Come lunchtime Doug was confused, explaining he could not see the graffiti. “They must have washed it off already,” replied Jason though he couldn’t help but think that was rather quick. In truth it wasn’t important, just a notable change in a place of monotony. A week under his belt and he was back in his domestic groove, waking up before his alarm and going out every weekend. Following a bar crawl with Francesca they went back to his. They did get down to it, not exactly a night of passion (she stopped a couple of times to cry about an ex). She wasn’t there in the morning and a second later she was no longer in his phone.
One Tuesday afternoon Jason was occupied picking dirt from under his nails. He smiled, thinking about telling Doug about his romantic episode but decided he didn’t know him well enough. When he entered the communal room he was shaking his head at today’s newspaper. Eventually Jason decided to ask him what it was. The paper was pushed across the table.
SECOND PERSON GOES MISSING FROM LEMEXI
Another person missing from the same company was strange but the real reason this had caught Doug’s attention was because Lemexi (a debt collectors) was just across the road. Jason read the article which claimed the missing persons did not know each other. “Do you reckon they tried to steal a ton of money and are now being ‘privately’ dealt with?” asked Jason. “That’s the only thing I can think of…unless they did know each other and have taken off with serious dough.” Jason nodded. Another week flew by and another person went missing, this time from a clothes shop just a mile away. Though no connections could be made at this time it did not stop some of the tabloids hinting at a possible killer on the rampage. Those who deemed this “highly offensive” and “inappropriate” were forced to consider the reality when another person went missing – all four of them within two miles. Nobody spoke of anything else at work while the manager arranged an impromptu meeting, for safety sakes, urging those who don’t have a car to catch the bus. At the end of the shift it was still light outside so Jason did not see any danger in walking. Back home without a hitch and he needed to detach himself from the onslaught of speculation blurring from his television. The news was replaced with some program about talking dogs and he went to bed.
The following morning something wasn’t right. Jason thought he might be coming down with the flu because his body was achy but that wasn’t the real issue. After splashing water on his face and turning the coffee machine on he saw that his abseiling equipment was leaking from the cupboard. Given that he always tightly coiled the ropes it struck him as strange - unless someone else had been in in his apartment during the last eight hours. A moment of panic ensued, checking if his most valuable possession were still here. Nope, nothing was missing, but he refused to accept that the ropes had just fallen out. Rats were the only other explanation which he briefly pinned it on so he wasn’t fretting during work. At lunchtime Doug recited the latest on the disappearance of those people but Jason raised his hand as if to say he’d heard enough.
“I feel bad for them, whatever’s happened, but the more you talk about it just increases the fear factor, and if you live in fear you’ve basically already lost. I just wanna take the necessary safety measures and forget about it.”
“Fair enough.” Doug got the message but then noticed Jason looked a bit tired. “Are you alright today?” he asked in a tone that didn’t relate to what they had just spoken about. “Oh, yeah, just didn’t sleep very well last night.” If he wasn’t sure it would lead back to the missing people he would have spoken about his disturbed abseiling equipment. “I’m a bit sore, might be coming down with something.”
“Right, well don’t give that crap to me. Ha, just kidding. Pretty sure if you’re ill you basically need water and sleep.”
“Early night tonight.”
When the day was up Jason walked home, purposefully averting his gaze from every newsstand. This led him to make eye contact with tramps who automatically asked for change; every week or so he would comply, his feelings shifting between indifference and sympathy. As he neared home his attention was again directed upwards to see another one of those graffiti symbols (this one different) near the top of an apartment block. Jason figured there was some meaning behind them for the busy populace to comprehend. Maybe it was a different language. They did have that hieroglyphic vibe to them. He thought about it while making his dinner, checking out other graffiti on the internet. A shower followed then bed.
Half of his dreams consisted of abseiling, roping down familiar cracks in the earth, other times investigating somewhere he hadn’t. Since coming back these dreams had become markedly vivid, all the sensations, the harness around his legs, hands touching the rock face. They did not always go to plan and Jason was disturbed to feel himself slide down the rope against his will. Regaining control just before he touched the bottom, something felt like it had gotten hold of him. There was an awful lot of struggling, so much so it really felt like someone was trying to rouse him from his sleep. Next came a bright light and a police officer carefully starting into his opening eyes. This was far too vivid for a dream. The officer backed up so Jason Bickley could see where he really was – in a police station.
2
When Jason didn’t arrive the next day Doug pinned it on illness though he was surprised to hear there was no phone in. Two failures to show without phoning led to instant dismissal. Things became clearer a day later when he was telephoned by the police, clearer only in terms of the impossibility of going to work while being detained. He could not begin to comprehend the idea that Jason was somehow involved with the missing people. That the job was getting to him and he had got into a scuffle on a night out was all he had but he could not picture it. He was left wondering until the police knocked on his door.
Doug lived in an apartment complex like Jason though not as nice. There was no balcony or tiled kitchen. Mattresses were half the thickness. Being closer to work was the slight bonus. He was in the process of making his morning brew when the phone went off. On the other end a woman spoke up. “Doug Huxley?”
“That’s me.”
“This is the police. If now is a good time we would like to talk to you about Jason Bickley.” He cupped the phone to sigh. It at least helped that his missus was out. “Err, yeah, sure,” he answered in a defeated manner. “I’ll beep you in.” His grey expression did not change for the rest of the day. Opening the door his tired eyes focused on a policeman and woman. “Come in.” He led them to his lounge area and offered them a drink which they kindly refused. As they sunk into a well-used couch the policeman got out his note book while the policewoman explained, “This shouldn’t take longer than half an hour.” Doug nodded.
“So how long have you known Jason for?” It eased some of the nerves to hear a simple question. “I’d say the best part of two years.”
“And how would you describe your relationship with him?”
“We’ve only been out together during work dos. I consider him a mate but don’t know everything about him.”
“You know about his interest in abseiling?”
“Umm, yeah,” Doug answered slowly, sensing they may get to the point in a hurry. Instead they nodded to themselves and came in from a different angle. “So what kind of person would you describe Jason as?”
“Err, jeez, let me think.” Doug altered his position on his chair and felt like he must choose his words carefully. “He’s an interesting kind of guy, cultured. He’ll surprise you with little bits he knows – a lot of it he’s got from going abroad, yeah, I think he lives to travel, go on adventures.” They both nodded at Doug like he was giving a good answer. “I think I probably hack the job better than him. His mind is often on where he wants to travel next.”
“And are you aware of his last vacation?”
“Well seen as he would not stop talking about it I’m not sure I’ll forget.” The policewoman flashed a smile. When it disappeared Doug was reminded of the serious tone. Their uniforms, not just their significance
but the fact you could never relax in such attire made everything uneasy, everyone poised to talk. “He did a solo holiday to South Africa, mainly to abseil I think. He said he went off the beaten track a lot, hired a car and abseiled down all kinds of remote cliff faces.” Doug now half expected them to explain what had happened. The policeman turned onto the third page of his note book.
“Did you notice anything unusual about Jason the last time you saw him, at work I presume?” Doug took a breath. “Yeah, the last time was at work. I dunno. I think he looked a bit tired. He was fed up with talking about the missing people.” When Doug said that he comprehended what it could mean and paused. Looking back up showed the officers waiting for more detail. “Err, and he said he might be coming down with something. I told him to sleep and have some water. The next day he did not come in, he did not phone. Two days later I’m talking to you guys.” He quickly nodded, inferring that that was all he knew. The policeman wrote down a few extra things while the police woman checked something on her phone. The longer the silence went on the more Doug felt he was within his rights to ask a question. “So,” part of him didn’t want to, “has this got anything to do with the missing persons?” The police woman stood up and let out a little breath of her own. “We’re not exactly sure what’s going on yet, still piecing things together but, I’m sorry to say, your friend could be in a lot of trouble.” Doug did not know how to react. “Now there’s a chance you’ll be summoned to court as a character witness.” He gave a slight nod and didn’t really listen to the parting formalities. At work, at home, it was impossible not to stew over how and why Jason had done what he feared.
That possible illness Doug had spoken of had complicated Jason’s first court hearing. He appeared to be drowsy and often needed prompting to reply “Yes your honour.” Most thought he was being difficult. In the last ten minutes it appeared he had fallen unconscious. His lawyer threw his arms out for support. No sooner had he laid hands on Jason than the defendant shot back, “Take your hands off!” The hearing was almost done but the judge cut it short. Jason’s medical history was dug out while he was monitored at night. No mental or psychological episodes, no head trauma, just a broken leg while inline skating. That was all well and good but it only left everyone more in the dark regarding Jason’s behaviour. Perched on the end of his bed he sat markedly still. About every half hour he would make a gesture with his hands. Later on he descended to the floor, crossed his legs and made the same gestures at the same time intervals. Sometimes he slept in bed, sometimes on the floor. He averaged about four hours per night.
The inference was that Jason was religious. When asked the following day he denied that was the case, labelling himself agnostic. Still these ‘vacant’ moments continued. It appeared to be somnambulism but hands were used to tell people to be quiet or ward them away when they tried to communicate. This could make conversations with his lawyer impossible. While the authorities tried to figure out when court would next be in session more unusual habits surfaced like only eating the meat portion of his meals. Strange night activity continued.
Those who had the final say held firm that this was some kind of elaborate performance en route to (hopefully) being declared insane. Jason’s lawyer tried to explain the illegitimacy of this plan having no negative mental history and being in the green regarding his current state. A few episodes of sleepwalking or possible narcolepsy weren’t going to get him off the hook. Such were the circumstances in which Jason was found it would be much wiser to plead guilty and hope for a reduced sentence so that he may at least taste freedom once more in this life. However, as the days went by in that cell many were impressed with Jason’s performance, at his consistency, a little too impressed. One of the night guards claimed to see distinct patterns that might correspond with the day.
Things changed when Jason was scheduled a visit from his parents who had travelled far to offer some encouragement to their son, if there was any love left. Though he had lit up when first told when the time came to escort him from his cell, Jason was sat there in one of his zoned out states. Predictably a call to get to his feet didn’t register. The guard was a little fed up with this and marched over to get Jason by the arm. “Shit!” he cried upon seeing his gory mouth. The visit had to be cancelled. With a rather blunt piece of metal from his bedding, Jason had attempted to cut around his lips. Apparently the idea was to cut them off completely. Instead he had made lots of clumsy lacerations as one might do to a can when they’re a tin opener short. He cried out in pain for the other half of the day when taken to a hospital. Later that night he was instantly stopped when he tried to do it again. Those who had insisted that this was some act began to hold up their hands. Action was needed and Jason Bickley was transferred from prison to a psychiatric hospital.
3
In order to help reach a verdict Dr Eugene Peale had offered to step in. This forensic psychiatrist’s track record made his services greatly sought after, usually for high profile cases, but something of the chain of events concerning Jason’s incarceration had drawn him in. The more he read of the recorded observations the more he frowned. Typically it was the mental state of the individual which led them to offend. However, in this case (at least at this murky crossroads) it appeared to be the crime itself which had altered the mental state of Jason Bickley. The circumstances in which he was caught were poured over many times.
Jason was found with six bodies almost ten miles removed from the city. Two had not been reported missing because they were taken within hours of the final scene. In a cave like depression amongst sheep-spotted dales, Jason lay next to his victims. Abseiling gear was present and clearly used to both lower the bodies and himself to this concealed part of the landscape. They were stripped naked and arranged in a way that the chief of police interpreted as Jason “haphazardly believing it would make them more difficult to find.” He was in fact conscious when first found (seated) and collapsed when the police finally got the means to put the cuffs on. A recently stolen car and some pretty wild off-road driving made him easy to find. The bodies were believed to be kept in a waste bin which he padlocked outside his flat. Every morning with a strong coffee at hand Eugene attempted to balance these circumstances with the opinions of those who knew him, to try and spy something which could then be grounded with science. The other part of the equation involved frequent visits.
Though not as grim as his prison cell, Jason’s hospital chamber was arguably more tortuous, resembling a homely room but one in which you remained alone unless escorted or given medicine. Posters about things family and friends mentioned were put up to help settle. A television and a keyboard fleshed things out. From certain angles it looked cosy. In that morning haze Jason was often tricked into thinking all was well. Another thing which killed this illusion was someone looking in through the observatory glass. Eugene would always do that first to see which Jason was present. For most of the day he was coherent but frightened and incapable of speaking about anything but his innocence. He claimed to remember nothing but his last day at work, that he never knew the people and that he had no reason to kill them. When Eugene kept trying to knit these separate realities together with official photographs Jason would fall silent, eventually yelling at the top of his voice that, “I must be insane!” and begin to sob, partly because it aggravated the mouth wounds. Eugene could see he was not able to talk for long but insisted he was not given anything apart from mild sedatives until he had more of a handle on what was wrong.
With more coffee and several books open it was back to business. Symptom wise Jason exhibited all kinds - epilepsy, schizophrenia, bipolar, and there was some kind of eating disorder. The ritualistic behaviour of which he also claimed innocence by and large took place at night. For that very reason diagnosing was problematic. A superstitious man would have made multiple theories at this point. Eugene simply operated as he always did and looked harder for the missing dots, the ones that must be there. Whatever the exact nature of Jason’s co
ndition, Eugene knew it was hiding the true reasons or motives for the crime. Activities like drawing (monitored of course) were encouraged which he supported as he believed it may “loosen up his subconscious.”
In a heavily guarded workshop Jason had the option of pencil or brush. After the first month he had begun to accept his predicament. Instead of browsing the internet about where he would travel next he drew rugged landscapes filled with adrenaline seekers. This would make him smile which in turn made Eugene smile as it was important to get him to experience different emotions that may bring with them associating ideas. Moments of despair were fewer but still came. The finishing touches were being put to a competent painting of Jason abseiling down a cliff face in a hot looking area. He stopped colouring in the sky and began to get upset. Eugene approached in that easy manner of his and asked Jason what the matter was. “Shit man…this is all I’ve got now,” he replied. “Do you mind if I have a look?” asked Eugene. The picture was pushed his way. It was of Jason in South Africa.
The next conversation cheered him up heaps. For the first time since he was arrested, Jason was yapping like a child. “The freedom, the feeling of empowerment once you’re down safely - it’s super addictive.” Eugene encouraged him to provide as much detail about his trip as possible. Various roads and locations were described. Even the characteristics of big rocks were retold. “Tell you what Doc, I analyse rocks like a structural engineer.” Eugene felt the time was right to ask a key question. He made sure to deliver it minus the grave tone. “Did you do any abseiling at night?”
Dare to Read: 13 Tales of Terror Page 10
