The Student

John Nicholl

Description

Harry Gilmore has no idea of the terrible danger he faces when he meets a beautiful girl in a local student bar. Drugged and abducted, Harry wakes up in a secure wooden compound deep in the Welsh countryside, where he is groomed by the leaders of a manipulative cult, run by the self-proclaimed new messiah known as The Master.

When the true nature of the cult becomes apparent, Harry looks for any opportunity to escape. But as time passes, he questions if The Master’s extreme behavior and teachings are the one true religion. With Harry’s life hanging by a thread, a team of officers, led by Detective Inspector Laura Kesey, investigate his disappearance. But will they find him before it’s too late?

*Previously published as The Girl in White*

Sujets

• Policier & Thriller
• Policier
• Thriller
• Mashups
• Occultism
• Psychological
• Women Sleuths
• Hard-Boiled
• Religious
• Thrillers
• Suspenso
• Psychological thriller
• Body (disambiguation)
• Psychology
• Occult
• Crime
• Suspense
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Boldwood Books
• Date de parution: 13 décembre 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781804263877
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE STUDENT


JOHN NICHOLL
CONTENTS



Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29


More from John Nicholl

About the Author

About Boldwood Books
1

Harry Gilmore sat on the town hall steps and frowned as the throng of weekend shoppers went about their business, seemingly oblivious to his existence.
He dabbed at one eye, and then the other, with the sleeve of his university sweatshirt, before reading the offending text for the third time in a matter of minutes. ‘It’s over.’ That’s how it began. After nine happy months, she’d dumped him. And she hadn’t even had the decency to do it face-to-face, when he could beg or plead or throw himself on her mercy. He loved her. He’d always love her. His feelings were sincere and genuine. That’s what he told himself. He’d known she was the one the very first time he saw her standing at the students’ union bar, with her tight jeans and red cotton T-shirt clinging to her curves. Simone was the girl of his dreams. What the hell was he going to do without the one person that made his life worth living?
Harry seriously considered drafting a carefully considered response explaining exactly how he felt. Something emotive, something heartfelt, a reply she couldn’t ignore. A message that left her in no doubt that he wanted her back. But what would that achieve? Why give the girl the satisfaction of knowing she’d torn his heart to pieces? She didn’t love him. She’d never loved him, not really, not in the adult, grown-up way that he loved her. She’d made that perfectly clear in unambiguous language he couldn’t fail to understand, as if his feelings meant nothing to her. As if she was grinding his emotions into the gutter for the sheer pleasure of it all. And she’d met someone new. The dagger in his back. The final nail in their relationship’s coffin, before it was lowered into the ground forever. She’d met her soulmate. Her soulmate! She’d actually used the word. And they were going travelling together for the summer, Thailand, Cambodia and maybe Vietnam too. Something she’d always wanted to do, apparently. Really? Wasn’t it strange how she’d never mentioned anything of the kind? Not a hint, not even once in the months they’d been together. Maybe they were his words. The new man in her life.
Harry shook his head as his melancholy thoughts pounded him down a little further. She never did have much imagination. Maybe the bastard had written it for her. She never was very original. Yeah, it’s probably him .
Harry stuffed his smartphone into a back pocket of his blue jeans, rolled a cigarette, a recently acquired habit he still thought cool despite a tightening chest. He lit the tip and coughed as he sucked the toxic fumes deep into his lungs, blowing it from his mouth and watching it swirl. He checked his pockets for change, swore crudely under his breath, and began making his way towards the nearest student pub, a few minutes’ walk away. He wasn’t a great drinker, as he was never sure how alcohol would interact with the antidepressants he relied on to stabilise his moods. But he felt that after this setback a few drinks would take the edge off things, and he hadn’t experienced a real low for some months now. He could afford a couple of pints at best if there was a discount on offer. Perhaps he’d bump into a mate, who’d lend him a tenner to drown his sorrows. But probably not, given his luck. Could life get any better? Yes, it fucking well could. What a cow! What a total and utter bitch! Sending a text! A fucking text after nine happy months! I am well rid of her. I can do better, can’t I? Yeah, of course I can. Her loss!
He trudged on and sighed. Who the hell was he trying to kid? He’d never felt more miserable in his entire life. The girl meant everything to him. He’d do anything to get her back.
2

The two young women and their older male companion sat in an old, rust-pocked Transit van dressed entirely in white, scanning the street with keen eyes, as they had for almost two hours.
Achara, a dark-haired, strikingly attractive young woman, peered to her right. ‘What about him?’
The big man swivelled in the driver’s seat, tugging at an unkempt brown beard tinged with grey as he pressed his face against the glass. ‘Which one?’
Achara pointed with a purple-painted fingernail that perfectly complimented her slender hand. ‘Him, him, the guy in the faded jeans and black top. He’s been crying. Look at the state of his eyes. That’s got to be a good sign, easy-peasy. He’s young, he looks reasonably fit. He’d make an ideal manual worker. We couldn’t find a better target.’
The big man lifted his military binoculars to his eyes and focussed on Harry’s face. ‘It could be hay fever. It’s the time of year for it. You’re making assumptions based on dubious evidence. Maybe he hasn’t been crying at all.’
Achara made a face, frustrated by the big man’s lack of trust in her ability. ‘Look at his hunched shoulders, the morose expression on his face. He’s perfect, absolutely perfect. Just give me a chance. That’s all I’m asking. Let me prove myself. Surely I’ve earned that much after all this time.’
The man lowered the binoculars, sighing as he rested them on his lap. ‘I don’t know. I’m not so sure.’
Achara kept her eyes on Harry as she responded, her initial frustration fast becoming agitation that threatened to boil to the surface. ‘I’m here to serve the master, but how can I do that if you never give me the chance to prove myself worthy. It’s been months since I completed the training. I’m ready and waiting. If not now, when?’
The big man took a deep intake of breath and exhaled slowly, weighing up his options as the second young woman spoke for the first time in over an hour. ‘Oh, come on, Baptist, Achara knows what she’s doing. She’s completed the course. She passed with flying colours, a natural. One of the best we’ve ever had. You said that yourself. Achara’s got it spot on. You’ve got to learn to trust her. The boy will be gone if we don’t get a move on. It’s time to let her fly.’
Baptist lifted the binoculars to his eyes for a second time, focussing on Harry, confirming his downbeat persona and nodding reticently. ‘Okay, go on, out you go. He’s approaching the top of the hill. Near the charity shop on the left. You’ll catch up with him easily enough if you hurry. I’ll be back here and waiting at 2.30 p.m. sharp. Do not be late. There’s no room for errors. This is far too important for that.’
Achara broke into a smile that lit up her face as she pushed the passenger side door open and stepped out into the sunshine, as excited as a child on a birthday morning. ‘Thank you, thank you so very much. I won’t let you down.’
‘Have you got the drug?’
She glanced back at him, patting a trouser pocket and grimacing, disappointed that he felt the need to ask. ‘Of course. It’s here safe and sound.’
‘You’re certain?’
Her frustration was betrayed by her tone. ‘Yes, a thousand times, yes.’
‘Pass this one final test, and you can move up a level in the community. It doesn’t get any better than that. Make the most of the opportunity. The master doesn’t tolerate failure. Remember that; carve it in tablets of stone. Screw this up, and it won’t go well for either of us.’
3

Harry sat alone in the quiet bar, head bowed, sipping his ice-cold lager, making it last, rather than gulping it down as he would have wished. Drowning your sorrows wasn’t an option when you were skint, with a few miserable coins in your pocket and no notes.
Harry’s mind was filled with melancholy thoughts, coming in waves, one after another, dragging him down a little further, when he was suddenly distracted, his busy mind silenced in the blink of an eye. He looked up and stared as one of the most beautiful young women he’d ever seen walked towards him in what seemed like a dream, a fantasy brought to life. He opened his eyes wide and studied her, forgetting his sadness in an instant, drinking in her image: her lithe body, her long, black silky hair, her piercing almond eyes, and best of all, loose white cotton trousers that left almost everything to his overactive imagination.
Maybe Simone had been right about him looking at other girls when they were together. Perhaps she’d had a point despite his protestations to the contrary. Maybe she was correct to leave him for somebody else. She’d said he was driven by his hormones. Maybe it was true.
Harry drove his ex from his mind, as the girl slowly approached him with a seductive smile playing on her very pretty face. He looked her up and down again and lingered, trying not to be too obvious and failing miserably, as she continued to stroll towards him one slow step at a time. Harry fully expected the vision of beauty to walk straight past him, as if she hadn’t noticed him at all, but instead, she stopped immediately in front of him, meeting his gaze as he searched for something appropriate to say. Some form of apology for staring perhaps, or maybe nothing at all.
‘Is it okay if I sit down?’
Harry swallowed a mouthful of lager, glancing to left and right to confirm she really was talking to him, before breaking into a lopsided grin and nodding once. There had to be a catch. Surely there had to be a catch. He licked his top lip and spoke, fearing the words would stick in his throat, attempting to sound as relaxed as possible but feeling entirely out of his depth. ‘Yeah, yeah, it’s a free country, but if you’re selling something, you’re wasting your time. I’m a poor student, totally skint. It goes with the territory.’
She rolled her eyes and laughed. ‘And there was me thinking you’r