Song Of The Psychopath

by Mark Tilbury

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  He was about to tell his father opening the window was dangerous. Anyone could be lurking around outside waiting for an opportunity to climb in and silence him forever.

  Thought you wanted to die? a voice whispered in his head. Catch the fast train to oblivion.

  I do. But I wanna go the way I choose, not them. ‘I’m cold.’

  ‘The heating’s on. You might be coming down with something.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Just give me a shout if you need anything. I’m only downstairs.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Tommy waited for his father to leave, walked to the door, and locked it. Why did adults always say you should eat something? Or have a good old-fashioned cup of tea? Did Charlie think a Spanish omelette, whatever the fuck that was, would heal his fractured mind? Didn’t he know all the king’s horses and all the king’s men, couldn’t put Tommy together again?

  He’d controlled the animosity towards his father for a short while, but it had slowly crept back in like a poisonous gas since seeing Dr Marks.

  He went to the window and peered out at the bleak landscape. The wind breathed life into dead autumn leaves, scattering them across the garden. A squirrel ran along the fence at the bottom and disappeared, as if sensing a coming storm. The first drops of rain tapped against the window. A white plastic chair blew over on the patio, and the parasol flapped like a giant bird too cumbersome to take off.

  A knock on the door. Now what? ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I’m going to order a pizza for dinner. What topping do you want?’

  Charlie again. Why couldn’t he just leave him alone? ‘I’m not bothered.’

  ‘Pepperoni?’

  Which bit of I’m not bothered don’t you understand? ‘Whatever.’

  ‘Are you all right, son?’

  Never better. Now go away and leave me alone. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I’ll order it for six. Unless you’d prefer a Chinese?’

  Tommy took a deep breath and sighed. ‘No, pizza’s fine.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Tommy sat on the bed. It was only a matter of time before he said something terrible to his father. Gave in to an overwhelming desire to tell him to go to hell.

  His mind was drawn to an old, round concrete structure situated a few hundred yards away on the old industrial site. He’d seen it on the way to see Dr Marks. God alone knew what it was. Perhaps some sort of industrial chimney. The main reason it had piqued his interest was a rusty metal ladder running all the way up the outside to the top.

  The tower might be a better bet than the train station. All he had to do was sneak out at night, climb to the top, and throw himself off. It had to be at least fifty feet high. A nice headfirst dive would definitely shut his stupid mind up forever. No more Dr Marks, no more Charlie, no more suffering.

  This thought comforted him. It was his get-out-of jail-free-card. The one he could play when all else failed.

  A tap on the window jolted his heart. He looked up to see Bella swaying on the other side of the glass. He closed his eyes. Looked again. Still there. A red tee-shirt clung to her body like a second skin. Bright-pink hot pants hugged her hips. Her long blonde hair swirled as she danced to the rhythm of the wind.

  Tommy told himself she wasn’t really there. Couldn’t be there. She was a ghostly hallucination. No more real than the Easter Bunny.

  Bella smiled. Lips parted seductively. Tongue darting in and out as if savouring the taste of the rain.

  He turned away. Covered his head with his hands and stared at the floor. At least that was real. Something he could touch. Tangible proof he was still in his room. The knots and whorls in the laminate surface swirled like tiny whirlpools.

  He shook his head. Nothing was real. Even his bare feet seemed detached from the rest of his body.

  Wassamatta, Tommy, don’t you wanna dance?

  Bella’s voice waltzed around his head. Soft, seductive, malevolent.

  Kiss me, Tommy. Kiss my ruby-red lips.

  He clamped his hands over his ears and closed his eyes, heart thumping, pulse racing.

  ‘I know you’re shy, but really, Tommy, do you wanna stay a virgin all your life?’

  ‘Go away.’

  She giggled. I’ll make you come if you want.

  ‘Fuck off.’

  Just stick your dick outta the window and I’ll burst your bubbles.

  The harder he pressed his hands over his ears, the louder Bella’s voice seemed to get.

  Wanna know how many men I’ve fucked, Tommy?

  ‘I don’t care.’

  Over a hundred. Twenty-seven women, too. That’s a lot of sex and a lot of experience. How about I pass on some of that knowledge to you? You might find it’ll come in handy one day.

  Tommy drew as deep a breath as his cracked ribs would allow and screamed until his lungs burned. This was followed by a coughing fit that brought tears to his eyes.

  After a few moments, he dared to open his eyes and peer out the window. Bella was gone. Nothing but a stormy sky painted beyond the glass.

  He wiped tears from his face with trembling hands. His legs wobbled as he shuffled to the window and drew the curtains. The small sliver of his brain still capable of rational thought told him to calm down. Ghostly women didn’t appear outside the bedroom window in the pouring rain. It was another symptom of his head injury. His own mind freaking him out just for the fun of it.

  Tommy sat on the bed. It didn’t matter whether Bella was real or a figment of his imagination; she seemed real, and that was all that really mattered in his fucked-up world.

  If only he could remember something about his Lost Year. Anything to give him a clue as to who Bella might be and why she was haunting his head. Same with the chain-smoking driver.

  He thought he saw a shadow flit across the window. Cursed the paper-thin curtains for their inability to block out the light.

  An idea: drag the wardrobe across the floor and put it in front of the window. Yes. It made sense. Something solid to obliterate the outside world. Probably the first useful thing his brain had come up with since he’d left the hospital.

  After emptying all his clothes out of the pine wardrobe, he set about shoving it with his knees in front of the window. Although it was relatively light unloaded, it still hurt his ribs.

  Finished, he stood panting, hands resting on his knees. But there was victory in pain. He’d never have to look out the window again and see Bella floating in the wind like some devil’s angel.

  He recovered his breath, then set about pushing his bed in front of the door. Both access points closed. No more Charlie interrupting him. Or Rachel with her stupid offers of homemade soup and buttered scones. This was his world now, and his alone. The only time he’d ever leave it was to make the short trip to Lassiter’s Industrial Site to climb the tower and put an end to his misery once and for all.

  Chapter Fifteen

  When Mozart’s finest concerto had failed to placate him, and wine had only served to ratchet up his anxiety to dangerous levels, Karl Duggan resorted to the old tried-and-tested method of sexual gratification. Only this time, he wanted raw, uncensored sex with a stranger. One he could talk to without fear of reprisal. Someone willing (or not) to listen to Karl’s growing list of problems without having a vested interest in the outcome.

  Jack was in his late twenties. Long dark hair tied back in a preposterous ponytail, and with eyes as cute as a doe’s. He was also tanned and slim. Duggan had picked him up in a gay bar in Oxford called Binky’s. A place he’d never visited before and would never do so again. Squalid, air thick with the aroma of weed, men in leather jackets who appeared more dangerous than macho, and other reprobates who seemed as if they belonged in one of those dreadful zombie movies.

  Duggan had concluded the place was all arse and no class. He hated drugs, and the pungent weed had irritated his eyes. As he was about to leave and seek a more respectable setting, he’d s
potted Jack standing at the bar. Bought him a drink and engaged him in conversation. Found he was originally from Portsmouth and was staying in a grotty bedsit while he searched for work.

  ‘I may be able to help you on the work front,’ Duggan said as they fastened their seatbelts in his black Audi. ‘What sort of job are you looking for?’

  Jack leaned back in his seat and fiddled with his ponytail. ‘Not sure. Anything for now. I wanna save up and go to college after Christmas.’

  ‘What do you want to study?’

  ‘Hairdressing.’

  Duggan glanced at Jack’s hair and made a mental note never to attend any possible employment venues where hippies were allowed access to scissors. ‘Isn’t that a notoriously low-paid job?’

  ‘Not if you get to work in a top salon,’ Jack said, a slightly defensive edge to his voice.

  ‘I see. Well, it doesn’t hurt to have ambition.’

  They drove the rest of the way to Thorndike House in silence. Jack’s mind doing whatever dopey hippies’ minds did. Duggan’s roaming the landscape of infinite possibilities, mostly of a sexual nature.

  By the time they reached the house, Duggan was in possession of a throbbing erection. He parked the car and invited Jack to join him in the lounge for a glass of wine and a chinwag.

  ‘What a beautiful house,’ Jack remarked as they stepped into the reception area. ‘This is twice as big as my bedsit.’

  Duggan smiled. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘What do you do for a living?’

  ‘I own a haulage company.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Do you drive, Jack?’

  ‘Nah. Unless you include driving people nuts.’

  ‘I see you’re blessed with dry wit. We may be in for a pleasant evening.’

  Seated on a large, soft leather sofa that appeared capable of swallowing guests whole, Jack accepted a glass of red from his host.

  The bottle that had delivered the drink was laced with sedatives. Not enough to knock a guy out, but enough to make him dozy and compliant.

  Duggan sat in a chair opposite his guest and savoured the taste of a particularly fine malt whisky only brought out for important occasions. Whereas wine was a relaxant – at least under normal circumstances – whisky tended to bring out the beast in him. Release all inhibitions and any tiny shred of empathy residing in him.

  Jack finished his wine in several gulps and put the glass on the coffee table. ‘That was really nice.’

  ‘I’m glad you appreciate a good bottle of Cabernet. So many people are ignorant of the finer things in life. Honestly, you could serve them a glass of bloody vinegar and they wouldn’t notice the difference.’

  Jack seemed pleased. Nodded. ‘Some fuckers can’t tell shit from clay.’

  Duggan chose to ignore the vulgarity. The pleb clearly had an untrained tongue. ‘How do you fancy driving for me, if I arrange lessons and a test for you? Free of charge, of course.’

  Jack’s eyes struggled to focus. ‘Nah. I really wanna go to college.’

  ‘As you wish. If you’d prefer something more temporary, you’re welcome to live-in at Thorndike House and carry out handyman duties.’

  ‘Really?’

  No, you fool. You don’t have a future, scissors or otherwise. ‘Yes. Absolutely. I like you, Jack. I see a young man who wants to get on in life. One who’s probably not had the best of starts but is still willing to work hard to reach his goals.’

  Jack picked up his empty glass and raised it. ‘Then I’d love to stay until after Christmas.’

  Duggan took another slug of whisky. ‘That’s settled, then. More wine?’

  Jack nodded. ‘Ta.’

  As Jack reached the end of his second glass, his eyes were struggling to stay open. Duggan studied him, his imagination wandering to the basement and the lovely soft bed situated next to the piranha tank. The solid brass headboard had leather restraints fitted to it. Just right for a baby bear to get a good night’s unrest.

  Satisfied Jack had reached the point of least resistance, Duggan said, ‘Would you like to come and feed my fish?’

  Jack grinned. ‘Is that a naughty offer?’

  Duggan dredged up a grin. ‘It can mean whatever you want it to. But I really do have fish, and they need feeding.’

  ‘What sorta fish?’

  ‘Piranhas.’

  ‘No way.’

  ‘Yep. Twenty of them in a massive tank.’

  Jack’s eyes crossed, then wandered left and right. ‘But why?’

  ‘Because I love them, Jack. They’re honest. Unlike most human beings, they stay true to their nature.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘So, would you like to feed them?’

  ‘Yeah. Cool.’

  Jack gripped the support rail as if he was boarding a sailing ship in a force eight gale. Rather appropriate for a man from a seafaring port, Duggan thought, as he followed him down the steps into the basement.

  Jack caught sight of the bed and giggled. ‘Do you sleep down here?’

  ‘Yes, Jack, I do. I experience a tremendous sense of peace when I’m in close proximity to the fish.’

  Jack staggered to a red leather recliner and flopped onto it. Put his feet on the footstool. ‘I like nature. Goin’ for walks in the woods. Being close to the trees.’

  ‘Nature is full of magical mysteries. If only one would learn to connect with the environment, instead of bastardising and raping it.’

  Jack bobbed his head, those doe-like eyes half-closed. ‘What do the piranhas eat?’

  People, Jack, people. ‘I get a lot of meat from the supermarkets when it’s gone past its sell-by date.’

  ‘Wouldn’t fancy sticking my hand in there.’

  ‘I use a fishing line to feed them. Just in case. Although they would probably ignore it as long as it’s not bleeding.’

  ‘Very… wise.’

  ‘Are you tired, Jack?’

  ‘Yeah. Been a long day.’

  ‘Would you like to lie on the bed for a while? Catch a few zeds? I can put a pizza in the oven for later.’

  ‘D’you mind?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  After several attempts to extricate himself from the chair, Jack allowed Duggan to help him to the deathbed.

  Sinking rapidly into the land of nod, Jack said, ‘Comfy.’ It came out more like Cuffy. And then he was gone. Away with the fairies.

  Duggan made a mental note to add fewer sedatives to the next batch of wine. Or at least shake up the bottle. His last house guest had remained pretty much alert all the way through the basement experience. Dumbed down, but not enough to spoil the fun.

  Duggan left Sleeping beauty to get some shut eye, and headed upstairs for a shower and another glass of whisky. It was going to be a fine night.

  ***

  Two hours later, Jack was secured in the restraints and nursing a hangover. He’d also lost the ability to communicate, choosing to make demands via croaking.

  Duggan uncapped a bottle of Perrier water. ‘Open wide. Let’s wet your whistle, as the sailors say.’

  Jack dutifully obliged. Gulped the water and had a coughing fit.

  When it finally subsided, Duggan took a seat on a pink ottoman at the foot of the bed. ‘Better?’

  ‘Christ, my head hurts.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. You did gulp your wine.’

  Jack tugged on the restraints. ‘Why am I tied to the bed?’

  ‘Because I don’t want you to leave, Jack.’

  ‘But I won’t.’

  ‘I always fear the worst when a guest learns of my true intentions.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  Duggan sighed. ‘Well, of course you don’t understand. But you will, Jack. You most certainly will.’

  As if raised by imbeciles, Jack repeated his lack of understanding.

  ‘Let’s put it this way: the piranhas aren’t the only ones who like to feast on flesh.’

  Jack’s eyes widened. A twitch tugged at the c
orner of his mouth. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Allow me to put it into simple terms. I’m going to eat you, Jack. And I don’t mean figuratively speaking.’

  Jack tugged on the restraints.

  ‘Settle down. Attempting to escape is futile. Just ask dear Max.’

  Jack stopped trying to defy the laws of bondage. ‘Who?’

  ‘My last guest. Not a lightweight like your good self, but equally uncompromising when it came to meeting his own death.’

  ‘Shit. This has gotta be a fuckin’ wind-up.’

  Duggan laughed. ‘Unfortunately, it’s not. You are, what you might call, a little aversion therapy. Something to help me unwind from the pressures of modern life. Well, more specifically, the stress of losing someone dear to me.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘None of your business. All I will say is this might potentially ruin me. So, until it’s resolved, I’m going through a rather torrid time.’

  ‘But… it’s got nothing to do with me.’

  ‘Directly, no. Indirectly, yes. You’re my pressure valve, Jack. My release clause.’ He walked to the fish tank and picked up a baseball bat. Approached the bed. ‘Max taught me a valuable lesson. Working legs can kick. I spent a small fortune on cosmetic surgery getting my nose put back to its original state.’

  ‘Please… please… let me go. I won’t say any—’

  ‘Be quiet, Jack. I’ve long since ceased to invest in false promises.’ He swung the bat and smashed it against Jack’s right shin. Rained down blow after blow on his legs until exhaustion stopped him.

  Jack mewled like a cat caught in a prickle bush. Tears streamed down his face. His bottom lip was chewed to a pulp.

  After waiting a short while to recover his breath, Duggan surveyed his handiwork. His guest’s legs looked as if they’d been run over by a truck. Splinters of bone jutted out from the shredded skin. Blood ran onto the white mattress protector.

  Duggan rested the bat on the floor. ‘Do we have an understanding now?’

  Jack replied by intensifying that God-awful mewling noise.

  Duggan went to the side of the bed, bent over, and appeared to be giving his guest a goodnight kiss. But this was no show of affection. He bit deep into Jack’s cheek and ripped off a sizeable chunk of flesh. He walked to the fish tank, and spat the grisly contents of his mouth into the water.