Delete-Man: A Psychological Thriller (29 page)

“I didn’t eat any sweets.”

“What, then?”

“Nothing.”

“Did you have bad dreams?”

She said nothing again.

“What was it? Nightmares? What
did you dream?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Why didn’t you come to my
bed?”

“I did.”

“Oh. When I was out? Yeah. I’m
sorry.”

“You wasn’t even home.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. I had
to do some things.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

We walked on a little more.
Vicky was walking ahead of me slightly, my stiff leg slowing me
down. She made no real effort to let me catch up.

“Christmas is soon.”

“So?”

“I got a good idea for what I’m
gonna get you. Been thinking about it for a while. You’re gonna
love it, Vee.”

“I don’t want it.”

“You don’t even know what it
is.”

“I want something else. My own
thing.”

“What?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

We turned into the school
street, joining the procession of parents and children. The same
crowd of quick-parkers, sleepyheads, and stressed mothers I had
grown used to. Vicky made to walk ahead of me. I put my hand on her
shoulder. She turned towards me slightly. With some effort I knelt
down to her level, pulling her to face me head-on.

“Vee.”

“What?”

“Are you scared of me?”

She paused, her focus flicking
between my eyes.

“No.”

“Good.”

“But.”

“But?”

Another pause.

“But what? Go on.”

“I dunno.”

There was a shiny wetness in her
eyes.

“Say it. You don’t trust me
anymore, right?”

At this, she sniffed, and rubbed
a clenched hand to her eye. She tried to pull away.

“Ok.”

I let her go. She turned away,
stopped for a moment to clean up her eyes with all the delicate
poise of a grown woman taking charge of her emotions, then began
walking again towards a group of kids chatting just inside the
gates. I watched her go inside. Something had changed in her. The
way she walked, the posture she took while idly chatting; a million
miles from the playful kid who ran through the school gates with
her bag flapping behind her. She glanced at me briefly, a distant
and serious expression on her face. Another line of kids marched
across the playground and I lost sight of her amongst the
crowd.

“Morning. You alright?”

It was Sandy.

“Hey. Yeah, fine. You?”

“Oh you know. Same old same old.
Ms. Harrison just had a word with me again about Davey. He’ll be
the death of me, he will. Do you know what he did last Friday?
Stuck glue in some poor girl’s hair. You alright there, hun? You
don’t look too good.”

“It’s alright. Just a bit of
cramp.”

“You know what you should do.
Eat a banana. It fixes cramp right up. So they say anyway. I don’t
know. I’ve never had it—touch wood. Did Vicky tell you about
yesterday?”

“The shopping?”

“Yeah. Oh my God. I tell you,
Joseph. I needed a second pair of hands to deal with my kids. They
just want to buy everything. I even had to smack my Davey. You’ll
never guess what he did. He tried to pocket some video game right
there in the shop. I couldn’t believe it. Vicky was lovely though,
she’s such a sweetheart.”

“She is. But Sandy, you
shouldn’t have let her buy make-up. She’s too young for it.”

“I knew you were going to say
something about that. Vicky was worried about what you’d say but I
told her ‘you just buy it and I’ll speak to Joseph’. You can’t
punish the girl for it, she’s just a girl, you know. If she was
wearing high heels or a thong or something then yeah, I understand
you. But a little bit of make-up is fine at her age. Plus, Vicky’s
not the kind of girl who—”

“I don’t care. I don’t want her
wearing it.”

“Joseph—”

“I mean it.”

I glared at her, trying to force
the seriousness of the point home, but Sandy was far too
self-absorbed to notice.

“It’s the same thing I was
telling you about before: You’ve got to let the girl grow up.
Otherwise she’ll turn out for the worse. If you don’t let her buy
make-up she’ll just do it in secret. She’ll end up getting obsessed
with it. Let her experiment a bit though. She needs it, it’s all
part of growing up.”

“Fuck growing up!”

The words came out louder than I
had intended but I was tired of Sandy’s assumptions.

“Vicky doesn’t need to grow up!
What for? So she can be miserable and poor like the rest of us? I
grew up and it was a fucking pain. She never has to go through any
of that, and yet she still hates me and everyone thinks they know
better. I raised her since she was a baby. Nobody else. Just
me.”

I spun away from her and briskly
walked away, still talking.

“Vicky’s perfect how she is! She
don’t need to grow up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.
None of it.”

As soon as I turned out of view
I stopped and leant against a wall. My leg ached from pounding it
against the hard pavement. Without thinking, I reached into my
pocket and threw a few more capsules into my mouth, crunching them
down just before the urge to spit them out.

I put the cap back on the bottle
and looked up. Down at the end of the street I saw the dog. He was
standing poised, the same way he had been in the alley, his eyes
fixed upon me with that passive stare. He didn’t move for what
seemed like minutes. I considered going to him then remembered I
had things to do. Slowly, I began walking again. I made my way to
the station and took a train leading to Monika’s house.

It was close now, retribution.
The loss I felt would be resolved. The front door was locked.
Monika had to have locked it. I thumped my fist against it.

“Monika! Open up!”

No sound came from the other
side. I pounded even harder.

“Monika! I know you’re here!
Monika!”

I looked around until I found a
loose brick propping up a broken flower pot in the front yard. I
picked it up, and smashed out the glass in the front window with
it. I clambered through it into the living room.

“Monika! I’m in now, so you
might as well talk to me.”

The kitchen was just as it had
been the night before, the knife lying in a reaching pool of
blackened, dry, blood. I passed through the kitchen to look through
the door that led into the yard.

“Monika! I’ll find where you’re
hiding!”

The printout of Josie’s book was
amongst the broken shards of wine bottle and glasses. I picked it
up, folded it, and put it in my pocket. Before I left the kitchen a
row of spirits caught my eye. I grabbed the bottle of whisky, it
had it the most left in it. I spun off the cap with my thumb and
took a long, pulsating gulp. It went down as smoothly, burning
inside of me. I took the bottle with me to the base of the
stairs.

“So you’re up there then, are
you?”

I took a few steps up the
stairs, stopped, sucked down more of the golden liquid, and
continued.

“I know you killed her. You’re a
murderer! Do you think you can get away with that?”

Out of some instinctual muscle
memory I turned left towards Josie’s room. It was empty but for a
body mirror placed in the corner. The frayed edges of the carpet
where I had pulled it up still tapered at the skirting.

“So you’re not in here playing
dress up. What rock you under then?”

The bathroom door was open. I
went inside and snatched at the shower curtain.

“Smart. That only works in
films.”

Monika’s room was also empty,
but the opened drawers and the mess of cloths over the floor made
it clear she had been there recently.

“I see.”

After another couple of long
swigs I put the bottle down on her dresser and investigated the
mess. The doors to Monika’s cupboard were wide open, like the
gaping jaws of some prehistoric beast, all manner of shapes and
colours emerging from it. Half-packed and thrown aside, a large
white suitcase lay across the floor in front of it.

“Feeling more like a black day
probably.”

Monika’s desk faced the window,
and along the sill she had placed various framed photographs and
cute objects. I leaned in and peered over them. One of them showed
Monika with Josie at some kind of party; Monika’s arm draped around
Josie as they squished their faces together and kicked their legs
back. I picked it up and studied it.

“Why?”

I smashed the frame open and
pocketed the photo. I pulled out all the desk drawers and rummaged
through them. I threw her clothes about the room, tore them between
my teeth, kicked her chair apart and tipped over her bed. After a
while, I didn’t need the pretence of looking for something. I
punched the walls until my fingers were raw and limp. I threw
myself around and kicked at the furniture—put my foot through the
window.

“Monika why!”

Looking frantically for
something else to break, I saw a box of matches in one of the
drawers. I grasped at it, put the box between my teeth and took out
a bunch of the matches. The sulphur fizzed as I struck them, a
beautiful, brief flame shooting up in front of my eyes.

I tossed the lit matches onto
the bed, and after them, the box. The flames subsided for a few
seconds before catching again, the fizzing blaze arose once again,
bigger this time. It caught a nearby sweater and the flames again
subsided before growing. I watched them pulsate; receding slowly
then catching again, gradually larger. Like waves of yellow and
white they rose and fell against the mattress, clothes, and the
carpet. Glowing cinders extended, leaving a black trail behind
them.

Only when the mattress had
become a bonfire, and the smoke threatened to fill the room, did I
turn and leave. I shambled down the stairs, falling over the last
few, and scrambled out into the street. There were few people on
the road, and looking behind me there was not much indication
anything was wrong with the house yet. Behind the broken glass of
Monika’s bedroom window a flashing glow flickered against the
walls, slight plumes of smoke just discernible against the thin,
cold air.

At the end of the street I began
to hear crackling and snapping. I turned back. The smoke was
tumbling out of the window in thick, bulbous shapes now.
Dissipating elegantly across the street and up into the air. A few
onlookers on the road behind me looked on as they walked past
slowly. Eventually one of them took out his phone, dialled quickly,
then brought it to his ear.

As inconspicuously as possible I
made my way towards the station. It was a long shot, but perhaps
Monika would be at work. With calm focus I made my way there,
thinking of the flames devouring Monika’s wardrobe.

“Hi.”

“Hey. Is Monika in today?”

“Monika who?”

“Umm. Tall, slim girl, black
hair down to here.”

The guy at the desk shot me a
look of jaded sarcasm. There were a couple of girls who fitted that
description in the entrance alone.

“Hang on.”

I pulled out the photo I had
taken from Monika’s room.

“This girl.”

The receptionist took the photo
and looked at it. He showed it to a colleague standing beside him
drinking coffee. After a quick glance she spoke to me without even
looking.

“Not in today. Called a
sicky.”

She made a grimace at the
receptionist who grimaced back in acknowledgement.

“Thanks.”

I took the photo and left. The
salty air of the Thames wafted vaguely through me. Without
forethought I found myself walking towards it, and along the south
bank. I had no leads. With a strong sense of frustration I let go
of Monika in my thoughts. I would find her eventually, it was not
something I was able, let alone willing, to give up on.

There were other things to worry
about anyway. I thumbed the papers in my pocket and decided to
visit Dr. Hughton. Josie would have wanted him to see what she had
written, and he could probably tell me more about those symbols. In
all the frenzy of chasing Monika I hadn’t given much thought to
them, but the book had given me an annoying feeling of time running
out. I placed a hand on my leg and paced towards the station once
again.

Dr. Hughton’s receptionist
looked like a completely different girl. Her pristine blond hair
was gone, and she now wore a black bob haircut that revealed her
pale, delicate features.

“Hello, may I—Sorry, excuse me.
Wait! He’s in the middle of—”

I slammed the door to Hughton’s
office open and walked right up to him, extending the papers in
front of me.

“Read it.”

“Dr.Hughton! I’m very sorry, he
just barged—”

“It’s ok, Sarah. I remember you,
don’t I?”

“I’m Josephine’s boyfriend.”

“Ah. The detective.”

“What is this? Excuse me, but
you’re interrupting my session.”

The voice came from behind me. A
man in a loosened tie and his shoes off got up from his lying
position on the leather couch.

“Get out,” I said.

“I beg your—”

“Get. Out.”

“Who do you think you are!?”

“Please, gentlemen. Let’s calm
down and sort this out.”

The loosened shirt stood over
me. He was a full few inches taller than me.

“How dare you storm into a
session like some kind of maniac. I’m sorry John, I don’t know who
this person is but that’s incredibly—”

I dropped the papers on a side
table and threw my palm around. The sharp, slapping sound
reverberating in the high-ceilinged room. He bent to the side,
clutching his face.

“What the fuck? You fucking
idiot! Fuck! Are you fucking crazy!”

“Stop this!”

I grabbed his collar, spun him,
planted a foot forward and pushed him as hard as I could.

“No!”