Ghoster

by Jason Arnopp

  In the past, I’ve found that people on dating apps rarely stay in your head for any longer than it takes to make your superficial judgement. Just like the free magazines you get at train stations, they’re gone after one quick flick. And yet this girl – Kate Collins, as I’ve discovered her name to be – keeps coming back to me, all this time after seeing her on Tinder. I mean, she’s probably engaged or something by now, but she somehow manages to give me hope.

  In her main pic on Tinder, Twitter, Facebook and everywhere else, Kate is sticking out her tongue in a sort of mock defiance. And yet something about those eyes makes me want to wrap my arms around her and tell her everything’s going to be all right. Despite the silly tongue thing, the girl has this kind of vulnerable look, and I can’t get her out of my head. I want us to sit together in a cosy pub so that I can find out all about her. Thanks to The Demon’s influence, I also can’t help imagining doing terrible and wonderful things to her. Then again, I don’t know: maybe that isn’t really The Demon. Maybe that’s just me being a typical bloke.

  Ha ha ha. A typical bloke. A fucking FREAK, more like, who’s ruined himself forever.

  Anyway, for better or worse, I’ve turned into a bit of a cyberstalker.

  I still daren’t respond to Kate’s Super-Like because it’s bound to have been a mistake. And besides, I can’t write for toffee, so I’m crap online. But thanks to this dodgy pick-up book I’ve read, I feel like I can at least create the semi-convincing impression of confidence in person. With this in mind, I’ve been trying to work out how to meet her, in a way that seems authentically random. There’ll be no chance of her remembering me from Tinder. If I ever even made the most fleeting impression on Kate Collins’ brain, then that impression will be long gone.

  So, I think I might have found a workable solution. Using information derived from Kate’s Tinder bio – mainly the fact she’s a paramedic in Leeds – I Googled my aching heart out. I found a local newspaper story about how she heroically saved a young stab victim, by standing between him and a bunch of gang members who wanted to finish him off. That’s her in the accompanying photo all right, looking embarrassed to be in the spotlight and have all this fuss made about her. So she’s brave and humble? That is one heck of a combo, in my book.

  Having established Kate’s full name, I proceeded to examine Facebook. On 29 March, Kate told her FB friends (in a public post, thank God) that she was quitting her phone and the internet for good, and so wouldn’t be on Facebook any more. She told people who had her email to stay in touch, and for anyone who really wanted to stay in touch to PM her. But brilliantly, she also asked if anyone had ever been on a digital detox course before and could recommend one.

  I’m so indebted to one of Kate’s friends, who piped up to strongly recommend this two-night detox thing in Wales. The latest weekend is due to start on 31 May and Kate said she’d go for it and had already booked. I’m so very grateful for having seen this before the date, or I’d have been so gutted, because I almost certainly wouldn’t get another chance. Even if I travelled to Leeds and deliberately got myself knocked over, the chances are that it wouldn’t be Kate who arrived in the ambulance to rescue me!

  Actually, that scenario is deranged, even for me. In case anyone ever does hack into this thing, I would never do that. Honestly, I never would.

  And yes, TrooSelf, I know that all of this is seriously weird and creepy behaviour. I know that if I really MUST engineer a meeting between me and a potential mate, they should ideally live in the same part of the country. Hell, even the same end. But sometimes the heart wants what the heart wants – and even though I almost certainly have zero chance with Kate Collins, do I really want to go the rest of my life without confirming that she has no interest in me and I’m a total loser?

  Something keeps on whispering in my ear that this woman has the power to save me from The Demon’s clutches. That has to be worth a shot.

  Roll on 31 May!

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  7 October

  Could my life possibly be any more tragic? No it could not, because I’m crying here in the toilet cubicle at work, while snorting speed.

  My God. I cannot get my head around the idea that Scott thought I’d Super-Liked him by mistake. Had he never seen himself in the mirror? But in the same way that chemical depression can be untouched by the good things happening in your life, negative self-esteem can be so firmly rooted in your past that even winning Sex Symbol Of The Year might not have changed how Scott saw himself.

  I should know.

  All this time, I’ve cursed Scott’s name. I’ve tried to hunt down this supposed Lothario and bring him to his knees, but it seems I was wrong. Scott genuinely liked me, and he saw the same kind of vulnerability in me that I saw in him. Like he said, his approach was indeed seriously weird and creepy, not to mention dishonest and plain wrong. But… I don’t know, more than anything else, I’m blown away that he was kind of the opposite of what I’d assumed. What’s the betting that Ray bullshitted about Scott being a sleazy ladies’ man, thinking it’d make me more likely to hook up with him instead?

  And now it’s too late. Scott may well have been dead since the day he disappeared. All I can do now is find out who killed him. Might the rest of these diary entries point the finger at Ray? He’s been calling Scott’s phone all day without leaving any voicemail, but what if he’s only covering his tracks – playing the role of the concerned brother? Part of me actually hopes he did kill Scott, purely so I can nail the fucker. Thanks to all of Scott’s lies, he and I could never have continued in a romantic mode, but reading these last two entries has left my heart in pieces.

  I really hope this amphetamine sulphate pulls me through the shift, but can it also stem the tears? Might make me even more emotional.

  I’m dying to read the next entry, I Am In Love With V. The title continues to baffle me, and I still have no idea what Scott means by The Demon. What the hell is that all about? Infuriatingly, I’ve run out of time. Tyler has already waited by the ambulance for ten minutes. Got to pull myself together, then use the bathroom mirror to sort my face and check my nostrils for speed-flakes. How I wish I had time to polish my boots and do even one gratitude, but we’re already so late.

  Hello again, God. I know I asked a big favour of you last night, but here’s another request: please don’t let me gurn too much. Especially not in front of patients.

  Oh, and while I’m asking for favours, please grant me the strength not to sneak a look at I Am In Love With V when I’m supposed to be helping people.

  I can do this. I know I can.

  “Why didn’t she look where she was going? I’ll fucking kill her. Please don’t try and stop me or I’ll fight you too.”

  Gently as I can manage, considering that I’m off my tits on drugs, I place my hands on Aisha’s shoulders to keep her seated on the grass verge where I’ve taken her. “Please,” I say, “I know this is the worst moment of your life, but I can’t have you attacking the driver or anyone else. You also have serious injuries. This arm is broken in at least two places, so I need you to remain very still for me.”

  Of course, the morning had to feature a major accident on this busy stretch of the A23, which the police are now cordoning off. Tyler and I are waiting for more ambulances to arrive. The air is full of horn parps from motorists, probably including some entitled fucks who actually know there’s been a serious accident but simply don’t care.

  When I led Aisha out of her Ford Focus, I tried to position her so that she wouldn’t be able to see her husband Doug in the passenger seat, with half of his head missing. She keeps turning to look, though. She may want, or need, to see, to help her come to terms with how the elderly driver of a four-by-four careered into them twenty minutes ago.

  “Did you see his head?” she says, her eyes brimming. “Did you see what that evil bitch did to him?”

  “Yes,” I say. “I saw. And I’m so very sorry for your loss.”

  I watc
h, as my confirmation that Aisha has lost Doug corrodes her from within. A full meltdown is imminent and I’d love to join her. Glancing over at what remains of her husband, I wonder if Scott died that brutally or that suddenly. Can there be such a thing as the ideal way to die, when you don’t want to go? Passing softly in your sleep? Somehow, I doubt Scott was afforded that mercy.

  Got to pull myself together, right now. Got to keep my face in check.

  “He’s gone somewhere, you know,” I say. Aisha is lost in her own devastation, so I doubt she’ll notice the slight waver in my voice. “Doug has gone somewhere else. You will see him again, one day.”

  But hopefully not at ten past midnight, as his strobing blue spirit wends and weaves down a hill towards you…

  “Do you… really believe that,” Aisha splutters, as I hand her another tissue, “or is… is that something… you say to everyone?”

  Looking her squarely in the eye, I say, “I swear to you, Aisha. I really do believe.”

  When you’re trying to convey your sincerity, speed truly comes into its own. Hoping that Aisha hasn’t noticed my whole “not blinking” thing, I shift into a position that allows me to deliver a gentle hug without adding to the pain in her broken arm.

  As Aisha snots all her grief onto my shoulder, I notice Tyler walk past poor dead Doug in the car, closer than he strictly needs to go.

  The big ox hangs around the car window, blocking my view of Doug. He glances around, drops his phone into his pocket and walks away.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  I Am In Love With V

  TrooSelf diary entry four of seven

  Dated: 7 June

  Filed by SPalm123

  The detox retreat went really, really, weirdly well.

  Or at least, I think it went well.

  I mean, Kate actually seemed to tolerate me throughout almost twenty-four hours! I had to work up so much nerve to break the ice and start talking to her, and then I assumed she’d drift off and mingle with everyone else. She didn’t! Hours later, when she and I were still chatting, I honestly expected Lizzie to come over and subtly try to tell me to stop harassing the poor girl.

  This may have strictly been all in my imagination, but I can’t help feeling Kate considered me to be half-decent company.

  Towards the end of the night, the ghost of my old confidence even whispered that Kate might be interested. This seemed unlikely, but there were… definite signs, I am sure of this. Come the end of the night, when we stood in the corridor that held everybody’s rooms, I almost experienced a will-we-or-won’t-we moment!

  Not that I would have dared try anything, of course. And even if Kate had dragged me into her room, she would have been sorely disappointed. I can’t even function while trying to enjoy The Demon at the moment. This development has scared the living fuck out of me and made me seek urgent online help.

  Still! While Kate and I ate goulash in a tent, I mentioned that I was planning to be in Leeds for business in a couple of weeks. This was a lie, but I decided to make it happen if she suggested we meet up. To be honest, diary, I have lost sleep over some of these mistruths I’ve so shamefully told this woman. If you have to lie to form a connection with someone, then can that connection still be considered real? Almost definitely not, but I can’t stop myself. I feel like I need Kate, and in person she is ten times more bewitching than even her Tinder profile suggested.

  Anyway. I waited for her to mention Leeds again, which was quite a torturous wait… but she finally did when we were saying goodbye on the Sunday! WOW.

  Heyyy now, let’s not get carried away here. I need to keep this whole thing very much in perspective. The chances are, she’d like to see me again as a friend, because we shared the detox experience. Most of it, anyway, since I almost bottled out on the whole thing. In the end, I only arrived on the second day. Argh, what a tool, but I got there in the end and that’s what matters. I ultimately went through with the plan, and as a result I haven’t felt this proud of myself in quite some time.

  On the unlikely off-chance that sex happens in Leeds, I’ve been experimenting with a new thing and am loving the results. The side effects aren’t great, but they’re surely worth it when you consider the embarrassing alternative facing me at the moment.

  I very much doubt I’ll ever end up on a bed with Kate, but huge thanks in advance anyway to Viagra.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  7 October

  Whoa, okay then. V for Viagra.

  While unexpected, this also makes sense, given that the drug’s side effects include a flushed face and indigestion. Not to mention the fact that my Mr Gaviscon was almost permanently rock-hard between the sheets. Never thought to question this at the time, because it was so very convenient and complimentary.

  What cost Scott his mojo in the first place? Still don’t understand what he means by The Demon.

  The ambulance has come to rest outside Asda in the Marina for our half-hour break. By now, I should have confronted Tyler about my renewed suspicion that he’s sneakily taking photos of things he absolutely must not… but I’ve been too distracted by Scott’s diary.

  Alone in the driver’s seat while Tyler shops for his latest unhealthy lunch in the supermarket, I’m about to open the next diary entry, Burning New Pathways Into The Brain, when I hear the tinkle of an unusual phone notification.

  Once I’ve ruled out Scott’s handset and my Nokia, all that remains is Tyler’s phone, which he’s left behind on the dashboard. Having checked that Tyler is nowhere in sight, I pick up the handset, because, hey, I’m Kate Collins and this is what I do.

  A pop-up notice on Tyler’s screen declares, Way to go, dude! Your upload to SikkFuxx.com has been approved.

  Hoping that Tyler’s screen will auto-darken ASAP, I replace the handset where it was on the dash. Back on Scott’s phone, I fire up his browser and zip over to SikkFuxx.com.

  The site is very much what its charming URL suggested it would be. Pictures and videos of terrorist executions, animal slaughter, queasily violent sex and even worse. Clicking the Latest Sikk Uploads tab, I’m shocked, but not entirely surprised, to see a close-up photo of poor dead Doug in his car on the A23, uploaded by user Grenadier666.

  Oh, and here’s a six-second clip of a newborn baby, still in its amniotic sac.

  Here’s a video of Deranged Naked Guy invading our ambulance, plus imagery from various other sensationalist scenes from long before Tyler and I teamed up.

  What an utterly reprehensible sack of shit. No way am I going to turn my back on this. Tyler is toast.

  The passenger door opens to reveal the fuckwit himself, his carrier bag no doubt full of sugar-and-salt-based products, plus the wrong sandwich for me.

  I should knock his wig off right now with some serious abuse. And yet I tell myself I’ll do this later, because we still have ten minutes of our break left. Ten minutes that I need for another purpose. My so-called partner’s comeuppance can wait.

  Chowing down beside me, Tyler has the sheer unbridled nerve to comment on how obsessed I am with my phone. I roundly disregard him, because Burning New Pathways Into The Brain is already drawing me in like a Dyson.

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  Burning New Pathways Into The Brain

  TrooSelf diary entry five of seven

  Dated: 21 June

  Filed by: SPalm123

  Dear TrooSelf, you won’t bloody well believe this, but I forgot to take the Viagra.

  No, I don’t mean I forgot to swallow the tablet – I mean I forgot to take the WHOLE PACK with me to Leeds. I didn’t even remember until I left my hotel to go and meet Kate at the River-something-or-other Bar, and of course by then all the chemists were shut. Wouldn’t even have needed a prescription, if only I’d realised sooner.

  Oh my good God, it felt so awkward when we were outside her house, and I had to make my excuses and leave, like some bloody shady tabloid reporter. The thing was, I actually started to get the impression that she might want more than
a coffee, which blew my mind. And needless to say, I couldn’t have her attempting to blow some other part of me on her sofa, only for there to inevitably be no lead in the pencil. The very thought mortified me.

  Still, our time together out on that riverside patio had been so very heavenly – or at least, it was from my perspective. Once again, I felt really guilty about having swotted up on True Romance in advance, even downloading the ringtone to really impress Kate, but I do now genuinely love the film. Along with my childhood love Labyrinth, this thing has practically become my all-time favourite movie, so does that make my deception any more forgivable?

  I know that I shouldn’t be lying to Kate, but I also believe that doing so offers me my only hope of being with her. After all, it was lies, combined with me proactively making things happen, that caused us to meet in the first place.

  Oh my God, oh my God! Kate and I have started sexting. This confirms she actually likes me IN THAT WAY, despite how worthless I am. It’s funny, I’ve always known that my actual face is okay, especially the cheekbones. I mean, at least my face isn’t fat. And I’ve known this on a weird kind of scientific level, because Ray obviously has the same face as me and yet he’s always had the girls flocking around him. So what has historically let me down is ME. The way I am. The way I carry myself. The lack of comfort I feel in my own skin.

  The fact that I know I’m worthless, whereas Ray actually has this maddening self-esteem in his very bones.

  For a long time growing up, I thought I felt worthless because Mum and Dad treated Ray as the priority twin. Over the years, though, I’ve come to believe that he was somehow born with all the confidence, as if having absorbed all of mine while we shared our one sac.