Possessed

by Niki Valentine

Genres: Thrillers; Psychological Thrillers

Synopsis

Who do you trust when you can no longer trust your own mind?

Emma's life has always been a struggle, and now she's been accepted at a prestigious music school, she is determined to excel. But when the impossibly chic twins, confident Sophie and quieter Matilde, come crashing into her life - surrounding her with champagne and parties - they demand Emma's full attention.

Then shy Matilde commits suicide and shockingly, her identical twin Sophie flourishes. Now odd things are happening to Emma: blackouts, waking up in strange places, bizarre dreams. Something, or someone, is consuming Emma's mind. Terrified, Emma begins to doubt everything and everyone around her, especially the beautiful Sophie...

Release date: July 25, 2012

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 128

Sample

Emma was sitting on her bed. She had been there for an hour, since her mother left. She was paralysed. She knew that she should leave her room and try to meet some of the other students, start her new life, but she couldn’t make herself move. She kept staring across the landscaped gardens of the university and towards the building where she would be spending most of her time. The Conservatoire. Its name whispered through her head but the building stared back at her with the blank eyes of its windows and the black maw of its doors, and she felt like it might swallow her up, completely consume her, if she wasn’t careful.

The first time Emma had come here, for her interview, she had imagined the place as a jolly castle and university a bit like boarding school, except with bank accounts and much more freedom. Coming from a state school in Manchester, Emma’s idea of boarding school was a romantic one, story-book stuff about midnight feasts and hockey matches. Now she was here, she knew better. She felt the reality of being away from home, completely alone. She had never realised before how safe it had been, wrapped up in her family.

Now, as she looked at the Conservatoire, she couldn’t imagine how she had ever thought it friendly. It loomed on the top of a hillock, quite a distance from the halls of residence. The sky was dark with clouds, casting shadows over the building. It was more like a stately home than a castle, in fact, with two north towers and large picture windows. Above the main hall there was a silver-green dome, a smaller version of the one that loomed above St Paul’s Cathedral. An exact replica, she’d been told at interview. There was a staircase up to the main doorway. The stone was grey and aged and the whole effect was like the gothic churches she’d loved in Paris when she’d gone with her mum, a treat for doing so well in her A levels. That holiday seemed an age away now, as did school and her family life. Emma felt like she’d walked through a portal and into another world. In the books she’d read that started that way, there was evil in that other world. The Subtle Knife, the wicked queen with her Turkish delight; these things lurked in her imagination. But she didn’t believe in nonsense like that and had never bought these stories, preferring adult fiction instead. She wasn’t going to let them scare her now.

She thought about getting her clock out and checking the time, but she still couldn’t budge. She knew she needed to break the paralysis but she didn’t know how. Then there was a knock at the door. And it was as if it broke a spell, because Emma found she could move. She got up.

Emma opened the door, and a girl stared in. She was tall and slim, with hair that was almost jet black and eyes that were powerfully blue. So blue they seemed to glow with ultraviolet. A sense of unease settled over her. Why was she letting herself get spooked? It wasn’t even her style.

‘Hello,’ said the girl, holding out a hand. She had a cut-glass accent, the kind of voice Emma associated with villains in James Bond movies.

Emma looked at the hand for a moment as if she didn’t know what it was there for. Pulling herself together, she shook it, and smiled. ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I’m Emma Russell.’

‘Yes.’ The girl’s eyes were sparkling. They looked mischievous, and Emma could imagine messing around in class with this girl, playing knock-a-door-run on the street like she used to with her cousin. ‘I know who you are. I saw you play in Birmingham.’

‘Oh.’ Emma was still unused to this reaction. ‘What’s your name?’ she asked. She felt suddenly very young asking this question, like a kid in primary school.

‘Can I come in?’ The girl didn’t wait for an answer, but flew past, rushing into the room and sitting on the bed. ‘Oh,’ she said, turning with a broad grin. Her face seemed to glow. ‘You haven’t unpacked yet.’

‘No.’ Emma laughed. She found this girl’s company infectious and wanted to confess everything, getting the sense that she’d understand. ‘I’ve been sitting feeling sorry for myself and staring across at the Conservatoire building.’

The girl smiled at her. ‘I had to get away.’ She leaned back on the bed and looked up at the ceiling, her eyes following the cornice work and the stains. ‘My sister was driving me crazy.’

‘I know what you mean. It was the same at home. It’s just me and my mum, see, and she can be a bit over the top. Overprotective. You know?’ Emma heard her own voice, the harsh nasal tones of the north, echoing around the room. For the first time in her life she heard how she must sound to other people and she didn’t like it.

The girl on the bed looked confused, as if Emma had missed her point altogether. Then there was a sound at the door. Emma turned. She hadn’t realised she’d left it open. For a moment, she thought she was seeing things. There was another girl in the doorway, the absolute image of the one on the bed. Emma looked from one to the other. Her head went dizzy trying to take them both in.

‘I was looking for you, Sophie,’ the girl at the door said.

‘I’ve been meeting Emma. You know, the prodigy. We saw her play in Birmingham.’

Emma winced at the word ‘prodigy’. She had always hated it. She found that people her age used it against her more often than as a compliment.

‘Yes, I remember,’ said the girl at the door. Her voice was flat and unenthusiastic. Emma got the distinct impression she was stuck in the middle of a row between the twins, something unpleasant.

‘This is my sister Matilde,’ Sophie told her, gesturing towards the door. She was hugging her legs and looked at home sitting on the bed, as if she owned the place. Emma would never have dared behave like that in someone else’s room. She wished she could be more like this strange, confident creature.

‘Come in,’ Emma told Matilde. She wasn’t sure she actually wanted company, not even these two bright, beautiful girls. Perhaps especially not girls like these. She felt out of her depth. But Matilde smiled then and there was a real warmth in the smile. She walked over to the bed and sat near her sister but on the edge of the bed. Emma looked at her and she smiled again, and Emma realised she was looking for some reassurance that sitting on the bed was all right.

It was odd. Emma had read about twins and seen documentaries, knew all about how they were supposed to have divergent character traits despite the identical DNA, but it was still strange to see this, right in front of her. Whilst the appearance of the twins was dazzlingly similar, she immediately sensed the difference in their personalities. It was as marked as the difference in the way they sat on her bed. Whilst, judging by their accents, the twins’ background was about as different from hers as it was possible to be, she sensed that Matilde was somehow like her. If it hadn’t been for Sophie, they would probably both still be sitting on their own beds, staring out over campus. Emma caught Matilde’s eyes again and the two girls shared a smile of recognition.

‘I’m bored,’ Sophie said, stretching across the bed like a cat. ‘Let’s go out. For dinner or something.’

‘I need to be careful with my grant,’ Emma said, straight away. She was so programmed to think this way that it came out before she could stop it, before she could think about how that might sound to girls like these.

‘Grant?’ Sophie said, at once. She made the word sound ridiculous. ‘I thought that was something people got in the eighties.’ She let out a shot of laughter, and Emma flinched, knowing what was coming next. ‘Ah, you got a scholarship, though, of course you did, being such a vicious talent. I forgot about that!’ She sounded very pleased with herself for working it out.

‘We can pay,’ Matilde said, quietly, seriously. She was chewing on a nail, quite intent at biting something off it. She frowned and pulled away her hand. ‘In fact, I insist.’

‘I’m not sure,’ Emma said. She wanted desperately to go out with these girls and get to know them, but she was scared, and proud. She felt a kind of dizzy feeling just sitting with them, something she imagined was a little like falling in love. She felt danger.

‘Don’t be silly,’ Sophie said. ‘Of course we’ll pay.’ She stood up, and Matilde too, then Emma found that she was reaching for her bag. They both followed Sophie through the door and Emma locked it.

She turned towards the twins, two strangers now, in a strange hallway at a university in a city she knew nothing about. She was terrified, but she also felt she would follow Matilde anywhere. And she looked at Sophie, and knew that she was a girl who was used to getting her own way.

The girls had taken a taxi into the city centre which the twins had paid for. Sophie told the driver where to go with more confidence than Emma could ever imagine having about such things. Her instruction was very specific, a bistro on Henrietta Avenue, and Emma realised they knew the city already.

The bistro was the kind of place Emma had passed by in the posher parts of Manchester and Salford and had always wanted to go in, but they’d never been able to afford eating out. Only on holiday. It had those French doors all the way across its front that opened on to the pavement. There were no tables outside, but sitting near the window felt almost the same. The twins sailed in, clearly used to the luxury, but Emma hesitated at the door. Even though she wasn’t paying, she felt scared. She felt like going inside would change the world somehow, her world. It felt like a test.

Sophie didn’t even notice, rushing in and looking for a table, but Matilde turned. Emma knew it was Matilde because she was wearing the red top, but she thought she might have worked it out anyway, just by the fact that she was waiting for her. She came back and reached out a hand. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Papa knows the owner. It’s really good.’

This was enough to get Emma through the door. Sophie had picked a table and they all sat down. Emma looked around. The restaurant had high ceilings and there were even chandeliers. She stared up and they sparkled at her. She couldn’t believe there were chandeliers. It was like something out of a Jane Austen novel. She turned to the other two girls to find they were both staring at her. She felt self-conscious then, like the subject of a study or an animal in the zoo. She realised that she was as exotic a creature to the twins as each of them was to her.

‘You know the city well,’ she said, to break the silence.

Sophie smiled. ‘Our parents live nearby, in the countryside.’ Emma noticed another tone to her accent then, something she hadn’t heard before. A slight European twang.

‘Are you from France?’ she said. The question came like a breath out and she regretted it immediately. Sophie had just told her they were from around here.

‘Our parents are. I mean, we were born there, but we’ve lived here for as long as I can remember.’ It was Matilde speaking, and her soft voice felt like a rescue.

Sophie looked rather annoyed, as if she thought Matilde had spoken out of turn. As soon as Emma saw it, the expression disappeared, and she wondered if she’d imagined it after all. She realised she hadn’t looked at the menu yet, and tore her eyes away from the twins to do that. She had missed a meal, sitting on the bed in a daze earlier, and felt hollow inside she was so hungry. She couldn’t believe how stalled she had been. It seemed ridiculous now, in a plush seat in this posh bistro, with these beautiful, polished young women. She looked up at them and smiled. They had helped her remember what an opportunity she had. She remembered what her mum had said to her about wanting to go to university but her parents not supporting her and she was thankful again.

The menu was confusing and Emma didn’t understand half of the descriptions. She had no idea what carpaccio was and she could translate chèvre chaud but couldn’t imagine it really meant hot goat. She was too embarrassed to ask, so she played it safe with a bowl of pasta. Sophie fussed over the wine list for a while and eventually settled on a ‘passable’ Bordeaux, after tutting and complaining about the years they had listed of almost everything else. Emma knocked the candle over and, flustered, grabbed for it, just in time to stop the tablecloth lighting up. She spilled hot wax on her hands, though, which was painful, but she tried not to show that it hurt. She was certain that if she was herself around Sophie, even for a moment, she would end up regretting it. She couldn’t imagine Sophie having anything but contempt for this unsophisticated creature brought up on council estates by just her mum.

‘Who will your piano tutor be, Emma?’ It was Matilde who spoke. Even her voice was less harsh than Sophie’s somehow, lilting and kind.

‘Professor Wood,’ Emma said.

Matilde seemed to wince at the name and Sophie became all distracted, signalling to the waitress and asking about the whereabouts of the wine she’d ordered only minutes before. Then something changed and she looked straight at Emma. ‘He’s a friend of Papa’s,’ she said, pronouncing Papa the old-fashioned way with the stress on the second syllable. ‘We’ve known him for years.’

‘And you don’t like him?’ Emma heard her own voice, sounding panicked. She had warmed to Wood at her interview and he was one of the reasons she’d chosen this university. He had seemed honest, and fatherly.

Sophie made a strange sound, a strangled laugh that sounded bitter. ‘I wouldn’t exactly say that.’

‘You can be such a bitch sometimes, Soph,’ Matilde said, frowning.

Emma flushed a little and the atmosphere frosted over. She was confused. She got the distinct impression that Sophie was implying some romantic connection. She couldn’t mean that, surely? Wood was so much older than Matilde, and he didn’t seem the type.

‘Tell us about how you taught yourself to play,’ Matilde said. ‘I love stories like that.’

Emma smiled awkwardly. She could tell by the tone of her voice that Matilde wasn’t making fun or laying a trap. ‘It was such a long time ago that I barely remember it. I just got a book from the library.’

‘Such a talent,’ Sophie said. It wasn’t as clear from Sophie’s voice if her intentions were honourable.

‘What’s Wood like then?’ Emma’s turn to change the subject.

‘He’s the best,’ Matilde said. ‘By far the best piano tutor you could have,’ she added quickly. Her cheeks had turned pink.

The waitress returned then with the Bordeaux. She looked flustered as she showed the label to Sophie, who nodded her assent and told the girl to pour it. Emma swilled hers around in the glass, the way she’d seen people do on the television. She took a sip. It tasted bitter and made her throat close up. Perhaps wine was an acquired taste.

‘Probably it needs to breathe,’ Sophie said.

Emma had no idea what that meant but she guessed it was something to do with mixing with the air. She placed her glass on the table carefully and looked at the twins, searching for signs to tell them apart. Now she looked, they were not so much identical as mirror images of each other. Mirror twins. She had read about that before. It was a subtle difference, though, as their faces were so symmetrical. The pair of them looked happy and perfect, but she imagined they must be hiding some dark secret.

Then she smiled at herself. How ridiculous. She had read too many Daphne Du Maurier novels. Real life wasn’t like that at all.

Emma woke with a dry mouth and throbbing head. She ran her tongue over her teeth and found them sticky. She couldn’t remember if she had brushed them before bed. She had definitely forgotten to take out her contact lenses, which lent a milky aspect as she blinked her eyes. She had been out with the twins, again, the previous evening. It was becoming a habit.

The last few hours of their night out were hazy at best. She remembered being in a taxi and feeling sick. She hadn’t thrown up; at least, she didn’t think she had. She sat up on her bed and her head swam. She thought she might vomit and took deep breaths. After a few moments, the nausea abated. She looked at her clock radio. Its display showed a random time, flashing so that she knew it hadn’t been set yet. She remembered struggling with it just before she went to sleep, trying to focus on the LCD digits and failing, then giving up and falling into bed, gritting her teeth against the way the room was spinning. Emma’s watch was on the dressing table and she reached for it. It was five to six. She had woken early, despite the late night, and would have to face her first day of lectures with a hangover and wearing glasses. She sighed and rubbed her temples.

Dragging herself up, Emma leaned for support on her bed. The room was tiny and it was only a few steps to the shower. This was one of the things that had stalled her when she’d first arrived. She really couldn’t imagine spending a year living here. When she’d got the application pack for the room in halls, it had sounded lovely. Single room with en suite and a study area. The description failed to mention that you had to sit on the bed to use the desk, or that the en suite was basically a cupboard with a toilet and shower in it. She went inside the tiny space but didn’t close the door. It was too claustrophobic, shutting herself in like that. She pulled the shower curtain around her and turned on the water. It flowed over her head and against her skin, the heat making her feel a little better.

Dried and dressed, her teeth brushed now and her contact lenses out, Emma examined her face in the mirror. Her skin felt dry and looked sallow. Her glasses were an emergency pair and didn’t really suit her. She considered for a moment putting the lenses back in but she knew her eyes were too sore. Where had all this chaos come from? It wasn’t her usual style at all. The twins had brought this into her life, with their expensive tastes and credit cards and all the champagne. She could live with that. There were worse things than champagne and chaos in Freshers’ Week. And the twins were worth it. Especially Matilde.

It wasn’t as if Emma didn’t like Sophie; she had hardly ever liked anyone more. It was just that, with Matilde, it was different. The quieter twin hung back more often to walk side by side with Emma. She was always the first to reach and point to the right fork or knife, or explain something else Emma didn’t understand. What she had with Sophie felt like friendship already, but with Matilde it felt deeper. As if it was Emma who was the other twin, not Sophie. Emma wondered what Sophie would think of her if she knew that she thought this sometimes.

The lecture theatre was half full when Emma arrived. She probed the room for the twins, and spotted them sitting with a boy she hadn’t met before. At least, if she had met him, she had forgotten him, which was certainly possible with the levels of alcohol she’d consumed in the previous week. It was normal, though, to drink like this in the induction and Freshers’ weeks. Everyone had been doing it. Emma told herself she could calm down later, when her lectures started.

Which was today. Hugging her notebook to her chest, she made her way over to her friends. She stood at the end of the aisle and wondered how to get their attention. She lifted her hand in a wave, but neither of the girls saw her. She stood and watched them. They didn’t notice her looking. Both girls were talking animatedly to the boy. Emma noticed he was good-looking, blond and blue-eyed, with the appearance of privilege about him, something she was beginning to recognise when she saw it. She also saw right away that he was enchanted by the twins. No. She looked again. It was Matilde he liked. Sophie was gesticulating and throwing herself into whatever she was saying. Emma knew the other twin from the way she held back, and because she was the left-hand-side reflection. The boy’s eyes were fixed on Matilde. Then Matilde looked up and noticed Emma, and she seemed to light up.

‘Excuse me,’ Emma said to the girl on the end of the row, who tutted as she got up and moved her bags. Emma was irritated but then her attention was drawn to Sophie, the way she seemed to be fixing Matilde with a puzzled look. Then the look melted and both of the twins beamed at her. Sophie was in the seat nearest, and she stood up and kissed Emma, one cheek and then the other, all impeccable manners and polish.

‘This is Henry,’ Matilde said.

Henry looked up and smiled at Emma. He seemed a little shy. ‘Hi,’ he said. He looked like he didn’t quite know what to do with his hands. Emma felt a shiver down her spine as she sat down beside him. But he was Matilde’s already, she was sure of it, and Emma wasn’t about to make a fool of herself.

‘Henry’s staying on your corridor,’ Sophie told her. ‘He’s just a few doors down from you. Isn’t it funny we never met until this morning?’

‘Yes,’ Emma said. ‘Funny.’ She felt like an echo or a shadow. She often felt this way around the twins.

The soprano voice rose up into the very top of the recital hall, and Emma was so struck by its beauty that she stopped playing. It was Matilde, singing Ave Maria, the Schubert version. It was only a rehearsal but the young woman’s voice was so beautiful that several people who weren’t involved had been drawn inside the hall.

Matilde stopped singing. She flushed bright red and turned away from all the people watching. She caught Emma’s eyes across the room and they shared a smile. Emma was enjoying feeling close to Matilde. They were spending lots of time together thanks to the rehearsals. Sophie was not in the choir and when Emma asked her why she had scoffed and said these things were for kids. Emma was still getting used to how different the twins were. It was such a contradiction when they looked so much the same.

‘From the top.’ It was Joanna, the third-year student who was organising this performance. She looked a little frustrated with how Matilde’s voice had stopped everyone dead, but Emma thought she should be glad that Matilde was singing for them. Emma could have listened to her all day.

Joanna counted them in and Emma began to play. She half watched the notes and half Matilde. Her friend was dressed casually, in jeans and T-shirt, but she looked more beautiful for it. When it was her cue to come in, Emma felt like the whole room held its breath. Matilde opened up and the music came from within her. The Ave Maria floated around the room like a spirit. Emma could imagine being haunted by a voice like hers.

After working with Matilde in the rehearsal, Emma felt inspired to play her own pieces. With all the socialising, she’d neglected her practice recently. It made her feel as though she’d missed something vital, eating, drinking, breathing even.

Sitting in front of the piano, she found she was drawing a blank. She pressed down chords, then discordant groups of keys. She found the latter more convincing. Something about Henry’s presence in the lecture earlier had bothered her. She wasn’t sure why. She let her eyes go in and out of focus and pounded the keyboard. It was very satisfying, even more so for how bad it sounded. She felt like she was smashing glass, destroying something beautiful.

Something tickled her face like a whisper. ‘Hello.’ The voice was in her ear.

Emma turned, sharp. She felt like all her breath was being sucked out of her. She found herself face to face with one of the twins, their noses almost touching. She stared, trying to work out if it was Sophie or Matilde. It was so much harder to tell when there was just one of them. Then she realised that, whoever it . . .