Darkest Thoughts Read online

  Darkest Thoughts

  A Special investigations universe Novella

  Copyright P.W Hillard 2020. All rights Reserved.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter One

  “Just tell her, it’ll be easier in the long run,” Darren said, doodling a large cartoon dog on his notepad. The young man before him just taken a seat, leather squeaking as he had sunk into the large chair. He hadn’t opened his mouth, he didn’t need to. Darren had a unique ability that meant he always had a long list of clients waiting outside his doors.

  “I…uh, how did you know?” The young man was trembling slightly, his hands clasped together. “Is it true? What they say about you?”

  “That I can read minds?”

  “Yes! I mean, I heard rumours but…”

  Darren put down his notepad and leant forward in his own chair, mirroring the mans clasped hands as he did so. He looked at him for a moment, staring into the man’s eyes. He nodded and sat back, picking up his notepad again. A piece of well-practised theatre.

  “I can’t read minds Sam. That would be ridiculous. No, I am very good at reading people, seeing the emotion in their faces, the worry in their eyes. It’s something anyone can practise. It’s how mediums ply their trade, cold reading it’s called.”

  “Oh.” Sam seemed disappointed, as if a little magic had been drained from the world.

  “So, here’s what you should do. Stand up, walk out my office, pick up your phone, and then tell her. It might hurt in the short term, cause you a little pain, but it will be worth it. In the end. The weight on you will be lifted, no matter the answer.” Darren added another set of scratches to his doodle. It was his best one yet. He had started using the pad because it was what patients expected, but never used it for actually taking notes.

  “Yes, yes. I will. Thank you. Thank you.” Sam stood up, holding out his hand. Darren matched him, shaking the outstretched palm.

  “You can thank me by making sure your cheque clears,” Darren said. Sam laughed. All Darren’s patients did, no matter how much he used that one joke. It was mostly nerves on their part.

  Darren rubbed his temples. It was draining, seeing so many people in one day. Peering into so many minds. He had been born with the ability, a unique talent for gazing into the thoughts of others. It had been nearly unbearable when he was younger, voices crowding into his head, drowning out his own thoughts. Eventually, he had been able to control it, mostly. Sometimes peoples particularly persistent thoughts forced their way in, the longer something weighed on a person mind the more physic heft it seemed to have. It was why he had become a therapist, the more people he helped, the easier Darren’s life became, or at least that was the logic. It seemed more difficult than ever recently.

  Of course, rumours had swirled about his unique style of therapy. Darren had done his best to quash them, passing off his skill as part magic trick and part intuition. The last thing he needed was a long line of doctors and scientists eager to strap him to a chair.

  The intercom came on with a snap. “Darren, your last appointment is here to see you.”

  “Thanks Marge, send them in.”

  The door swung open and a woman stepped through. She was wrinkled beyond belief, a walking prune in a lavender coat. Her hair was curled, coloured with the kind of blue rinse that Darren had thought had died out. She carried a small dark purple bag, clutched tightly in her hands.

  “Oh, hello dear,” the woman said. She smiled, revealing rows of perfect fake teeth.

  Darren looked at her, the words getting stuck in his throat as he tried to speak. “Hello,” he managed finally. “Please take a seat.”

  “Thank you. You know I have to start with I never put much stock in therapy personally. In my day you just got things done, but my daughter insisted.”

  “Of course.” He couldn’t think of any other response. The thoughts in the woman’s mind. The images he could see. It was disgusting. Vile beyond words. A nightmare carved from memory pouring from her. Dread sloughed off the woman in waves, twisting Darren’s stomach until it threatened to spray its contents across the room.

  “So, where should we start dear?” the old woman said.

  “Yes,” Darren said. He felt groggy, like a fog had lowered itself into his frontal lobe. “Well, I don’t seem you have your file here. Was it a GP referral?” He began to shuffle through a stack of manila files piled haphazardly next to his chair. He turned his gaze away from the woman, Darren found his ability worked best when he looked directly at a person. He felt a little better, but there was still an overwhelming presence.

  It was bizarre. His ability had always manifested itself as words, spoken sentences in his own mind, thoughts in a different voice than his own. It had always been just the surface level thoughts, Darren couldn’t go digging around inside minds, just hear what others were thinking right that moment. To find the information he wanted he needed to subtly bring the conversation around, to prompt the person before him to think about what Darren wanted them to. Being too obvious just led to a barrage of confused thoughts and emotions. This woman was different though, the thoughts flowing from her were images, sounds, madding flashes of abstract horror.

  “Oh, no, I’m a private client. Through the BUPA,” the woman said. “I’m Anna. Anna Sag.” The woman held out her hand expectantly. Darren took it, and the images grew stronger. Flashes of an indescribable something boiling, a piercing scream, fleeting images of flayed muscles all raced through his mind.

  “That’s…that’s an unusual name Mrs Sag.”

  “Please, Ms Sag. I never married.”

  “Ok, so then how can I help you Ms Sag?” Darren slumped back into his seat. Every part of him was screaming to escape, to open the door and flee, but he didn’t. Darren’s whole life had been filled with other people’s thoughts, but this woman was different, somehow. His curiosity kept him locked in place, battling against his growing terror.

  “Oh well, work’s been a bit stressful recently. Business isn’t what it used to be, too many competitors you see. I had to take a moment the other day, a nice sit down, and one of my daughters over reacted. Too much stress they think, so they booked me an appointment here.”

  “If you don’t mind me saying, it’s impressive you run a business of your own at your age. I do hope I’m not being rude there. I don’t have your file to hand so I’m making some assumptions.” Darren picked up his notepad, flicking to a new page. For the first time in his career he began to make notes. He scribbled his pen across the fresh page he had flicked too, at attempt at reviving his weary ballpoint.

  “Not at all my love. I’ve worked hard for a long time, very proud of what I’ve achieved.” Anne smiled her prefect smile, and for a brief moment something else sat in her place, a creature of exposed muscle and dripping blood with a wide unblemished smile.

  Darren blinked and the image returned to the old woman before him. “And what is it you do?” he spluttered. He had tried to scream but the air had come out of his lungs as a question, his fear losing that battle with his curiosity.

  “People management,” Anne replied, not missing a beat.

  “And do you? Find it stressful I mean?”

  “I do and I don’t. I love my job, but there isn’t the customer base there used to be. Like I said, a lot of people have muscled into my area of expertise.” Anne glanced down at her wrist. On it was a watch, a simple pink band with a round face
. On it was a cartoon mouse, its hands pointing at the time. “Oh, is that the time! Dear me. You have been so very useful Dr Bolton.”

  “Oh, I’m not a Doctor. Being a therapist isn’t that glamorous I’m afraid. You can call me Darren.” He didn’t understand why he was saying that. Every part of him wanted to go barrelling out the window just to get away from the woman. Darren glanced up at the clock. An hour had passed, an impossibility, he had only spoken a few scant words.

  “I’ll have my daughter call and make another appointment, I’ll need to check my work calendar. I will say, I was a little sceptical at first, but I do feel better…Darren.”

  “Glad I could help.”

  The door shut with a slam, pulled tight by a spring-loaded mechanism. Darren was shaking, sweat snaking down his brow. As Anne had stepped across the threshold the pressure had dropped, the visons ceasing. There was nothing but silence, only Darren’s own thoughts in his mind. He closed his eyes and savoured the moment, before realising he really did hear nothing. No matter how hard he tried there was always a slight whispering in the background, low level thoughts he had learned to ignore. It was blissful, to finally be alone in his own mind. Then, slowly, the sounds returned.

  Had it been that woman? Had the horrible nightmare images given him some moment of true loneliness? Darren had never known how much he had wanted it before, not until that very moment. He had to find out why that woman was different, a feverish desire to experience just a few more scant seconds of silence overriding any common sense.

  Darren glanced down at his notepad. The page was full. He didn’t remember writing anything, but somehow, he had filled the yellow paper with big swirling symbols, strange glyphs, each distinct and purposeful. When had he doodled those? He ripped off the page, folded it, and placed it into his pocket.

  Marge was still behind her desk, busy stacking the array of makeup, phone charges and snacks that seemed to spill from her throughout the work day. She smiled at Darren, her thoughts locked on her escape from work.

  “I’m leaving five minutes early Marge,” Darren said. The young girl nodded. He felt bad for her, Marge was a name that made her sound a lot older than she was. “Can you lock up?”

  “No problem Darren,” Marge said. In her mind she was cursing her boss for the added task.

  “The last patient, Ms Sag, did she just leave?”

  “Only a minute or so ago. Why?”

  “Oh, I just want to catch her, I have a few websites for her to visit. Cognitive stuff” It wasn’t a convincing lie; Darren’s patients rarely required any extra help aside from his own insights. He snatched his jacket, a short tan leather thing, from the hanger in the corner of the spare waiting room, and dashed through the door.

  Chapter Two

  Darren rushed down the stairwell, the wood creaking as he ran, the ancient stairs groaning with the weight. His keys jangled in his coat pocket, and he tapped the back pocket of his tan chinos searching for his wallet. He reached the bottom of the stairs, pushing open the door and stepping into the street beyond.

  Darren's office was located directly over a large corner shop in the suburbs of Birmingham, a poky little place, chosen simply to be as cheap as possible. Private patients tended to choose something more upmarket, gleaming office buildings with polished surfaces and unnecessary tablets attached to every surface. Darren had chosen to take on public patients, an extension of his desire to quieten as many thoughts as possible, but it had meant tighter margins and pound shop stationary.

  The street was busy. It was a Friday evening, and the road had several pubs, as well as a high-class cocktail bar that was very poorly placed. Or at least, Darren had been told that by Marge. He avoided alcohol, it made controlling his ability more difficult, and combined with the reduced inhibitions of those around him, it left Darren with a lot of knowledge he would rather not have. He was currently receiving a taste of that. The Christmas party season was in full swing and his mind was full of thoughts of fruity cocktails and even fruitier thoughts about girls far too young for the men thinking them.

  His head swung left and right, searching the crowd for hints of a lavender coat. He caught a glimpse walking down the street, travelling in the opposite direction from the pubs. Darren began to walk in that direction, dodging between the waves of people. He bumped shoulders with a few, feeling their annoyance radiating from them like heat. The old woman turned the corner, and Darren picked up his pace.

  Darren took the same left, stepping onto a street that was entirely residential. The crowd drifted away, leaving him and the woman alone in the street. He was certain now it was Ms Sag. He could feel her twisted thoughts from this distance, though they were fainter. Darren knew the closer he got, the stronger the images would become, but he held back, eager not to be noticed. What he was doing was incredibly unprofessional, but he had to learn more about the woman. Everything about here was just, wrong. Darren couldn’t explain it any better than that, words proving tragically inefficient.

  Anne, for all her advanced age, was keeping up an astounding pace. She walked with the sort of purpose normally reserved for middle-aged housewives returning sweaters. Her bag was still clutched in her hands, her curled hair bobbing as she walked. She seemed to be gaining speed, the distance between here and Darren growing further by the second.

  Darren picked up his pace, breaking into an almost jog. The desire to know, to find out was too much now, overwhelming any sense of logic or professionalism. He had never known such a desire to discover something. Darren felt his legs pounding, accelerating into a run as Anne took another corner. She was headed into a back alley behind a warehouse, a street that was a favourite of local youths. A makeshift football pitch, chalk goalposts almost permanently drawn onto the walls of the large industrial building. Darren sprinted as she turned the corner, resolved now to stop the woman and demand answers.

  Darren turned, rounding the end of the street, and stopped. There was no one there. The street was empty. It was hardly even a street, only two houses stood at each side, buildings squeezed in behind the long solid brick wall of the warehouse to squeeze out more money from the land.

  “What the hell?” Darren said out loud. There was nowhere for her to go. The woman had simply vanished into thin air.

  Darren shut the door behind him with a thud. He threw his keys atop a pile of unopened mail that had built up on the radiator next to the door. He shrugged off his jacket, slipping it onto a coat hook on the wall. He walked down the small corridor of his ground floor flat that led towards his cramped living room, pushing off his shoes as he did.

  "Where do you get off, following my mum like that?" Darren jumped, nearly toppling over. He braced himself against the door frame, catching his fall. A woman was sat on his sofa. She looked in her early thirties, and she wore a large black leather coat studded with metal spikes across the shoulders. Beneath that she wore a Ramones T-shirt and a pair of jean shorts over fishnet stockings. She completed the outfit with heavy black boots, a perfect match for her nose rings and pink hair shaped by a side cut.

  Her thoughts were strange, not like other peoples, but totally different from Anne’s. All Darren got from the woman was images of cold air and icy streams. A sense of overwhelming calm and patience.

  “Get out of my house! How did you get in here?”

  “I can’t do both,” the woman said. “I can either leave, or I can tell you how I got in here. Pick one.”

  "Leave!" Darren blurted out. "No, wait. Who the hell are you?" He rapidly reassessed. This woman was different in some way, like Anne, but not quite. The visons were almost pleasant.

  “Doesn’t matter who I am. What matters is that you were following my mother down the street.”

  “Ms Sag?” Darren was trying to piece together the ages between the two women. It wasn’t lining up in mind.

  The woman adjusted herself on the sofa, brushing off a pizza box as she did, spilling day old pepperoni onto the
carpet. “Yes. I thought some therapy could help her with the stress at work. Didn’t think I sent her to some fucking creep.”

  “No, no it’s not like that, it’s…impossible to explain.”

  Uh-huh, I'm sure it is. Into older women are you sicko?"

  “Look, please, just leave. Your mother won’t see or hear from me again, I promise." Darren was waving his hands furiously as if the accusation was smoke lingering before him. He was confused, his flat was only a few streets away from the office. How had this woman gotten here so quickly? How did she even know her mother had been followed.

  “Ah, therein is the rub. Mother is quite excited to see you. Want’s to see you right now in fact. Sent me to collect you.” The woman stood up, tugging at the bottom of her jacket.

  “I’m really confused. I thought you were telling me to leave her alone.”

  “That wasn’t what I said at all. I told you,” she prodded Darren in the chest, “to stop following old ladies down the road. It’s fucking weird.”

  Darren crossed his arms, a sudden surge of bravery within him. “I’m not going anywhere, not with someone who breaks into people’s homes. If your mother wants an appointment, she can come into the office like everyone else. I don’t do home visits anyway.”

  The images changed, calming mountain scenes giving way to raging volcanoes. Unbridled earthy anger boiled up within the woman. The sickening feeling was building in Darren's stomach again. She certainly was her mother's daughter, that much was clear. She leant in closer towards him. She smelt faintly like fresh soil.

  “You’re coming,” the woman growled.

  ***

  Darren still wasn't sure why he had agreed. It was that insatiable curiosity again, pushing down any sense of self-preservation. He had half expected the woman to take him back to the dead-end street, to the solid wall of bricks. Instead, she had led him around the corner, to a run down house stuck tight in a terrace between two others. The windows were covered in green metal covers, designed to keep out squatters. A similar cover had once been sat atop the door but was now lying in the ground on the long grass of the unkempt garden.