Psychos: A White Girl Problems Book

by Babe Walker

  Potential Murderers

  Thalia

  Tara Reid

  A Psycho Fan

  Cal

  Charlie

  Paul

  1. Thalia

  The idea that Thalia was my stalker had been put to bed after I terrorized that restaurant at The Carlyle and we’d found out that she’d been arrested and deported back to Russia. But she still made the most sense, although her motives were unclear. Why would Thalia even want to kill me in the first place? Because I was rude to her at Genevieve’s party? I mean, she’s totally Single White Female obsessed with me, but I honestly don’t think she’s crazy enough to actually hurt me, much less kill me. She’s the type of girl who’d hire someone to kill me, but this wasn’t the work of a hired hitman. I’ve seen A Perfect Murder enough times to know that hitmen don’t leave notes, they just fucking kill you. Plus, according to her sick habit of geotagging all her posts on Instagram, Thalia was still in Russia, so she couldn’t have broken into Charlie’s place. Thalia was officially no longer a suspect.

  2. Tara Reid

  Probably not.

  3. A Psycho Fan

  Psychos are legit so insane these days. An obsessed fan of my first book (or anyone who’s seen how amazing my hair has looked over the past year) could have decided that they wanted to eat me in order to become me. I offered too much of myself in that book. Damnit. I should’ve never written about my labiaplasty.

  But I never forget a face, and I’m constantly aware of my surroundings, so I’m sure I would have recognized a random stranger lurking about. Also, these notes and attacks weren’t the musings of just any old stalker. No, my stalker knew me. Knew me well. It had to be someone I’d fucked.

  4. Cal

  He may have granted me the gift of Life’s Best Sex, but Cal obviously had it out for me the entire time I was with him. In addition to his general malicious nature, Cal had to be at least semi-good at planning and plotting horrible things. His intrusion into my life was an assault on everything I hold dear: my body, my mind, and my Birkins. He was for sure capable of following a young, beautiful girl around the world if he wanted to. Stalker potential.

  5. Charlie

  He was in LA when I was there, he was in New York, still not sure what a hedge fund is, and he definitely has the dick of a stalker, but there was just no way. He’s too sweet. And he really loved me. Fuck, I’m such a bitch.

  6. Paul

  Is Paul Courtyard’s ghost stalking me?

  He did show up at my guest house unannounced the night he died, which was suspect in the first place. Maybe Paul escaped from rehab on a mission to find me and kill me, but he accidentally died, so his ghost attached itself to me from the afterlife and is following me around the world in an attempt to finish what Paul started, i.e., drag me to heaven/hell/wherever so that our spirits will be united forever.

  The “Paul’s Ghost as a Stalker” theory was actually terrifying, so I called Myrta, my psychic, to run it by her and see what she thought. She did a spirit reading over the phone and had a vision of Paul “swimming in a pool of wine,” which she said confirmed that he had fully crossed over to the other side, thank God. Paul wasn’t trying to kill me.

  No, the person who was after me had to know me well enough to track my every move without my noticing. I’m usually on the lookout for creepy people driving or walking or talking or breathing too close to me anyway, so my stalker was stealthy. It had to be someone close to me. Someone who knew me well. But who? Who has known my whereabouts since I got out of rehab besides my dad?

  And then it hit me. The only person who’d been in almost every city I was in when I got stalker notes was . . .

  7. Robert

  He’d picked me up at the guest house that day we went for a hike, he’d stayed at Chateau Marmont at the same time as me, that must’ve been him at Silencio in Paris, and he’d been living in NYC ever since. Robert was the perfect killer prototype: tall, dark, handsome, successful—a living, breathing Patrick Bateman. Only until recently had his slick facade started to crack. Maybe his feelings for me were reignited, causing him to abandon his relationship with Michelle, thus losing his grip on the perfect life he thought he’d have for himself. And now, after being unable to come to terms with the loss of Michelle and the loss of me, it’s caused him to lose his mind.

  I knew he was unraveling when I first saw him in NYC. It was so obvious. I mean, Crocs and a mock turtleneck? Roberto wasn’t Robert’s alter ego, à la Babette. There was no Roberto. There was Robert: The Killer. Driven to madness by love. He’d become utterly obsessed with me and needed to possess me, body and soul, in death. And now he could be anywhere. Lying in wait, ready to end my life. Fuck. I should have forced Felix to drive me upstate. This train was not safe.

  I turned to look out the window. The world was flying by me, but I felt paralyzed.

  twenty-two

  THE LEAST CHIC OUTFIT IN THE HISTORY OF BABE.

  When I got to Donna and Gina’s front door, I stood there for a few seconds before knocking. I thought about all of the years that had passed without my having any idea who these people were. I didn’t know that my mom was even alive until about a year ago, and here I was on the front steps of her house, wearing the least chic outfit in the history of Babe.

  Gina, whom I hadn’t seen since rehab, opened the door, cradling an enormous jug of water and wearing wellies.

  “Babe!! How are you, mama?!” she squealed.

  “I’m good. This place is so much cuter than I’d expected.”

  “Good, good, I’m so happy to see you! We just finished dinner, I’m going out to fill Carla’s water bowl and pay the cabdriver.” Gina kissed me on the cheek and walked past me toward a barn-ish building way in the distance.

  “Who’s Carla?”

  “Carla Bruni, our pig. Your mom named her. She’s French!” Gina laughed with a howl. She was in such a good mood. I wondered if being a lesbian and living on a farm made you a happier person.

  “Oh, right. Your pig,” I said, unamused. I guess Donna had some sort of an issue with Carla and I did not want to be a part of that, especially after the whole Kate Moss fiasco in Paris.

  “Go say hi to D. She’s in the kitchen,” Gina said in a singsong voice as she disappeared into the darkness.

  The house was really cozy. Tasteful, rustic; chic, even. I could hear Donna’s voice as I approached the kitchen door, but she was clearly talking to someone. I prayed she was on the phone, because I couldn’t deal with meeting someone new right now. I just wanted to take a long, hot shower and rid myself of all of the nasty train and cab residue that was residing on my hair. After everything I’d been through today, I just couldn’t deal with pretending to be nice to some “local” friend of theirs.

  Then I heard a recognizable voice laugh loudly and deeply, and terror shot through me like poisonous venom. I was mortified. I was dead.

  Robert. Is. In. The. Kitchen.

  It may have been over for me, but I couldn’t let Robert hurt Donna and Gina. They were former supermodels, for God’s sake. I had no choice but to go into the kitchen and pretend that I was happy to see him. If he knew that I knew, it could set him off and he was liable to murder-spree us all. I took three deep breaths, said one silent ohm, and quietly opened the door.

  Donna and Robert were sitting at a long wooden table having tea. Robert’s back was facing me. This moment was crucial. If I displayed any emotion other than pure joy and surprise, he would know that something was up.

  “Hi, Donna. Am I interrupting?” I asked. Robert stood and turned toward me and I did my best I’m-shocked-in-a-good-way face, which was hard to do because he was still wearing that hideous Banana Republic turtleneck. “Robert?! Oh my God, you’re here?” I’ve always believed I was a great actress, but this was an Oscar-worthy performance.

  “Hi, my love,” he said, smiling warmly, and I knew the killer inside him was delighted that I’d fallen right into his trap.

  I ran
up to Robert and gave him a huge hug, because that seemed like the right move. My heart was pounding and my eyes filled with tears of terror, which I pretended were tears of joy.

  “Robert was just telling me how much he adores you. How ‘meant to be’ he thinks you guys are,” said Donna, giving me a slightly confused look. What’s going on? she mouthed silently. I shook my head ever so slightly to signal that we couldn’t address those issues, and broke free of Robert’s hug. He put his hands on my shoulders, admiring me.

  “I can see where you get your radiance from,” Robert said, smiling at us both.

  “Thank you, you’re very sweet,” Donna said, standing up from the table and walking over to the sink with her empty teacup, leaving me with Robert.

  “And I think this outfit is just adorable,” he said. “Always the fashionista!”

  I almost puked in my mouth. I knew then and there that he was batshit insane.

  “Do you want to go for a walk?” I asked Robert. I turned to Donna. “Is that cool?”

  “Of course, darling. You two take all the time you need. There’s a nice little bench out by the barn if you want to sit and chat.”

  “Great.”

  “It’s getting pretty late anyway. Gina and I will leave the door unlocked for you guys. Oh . . . and there is a room right at the top of the stairs that’s been made up for you, Babe. We’ll see you in the morning?”

  “Yeah, sounds good. Thank you.”

  “So nice to finally meet you, Donna,” Robert said as we walked out. “Thanks for telling me all about the pasteurization process.” He smiled.

  How was he acting so normal? God, what a fucking psychopath.

  Robert and I walked out into the black night air, toward the barn. He grabbed my arm and pulled me close.

  “I’ve missed you.” He tried to kiss my neck. I lingered for a moment and then pulled away.

  “Robert, you just saw me, like, five minutes ago.”

  “I know, but every second away from you feels like an eternity. Did you end things with Charles?”

  “Yes. He dumped me. Told me to get all my shit and get out, but in a nicer, more British way. How did you know I’d be coming here?”

  “I have a way of knowing where you are. It must be our connection. Our story is written in the stars, lit by the moonlight. Do you see him? He’s smiling at us.”

  “See who?”

  “The man in the moon smiling down on us?”

  I was definitely going to die tonight.

  “Totally. Love him. Oh! Look, it’s the barn. Wanna sit in there?” I said as I darted into the dark building without waiting for his response. I didn’t really have a plan, per se, but I figured that I might be able to lock Robert in the barn, run back to the house, alert Donna and Gina, and call the police, thus evading death.

  Robert followed me into the barn and flipped a switch that activated fluorescent lighting high above us. It was so fucking creepy. The horrible white light, the hum of the fixtures, the smell of animals, animal poop, and damp wood. Barns are legit disgusting and this one was no exception.

  Now that I was in the barn, I didn’t know exactly what to do. With Robert basically breathing down my neck, I walked in a quick circle around the entire barn and back toward the entrance we’d just come through. I started giggling, not really clear why, probably out of hysteria/fear of being murdered. I figured if I could get back to the door and lock it behind me with Robert still inside, I might have enough time to make it back to the house.

  But Robert was right on my tail. He was gunning for me, and caught up to me right as I was about to be out the door.

  “Where are you going, lover? You stone fox.” He grabbed me and pinned me up against the wall. I was basically panting. This was it—if I didn’t act now, I was 100 percent dead. When you get that close to death, you can just feel it. Robert started kissing my neck, giving me time to look down and locate a stray two-by-four. Without hesitation, I ducked Robert’s embrace, grabbed the piece of lumber, then turned and whacked him in the head with it as hard as I possibly could.

  Robert fell to the floor.

  I blacked out.

  When I came to, I was staring at a note on the wall right above Robert’s limp body.

  Blood is red, blood is blue.

  You are me and I am you.

  In my right hand was a black lipstick. I stared at the note and inspected every detail. I had no recollection of writing this fucking note, yet it looked exactly the same as every other one I’d gotten over the past year. My eyes began to lose focus. I had a vision of Robert kissing me, telling me he was engaged, and then finding a note on my bathroom mirror; then Robert and I making love at Chateau Marmont, and me finding the note on my iPad; then our fight over the intercom and the destroyed photo; then talking about Robert with Donna in Paris and the note on the bathroom door; then dinner with Robert at Koi and the next day getting the black lipsticks; and after that, a note on my compact; then finally the breakup with Charlie and the severed roses. Robert was never my stalker. He was just the catalyst. Being around him, or even thinking about him, had made me write these notes.

  “It’s me,” I whispered. “Oh my God, I’m my own stalker.”

  But I wasn’t my own stalker. Babette, that cunt-faced whore, had possessed me and caused me to stalk myself. She was my fucking stalker.

  “Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my fucking god! Robert!”

  I looked down to see Robert lying lifeless in a pool of blood. My poor, beautiful, kind Robert. What had I done?

  I screamed, terrified, until I heard Donna and Gina yelling from the direction of the house. I couldn’t wrap my brain around what had just happened, but I did realize that they were about to walk into a murder scene. I just couldn’t deal with that right now, so I ran over to the huge barn door and slid it shut. I found a leather horse bridle with reins that was hanging on the wall, looped it all through the door handles, and tied a thick knot, locking the two barn doors together.

  Donna and Gina were now banging at the barn door and yelling for me to open it.

  “Babe?! Are you okay? We heard screaming. Why is this door locked?” shouted Donna.

  “I’m fine,” I called back in the most normal voice I could muster. “We’re fine. We’re just talking.”

  “Babe, open this door right the fuck now!” Gina yelled.

  “Please just leave us alone for a bit. We have a lot of stuff we need to figure out.”

  I could hear Donna and Gina whispering, but I was in too much shock to focus on what they were saying. I’ve had nightmares like this, but everything seemed too real to be a dream.

  I grabbed a small bunch of straw from the stable floor and propped up Robert’s head, kissed him on his forehead, and said my final good-bye. The stark truth was that Babette had to die in order for Robert’s untimely death to be avenged. Unfortunately, the only way that I could kill her was to kill myself. Definitely not the best turn of events, but it was either that or spend the rest of my life in a New York State correctional facility. Suicide seemed to make a lot more sense in the context of my personal narrative than a life of wearing orange in prison.

  I climbed up a twenty-foot ladder that led to a loft above the barn, but when I got to the top I realized it wasn’t nearly high enough to jump off of if my endgame was death. I needed to get much higher if I was going to successfully Black Swan myself. I saw a small door on the roof that looked like it might provide access to the outside, but I had no way of getting up to it.

  I heard screaming coming from below me. Donna and Gina must’ve gotten into the barn and discovered Robert’s body. There was a crack of thunder. It had started to pour outside, and the raindrops sounded ominous on the barn’s tin roof.

  “Babe? What the hell are you doing up there? Are you okay?” Donna shouted as she noticed me struggling above.

  “What happened to him? What’s going on?” Gina pleaded.

  I didn’t answer them. I couldn’t speak.r />
  The end of a ladder was sticking out from underneath some hay on the far side of the loft, and I ran over and began uncovering it. It was massive, but I had so much adrenaline and power pumping through me that I was able to hoist it up and wedge it against the ceiling. As I climbed toward the roof hatch, Donna climbed the first ladder to the loft.

  “Donna! Don’t!” I screamed. “If you come any closer, I swear to God I’ll jump.”

  Donna froze.

  “I’m the stalker, Mom. I’m the monster. It was Babette all along.” I started to cry.

  “What are you talking about?” she asked. “We can fix this.”

  “But, like, we can’t!”

  “Babe, we’ll figure this out! Just come down!”

  “It’s over. The only way to kill Babette is to kill Babe—don’t you understand?!”

  By the time I had reached the hatch on the ceiling of the barn, I was bawling, with hair in my face and sweating through my tank top.

  I threw the hatch open, and rain started pouring down on me. I took one final glance at my mother and then lifted myself up and out onto the slick roof. The rain was so heavy that I could barely see two feet in front of me. I held on to some kind of steeple that had a weather vane on top. I tried to walk along the crest of the roof, but I couldn’t get my balance, so I crouched back down, holding on for dear life. The wind, lightning, and thunder were tremendous. I was praying that I would get struck by a bolt of lightning, ending my misery. But I didn’t have the time to wait for a miracle.

  Donna and Gina had run outside of the barn and I could hear them shouting at me from below. All of a sudden there was a slight break in the wind. This was my chance. I stood quickly, kicked off my flats, and without another thought in my head started running. When I reached the end of the roof I just kept going, closed my eyes, and imagined Robert and me on a beach in St. Barths. As I fell to my death, I was smiling. Now we would be together, forever.

  epilogue