Psychopath for Hire: A Novel of Extreme Horror

by Matt Shaw

“Tim Miller?” I asked.

  He nodded. He walked towards me and extended his hand. I returned to my seat without shaking hands. I could tell by the expression on his face that he wasn’t impressed with the way I looked. Not sure what he was expecting. Not as though I could have been Super Cop material - not after failing his friends. He should have expected me to look the part of a failure.

  “Been undercover,” I said. An excuse for how terrible I looked, not that I needed to justify myself to him. He was the one who wanted my help. It wasn’t the other way round. He needed me. I don’t need him. I cut to the chase, “What did you want? You said he is killing people. Who is he killing? More to the point - who is he? In fact,” I paused a moment, “we’ll start at the beginning - why did you call me? Why didn’t you just phone the emergency services?”

  He shifted in his seat and did everything he could to avoid eye contact. You didn’t need to be a detective to know he was hiding something. He was just as guilty over something as the person he was accusing.

  “I didn’t want to get in trouble.”

  The look on his face, I half expected him to run for the door right there and then.

  I pushed him, “If you want my help - you need to tell me what the hell you’re a part of,” I spat at him. Not a detective anymore. Don’t need to be calm. Don’t need to be polite. Don’t need to be politically correct. Straight to the point bypassing all bullshit. Could have got a hell of a lot more done - in the job - had we been able to forget all niceties.

  Tim looked over to the counter where an attractive dark haired girl was making hot beverages for the long line of people waiting, “I need a coffee,” he said. Was he buying time? Did I look like the kind of mug who liked to be kept waiting?

  I slammed my hand down on the table and pulled him back to me, “Tell me what you’re involved in!” I demanded.

  Without warning he broke down in front of me, “I thought it was what I wanted,” he wept.

  Now I remembered why I rarely answered the phone anymore. All this could have been avoided had I just ignored it. Let the bastard thing ring off like the previous missed calls. The guy is fragile, clearly patience is going to be required. Question is - can I remember how to be patient?

  I sat back in the chair I had earlier chosen and waited for him to compose himself. Whenever you’re ready. I have all the time in the world - a sarcastic thought better spoken than left as internal monologue.

  “It started at the group,” he said. “They told me to go there, I didn’t have any choice.”

  III

  I had listened to Tim’s story. He told a convincing yarn but I wasn’t sure if it was anything but that; a fabricated story designed specifically to waste our time. ‘Our’. I say that like I’m still part of a team. Why am I finding it so hard to get it out of my head that I’m flying solo now. There is no team. There is only me. And I prefer it like this. No one to tell me what I can and can not do. No one to get in my way. No one who can end up getting hurt when things turn to shit.

  Tim begged me to look at his case. Didn’t have the heart to tell him I wasn’t an officer of the law anymore. Didn’t have the heart to tell him I’m nothing more than a grumpy old bastard with nothing to live for. Not sure if he is just another mental case - God knows I’ve met my fair share of them - but his story is definitely consuming him. He says he wasn’t the only one to have found himself in that position. He said the person he was with had admitted there were others. And even if he hadn’t admitted it - it didn’t take much to figure it out what with the group’s dwindling numbers.

  If what he told me was true then I’m not sure what to do about it. I know I should report it to my old colleagues. I know I should get the son of a bitch taken down before anyone else is hurt but - on the other hand - I think there is room in this fucked up society for someone such as this. I guess I could go to the group at least. Won’t hurt. Talk with them. Might even help me out a little with my own demons. Might. Can always decide how best to proceed once I have evaluated the situation and made sure the story isn’t the product of a fucked up imagination. But if I am going to the group, I need to have a solid back story. I need it to sound convincing. I need it to look convincing.

  I looked across to the recently vacated table next to me. Two empty coffee mugs and a plate sprinkled with crumbs from one of the tempting chocolate brownies the shop offered. Next to the plate was what I was after; a knife and fork. I reached over and took hold of the knife. Funny. Knowing what I am about to do - you’d have thought my brain would be screaming for me to stop as part of an unwanted self-preservation mode and yet there is nothing in my head but the sound of clinking cutlery and cups on saucers from the other customers. Listen a little harder and there’s a faint voice hoping that this goes wrong.

  Without any hesitation I stuck the tip of the knife into my wrist. It wasn’t the sharpest of blades so it took a fair amount of pressure to pierce the skin but when it did - agony as my vein wept onto the table.

  A lady from across the way screamed when she saw what I was doing and soon all eyes were on me; the strange man cutting himself in the coffee shop. Another person - couldn’t tell if it were customer or staff member - called for someone to phone for an ambulance. The rest of the words and screams from others blurred into one and were replaced by a loud ringing sensation as blood continued to pump from my wrist. One down, one to go. Let’s make this look good. Best be quick though, feel like I want to pass out.

  CHAPTER SIX

  NATHAN COLE

  Support

  I

  I apologised as I reluctantly pulled myself away from her seemingly caring embrace. I can’t tell if this woman really does care about me or whether she’s just an incredibly talented actress. Either way, I’m grateful she is easily accessible to me all the time I have the funds to make the appointments. I was putting my clothes back on - having fetched them from the bathroom where I’d earlier left them. The apology was not only because I had broken down in front of her but also for the fact I had been with her far longer than my allotted time. She didn’t seem to be too bothered and certainly wasn’t in a rush to get herself dressed. Ladies such as this should be available on the NHS to people such as me. Despite not having sexual intercourse, I was still gearing up to leave with a smile on my face. We hadn’t spoken about what was bothering me - we couldn’t - but I still felt as though she were there for me and that was enough to turn my frown upside down. The feeling that someone gives a shit. The feeling that someone cares.

  “Do you still run that group?” she asked.

  I nodded. Forgot I had told her about that. I’m usually more guarded with regards to what I tell people about myself. The less they know the better. Not that I speak to many people outside of the work-place.

  “You know - you should talk to them. Whatever it is that’s upsetting you, playing on your mind - you should talk to them.”

  I smiled at her. Not a real heart-felt smile. A smile to show my appreciation for the fact she cares. The people in my group are not there to listen to my stresses. They are there for their own reasons. To waste time talking about myself, instead of trying to help them, seems a little selfish. I didn’t tell her this though. I didn’t want her unnecessarily worrying about me when I leave.

  “They’re there for you just as much as you are there for them,” she said.

  “You’re my therapy,” I told her.

  She laughed, “Not been very good today though, hey?”

  She thought she had failed me because I wasn’t leaving our session together feeling spent. I liked seeing her because of the companionship she offered. For that hour she pretended to be my girlfriend and only my girlfriend. We’d talk briefly and then we’d have the kind of sex you don’t usually receive from a long-time partner and that was nice but - sometimes - you wanted more than that from your girlfriend. You wanted a sounding board. I didn’t explain this to her because I felt she wouldn’t understand. She describes herself as giving
the best Girlfriend Experience you can get but - if you were to talk to her on a serious note - she’d still describe herself as nothing more than a prostitute.

  I smiled at her - another smile for her benefit rather than the need to actually smile - “I’m leaving here in a better mood than when I walked through your front door,” I told her.

  “Hang on a minute,” she walked from the room as I stepped into my shoes. When she came back she had a handful of pound notes. “Here…”

  “What’s this?”

  “I can’t take your money. Doesn’t feel right.”

  The fact she tried to give the cash back to me took me by surprise. I took it from her and placed it on the bedside cabinet next to the bed, “Thank you but you saw me. We had an appointment. Just not the usual kind of appointment we enjoy. I had a good time, thank you.”

  “We didn’t do anything.”

  “We didn’t need to. It was nice just to be with you and I appreciate that.”

  She smiled at me, “Well thank you.”

  No need to thank me but I don’t add to the awkwardness by explaining that. I step into my other shoe as she slips a dressing gown over her naked body.

  “If you need to talk to someone,” she offered, “you can drop me a text. If I’m not with a client - I’ll reply. More than happy to meet up for a chat.” She quickly added, “No charge.”

  A genuine smile. She does care. A great feeling.

  “Thank you.” I doubt I’d ever call upon her for anything other than the usual services she offered. To come round her house for a coffee and catch-up just felt wrong. I don’t know. It felt as though I was wasting her time. And there was still a nagging voice in the back of my head telling me she didn’t mean it. She was just being polite. Maybe because she felt she had to because I had refused to take the money back. I dismissed the thought. I’d rather think she offered because she genuinely cared for me; something else to smile about.

  I walked over to her and hugged her, with a quick kiss on the cheek. Nothing unfamiliar about this. This was how most appointments ended. A kiss on the cheek instigated by me - as opposed to a kiss on the mouth. Never did like kissing a girl after she’d been performing oral on me. Felt wrong and tasted worse.

  We separated and she walked me through her modest home back towards the front door. As I approached it, she opened it for me - making sure to hide her body behind it so as not to be spotted by the neighbours. I thanked her again as I stepped out into the fresh air.

  She called to me as I walked down her driveway, “Don’t forget - if you need to talk - you know where I am.”

  I turned to face her. Her head was sticking out from behind the door. She looked as though she were being genuine. I smiled and nodded. A little wave and I turned back in the direction I was heading. A second later and the front door shut.

  I couldn’t help but smile again as I climbed into my car and slid the key into the ignition. Two genuine smiles in the space of an hour. Who’d have thought it? Certainly not I. I started to laugh as I fired the engine up. And to think - she didn’t believe the appointment to be a success.

  Although I am feeling randy.

  II

  At home and I refuse to let the darkness brought on by my loneliness slip back into my life now that I’ve come away from my appointment. It’s trying hard but I’m the one in control of it. Only have a few hours before the group session and I want to ensure I remain as high as possible. I need the positivity in order to try and help others with their problems. It doesn’t work if we’re all negative.

  My antics from last night usually leave me on a high. Usually. I usually feel as though I’ve had a good night; the social time spent with my dates, along with the antics which follow, before getting them out of the house usually answers all of my needs. Last night just went wrong though. Don’t even know how or why. Can’t place my finger on it. Thank God for this morning’s appointment. Concentrate on that, not the failed night. Concentrate on the fact that she genuinely gives a shit about me.

  I threw my coat over the bannister and ran up the stairs towards my bedroom. The missed opportunity for an orgasm with my lady-friend has done nothing to kill the sexual thirst I was feeling before my surprise emotions took hold of my body. Need to ejaculate. Need a release from the previous night and I have just the tool with which to do it. I walked into the bedroom and gagged on the smell I was greeted with. Should have accounted for that. I learned long ago that it doesn’t take much for the dead to start stinking.

  I had laid Jenna’s torso on my bed. There were no legs or arms attached. It was simply a torso - neck down to vagina. I left the breasts attached. Something to suckle on whilst I make love to her. Is it really a her now that I have taken the head or does the torso become an ‘it’? A strange thought bouncing around my head as I dropped my trousers to my ankles and lowered myself to my knees by the edge of the bed. I pulled the torso towards me and started lapping away at the rotting vagina. Tastes as it smells but I don’t care. One of my favourite pastimes when it comes to sexual activities. Even if it weren’t - it’s necessary regardless. My tongue provides the saliva which will - in turn - serve as a needed lubricant. Can’t go in dry. Tears it up as well as feels uncomfortable. I only stopped licking the flaps and hole when I was sure it was wet enough to be able to glide into. Didn’t need to touch myself as I climbed on top of it - I’d been pretty much rigid since leaving my earlier appointment. Had it not been for the way it ended, I would have asked for another hour of her time for a further cost of course. Pretty sure she would have let me stay for nothing though and I didn’t want to take her kindness for granted. Wouldn’t have been fair.

  I sighed heavily as I slid inside of what was once Jenna. My spit was not only the perfect lubricant but also added a little warmth to the vagina too. I started to thrust backward and forwards enjoying each sensation offered. In my mind I was already trying to find valid reasons why I couldn’t dispose of this little souvenir when I was done despite knowing I couldn’t realistically keep it around. Feels so fucking good though. How do you bin something which affords so much pleasure?

  I grasped the neck stump with my right hand to enable me to thrust harder. Can already feel the stirrings of what feels to be an intense orgasm. Glad I didn’t spend out the additional one hundred and fifty pounds. Would have been over before it started. A waste of money. When I’m with her - I like to last the whole hour. Make sure I ejaculate in the fifty-ninth minute. Fair is fair. I’m paying for the time so I don’t want to waste any of it. Distracted myself for a moment and need to build the coming orgasm back up. Empty my mind of clutter. Enjoy the sensation.

  I put my lips around her left nipple and sucked on it gently as I continued to pump as hard as I could. Orgasm building. I increased speed as I braced myself for what felt to be something special indeed. My hand around the neck stump kept the torso in position - stopping it from sliding away. Feels fucking amazing. A feeling so great in fact that I didn’t even notice my finger was dipped into the actual bloody stump until after I had ejaculated and - after an orgasm that intense - I didn’t care. I withdrew and rolled onto my side next to what was left of Jenna. Holy shit. I couldn’t help but wonder whether she was that good a fuck when she was a whole woman or whether the stream-lined version of the woman she once was was an improvement.

  I grabbed the edge of the duvet and pulled it over myself so that I could wipe myself clean. Bedding needs to be changed today anyway. Her stink has surely contaminated it long before any residue semen that I may have wiped upon it. I sighed again as I forced myself to sit up. Could have stayed lying there I’m so tired. Don’t dare though. If I did - I’d only drift off and I need to get myself ready for the group session. Can’t let them down. They count on my support. Definitely can’t let them down.

  I dragged myself up to my feet and kicked my trousers off from around my ankles. Need a clean before I venture out. Can’t go out stinking of sex and death. I walked through to the bathroom and t
urned the light on. A quick look over to the bathtub with the overhead shower unit. Funny to think what I was doing the last time I was in here. I dismissed the thought and took my top off, dropping it to the floor, so that I was naked. I stepped over the rim of the bath and underneath the shower-head. A quick twist of the tap and water spilled over me; cold to start with but - thankfully - soon warming.

  I can’t believe she cares about me, my mind drifted back to my earlier appointment. Another smile on my face. Half tempted to take her up on her offer and see if she is free for a coffee sometime next week. I guess the worst she can do is say no. And that wouldn’t be because she doesn’t care. It would be because she is busy.

  Can’t seem to shake the smile from my face; grinning like a buffoon.

  Funny, all this time waiting for a smile, and now I’m going to have to try and hide it. Can’t very well run the group with a silly grin on my face. Not entirely appropriate, I fear.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  MARTIN ANDREWS

  A want to die

  I

  Finally home after an exhausting couple of days. I knew the process I’d have to go through before being allowed to leave the hospital. Had to prove to them that I was of sound body and mind after my little outburst in the coffee-shop. I walked out of the ward with less dignity than I went in with - and that was saying something - but at least I now had the necessary way in to this group Miller had told me about.

  I walked through the hallway into the living area and slumped down on the armchair - finding the indentation I had made over the months of refusing to leave its comfort. My wrists were throbbing like sons of bitches. They had given me meds to take - to numb the pain - but I binned them as soon as I left the hospital. Do not take with alcohol. The one warning the nurse who issued them told me as she handed them over the counter. There was no way I was going to give up the warmth provided by the alcohol so I had no choice but to bin them although there was a part of me which was sorely tempted to mix the two. In heavy doses.