All Fall Down: A gripping psychological thriller with a twist that will take your breath away

I
t began
with a sound like someone knocking. Rob couldn’t place it at first: he’d had a fair bit to drink and was in a mellow, reflective mood. With his family growing up and moving on, days like these had to be savoured.

There were a couple of different conversations in progress, and music playing on Evan’s portable speaker. The barbecue was fizzing and spitting with the last of the burgers, destined never to be eaten. Rob, sitting on the left-hand side of the terrace, looked over his right shoulder. Was it someone at the front door, or the gate at the side of the house?

The next knock was harder, with the flabby echo of timber yielding beneath the blows: a fence panel. But the neighbours on one side were out, and the others weren’t the sort who’d object to a Sunday afternoon barbecue. So where…?

Rob gestured to his son. Evan and his girlfriend Livvy were intertwined on the swing seat; a quick tap on his phone and the music stopped. There was a moment of frozen silence before something thudded into the rear fence.

Wendy Turner frowned at her husband. ‘What was that?’

Rob stood up and moved to the edge of the terrace. He was a tall man, nearly six two, but even he couldn’t see much beyond the fence. The house backed on to a large wild meadow, some of it privately owned and enclosed for horses. The rest was common land with access to a network of trails that criss-crossed the fields south of Petersfield; as a consequence most of the residents along here had opted for high fences for privacy as well as security.

‘Has one of the horses got out?’ Evan began to extricate himself from the swing seat, but Rob waved him back down.

‘I’ll check.’

Later he would try to remember if there had been a note of caution in his voice. He jogged down the steps and was crossing the lawn, curious to see what sort of animal it was, when he heard a loud groan that could only have come from a human being.

R
ob was
close enough to locate the sound now: the third panel of seven. Someone – a man – was breathing in short, desperate gasps, bumping and knocking against the fence. Rob tracked him moving left to right, towards the gate.

And it was unbolted
. Evan and Livvy had been on the common not half an hour before, tossing a Frisbee back and forth.

‘Rob?’ His wife’s voice was uncertain, maybe even fearful.

‘It’s okay.’ He had no idea if that was true, but he strode forward as the handle juddered against the latch. Rob quickly pressed his shoulder to the gate, holding it shut. He could feel the man’s weight against it, heavy and insistent.

There was a moment when Rob could have thrown the bolts home and kept the intruder at bay, but instead he did the opposite. . . his decision swayed by a simple whispered plea.

‘Help me.’

W
endy shouted
something – it might have been, ‘Rob, don’t!’ – but it was too late: he’d whipped the gate open.

Taken by surprise, the man stumbled in and collapsed at Rob’s feet. Several of his fingers looked pulpy and misshapen, which was perhaps why he didn’t try to break his fall. His long grey hair was matted with blood, as well as leaves and twigs and what might have been dirt or something worse. The smell coming off him was foul: a stench of ingrained sweat, bodily waste and decay.

As Rob recoiled, there was a high-pitched scream from Georgia. His fifteen-year-old daughter had been on a sun lounger in an alcove beside the terrace. As she leapt up and fled indoors, Wendy looked set to go after her, but Rob yelled, ‘Get the first aid kit! Evan, call 999, ambulance and police!’

Gasping, the man struggled on to his elbows and knees. Thin strands of drool hung from his mouth as he tried to speak. He wore filthy jeans and a tatty blue fleece with a large tear across the back. Beneath it was a grimy t-shirt, stained with blood and pus from what looked like a network of slashes to the skin.

On one foot he wore a cheap trainer flapping open at the toes; the other foot was bare, and crusted with blood around a small circular wound to the top and bottom. Having spent his working life on building sites, where he’d witnessed a fair number of accidents, Rob knew it was a puncture mark: exactly as if someone had driven a nail through the man’s foot.

Torture
was the word that popped into his mind. This man wasn’t just in terrible pain, but in fear of his life – that much was clear from the way he went on scrabbling over the grass. He was making a noise in his throat but couldn’t control his breathing enough to form words.

‘You’re safe, you’re safe here,’ Rob told him. But when he reached out, the man flinched, his back arching in panic; he coughed up a gout of blood and collapsed once again, his body still except for one leg, juddering against the grass.

Rob tried feeling for a pulse, but his first aid skills were severely limited. Wendy, thankfully, was a lot more capable, and now she came running towards him, holding the emergency medical kit.

Evan was speaking urgently on the phone, and Livvy had gone inside after Georgia. Rob checked the gate. He couldn’t see anyone on the common, but his view was restricted to a narrow slice of land. On the soft, springy turf it would be all too easy for someone to creep up on them.

Wendy gasped at the sight of the man’s wounds. She dropped to her knees, then had to turn away, one hand over her mouth as she retched. Rob understood her reaction: up close the sweet, cloying odour of rotting flesh was overpowering.

‘I don’t know how much we can do for him,’ he said. ‘He needs a hospital.’

Wendy swallowed heavily. ‘Let’s get him in the recovery position, at least.’

Together they rolled the man on to his side, his head lolling in a way that reminded Rob of a landed fish. An unnatural, feverish heat radiated from his skin. His face was so bruised and swollen that it was difficult to put an age on him. Late fifties, if Rob had to guess.

Wendy bent forward to detect a breath. ‘He’s still with us, just about.’ Straightening up, she took a gulp of less tainted air and shook her head. ‘He must be in agony.’

Rob started to get up. ‘You all right here?’

‘What?’

With a nod at the common, he said, ‘Whoever did this could still be out there.’

R
ob listened
to her objections – it might be dangerous; he should leave it to the police – but knew he had to do
something
.

‘Just a quick look,’ he promised, and without waiting for a response he moved through the gateway, ready to react at the first hint of an ambush.

But there was no one in sight. In the woods on the far side of the meadow, a light breeze stirred the treetops. Birds chirped listlessly; from far off he could hear the low rumble of traffic and the whine of a lawnmower.

Rob wondered if his son’s music had attracted the man to their property – homing in on people who could come to his aid – but already, at the back of his mind, a much less welcome theory was forming.

He took a few steps towards the nearest footpath, checking the ground for signs of blood. Wendy shouted his name, and he realised that he’d drifted out of sight.

‘It’s fine,’ he called. ‘Won’t be a minute.’

She’s right: let the police handle this
, he thought. But another voice didn’t welcome that idea. Not if there was any chance that his other theory could be right.

Was this some kind of message?

A warning?

W
ith his thoughts in turmoil
, Rob made for slightly higher ground, passing the wire fence of a grassy paddock where two palomino mares grazed contentedly. He crossed a couple of paths that had been worn to dirt by regular use, but found no blood, no evidence of the man’s route to their home.

At the top of the rise he stopped to scan the tree line beyond the meadow. There was still no one to be seen, and yet Rob had the feeling he was being watched. The sun was a dazzling white disc, and for a moment his vision blurred; he felt the first twinge of a tension headache and knew this was pointless:
I ought to be back with my family—

An unnatural shape drew his attention, obscured from view by a large clump of gorse. Shielding his eyes from the sun, he trotted down the slope and saw that it was a boy – or a young man – hunched over in an odd position, one knee jutting forward.

He was sitting on a bike, Rob realised; a small, wiry figure, wearing a black t-shirt and long khaki shorts.

‘Hey!’ As Rob moved closer, the boy rolled back a couple of feet. There was a surliness about his posture that Rob, as a father of two young men, knew all too well. ‘Can I ask you something? Hey!’

No response. The boy stared at him from behind the bushes. Rob caught a glimpse of a pale face, a mop of dark, scruffy hair. Something about his gaze seemed to radiate hostility.

‘Were you here a few minutes ago? A guy in a blue fleece, he’s badly hurt. Did you see where he came from?’

Still nothing. They were about fifty feet apart. Fuming, Rob said, ‘This is important. Has anyone been along—?’ He broke off as the boy’s head jerked up, reacting to something.

Distant sirens, pulsing slowly towards them. The sound distracted him for a moment, and that was all it took for the boy to race away. Rob dashed forward but caught his toe on a root; stumbling, he managed to regain his balance as the bike went sailing into the trees.

Chasing him would be futile. Once in the woods, the boy had any number of routes to follow – and even if Rob were to catch him, what then? Rob might consider it his public duty to restrain a potential witness, but wasn’t he just as likely to be prosecuted for assault as thanked for his efforts?

A
sudden wave
of dizziness had him doubled up, his heart thumping like crazy. Hearing a shout, he quickly stood and put on a reassuring smile. Evan was sprinting towards him in huge strides, virtually floating above the grass. He was a natural athlete, not quite as tall as his dad but leaner and faster; he made Rob feel like an old man.

‘Paramedics are here.’ Evan caught his glance at the trees and said, ‘Who were you shouting at?’

‘A lad on a bike. Thought he might have seen something.’ Rob blew out a sigh. ‘He just took off.’

‘If it was a kid, you probably scared him to death.’

‘Not a child. A teenager, or your sort of age.’

Staring at the trees, a patch of shadows caught Rob’s notice. Was the young man still in there, watching them?

‘Can’t really blame him for not wanting to get involved.’ Evan placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘You need to come back and rest.’

‘I won’t keel over, don’t worry.’ To prove it, Rob set a brisk pace. ‘How’s Georgia?’

‘Fine. Livvy’s with her.’

‘We need to be careful. This could bring back all kinds of. . .’

‘Yeah, except she’s tougher than any of us. Stop stressing, Dad. It’s all under control.’

Rob couldn’t help but give a rueful smile. Evan and his girlfriend had returned from their second year at university with an air of confidence that implied they had adult life completely sussed, and couldn’t understand why the older generation had made such a fuss about the challenges of independence.

Reaching the gate, Rob waved his son through and took one last look at the woods. Evan was probably right, but something about the boy’s reaction troubled him just the same.

What did you see?
he wondered.

What do you know?