Pressure: a dark and disturbing psychological thriller Read online

  Pressure

  Betsy Reavley

  Bloodhound Books

  Copyright © 2018 Betsy Reavley

  The right of Betsy Reavley to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First published in 2018 by Bloodhound Books

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  www.bloodhoundbooks.com

  Contents

  Also by Betsy Reavley

  The Pica Explorer Floor Plan

  Prologue

  1. Child

  2. The Pica Explorer

  3. Zara

  4. The Pica Explorer

  5. Ray

  6. Child

  7. The Pica Explorer

  8. Patrick

  9. The Pica Explorer

  10. Dominique

  11. Child

  12. The Pica Explorer

  13. The Pica Explorer

  14. Anya

  15. The Pica Explorer

  16. Sam

  17. The Pica Explorer

  18. Child

  19. Frank

  20. The Pica Explorer

  21. Child

  22. Fiona

  23. The Pica Explorer

  24. Child

  25. The Pica Explorer

  26. Child

  27. Luke

  28. The Pica Explorer

  29. Child

  30. The Pica Explorer

  31. Child

  32. The Pica Explorer

  33. Susie

  34. Child

  35. The Pica Explorer

  36. Child

  37. The Pica Explorer

  38. Child

  39. The Pica Explorer

  40. Child

  41. The Pica Explorer

  42. The Pica Explorer

  43. The Pica Explorer

  A Note from Bloodhound Books:

  Beneath The Watery Moon

  Carrion

  The Quiet Ones

  The Optician’s Wife

  Frailty

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Betsy Reavley

  Beneath The Watery Moon

  Carrion

  The Quiet Ones

  The Optician’s Wife

  Frailty

  Praise for Betsy Reavley

  “An addictive, compelling read that pushed me well out of my comfort zone - if you like disturbingly twisty plot lines and dark characters then this is definitely the read for you.” Lisa Hall, Author of the best selling psychological thriller Between You and Me

  "The Optician's Wife is a stylish, brilliantly crafted thriller which really delivers. A very real sense of creeping dread, combined with intelligent, finely drawn characters, had me turning the pages late into the night. This one will linger with you, long after the book is finished. Reavley has delivered a masterclass and deserves to be up there with the best in the business." L J Ross - Bestselling author of The DCI Ryan books.

  "I love discovering new authors especially one who can shock and surprise me like this as it doesn't happen very often!" Joanne Robertson - My Chestnut Reading Tree

  "Don’t you just love it when you pick up a book and it blows you away, well Betsy Reavley has managed to do just that with a book that’s absolutely filled with suspense and intrigue." Lorraine Rugman - The Book Review Cafe

  "This was a fantastic book and one I knew from the first chapter it was going to keep me enthralled reading it." Leona - Goodreads Reviewer

  "Wow! What a stunning book. Draws you in, spins you a line and boom! you've got it completely wrong. Loved it. So clever." MetLineReader - Goodreads Reviewer

  "This is a book that once you start reading it you won't be able to stop. It is a story that grabs you right from the very beginning." Joseph Calleja, Relax and Read book Reviews

  "This is true stand-out in the domestic noir genre." Caroline Matson, Confessions of a Reading Addict

  "Betsy Reavley has reached new heights with this breathtaking book. Child abduction is always a difficult subject and she has totally embraced it in this outstanding book. It will leave you feeling emotionally drained and in awe of this author. Her best book yet, a literary masterpiece" Anita Waller, best-selling author of 34 Days, Angel and Beautiful

  "Absolutely incredible book, cannot praise it enough. I think it's my best read of 2016." Emma De Oliveira, an ARC reviewer

  "It went from heart pounding moments to adrenaline rushes where I simply couldn’t speak. This is one of my top three books of the year, awesome!" Susan Hampson - Books From Dusk Till Dawn

  "Reavley has written a stunning thriller which is fast-paced and full of twists and turns. I was completely invested in this narrative, submerged by the tension and gravity of the situation." Clair Boor - Have Books Will Read

  This book is dedicated to all lost souls

  All Day I Hear the Noise of Waters

  by James Joyce

  All day I hear the noise of waters

  Making moan,

  Sad as the sea-bird is when, going

  Forth alone,

  He hears the winds cry to the water’s

  Monotone.

  The grey winds, the cold winds are blowing

  Where I go.

  I hear the noise of many waters

  Far below.

  All day, all night, I hear them flowing

  To and fro.

  pressure noun

  the force that a liquid or gas produces when it presses against an area

  the act of trying to make someone else do something

  a difficult situation that makes you feel worried or unhappy

  The Pica Explorer Floor Plan

  Prologue

  Day one. Hour 00:00.

  ‘What do you mean, it isn’t responding?’ I watch the colour drain from his face as the dials on the control panel all began to drop.

  ‘I don’t know.’ The sweat appears on his brow, reflecting the lights from the dashboard, putting a sheen on his face that makes him appear ghostlike.

  ‘This has never happened before. We are losing power. This isn’t meant to be happening.’ Swinging around in the chair, he catapults himself towards the radio system and begins the Mayday process.

  ‘This is the captain of The Pica Explorer. We are losing power. Repeat, we are losing power. The vessel is descending. Our position is—’

  And just then all the lights go out.

  1

  Child

  ‘You always were a little shit.’ Her hot breath, which reeked of coffee, was too close to my face for comfort. ‘You’re an embarrassment.’

  I think I winced before her balled up fist made contact with the side of my head. I knew it was coming even before she had made the decision. That look in her eyes warned me. It was the same look every single time.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I whimpered, my ears ringing from the impact of her thump.

  ‘You are disgusting.’ A flicker of spittle left her mouth and landed on my face in a fine spray.

  As I remained cowering on the ground, she proceeded to tear the urine-stained sheets off of my bed like a wild animal attacking its prey. The side of my head felt swollen and I was finding it difficult to hear out of the
ear she had walloped.

  Seconds later she’d wrapped the wet sheets around me and proceeded to drag me down the stairs, the smell of my own urine clogging my nostrils, making it difficult to breathe.

  ‘Get in there!’ she screamed as I heard the cellar door open with a creak. Moments later I felt her foot connect with my back and I was tumbling down more stairs, still wrapped in the damp, foul-smelling sheet.

  ‘Now, you can think about what you’ve done,’ she panted from somewhere above before slamming the door closed.

  I listened as the key was turned, knowing I was locked in the darkness, alone, until she decided otherwise.

  At nine years old I knew I shouldn’t be wetting the bed. I knew it was disgusting and abnormal but I couldn’t help it. My dreams were so terrifying I couldn’t stop it happening.

  Once in a while I would wake in the night, dripping with sweat and lying in my own wee. On those occasions I’d remove the sheets, put them in the bottom of my laundry basket and sneak onto the landing to fetch some fresh ones so she would never know.

  But unfortunately I didn’t always wake. Sometimes I would sleep right through, tossing and turning, a prisoner to my own imagination. And then the birds would start to sing and the sunshine would creep through the curtains. On mornings like that I wished I wasn’t alive. I knew Mummy would soon appear and discover my dirty accident and there was nothing I could do about it.

  2

  The Pica Explorer

  Day one. Hour 00:05.

  You have never known real darkness until you have been deep underwater. It is not like the blackness you experience when you stand in a field in the dark. It is much more alive than that. The darkness behaves like a cloak that wraps itself around everything and you can almost feel it crawling on your skin.

  There is a strange silence from those of us in the control room. Nobody screams. We remain in the brooding darkness with only the sound of our breathing reminding us that we are still alive.

  ‘The backup power will kick in.’ Patrick, the captain, speaks with faux confidence. ‘This machine is built to withstand the depths.’

  No one responds. We just stay still knowing that we are sinking further and further below the surface and into the dark water.

  I can feel the pressure building all around us and my heart, which thumps violently in my chest, threatens to explode at any moment.

  I hear the squeak from the castors on Patrick’s chair but can still see nothing.

  ‘When will the lights come back on?’ Susie’s quiet, almost childlike, voice cuts through the blackness.

  ‘Any moment.’ Patrick clears his throat just as blue light fills the space.

  ‘Frank!’ I rush to the door and call for him. ‘How far down can we go?’ I turn and ask a moment before Frank appears.

  ‘What the fuck is going on?’ Frank stands tall looking down on us.

  ‘We will land on the ocean floor soon enough.’ Patrick speaks with authority.

  ‘How soon?’ Susie’s voice has risen an octave higher.

  ‘We won’t sink deeper than a couple of hundred metres,’ Fiona says and then clears her throat.

  ‘What about the pressure?’ Susie squeaks again.

  ‘Stop whining, Susie,’ Frank barks. ‘I demand someone tells me what is going on?’

  ‘The sub has lost power and we are descending.’ Patrick still fiddles with the dials on the panel hoping to fix the problem.

  ‘But we will all be crushed.’ We all hear the tears in Susie’s voice.

  ‘No, we won’t,’ Fiona says calmly. ‘The ocean floor is not that deep here. There is no danger of us sinking to the crush depth.’

  ‘The backup power has kicked in.’ Patrick turns to Frank gesturing to the blue light.

  ‘Then we can start climbing back up to the surface?’ Susie’s wide eyes look hopefully at Fiona.

  ‘I’m afraid not. The backup power only feeds the air and lighting.’ Fiona throws a look at Patrick.

  ‘How long will it last?’ Frank suddenly doesn’t seem so sure of himself.

  ‘Well, we’ve never had to rely on it before…’ Patrick returns to the control panel and begins flicking switches and dials again.

  ‘But they heard our call, didn’t they?’ My throat feels dry as the words force themselves out.

  No one responds, instead we all find ourselves gazing out of the front window at the wondrous underwater world we are now a part of. Still the submarine is drifting downwards, and above us the light from the sky is fading further and further away.

  ‘I’m going for a piss.’ Frank pushes his way past Susie and through the narrow doorway that leads to the living quarters in the sub, looking for any excuse to leave the room.

  I mouth the word ‘arsehole’ to Susie and wink, getting her to smile if only temporarily.

  ‘So what do we do?’ Fiona turns to Patrick hoping for a simple explanation. But underneath she knows that the captain is as lost as the rest of us.

  ‘Well, we need to go into the engine room.’ Patrick is stoic as he stands up in the confined space, careful not to bang his head on the low ceiling.

  He is a tall gangly man and every bit the quintessential scientist. His mousey brown hair is too long and always scruffy, as is his beard that has many grey hairs interspersed with the ginger ones.

  ‘I’ll come with you.’ Fiona follows him out, leaving just Susie and me alone.

  ‘This is serious, isn’t it.’ She looks out into the vast expanse of ocean, which consumes us.

  ‘Yes. Yes, it is.’ I put my hand on her shoulder and try to ignore the repetitive thump in my chest that is making it difficult to breathe.

  3

  Zara

  When I got the call I nearly fell off my seat. I’d been dreaming an opportunity like this would come along at some point in my career.

  ‘Yes, yes, absolutely. I’d be honoured.’ I had to put my hand over my mouth to stop an excited squeal from escaping down the phone. ‘I will be there. Thank you so much for this chance. You won’t regret it.’

  Putting the phone down, I then proceeded to do a happy dance around my small London apartment.

  I’d been living in Dalston for four years, scraping a living as an assistant director on a very low budget television show, which was only shown late at night on a poxy satellite channel that no one had ever heard of.

  Cops and Robbers was a programme that followed police officers around the dingy parts of London, as they arrested youths and petty criminals. It was aimed at the lowest common denominator but it paid the bills and had been my first break into television. Beggars couldn’t be choosers and although I had graduated from The London Film School with a master’s in film-making, I had to take work where I could get it.

  The course had cost a small fortune and meant I had to work my fingers to the bone, living in a cheap shitty flat in Walthamstow and travelling into the city centre to complete my education.

  With famous directors such as Michael Mann and Mike Leigh graduating from LFS, I had dreams of becoming an industry hotshot. But real life doesn’t always work out the way you hope it will, and soon after I had completed my course, it became quickly apparent to me that there was no easy path to the big league. So when the chance to work on Cops and Robbers presented itself, I had no choice but to accept the gig. It was a start, I told myself.

  I’d known since I was a teenager that I wanted to get into film. Seeing life through a lens fascinated me and there was something especially alluring about moving picture.

  When I’d spotted the chance to work with one of the UK’s biggest directors on a feature, I’d put myself forward for the role. Knowing my experience was limited, I didn’t fancy my chances very highly, but as my boyfriend always said: if you throw enough shit at the wall eventually some of it will stick. So that’s what I did. I went for every single job I could and started to get used to the string of rejections that I received.

  Frank Holden, of FH House Films, was an in
dustry giant. He was a producer and a director all rolled into one. His production company was responsible for some of the biggest hits to come out of the UK and he had spent much of his career in LA working with Hollywood megastars.

  After applying for the job I didn’t expect to get a response but when I was called in for a meeting I nearly fainted. It was unheard of for someone of his stature to consider working with a rookie like me.