Scream Test: An unforgettable and gripping psychological thriller

by Mark Gillespie

  “HUH?

  “Have you had a good life?”

  Dallas beat his chest again like he was doing an old man Tarzan. “ME FORTUNATE.”

  “No regrets?”

  Dallas chuckled and dribbled down his chin.

  “NAH,” he said, brushing off the question with a feeble wave of the hand. Another trickle of spit ran down his chin and he rummaged around his lap for the soggy Kleenex. Nicole watched this once proud man, the mightiest of old Hollywood, reduced to a dribbling wreck.

  “You do what you do,” she said. “Right? Is that your philosophy? You do what you do and to hell with the consequences?”

  She got the blank stare.

  “HUH?”

  Nicole lifted her bag off her shoulder. “Monsters grow old too, don’t they? Sooner or later they become helpless like everyone else. Monsters need someone to take care of them when they get old. Someone to wipe the spit off their chin, to wheel them around and to put them to bed at night. Doesn’t matter. Old age doesn’t let them off the hook, does it?”

  Dallas’s waxy smile faded.

  “HUH?”

  Nicole approached the wheelchair. Everything else in the room – the TV, the photos, the fantastic view – it all blurred. When she was close enough, she dropped onto her knees, going eye to eye with the Shadow Man.

  His eyes lit up. “BIRTHDAY BLOWJOB!”

  An explosion of choked laughter.

  “Not quite,” Nicole said. “But I do have something for you. Another present I think you might like.”

  She leaned in.

  “Do you think I’ll ever forget? Think I’ll forget what you did to me that day? What you did to my mom? Your face might be wreckage old man but I still see the monster in you. It’s still you in there.”

  The old man’s wispy white eyebrows stood up. “WHO ARE YOU?”

  “You don’t remember? Look at me. Look at my eyes.”

  “DIANE!”

  Nicole clamped a hand over his mouth and Dallas’s eyes bulged in terror. The adrenaline rushed through her bloodstream. “Take a look. Take a good look at me Kane Dallas. Do you see me? The eyes, lips, the black hair…”

  She took her hand off his. mouth.

  “BLACK?” Dallas said, in between frantic gulps of air. “But you’re…you’re a blond. I see BLOND hair! What’s wrong with you?”

  “Look at me.”

  “DIANE!”

  Nicole pressed a hand over his mouth harder. She made a shushing noise, then looked at the door, listening for footsteps on the stairs. She turned around, just in time to see Dallas’s finger reaching for a silver button on the right handle of the chair. Nicole swiped his arm away. The old man tried for the alarm again and Nicole, in a sudden explosion of rage, grabbed Dallas by the arms and yanked him out of his chair. She brought him to standing height, spat in his face and then let go.

  He landed hard on his shoulder.

  “Bastard,” she whispered. “You fucking bastard.”

  Dallas howled in pain. He tried to reach for his shoulder.

  Nicole stood over him, watching the old man as he tried to crawl towards the door. Arms and legs thrashing in slow motion. He was getting nowhere, so weak that he could barely move at all.

  “Things have gone topsy turvy in our relationship,” Nicole said, lowering to a half-squat beside him. “Look at this. Now I’m the strong one. I can do whatever I want to you.”

  She grabbed Dallas by the legs and pulled him back towards the couch. He was as light as a feather and he slid over the floor like a human rug. Nicole, her pulse quickening, let go of his legs. She dropped down onto the floor, grabbing his neck in a tight chokehold.

  Dallas gasped for air. His eyes continued to swell and there was blood running down his nose.

  “Good boy,” Nicole said, her voice somewhere in between a hiss and a whisper. As she spoke, she patted Dallas’s silver hair like he was an old dog about to be put to sleep. “I want you to see all the way back to the summer of fifty-four. You and I were in the Chateau Lux. You asked me to audition for a part in your upcoming movie. Never did find out what it was called. Remember? I was just seventeen, you know what I mean? You were in your late thirties, powerful and in your prime. Come up for a chat, you said. We’ll talk acting. Do an audition. I thought there’d be others from your production company there but when you opened the door, there was only you, Dallas. Only you. You were drunk and I wasn’t five minutes through the door when you made a pass. I refused. You lost it.”

  Dallas’s eyes turned towards her, stiff and slow.

  “Remember me now?” Nicole said. “Nicole West is my name. Nicole West. And do you remember what you said while you were raping me over and over again that day? Let me hear you scream. That’s what you said. If you want to be in my movie Nicole, you gotta scream real good. And then you hit me. And then you spat in my mouth. Only when you were exhausted, with nothing left to take from me, was I allowed to stand up. And then I ran out of that hotel room bloody and crying with your cum stuck to my legs.”

  She felt a tear running down her cheek. Wiped it away quickly.

  “About an hour later,” she said, “my mother called Darryl Paul, the head of the studio and threatened to go to the police and tell them that Kane Dallas sexually assaulted her daughter. Guess what your boss did? He tried to buy us off with money. A few thousand bucks, but Mom said no. No, she said. Some things weren’t for sale. I can’t remember how much time passed before we heard the knock on our front door. We thought it was the police and what a surprise when it turned out to be heavy hitters from the studio sent by Darryl Paul. Tony Charpentier and his goons. They bundled Mom and me into the back of a van and drove us all the way to Canada. We didn’t know we were going to Canada at the time, but we both knew we were going to die. You were the one behind it, weren’t you Dallas? You gave the order.”

  She released the chokehold. The old man coughed and fell forwards. Then he flipped over onto his back, a Herculean task for someone in Dallas’s condition.

  His voice was flimsy and thin.

  “None…of…it HAPPENED.”

  “Do you remember me?” Nicole asked. “Remember what you did?”

  “NICOLE WEST,” Dallas said, spitting out words in between short, shallow breaths. “THOSE THINGS…NEVER HAPPENED. I NEVER…met her. NEVER…ordered any hit on no one…”

  He took a deep lungful of air. As if he really wanted to get the next part out.

  “STORIES. RUMORS. GOSSIP.”

  “Don’t lie to me,” Nicole said. “Don’t you dare.”

  He waved his hands at her. As if trying to snap his attacker out of her murderous trance. “NEVER happened.”

  “It happened! You were one mean son of a bitch back then Dallas and this helpless old fossil routine isn’t going to save you. No, your grandkid was wrong. God didn’t forget about you. He just set you aside for a rainy day.”

  Nicole glanced out the tall windows. Saw the sunlight pouring in.

  “It must be raining somewhere.”

  She leaned in closer, her lips touching his ears.

  “Tell me something. Do my movies ever come on that big old TV over there? While you’re kicking back all alone because your family don’t spend any time with you, do you ever see my face up there? When I was a little girl. When I was a teenager. What do you do when you see me? Do you change the channel? Or do you watch for a while and remember that afternoon in the Lux when you raped me?”

  He stared at her through eyes swollen to the size of golf balls. “You’re…NOT…Nicole West. You’re SICK. You need help.”

  “I’ve waited so long to be alone with you.”

  “NO,” Dallas said, his voice disappearing in a raspy wheeze. “Playing a…PART. You’re PLAYING A PART. Never killed nobody, raped nobody. Didn’t happen. What if you’re wrong…what if…WRONG?”

  Nicole flinched at the sound of Cassandra’s voice in her head.

  And what if?

  What if everyon
e else is right and we’re wrong?

  The old man was sobbing on the floor.

  “I want to hear you scream,” Nicole said. “And it has to sound convincing. If you wanna be in my movie Dallas, you’re going to have to scream.”

  “Diane…please…”

  Nicole pinned him to the floor. He tried to fight her off but she swatted away his feeble attempts to put his finger in her eyes. He stabbed upwards. Stabbed again and hit air. Exhaustion overwhelmed him.

  Nicole unbuckled his belt, slipping it through the loops and throwing it over her shoulder onto the L-couch. She unbuttoned his pants and wrestled them down his matchstick legs to the knees.

  She grabbed the tip of his white underwear. Pulled at it. Let go and it snapped back into place. She pulled again as if taunting him.

  “No,” he begged, covering his face with his hands. “DON’T.”

  Nicole pulled the pants down, exposing Dallas. She threw the underwear onto the couch and pointed at his private parts.

  “Doesn’t look so threatening anymore. Does it? Look at it, all shriveled up and useless like something dead washed up on a beach. And to think, all the trouble it’s caused over the years. All the lives you destroyed.”

  “LIES!”

  Nicole wiped the sweat off her forehead. She reached for her bag, rummaged around inside and fished out the Japanese kitchen knife. With a wild look in her eyes, she placed the tip of the blade against Dallas’s foreskin and ran it down the wrinkly exterior, taking it all the way to the tip of his balls and back again. The handle and blade of the knife were speckled with Klein’s blood.

  “How many others?” she said.

  Dallas made a strange whining noise. Sounded like air leaking from a car tire.

  “How many rapes?” Nicole said, her voice cracking. “How many unplanned pregnancies? Secret abortions? How many murders? How many people disappeared? I should cut your dick off and watch you bleed to death you old FUCK!”

  Her face came so close to his that they touched noses.

  “STORIES! ALL STORIES. You read it…somewhere. Remembered it. But…LIES. All lies.”

  “You raped me, you killed me.”

  “NO!”

  Nicole began to make a gentle sawing motion with the blade. The edge of the knife was only a couple of millimeters from making contact with Dallas’s penis. Back and forth she went while the old man wept.

  “Confess.”

  “DIDN’T DO IT!”

  “Confess.”

  “NO!”

  Nicole stared at the old man and it felt like hours passing in a moment. She leaned over him, hocked up a thick glob of spit and let it fall on his face.

  “I wouldn’t waste my time,” she said, pointing the knife at Dallas’s crotch. “It’s dead anyway. Just a useless flap of skin like its owner.”

  Nicole heard something. A noise. It was coming from the door. Sounded like someone attacking Dallas’s man cave with a battering ram.

  “OPEN UP!” Diane yelled. “What’s going on in there? What are you doing to him you crazy lunatic?”

  Nicole stared at the door, offended by the interruption. Cursing to herself, she pulled up Dallas’s t-shirt, exposing an overcooked, wax-like body buried under a forest of dull silver hair.

  “Scream for me.”

  He shook his head. There was defiance in the faded blue eyes.

  Nicole brought the knife down, carving letters onto his chest. Long, fat letters. The scraping sound filled the room as she went to work.

  KI…

  Dallas screamed.

  LL…

  “Stop!” Diane cried out from behind the door. “Whatever you’re doing. Stop it! I’ve called the police. They’ll be here any minute.” Nicole heard the woman thundering back downstairs. If she hadn’t raised the alarm and it was a bluff, then she was about to change that.

  Nicole stood up to admire her handiwork. She was out of breath, dizzy with hate. Blood dripped off the knife, leaving pinhead-sized marks on the floor. Dallas’s chest was a red mess but the words were clear. At least, to Ellie they were.

  KILLER

  There wasn’t enough room to carve out the details of all his crimes.

  Dallas gawped at the blood tattoo on his chest. “WHAT…?”

  Nicole fell on top of the old man. Brought the knife to his throat. “Now you’re marked for whatever time you have left.”

  “OPEN THE DOOR!” Diane yelled. She was back upstairs, wrenching the door handle. “The police are coming. Do you hear me, whoever you are? The police are coming.”

  “You know something,” Nicole said, whispering in Dallas’s ear. “You never did tell me whether I got the part or not. Did I scream enough for you? You should have heard me screaming later that night in the back of Tony Charpentier’s van.”

  Dallas shook his head. “You’re SICK. It’s all…LIES.”

  “You won’t live long after this,” Nicole said, putting her hand on his chest. She dug her fingers into the knife wounds, rubbing from side to side, then smeared his blood on her shirt. On her arms. On her face and neck as if covering herself in war paint. The blood was scalding hot. “Just remember that Nicole West came back for you. And you’ll live in shame forever because the world will know what you did. What you are.”

  Nicole flinched.

  And what if?

  What if…

  “Shut the fuck up Cassandra! I’m not Ellie. I’m not...”

  Nicole stood up, sudden exhaustion washing over her. Her legs were jelly as she picked up her bag and threw it over her shoulder. She hurried towards the door with the knife in hand. Sweat dripping, she opened the door and a screaming Diane barged past her and rushed into the room. Dallas’s little helper looked at the bloody mess on the floor and let out a hideous shriek of terror. Then she muttered something about God. Sounded like she was praying.

  “KANE!”

  She turned to the bloody figure of Nicole. Eyes bulging, lips trembling.

  “What have you done to him? He’s an old man for God’s sake – a helpless old man and look what you’ve done to him. The police are...”

  Nicole leaped at her. She shoved Diane against the wall. Hard. She put the tip of the blade to the little woman’s throat and Diane gasped in terror. From the floor, Dallas was groaning like a wounded animal.

  “What’s the code for the gate?” Nicole said. “Tell me the truth or the rest of my people will come for you. Tonight. They’ll visit your family tonight and Manson the entire household from top to bottom. You have got a family, haven’t you Diane? People you care about? Think we haven’t been watching you all this time?”

  Diane’s eyes bulged. “Your people?”

  Nicole didn’t want to have to elaborate. She had no idea if Diane would buy it but what else was she supposed to say to Kane’s little helper to get what she wanted?

  “What’s the code?”

  When Diane didn’t answer, Nicole scraped the knife off the woman’s neck, a thin slice, drawing a trickle of blood.

  “54-24-91-C.” Diane hollered. “54-24-91-C. Please don’t hurt me.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Know what happens if you’re lying to me?”

  “54-24-91-C.”

  Nicole let the woman go. She hurried down the winding staircase, loud sobs and cries of pain behind her. Down the hallway. Past all the happy-clappy photos of Clan Dallas. She pushed open the front door and walked down the driveway, wearing the blood of fifties heartthrob, Kane Dallas. It felt sticky in the sun.

  She tried to walk like a normal person. To act calm, like it was just another day.

  At the gate, Nicole could hear the dogs barking. Sounded like they knew something was wrong inside the house.

  The jackhammer was still going full pelt down the street.

  She punched Diane’s code into the exterior intercom, half-expecting it to bounce. To her surprise, the gates opened and she marched through them, down the stone walkway
and back onto Blue Jay Way.

  The sun was beating down hard. What a day, what a day to be alive. She lifted her arms to the sky.

  “You’re…too good…to be true.”

  Nicole wiped the sweat away. She hailed the Checker cab at the side of the road.

  “I’m ready.”

  And what if?

  And what if?

  And what if?

  She could hear Eric yelling at her from the driver’s seat. Saw him open the door and stagger clumsily across the road like he was drunk or high. What was his problem? He stopped dead in the middle of the street. Pointed at something in Nicole’s hand and said something – something about blood. What did you do? What did you do? He was swearing. Asking questions. Hands clasped over his head.

  His voice sounded so far away.

  Oh Jesus. What did you do? What did you do to him?

  Nicole didn’t answer. She could hear wailing sirens in the distance.

  Eric shook his head on loop. Stared at the ugly concrete fortress. Cursed a lot, backed away across the street with his hands in the air as if he was surrendering to an unseen enemy. He was still talking in that faraway voice.

  Are you an assassin? What the fuck are you?

  Now he was crying. Now he was sprinting back to his cab. He leaped inside, fired up the engine and the tires shrieked as the Checker Cab raced down the street as if Blue Jay Way was Le Mans and this was the final lap.

  Nicole was alone.

  “Eric?”

  She walked for about a hundred yards, passing a red Toyota Camry parked at the side of the road. As she passed, she glanced at the rear window and stopped dead at her reflection.

  It was Ellie Ferguson. Tall, blonde and covered in blood. No bruises, no black hair or white summer dress with ruffled hem.

  She flinched again.

  The sound of footsteps, coming closer.

  “What if everyone else is right and we’re wrong,” said a familiar voice.

  “No.”

  Cassandra Saint was walking on Blue Jay Way. Heading straight for her old friend, Ellie. Young Cassandra, fourteen-years-old, as she’d been that glorious day in 2009 when they’d given the best true crime presentation that the school and Miss Cranston and bitch tits and Asian Gollum had ever seen. Even if they didn’t know it at the time. It was young Cassandra, here in LA, except her hair was brittle and lank, her chin covered in acne, and her fingernails chewed and ragged and bleeding. No schoolbag over her shoulder, just a yellow No Frills shopping basket in hand. A mountain of candy spilled out from within the basket.