The Evil Beneath by A.J. Waines

whenever I went out from now on.
    I got to the spot where the park opened out on the left. By now, I was wishing I’d paid more attention to my fitness in recent months, but with a surge of relief, I saw there were people about: a woman walking three dogs; a man jogging towards me and a couple, laughing, with their arms around each other. Safe people. I slowed down to a walk.
    More people were coming down from the bridge. I dared to turn and look behind me. A tall figure in the background was walking in the opposite direction. I could just make out shades of grey as he passed under a street light. Had he been the one lurking in the bushes beside me? I felt bolder, now that others were filling out the area and started retracing my steps. He was nearly out of sight and I didn’t want to lose him. I made a shortcut and ended up on the path about fifty yards behind him.
    He turned a corner and I lost him behind a hedge, so I broke into a run, trying to keep my heels off the tarmac, so as not to draw attention to myself. He came back into view. He had his hands in his anorak pockets and was walking purposefully towards a side road that led to Fulham Palace Road. He stopped at the end of a line of parked cars and pulled something out of his pocket. I slowed to a walk, realising that now he’d stopped, I would shortly catch him up.
    I hadn’t thought this through at all.
What was I doing chasing after a strange man who could have been following me?
There were no other turns to take, other than back the way I’d come.
    Before I had chance to make a decision, the man looked up in my direction. For a moment, he just stood there. The traffic hummed. A car tooted. It was my client, Mr Fin. I swallowed hard, not sure what to do. If I turned back now, it would look like I wanted to avoid him. As his therapist, that was neither appropriate nor professional.
    He didn’t acknowledge me, but an uncomfortable frown creased his forehead. He dropped his car-keys and was straightening up again. I was ten feet away from him. In the counselling room, the ability to think on one’s feet was a prerequisite and thankfully, I’d had a lot of practice. I pulled the hair back from my face and smiled.
    ‘I thought it was you, Mr Fin,’ I said, trying to filter the tremble out of my voice. ‘I didn’t want you to think I’d ignored you.’
    He looked at his shoes, then fiddled with the zip on his anorak. ‘Oh… I… actually…didn’t see you.’
    ‘I won’t stay and chat. I’m sure you understand. It muddies the water if we stand and chat.’ It didn’t come out as I’d intended. I knew he was going to take it as a form of rejection.
    ‘I’m not interested,’ he said. He turned his back and walked around to the driver’s door.
    ‘Not interested?’
    He looked up as he opened the door. ‘I’m not interested in having any kind of chat with you.’
    My smile was still there, but I knew it wasn’t sitting right.
    ‘Good. That’s…fine. That’s absolutely fine.’
    Mr Fin’s car was parked between a concrete bollard and a Range Rover. It was so tightly wedged that the bumpers were overlapping. I watched him get in and start the engine, then I turned away. I didn’t want to stand and stare as he tried to manage the tricky exit manoeuvre. For a second, I felt sorry for him - a sad, lonely man - but it didn’t last long. Goosebumps skittered down my spine like a daddy-long-legs and I knew there was something not quite right about him. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it sent me a clear message: I mustn’t let down my guard. I heard the grating of gears and cringed, keeping my head down, walking away.

Chapter Six
    When I turned into the car-park at Fairways Clinic after lunch, I very nearly drove straight out again. There was a crowd blocking the front entrance. About thirty people or more were holding banners and placards. I found a space at the far side and stayed in the car, punching in the clinic number on my phone. I