Delete-Man: A Psychological Thriller (28 page)

This time I had no idea whether
I had been out for seconds or days. I was clutching my leg, and
beside it was the kitchen knife, drops of blood still rapidly
falling from its tip. I released the pressure of my hand and
immediately felt the wound open up as blood sought to escape. I
pressed down hard again and looked around until I found a tea
towel. It was just out of reach, draped over the oven handle. As
swiftly as I could, pushing the pain to some recess of my mind, I
let go of my bloody leg, propelled myself towards the oven with the
other, and grabbed the towel. I tied the knot quickly with the help
of my teeth and pulled myself up against the counter.

My leg was useless, but the
agony was just a distraction. I looked once more towards the door.
Maybe Monika couldn’t make it far. She was weak. A murderer, but
weak. I needed to find her. I stumbled forward, the slight pressure
on my left leg burning throughout my muscles. I stumbled again,
still focusing on Monika. Remembering each lie, remembering her
manipulations, remembering what she did to Josie. I made it to the
door, the pain threatened to overcome me with every movement.

She had taken a left after
leaving the house, and I scanned the street as far as I could in
that direction. I was moving briskly. Not running, so much as
taking huge leaps with my right leg, and bearing the sharp beats of
pain that thumped me as I steadied myself with my left.

I kept going until I reached a
junction. There was no sign of anyone. I turned towards the darkest
path and carried on. A couple of women were walking towards me. I
hailed them. They stopped walking as I approached, one
remonstrating with the other. I called to them when they were
within earshot.

“Hey! Did you see a girl running
through here? Tall, slim, black hair down to here. Tight jeans,
black top?”

They stared at me like I was
speaking another language.

“Well?”

One whispered something to the
other and they turned to cross to the other side of the street
hurriedly.

“Did you fucking see her or
not?! Simple fucking question! Shit.”

I leant against a wall. Where
would Monika go? I had no idea. I didn’t know her friends, or what
she did with her time. I barely knew her at all until a few weeks
ago. I touched my leg. It still hurt, but I could move it slightly.
Mustering up enough strength to ignore it I carried on, staggering
down cold streets lit dimly through the winter fog.

“Oi mate, you alright?”

“Fine.”

“Let me give you a hand.”

“Fuck off!”

Monika was gone, but I was
moving fast now. I would catch her. I would smell her scent and
follow it all the way across the earth. I’d hunt her down like an
animal. Get revenge for every deceit. Set right the imbalance of
Josie’s death. My blood boiled; the pain and my anger segued
together. Monika was somewhere. If I drove myself on long enough I
would find her. She wasn’t going to win. I wasn’t going to
lose.

“Monika! I’ll fucking find you!
Monika!”

For an hour I staggered through
poorly-lit avenues and alleys, occasionally startling some
passerby, or refusing the help of some do-gooder. It had begun to
rain lightly, and the temperature had dropped dramatically. The icy
coldness felt like anaesthesia, my body stuck in a limbo of numb,
imminent pain. Desperately I stumbled and ran, like some lopsided
animal. I cursed and shouted, glancing around for some sign.

“Come on, come on out! Come on
out into the open! You can’t hide forever Monika!”

How stupid could I have been.
Everything fit so perfectly. The world made sense. I noticed some
markings on a wall and walked towards them. Then, remembering
Josie’s book, I turned away hurriedly. The whole world was tainted.
Monika was everywhere. A beast behind every image. Posters,
billboards, graffiti, I squeezed my eyes for fear they would burn
into me. They symbols explained everything. Perhaps even
Monika.

There was a sinister growl. I
looked up, realising I had blacked out or fallen asleep for a few
seconds. It was an alleyway, barely four metres wide, and nearly
pitch black but for the sparkles of light that trickled down with
the rain and mist. A shape. Shiny and black. Two glistening beads
intent upon me. Another long, low growl evolved into a violent
bark.

“Fuck off!”

Another growl, more vicious this
time. Then the dog barked erratically. Before I could move I
realised the beady glints were getting larger. The noise grew
closer rapidly. The shape rose from the ground and for a second the
dog was silhouetted against the grey fog; elegant, leaping, and
heading directly towards my face.

Dog breath and spit struck me as
I swung aside and lashed my hand against its flying body. The dog
clattered into something that made a clashing metallic sound, and I
tripped over something heavy and rigid. Scrambling to my feet I
turned quickly in the direction of the dog, making out his sleek
haunches vaguely. His claws scratched frantically against the
concrete as he clambered to his feet. Again he growled and barked,
enraged further.

“Fuck you too!”

I slung my coat off in a
singular movement. The twinkling globes appeared once more, angry
and focused.

“Come on then,” I snarled.

As if comprehending, the dog
growled, barked and pounced again. I threw the coat in front of me,
splayed open, and pressed forward myself. I missed, and instead of
capturing the dog in my arm, he clattered into my chest. The coat
had covered his jaws though, and as I fell back I wrapped my arm
around his thrashing body. I hit the floor hard, waking up all the
residual pains of my body, but my grip stayed strong. The dog
thrashed against me, his head covered by my thick jacket. I pressed
my shoulders against the floor, trying to roll over.

“Shhh!”

The sting of the fall spread and
deepened, threatening to send me under. I could smell the animal
nitrate of the dog’s sweat. Images and thoughts flashed before me.
I tightened my grip, but my body felt like it was being taken over
by some parasitic force. The words ‘we’re not guilty’ echoed in my
mind. The dog growled and twisted. I gave up trying to roll over.
Now Monika’s body, dressed in that top with the lopsided strap. The
dog kicked and barked beneath my coat. I drifted...

Cold dampness and pain merged
with my dreams, growing stronger and more real until I pulled
myself into reality. The hard ground, my clothes soaked. A touch of
purple hue hung in the sky, indicating that dawn might break
eventually. Feeling slowly returned to my body, and with it came
soreness.

With a huge exertion, I fought
the stiffness in my limbs to roll onto my side and push myself up.
I picked up my coat and put it on, disregarding the heaviness it
had gained through wetness. It was still raining, but the draughts
that had whipped the rain had ceased. Looking down at myself, red
smatterings of blood covered my jeans and tattered shreds of my
coat hung in untidy ribbons around me. I gathered my breath, zipped
my coat up, and pushed on down the alleyway, my joints still waking
up.

I raised my head, my neck
clicking. A few metres ahead, poised and focused upon me, stood the
dog. A Doberman pinscher. We looked at each other for minutes. His
eyes were no longer wild flashes, but the expressionless, primal
eyes of a dog looking at his master.

“What?”

I looked at him, watching for
some movement or sound to defend against. The dog was still as
stone.

“Fine.”

I walked towards the end of the
alley, passing within feet of the dog, who kept his eyes fixed upon
me. Before stepping out of the alley and onto the street I turned
around. The dog was still in the same spot, the same posture,
watching me. I left him there.

Memories of the night trickled
through, and with them purpose. Monika was gone. I considered
returning to her house, but it was unlikely she’d return. The sour
taste of her lies returned, but my body was too tired and burnt out
to conjure any anger for them. Limping slowly through the downpour,
bitter thoughts led me home.

It was well past four am when I
finally returned. I threw my coat off, slowly removed the tea
towel, and gently pulled off my jeans. My leg was a mess. The wound
was nearly two inches wide, but it had scabbed over with blood,
dirt, and fibres from both my jeans and the towel. It throbbed once
I exposed it, and my eyes were heavy. The bed tempted me, but I
knew I should sort myself out. I had to walk Vicky to school.

After showering tentatively,
eating through a whole pack of smoked bacon and the last of the
bread and cheese, I crawled into bed. The wound felt better, not
least for having an inch of bandage around it now. I stretched out
and realised that I couldn’t bend my leg so much at the knee. I
pushed as far as I could, but the pain and resistance wouldn’t let
me. After setting the alarm, I settled back into the fresh sheets,
and slept.

On barely three hours sleep I
got up, made Vicky a packed lunch, threw out my bloody jeans, put
my other clothes in the wash, and re-bandaged my leg. Once that was
done, I had about ten minutes before Vicky’s annoying alarm clock
would sound and she would emerge sleepy eyed from her room looking
for juice. I made a brief trip to the pharmacy, buying the first
thing the chemist suggested when I asked for the strongest
painkillers she had.

I looked at the pill bottle in
my hand, immediately regretting what I had done. I dropped it back
into its white paper bag and tossed it towards a bin. It smacked
against the side and fell into the gutter. I picked it up, took the
pill bottle out once more, and contemplated it. I opened it, threw
a few of the capsules into my mouth before I could change my mind
and pocketed the bottle.

Back home, I took a long drink
of water, and leant against the fridge waiting for the painkillers
to kick in. Vicky’s door opened and she shuffled across the passage
to the bathroom.

“Do you want juice, Vee?”

She came out of the bathroom and
walked to the kitchen.

“Do you want juice?”

“Mmm.”

I grabbed a glass and poured it
out.

“Cereal?”

“Mmm-mm.”

“Little bit of toast?”

“Mmm-mm.”

She picked up her glass and
returned to her room.

“You should find your umbrella.
Looks like it might rain soon.”

Her door closed.

I sat down on the couch,
stretching my leg out, and turned on the TV. Scenes of a great mass
of people pushing and fighting each other displayed themselves. I
turned the volume up.

“…still queues around the block
this morning, but thankfully a lot more subdued, and a lot less
violent, scenes this morning.”

“Linda, just how common are
incidents like this?”

“Well, at this time of year
Oxford street is full of shoppers anyway. As you can see behind me,
the streets are already crowded with consumers looking for a
bargain in these freezing temperatures. So it’s not uncommon to see
such a large crowd, but certainly the aggressiveness of those at
the opening of Joliet was remarkable.”

“What is it about this opening
that caused such a reaction, do you think?”

“As I said earlier this is the
first time these dresses will be available in the UK. And for the
past year, prior to the store’s opening, there was a large banner
at the location, so a lot of people would have known, and been
excited about the opening. There’s huge buzz around the designs,
and of course, Christmas is just around the corner now. Prime time
for stores to capitalise on that buzz.”

“Linda. Thank you.”

“Thank you.”

“A new report by the FIA on EU
banking failures—”

After flicking around a while I
got bored and turned it off. It was all too much. I stood at the
balcony a while, gazing downwards at the parking area, then across
the city. The destroyed car had been removed, but not even the
heavy rain could wash away the burnt rubber markings that remained
where its tires had been. I looked at the other balconies around
me. I had often wondered what it would be like to fall from the
highness of our balcony. How it would feel falling for maybe a full
ten seconds. As a kid, I had even dreamt about it a few times. In
the dreams, I would jump, and I would always regret it as soon as I
started falling. I’d reach out my hand to grab something, some
flying bird, or one of the lower balconies, and the dream would
end. Josie had always asked about my dreams, poking around to try
and figure out what they could mean, but I had never told her about
that one. Another regret.

“It’s time.”

I spun around.

“Shit, you scared me. I’m
sleeping standing.”

Vicky looked at me.

“Come on then.”

“What’s wrong with your
leg?”

“Nothing. Just a bit of
cramp.”

“There’s a bulge there.”

“Yeah. It’s a bandage. Come on,
you ready? Got your umbrella?”

We left the flat and got into
the lift. Vicky was silent the whole way down. She had a solemn
expression on her face.

“You tired?”

She shrugged her shoulders. The
lift doors opened and Vicky walked out ahead of me. We walked for a
few minutes, passing the same things we had passed thousands of
times on a thousand wet mornings. Something about them felt a
little unreal and uncomfortable that morning.

“Ok Vee. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t lie. Tell me.”

She said nothing.

“Didn’t you sleep well last
night?”

“No.”

“How come? Were they playing
music loud next door?”

“No.”

“Why then?”

“Nothing.”

“You’ve been eating too many
sweets, maybe. Got to eat better if you want to sleep well.”