The Role Model: A shocking psychological thriller with several twists by Daniel Hurst (read aloud TXT) 📕

The suspense is killing me, and even though I am close to the park now, I can’t wait that long to find out.

Against my better judgement, my left hand leaves the steering wheel and scoops up my vibrating phone from the passenger seat.

‘Chloe?’ I say, fearing that the next words out of her mouth will involve the words ‘police’ or ‘witness’.

‘Mum! Where are you?’ she asks me, and she sounds only slightly calmer than she did when I spoke to her a few minutes ago.

‘I’m almost there! Is everything okay?’

‘No!’

Of course it isn’t. What a stupid question.

‘I’m approaching the park. I’ll be with you in one minute,’ I say, and then I realise I have crept over the speed limit. Ooops, I’m committing crimes all over the place now.

‘Hurry up!’ Chloe begs me before I end the call and lower my phone.

But the desperate tone in her voice means I don’t reduce my speed this time.

8

CHLOE

I can see the headlights from Mum’s car as they turn into the park. Or at least I hope it is Mum’s car. The chances of anybody else driving out here at this time of night are slim, but it is possible. That’s why I refrain from turning on the torchlight on my phone and signalling my location until I know for sure that it is her.

But then the door opens, and I see her get out, which gives me an instant sense of relief. Maybe everything will be okay after all. Mum’s not a miracle worker, but I’m glad I no longer have to be alone in this cold park with nobody for company but a deceased Rupert.

Turning on my torchlight, I wave my phone above my head until I’m sure that Mum has seen me. Then I wait for her to make her way over to me, watching her step over the wooden barrier that separates the car park from the field before scurrying across the grass in my direction. It’s annoying that she can’t just drive right up to me because then she would be here quicker, but the council have prevented cars from getting all the way down here since the winter of 2018 when a load of teenagers destroyed the field by having drag races on the grass and leaving it a mud bath. I remember telling Mum at the time how lucky she was that I wasn’t a troublemaker like those kids were.

Somehow, I think those days are gone.

‘Are you okay?’ Mum asks as she arrives and looks me up and down before pulling me in for a hug.

The feeling of her safe arms squeezing my body makes me want to cry, but I feel bad for thinking that way because there is somebody behind me who will never feel their mother’s arms again.

‘How much have you been drinking?’ she demands to know, looking me in the eyes as a way to try and gauge my level of drunkenness for herself. But unlike earlier, when the park was spinning, I feel like I have actually sobered up a little now. There’s nothing like a bit of vomit, cold weather and a dead body to bring you back into the real world.

‘I’m fine,’ I say, answering her first question but ignoring the second.

Pulling away, I turn around and shine the torch in the direction of Rupert’s body, and it’s a sobering sight when the light lands on it. His head is facing away from where we stand, and you could almost think that he was sleeping on the grass if you didn’t know the truth. Unfortunately, we both do, although Mum needs to confirm it for herself before doing anything else.

I watch as she steps slowly towards the body, almost as if she is still not entirely convinced that I have been telling her the truth, and Rupert is going to spring up from the ground at any moment and surprise her, sending me into hysterics. I wish that were the case. Mum would no doubt scream to high heaven if Rupert did get up, but she would learn to forgive me for the shock. She would take that over the cold, still body that lies unmoving on the ground below her.

As she walks around him, she looks at his face, and I see the reaction on hers. She is horrified and puts her hands to her mouth, presumably to try and control the nausea that I was so unable to control myself. I didn’t need to see my mum’s response to know that this situation is as bad as I feared, but I get it anyway.

At least I’m not alone now, and I don’t just mean physically. I mean mentally too.

I have company in this psychological torment.

I watch as Mum crouches down to get a closer look at Rupert, and I’m just about to tell her not to touch him as her hand goes out before I realise that she needs to feel it for herself before she does anything.

She needs to confirm the lack of a pulse.

It doesn’t take her long to get this confirmation, and she looks up at me with a dreadful sorrow in her eyes. I can tell that she feels sorry for me at that moment, as well as for the poor young man lying between us. She will be thinking about how my life is ruined and how all my grand plans for university, travelling and a family of my own have now probably been tainted forever because this tragedy will always be the first thing people think of when they meet me now. But there’s not much I can do about that. Rupert is dead, and his body is only getting colder.

‘Can you call the police? I don’t think I can do it,’ I say, shaking my head and trying to keep my voice calm. ‘Tell them what happened. Get it over with.’

I hold out my mobile phone towards Mum as she remains crouching beside