89: A Psychological Thriller

by Stuart Keane

  “When you were asleep. I took it out of your pocket. I even had a sly grope, just for shits and giggles. Nice boner, by the way. Decent size. Impressive. Morning wood?”

  Greg shuddered. He glanced around the near-empty cabin. No one was coming to help him, no one was aware of the danger he was in. From an outsider’s view, they were two people enjoying a simple conversation. And no one pays attention to that.

  He turned to her reluctantly. “What do you want?”

  Jessica smiled. “Now isn’t that the key question?”

  SIX

  Greg looked around the coach cautiously, his eyes always on Jessica, wary of her close presence. He kept his back to the window, his Kindle still in his lap like a tiny useless shield. His opinion on an empty coach had changed in an instant. No longer did he want the silence and space all to himself. He wished the silent seats were full, bustling; chock full of travelling people, people who would make Jessica think twice about her actions. Kids, and couples, and lone wanderers, and authority figures. Anyone.

  Anyone would do.

  He stared at Jessica and tried to figure her out. Is she playing a game?

  Is she fucking with me? Is this an elaborate prank?

  Greg wasn’t sure, but he’d seen enough internet videos to know when someone was joking or being serious. He’d written enough sadistic characters to tell the slim difference between a practical joker and a sociopath, studied enough textbooks and journals to know exactly what he was facing. The clues and hints were as obvious as fresh shit on a white sheet. He hoped, anyway.

  He decided to face it head on.

  “What do you want?” he said, repeating the question.

  Jessica smiled. “I want a piece of the action.”

  “You want money?”

  Jessica laughed, rolling her eyes. “How clichéd would that be? Seriously?”

  Greg said nothing.

  “Greg, darling, if I wanted your money, I would stab you right here, in the femoral artery, and take your wallet. I know your pin numbers already. One quick stab and slash, you couldn’t stop me. Your accounts would be empty quicker than your veins and arteries.”

  He wondered if she was joking; suddenly glad for the uncomfortable bulge in the back pocket of his jeans, firmly beneath his rump. There’s no physical way of getting to my wallet without throwing me into the aisle first, he thought. A lot tougher than getting his phone and SIM card. He chalked it up as a small victory.

  But she didn’t want his money.

  Chalk wiped away.

  Dammit!

  Jessica sighed. “This isn’t about the money, much like you said earlier.”

  “I’ll give you money to leave me alone,” he uttered. “How much do you want?”

  “I don’t want your money,” she uttered.

  “Just name your price. Please!” Greg hissed.

  “Fuck your money, author man. You really think a woman who enjoys jumping on random coaches multiple times a week, just for the hell of it, has severe financial issues? You really should hook that creative brain in at some point. Pay attention.”

  He nodded. “So what? How can I help you if you don’t tell me what you want?”

  “Greg, darling, we have all night. There’s no rush. I can explain this in several languages before you reach Sheffield. We have plenty of time. Just relax.”

  But Greg couldn’t relax as he phased out the sounds around him. The bus, the traffic, the muffled sound of the blonde woman’s headphones chattering behind him. The phlegmy smoker’s cough of the addicted driver. The word bounced around his skull, kicking him in the back of the teeth, sending a violent tremor of panic up his spine. Over and over it rebounded, bringing on an intense wave of nausea. His heart slammed against his chest, trying to break through.

  Sheffield.

  She knows where I’m going.

  Shit.

  “How did…”

  “I know everything, darling,” she interrupted. “Don’t think for a minute that I was unprepared when I climbed on this stupid bus. I know your hotel and room number, I know all about the convention, where your table is. I hope you bought books because you aren’t getting any from your publisher. There’s nothing I don’t know about your trip, so save yourself the trouble and don’t try to hide anything, okay?”

  Greg nodded, silently. Felt his stomach lurch, pushing vomit towards his mouth.

  “Good man. Some of you authors get it right, and some use their common sense. Only some of you, mind. You’re doing okay at the moment, keep it up and you’ll get through this just fine.”

  Greg swallowed the lumpy vomit in his throat, choking a little. He coughed loudly, the acidic taste scorching his throat and tongue. Hot tears rolled down his cheeks and he wiped them away with his sleeves, sitting up. “What do you want?”

  “Like I said, I want a piece of the action.”

  “What does that mean?” He said it desperately, as if missing some vital code or information. Like he’d missed an important chapter in a book. “What do you fucking mean?” he hissed. His eyes bulged in his head, veins popping in his neck.

  “Keep your voice down. I know this coach isn’t exactly popular, but if you alert anyone, there will be consequences.”

  “You know what? Fuck the consequences. I’ve had enough.”

  Jessica smirked. “I wouldn’t try your luck, Gregory. Trust me.”

  Greg leaned in close, spittle on his chapped lips. “Fuck. You.” Two separate words full of vehemence. “What’re you going to do?”

  Jessica smiled, rubbing her nose. Shook her head in disbelief. “Right. You leave me no choice.”

  She pulled out a large mobile phone, removed a slim stylus from its holder, and tapped the screen. After a moment, she showed him a picture on the device. The sharp image featured a small boy, with messy blond hair and ocean-blue eyes. His mouth curved into a smile of absolute innocence and joy, his teeth still hidden in his infant gums. He was looking up and off camera.

  “Your son,” she said.

  Greg frowned, shook his head. “I don’t have a son.”

  “Don’t you? I’m sorry, that must be someone else.”

  Greg laughed, unintentionally, sagging in his seat. “What the fuck?”

  Jessica tapped a few more times and held the device out again. This time the image featured a young girl, mid-twenties, short-cropped hair, brown and spiked. She was sitting on a stone bollard eating an ice cream. Some of the white cream had caught the corner of her lip. A smile of surprise, both at the wasted ice cream and the sudden appearance of the camera, effortlessly radiated from the image, captured in full, spontaneous glory. Her eyes spoke volumes. She was happy.

  “Your sister.”

  Greg shook his head. “Nope. I’m an only child.”

  “Really? Huh.” Jessica resumed scrolling through the device.

  Greg felt a surge of anger within, a sudden surge of confidence. How can she get it so wrong? She didn’t do her research at all. This could work in your favour. Time to turn the tables.

  For the third time, she held out the device. This time he was looking at a slim woman with dark brown hair curling over her right shoulder, the locks framing a beautiful, flawless face. Big brown eyes, similar to Jessica’s but with less psychopath shade, stole the image from every other feature. The woman wasn’t smiling, but she seemed content, caught on camera by CCTV. She wore a blue top that accentuated her pale skin. A lithe body with perky breasts and curvy hips. The blurred background indicated she was walking.

  “Your wife,” Jessica said.

  Greg shook his head. Said nothing.

  “Seriously? Three for zero? I must be getting rusty.”

  “No, you’re a joke. You know nothing, Jessica. You think you have me all tied up. I don’t have any relatives, I don’t have any children and I’m no longer married. You have no leverage here. I have nothing to lose. You kill me, and a manhunt begins. They’ll hunt you down in minutes. You won’t kill me anyway, we’
re on a bus, and only four people have bought tickets for the entire journey. I know, I checked. All it takes is a single trace on the credit card receipts, or the camera at the front of the bus, and they can narrow the suspect pool down very quickly. Four people, one dead, leaves three suspects. Feeling lucky?”

  Jessica said nothing. She just watched Greg speak, a little trepidation in her pale, freckled face. She cupped her phone between two gloved hands, inert in her lap. The bright screen cast a white hue across her thighs.

  Greg laughed. “So you have shit. I have nothing to lose. What’s to stop me from standing up and walking off this coach right now?”

  “You have a commitment to keep. An author always honours his duties.” She said it desperately, her voice croaky.

  “You know what? I’m over it. Sheffield can wait another six months before I grace them with my presence. And when I do, it’ll be in a fucking limousine tank with Kevlar moulded into the frame. Hell, I might hire a bodyguard or three. It’ll stop stupid psychopathic bitches like you from ruining my day. And my fucking publishers can give me some fucking books.”

  Jessica nodded. Said nothing.

  “I’m going now. Want to stop me? Fine, but I hit back.”

  “You’re not going anywhere,” she said, glaring at him.

  “I think you’ll find I am,” he retorted. He stood up. “Get out of my way.”

  “How’s Natalie doing these days?”

  The name stopped Greg dead in his tracks. His eyes narrowed and he looked down, watching Jessica cautiously as a sly smile appeared on her face. From his heightened angle, the smile bore a resemblance to a demonic grimace, all shadowed and pale in the dim cabin. He slowly lowered himself back into his seat.

  “I thought you might like that one. You really think I didn’t come prepared.”

  Greg gulped. “But what about the –”

  “I do find it awfully cliché when a kidnapper – after all, that’s what I’m doing here in some context – keeps someone in line by threatening their loved ones. It’s so fucking boring. I find myself in a fine predicament here, new territory. You don’t have any loved ones, not anymore, not anyone who would be of concern to you. As you said, I have no leverage.”

  Greg shook his head, careful to respond. “I don’t care about Natalie anymore,” he lied. “She remarried, left me for another man once my career took off. The bitch is dead to me.”

  Jessica pursed her lips. “Awww, I’m sorry. Do you still love her?”

  Greg shook his head. “No,” he lied.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “You have no leverage, Jessica. I’m leaving.”

  She held up a hand. “Just one more thing. You don’t care about Natalie anymore, and let’s face it; I wouldn’t want to ruin her life. She did nothing but support you in your early years, unselfishly if your tragic bios are anything to go by. She’s not why I’m here, and it wouldn’t be right to hurt her.”

  Greg nodded, a smile creasing his face. “Get out of my way, Jessica.”

  “But you love your career.”

  Greg said nothing. His shoulders sagged as the question rattled through him like a bullet. He collapsed back into his chair. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

  Jessica continued. “You love your career, and losing it now. Well, that would be tragic, wouldn’t it?”

  “What do you want?” Greg asked for the third time.

  “I want a piece of the action,” she said, cryptic as ever.

  Greg nodded. “Name it,” he stuttered, backed into a corner.

  “I want you to write a book about me.”

  SEVEN

  “A book?”

  Greg felt the heat surge to his face. His cheeks began to burn. The silent patter of spattered rain on soaked glass filled the uneasy silence between them. His eyes were on Jessica, and her glare was on his.

  A minute passed. Two.

  On the third, she nodded. “Yes.”

  He laughed, dumbfounded. “You’re stalking me on a coach and keeping me hostage to get me to write a book about you?”

  Jessica nodded silently.

  “Why didn’t you just order one online?”

  “You mean like your other readers?”

  “Yes. I do monthly competitions for my readers on the website. People have the chance to win a part, have their name in a book, and become a character. Some even pay for the privilege.”

  “And why would I want to do that?”

  “You just said you want to be in a book.”

  “No, I said I want you to write a book about me. There’s a difference.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “You can and you will. Unless you want me to take everything from you.”

  Greg shook his head. “I can’t do it because I have books scheduled in advance. If I did write a book about you, there’s no guarantee it would sell. My editor and agent sign off on the book content. It could jeopardise my entire publishing deal.”

  “Funny. I’ll do that anyway if you don’t write it.”

  Greg said nothing. Ground his teeth together. Impasse.

  Jessica chuckled. “I don’t want a bit part in a book, one where I pay a few quid and die within seconds. Fuck that. Your other readers might be happy with that, but I want more. I want an entire book written about me. Jessica. I even have a plot written out.”

  Greg shook his head. A vein bulged on his right temple. “I don’t think I can, Jessica.”

  “You can. You’ll make it happen or I’ll ruin you.”

  “You’re asking the impossible, you realise that?”

  “Either you write it, or you don’t write another book ever again. I don’t see what’s impossible about that.” Jessica cracked her fingers inside her gloves.

  “Say I managed to make it happen. There’s no guarantee it would see the light of day for years. The process takes time.”

  “Last I checked you’ve nearly finished your latest book. Your agent gave you time off for doing this event. No time to start like the present, or when you get back home.”

  Greg was about to speak and stopped himself. He resisted the urge to smile. What are you doing? You have a chance here, a chance to get away. Take it.

  What’s the worst that could happen?

  You could lose your career.

  But she might also have a decent book idea.

  Yeah, it’s not that simple.

  “What’s the catch, Jessica?”

  She said nothing, narrowed her eyes, questioning him in silence.

  “What’s the catch? What do you want?”

  “I just told you. I want you to write a book about me.”

  “And in return?”

  Jessica smiled. She placed a stick of gum into her mouth. “Ah, a businessman I see. You want to talk brass tacks. You remembered I asked for a piece of the action. You’re finally paying attention.”

  Yes, I am. Keep talking. Let’s drag this out a bit.

  Greg coughed. “Before you request anything, you must remember I’m contracted. Okay?”

  Jessica nodded. “I want fifty percent of all sales.”

  Greg balked again, sagging in his seat. “Fifty percent?”

  Jessica nodded. “Yes.”

  “I thought this wasn’t about the money?”

  “It’s always about the money, you fool. I lied. What’s life without whimsy now and then?”

  “Well, it’s impossible.”

  “We discussed impossible. I don’t think anything is impossible with your career on the line.”

  “I’m contracted for a four book deal. Even I don’t get fifty percent of my sales.”

  “I know, you get thirty-three,” she said, flatly.

  Greg’s mouth fell open, the confidential information shocking him. How did she know?

  Jessica continued. “But I want fifty. I don’t care what you need to do. Break the contract, get another one, or go to another publisher. I don’t care. Make it happen.”

  Gr
eg slapped his hands to his face and groaned, leaning into his lap.

  Jessica looked at him. “Problem?”

  Greg sat up fast, startling Jessica. He leaned in close, his face crimson with rage, veins popping in several places. He spat as he talked, white droplets hit the carpet below. “You don’t get how publishing works. It’s impossible, Jessica, fucking impossible. There’s no way I can do what you want, not in a million years.”

  Jessica nodded. “Fine. Then I ruin you.”

  Greg laughed. “Fucking ruin me then. What will that achieve? You’ll get nothing. Zero. Squat. Not a fucking penny! Wasted journey for the princess of fucking stupid.”

  “Watch your tone,” she said, leaning back a little.

  “No, you watch your cunt mouth.”

  Greg leaned forward a little too much. His hand shot out to point at Jessica, his finger extended near her face, but he overshot the aim and poked her gently in the ear. His curled fingers knocked her cheek lightly, barely making an impact.

  But Jessica screamed and held her face like it was on fire, like someone had clouted her with a baseball bat. Greg flinched, leaning back against the window. Jessica rolled in her seat, hands on her cheeks, kicking the chair before her, creating a hell of a noise. Greg looked up over the seats, left and right. The driver didn’t move, didn’t turn around. The distant sounds of music carried down the bus. He probably couldn’t hear them.

  The second passenger did.

  “Hey!”

  The blonde woman stood up, slowly, leaning on her chair. She frowned, observing the fracas, and shuffled sideways into the aisle. She stooped low, removing her headphones, and walked down towards the commotion. Jessica slowed her theatrics somewhat, still holding her face. A low groan emitted from her throat. The woman appeared beside her, looking at both of them. “Everything okay?”

  Greg nodded quickly, wanting to diffuse the situation. “We’re fine.”

  Blondie nodded, her eyes narrowed. “Things don’t look fine. You okay, miss?”

  Greg stood up and placed a knee on his seat, pushing up, adding some height to his pose. He held out a hand, waving her away. “She’s okay, trust me.”