Psychopath for Hire: A Novel of Extreme Horror

by Matt Shaw

  I listened as ‘Bob’ told his story to the group. I found myself wondering how much of it was true and how much was a fabrication. Everything just sounded too convenient to be true and he had lied about his name so it was entirely possible everything else he was describing now was nothing more than a lie too. The hospital had told me he cut himself and - even if they hadn’t - it is evident from the bandages on his wrists that that is what he had done. They didn’t tell me why though. They had no reason to. They wanted me to report back to them about his mental state. All that time in college studying psychology for my degree - a degree I only put to use after mother died - and still I can’t figure him out yet.

  He wanted to die so he cut himself. The doctors helped him. Saved him. He wanted to live. It was a story I had heard time and time again but I didn't believe him. The tone in his voice, as he continued to embellish his story, suggested otherwise. Even the occasional glint in his eyes went against his ‘want’ to live. Standing in front of me was a man more broken than he cared to speak of.

  So why is he here?

  He had mentioned Tim Miller’s name. Tim was the only person to use the bell. The only person who hired me and ended up walking out of the house to live his life. Did he tell Mr. Andrews about what happened? Did Mr. Andrews like the sound of it? Is that why he is here?

  His story finished and he just stood there looking at me. I shifted in my seat. Hard to make a comment when I hadn’t really been paying the full attention he believed he deserved. I turned to the rest of the group and asked, “Does anyone want to make a comment?” I hoped someone would say something, take the pressure off me for a moment.

  Frank - a long term member of the little group - spoke up as my mind drifted back to Tim.

  I couldn’t help but feel a little betrayed. He wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about what had happened or who I am. It was supposed to be a secret. One of the conditions with which I let him leave. Had I known he would have started talking - I would have finished him as I had planned when he first set foot over my threshold. Yet - at the same time - I feel a little grateful that he has been talking. He has sent someone to me. Someone who may want to spend an evening with me.

  That must be it. Why else would he be here? What else could Tim possibly have discussed with him about me? It wouldn’t have been because of the group that I run. Tim never believed the group to be worthwhile. He always felt as though it were a waste of his time. That is why he came to me at the end. That is why he came to my house.

  II

  BEFORE

  I turned the oven down so as not to burn the requested lamb shanks. The vegetables were busy steaming away and were also close to completion. A few more minutes and they’d be good to go. Everything was looking good in the kitchen. I walked through to the dining room. The table was set up perfectly. A white table cloth hiding the chipped wood of the old table giving the impression it was nicer than it actually was. A single candle, sitting in a silver holder, burned away on the centre of the table. The light gently flickering through-out the room. A bottle of red wine, open so as to breathe to the side of the candle. Two perfectly cleaned glasses waiting to be filled. Silver knives, forks and spoons ready to help us consume the perfect meal and - as always - the old bell next to his placing. All I needed was my guest.

  I checked my watch. Where is he? He should have been here by now. Already changed his mind? I shook my head. He seemed desperate to go through with an appointment with me. He had wanted it yesterday but I couldn’t as I had prior engagements. Today was the earliest and he seemed okay with that the last time we spoke. He had my number if he wasn’t happy with the arrangements and wanted to cancel.

  A knock at the door took away all fears of cancellation. I about turned and headed out of the dining room, down the hallway to the front door and opened it. He was standing there suited and booted; the cleanest I had seen him. I too was wearing a suit.

  “I’m sorry I’m a little late,” Tim said. He stepped in and I closed the door.

  “Not a problem,” I told him. I didn’t bother telling him I had been worried he was going to be a no show.

  He turned to me and handed me a white envelope, “What you asked for.”

  I took it and gave it a quick once over. As requested his name was on the front of it. I thanked him and slid it into my pocket before showing him through to the dining room. The look on his face suggested he was suitably impressed. They always were. I always went to a lot of trouble. I wanted the evening to be perfect. I showed him to his seat and he immediately noticed the bell.

  “What’s that?”

  “If at any stage you have had enough and want to go home,” I explained, “you simply ring it and call time.”

  “What, and I go home?”

  “Of course.”

  He looked puzzled.

  “Just in case you change your mind. We are only human and sometimes we don’t know what we want until the last minute,” I told him.

  “You get a lot of people ringing the bell?”

  “Not one.”

  He nodded and took his seat. A ‘ping’ from the kitchen snapped my attention back to the food as the timer on the steamer finished.

  “Make yourself at home,” I said to Tim as I walked from the room.

  He took a seat.

  In the kitchen I dished up the meal he had previously stated to be his favourite; lamb shank, roast potatoes, peas and carrots and - although usually an accompaniment with beef - Yorkshire puddings. It didn’t take long to dish up the two meals and I was soon heading back to the dining room with plates in hand. I put one in front of him and one in front of my seat before fetching the mint sauce and gravy from the kitchen and bringing them back through too.

  I sat opposite him. He was looking at the meal. Again, he looked suitably impressed.

  “You cooked this?” he asked.

  “Yep.”

  “I’ve never been a good cook.”

  “Spent a lot of time looking after my mum. I didn’t have a choice but to learn. We couldn’t live off junk food,” I laughed.

  He didn’t laugh as he picked his knife and fork up and started to tuck in. I watched - happy - as the meat fell from the bone. He put the first slither in his mouth and started to chew, not that it took a lot of chewing. Again, he looked suitably impressed with my efforts. I relaxed a little and started to eat mine. I always feel nervous when they take their first bite. I want the evening to be perfect for them and can’t very well make it so if they do not like the meal they requested.

  “This is good,” he said.

  “I do try.”

  We sat in silence as we continued to eat and it was then I knew something wasn’t quite right. Usually my dates would talk about the good things in their lives - or the good things that had been in their lives at least. They never sat in silence as though they were afraid to speak. I tried to get us on track and brought up Lisa - the girl who’d walked out on him.

  “How did you meet her?” I asked.

  He snapped, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Okay. It’s just when I do nights like this - people like to talk about the moments that made them happy.” More to the point I like to talk about the moments. If they can talk about them and still not ring the bell - I know they’re not ready for what I offer. If they can talk about them and not ring it - there is no saving them. They really have no fight left in them. The way he snapped - he still has some fight.

  “I thought you were here to help me,” he said. His mood had gone from suitably impressed to aggressive with a quick switch - one that threw me off guard.

  “I am.”

  “Then why bring up that bitch?”

  “I told you - people like talking about the good times they’ve had.”

  “She’s the reason I am in this mess.”

  A stereotypical of a spurned lover not feeling as though they can go on because they have been dumped. Out of all the people I see, all the various individuals
, I find only this kind pathetic. He hadn’t even married Lisa according to his story and yet here he was - wanting to die - because of her. Clearly he had never heard the saying ‘plenty more fish in the sea’. One woman leaves you and you want to throw in the towel. I tried my best to hide my feelings from him.

  “I’m sorry. I made a mistake. The way you spoke about her in group, I thought you might want to talk about her here. I like to give my appointments a perfect evening - good food, good memories… I made a mistake and I’m sorry.”

  “No I’m sorry,” he said. He threw his knife and fork down. “I shouldn’t have come. Clearly you can’t help me. Just as you couldn’t help me in the group.”

  He picked the bell up and rung it. I put my fork down but kept a hold of the knife. Not sure what to do. Just lean forward and stab him despite him calling time on our appointment already? Never been in this position before. Never had it get to this stage. The rest of my appointments - they always have a pleasant evening. It goes the way we discussed before the session was planned.

  “You want to die?” I questioned him.

  He stood up, “I made a mistake.”

  I lowered the knife. I can’t kill him.

  “I’m sorry,” he continued.

  I stood up too and extended my hand, “No hard feelings.”

  He took my hand and I gripped his hard with as much strength as I could muster.

  “What are you doing?” he asked as he tried to pull away, not that I let him.

  “You can’t talk about this,” I told him, “not to anyone. You understand me? What happens here is our little secret.”

  “What? Fine. Whatever. Can you let go of my hand?”

  I let go and he pulled away.

  “I don’t hurt anyone who doesn’t want it,” I told him as though I felt a need to justify what I do here.

  “I just want to go home,” he said.

  He walked through to the hallway and front door. I followed him. Part of me knew I shouldn’t let him leave. I should kill him on the spot and get rid of him as I get rid of the others but I can’t. Clearly he doesn’t want to die. He can’t do. I’m offering what he wants and yet he is backing away. He isn’t ready. Against my better instincts I opened the front door for him. He didn’t say anything as he stepped out and disappeared down the driveway. One of the rules for people who come here is that they’re not allowed to drive. They have to come in a taxi as I didn’t want to have to get rid of their cars. I don’t know where he lives but I do know I live a fair distance from anywhere he can get to via public transport. I considering calling out to him, to offer him a cab, but instead I just closed the door. Let him walk. It will give him good time to think about what he really wants.

  III

  NOW

  The group session had finished. Some of the group were milling around the hot beverages taking as much free stuff as they possibly could and others had simply left straight away - not in the mood for socialising or staying a minute longer. The majority of these people are pretty private when it comes to their lives and they’re not here to make friends. They’re here to vent and try and ease their own lives from the suffering they feel. I did once tell the people who were always keen to leave that - sometimes - it was good to meet new folk. An additional number in their telephone contacts. More importantly - a number who understood what they were going through as they were in the same position. Those are the best kinds of people to call upon in an hour of need. Can’t force them to do it though.

  I was stacking the chairs up against the wall. Not fair leaving it for the first people into the building tomorrow morning. Despite sometimes wanting to get to my own home, I always take the time to clear away our mess. All the time I was moving them, I was well aware that Mr. Andrews was watching me.

  I didn’t wait for him to start a conversation and called over to him, “Did you know your friend is wanted for questioning by the police? You know I actually thought he had killed himself. Could have sworn there’d be a report on the News that someone had found him hanging in some isolated woodland.”

  Mr. Andrews walked over to me. He didn’t help move the chairs.

  “What are you talking about?”

  I stopped what I was doing and turned to Mr. Andrews, “You don’t watch the News?”

  “No television.”

  “He’s disappeared. Police want him for questioning after the body of his ex-girlfriend was discovered in her flat. Beaten to death. Only suspect they have is the ex-boyfriend. Your friend.”

  “He isn’t my friend.”

  “You said he was.”

  “I also said my name was Bob.”

  “True.”

  I resumed the stacking of the chairs as Mr. Andrews continued to watch. So if he wasn’t friends with Tim - how did he know him? And it still didn’t answer why he was here.

  “I also lied about wanting to live. The suicide attempt wasn’t a cry for help and it wasn’t an eye-opener for how much I wanted to live.”

  Ah. Here we are. I knew immediately that Tim hadn’t been able to keep his mouth shut. Despite telling him that what happened in the house was our secret, he went ahead and blabbed to someone.

  “I want to die,” said Mr. Andrews. “I’ve had enough of everything.”

  “Well that’s why you’re here,” I said. “Most of the people here have had those feelings. A lot of them have them still. But, for them, some days are better than others and they always find a reason to keep living. They find this group helps…”

  He interrupted me, “Tim said you could help me.”

  “There’s a good chance. This group has helped a lot of people.”

  “Tim mentioned you do a one on one session.”

  I didn’t know Mr. Andrews and didn’t like the way he was talking. Had it not been for the bandages on his wrists - one of them looking as though it was seeping a little - I would have thought the whole thing was a trap of some kind.

  “Sorry - not sure I follow. What did he say?”

  “He told me you offered to…Help him…One on one. An appointment at your house?”

  “Not sure where he got that from but I don’t offer that. All my therapy is done as group work. I find it’s better to have more people around for support. One on one doesn’t really work when it comes to this kind of therapy. Sorry.”

  I stacked the last of the chairs up and walked over to the large urns of hot beverages. I unplugged the first one and then the second. Mr. Andrews walked from the room without uttering another word.

  CHAPTER NINE

  MARTIN ANDREWS

  Lies

  I

  I pulled out of the car park with an accidental wheel-spin. I was hoping I could cut out all of the bullshit by going in like a bull in a china shop but I guess not. He’s a fucking liar. I could see it in his eyes. And here was me thinking my old detective skills were going to take a while to dust off.

  He probably thinks that is the last of it. Probably thinks I won’t be going back there to press him further about Miller. He’s sadly mistaken. We’re not done by a long shot. I just hope he doesn’t make me play this damned game for long. Can’t be dealing with that group. That isn’t the way to fix yourself. That isn’t the way to get over your issues. It’s just a way to listen to the woes of others and get caught up in their bullshit too. Something else to drag you down.

  A text message pinged through on my mobile phone. I glanced down to where it was resting on the passenger side - where I’d thrown it after sending a quick text message before starting the car up. I can see from the illuminated screen that it is her. I reached down to the phone and picked it up with one hand on the wheel. I pressed the ‘enter’ button to open the message up and glanced down - quickly - to read what she said. She is free now. Brilliant. I pulled the car to the side of the road so that I could reply to her. Told her that I’m on my way now and that I’d be twenty minutes.

  Told her I wanted an hour.

  II

  I pul
led up outside her house and silenced the engine. She’s come a long way since I busted her all those years ago. Back then she was nothing but a street-walker. Somehow managed to turn her life around to get where she is today. She’s still a whore - granted - but at least she’s clean off the drugs - or was - and she looks a lot more respectable. I didn’t even recognise her as the same girl when I found her on the Internet. Thought it was someone else. Only clicked on the picture because she looked like my Lucy. Had I known it was her when I made the appointment I’d like to have thought I would have moved on to another girl but I probably wouldn’t have. Only reason I was on the site was because I was looking for someone who resembled my Lucy. I missed her touch. I missed her smell. Missed talking to her. This seemed like a good option; find a girl who resembled her and let my imagination do the rest. Even when I got to the house I didn’t recognise her. It was her who recognised me. Thought I was there to bust her again. Laughed her ass off when she found out I wasn’t on the Force anymore. Laughed even harder when she realised why. Cheeky bitch thought I had retired before I explained. Appointment went ahead. To her money is money and - to me - she was the spit of my dead wife. Couldn’t ignore that. Besides - she looked as though she were clean and I wasn’t about to jump in bareback. I remember being surprised it was the same woman I had busted back in the easy days. Amazing how smack can change a person.

  I scrambled from my car and headed towards the door. Went to knock on the panel when the door opened. As per usual, she was hiding behind the door. I stepped in and she shut us in.

  “Thought you’d be busy,” I told her.

  “Quiet afternoon. How have you been?” she asked.

  Since being clean - her manners had also improved significantly.

  “Thirsty.”

  She took the hint and offered me a drink. My favourite type of woman; easy on the eye and generous with the alcohol.

  “Cup of tea?”

  “Something stronger.”