Every Little Breath: A Tense Psychological Thriller Full of Twists

Lining up three songs back-to-back, Casey removed her headphones and got up from the desk, walking over to the wide window that overlooked the beach. It was a calm night, warm and sticky, the almost full moon casting streaks of silver across the sea and frothy waves gently lapping against the shore. Right now the beach was empty and peaceful, but give it another ten hours and that would change. Friday’s temperature was forecast to be well into the thirties and the holidaymakers would flock.

From the old sofa in the corner of the studio, Phoebe looked up hopefully.

‘Not much longer,’ Casey told her, stretching her arms above her head, then rolling the knots out of her shoulders.

She had forty minutes of her show left, then after locking up she would give Phoebe a quick walk before driving home.

Part of her felt bad, making the dog sit with her in the small studio for four nights a week, especially on nights like tonight when it was hot and airless, offering little respite, but Phoebe was happier with Casey than without her and would be miserable at home alone. Plus she was company.

Casey had twisted the desk fan so it was facing the sofa and had sat a full bowl of water on the floor, trying to make the beagle as comfortable as possible. The heatwave would hopefully pass soon and things would be more bearable.

When she had first been offered the late-night show, she had been torn, wanting to celebrate, but also nervous. It wasn’t her first time on-air. She had read out the traffic bulletins and also had helped cover a couple of shows for one of the afternoon deejays after he had been taken sick, but having her own show was a big responsibility. Yes, it was the graveyard shift and listening figures weren’t great, but still it was up to her to get people to tune in, to try and grow the audience, and she knew the station bosses would be watching her performance closely.

She was also a little bit uncomfortable at being in the building alone and late at night. It was an old place with creaking floorboards and dark corners, and it was creepy enough during the day. The idea of being in the back-room studio while the rest of the old house was deserted spooked her more than she cared to admit.

The station bosses were never going to let her cut her teeth on one of the prime shows, though, and if she wanted to be a deejay, she would have to suck it up. Luckily, she was okay for the first couple of nights, as the station producer had sat with her through the show to make sure she didn’t cock it up. After that, she was on her own.

A couple of weeks in, she was growing used to it, though she wasn’t scared to admit that she always asked Kenny Lee, the deejay she took over from, to make sure he locked the door on the way out. What she wouldn’t confess to is that as soon as her first songs were playing, she quickly ran through to the front of the building to check that Kenny hadn’t forgotten.

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him, but he was getting on in years and she knew he could be forgetful at the best of times.

Once she knew the door was definitely locked and no one could walk in off the street, she was always a lot more relaxed.

The third song on her list hit its guitar solo and leaving the window she returned to the desk and slipped her headphones back on. On the monitor screen to her left she spotted a new email, but there wasn’t time to open it before the song finished. Instead, she turned her attention to her audience, commenting on the warmth of the night and telling them it was forecast to be even hotter tomorrow, before going on to talk about how difficult it was to sleep when the weather was as oppressive as this. It led her nicely into the Martha Reeves and The Vandellas song she had scheduled to play before the advert break.

Then there would be just under half an hour left before she closed the show.

East Coast Radio went to night service at 1am, meaning Casey was responsible for shutting everything down and locking up the studio, which would open again when the early morning breakfast deejay arrived.

As ‘Heatwave’ kicked in, she turned her attention to the waiting email, smiling at the unoriginal address, Cityboy2005. She opened the message.

Hi, I know it’s late, but could you give me a mention? I’ve had my eye on this special lady for a while and she is just perfect. Next week I will show her how much she means to me.

Casey groaned and rolled her eyes. Seriously, was this late-night love lines or something? It was the only email she had received in a while though.

Was Cityboy2005 her only listener? It was a sobering thought.

Aware she was getting short on time, she quickly typed back a reply.

I can give you a quick mention. Does your lady friend have a name? And I will need yours, too, please and a location.

The reply came as the adverts were playing.

Thank you so much. Her name is Saffron. Tell her she is my special lady. She will know who she is. My name is Steve and I’m in Norwich.

Casey read the name, the familiar shudder of unease rippling through her. It was stupid. Steve was such a common name, but every time she heard it or saw it written down, it took her right back to that day in the basement.

While she was figuring out a way to relay Steve’s corny message without sounding like too much of a cheeseball, another email popped up from him.

I don’t suppose I could push my luck and request a song too?

Yes, that is pushing your luck. Casey had a set list of songs that the station gave her, that she was supposed to stick to.

I’m sorry. I can’t do requests at this time of night. If you call or email in on Monday evening, I can take requests between 10.30 and 11pm.

She turned away from the monitor as the song she was playing finished and introduced the Bryan Adams song she had lined up next. As the intro to ‘Heaven’ started playing, she glanced back at the screen.

Oh, please help me out. There’s a certain song and if you play it she will know exactly who I am. This is so important. Please, please, PLEASE. You would make my night.

Casey debated. She wasn’t supposed to deviate from the list, but equally she didn’t want to piss off a listener. As long as the song was nothing too ridiculous she could bend the rules just this once, couldn’t she?

What’s the song?

She waited a beat, saw another email pop up.

Maroon 5. Harder to Breathe. Wow, thank you so much. You honestly have no idea how much this means to me.

Great. He had taken her last email as confirmation she was going to play the song. She hadn’t yet decided, was just trying to find out what song it was. Now she was backed into a corner.

The song was okay, though, and she could easily slot it in, maybe replacing the Celine Dion one she was supposed to play. Casey hated Celine Dion’s music with a passion, so in a way Steve would be doing her a favour.

She set the song up, then read over his first email again, deciding what she would say. As the Bryan Adams song drew to a close, she leaned into the microphone.

‘It seems that the songs I’ve been playing tonight are bringing out the romantics in some of you. Steve in Norwich has just emailed in for a mention and to tell me he has his eye on a certain special lady called Saffron. I hope she is listening right now and knows who she is. He wants me to tell you, Saffron, that you’re the perfect girl for him and that next week he will show you exactly how much you mean to him. So, to Steve and Saffron, this next song is for you.’

At least the guy has picked a decent song. Casey hadn’t heard this one in ages.

As she leant back in her chair and yawned, another email popped up from Steve.

She read the opening line, Thank you so much, and grinned. At least someone was happy.

She rubbed at her tired eyes, soothed a whining Phoebe, who was getting restless, before she opened the full message.

Thank you so much. I can’t wait to show Saffron how important she is to me. Next week, I am going to surprise the hell out of her and whisk her off to somewhere very special.

Casey smiled. Should she get a hat?

She considered making the joke, but didn’t know Steve, didn’t want him getting overfamiliar. Instead, she replied, keeping it simple.

I hope it all goes well for you.

Steve’s reply was almost instant, sparking the faintest bristle of irritation.

It will. She is going to be so surprised she will find it hard to breathe.

‘And the winner of worst joke of the night.’ Casey rolled her eyes as she muttered the words.

That last comment didn’t warrant a reply and in another ten minutes she could lock up for the night. Her bed was waiting and, after four late nights, she couldn’t wait to climb into it.

As the Maroon 5 song finished, she said farewell to her listeners and set up the last two tracks of the night. As the first one began to play, she turned back to the monitor that was logged into her email, annoyed when she saw there was another message from Steve.

Jesus, did he not get the hint? She hadn’t replied to his last email. The conversation was over.

She was tempted to just shut down her computer and ignore it, but the professional in her couldn’t leave it. She clicked open the message, figuring Steve was one of those people who didn’t know how to end a conversation. Either that or he was just lonely and wanted someone to talk to.

I have been thinking about what you said earlier about it being too hot to sleep tonight, and now I am curious. Are you going to sleep naked or will you wear that strappy little black vest top?

Casey read and reread the message, at first shocked and angry, then she froze.

She glanced at the window and unease rippled through her. It was dark outside, but the light was on in the studio. Was he outside? Had he been watching her?

Her mouth was dry, her hands shaking, and her immediate thought was the front door.

She had locked it, she knew she had.

If he was outside, there was no way he could get in.

She crossed to the studio door, flicked off the light switch and cautiously approached the window.

There was no one outside, at least as far as she could see, but still she couldn’t shake the unease, and she was reluctant to turn the light back on, not wanting to feel exposed.

She drew in a few deep breaths, knew she had to pull herself together. Switching over to the night service, she gathered her things, annoyed she was scared about leaving the studio.

What if he was waiting for her?

She had parked just outside. All she needed to do was lock up the main door and get to her car.

She felt bad for Phoebe, but the dog would have to hold on. Casey would give her five minutes outside when she returned home.

‘Come on, Pheebs.’

The beagle didn’t need asking twice, jumping off the sofa and running straight to the door. Casey slipped her lead on and followed her out of the studio and into the hallway.

Maybe it had been a lucky guess. It’s not like Steve had said a yellow or a pink vest. Black was a common colour. Most girls probably owned a black vest top.

Either that or maybe he had seen her earlier, before she had arrived for her show.

She tried to reassure herself that it was nothing sinister. Just a creep hitting on her.

The fact he was called Steve had immediately put her on edge. She was overreacting.

Still, her heart beat a little faster as she switched off the hall light, opened the front door, and stepped outside into the warm night.

Luckily, there was an outdoor light that lit up the path to her car, which sat looking lonely in the otherwise empty car park.

Casey fumbled with the keys, quickly locking the door, then marched straight ahead, her focus on her car. She clicked the locks, clambering inside after Phoebe as soon as she reached the vehicle, and her heart didn’t stop racing until she was locked inside, the engine running.

She berated herself for being so shaken on the drive back to Coltishall, angry that such a stupid thing had put her on edge, making her feel weak and pathetic.

After Steve Noakes had been sent to jail, she had taken self-defence classes, wanting to gain some control back. That had been a long time ago, though, and if someone attacked her now, she wasn’t sure she could properly defend herself. Maybe it was time to find another course.

By the time she arrived back home, she had talked her way round, telling herself she had completely overreacted. Still, finding a new self-defence class wasn’t a bad idea, if only to bolster her confidence.

Before going inside, she let Phoebe have five minutes on the grassed area to the front of the house, staying in view of the security lights. While she didn’t think there were any dangers here, she didn’t want to take any unnecessary risks.

Letting the dog have one last sniff, Casey tugged on her lead. ‘Come on, let’s go inside now. I need my bed.’

When Phoebe played for time, apparently finding the patch of grass she was sniffing fascinating, Casey tugged again. As she started to turn, she heard the crunch of a footstep behind her, and a firm hand caught hold of her shoulder.

Dropping Phoebe’s lead, she let out a scream.