Delete-Man: A Psychological Thriller (11 page)

I cursed God, and begged him to
kill me in my sleep, to give me Josephine back, to answer my
questions, to make me someone else. I offered my soul to the devil,
and talked to the djinn. I made promises to the universe and broke
them in the same breath. Then I spoke to Josephine. I told her
everything and she understood it immediately. I imagined what she
might say, and what she might do. I imagined melting into her soft
green eyes. To the timbre of her voice I fell asleep again.

A day in summer; I was in
Josie’s room, drinking beer. Her on the bed, me at the window.

“Why did you do it, Joseph?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes you do.”

“Because I’m a horrible
person.”

“No you’re not.”

“Yes I am. I’m a typical man. A
dog who can’t control himself.”

“No.”

“Yes. It’s true. I saw her and I
thought she was much sexier than you. She was skinnier than you,
dressed better than you, looked dirtier than you. I’m a dog.”

I sucked down the rest of the
beer and sat at the desk, facing away from her.

“I don’t believe that. You might
believe it, but I don’t.”

“Why not?! What is wrong with
you?! I cheated on you, and you don’t even care.”

“I do care, that’s why I’m still
here.”

“I don’t understand you. Not at
all.”

“So you want me to hate
you?”

“At least I would understand
that.”

“So tell me you don’t love me
then.”

“I… I just don’t understand you.
Why don’t you hate me?”

“Because you love me.”

I turned to look at her. She was
sat on the edge of the bed, beer in hand. Looking through me.

“Don’t you see what you’re
doing, Joseph?”

“What?”

“Same thing you do to everything
you love: Push it away.”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re so used to being
miserable, alone, having to fight; that you can’t handle being
happy, or enjoying your life.”

“Maybe… Yeah, maybe. But I’ve
got good reason to.”

“No you don’t.”

“Yes! I do!”

“No, you fucking well
don’t.”

“Are you fucking blind, Josie!?
Look at me! Look at this!”

I snatched off my shirt.

“Look at this… stump! Why me?
That’s all I want to know. Why me? I’m deformed, I’m violent, I
have baggage, and I’m a pain. I’ve never done anything good in my
life. I cheated on you, and you’re still here. I never even
understood why you were here in the first place.”

She got up and came towards
me.

“No, don’t. Sit down. I don’t
want you to touch me. I don’t want you to comfort me, or make me
feel better. Just tell me one thing—that one thing, that reason
you’re with me.”

I stood there, crying violently,
rooted to the spot as she walked over to the open window, and
jumped out.

Two months in hospital, two
broken ribs, a broken collar bone and a broken femur. Severe head
and chest injuries. I stayed there every hour Vicky was at school,
and wheeled her home when she was well enough.

“Wake uh-uh-up!”

Vicky shook and prodded me
awake, but it still took a full minute before I remembered who I
was, where I was, what day it was, and what state I had gone to
sleep in.

“Alright, alright. I’m up. Go
shower and get dressed.”

“I already did.”

“What time is it?”

“Eight forty-nine.”

I snapped up out of bed,
ignoring my body’s resistance.

“Oh shit. Shit shit shit.”

“I’m gonna be late!”

I fell out of bed and checked
the time for myself.

“Go make your lunch. I did the
shopping yesterday. There should be something in the fridge you can
take with you.”

“I already got it.”

I scrambled around the room for
clothes and shoved myself into them.

“Lunch, keys… Have you got your
reading pack?”

“That’s tomorrow. Come on!”

“Ok, good. Let’s go.”

I grabbed Vicky’s hand and we
left the house. The moment we got to the street I realised I’d
forgotten my watch, and continued hurriedly down the road.

“Why are you walking funny?”

“I told you, I hurt my knee
yesterday.”

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, it’ll be fine after a few
days.”

We reached the gates just as a
teacher was about to close them. The children were already lined up
in the playground and walking into the school one line at a
time.

“Sorry we’re late. Can she go
in?”

“We’re not supposed to let
children in once they’re lined up, you’ll have to go through the
front office.”

“Please, I can see her class is
still there. It’s my fault, I can’t walk very fast.”

I gestured towards the bloody,
ripped hole in my jeans, the scabby bruise visible beneath it, and
realised that wasn’t the best thing to show a school teacher. She
frowned at me. I shrugged pathetically.

“Go on then. Since you haven’t
been late before.”

“Thanks.”

I kissed Vicky and made sure her
clothes were tidy then sent her running off to join her class.

“I know you. Ms. Robinson,
right? I saw you at the last parent’s day.”

The teacher closed the gates and
began locking them.

“That’s right. How is your
mother, is she still in hospital?”

“Yes, unfortunately.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Is she
going to be ok?”

“We’re still not sure. We’re
hoping.”

“Give her my best wishes.”

“I will. Thank you very much,
Ms.”

I gave Vicky a wave as she
walked inside with her class, smiled at Ms.Robinson before she
turned to join them, and left.

On the way home, I stopped off
and bought some plasters, a knee support, some cream the pharmacist
recommended for my bruises, and a new notepad. I considered for a
brief second buying something for my headache, but knew I would
never take it if I did.

I saw that Vicky had cleaned up
a little when I got home. The kitchen looked tidy, and she had even
washed the plate that had held the cake. I hoped she had taken it
with her as a desert for lunch, and not eaten it exclusively for
breakfast. I set to work making a good, big breakfast for myself,
and ate it while I put my thoughts in order. Once done, I pulled
out the notepad and began writing notes on everything I had
discovered up to that point.

Josie was interested in
delete-man, message on roof, and Sewerbird’s art

Claude Packard told Sewerbird
about the delete-man, who then told Josie

Delete-man could be linked to
djinn mumbo-jumbo

Josie was seeing a
psychiatrist

Claude Packard killed
himself

I stared at it for a while,
trying to think of anything I missed. With some degree of
hesitation I then wrote:

Monika mimicked Josie (????)

Writing it all out made me
realise just how little I had actually found out, and how far I had
become side-tracked from the question of Josie’s death. I picked up
the phone, and dialled Bianca’s number. It rang through to the
answering machine and I slammed the phone back down. I picked up
the pen and wrote:

Bianca loved Josie

For some reason, writing it down
felt like uncovering a truth. I tried to consider it from all
angles, to find some logical step between any of the things I had
written, and what I was trying to discover. I tore the sheet off
the pad and laid it to the side. On a new sheet I wrote:

Why did Josie kill herself?

Who killed Josie?

Despite my efforts to be
pragmatic, I began to feel light-headed and emotional, so decided
to take a break. I left the notepad and went to the bathroom to
attempt shaving. After managing to half-decently shave without
scarring myself further, I applied plasters to the wound, and
treated my knee with the cream I had bought before slipping the
knee support on.

I began to work out, and felt
the deterioration in my fitness over the past week immediately. I
pushed myself harder than usual to compensate, but my knee stopped
me from gaining any sense of completion. I tried putting some
pressure on it, but the pain was immediate, and I avoided doing
anything to further aggravate it. I pushed and pulled and lifted
and held until my body was incapable of doing anything more.
Through the tiredness and heat I felt better than I had done in a
long time. I stepped into the shower and stayed there for what felt
like hours.

I dried off and put some clean
clothes on. I settled down again in front of the notepad. Then
there was a knock at the door.

I checked the time—it was nearly
midday. As I walked to the door (pleased to notice the pain in my
knee was somewhat soothed, and my limp was fading), I tried to
think of who would visit me at that time. I hoped it wasn’t
Monika.

I opened the door to a tall,
imposing man with meticulously trimmed stubble and an expensive
haircut. He wore a nice suit informally and stood with the gait and
the grin of a salesman or a girl hound.

“Joseph?”

“Yeah.”

He offered his right hand; I
offered my left.

“Oh, of course. I forgot, how
rude of me.”

“Who are you?”

“You don’t remember me?”

I looked at him. Just before his
name sprung to mind he told me.

“Sebastien Baird. I’m
Josephine’s brother.”

“Right. I remember.”

“We’ve met once before at her
birthday party.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“So…”

“So, what?”

“Are you in the middle of
something?”

“Yeah.”

“I see. Actually I’m here
because I wanted to discuss something with you. It’s fairly
important.”

“Guess you want to come in
then.”

“It would help. Yes.”

I reluctantly moved aside and
gestured him in towards the living room. He gazed at the couch for
a few seconds before sitting on it, then proceeded to scan the
living room thoroughly.

“Oh yes, I forgot. You have a
baby, don’t you?”

“No, I just like finger painting
and dolls.”

“Ha! Funny.”

“Do you want a beer?”

“It’s fairly early to be
drinking, don’t you think? Is that all you have, I suppose you
don’t have any juice?”

“I’ve got plenty of juice.”

I poured out a couple of glasses
and handed one to him before sitting across from him on a chair. He
held the glass with the pads of his fingers, as if it was dirty,
and after a small sip put it down on the table softly. He
smiled.

“So, Joseph, how are you?”

“I’m doing brilliant.”

“I sense a little sarcasm there.
I meant, how are you coping with regards to Josephine’s
passing?”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t know, hence why I ask.
Have you come to terms with it?”

“Is that what you came here to
ask?”

“I’m sensing some animosity
towards me, Joseph. I just want to assure you I don’t bear you any
ill-will.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m being
unfair. I’ll wait until you get to the point before I start hating
you then.”

“Ha! Come now, Joseph. Don’t be
a prickly pear!”

“Prickly pear? No wonder I
forgot you.”

“Ha! Very good. May I use your
bathroom?”

“It’s that door on the right of
the entrance.”

“Wonderful.”

He left for the bathroom and I
put the notes I had taken in the morning away, in case he would see
them. I got the impression he wasn’t respectful enough to ignore
them. He came out of the bathroom brushing himself off as if he had
walked through a dust cloud, and sat down with the same tentative
nature he had done previously. Every gesture he made was imbued
with a sly sense of superior disgust.

“Is your baby asleep?”

“Ok, look. Firstly, she’s not my
daughter, she’s my little sister. Secondly, she’s not a baby, she’s
ten. Thirdly, she’s in school, otherwise you would still be
standing at the door. And lastly, don’t mention her again, for your
sake as well as mine, because you’re getting on my nerves, and I
know it’s deliberate. Josie told you about her many times I’m
sure.”

“Relax! As I said before, I’m
not here seeking any sort of confrontation, Joe. Although you’re
right, Josephine told me quite a lot about your familial situation,
forgive me for not being au fait with every detail.”

“Don’t call me Joe.”

“Oh dear. You really do have a
primitive temper, don’t you?”

“I’ve got a good memory, that’s
what I’ve got. You’re acting like I forgave you, but I
haven’t.”

“Are you honestly telling me
that you bear a grudge for an incident that occurred over three
years ago?”

“As far as I can tell you’re
still the same bastard you was then. So why not?”

He leaned over and took another
sip of juice. His hand shook slightly, and I could tell I was
beginning to scare him. But he retained his smug expression and
superior demeanour.

“Just spit it out, what did you
come here for?”

“Well, it’s a rather sensitive
issue.”

“Go on.”

“Were you aware that Josephine’s
funeral is being held soon?”

“This Sunday. Yeah.”

“I see… Do you know the
location?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Ah, I see.”

“What do you see?”

“Well, Joe—sorry, Joseph—you
see, the funeral will be predominantly a family affair.”

“So I heard.”

“It’s mainly for those who were
the closest to Josephine.”

“Of course.”

“It’s a very important ceremony
for a lot of us, and it’s imperative that it goes well.”

“Sure, I totally understand. So
you came by to invite me.”

“Ha! Well done. I simply came by
to ensure that we were all on the same page.”

“Yeah.”

“So, you understand then, that
you’re not to attend. Neither the service nor the burial. You can
assure me of that?”