The Quiet Ones: A gripping psychological thriller by Betsy Reavley Page B

determined to lose myself in the music.
    Still on the ground, I remove my socks and let my bare feet feel the floor. The pine boards are cool and smooth below my pale white soles. I picture the floor once being trees, standing high and proud, leaves glistening under soft sunlight. I need to imagine them alive. There is too much death in my life.
    Picking up the wine bottle and getting to my feet, I move over to the rug in the centre of the room, in front of the Victorian fireplace, and start to dance. I can feel the base rise up from the floor, and my body moves in time with it.
    I start to feel better and swig more wine. After listening to a few songs, there appears to be a pause in the album. The tension builds in those few silent seconds and I prepare myself for what is about to come - Paint it Black.
    As the last drop of the drink falls from the bottle into my open mouth, the music strikes up. Like an earthquake, it shakes the room and the pictures on the walls. Closing my eyes, my body becomes a snake, the music my guide. I am entranced and possessed by another being. It feels strangely wonderful. The looming darkness has dissolved along with my sobriety.
     
    I wake up on the living room floor, clutching an empty wine bottle, a small puddle of dribble in the corner of my mouth. The phone is ringing and my head hurts. I push myself up off the ground with my arms and stretch my stiff neck. My knees crack as I finally stand and suddenly I feel old. The room spins as I search for the source of the ringing. Then I spot the phone, lying on the sofa and rush to answer. The movement makes me feel dizzy and I sink onto the sofa before pressing the button that will stop the dreaded noise drilling into my head.
    ‘Hello’ My voice sounds hoarse.
    ‘Hello, it’s …’
    There’s a pause, but I know who it is.
    ‘It’s Ailene.’
    ‘Oh, hi.’ My head is pounding.
    How long was I passed out on the floor for?
    ‘I didn’t really know who else to ring.’
    She sounds troubled.
    ‘What is it? What’s happened?’ A feeling of dread settles around me.
    ‘I was burgled.’
    ‘Shit. When?’ It sounds awful but for some reason, I am relieved. It could have been worse.
    ‘Yesterday.’
    Suddenly she sounds clipped and I realised I shouldn’t have sworn.
    ‘That’s terrible. Did they take much?’
    ‘No, that’s the strange thing. They broke in, made a mess then left. They didn’t take anything.’
    ‘Did they do much damage?’
    ‘Nothing that can’t be fixed. I called the police. They came out and said it was probably kids with nothing better to do.’
    ‘It sounds as though the police were right. Are you alright?’
    There is a long silence while she contemplates her answer.
    ‘I was very shaken at first. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before.’
    ‘It sounds horrid.’
    ‘I feel so… so… violated.’ There is a small crack in her voice. ‘To think that someone has been in my home, looking through my things. It makes me feel so upset that someone could do that. May God forgive them.’ Suddenly there is a tinge of Irish in her accent. ‘I don’t know what to do with myself. I don’t feel very safe here.’
    After our first meeting, I had wondered whether she was capable of showing any weakness. Now, I am grateful that she has.
    ‘You can come and stay here.’ I say without thinking.
    ‘Well, I …’ the cogs in her mind are turning and I instantly regret extending the invitation.
    ‘But, I’m sure you have somewhere else you’d rather go.’
    ‘Not really.’ She speaks quietly and sounds meek.
    ‘Oh.’ Do I really want her to come and stay? ‘I mean, you’re very welcome, I need to check with Charlie, but if you need a place…’ Panic begins to set in.
    ‘That’s very kind of you.’ Formality has returned to the conversation again. ‘Speak to your husband and have a think about it. You have my number. You can call me later today, or tomorrow.’
    I feel guilty at the thought