Painful Pathway Read online

  Title Page

  PAINFUL PATHWAY

  By Melissa Lumley

  Kinks Books is an imprint

  of W&H Publishing LLP.

  Publisher Information

  This eBook edition published by Kink Books is an imprint of W&H Publishing LLP, Foresters Hall, 25-27 Westow Street, London, SE19 3RY.

  Digital edition converted and published

  by Andrews UK Limited 2012

  www.andrewsuk.com

  Previously published by The Olympia Press

  PO Box 148, Ryde, Isle of Wight, PO33 9BE.

  Copyright © Melissa Lumley

  The right of Melissa Lumley to be identified as the Author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988.

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

  This eBook is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by the way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, electronically copied, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent.

  Chapter One

  Sophie watched from the open bedroom window as Natasha drove down the lane and disappeared around the corner. Then she flopped down onto the queen-size bed with a heavy discontented sigh. She hated it when Natasha had to work nights. She could still smell the slightly salty feminine scent of her on the lilac satin sheets, could still taste her intimacy on her lips, was still sore and aching from the thrusting of the huge rubber strap-on phallus Natasha had being using only twenty minutes earlier ... But now the older woman was gone and would not be back until morning; the night stretched ahead long and lonely.

  The petite sun-bleached blonde picked up a romance novel from the bedside cabinet but soon put it down again. She went to the kitchen and made a mug of hot chocolate but she still felt wide awake - she never could sleep the first night Natasha was back on nightshift at the Hanley Clinic and certainly not when she still felt on a sexual high from their earlier lovemaking. She was still aroused, still longing desperately for Natasha’s soft silky hands on her pale trembling flesh, her full moist mouth on her breast ... Perhaps she should take a long relaxing bath.

  She lit tea-lights and poured scented aromatherapy oil into the warm water, dimmed the light and climbed into the tub with a glass of dry white wine and a soft sigh. After a while soaking in the luxuriantly scented water, she put aside her wine glass and slipped her hand between her legs. She still couldn’t keep her mind off of Natasha and sex and the urge to masturbate was now a searing one. She began to stimulate her lips for a while, then her clitoris and was soon writhing and moaning with ecstasy in the water like a sea-nymph of Greek mythology. Eventually she could take no more stimulation and allowed herself to slowly de-escalate from the euphoria of the multi orgasms she had been experiencing before clambering from the bath and slipping into bed, at last able to fall into a deep satiated sleep filled with erotic dreams of her Natasha.

  Sophie stirred and stretched sleepily. She glanced at the bedside clock - it was after nine. Natasha should be back by now but she was not unduly alarmed - if there was an emergency at the clinic during the night then she was often late home. She put on her rose-coloured satin dressing gown and went down to the kitchen, put the kettle on to boil and then decided to lay the table for a special breakfast for Natasha would arrive home tired and hungry. Then she dressed and switched on the computer to check her emails. She kept an eye on the digital clock in the bottom right hand corner of the screen as she surfed the net for a while and, as time dragged on, she began to become concerned. Natasha should certainly have been back home long before now - at least, she would have called if she were going to be this late for some unforeseen reason.

  She went off-line, picked up the phone and dialled Natasha’s mobile number. It was switched off, which indicated that she was probably still at the clinic - Sophie knew that Natasha always switched it off on arriving at work and on again when she left. She would wait a while longer, then telephone the Hanley Clinic itself.

  “I’m sorry, but you obviously have the wrong number. There is no Natasha Klein here,” a well-cut voice told her curtly when she at last decided she must call.

  Sophie felt almost giddy with shock and confusion. “But she works there. She’s a psychiatric nurse. You must know her,” she protested. “Perhaps your friend works at the Bentley Health Centre in Hanstown, that’s only a few miles from here. I suggest you telephone them.”

  “I’m not a class one idiot. I know where my partner works. I’ve picked her up from there dozens of times before. I’ve spoken to your Doctor Rabanne and Sister Tyrell, colleagues of hers, loads of times. Call one of them and ask where she is.”

  “I’m sorry but I really do not have time for this. There is no Ms Klein here. Goodbye.”

  “No, wait. Listen to me ...” Sophie begged frantically but heard the click of the receiver being replaced at the other end. She slammed the phone down and wondered what the hell to do. Where was Natasha? It was only a very small clinic - a private high security psychiatric unit - so the reception nurse she had spoken to must certainly know Natasha. What reason would she have to lie? Sophie decided she must simply go down to the clinic in person to find Natasha. She grabbed her handbag and left at once.

  Sophie knew that a speed cam had snapped her, but she didn’t care about that in the least - she had to get to the clinic and get there quickly. The tyres of her Vauxhall Corsa screeched loudly as she turned into the driveway and again when she braked. She slammed the door and stormed into the ultra-modern architectural oddity that was the clinic. The open plan reception and the lack of any obvious security around the entrance belied the security of the unit - out of public sight well away from reception the detention and treatment areas were beyond prison-like metal grille doors with secret coding entrance panels and CCTV. The interior was plush, the quiet unnerving. Sophie shattered that quiet unceremoniously when she banged her fist loudly on the teak reception desk to get attention.

  “Madam, please. You can’t ...” the frosty-faced forty-something receptionist began after pivoting around to discover the source of the commotion.

  “Don’t ‘madam’ me. Where is Natasha Klein?” Sophie demanded. The reception nurse looked at her with such a superior air that Sophie wanted to slap her face. She struggled desperately to keep her temper.

  “Ah, it’s you. The young lady I spoke to on the telephone. As I told you earlier, dear, your friend does not work here and never has. I did ask around after speaking to you just in case she used to work here before I myself became a member of staff but no one has ever heard of her. Obviously you have made a mistake or your friend for some reason lied to you about where she was working. Now I’m afraid I must ask you to leave the premises.”

  “I will not. Is Dr Rabanne or Sister Tyrell on duty? I want to speak to one of them. They know me and they know Natasha.”

  “Take a seat one moment and I’ll see if one of them can come to reception,” the woman - Mrs Cordell, according to a name badge on her navy dress - told her. Sophie sat down on one of the two leather settees either side of the entrance and watched with trepidation as Mrs Cordell picked up a receiver and dialled a short internal number; she wished desperately she could hear what was being said in the short conversation that followed.

  “Someone will be with you in just a few moments, Miss ...?” Mrs Cordell called to her.

  “Ms Ryan. Thank you,” Sophie replied, feeling calmer. Omar Rabanne or Liz Tyrell would reassure her as to Natasha’s whereabouts. It was obviously some simple misunderstanding that would now be cleared up in a matter of minutes. She would probably end up apologising and feeling very small and foolish indeed! She watched anxiously for the arrival of the tall lanky dark-skinned Omar or the mouse-like Liz. But instead of either of them, it was a uniformed security guard who approached her.

  “I’ve been asked to escort you from the building, Miss,” he told her and she paled with shock and disbelief. “Please come quietly without any fuss and I will show you to your car.”

  Sophie paced the living room wondering whatever to do. She decided to call the police, only to be told that it was too soon to file a missing persons report. When she asked them to speak to the Hanley Clinic, an officer politely but coolly explained that it really wasn’t unusual for someone to lie about working. “Your friend is probably unemployed and too embarrassed to admit it to you. Or perhaps as you say she goes out at nights a lot she is working as a prostitute and didn’t want you to know. Whatever her reasons, she clearly lied to you about her place of work. Now, as I said, just sit tight and wait. She’s bound to turn up sooner or later.”

  Sophie slammed down the phone, exasperated. A prostitute? How dare he! Why would no one listen to her? She knew that Natasha hadn’t lied - Sophie herself had picked her up from the Clinic several times and had spoken to Omar and Liz, but no one seemed interested in that very pertinent fact. She began to feel as though she was going crazy. And she felt so bloody helpless. She knew that Natasha would not stay away this long without some explanation, a phone call at least, and she was very much afraid that something really terrible had happened to her.

  Sophie spent the next twenty-four hours in a state of utter confusion and despair, desperately waiting and hoping for Natasha to walk through the door. She kept phoning her mobile n
umber every few minutes or so but it remained either switched off or out of range, she could not tell which.

  She tried to contact Omar Rabanne and Liz Tyrell at their homes but found that they were both ex-directory. She had cried until there were no tears left and had not eaten or drunk anything for hours. She felt as though there was a hollow pit in her stomach and her head was aching terribly. She was imagining the very worst and had a gut-wrenching heart-twisting terror of never seeing her beloved Natasha again.

  Once those twenty-four hours were up, she telephoned the police again to officially file a missing persons report. She was disheartened and angry at their apparent disinterest.

  “Ms Ryan, more than 250,000 people go missing every year in this country. Most of those are missing by choice and many return home in a few days. It’s obvious that Ms Klein was keeping secrets from you for some reason, lying to you about her work and who knows what else. Your friend has probably gone to stay with a boyfriend or ...”

  “I keep trying to explain that Sophie isn’t just a friend - she’s my life partner. We consider ourselves married. Would be, if the bloody law weren’t so bigoted and archaic. We’ve never had any secrets from one another. We love each other. I know that something terrible has happened to her ...”

  “Please keep calm, Ms Ryan. I am only trying to reassure you that everything is most likely OK. So many people simply disappear for a few days for time out, to think over problems or whatever. It’s unfair on friends and relatives who are left to worry and it causes us unnecessary work and I am sure that this is the case here, but I certainly am filing a missing person report for you. We always must when someone does not return home; no matter how certain we are that their absence is voluntary. Now, I’m going to send an officer to see you and take some further details. It would help if you could have a recent photo of Ms Klein ready. It will be returned. Please hold the line for just a moment.”

  Sophie waited impatiently for a few long moments and then heard the phone picked up again; “I’ve arranged for WPC Denton to call on you in about an hour and we’ll take things from there.”

  She could not bear hanging around the house alone. It seemed so bare and empty, somehow threatening even, without Natasha around. She couldn’t just sit and wait so she decided to go down to the corner shop and put a postcard in the window - ‘Urgent. If you have seen Natasha Klein in the last forty-eight hours please phone Sophie on 0789 0749658’. Then she simply walked around the streets and lanes in the vague hope of spotting her. She kept an eye on her watch and headed for home when the hour was almost up.

  Sophie went to put the key in the lock and the door swung open. Her heart plunged into her stomach. Was Natasha home? She rushed indoors, calling her name but there was no response. But someone had certainly been in the house because so many things had been disturbed; in the living room, for instance, she saw at once that a number of photos were missing from the mantelpiece - all of those with Natasha in them. Sophie was scared, confused and angry. What the hell was going on? Before she could investigate further she heard the doorbell ring - good, the WPC had arrived.

  “Sophie Ryan? I’m WPC Denton,” the tall boyish brunette introduced herself. “Shall we sit down with a cuppa and talk things over? I’ll need to ask a lot of rather personal questions I’m afraid and have a look around the house but it all helps in trying to figure out what has happened to your partner. And I’m sure Ms Klein will soon turn up safe and well and apologetic so please try not to worry.”

  “I’m so glad you’re here. I need to report a robbery as well as Natasha’s disappearance,” Sophie told the surprised officer. She explained about the open front door and the missing photographs.

  “You’re understandably very worked up right now and probably you simply forgot to close the front door. As for the photos, you probably moved them and forgot. The memory does play tricks when you’re anxious and upset. PC Crowder asked you for a photograph of Natasha for me, didn’t he? You probably moved them then.”

  “No, I know I didn’t. Someone has definitely been in the house,” Sophie persisted.

  “Well, it certainly doesn’t look as though you’ve had a burglary. Everything is very neat and tidy.”

  “But it wasn’t when I went out! The place actually seems to have been tidied up a bit.”

  “Well, that certainly doesn’t sound like burglars, does it? Perhaps Natasha has been back here. That does seem the most obvious explanation. Has anything other than the photos been taken? Her clothes for instance?”

  “I haven’t had the chance to check yet.”

  Sophie and WPC Denton looked around the house together. The wardrobe contained only Sophie’s own clothes - Natasha’s were gone. In fact, so had anything and everything that belonged to her. Indeed, it looked very much as though only one person lived in that house. There was no evidence at all of Natasha ever having been there.

  “Well, it seems to me as if Natasha has been back here and collected all her belongings. Strictly speaking she’s not missing - she’s just moved out. Perhaps the two of you had quarrelled? Anyway, there’s clearly nothing to worry about - it’s a domestic concern really. Natasha obviously left voluntarily. I can understand you’re being upset about the whole thing but you’ve clearly got to come to terms with the fact that, for whatever reason, Ms Klein has simply left you. I really am very sorry. Have you called all of her friends to see if she is staying with one of them? Or her family?”

  “We don’t have any friends around here at all - we only moved here a few months back and we keep pretty much to ourselves, to be honest. And neither of us has family, we were both brought up in care - it’s one of the many things we have in common, one of the things that brought us together really. And I know that Natasha would never, ever have left willingly without a single word of explanation. And even if she had, that would not explain the clinic lying to me, would it? You haven’t even bothered to speak to them. Dr Rabanne or Liz Tyrell can confirm that she works there, despite what that lying cow told me.”

  “I tell you what, Sophie, we’ll go to the clinic together now and I shall ask them myself if Natasha Klein has ever worked for them,” conceded WPC Denton. “But if they confirm otherwise, you must accept that Ms Klein lied to you about that and stay away from their premises. Agreed?”

  Sophie reluctantly agreed. After all, Mrs Cordell might have lied to her but she would never get away with lying to the police!

  The two women approached the reception desk and the officer rang the bell. Moments later, Mrs Cordell appeared. If she was surprised to see a police officer, she did not show it.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, madam, but a local woman has apparently gone missing and she allegedly worked here. I wonder if I can ask you to confirm or deny that? The woman in question is a Natasha Klein.”

  “Why, of course Natasha works here. She’s one of our psychiatric nurses,” Mrs Cordell replied.

  “Then may I ask why you told Ms Ryan here that Natasha Klein does not work here?”

  “Because Natasha asked me to,” said Mrs Cordell. “I think you had best talk to Dr Rabanne, that will clear things up for you. If you’d like to take a seat I’ll fetch him.”

  Sophie and Denton sat down on one of the leather settees. A few moments later, Dr Omar Rabanne appeared and introduced himself to the officer, shaking her hand with a firm confident grip. He turned and smiled at Sophie.

  “And how are you feeling today, Sophie? You missed your last two appointments. Are you still taking your medication?”

  Sophie was flabbergasted. She had no idea at all what he was talking about and said so quite vehemently.

  “WPC Denton, Sophie has been a patient of mine for some time. She is delusional and possibly psychotic. She has become obsessed with one of my nurses, Natasha Klein, and has been causing her great distress by pestering her constantly.”

  Sophie drew in a deep breath and grasped her seat desperately to steady herself; she felt almost faint with shock. “I had thought of committing her as an inpatient, but she seemed to be responding well to her medication. It seems I made a mistake and must reconsider.”