Don’t Breathe
Heleyne Hammersley
Copyright © 2021 Heleyne Hammersley
The right of Heleyne Hammersley to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance to the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in 2021 by Bloodhound Books.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
www.bloodhoundbooks.com
Print ISBN 978-1-913942-32-8
Contents
Love crime, thriller and mystery books?
Also by Heleyne Hammersley
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Before
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Before
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Before
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Before
Chapter 10
Before
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Before
Chapter 13
Before
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Before
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Before
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Before
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
After
Acknowledgements
A note from the publisher
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Also by Heleyne Hammersley
The Kate Fletcher Series
Closer To Home (Book 1)
Merciless (Book 2)
Bad Seed (Book 3)
Reunion (Book 4)
Thrillers
Forgotten
Fracture
…for Judy – you were right!
Prologue
‘I don’t have any money!’ the boy wailed. ‘If I had, I’d give you some.’
‘Some?’ the older boy said. ‘Some? If you had any money, you’d give me all of it.’
The younger boy stared at his tormentor, his lower lip trembling as he tried not to cry. If he cried it would be much worse. He’d cried last time and the beating had been really bad. It hadn’t been worth it either. He’d tried to hide his dinner money in his sock but the bully had just pulled the shoes and socks straight off his feet and thrown them into a wet corner of the school field before taking the two pound coins and leaving his victim barefoot and bleeding.
‘Kneel down! Turn out your pockets!’
The boy did exactly as he was told, dropping a fifty-pence coin and two tens onto the grass. It was all the money he had: his mum had given him it that morning and told him not to ask for more until next week.
The other boy scooped up the coins. ‘Good. You know what to do next. Eyes down. Stay still. Don’t speak. Don’t breathe.’
The boy followed the instructions, taking a huge gulp of air and holding it in his lungs. The first time he hadn’t followed orders the bully had turned round and kicked him in the head. He wasn’t going to take any chances. He knelt, perfectly still, eyes down, holding his breath until it finally burst out of his chest. The other boy was gone.
It had been happening for months now, ever since he’d started at the grammar school and he knew that it would keep happening for the next three years, until the older boy left, unless he got kicked out.
He’d thought about telling his mum, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. His mum would just tell him to stand up for himself – since his dad had left, he was supposed to be the man of the house.
He could have told his form teacher, but Mr Griffiths taught PE and in his lessons he was always going on about being tough and beating teams from other schools. The boy doubted that Mr Griffiths would have any time for people who couldn’t fight their own battles.
There was nobody. He was on his own. The tears flowed as he contemplated three more years of misery.
1
The classroom door opened suddenly, crashing back against the wall and adding to the half decade’s worth of scuff marks and dents in the pale blue paint. Donna supressed a flinch at the noise but pasted a bright smile on her face as she looked up to welcome the latest arrival. She knew who it would be. A quick glance at the time in the corner of her laptop screen had warned her to expect him. The service bus always arrived ten minutes later than the school transport and she was still to persuade him to catch an earlier bus to get to registration on time.
‘Morning, Miss,’ Harley Morton greeted her, his lopsided grin an ironic invitation, challenging her to berate him for his tardiness, yet again. Donna smiled back as she took in his appearance. Dark hair, long on top with closely shaved sides; T-shirt advertising a band she’d never heard of; and, in direct contravention of school rules, jeans and expensive-looking trainers.
‘Afternoon, Harley,’ Donna greeted him.
He nodded, ignoring the irony and took his customary seat at the back of the classroom.
‘Right, now that everybody’s here, a couple of announcements. There’s a meeting for anybody going on the German trip at break in L17. Class photos will be taken tomorrow in the hall. Sixth formers are expected to have their pictures taken during their free periods – no skipping lessons.’
Some good-natured griping followed but Donna knew that none of them meant it. Apart from Harley, her form group were a decent bunch and had stayed on in sixth form because they had ambition and plans for their future. They weren’t natural rule breakers or challengers of authority. She’d been relieved when the final tutor group lists had been published eighteen months ago and she’d recognised nearly all the names of the students that she’d been allocated. Every one of them had been expected to achieve levels eight or nine in their GCSEs and excellent predicted grades for their A-levels; and every one of them
