Free The Lie by C. L. Taylor Page A

even read it yet. I’m just about to log out when I notice there’s another tab open in the browser. Will’s been reading a tabloid newspaper online – one he’s ranted about several times. I click on it.
    The headline alone fills a third of the page.
    HUMILIATED, ABANDONED AND BETRAYED.
    BRITISH WOMAN ESCAPES DEADLY CULT THAT ROBBED HER OF
    TWO OF HER FRIENDS AND NEARLY STOLE HER OWN LIFE.
    Alexandra (Al) Gideon, 25, from London talks exclusively to Gilly McKensie about the dream vacation that turned into a holiday from hell when she and her three friends – Daisy Hamilton, 26, Leanne Cooper, 25, and Emma Woolfe, 25 – journeyed to Nepal. Now Al puts the record straight about what really happened and the mystery behind Daisy and Leanne’s disappearance …
    I stop reading. I already know what it says. It’s the article Al sold, the reason we haven’t spoken for four years.
    But why has Will been reading it? There’s no way he could connect me with that story. Unless …
    I reach into my back pocket, but the note’s not there. It’s still in my work trousers, lying in a crumpled heap on my bathroom floor after I took them off to have a shower after work. Did the same person who sent me the note contact Will to tell him I’m not who he thinks I am? That might explain the real reason he didn’t reply to my voicemail for a couple of hours – he wanted to check me out on the internet first.
    A floorboard creaks above my head.
    Unless he was the one who sent the note?
    I reach for one of the school exercise books on the coffee table and flick through it. On one of the pages there’s an image of a plant, drawn in pencil, with the various parts labelled in school kids’ untidy handwriting – stem, stamen, petal, etc. Underneath, written in blue biro, are the words:
    A great piece of work – well done.
    The handwriting is small and neat.
    The floorboard creaks again, louder this time and, panicking, I reach for my messenger bag, slip the book into it then walk into the hall.
    “Sorry, Will,” I shout up the stairs. “I’ve got to go. There’s been an emergency at work.”
    “Hang on, Jane,” he shouts back. “I won’t be a—”
    The door clicks shut behind me before he can finish his sentence.

Chapter 11
    Five Years Earlier
    “Help yourself to a beanbag and make yourselves comfortable,” Isaac says as he ushers us into a cool, dark room. His voice is deep and resonant with a soft Scottish burr. He rubs a hand over his stubbly jaw. “Just dump your backpacks wherever. I’ll just grab you some chai. You must be knackered after your trek.”
    “You’re not kidding.” Daisy flashes him a smile as he slips back out of the room. She groans as she wriggles out of her backpack. It slips to the floor with a thump. Al, Leanne and I do the same and then grab a beanbag each from the pile in the corner of the room and collapse onto them.
    “This is the meditation room,” Leanne says reverently. “It says on the website that they meditate three times a day. The first session is at five a.m.”
    Al laughs. “Well, I won’t be spending much time here, then.”
    I gaze around, taking it all in. The floor is a dark polished wood, the walls roughly plastered and painted a vibrant turquoise and adorned with prayer flags and fairy lights. There’s a bookshelf at one end of the room and a wooden altar at the other, with a large gold skull taking pride of place in the centre, a metal gong to its right and several church candles arranged on golden plates to the left. Plumes of grey smoke swirl in the air from the dozens of incense holders arranged in front of the gold skull, and in plant pots and wooden holders around the room, and the air is thick with the rich, heady scent of jasmine.
    “Here we go, then,” Isaac says a few minutes later, ducking his head as he passes through the doorway and wanders back into the room carrying a tray of steaming metal cups.
    He takes the tray to Leanne first, crouching down to