Delete-Man: A Psychological Thriller (10 page)

It was colder and windier than
before, the air moist and brittle. I mulled everything over in my
mind: The suicide of Claude Packard, the occultist websites, the
seemingly strange events occurring all over London, and the message
on the rooftop. I didn’t really care about any of it, though. Every
train of thought only led me back to that one question of who had
killed Josie. The world could have stopped turning and crumbled in
on itself for all I cared, I just needed to know. So far, all my
efforts hadn’t revealed anything. Unless I was willing to believe
in djinn—and I wasn’t—then I had pretty much just been going round
in circles. I resolved to stop being so nice, to harden myself and
take answers from people if they were not willing to give them.
Angry that I had to do everything alone, a well of hatred and anger
began to build up inside of me.

Monika’s plea that I shouldn’t
‘lose myself’ echoed in my ears as I paced ahead painfully.
Unconsciously, I found myself walking towards the apartment she had
shared with Josie. I stood on the opposite side of the street,
gazing at the window that I had put my foot through in anger. It
was now fixed, and although slightly different, I remembered
standing in that very spot months ago, looking up at Josie dancing
in her bedroom for a few minutes before I had knocked on the door
to see her.

As if through the power of the
memory, the light in the room came on. I stood back a bit. The only
other light on in the house was a faint glimmer from the kitchen
that came through the iced glass of the door. My breath stopped in
my throat, in that moment I was not as sceptical of the djinn as I
had been. I felt that fluttering of the heart that occurs when
something you want so intensely seems on the verge of occurring
almost supernaturally. I backed off a bit to see into the window a
bit better, keeping my stare on the bedroom window.

It seemed like hours before
anything happened. Without thought I dropped what I was carrying
and stood up on the bench of the bus stop opposite the house, in
order to get a better angle. My heart beat fast, and I felt the
trickle of blood down my neck as my scar opened up again. A figure
passed by the window, and I almost shouted. A few seconds later it
passed by again, bending over in the process. I shifted along the
bench and managed to get half a view of the person from behind.

It was Monika, but before my
palpitations subsided I noticed something strange. She had her hair
tied back and flat against her neck, like I had never seen her do
before. Aside from her gaunt and pale frame she didn’t seem like
herself at all. She was looking into a mirror, one that had not
been in the room before, and applying make-up in her concentrated,
diligent manner.

A few moments later I realised
what she was wearing; Josephine’s clothes. A black vest with a
small tear in one of the straps that made it slightly lopsided,
pyjama bottoms, and a yellow and black friendship bracelet Vicky
had made her.

I felt myself swoon and had to
steady myself to keep from losing my footing. When I returned my
gaze Monika was standing still and looking at herself. She slumped
a little and held one arm with the other in a gesture I knew
intimately. She stayed like that for ages, shifting her posture
around in small movements and adjusting herself. The urge to shout
was incredible. I held my hand to my mouth tightly.

She disappeared from view, and I
remembered to breathe. My hand was covered in spit and blood. I
gasped for air and in my periphery saw the bemused and frightened
stare of a couple standing a little further on from the bus
stop.

Monika returned with something
yellow in her hand. Standing in front of the mirror once again, she
grabbed her ponytail and curled it up against the back of her head.
For a moment, she bent over out of view. When she stood back up,
her hair was different.

And there she was, my Josephine.
Back from the dead. Her frizzy blond curls, her glowing red face,
her loose clothes, her gentle gestures and her graceful stance –my
Josephine.

I screamed. I was crying and
bleeding. I wasn’t saying anything. It emerged from my throat like
the punctured pressure of my heart. I wailed like a wild, feral
man.

Josephine came to the window,
her freckles, her pink lips, the mole on her neck. She looked at me
with an open mouth and wide eyes. Through the tears I gorged on
that image forever, a rapturous confusion pulsating throughout my
veins. I had to leave. I grabbed my box and ran away, looking for a
place to curl up and die.

I stumbled through the door and
dropped my things in the living room. The apartment felt silent and
cold, and I suddenly remembered shouting at Vicky with a pang of
regret. Her door was shut and a glint light peeked from beneath it.
Apart from some splashes of milk and cereal on the kitchen counter
there was nothing to show she had come out of her room since
slamming it shut.

I knocked on the door
gently.

“Vicky?”

No answer.

“Vicky? You alright? Are you
hungry?”

I went to the kitchen and put
the strawberry cake I had bought from the café on a plate. It was a
little squashed and out of shape, but it was her favourite
kind.

“Hey, Vee. I’m coming in. I
brought you something.”

I entered to find her lying on
her side, facing away from the door. She was gently teasing the
hair of a doll, and was wearing her headphones. I heard faintly the
brash, sparkly noise of teen pop.

“Got you some strawberry cake.
Smells really nice.”

She didn’t move, but I knew she
could hear me over her headphones. She stopped brushing the hair of
the doll.

“Ok, I’ll just put here then.
Have it when you want, but it’ll taste better the sooner you eat
it.”

Placing the plate on her bedside
table, I sat down on the side of the bed. There was a brief pause
in the muffled music, then another beat started up.

“Come on Vee. Don’t be like
that. Turn your music off a second, I just wanna talk to you.”

She didn’t move.

“Let me have a listen then.”

I reached over, pulled the ear
piece out of her ear and put it in mine. It was a song I’d heard
blaring from her room probably hundreds of times, and knew in that
way pop music seemed to make itself known instantaneously.

“Oh, I know this song. Nah nah
love me, paparazzi. Nah nana na nah, papa, paparazzi.”

Even though she faced away I
could see her cheekbones raise in a smile. I continued singing
until she couldn’t hold her giggles in any longer.

“Stop it! Stupid!”

“What? You don’t like my
singing?”

“No!”

“Nana, paparazzi!”

“Shut up!”

“Ok, ok! Turn it off then.”

I took the ear piece out and
Vicky stopped the cd player. The silence that followed was stark.
She stopped giggling the second the music stopped, and remained
stubbornly facing away from me; just to show I wasn’t off the hook
yet.

“Sorry I shouted at you before.
I was just feeling bad. I got this really gross scar today. Look.
Here, Vicky, have a look. You don’t want to see? Hmm, you’d
probably be scared anyway. Busted up my knee pretty badly too.
Ripped a big hole in my jeans as well. I’m gonna need you to sew it
up for me, otherwise people will think I’m homeless. I’m already
pretty smelly, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, you are.”

“Oh, thanks. Well, anyway, how
about we do something this weekend? Cheer ourselves up a bit. Go to
the cinema or something, are there any films you want to see?”

“No.”

“Nothing at all out?”

“No.”

“Ok, what about going to the
museum then?”

“No.”

“What about… swimming?”

“No.”

“What bout… the zoo?”

“…”

“So zoo it is then. That’ll be
fun, won’t it?”

Vicky rolled onto her back to
face me.

“Can Monika come?”

This time I was the one who
looked away.

“I don’t think so.”

“Why don’t you want her to
come?”

“No, I want her to come. But I
think she’s busy this weekend.”

“Liar!”

“Look, Monika’s weird, Vicky.
She seems nice at first, but she’s a bit crazy.”

“I like her. I want her to
come.”

“Wait. I’m gonna go toilet. I’ll
be back in a second.”

I went to the bathroom and
looked at myself in the mirror. I was a mess. My hair was sticking
out in all directions, and I had caked blood all over my neck and
chin. I needed a shave, but it was going to be tough to navigate
the scar on my face. I washed my face and hair quickly with soap,
dried off, and gave my hair a quick comb. I still looked like a
mess, but I felt a lot fresher.

When I returned to Vicky’s room
she was sitting up against the headboard and listening to her music
again. I sat down beside her and she turned the music off.

“Why don’t you ask Monika to
come?”

“Are you still thinking about
that? Don’t you wanna go just me and you? It’ll be fun. We haven’t
done anything together for a while.”

“Cause you’re always going out
on your own.”

“No I’m not. Am I?”

“Yeah, you’re always looking for
Josephine.”

“What?! What do you mean
‘looking’ for her? Who told you that I was looking for her? Wait,
don’t tell me. I can guess pretty much.”

“But you can’t find someone
who’s dead. Only in a graveyard.”

I put my arm around her and she
rested her head against my chest.

“Do you miss her, Vee?”

“Lots.”

I looked up and widened my eyes,
trying not to let the tears drop. I didn’t want to draw my hand
away from Vicky to wipe them.

We stayed like that for a while,
not saying anything. I felt guilty that I hadn’t held Vicky like
that for what seemed like a long time. I had forgotten how much she
needed me, and how much I needed her.

“Ok, I’ll talk to Monika and ask
her to come.”

“Thanks, big bro.”

“Vee.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you believe in magic?”

“Huh?”

“Magic, spells, witches and all
that. You read stories about it right?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you know about it?”

“Lots.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you ever done a
spell?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“What kind of spell?”

“All kinds.”

“Come on, tell me. What kind of
spells?”

“Hmm, I dunno.”

“Are you just pretending, or are
you keeping it a secret?”

“I dunno.”

“You’re such a stubborn
kid.”

Vicky giggled and the shaking of
her body against my leg brought back a little of the pain in my
knee. I was embarrassed I had even entertained the idea that had
flashed across my mind. Vicky conjured up a magic djinn which
caused chaos in London and which Josephine discovered and led to
her death. I articulated it to myself to make myself fully aware of
how ridiculous it sounded. Despite the urge, I resisted questioning
her further, for fear of spoiling the pleasant calm that had been
created between us. She was too tired to talk anyway, and I stayed
there until she—and I—began to drift off.

“Hey, it’s late. We both need
some sleep. Go brush your teeth and I’ll tuck you in.”

I brought the uneaten cake to
the kitchen and put it in the fridge. I realised how hungry I was,
and made myself a tuna sandwich, taking a brief pause to kiss Vicky
goodnight.

Whether through tiredness, or a
lack of care, the pain in my knee was becoming harder to ignore. I
brought the sandwich to my room and undressed to examine it. It was
scratched pretty deep, and there was a large swelling around the
bruise that seemed to be causing the deep throbbing pain. I put
some heat salve on I; unsure if it would even help. I prodded,
twisted and pressed against it. I guessed it was probably sprained
too. It felt very similar to an elbow injury I had sustained as a
teenager. Back then I had had to wear a support for a few months. I
grabbed an old raggy t-shirt and tied it around my knee, hoping it
would suffice as a support.

In a bedside drawer I kept a
bottle of cheap vodka for sleepless nights. I pulled it out and
took three full swigs as I ate my sandwich. Soon after, I realised
my head was swirling and I had finished the bottle. I dropped it
onto the floor and pulled my leg onto the bed.

The moment my head hit the
pillow, the room began to sway and move; the ceiling zooming
towards me constantly.

“Why am I drunk? I’m no
lightweight. Cause I didn’t eat. Didn’t eat nothing. Nothing.”

I noticed the light was on and
grimaced. It felt like the most impossible challenge in the world
to get up, go over to the switch, turn it off, and return. I moaned
about it to myself for a while, before hitting upon the sublime
idea of closing my eyes.

I woke up sweating and hot. My
knee hurt, my face stung, and my head was sore. I tried to get up
and failed. It felt like my body was withering away, weaker than I
had felt in a long time. My headache prevented me from focusing
properly. I tossed and turned, trying to find a position that would
give me some respite from the pain, but every shift only made me
feel worse.

I never took painkillers, I
hated the idea of them, but right then I would have given anything
for some relief. My throat was parched. I thought about calling
Vicky for help, but in the corner of my eye I saw the time—four in
the morning—and decided not to.

I lay there feeling guilty,
helpless, and stupid; thinking about every horrible, ugly thing I
had done over the past few days. Shouting at Vicky, leaving her
home alone, stealing green jacket’s phone, breaking phonebooth
guy’s nose, breaking Davy’s toy gun, locking Sewerbird on the roof
of that building, hurting Monika, burning that guy’s lap, trashing
Josephine’s room. I went through it all and hated myself as I
remembered each event. Then I thought about all the things people
had done to me, and I began to hate the world. I felt both angry
and pathetic. Weak and violent. Determined and confused.