Every Little Breath: A Tense Psychological Thriller Full of Twists

As the Coldplay song began, Casey pulled off her headphones and closed her eyes, massaging her temples; the prickling of a headache coming on.

It was tension-caused, she knew that. Last night she had struggled to fall asleep, the encounter with Rupert playing on her mind, plus she was still worried about being in the studio alone again. She had eventually drifted off, but her sleep had been restless and dream-fuelled. In her dream she was in an old house, full of rooms and corridors and she was aware of someone moving things around whenever she tried to sleep. She then discovered the front door was open and try as she might, she couldn’t lock it, couldn’t keep out whatever bad thing was trying to get inside.

When she awoke for real, her eyes were sore, her brain foggy, and she found it a struggle taking Phoebe for a brief walk. And, of course, it was one of her double-trip days. After gulping down two cups of coffee, Casey had headed to Mundesley, hoping to lock herself away in the marketing office and keep her head down for the morning, but there was no chance of that.

She had logged into her email, part of her dreading further contact from Steve, but the only new message was from the station manager, Justin, telling her off for deviating from the playlist schedule on Thursday night.

Casey couldn’t believe he had listened to the late show, immediately suspecting Paul Powers or Jade Armitage of shit-stirring.

She had deleted Justin’s email, then the ones from Steve, trying to focus on her work, but then she had fallen foul of Paul, who accused her of breaking his favourite mug. Apparently, it had been clean and sat on the desk ready for him to use on Friday morning, so Casey, being the last one in the studio had to have dropped it.

Casey knew the mug he was talking about, with ‘No.1 DJ’ in a red love heart. She had glared at it many times. There was no way she had broken it, though, in fact, she was fairly certain she had seen it on the desk on Thursday night.

Of course, Paul wasn’t having any of it and after arguing with him for a few minutes and getting nowhere, she slammed the office door, wondering how the hell someone could get so het up over a stupid mug.

Her morning in the studio had put her in a bad mood and when she returned there later for her show, she was dreading setting foot in the place. She didn’t get paid for the deejay gig, doing it voluntarily for the experience. If it became too much of a chore, she promised herself she would knock it on the head.

Problem was, Casey wasn’t a quitter.

The evening atmosphere was more relaxed than the one she had left earlier. Kenny Lee was the only person in the building and he was so laid-back, Casey was convinced he must smoke a lot of weed.

She busied herself sorting Phoebe while she waited for Kenny to finish, then reminded him to lock the door on his way out. As always, she had gone to check it as soon as she was able.

As the song neared the end, she slipped her headphones back on, told her listeners that after the ad break they would be heading into the request half hour, giving out her email address and the station telephone number for texts or phone calls.

No one ever called and she didn’t know why she bothered. If she was lucky she might get two or three texts and maybe the odd email. Most nights she made up requests to read out, just so she didn’t sound like the idiot deejay who didn’t have any listeners.

She had one of her fictitious texters lined up for after the break, the song good to go, when the station telephone started to ring, startling the life out of her.

Was someone actually calling in to speak on-air? This would be a first for her.

She went to snatch up the receiver, then waited a beat before answering, not wanting to appear overeager.

‘East Coast Radio. How may I help you?’

‘Can I speak to Casey?’ A deep male voice.

‘This is Casey speaking.’

‘Casey Fallon?’

‘The one and only.’ Casey gave a nervous laugh, cursing herself. She sounded like a dork. It was the excitement of having her first caller. ‘Are you calling to make a request?’

‘I am.’

‘Are you happy to go on-air?’

‘Yes. Okay.’

‘Can you give me your name and tell me where you are, and what song you would like me to play? I will get it lined up then I will introduce you and ask you for your song and any dedication on-air. Is that okay?’

‘Uh… yeah, sure. Um, it’s Steven.’

Casey froze. Steve from the other night? The Steve who knew she was wearing a black vest top and asked her if she liked to sleep naked?

She instructed herself to pull her shit together. Steve was such a common name and he had actually called himself Steven, not shortened it to Steve. It had to be a different guy. Plus the man on the end of the phone seemed normal enough, and he had actually called in, not sent an email. It was a different person.

‘Where are you calling from, Steven?’

‘Right now? I’m in Suffolk, working. I come from Norwich though.’

‘Another night owl.’

‘Oh yes, most definitely. I seem to do all my best work at night.’ He laughed at his joke and Casey thought he relaxed a little. That was good.

‘What song would you like me to play, Steven from Norwich?’

‘It’s an old one, but one of my favourites. “Mellow Yellow” by Donovan. Can you play that for me, Casey?’

It was old, and an odd choice, but Casey was just excited about having a listener on-air. She would play him ‘Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious’ if he asked for it.

‘Yes, of course. I can play it. Right, I’m just going to pop you on hold. Don’t go anywhere, okay?’

‘I won’t.’

She quickly found the song, reminded everyone it was the request half hour, then introduced Steven.

‘Now I’m not going to lie, Steven. Most of my requests come in by text or email, so when the phone rang, it made me jump. It’s nice to have someone actually come on-air to talk to me.’

‘Well… I guess I’m old-fashioned like that.’ Steven laughed nervously. ‘I get butterfingers trying to send texts.’

‘It makes a pleasant change to hear a human voice, so if any other listeners out there are thinking about making a request, don’t be shy. Go ahead and pick up the phone. I don’t bite.’

‘So you’re all alone in the studio, then?’ Steven asked. ‘That doesn’t seem right, a pretty lady all by herself this late at night.’

A ripple of unease fluttered through Casey’s stomach. It wasn’t just Steven’s tone, which sounded a little lewd, he had just told every listener that she was by herself. She attempted to get the conversation back on track.

‘We were just talking off-air and you said you’re a night owl yourself.’

‘I did.’

‘And you’re working down in Suffolk at the moment, I believe.’

‘I am. I’m pulling a late-night shift, but it will be worth it.’

‘Oh really? What line of work you are in, Steven?’

‘Extermination.’

The line had crackled and Casey wasn’t quite sure if she heard him correctly. ‘Sorry, did you say extermination?’

‘I did. I kill vermin. I like to trap them and make them squeal.’

He means rats, right? Casey didn’t like the way this conversation was going and she was beginning to wish she hadn’t put him on the air. She needed to bring this to a close, right now. ‘You had a song request for us,’ she told him, ignoring his last comment. ‘“Mellow Yellow”, by Donovan.’ She wasn’t going to leave it for him to say, worried that he might change the song on her.

‘That’s the one.’

‘And is there anyone special you would like to dedicate this song to?’ She regretted asking the question as soon as she had said it, hoping he was going to dedicate it to the rats.

For a moment he didn’t answer and she was about to fill the dead air, thank him for his request and start the song, but then he spoke.

‘Yes, there is actually.’

‘Okay, and who is that?’

‘I would like to dedicate it to you, Casey Fallon.’

‘Me?’ She laughed nervously. ‘Okay, umm, thank you.’ Get him off-air, get him off-air.

‘Unlike you, Casey, I do bite, and I bite hard. I want you to listen to the song, listen to the lyrics very carefully. Do you understand? I want you to–’

Steven didn’t get to finish what he was saying as Casey cut him off, went straight into the song.

Fucking weirdo.

She let out a shaky breath, annoyed that her hands were trembling, and told herself she had just been unlucky. Steven was obviously just a little odd.

The phone started ringing again and this time she didn’t jump, she almost fell off her chair.

Her heart was racing, her mouth dry as she stared at it. What if it’s him?

She didn’t want to speak to him again, but she was at work and couldn’t ignore the call. It could be another listener or the station manager wondering what the fuck had just happened.

She wiped her damp palms on her jeans before she lifted the receiver, hating the quiver in her voice when she spoke. ‘East Coast Radio. How may I help you?’

‘Casey, it’s Finn.’

Relief skittered through her and she was so grateful it wasn’t Steven that for a second she never even questioned why he was calling.

‘I’ve been listening to your show and I heard the guy who just called in. Are you okay?’

Finn is listening to my show? God, if he had heard the call and picked up that she was freaked out, who the hell else was listening? She was going to get a reputation as the deejay who panicked when dealing with a difficult caller.

‘I’m fine,’ she told him matter-of-factly.

‘Are you sure about that? You sounded pretty shaken.’

‘Honestly, I’m fine. He was just a weirdo.’ She gave a humourless laugh. ‘Unfortunately, you get them in this business.’

‘You’re there at the station alone?’

‘The main door’s locked, I checked it myself. No one can get in. And I’m not alone, Phoebe’s with me.’ Casey glanced at the dog, snoozing on the sofa. There was no getting away from it. If anyone managed to break in to the studio and attack her, Phoebe would be no use whatsoever.

Finn grumbled a bit at that. Casey wasn’t really listening to what he was saying, as she was aware of the song coming to an end, knew she had to go back on-air, but still she bristled a little with irritation.

He wasn’t her boyfriend. He wasn’t even really her friend. He was just someone she had known briefly a long while ago and who now happened to be a neighbour in the apartment block where she was living. (She ignored the huge crush she had on him. Correction. Had once had on him.) It wasn’t his place to check up on her, just as it wasn’t his place to argue with her about the safety of the studio.

‘Hold on a second. I have to go back on-air.’

She pressed the hold button before he could object, was tempted to leave him there as she replaced her headphones and introduced her bogus request, the one she was going to start with originally, before Steven had called. As the Oasis song started playing she checked for texts and emails, saw she had a couple of genuine requests, and spent a couple of moments getting them ready. When she returned to the call Finn didn’t sound happy.

‘I really think you should take this a bit more seriously. You’re in an empty studio and you’ve just had a creep on the line who knows you’re alone.’

Casey’s irritation rumbled into annoyance. Not taking it seriously? He had no bloody idea just how seriously she had taken every perceived danger since discovering what her ex-boyfriend’s father did for a hobby.

Her own father had called her paranoid, her mother had sent her to therapy. Casey had known her need to triple-check locks and to sleep with a knife close by wasn’t normal, that her inability to form long-term relationships and the urge to look under the bed before getting in it was a knock-on effect to what she had witnessed. She had worked so damned hard to conquer those fears and mostly had – well, except for the relationship thing, and she wasn’t sure she would ever be able to get past that.

‘What exactly would you like me to do, Finn? Do you want me to walk out of the studio right now and go home? I’m live on-air. I’m sure my boss would just love it if I upped and left. I would never get another job in radio again.’

She could tell by his silence that he didn’t have an answer for that.

‘Do you want me to drive over there?’ he asked eventually. He couldn’t have sounded more reluctant if he had tried.

And even though his offer had come from a good place, even though it was quite possible he had been at work all day, and even though Casey was more worried about the caller than she was letting on, she channelled it into anger and threw it straight back in his face.

‘You’re not my boyfriend, you’re not my brother, and you’re not my dad. I don’t need you to protect me. I don’t need you checking up on me. It’s not your job. Creeps contact the radio station all the time. You’re overreacting. Now I have a show to get back to and I’m sure you have better things to do than talk to me. Thank you for your concern, but it’s unnecessary.’

She didn’t bother saying goodnight, hanging up before he could protest.

Taking her frustration out on Finn was wrong, she knew that, but it had given her anger, which was now usurping her fear. That was good. Anger was stronger. She wouldn’t let some arsehole caller get the better of her. This was her show and she called the shots.

She read out a couple of requests, lined the songs up back-to-back to give her a chance to stretch her legs. As the first tune kicked in, she pulled off the headphones, started to get up.

The phone started ringing again and she glared at it. Finn probably didn’t like the fact she had hung up on him.

She snatched up the receiver, ready for a fight. ‘East Coast Radio. How may I help you?’

‘You cut me off!’

The voice was angry, it wasn’t Finn, and Casey froze.

‘Steven?’

Why the fuck was he calling back? What the hell did he want?

‘You cut me off, Casey, when I was talking on-air. Why did you do that?’

‘I’m sorry, I only have an allotted time for each request and I needed to play your song.’

She thought she sounded apologetic enough, and technically it was kind of the truth.

‘LIAR!’

She jumped at the vehemence in the man’s voice.

‘I’m not lying, now if you’ll excuse me, I played your request and–’

‘You’ve disappointed me, Casey, and I’m afraid there will be consequences for that. Now I want you to listen to me carefully.’

‘No, I want you to stop harassing me.’ She tried to keep her voice assertive, her tone firm, but inside she was shaking. ‘I’m hanging up now. If you call back I’m going to ring the police.’

‘If you hang up, she dies. If you call the police, she dies.’

What? Who was going to die? What the hell was he talking about?

He had her attention now and he knew it.

‘We’re going to play a game. Are you good at riddles, Casey?’ When she didn’t answer, he snapped at her. ‘I asked you a question. Are you good at riddles?’

‘What do you want from me?’

‘I want you to save her.’

‘Save who?’

‘Think about my song. Think about the lyrics. You’ll find her where the cattle are no longer lowing, east of the bridge.’

‘What?’

‘I was going to give you until 3am, but you disrespected me and I have to punish you for that, so I’m docking half an hour. You have until 2.30am, so when your show finishes, you’ll need to move quickly.’

He was clearly crazy and Casey was about to disrespect him again by cutting the call, but then he asked her a question that made her blood run cold.

‘You saved one life, but can you save them all?’

Was he referring to Amanda Haines?

‘What have you done?’ she asked quietly, aware the second song had just started and she only had another couple of minutes before she was back on-air.

‘At the moment, nothing, and I’m giving you a chance to stop this. Your show finishes at 1am. You have one-and-a-half hours to find her. At 2.30am I will be taping a plastic bag over her head. She won’t have long then. If she dies before you get to her, it will be your fault. Do you understand?’

Casey squeezed her eyes shut. This wasn’t real. He was messing with her.

‘I asked you a question. Do you understand?’

‘Why are you doing this?’

‘Because I can. Now let me go over the clues again. My song, the lyrics. You’ll find her where the cattle are no longer lowing, east of the bridge. Are you paying attention, Casey?’

Her mouth was so dry, she found it hard to speak.

‘Casey, I need you to answer me. You really don’t want me to dock more time.’

‘Yes.’

‘Good girl. Now listen to me carefully. You are to call no one. No police, no friends, no family. Only you can save her and you come alone. If you call anyone, if you try to trick me, I will know. If you do any of those things, the plastic bag goes on sooner. I am trusting you to do the right thing. You want to save her. You don’t want her to die. She is counting on you. Save her, Casey. Before she takes her last breath.’

The line went dead and for a moment Casey couldn’t move. She was aware of the Elbow song that was playing in the background, knew as she stared at the receiver that she had to get her shit together. What the hell had just happened? There was no way the caller – Steven – had been serious. It was a prank. A tasteless prank.

Maybe he had figured out who she was, knew about her connection to Steven Noakes, and decided to have a little fun at her expense. See if he could fool her into driving out into the countryside in the middle of the night, probably wanting to try and scare her.

Well he had certainly done that. Her focus was shot and she couldn’t stop shaking.

She reached for her water bottle, took a couple of swigs, then tried to concentrate on her breathing. How the hell was she supposed to do the rest of her show after that call?

Breathe, Casey. She put the earphones back on and tried to focus on her final request as the Elbow song finished. When she spoke her voice sounded distant and disjointed, like it wasn’t hers. She tripped over her words badly as she read out the next message and introduced the song, putting her head in her hands as soon as it started playing.

Jesus, Casey, pull it together.

What kind of sicko joked about suffocating someone with a plastic bag?

For a moment she was tempted to call Finn back and tell him what had happened. His number would be programmed into the station phone. She had behaved badly and been rude to him, though, and what she really needed to do was apologise for being a bitch. She decided she would do that, but separate from this.

What if this man… Steven, was telling the truth? What if he really was planning to try and kill someone? While it was more likely to be a prank, Casey guessed she couldn’t dismiss it being real. But what was she to do? Try and solve his riddle, then drive out alone to wherever to try and find whoever he was threatening to kill? That would be both stupid and dangerous.

He had said not to call the police, but how would he really know if she did?

Though if she did call them, what the hell was she supposed to tell them? They would just think she was hysterical and overreacting. Would they really take her seriously?

But if I don’t call them and a woman dies…

If that happened and Casey hadn’t tried to stop him, she wasn’t sure she could forgive herself.

Her mind made up, she went to an ad break and lined a couple of songs up, then picked up the phone and dialled 999.