The Therapy Room: an edge-of-your-seat psychological thriller by OMJ Ryan

Author:OMJ Ryan [Ryan, OMJ]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Inkubator Books
Published: 2025-09-28T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

SHELLY

The next couple of hours passed by in a blur because as soon as my mum arrived to look after Alfie, I was handcuffed and placed in the back of the unmarked police car before being driven to the police HQ in the centre of Newcastle. Since I arrived an hour ago, I’ve had a mugshot taken along with my fingerprints. And now I’m standing on the opposite side of a raised desk in the middle of what has been explained to me is the custody suite, answering questions from Sergeant Jones, who is the custody manager for today. He’s a round man with an equally round and red face under close-cropped black hair.

‘So would you like to speak to a solicitor?’ he asks, now he’s finished explaining the reasons for my detention, which were exactly the same as those given for my arrest by DC Sherratt at home.

‘Yes,’ I say, still unable to comprehend where I am and what’s going on.

‘OK, love.’ Jones has a warm and caring tone matched with a thick Geordie accent, which is at odds with the cold, clinical surroundings. ‘Do you have your own solicitor you’d like me to call? If not, one will be provided for you.’

I just about manage to shake my head.

‘OK. In that case.’ He nods to the skinny male officer standing to my right. ‘PC Aziz will take you to your cell, and we’ll come and get you as soon as we’ve sorted someone to come and talk to you.’

I don’t know what to say to this.

Jones isn’t finished. ‘Do you need anything to eat or a cup of tea maybe?’

I shake my head again.

‘What about a book? Would you like something to read to help you pass the time? It could be a couple of hours until we can sort your solicitor.’

‘No, thank you.’ My mind is going round like a washing machine. The last thing I feel capable of doing right now is reading a bloody book.

‘All right, then.’ Jones smiles. ‘In that case, PC Aziz, she’s all yours.’

PC Aziz places his hand lightly on my left shoulder. ‘This way, Shelly.’

I turn to see him gesturing with his open palm towards a thick door just a few feet away.

He walks in front as I follow behind, and when he opens the thick door in question, the sight that greets me is utterly terrifying: a long corridor filled with more equally thick doors, some standing open and others locked shut. He leads me halfway along to the nearest open door and stops. ‘This is yours,’ he says, sounding more like a hotel bellhop than a custody officer.

As I step across the threshold into the dimly lit room, I’m instantly struck by the sickly smell of industrial-strength disinfectant mixed with body odour.

‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘The last guy we had in here was living on the streets. We’ve just finished cleaning it up.’

Again, I literally don’t have the words.

‘Like Jonesy said, as soon as your solicitor arrives, we’ll come and get you.

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