Gemini: A Psychological Horror

by Stuart Keane

  I survived the taxi, didn’t I?

  Would you have done so without my assistance?

  Odette paused, and then shook her head.

  Exactly.

  This isn’t like before. I feel confident on this one.

  You sure? To me, it looks like you have a soft spot for this fella.

  No way. After Gavin … no, I wouldn’t … No.

  I saw you looking at him, hell, I share a fucking headspace with you. I know exactly what this is. You want to get laid.

  You’re in my head, so why aren’t you seeing the plan behind this?

  You’re like a fucking teenager.

  No, I’m just using my … wily charms to seduce him, get him alone. It’s textbook.

  The voice said nothing, remained silent.

  I stumped you there, didn’t I?

  Well, well. Another pause. There might be hope for you yet.

  Odette chuckled. “You have no idea.”

  She spun on her stool and came face to face with Mike. He stopped and smiled, thrusting his hands into his pockets. The dimples punctuated his cheeks as per the norm. “Hi.”

  “Hi,” Odette said, lifting her voice a fraction, to seem excited and nervous.

  We have a right proper actress here.

  Odette smiled. Mike stepped forward and leaned on the bar, standing beside her. “Would you like a drink?”

  Odette nodded. “Gin and tonic, please.”

  Mike beckoned to the bartender and waited for a response. Odette watched him, her eyes narrowing slightly, her brain swimming with multiple thoughts of murder and bloodlust. When she smiled, her new companion mistook it for actual happiness.

  Atta girl. Reel him in.

  “So, you’re a successful plumber. Please don’t tell me you hit on women and use your occupation as a dodgy punchline.” Odette stirred her drink and chuckled, watching for a reaction.

  “Whatever do you mean?” Mike smirked, catching on quickly, a hint of mischievousness in his composure. “Are you implying that I’m a pervert of the pipe-cleaning variety?”

  “Uh huh,” she muttered. Shame, he’s kinda cute in a geeky, need to bring him out of his shell kinda way. Killing him will be a waste.

  Killing him will be a fucking laugh riot. And easy.

  Odette nodded. Indeed.

  “I’ll be honest; I rarely tell people about my work. It bores them.”

  “So why tell me? Why am I any different?”

  “I don’t know. I told you in the lift, so it seemed like a good place to begin.”

  Odette smiled. “Yeah, I’m sorry about the lift. I’m not normally that rude or abrasive.”

  “It’s okay. It can’t be fun talking to a complete stranger off the cuff. It must have been awkward for you.”

  Odette leaned forward slowly, pushing her glass aside. “I recently … became single, so I’m still a little raw around the edges. Talking to people, especially people I don’t know, isn’t high on my list of priorities.”

  “So you’re staying here to get away from it all?”

  Yes, I’m staying here because my ex-boyfriend’s blood is spattered all over the walls of our apartment, his severed genitals are several feet from his mutilated body, and his decapitated head is now part of the fucking décor. Oh, and my new friend, a total psychopath with complete disregard for the human race, who fucked his corpse as we mutilated him.

  Odette closed her eyes for a fraction, sipped her drink, and nodded. “Yes, something like that.”

  “Well, it’s his loss. A total loss, if you ask me.”

  Odette remembered the taxi driver, and recalled how he had uttered the same words to her as he drove her to a certain death. It would take some time to forget that perverted leer, the wobbly smile, his crooked yellow teeth, and the stench of his body odour.

  But Mike is cute, adorable, not a serial killer. He’s completely different.

  The compliment still comes with the same meaning, regardless of who said it.

  Really? Maybe it’s just innocent, honest concern for my welfare.

  Doubt it.

  Really?

  All men are pigs. An honest compliment, sure, but a hidden agenda? Certainly.

  “Yeah, well… Odette trailed off.

  Mike stood up and patted his pockets. Odette heard the jangle of loose change. He glanced over to her and pointed at her half-full glass. “Another drink?”

  She shook her head, and blurted, “No.”

  “Oh, okay.” He sat back down, devastated by the negative response. Odette’s eyes widened and she groaned when she relived the social faux pas in her mind’s eye. Mike’s smile disappeared, and the vibrant life that made him so interesting to converse with seemed to dissipate from his posture completely.

  “That’s not what I meant, Mike. God, I’m on bad form today. I just mean I’m sick of being cooped up in this hotel,” she lied. “I want to go out somewhere. What say we go for a drive?”

  Mike’s smiled returned, and the vibrant life returned. “Sure.”

  “You got a car? I had to get a cab here. My stupid car’s in the shop. I suppose we could always rent –”

  “No, no need to rent. I have my van. That okay?”

  A white van? How romantic.

  Shut up!

  Odette smiled. “Shotgun.”

  “Can you pull over here?”

  Mike nodded and steered the van to the left, lowering through the gears. Odette sat up and heard the tyres crunch on the dry, brittle sand that formed the shoulder of the quiet road. As the vehicle came to a halt, she unbuckled her seat belt and climbed from the van. Closing the door behind her, she walked into the middle of the road.

  Mike stepped out into the cool night and watched, his interest piqued.

  He observed as the woman spun in a slow, wobbly circle, almost dancing, her shoes scuffing the asphalt while her arms stretched out to her sides. He couldn’t help a smile as he watched her spin and duck and laugh, the sounds almost innocent in their candour. He saw her close her eyes and spin faster, her hair now whipping at the silent air.

  He realised that Shay was the most beautiful woman he’d ever set eyes on.

  Shay.

  That’s an odd name.

  When I first saw her, I had her down as an Alison or a Candice, maybe something exotic like Sarita or Amelie, but never a Shay. I don’t know why, but the name doesn’t suit her…

  She’s out of your league, he thought. She’s up there and you’re down here. There’s no way a catch like that would go for a working man like you. For all you know, her ex-boyfriend was a millionaire or a celebrity or a member of royalty.

  He leaned on the roof of the van, placing his chin on his balled fists, and watched her with a keen adoration. A warmth began to spread through his chest and he smiled again, nervous as he conjured the bravado to go over to the woman and take her in his arms, to kiss her. This sensation was something new to him, alien; this wasn’t a sexual longing, it was something much more, a burning pit in his heart that made it hard to breathe, a feeling that had blossomed since seeing her in the lift earlier that day. This was beyond a sexual attraction. No, he realised he was quickly falling for Shay.

  Which was strange; he’d only known her for just over an hour.

  Sometimes it happens that way, he heard his deceased mother saying in his head. Sometimes, it just happens. No one knows when or how or where, or the reasons for it, but it happens.

  He moved around the bonnet of the vehicle, dragging his fingertips across the sleek surface behind him. She stopped spinning and looked in Mike’s direction, her hair a tangled mess and drooping before her smiling face. He saw one glorious eye staring at him through the bushy strands, and he couldn’t help but feel a little weak at the knees. He breathed out sharply.

  When she motioned at him with a curling finger, asking him to come to her, he nearly collapsed.

  Mike wobbled across the road with a swagger, in an effort to seem cool. The deafening silence sta
rtled him somewhat, and the lack of other traffic was truly surprising. The sound of moving tree branches started up, and drifted on the chilly wind, their patient rustle almost complementing the strange moment he was currently living.

  This is it, he thought.

  This is when you kiss her.

  Your life could change permanently.

  He reached Shay and gazed down at her, the woman’s slightly smaller frame level with his wide shoulders. Conscious that he was living a cheesy scene ripped directly from the greatest romantic cinema, he brushed the hair from her face, expecting to melt under the woman’s gaze. He almost did, the adorable eyes watching him, eager for him to act on his baser impulses.

  Then, he gasped.

  But not in surprise or arousal, and not because the moment was almost perfect, a moment that even the greatest Hollywood scriptwriter would have trouble composing.

  He gasped because of the small knife sticking from his gut, the blade buried to the hilt. He touched the handle and fingered the open wound delicately, his fingers turning a stark crimson before they started to tremble, his body reacting to the sudden violation of his flesh. His confused mind tried to process the horrific image but couldn’t. He glanced up, seeking an explanation for the sudden violence.

  Shay was smiling at him.

  Grinning even, no, it was a twisted, maniacal smirk. The kind a morbid hunter enjoys when cornering and killing their helpless prey, the face a politician wears on an almost permanent basis. He tried to shake his head in disbelief, or to shake away the pointless thoughts and comparisons in his mind, but the pain now coursing through his veins rendered him immobile.

  All he could say was one word.

  “Why?”

  And she answered in time, a simple sentence that chilled him to the very bone before he collapsed abruptly onto the road, his skin and clothing rasping against the rough asphalt. As he blacked out, he replayed the sentence in his mind’s eye, the blackness finally consuming his brain before it could make sense of it.

  She’d said, “Because you were there and needs must.”

  “Wake up.”

  Odette paused. After five long seconds, she slapped Mike with the back of a gloved hand, the sound echoing in the rear of the empty van. He sat up startled, now awake, his eyes blinking to life. He patted the floor beneath him with his hands, finding his bearings.

  “Good evening, sunshine.”

  Mike looked at the woman knelt before him. After a second, he recognised her. The glint of her adventurous eyes, the subtle curve of her cheeks, the bridge of her petit nose, the perfect texture of her hair, and the paleness of her flawless skin that seemed stark in the moonlight. A brief smile curled onto his face before his staggering brain caught him up to current events.

  Then, the smile vanished. For good.

  “Where am I?”

  Odette chuckled. “Don’t you recognise the back of your own van? I bet you’ve had a few women in here, haven’t you?” She slapped him on the leg, making him flinch. “Haven’t you?”

  Mike struggled to sit upright and howled in agony, a savage fire tearing through his abdomen. He gazed down and realised his hands were bound with coarse black ropes, his feet too. He shifted his hands to the side, and revealed the gaping wound on his stomach. Through the knife hole in the shirt, which was now stained a dark red from the injury, he could see the ragged wound, its lips still wide open. Dark blood still ebbed from it, and dribbled down his side. He felt a bead of cold sweat roll off his upper lip, and realised he felt slightly chilly.

  He looked at the woman, his heart burning from both primitive fear and persistent adoration. Only moments ago – moments, hours, days, he didn’t know anymore – he’d admitted to falling for her. His mind was sure of it. And now?

  “Answer the question, Mike.”

  He shook his head. “No … no, this is a new van. Do you see any tools?”

  Odette didn’t glance around, and didn’t waver, her eyes focused on her captive. “I don’t, no. An empty van. I was beginning to think your job as a plumber was a ruse, a deceptive lie.”

  “I didn’t lie. I’m a plumber … I just, well … I only just collected the van from the dealers.”

  “I don’t believe you, but that’s neither here nor there anymore.”

  Mike flinched at the subtle threat, and Odette backed off a fraction. Her face slipped into a bright beam of moonlight, the light illuminating her eyes and contrasting against them. He saw a hatred there, a dark, malevolent energy that he’d never witnessed before. Absurdly, he noticed the back of the van was open; the doors stood wide and true. He saw nothing beyond but dark trees and foliage. He could still hear their patient whispers on the night air.

  He looked at her. “What do you want, Shay?”

  Oh yeah, you gave him a fake name. Funny how that hasn’t been mentioned during this entire evening, up to now, anyway.

  Shay? Yeah, it doesn’t suit you. Stick with your original name.

  Odette chuckled, her somewhat vacant gaze flicking to the left. Her fingers randomly groped at the side of the van, their tips squeaking against the steel panel. After a second, she chuckled again. “Nothing.”

  Mike took advantage of her wandering gaze. He scoped the black opening behind her, wondered if he could get out and make a run for it with his feet tied. Better still, if he could get to the cab of the van and start it, he could drive away. He’d left the keys in the ignition. It might be awkward with the ropes around his ankles but hey, he had no other choice. He wiggled his feet to test the tightness of his bonds, and swallowed hard, his dry throat making him gag. The ropes were quite loose.

  Right, there’s your chance. They’ll slip off if you’re lucky.

  Odette turned to look at him. Her eyes danced sideways, back and forth, and her lips were parted, her tongue glistening behind them. On any other day, Mike would have loved that photogenic image, found some romantic adoration in it.

  But not today.

  “I hope you’re not thinking about running away, Mike.”

  Mike said nothing. He simply stared at the woman, his mind working on a plan.

  “No answer? Okay.”

  Odette leaned forward, grasped Mike’s right foot and slid the blade of the knife across his Achilles tendon, slicing the muscle with a visceral rip. A spurt of hot blood hit her in the face, but she didn’t react, didn’t flinch. The sound of the muscle separating reverberated around the back of the van before Mike’s scream, a shriek born of absolute unadulterated agony, shattered it.

  He was trying to get away.

  Well, he wasn’t, but it was certainly on his mind. He thinks you didn’t see him looking at the opening behind you. Men are such fools.

  Why do you have the doors open again?

  It’s too hot in here. It’s a simple matter of decent working conditions.

  Nice one. Sue someone. So, we going to kill him?

  Yes. And he doesn’t even know my name.

  Excellent.

  Odette looked in the mirror. She turned her head to both sides slowly, admiring her visage, immensely happy with the results. She bent her knees and performed a quick curtsy. A hearty chuckle escaped her lips.

  That’s number two.

  One to go, you got this in the bag. Not bad for an amateur.

  Shay will eat her words. I can’t wait to text her and brag about the results.

  Odette turned and walked out of the room. Ambling down the hallway, her fingertips tracing unevenly along the soft wallpaper, she looked at the collection of framed pictures resting on a small, dusty bookshelf by the front door. Her eyes flicked to each one, studied them for a few seconds, and moved onto the next.

  She saw old pictures of a younger, thinner Mike on his lonesome; in one photo he held a large fish aloft, and in another he stood beside a pristine white van with his thumb hooked into the air. One picture showed him with severe sunburn and a bright white grin on his face. In others he took position amongst groups of various stran
gers or joined other people for a couples shot. She assumed they were family or girlfriends or possibly boyfriends.

  No, she thought. He was going to kiss me. Not boyfriends.

  He could be bisexual though, not that it’s relevant anymore.

  Maybe.

  Odette traipsed into the living room, admiring the basic but comfortable, homely furniture. She wandered through a small, immaculate kitchen, turning the water on as she went. The stream flowed smoothly into the sink. She ran her fingers beneath it and sucked them dry, turning the tap off as she went. After discovering a bare dining room and a makeshift office – a cupboard under the stairs with its door removed and a desk shoved into the tiny space – she returned to the bedroom and sat before the mirror once more.

  Not a bad place for a plumber. He has decent taste. And, well, his taps work fine.

  She chuckled, amused by her discovery.

  I wonder why he was at the hotel.

  Probably a business trip.

  More than likely.

  A comfortable silence filled Odette’s head for a full two minutes. She turned her face a few times, observing her reflection, checking for any flaws in her appearance.

  So, you think you got away clean?

  Odette paused, her brain working back through the events of the evening. After three long minutes, she nodded. Yes, I think so. Nothing can be traced back to me. I wore gloves. Not the van, not his corpse. The only thing I’m worried about is the hotel. Did anyone see us?

  It’s a hotel. People see what they want to see. You’re probably okay.

  True. Otherwise, I’m confident no one will link it to me.

  What about hair or DNA?

  There’s never any way to know for sure, but I think I got away clean.

  And what if you didn’t? Is this preparation? Is this abiding by the strict rules we discussed?

  I’ll be honest, I no longer care about being caught, or leaving DNA behind, or even removing evidence from the scene that could link me to the killing. The more murders I commit, the more chance I have of being identified and linked to the deaths. I’m not on file, they have to catch me first, and I admit, the thought of the chase adds a little excitement to proceedings.