Gemini: A Psychological Horror

by Stuart Keane

  Darting between the sparse crawling cars on the main road, she crossed to the other side of the street and ducked down into a narrow alleyway, one that diverted footfall to a set of concrete stairs that provided access to the nearby East Croydon Tube station. As she began her descent of the steps, she paused and took a glance down the dimly lit alleyway. The coast was clear, all except for a couple of teenagers who were talking between themselves, huddled in the shadows halfway down. The putrid stench of stale urine assaulted her senses and stung her eyes. The walls of the subway were adorned with various, colourful gang markings and garish graffiti that had been offered up by bored youths as a poor substitute for street art.

  She thought about the proposal that Odette had offered to her in the café, the offer that she had gladly accepted. She opened her handbag and inspected the few items inside. Her bankcard had long since expired, and she was sure that there weren’t any funds available to draw anyway.

  To pull this challenge off successfully, you’re going to need to get hold of some serious money, Shay ol’ girl.

  She continued her way down into the Tube station, and after a quick check of the Tube map, headed in the direction of the correct platform. She passed a few drunk partygoers, and one subdued member of staff. A series of cheap Halloween decorations flapped in the breeze.

  Her mind was on one thing; how do I get some cash?

  Men. They are the easiest victims of manipulation alive.

  As she approached a young couple on the platform, they turned so that they were both facing her. Both appeared to be in their late teens, and both of them stared at her blankly, as if she had interrupted their conversation. The man wore a black bomber jacket, lending him the appearance of a poorly placed bouncer, a baggy pair of jeans and gleaming white trainers. Perched upon his head was a red beanie hat. The woman was slightly shorter, and her scraggly mop of curly brown hair hung just below her shoulders. She wore a long grey, woollen jacket that came down to her waist. An expensive looking golden brooch hung from the lapel.

  Probably stolen.

  Shay felt her threat radar go off in her mind, and slowed her approach.

  The woman addressed her, making eye contact and flicking her head upwards. “Excuse me, miss. Have you seen a policeman around here at all?”

  Shay’s eyes narrowed and her adrenaline began to surge. “No,” she replied.

  The woman laughed. “Well, ain’t that a shame?”

  Snatching her left hand from inside her coat pocket, she produced a small knife. Shay spotted the steel blade as the light reflected from overhead and glinted along its small surface.

  Before the woman had a chance to raise the weapon, Shay kicked out, the instep of her foot connecting directly with the woman’s kneecap. The sickening, crunching snap of bone and cartilage echoed out as the woman’s leg bent in the wrong direction. She went flailing to the ground with a solid thump, screaming in absolute agony. The blade skidded along the concrete towards Shay as the fallen woman grabbed her ruined knee with both hands, writhing in pain.

  Shay placed her foot on the blade but didn’t move. The man stared at her panicking, flicked his gaze down to his fallen comrade, then back at Shay.

  Shay laughed. “Well, I’ll confess this. Out of all of the people that you could have picked to try and mug down here tonight, you two really managed to draw the short straw, didn’t you?”

  The man’s breathing became laboured. He glanced to his left, and considered the option of escape, to make a run for it.

  Shay detected his quandary. “Oh, I know just what you’re thinking. You’re wondering whether you could take me, aren’t you?”

  The man stood his shaky ground. “Get out of here, lady, before I fuck you up.”

  Shay laughed, taunting the man further. She nonchalantly twirled the blade in her hand. “I tell you what. I’ll give you a once in a lifetime opportunity. How about making yourself useful? Get your cock out, right here, and fuck me now.”

  The man frowned, puzzled. “What the fuck are you talking about, you mad bitch?”

  “Right here, right now. Show me how much of a man you are. Come over here, bend me over that ticket barrier and fuck the life out of me. What’s the matter, don’t you find me attractive?”

  She opened up her jacket to display her figure. The man stared on incredulous as the woman of the floor continued to roll around holding her ruined leg, sobbing and moaning.

  “Are you fucking insane?” he asked.

  “Well, if you’d have asked me that yesterday, the chances are I would have said no, but today … it’s just been one of those days. So what’s it going to be then, stud? Are you going to show me what a man you really are, or do I have to make an example of you like this little bitch here?” She sighed loudly, irritated. “For fuck’s sake, woman, will you stop your fucking moaning?”

  Shay planted her boot viciously into the side of the woman’s face; a stream of crimson mixed with spittle flew from her mouth and decorated the concrete with a soft splash. The woman’s head flopped to her left hand side. She was out cold.

  Shay leaned over the woman and unfastened the brooch from her jacket. She held it up to her face, inspecting it before dropping it into her pocket. She nodded to the man. “That might be worth something.”

  The man continued to stare, his jaw dropping open in shock.

  Shay feigned an overzealous yawn. “So what’s it to be? I haven’t got all night to hang around the underground with strangers, you know.”

  The man glanced down one last time to his partner, and then back at Shay, a swell of anger rising through his chest.

  “You mad bitch, I’m gonna…”

  The man took a mad lunge at Shay, unleashing his right hand from inside his jacket. His fist was newly adorned with a solid steel knuckleduster. As he swung at her jaw, she instinctively jerked her head backwards, narrowly avoiding the man’s blow. The punch was close enough to her face to feel the wind as it whistled by her chin.

  The man’s momentum had him stumbling forwards and falling clumsily to his right. Shay used his falling weight to her advantage, shoving both hands between the arch of his shoulders and pushing as hard as she could. He toppled to the concrete floor like a lumbered tree. Before the man had any chance to react, Shay pounced on him, landing both of her knees onto his chest from a decent height, forcing the wind from his lungs. He wheezed in pain.

  She spat at the fallen man, “You should have taken the easy option and just fucked me when you had the chance.”

  She readjusted herself so that her weight was positioned directly onto the man’s chest. Grabbing the knife from the concrete behind her, she placed the tip of the blade beneath the man’s chin. The point of the blade poked into his soft flesh, and the man winced as the knife drew a sliver of fresh blood. Shay stared down at the man; he was terrified, scared to move as she held him in place with her weight and the menacing tip of the knife.

  Shay looked down at the weapon in her hand. You need to be a bit more creative than this. Reaching into her pocket, she grabbed the brooch that she had taken from the other woman’s coat. She flipped it open, revealing a pointed golden stem about five inches in length. She smiled.

  Switching her grip on the knife to her left hand, she jabbed the knife further into the flesh on the man’s chin, increasing the steady flow of blood down his neck.

  “Just stay exactly where you are for me, sunshine.”

  With her one free hand she grabbed the brooch and held it in her fingertips, waving it in front of the man’s face. He followed the path of the golden metal with a mixture of bewilderment and fear.

  With the knife held underneath his chin and Shay straddling his chest, the man was unable to move. His eyes widened in fear as he realised what Shay was about to do.

  “You really should have just fucked me when you had the chance,” she repeated.

  The man tried to move his head as Shay moved the tip of the brooch closer to his right eye. She pushed the kn
ife further into the flesh on his chin to ensure that he was unable to move. His eyes wide with fear, she moved the tip of the brooch above his tear duct and held it in place. The man didn’t dare move.

  Shay laughed. “You really picked on the wrong kitty this time.”

  The man screamed as she slowly began to force the sharp tip of the brooch into his tear duct. The metal squelched into his flesh with ease as a mixture of dark blood and translucent yellow fluid squirted out of the gland and coated the back of Shay’s right hand.

  “Mucky pup.”

  The man continued to writhe and buckle as he screamed in agony beneath Shay’s weight. As she continued to push the tip of the brooch further into the man’s eye, he continued his verbal protest as the metal punctured the flesh with minimal effort. After forcing the metal about four inches deep, the tip hit some resistance; Shay sighed and removed the knife from beneath the man’s chin, raised it into the air, and stabbed it down beside the brooch. The blade punctured the man’s eye with little effort, speared through his orbital socket and impaled his brain. His body jerked violently a few times, and then he came to a stop. A stream of frothy brown liquid seeped from his eye and ran down his cheek, pattering the ground.

  Using the man’s jacket, Shay wiped the sticky residue from the back of her hand and slowly removed the knife from the man’s face. Grabbing her handbag, she quickly dropped the blade inside, amongst her other junk. Kneeling beside the body, she continued to rummage through his pockets. Locating the man’s wallet, she checked inside, snatching a small pile of bank notes. She quickly counted it; one hundred and twenty-five pounds. Not a bad start. She looked at the brooch still protruding from the man’s eye, and decided to leave it where it was.

  She grabbed the man’s mobile phone from his other pocket, the familiar logo of a nibbled fruit emblazoned on the back. She quickly scanned through the menu, tempted to keep the device. Better not take this. You could be traced. She threw the object against the wall of the subway, where it smashed and rained to the floor.

  Glancing around, she spotted the young woman, still unconscious on the floor a few feet away. Repeating the process, she went searching through the woman’s clothing and found an additional sixty pounds. She smiled. Not a bad haul.

  Taking one last look around, she ran up the steps away from the platform, heading through the main entrance and into the railway station. Considering the time of night, the station was quiet. Only a few commuters littered the platforms, inspecting train schedules or reading newspapers whilst sitting on benches, waiting around for various trains.

  Shay looked around and approached the ticket booth cautiously; she was greeted by the despondent face of a middle-aged woman, her blonde, greasy hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. Large black bags around her eyes signified a late night or a long shift.

  Shay smiled. “Hi, can I get a ticket please?”

  The woman returned her gaze, with an additional impassive grunt. “Which zone do you want?”

  “Zone? I’m not sure.”

  The woman sighed, “Where do you want to go?”

  “Chelsea, please.”

  “The nearest station is Fulham Broadway. That’s zone two.”

  The woman tapped a few keys on her keyboard, collected a piece of paper with a barcode from her printer next to her terminal, and slid the ticket across to Shay. Shay smiled and took it from her.

  The disgruntled employee mumbled, “That’ll be seventeen-eighty please.”

  Shay rummaged through her pockets, locating the bundle of notes that she had recently attained, and selected a crisp twenty-pound note from the pile. She slid it across the counter to the woman.

  “Keep the change. Do you know what time the next train is?”

  The woman turned and looked at the wall behind her; a digital clock displayed the time 23:04. She turned back to Shay. “You’re in luck, there’s a train from platform seven in about two minutes.”

  Shay nodded. “Fantastic, thank you.”

  The woman didn’t respond as Shay walked off quickly, heading in the opposite direction. As she walked out onto the platform, the train was slowly pulling to a halt. Perfect, you need to get out of here, quickly.

  She pressed the green button that opened the carriage doors, and they sprang open with a clunk. Breathing out, she walked onto the train. Sixty seconds later, she had located a seat and the train began hurtling its way through the darkness of the London Underground.

  Get off the train, and into the city, and you will be fine.

  Shay cast her mind back to the events of the day; it had been surreal, even by her standards. She was unsure of this character, Odette. Shay chuckled. She had witnessed the depravity and the savage nature of the woman first hand, whilst they were working on Gavin, which convinced her that the woman wasn’t setting her up with this challenge.

  However, she had seen her in action; she had observed the vicious look on the woman’s face and the psychotic glint in her eye as she was stripping the skin and flesh from Gavin’s thighs with the knife. She had recognised that familiar look; she harboured the same savage frame of mind as she was hacking away at the man’s back, skinning him ever so slowly. They had both continued to butcher the man, and still worked on his prone body for hours past his slow death. It wasn’t bred from necessity, it was pure enjoyment. Indulgence of the most debauched nature.

  Shay smiled; this challenge from Odette was just what was needed, and she needed to feel alive again after being locked away from the real world for the last four years. Gavin had simply been the start; now, she was going to cause bloodshed on a colossal scale. First, she needed things. She needed more money, significantly more, and she needed to obtain a mobile phone. She looked down and inspected the clothes that she was wearing. Although they weren’t scruffy, she was desperate for a change of wardrobe, something that was more to her own taste. A little pampering wouldn’t go amiss either.

  As the train pulled into the underground station at Fulham Broadway, she rose to her feet and waited for it to stop. Hitting the exit button beside the door, she walked from the train amidst some chaotic beeping and stepped down onto the empty platform, before heading out to the exit.

  As she navigated her way out onto the street, she realised the temperature was near freezing, but it felt liberating to finally be clear of the station. There were a few more people about in the streets; excited club-goers heading to their destination, and uniformed retail workers heading home. She paid them little attention as she headed down Fulham Road, and turned right up Britannia Road. Making good time, she passed a variety of shops, cafés, and pubs. Shay finally stopped outside a trendy wine bar, her eyes assessing the grand window with its vintage bottles and display baskets. She looked up at the neon blue sign that run across the front of the building. Monty’s.

  This was perfect, exactly the type of establishment that catered to the kind of person she was looking for; wealthy businessmen with deep pockets and shady morals. She peered through the tall glass window, and despite the subdued lighting inside she spotted several young men dotted around. She smiled and entered the bar. The sound of low background music filtered around the room from speakers positioned overhead, subtle and comfortable. The warm air inside was friendly compared to the near Baltic conditions outside. Looking at the patrons, Shay noticed that the establishment catered to intelligent conversation and the occasional wealthy boast.

  Casually strolling across the huge room, she made eye contact with a man who sat alone, drinking at a small table. From a few yards away, he appeared to be in his late thirties. She gave the man a wry smile and her best suggestive glance as she passed his table and headed towards the bar. He continued to stare as she walked away.

  She leaned up against the bar; resting on her elbow. She arched her back, thrusting her rump out for the interest of potential suitors. After a few seconds, she caught the attention of an exquisitely dressed young barman, who smiled and walked over.

  He smiled. “Good
evening, Miss. What can I get you?”

  Shay replied, “Double Bacardi and coke please, no ice.”

  “Sure thing.”

  The man turned away from her to prepare the drink and returned a few moments later with a tall glass in his hand. He slid the glass across towards her, leaving a slick residue on the surface of the bar.

  “That’ll be five-pounds sixty, please.”

  Just as Shay reached into her pocket to retrieve her pile of notes, the deep voice of a stranger spoke to the bartender from over her shoulder. “I’ll get that.”

  Shay turned and saw the face of the man who she had spotted on arrival. He was quite tall, with wide shoulders and a slim waist; his thick, brown hair slicked back against his head, which enhanced his tanned, handsome face. His eyes were a deep emerald colour and suggested a playful personality. Shay noticed that he had a good, solid jaw. The man was wearing a dark grey suit complete with a crisp white shirt that was unbuttoned, allowing her a glimpse of a thick gold chain around his neck and a rigid, defined chest. She inhaled the virile scent of the man’s fragrance.

  He handed the barman a ten-pound note.

  “Keep the change,” he purred.

  The man turned his confident gaze to Shay; there was no denying that she found the man attractive. The fact that she had been denied sex for the past four years made it much easier, but the attraction was almost immediate. She sensed the familiar tingling sensation from her loins. Laughing to break the sexual tension, she held up the glass and smiled, displaying her perfect set of white teeth. “Thanks.”

  The man smiled and held out a strong hand. His expensive wristwatch glistened in the overhead light. “My name’s Steve. And it’s no problem, really, we can’t have a lady sitting in a bar without a drink, can we?”

  Shay nodded, her lips caressing the edge of the glass. “No, I suppose not.”