The Quiet Ones: A gripping psychological thriller by Betsy Reavley Read Free Book Online

said anything. They told me not to but I didn’t want you hearing it from a stranger. Josie, it’s just terrible. I am so sorry.’
    ‘Did you see them?’ I am running on autopilot.
    ‘Who?’
    ‘The bodies. Did you see their bodies?’
    ‘No. Goodness no. They were in bags.’ The thought turns my blood cold.
    ‘So, you didn’t see Mum and Dad?’
    ‘No, but …’
    ‘So, it might not be them.’ I interrupt.
    ‘Josie, well I …’ She doesn’t know what to say.
    ‘It might not be them.’
    ‘Josie, they said it was a couple, found in the master bedroom,’
    ‘But it might not be them.’ I repeat. There is a long silence.
    ‘The police are on their way to you now, love. I think you need to talk to them.’
    ‘OK, Margaret. I was going to go shopping but I think I should wait for them.’ My words sound as absent as they feel.
    ‘Yes, I think that’s a good idea.’
    ‘OK, yes, I’ll wait here.’
    ‘Alright, love. Are you on your own?’
    ‘Charlie is at work.’ My words come on autopilot.
    ‘I think you should call him. Tell him what’s happened. You shouldn’t be alone,’
    ‘He’s got meetings.’
    ‘Call him, Josie.’
           ‘OK.’ Another long silence follows.
           ‘I am so sorry.’ She says at last. ‘You have my number. If there is anything I can do…’
           ‘I’ll be fine.’ I pick a piece of fluff off my knee and watch it float down to the carpet.
           ‘Call Charlie, love. Promise me?’
           ‘Yes. I will. See you soon. Bye.’ I hang up and stare at the piece of grey fluff on the carpet for a long time and wonder where it came from. It looks like cat hair.
    I decide the room could do with a good hoover. Moving with purpose, I go into the hall and pull our old Hoover out from a cupboard under the stairs but my mind is somewhere else. It has left my body.
    I plug in the Hoover, start to suck up the dirt, dust and fluff that life produces, hardly noticing the roar the machine makes. I work hard pushing the head backwards and forwards over the same spot until I’m convinced it’s clean. I should do this more often, I scold myself, before I succumb to a sudden wave of exhaustion. My legs feel frail and sweat drips down my temples. I sit down on the floor, my legs crossed. I notice my hands are trembling, like they do sometimes. Of course, my hands are trembling. My parents are dead .
    Without really knowing I’m doing it, I reach for the phone and dial Charlie’s work number. His mobile will be set to silent. There are three rings before someone answers. It’s a young woman’s voice.
    ‘I need to speak to Charlie.’
    ‘May I ask who’s calling?’
    ‘His wife.’
    ‘One moment please…’ Gentle jazz plays while I hold. The noise is as irritating as a fly.
    ‘I’m afraid he’s in a meeting at the moment. Would you like to leave a message?’
    ‘Tell him to call me at home. It’s urgent.’
    ‘Right, OK,’
    I hang up before she has a chance to finish and remain sitting on the carpet next to the discarded Hoover. My hand is gripping the phone, willing it to ring. I stare at it, frozen in time. The numbers on the buttons are all swirling into a blur. I am finally brought back to earth with the ringing.
    Answering the phone, I wonder what I’d say to anyone who wasn’t Charlie. Sorry can’t speak now; my parents have been killed.
    ‘Hello?’
    ‘Jo, hi. Is everything all right? I got an urgent message to call.’
    ‘I had a call from Margaret. She said the police are on their way. I don’t think I can do this alone. Please come home.’
    ‘Who’s Margaret? What are you talking about?’
    ‘Mum and Dad’s cleaner. She said there was a break in.’ A lump returns to my throat. ‘They found two bodies at the house. It might be Mum and Dad.’
    There is a long silence and I wonder if I’m imagining the phone call.
    ‘I’m coming right back. Don’t do anything. Sit down and wait till I get home.’ His