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  PRAISE FOR ADAM SOUTHWARD

  ‘A tense, original thriller that perfectly blends the nail-biting suspense and shocks of Silence of the Lambs and Shutter Island.’

  —John Marrs, bestselling author of When You Disappeared

  ‘A brilliantly original idea, with a terrifying villain at its heart.’

  —Claire McGowan, author of What You Did and the Paula Maguire series

  ‘Trance is a creepy, dark and highly original debut. I couldn’t put it down!’

  —Victoria Selman, author of Blood for Blood

  ‘Fast, furious, and very scary, Trance is a hugely enjoyable and original thriller. Adam’s going to be one to watch.’

  —Simon Kernick, bestselling author of The Bone Field

  ALSO BY ADAM SOUTHWARD

  Trance

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2019 by Adam Southward

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781542092302

  ISBN-10: 1542092302

  Cover design by kid-ethic

  For Kerry, Isla and Daisy, without whom none of this would be any fun.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER ONE

  Mia stared through the rain. The bus shelter offered little protection and her feet were already soaked, her face and body numb. But still she stared.

  The glaring lights of the hospital blurred in front of her. Three ambulances were parked in the emergency bays across the street and Mia’s heart fluttered with anticipation. Hold it, she thought. Wait until shift change. Safer that way. Emergency departments never slept, but the night shift meant fewer staff and fewer visitors. She glanced at her watch. Five minutes should do it.

  Mia wished she’d eaten. Hunger pains gnawed at her stomach and she pulled a bottle of water from her coat pocket, taking a long swig, ignoring the hollow feeling as the warm liquid flooded her gut.

  A police car turned into the road ahead, slowing as it approached. Mia pulled up her hood and stood rigid as the car drifted by. It stopped, turning into the hospital entrance. She watched two officers jump out and disappear inside. There was always a steady flow of police into the emergency room on Saturday nights. Mia knew Sunday was better, Monday not so good.

  The horror of what she was about to do snarled and griped from deep in her stomach. She’d feel it in the hours afterwards, when the shame and regret took her in sweats and shivers. But she buried it, as she always did. No time for that now.

  A crowd of nurses and doctors exited the building. Mia couldn’t hear their voices above the rain, but she saw smiles, handshakes, hugs and waves. Friends, colleagues, leaving each other for the night, promising to be back tomorrow.

  Mia wondered what it felt like. To have someone who cared if they saw you again. She closed her eyes, remembering. Brief flashes of a loving smile, torn away in pain. Mia clenched her jaw and shivered. She waited until the thumping settled in her chest before opening her eyes. She watched two of the nurses cross the street towards her. They huddled under the bus shelter, talking to each other, pausing briefly to acknowledge Mia’s presence behind them.

  Mia tucked her head down, tilting it to study them both. The two nurses were tired but happy. Excited at the prospect of a good night’s sleep and motivated to return. They talked of patients and colleagues, affairs and gossip. Mia thought she detected a limp on one; she kept shifting her weight around, but it was minor. The other squinted, a headache, nothing serious. Both women were healthy and happy. Mia sniffed and turned away.

  A bus came and went and the nurses departed. Mia was alone again. Hardly noticing the rain, she left the shelter and walked at a steady pace across the road. She paused at the row of ambulances, checking the rear doors. All were closed, which meant the patients were already inside.

  The door hissed open and the noise of the waiting room hit Mia. Raised voices, footsteps and alarms, beds squeaking on the lino floors. And patients. Lots of patients.

  Mia focused.

  Patients in pain, moaning and weeping; the long, deep sighs associated with extreme trauma. Mia’s heart fluttered, strong and urgent. She turned. Mia knew this department well. St Mary’s was one of her more regular haunts.

  The emergency room was chaotic, more than usual. Patients and visitors spilled over the benches and on to every spare foot of flooring. The triage area for ambulance arrivals was full, with paramedics leaning on trolleys, waiting for their patients to be checked. The sheer number of patients and visitors tonight would make it difficult for Mia to get close to anyone.

  She paused, keeping her head down, surveying the room before deciding on her backup plan, the AMU. In the acute medical unit patients had stabilised, or at least they should have done. It was the next stage on after the emergency room, a short stay while beds were found and tests were run – bloods, ECGs, scans. Fewer staff and fewer visitors. In the AMU patients were often left unattended for long periods.

  Perfect.

  The security was minimal. Mia walked along the corridor linking the two departments. She paused at the double doors, glancing down the network of corridors snaking off into the rest of the hospital.

  Her vision tunnelled. The usual memories surfaced, but they wouldn’t settle. Sometimes she followed them, treading the corridors of this hospital or the next, searching. But not tonight.

  Tonight was for a single purpose.

  Mia blinked, took a breath and pushed open the double doors into the AMU, still wearing her coat, hood up, her heavy boots leaving a trail of dirty water on the floor.<
br />
  Eyes darting, adrenaline spiking, she observed the room. It was separated into four sections. Eight patients in this section, two with curtains pulled closed around the bed. The attending doctor stood surrounded by colleagues at the nurses’ station, some distance away in the centre. The doctor’s attention was focused on a huge whiteboard which listed patients and their status, and most of the nurses had their backs to the door. Mia kept her chin low and sauntered over to the first curtain.

  The patient slept peacefully, although his chest rattled with every pump of the respirator. Mia studied the man’s face. His eyelids fluttered, his skin was clammy and his mouth trembled. Mia watched his chest and traced his arms to his hands. They were loose, relaxed.

  Mia placed her hand at the centre of his chest. She felt it move for a few moments before pushing, resisting. Increasing the force with each breath, Mia leaned in, putting her weight behind her hand.

  Nothing. The ECG registered a slight change in heart rate but not enough to trigger an alarm. The man’s breathing slowed but his face remained unresponsive.

  Mia lifted her hand, disappointed. She slipped out of the bay, checking the nurses’ station. Still in shift handover, they’d be there for some time.

  Mia paused, shivering but focused, her chest tightening. The sensation wrapped itself around her, hugging her body in a demanding embrace. She tasted it on her tongue, in her throat and in her nostrils as she breathed in the warm air of the ward. The growing pressure throbbed at the base of her skull. Mia forced her breathing slowly in, slowly out.

  She continued to the next bay.

  It held a younger man. Mid-thirties, perhaps. Mia smiled when she saw his face, which was tense and drenched in sweat. Mia took in his condition with a practised scan: road accident; left leg mangled. Splinted – probably waiting for X-ray, then surgery. He would be pumped full of painkillers, but it was only taking the edge off. He panted, his eyes clamping shut every few seconds. His hands grasped the sides of the bed, knuckles white with tension. He wasn’t hooked to an ECG or any alarm. He wasn’t near death, just in excruciating pain.

  Mia approached the bed, standing over the man, watching the damaged leg. She didn’t have long, but this would be over in a matter of minutes.

  With her left hand, she pulled a strip of pre-cut duct tape from her coat pocket, took off the backing and affixed it over the man’s mouth, leaving his nose clear. She pressed the tape down, checking it was firm.

  Her eyes locked on his face as she reached out with her right hand. She rested it on the leg, below the knee, where a bloodied bandage bulged outwards. An open fracture; a knee joint. A horrible combination.

  Mia exhaled. She held his leg – a firm caress on the jagged bone draped in fabric. The man’s face contorted, his breathing quickened, his blood pressure spiked and muscles tensed. His pain intensified, second by second, as Mia’s grip tightened. She grabbed the broken bone and twisted.

  Her hand was wet, bloody, her fingers under the bandage probing beneath the skin into the damaged tissue beneath. The bone was jagged and sharp. Mia laughed, a small hiss escaping her lips. With every movement, the pain shot through the man’s body – almost too much, almost enough to send him into unconsciousness. But Mia was practised and she teased.

  Part of Mia’s brain objected, screaming at her to stop, but the more primal part, the part that was damaged, was in full control.

  The man tried to speak, but the tape held fast and a muffled groan emerged. He writhed and shuddered. Mia’s stare had never left his face and now their eyes met. He looked at her in terror; Mia’s eyes shone. The fear gave her an extra jolt of pleasure as the main surge began to subside.

  Mia already felt the sluggishness taking over. The lethargy after the hit. She needed to be away from this place before she succumbed.

  The man reached out, weak from pain and blood loss, his hands trembling. But his arms collapsed to his sides and his pupils dilated. His eyelids flickered weakly.

  Mia frowned, but the rush of warm blood on her hand explained it. An artery, perhaps nicked by the accident, now severed by her twists and abuse. She tore her eyes away from his face and to the leg. Her shoulders sagged as her ecstasy departed, switched off like a light.

  Blood poured from the man’s leg on to the floor. Two pints, maybe more, were already pooling at her feet.

  Time to go.

  The curtain flew open as Mia turned to leave. A hospital porter with a clipboard stared at the scene in front of him. A big man – shaved head, tattoos on both forearms. He might be used to seeing all manner of terrors in this place, but at this his face twisted in confusion. Mia’s right hand dripped blood; her forearm was covered in it. Behind her, a man bled out through his leg, his mouth taped shut.

  Mia didn’t give the porter a chance to think, kicking him as hard as she could between the legs. She saw the pain register in his eyes but resisted the urge to watch and sprinted for the exit. She pounded open the double doors to the AMU and ran for the emergency room. Shouts came from behind her and she risked a look back. The porter she’d kicked was already up and after her. A tough guy. Unexpected. Hospital staff usually hated a fight.

  Mia was quick and nimble, athletic after months of running and living rough, but the after-effects of her high were already kicking in. Her legs stirred but they moved in slow motion, wading in syrup, while her mind began to fog. She barged her way into the waiting room, knocking over an elderly lady on crutches. The howl from the woman was matched by the screams of onlookers. A security guard appeared from the left and lunged. Mia lashed out, her fist catching his cheek as she stumbled past. He cried out but recovered, charging after her.

  Scores of people jumped out of her way, but Mia could hear the stomps of the guard, joined by the porter, who kept up his pursuit.

  The main exit was open. The glass doors hissed as a stray trolley blocked one of them from closing. Mia sprinted, picking up the pace, dodging between two ambulances, pausing for a fraction of a second before picking her escape route. The rain still thundered and she considered her options: Paddington Station to the right; Hyde Park to the south; or head east, towards Regent’s Park. She picked south, darting out on to the main road, heading for a cut-through along the side of Imperial College.

  A few more paces and she would make it.

  She heard another shout and made the mistake of looking round. The guard was a fair way off, but he raised his hands and his face opened in horror as the bus hit her.

  The corner of the vehicle hit Mia side-on with a crunch, sending her spinning several yards into the far kerb.

  Mia’s head spun. She lay on her back on the wet tarmac, feeling the rain pounding the skin of her face. Her body tensed and she tested her extremities. Her right hand and arm moved with ease, so she patted the rest of her body, quickly and methodically, starting with major bones, sockets, vertebrae and her skull.

  She would recover. Her left shoulder was dislocated, left forearm fractured and two fingers on her left hand broken. She rolled on to her side, pushing against the tarmac until her shoulder popped back into place, feeling the bones scrape as they connected. She raised herself up, wiggling her joints. The little finger was at an awkward angle so she pulled it out of its socket and tried to straighten it. It wouldn’t go, so she jammed it together with the third finger. She’d splint it later. It’d heal in time.

  The bigger issue was her pursuers, who had caught up but remained at a distance. The guard was talking into a radio and the porter looked as white as a sheet, no doubt regretting chasing this young person into the street and straight into the path of a bus. The driver, a middle-aged woman, hovered by the bus, promising everything would be OK, telling Mia not to move.

  ‘OK, son,’ said the porter. ‘Help is on its way. You stay there.’

  Mia stood up, thankful that neither of her legs was broken. She pulled her hood closer, not daring to think of what had been caught on CCTV and what would be examined by police. She was thankful th
ey hadn’t clocked her gender, but the risk of ever coming back to this hospital had just shot up.

  Fighting the fog and the increasing effects of her comedown, Mia turned and raced off, sprinting as fast as her damaged body would carry her. Her lungs laboured and her mind drifted, but the shouts from the hospital faded and nobody pursued as she hit an alley and disappeared into the night.

  She was safe. It was her first mistake, and almost fatal, but she’d survived. At least for tonight. Perhaps in a few weeks it would be safer.

  Until then, she would search elsewhere.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘You need to help me,’ said Dr Alex Madison to the young man in front of him. The suspect was skinny, dressed in a T-shirt and jogging bottoms, a gang tattoo of a spider’s web covering his arms and neck – a black widow under his jaw. Alex’s heart had dropped the second he’d walked in and seen him.

  ‘Fuck you,’ came the reply. James, Jimmy, Jim: Alex had tried them each in turn until he got the least violent response.

  Alex twisted in the interview chair, feeling the cheap plastic flex under his weight. The session wasn’t going as planned. He’d been here for half an hour so far, going around in circles for most of it. He glanced at each of the walls of the small police interview room in turn, thinking of a hundred other places he’d rather be on a Sunday afternoon.

  Detective Laurie, sitting next to him, raised her eyebrows. It was her fault Alex was here. He tried not to let his mood show.

  ‘What does your mother call you?’ said Laurie.

  A pause. ‘Jamie.’ It came out in a grunt, but it was progress.

  ‘Jamie,’ said Alex, nodding his thanks. ‘Good. Do you know why I’m here?’

  ‘Because they think I’m a retard,’ Jamie said, nodding to the detective, who kept her face cool and her response cooler.

  ‘No. Because we don’t think you should be the one sitting here,’ said Laurie. ‘Your friends Franco and Jay. They—’

  ‘They’re not my fucking friends.’

  Detective Laurie nodded. ‘But you know them.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You don’t know them?’