Derailed Conscience

by Eliza Green

  Jonathan sighed and fiddled with the pages of the files in his hand. ‘Eh … something else happened … in the town. I asked Fenway about it and he cut the interview short.’

  Dr Blake tapped her finger on her lip. ‘Dr Fenway didn’t say what had happened.’

  Jonathan chewed on his lip, unsure where to start. ‘I stopped off at a tea shop called Eccles—’

  Her smile was wide. ‘Eccles? I love that place.’ Jonathan gave her a stern look and her smile faded. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, things were fine until the owner started accusing me of murdering someone.’

  She folded her arms and leaned forward in her chair. ‘Why on earth would he say that? Did you murder someone?’

  Jonathan could almost hear her clinical psychologist’s brain busy at work: there’s usually no smoke without fire.

  ‘Of course not!’ he said.

  ‘Sorry, force of habit. I have to ask.’

  ‘But that’s not the really weird part. When I left the shop, the owner didn’t seem to recognise me. It was as if he’d never seen me before in his life.’

  Dr Blake unfolded her arms and leaned back in her chair. ‘Well, with my psychologist’s hat on, it sounds like a possible multiple-personality disorder—one personality is convinced you murdered someone, but the other doesn’t recognise you.’

  ‘It didn’t feel like that at all.’ Jonathan recalled the Anderson case that Dr Blake had asked him to familiarise himself with. Anderson, a schizophrenic who had trouble telling fact from fiction, hadn’t reacted the way the shop owner had. Nor had Anderson falsely accused anyone of murder.

  ‘So, Dr Fenway was there—is that why he didn’t want you coming around again?’

  Jonathan felt a flush creep up his neck. ‘Er, no. I asked him if the owner was a patient of his. I thought since he’s a psychiatrist he would know … ’

  ‘I take it the owner wasn’t?’

  ‘Apparently Frank the owner is much loved and I insulted Dr Fenway just by asking.’ Jonathan couldn’t keep the tone of sarcasm out of his voice.

  ‘That’s the trouble with towns like Spelling, I guess.’ She looked at Jonathan and frowned. ‘There’s more?’

  He nodded. ‘I’ve been seeing things.’ He went on to tell her about the mirror and the image of the strange man he’d seen in it.

  She folded her arms again. ‘I’d like to run some tests on you. Have you suffered any trauma recently? Head injury?’

  He shook his head. ‘Nothing. I’m not usually spooked by this stuff, but the mirror kind of freaked me out last night.’

  ‘Just an ordinary mirror, you say, not one of the dream-unlocking ones?’

  Jonathan’s curiosity was piqued. ‘Why, do you have one?’

  Dr Blake laughed uneasily. ‘I don’t think I could live with one of those things in my house, could you? Genuine Glass that sees into your soul and unlocks not only your dreams, but your worst nightmares? I think I’ll pass.’

  ‘Well, I definitely don’t own one, nor do I have a landlord generous enough to have one installed.’

  ‘I’m glad you came to me with this, but I don’t know what to tell you,’ Dr Blake said. ‘It sounds like you may have been imagining what you saw. It might just be stress. Anything going on at home?’

  She was fishing for something specific and he wondered if she already knew about Eddie. He had to assume she didn’t. She would have done a background check on Jonathan before hiring him, but Dr Blake had never asked about his family.

  ‘I have a twin brother. Do you think it was a case of mistaken identity? That’s what I think.’

  ‘It’s probably just that.’ Dr Blake nodded again. ‘Try getting some more sleep. I can offer you some more hypnotherapy sessions if you’d like?—completely off the record, you understand.’

  Dr Blake wasn’t supposed to treat employees, but Jonathan didn’t see the harm in it. It helped to control his stress and anxiety, if only for a short time.

  ‘I’ll think about it.’ Jonathan stood up. ‘Sorry for wasting your time with this. I’ll get right on those notes for you.’

  Dr Blake blinked rapidly as if offended. ‘Please, it’s never a waste of time. Call in any time. My door is always open.’

  When Jonathan left the room, he felt silly for having told Dr Blake about what had happened in his apartment. He was making a big deal out of nothing. Perhaps her suggestion to get more rest was just what he needed.

  But not tonight. Tonight, he needed to make amends with Alice.

  Jonathan called Alice before he left the office; the urgency in her voice made it clear he wouldn’t have time to go home first. He pulled a spare pair of jeans and a blue long-sleeved top out of his desk drawer. The tight fitting top really exaggerated how skinny he was.

  The narrow train to Covent Garden station was busy at 6.30 p.m., far busier than the one that morning. Bodies pressed up against him, unapologetic about their intrusion into his personal space. He stood squashed up against a door in the only part of the train that had an inch of space to spare.

  The train ground to a halt and Jonathan lurched forward into a woman holding a phone to her ear. Mortified, he withdrew his hands from her breast, quickly apologised and searched for the station sign. He was at Holborn; Covent Garden was the next stop. The electronic doors slid back and several people got off. The crowd around him thinned and he exhaled quietly. An old man with skin the colour of dark chocolate and smelling of unwashed socks got on.

  He had agreed to meet Alice in a new restaurant in Covent Garden. He hated the trendy-right-now-but-won’t-be-next-week places. They all tried too hard to be the next big thing. Jonathan would have preferred a pub and some food, but Alice was insistent. She always wanted to be seen at these fashionable places. A part of him liked that she looked so good on his arm, but another part of him wanted a normal girl who wouldn’t throw a fit at the idea of having a beer in the local.

  The familiar beeping sound which warned that the doors were closing was the cue for the train to move off again. The old man stood by the exit, muttering to himself. Others subtly shifted away from him, trying not to look as if that’s what they were doing. The stale body odour drifting in Jonathan’s direction from the down-and-out made him want to get off the train.

  Then the muttering from the old man turned into full-blown verbal attacks. ‘Fuck off!’ he screamed at a woman standing beside him. Her eyes widened and her face turned beetroot.

  She moved away as quickly as she could, much to the anger of the old man.

  ‘Fucking snob. You think you’re better than me. Fuck off all of you,’ he yelled.

  He challenged everyone with his stares. Some people moved right down to the opposite end of the carriage. Others continued to read their phones as if life on the Tube was like this all the time. Sometimes it was.

  Jonathan recognised the untreated mental illness in the old man, but he was still surprised by some of the things coming out of his mouth. The old man caught him looking, scrunched his eyes up at him and ran a dirty hand through his scraggly beard. His haunted eyes forced Jonathan to look away. He could see from the corner of his eye the man’s mouth opening, unfurling his tongue in preparation for a new lashing. Jonathan braced himself.

  But what came out of his mouth was not at all what Jonathan expected. ‘I know what you did,’ the old man said quietly. His watery, unfocused eyes were now razor sharp. ‘Do you think you’ll get away with it? They won’t let you. It doesn’t matter who you work for.’

  Jonathan’s eyes widened in deep confusion. The prickling sensation on the back of his neck caused him to tense up. A pain spread across his chest and he clutched at it. Was he having a heart attack? His chest tightened even more until his breathing became rapid and uneven. All around him was different too—not physically, but the feeling that he was the last one in on a joke. This sense of being disconnected from reality—from what was happening to him—made it feel all too similar to Spelling and the incident in Eccles Te
a Shop. But the old black man wasn’t abusing him like the tea-shop owner had; it was more of a threat.

  The train slowed and Jonathan found himself shuffling closer to the door, right in the old man’s path. He tried to ignore him, but the old man was too close. Jonathan’s clammy hands gripped the metal bar for support, but they slid downwards. The beat of his heart was all he could hear.

  ‘The people you know won’t help. Why not help yourself?’ the old man continued.

  The others were ignoring the interaction, much to Jonathan’s annoyance.

  A voice chirped over the intercom announcing the next stop. Jonathan closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, but his anxiety was spreading quickly like a dark cloud on a windy day. He glanced at the old man: he was still staring at him. Jonathan closed his eyes again, until the train lurched to a stop and he heard the doors open.

  Jonathan leapt on to the platform as quickly as he could and stood with his back up against the cold station wall. His shaking legs were grateful for the support. By that time, the old man returned to being the ranting down-and-out, his tongue lashing out at fellow passengers. His anxiety dangerously high, Jonathan didn’t dare move. The train doors closed, carrying off the raving injustices of the old man while the passengers remained impassive and bored. The train rumbled towards the pit of darkness and the next station. Jonathan stayed put until his chest no longer hurt.

  It took him longer than he had anticipated to get to the trendy restaurant where Alice was waiting outside. One brief look at her told him she was annoyed. Her perfect, fake-tanned arms were folded and she was tapping a stilettoed foot on the pavement.

  ‘I said seven, not seven fifteen,’ she said. ‘I’m freezing out here.’

  Jonathan wasn’t in the mood for her drama—not after what had just happened. ‘I’m only fifteen minutes late. Why didn’t you wait inside?’ he said, kissing her on the cheek.

  Alice looked horrified. ‘I can’t wait in there … on my own. What would people think?’

  That you’re an independent girl who doesn’t care what strangers think? he wanted to say. ‘Come on, let’s eat.’ His tone was sharp as he pulled the door open.

  Dinner was a quiet affair to begin with. Jonathan didn’t feel like eating any of the expensive items on the menu. In fact, he didn’t feel like eating at all. But for appearances sake, he ordered pumpkin soup with a side of homemade breads. Alice ordered a lobster and lime salad and spent most of the course picking at it. She kept looking at him expectantly. He had no idea what she was waiting for and didn’t really want to ask.

  Eventually she said, ‘Well?’

  ‘Well what?’ Confused, he looked up sharply. He was picturing the old man on the train, remembering how his expression had changed, how his threat had changed into a warning, and how he had said things that nobody else seemed to hear.

  ‘Why didn’t you come out last night?’

  Jonathan groaned inwardly. Oh, that. ‘I was tired, Alice. I’d just got back from Spelling and wasn’t in the mood for socialising.’

  She bent over her food and stabbed a tiny fork into the lobster meat. Jonathan decided he was in no mood to placate her. Other nights perhaps he would, especially when she was wearing her tight red dress, like she was now, that showed off her breasts. But tonight, he felt differently.

  She stabbed some salad leaves with the prongs of her fork but never raised them to her mouth. ‘I have other men lining up to take me out, you know.’

  Jonathan wanted to say, Well why don’t you go and do that? He held his tongue.

  She continued. ‘But I want to be with you. I don’t know why. You’re not in a great-paying job, you’re barely presentable on a night out like this. You’re moody all the time. You never used to be. You’ve stopped calling me back when I expect you to. And yet for some reason I still want to be with you.’

  ‘And I want to be with you.’ He meant physically, not emotionally, like she wanted their relationship to be. There was only one thing they had in common, and he needed it. He was feeling far too anxious. ‘Why don’t we skip dessert and go back to mine?’

  She pursed her lips. Jonathan could tell she was fishing for a compliment. ‘You look amazing tonight and I don’t want to share you with anyone else.’

  A smile crept on her lips and she eased her rigid posture.

  ‘Okay, why not?’

  Apart from the looks Alice was getting in her stiletto heels and ridiculously tight dress, the Tube ride home to Southgate was uneventful. The walk from the station to his apartment block wasn’t far, but it didn’t stop Alice from complaining and stumbling in her highly impractical footwear.

  ‘We should have taken a taxi from Covent Garden.’ It was the fifth time she had mentioned it since the restaurant.

  ‘I already told you, I can’t afford it,’ Jonathan said, glancing uneasily over his shoulder.

  She clopped along in her heels and struggled to walk at a fast pace in her dress. ‘And I told you I would have paid.’

  She had a well-paid job as an ad executive and didn’t quite understand what it felt like not to have money. Why did every offer of money from her sound like a charity donation?

  He would have snorted with laughter at her suggestion had he not been so preoccupied with a black car that seemed to be following them. ‘We’re almost there now,’ he said, tugging a clearly unhappy Alice along.

  ‘Stop pulling at me!’ she said, snapping her arm out of his tight grip. ‘I’m going to fall.’

  They weren’t far from his apartment block when he noticed the black car pulling over and a darkly dressed figure getting out. Several things ran through his mind—bad things. He tried to increase their pace, but Alice resisted. The person following them kept their distance. The situation increased his anxiety and he had to fight the urge to run, to get inside his apartment, out of harm’s way. For a split second, he considered ditching Alice. But he couldn’t leave her out here, to face whoever was following. He grabbed Alice’s arm a second time. This time she conceded.

  He could hear her breathing heavily beside him as he fumbled around in his pocket for his keys. He glanced behind him again. There was no one there. But nobody had passed by the pillars either. Not knowing where the person was was killing him. What were they waiting for? His body stiffened as he slid the brass key into the slot, turned it, and pushed Alice quickly inside. With a glass door between him and his presumed stalker, he felt marginally better. Given the look on Alice’s face, he wasn’t sure whom to fear more.

  ‘Don’t you dare pull me like that again. I could have had a serious accident in these heels!’ she snapped.

  He hid behind the frame of the door, just out of sight. The black car rolled slowly past.

  ‘Sorry, I just couldn’t wait to get you upstairs.’

  Her annoyance melted away and she smiled smugly. Alice always liked the idea of being irresistible to men. While most times he couldn’t bear it when she was clearly fishing for compliments, tonight he was grateful for the easy distraction.

  As he turned around, something sticking out of his post box caught his eye. It was an envelope. He pulled it out.

  Alice frowned. ‘What’s that?’

  He ripped it open, and pulled out a piece of paper and read the short sentence before Alice could see it.

  It said: We’re watching you.

  ‘What does it say?’ Alice tried to peer over his shoulder.

  Jonathan balled up the note and stuffed it in his pocket. ‘Nothing you need to worry about.’ But it was definitely something he needed to worry about.

  His anxiety was spiralling out of control, much like his life was. Even when he was safely in his own apartment, his hands shook as he unzipped Alice’s dress. It slipped to the floor when she tugged at the ends. She went to take off her stilettos but he stopped her.

  ‘No, leave them on.’

  She smiled.

  He didn’t remember much about what happened before sex, and the gratification tha
t followed only dulled his anxiety for a moment. As soon as she came, he wanted her to leave. But he also couldn’t bear the thought of her walking the streets, especially with the mysterious black car and stalker on the prowl. He could call her a taxi—that would have been the next best option—but the sound of gentle snoring beside him put paid to the idea. He cleaned himself up, climbed back into bed and fell asleep.

  At 2 a.m., Jonathan woke suddenly, his body slick with sweat like he’d just been out running. He sat up and rubbed his tired eyes. Whatever sleep he got must have been minimal because he felt like shit. In one movement, he pulled back the covers and placed his feet on the cold floor. Except for Alice’s heavy breathing, his small apartment was quiet. The top half of the mirror by his bed that had shown him the image of a stranger the night before was still covered.

  Jonathan hovered over Alice. He could see where her make-up had stained the cream-coloured duvet. He swore under his breath. As soon as she was gone, the duvet cover was going in the wash.

  There was a sudden noise outside—a clanging of some sort. He padded over to the window and peered outside. Barely hearing anything but his jack-hammering heart, he searched the darkness. The clanging happened a second time and he spotted a ginger cat with half its body inside a rubbish bin. He released the tiniest of breaths. He couldn’t see anything else. Apart from the feline, the street was quiet. There was no sign of the black car from earlier.

  He crept towards the kitchen, careful not to wake Alice, and grabbed a beer from the fridge. ‘If I can’t sleep naturally, then I’ll sleep artificially,’ he said to the bottle he held up. One drink was followed by another and soon Jonathan was talking to himself, trying to rationalise the situation.

  ‘Why is there a black car following me? Is it because of what I do? Maybe. I work as a research assistant to a psychologist. So maybe it’s a patient of Dr Blake’s trying to scare me?’ He grabbed another beer and nodded. ‘Okay, that may explain the black car and the note … but not the stranger in my bedroom mirror—or the old man on the Tube—or the tea-shop owner. Shit!’