but Megan eventually found some of her old accounts. She’d uploaded a few illustrations to art sites when she was a few years younger. There was one picture of her camping by a river with what looked like her father and brother—Gemma hugging a cattle dog.

  Her phone buzzed. It was Bronwen, wanting to know if she could go and chat with Hayley’s parents and fill them in on everything. They’d just been in to see Bronwen, but she hadn’t had much time available to spend with them. Bronwen added that Hayley’s reunion with her parents had been hairy.

  Megan jumped at the chance. She put away the file she’d been working on and headed straight over to the hospital.

  The hospital café was empty but for a few people. An elderly woman knitted in a corner. A youngish man in work overalls sat with a gaudy, cellophane-covered gift basket filled with teddy bears on the chair next to him. Megan guessed he'd just become a father. And there was an older couple sitting hunched together, anxiously stirring their cups of tea.

  The couple had to be Hayley’s parents. She could easily spot the mother-daughter resemblance.

  Introducing herself, she joined them at their table and then proceeded to fill them in on what had been happening with their daughter over the past few days. They’d already heard the most sordid of the details in the news and from the British police officer who’d first contacted them.

  “I'm at a complete loss,” said Mrs Edwards, toying with a spoon with her manicured nails. “This isn't like Hayley at all.”

  “Tell me, what is Hayley like?” Megan held her in a direct gaze. “I've only known her in the aftermath of this awf
ul thing. I’d like to help her, and to do that, I need to know more about her.”

  Mrs Edwards nodded. “She's a very driven, academic young girl with a bright future. Goodness, we have a whole room filled with awards she’s won.”

  “What about her personally? Her character?” Megan asked.

  “Well, she can lose focus at times, which is why we have to keep her on track.” Mrs Edwards's chin dimpled as her mouth turned down. “Like this whole business about running off with that boy. I mean, she didn’t have time for that. She was meant to be finishing her second year of university. But the two of them ran away together leaving us worried sick. We haven’t heard from her for months and now she’s here, in Australia. How did any of this happen?”

  Mr Edwards sipped at his tea, his face screwing up into a bitter expression that Megan guessed wasn't caused by the tea. “This whole episode has been rather tawdry. From start to finish. I can’t believe our girl got mixed up in it.”

  “It wasn’t Hayley’s fault that she was abducted by Rodney White,” Megan hastened to say.

  But his expression remained unchanged. “She was hitchhiking. Hitchhiking!”

  Megan expected Mrs Edwards to admonish her husband, but she merely nodded at him. “It’s like she just threw away everything we gave her.”

  Megan decided it was best to change the topic—as much for her own sake as anything because she felt anger swiftly rising inside herself. Maybe Hayley wasn’t exaggerating about her parents after all. “So you didn’t hear from Hayley after she started work at the mango farm?”

  “No, she was very neglectful,” Mr Edwards told her then frowned. “But come to think of it, I did hear a couple of things secondhand. I bumped into a friend of hers at the shops—Alice. Hayley and Alice were best of friends all through their schooling at Queen Margaret’s, you see. Hayley told her she'd been picking mangoes with a terrific bunch of people. I can’t imagine why a bunch of random backpackers were so terrific, but there you have it. Hayley was apparently worried that the mango season was ending in a couple of weeks and she didn't know what she was going to do after that. She should have just come home, that’s what she should have done.”