Persona - A Disturbing Psychological Thriller

by Horn, Marc

  Dave looked incredulous. ‘Okay, look at it. The standard of living is poor – it’s a tiny bedsit. The wallpaper’s yellow with mould, the ceiling’s falling apart, the corners are damp, the window’s got bird crap all over it and the carpet’s saturated with piss stains! Why did you move? Your other place was nice.’

  ‘I think this is better for work.’

  ‘Well couldn’t you have chosen somewhere remotely habitable? It’s not as if you haven’t got the cash for somewhere better.’

  ‘I’ve got more important things to spend my money on.’

  Dave watched Ryan move to the sink and drink water from the tap. Tucked into the corner of the room, it reminded him of primary school. The drain made choking noises as it devoured the liquid, and cross-headed handwheels swelled into rounded ends. The fourth-year pupils turned them off so tightly that the infants couldn’t use them. Ryan opened the mirror-plated doors of a small cupboard above the sink. The tap dripped - a worn washer, what a surprise.

  ‘So what important things do you have to spend your money on?’ Dave asked. ‘Your girlfriend?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Have you told her about your murderous intentions?’

  ‘Nah.’ Ryan applied a deep-cleansing nose strip, then reached for the flossing cord and broke a piece off. He closed the cupboard doors and began to floss. The mirrors were smearless.

  ‘Because she might leave you perhaps?’ Dave suggested.

  ‘No.’ Ryan dribbled into the sink as he spoke. ‘It’s not her business.’

  ‘No,’ Dave nodded, ‘funny that.’ He shuffled over to Ryan’s bed, checking for any revolting stains before he sat down. ‘Don’t you want to know about the love of my life?’

  Ryan paused his action. ‘I didn’t know you had a girlfriend, Dave.’

  ‘No, of course not. You’re the only one with the charm and wit to keep hold of women you meet.’

  Ryan sighed. He’d obviously touched a nerve. Dave had always been very sensitive, but he was so petulant these days. ‘How is she?’ he asked.

  ‘She’s fine. Actually, she suggested that the four of us go out for a meal.’ There was excitement in Dave’s voice. It was rare for him to be in a position where he could arrange social functions with females.

  Ryan discarded the cord and worked moisturiser into his skin. ‘That sounds nice,’ he said, disinterested.

  ‘When are you free?’ Dave asked, sounding to Ryan like a desperate and anxious teenager lining up his first fuck.

  Ryan sucked in air through his teeth. ‘Not for a while I’m afraid, there’s something needs sorting out.’

  Dave thrust his head into his hands. Fear rushed through him. However immune he may have become to Ryan’s dangerous persona, he knew that Ryan’s objectives were ruthlessly pursued. Often these objectives would blossom from dreams, whims or a simple passing comment. He was afraid that someone innocent might suffer, that he himself might become involved to his detriment, but mainly, that he might lose his best friend. Without Ryan the world would be a lonely place. ‘Please don’t do anything stupid.’

  Ryan faced him, his body toned like a Greek statue of a God. ‘I’d like to think that you’d support me.’

  Dave clenched his fists, noticing a Pirate magazine poking out from beneath the bed which depicted anal sex on the cover. It was unreasonable and inconsiderate of Ryan to expect such loyalty from him. Ryan knew he would always back him up and this really pissed Dave off. Sometimes he wished he had the courage to let go...to let go of the past. ‘Of course I will,’ he shouted. ‘But just think about the consequences, Ryan, I mean for both of us. After all we’ve been through, do you want to sacrifice that?’

  Dave was close to crying. Ryan smiled at him. ‘Calm down, Dave, of course I won’t sacrifice that. I’m thirty years old, not a jumped-up kid anymore. I know what I’m doing.’ He removed the nose-strip and then winked like a dictator. ‘Trust me.’

  10

  Stacey’s bedroom door crashed open and Col guided her past the cheap, pine wardrobe, turned sharply, then forcefully drove her to the wall. She gasped when her back thudded against it. Thrusting his mouth against hers, she was caught between fear and excitement. She wanted more, but was afraid to encourage him in case she regretted it. As he kissed her, her tension eased slightly and she began to enjoy it. She was sure he would work out for her. Stacey ran her hands over his shoulders and squeezed the muscles. They were so tight and defined. She puffed as he separated her thighs with his hand and rubbed his finger against her vulva, rocking her back and forth. Her eyes widened in alarm, but it was a sensual fear, the unknown being perversely exhilarating. She sighed and gripped his buttocks. Col bit her neck, sucked it, then cupped her breast in his hand and licked the nipple inside her top. Stacey burned inside as he massaged her clitoris through her leggings, feeling both pain and stimulation as her feet left the ground. She watched his bicep, flexed and enormous. This was how it should be, she assured herself.

  ‘You wanna suck my huge cock?’ he hissed, rubbing the side of his face against her hair. ‘You gonna make me come in your face?’

  Sweating, uncertain and horny, she felt the raw energy within him. The danger made her wet. She’d missed out on so much. Such pleasure had been denied to her for so long. This risk, this passion for her, this stud fingering her was what she wanted. She stroked his leg and timidly squeezed his penis. He was so hard. She’d made him so excited. She thought of how he’d feel inside her. ‘I want to fuck you...’ She nearly put her hand over her mouth, stunned by what she’d said.

  ‘You want me to fuck you?’ he rasped.

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered nervously.

  ‘I can’t fucking hear you!’

  ‘Yes I do!’ she blurted like a robot.

  Col threw her onto the double bed, then pulled her leggings off, eased his thumb under her knicker elastic and stretched it aside. He breathed warm air onto her vagina, then spat on her clitoris. ‘You want me to lick it off?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’ She felt detached from herself, as if floating in a dream. She noticed a tissue flopped over the rim of her bin beside her rusty radiator. No one except her knew it was rusty - she’d painted over the marks.

  Col ripped her knickers off, aimed his mouth at her vagina and then lapped away. Her sighs built up and soon she screamed with pleasure. Col lifted her buttocks from the sheets, pressing her firmly into his face and grunted approvingly as he tasted her, which drove her wild. His tongue was relentless, tirelessly flicking over the right spots. She could barely stand it. She was going to explode. Then he stood up and undressed. His huge erection throbbed in front of her.

  ‘D’you want it?’ he asked with teeth clenched.

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘Eat it, you fucking bitch!’

  Instinctively she sat up and put it in her mouth, oblivious to his offensive manner.

  ‘Deep throat it, you slut,’ he snarled. ‘Swallow it now!’

  She knew this couldn’t be real. She couldn’t take him all, but he pushed himself further in until she gagged. Col withdrew, waited till she recovered, then thrust it in again.

  ‘Come on, Stacey, take it all!’

  He forced her back onto the bed and gripped the headstand, thrusting his hips back and forth. She felt his penis poke at her throat and pictured a machine, emotionless and unstoppable. A wave of terror smothered her. Her white ceiling and walls closed in on her. She squealed in disapproval and pushed at his stomach with her hands.

  ‘What’s the fucking matter?’ he asked.

  She turned away and took deep breaths. ‘Jesus, Col, I’m a human being, not some mindless whore! How do you get off treating me like that, calling me a slut?’ Fear stopped her from slapping him.

  ‘Oh fuck me!’ Col exclaimed in disbelief. ‘You didn’t mind when I licked you out!’

  She felt very dizzy. Her oriental rug, dominating her floor, needed vacuuming. The tissue had to be pushed into the bin and new posters were needed.
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  ‘I let you take control,’ she said. ‘I didn’t force my vagina down your throat!’ Her heart thumped. What had she been doing? ‘I think you’d better go,’ she added.

  Col laughed. ‘Well, I just can’t force myself to believe this!’ he said, genuinely shocked.

  Stacey pushed herself to the edge of the bed, quickly pulled her panties up and then shook her head. ‘Oh my God!’ she whispered and began to cry.

  Col studied her and could see she was in shock. ‘Oh for God’s sake, Stacey, it’s only sex. It’s not as if you’re a virgin!’

  ‘Please go, Col,’ she said softly. ‘I made a mistake.’ She buried her head in her hands. ‘I’m not the kind of girl you’re after.’

  ‘No, Stacey,’ he snapped. ‘You’re not the kind of girl you think you are.’ He dressed himself quietly and then left her house. Though frustrated, he consoled himself with the belief that she’d come crawling back.

  11

  Screaming woke Jen…

  She gasped and turned towards John-Paul. He was struggling beneath the bed sheets. ‘John-Paul!’ she shouted, lifting the covers. It was too dark to see his face, but she could feel sweat on him. ‘It’s all right, darling! You’re dreaming, it’s just a dream!’ She fumbled for the light switch and clicked it on. Her eyes took seconds to adjust to the light and she took a sharp breath when she saw his frozen features. He was frantically looking around the room. ‘What’s the matter, John-Paul? What is it? It’s all right now.’

  ‘He’s in here, Jen!’ John-Paul screamed. ‘He’s in here!... He’s sitting in the corner… There! Look, you can see him! Get help! Call for back-up!’

  She held him in her arms, assuring him that it was just a nightmare and urging him to calm down. Eventually his breathing relaxed.

  ‘What was the dream about?’ Jen asked. She knew the answer and knew he’d lie.

  ‘I don’t remember,’ he whispered. ‘Something about...oh I don’t know, something stupid, I think.’

  She stroked his golden curls, from his forehead to the base of his neck. ‘It’s happening more often, John-Paul.’

  He sighed. ‘Yeah, I know. I can’t think why.’ John-Paul pushed himself up and kicked around for his slippers on the floor. ‘I’m going to get some water,’ he said, rubbing his eyes as he left the room. She listened to him descend the stairs.

  The darkness unnerved John-Paul as he moved through the dining room towards the kitchen. Still badly shaken, his balance was poor. The intensity of the dream lingered in his mind. John-Paul backed up against the wall, in between two huge brass-framed paintings. It was a game! He’d been tricked into thinking he’d awoken from a dream, that it was just subconscious paranoia! He inched along. Zen was in here. Then laughter, vacant eyes and the hand searching for his throat... Desperately, he flicked the kitchen light switch and screamed when the hand touched his side.

  ‘John-Paul! You’re shaking!’

  He turned and gripped Jen’s arms. ‘What do you fucking expect if you creep up on me like that?’ he whined, sweeping his eyes over the room. There was no one beneath the dining table, or crouching between the piano and the wall, or behind the geology display a few feet back from the window.

  Jen squeezed his shoulders. ‘John-Paul, we need to talk about this.’

  ‘No we don’t.’ He climbed back up the stairs.

  John-Paul pretended he was sleeping when Jen returned. He waited until she was back in bed and then opened his eyes. Everything was quiet, except the turmoil in his mind. He couldn’t discuss this with anyone. Only recently had he opened up to himself. He was not a timid man; he’d never avoided confrontation. He’d always stood up for himself, and had rarely felt physically intimidated. Until Zen.

  The animal frightened him; that could no longer be denied. In truth, Zen haunted him both consciously and subconsciously. John-Paul had restrained men even bigger than Zen before, but Zen was far more dangerous than anyone he’d faced in the past. The madman’s physical strength was just a small part of him – Zen exuded total confidence in both his physical and mental abilities; there was no doubt or hesitancy in either. He was not restricted by a sense of right and wrong; he would devise his own form of justice and act upon it. There was no compassion, fear or regret. He was an intelligent man and composed enough to avoid detection. Anyone could be a target. Anyone could suffer...

  Jen, John-Paul’s beautiful girlfriend, was the target. Which made John-Paul a target, because he must protect her. Jen was the most important person to him and he had to save her from this lunatic. Occasionally he’d urge himself to run away, reasoning that if he left her, then the threat of torture from Zen would cease. It disgusted him that he could be so afraid and selfish, and he’d dismissed these thoughts immediately. But they kept coming back.

  Shortly after Zen’s return, John-Paul found him walking along a street near Jen’s house. He thought about calling it in, but felt certain he could take Zen on himself if he kicked off.

  ‘I’m arresting you for harassment,’ he said as he strode up to him.

  Zen kept walking. ‘No you’re not.’

  ‘I’ve just done it. You want to be nicked for resisting too?’

  John-Paul stopped and braced himself as Zen approached. Most slags backed down; few actually fought with police.

  ‘You’ve had it easy,’ Zen said.

  John-Paul reached out for Zen’s wrist, but his opponent was quicker, pulling him close and slapping his temple so hard that John-Paul lost his bearings. The next thing he knew, he was face down in someone’s garden with his teeth grinding dirt.

  ‘You can’t stop me, you cunt. I’ll stop when I’ve broken her.’

  When Jen’s dad heard about the incident, he told Jen and John-Paul that he’d sort Zen out for good. They knew what he meant, but, rather than feel relieved, John-Paul felt impotent.

  He was terrified of Zen. As soon as he’d accepted this fact, he felt better. Rather than hiding from the threat and hoping it would go away, he could create a solution. Zen had helped him acknowledge this fear in the park – he had crumbled. He cringed as he remembered the incident that took place three weeks ago. But he’d come close to dying, what else could he have done? He considered himself to be a tough individual, but there was always someone harder. Zen could be degraded too. He would be. John-Paul promised himself that he’d witness that. Imagining this, though, brought him closer to Zen and an iron lump pressed at his throat. Chills danced on his spine and he couldn’t make a fist. He had to talk to someone about this. It would mean sacrificing respect - his image would be in tatters – but he had to talk to someone. He had kept his dilemma secret because of pride. He couldn’t tell Jen. To her he was a rock, and to see him broken by Zen would send her plummeting to the depths of despair. No, he’d resolve this himself and Zen would pay. He couldn’t assure himself of this for very long, before he drifted into an uncomfortable sleep.

  12

  As Ryan wiped sleep from his eyes and waited for them to adjust to the daylight, he recognised the blur as Ginger’s unkempt hair. His friend was sat on a chair, grinning at him.

  ‘Wake up, boy,’ Ginger cried, ‘it’s the first of October, a whole new fucking month!’

  ‘Ginger!’ Ryan laughed. ‘How the fuck did you get in here?’

  Ginger smiled mischievously. ‘Ways and means, boy. Good kip?’

  Ryan yawned. ‘Yeah. What’ve you been doing?’

  ‘Ah, training – running, weights, that sort of shite. Why ain’t you got a TV set?’

  ‘Because I’m not paying a hundred quid for two channels of shite.’

  ‘Don’t pay then, watch it for free.’

  ‘I’ve got better things to do than dribble in front of a fucking screen.’

  ‘I get your point, lad, but you have to keep up with the news. D’you listen to the radio?’ Ginger asked.

  ‘No. It’s all adverts. They piss me off. I read the paper.’ Ryan pushed himself up and leaned over the side of the bed. />
  Ginger stared at Ryan’s naked body. ‘You’re in good shape, boy,’ he said. ‘You feel ready to put that muscle to good use?’

  Ryan stared at Ginger and spoke seriously. ‘I think I’m ready.’

  ‘You killed before?’

  Ryan closed his eyes and concentrated. ‘… I think so.’

  Ginger laughed. ‘You fucking think so? Jesus, you’re one in a million, boy. It’s not the type of job you forget!’

  ‘Well I remember people dying in front of me. I remember killing them, but I can’t separate fact and fiction.’

  Ginger’s eyes narrowed. ‘I see, I see,’ he said. ‘So either it’s real, or you imagined it?’

  ‘Yeah, but I could have been dreaming.’

  Ginger nodded. ‘Well, all that’s needed here is a bit of soul searching. Tune into your psyche and search for dates and times. Find names and locate the wounds. That’s all the information we need. I’ll be back. I’m just taking a shit.’

  Ginger left the room. Ryan massaged his temples. Where was his past? He believed it was out of his reach now. So much of his time was spent fantasising that it was hard to tell what had really happened. Certain things could never be forgotten, but ordinary events he thought might have been real had blended with his imagination and appeared indistinct. It was so hard to focus on the past, but that didn’t bother him. Though he owed his stature to it, it was the future that was important now. Moving forward was his priority. He had to find the priorities within that priority.

  Ginger returned and sat down. ‘Any progress?’ he asked.

  Ryan sighed. ‘No.’

  ‘Look within boy,’ Ginger advised, inches from Ryan’s face. ‘Expose your darkest secrets. You know you’re safe with me – I’m your friendly, fucking therapist! Tell me, Ryan. Tell me what you’ve done.’

  Ryan’s sealed his eyes shut. ‘Blood,’ he affirmed. ‘So much blood...bones ground into concrete...screaming...’