Psycho Candy

by Steven Hunter

  "Candy. You have a visitor. She's waiting for you in the lounge," Belinda's fake cheer, the routine of a barely hidden façade, sickened Candy.

  She had been seeing too many of those smiles lately.

  "Is it my parents?" Candy found she could barely whisper.

  Her blood was thick with the drug, and it had taken away any recognisable trace of the person she used to be, "I don’t want to see them. Not like this. Not anymore."

  "It’s a girl. She says her name if Faith. I can ask her to leave if you like?"

  Candy slowly lifted her head. "Does she have green eyes?"

  "Yes. Very striking green eyes," Belinda replied.

  Candy placed her hands on the bedside unit to help her to stand. Her forearms were littered with cuts, two of which were fresh.

  "Candy. Have you been cutting yourself? My God, we’ll have to have that looked at, get it cleaned up. How in the devil did you get the tools to do such a thing?" Belinda asked, dismayed.

  "I can get whatever I want you fucking whore. I’m a fucking magician. Now I’m going to see my friend. So fuck off."

  "There’s no need to be rude, Candy. You know what happens when you’re hostile. And I don’t think you want that."

  "I’ll kill you all you fucking bitch. I’ll burn you to the fucking ground."

  "Your last warning, Candy!"

  "Ditto. Now where the hell is she?"

  Candy, struggling to stand, followed Belinda out into the corridor of the ward and over to the lounge, where sat Faith, the green eyed girl.

  Candy, overcome with emotion, wept openly at the sight of the beautiful woman who had given her the feelings of forgiveness so long ago. There was no awkwardness between them as they embraced and Candy felt a vitality flow throughout her veins as she held on tightly to the green eyed girl. Salvation had arrived.

  "I never thought I’d see you again." said Candy with tears in her eyes.

  "What the hell did they do to you?"

  "Medication. Why do I feel better all of a sudden?"

  “I'm passing renewing energy into you. You should be back to normal in a moment.”

  Belinda, who had been hovering, listening, caught a glimpse of malice from this green eyed stranger who had just arrived and the nurse beat a hasty retreat.

  “Candy, I am sorry for what's happened to you. But I'm here to make it right, okay...”

  "...Listen , there is so much you don’t know. So much I don’t know. Brekin, a patient in here spoke of a group. But you... I saw you at Beano’s. But where else do I know you from. . .?"

  Then it all came back.

  The night, two weeks previous to Rich and Sarah’s death. Her drug fuelled meeting with this girl who had given her the pill and told her – this will make you see the truth.

  "No. It can’t be? It can’t be you?" Candy stammered as her body visibly shook.

  She felt faint and the green eyed girl grabbed her to support her sagging body, however Candy threw her off. "Do you know what you’ve done, you bitch? Do you know what I’ve done?"

  Faith suddenly grabbed Candy, much like Jack had done at the start of Candy’s killing spree back in the covenant and Candy saw it all in flashes; Wild John the Native American, Marcus Garvey the soon to be wolf and Faith’s own mothers, one the woman in the bar, the other dead.

  And Candy saw her part, yet she wanted no part of it.

  "You see? Do you see, Candy? I had to. For my mother."

  Candy pushed roughly against the green eyed girl, sending her into the visitor’s chair.

  Tears streamed down her face. "A doctor. I was meant to be a doctor. Not a fucking saviour for some fucked up... what are you? Empathic freak? Did you really have to involve me?"

  "They chose you Candy. John could see it. It was only a matter of time. You’re like the rest. You take a drug, you don’t realize what you’re playing with. You're one of the unlucky one's Candy. Your first pill. You thought you had a religious experience. Well you did. Only the God you came in contact with just happened to be Xcetral. I only let you see what could see you, and if you don’t believe me then I don’t know what else I can say."

  "How about sorry?"

  "What; for saving your life? My mother, the one who’s still alive has been writing about you. We all know about you Candy. She started this. You’ll see. One day. I promise."

  "Just go. Just fuck off and die, Faith. Unless you want to win me back a part of my soul in which case hang around another minute. I’ll snap your neck like a fucking cookie.’

  Belinda who had been hovering chose this moment to attempt to re-enter the discussion. "I think that’s enough for one day. Candy is tired."

  "No listen, Candy..."

  For once Candy was glad of Belinda. It was all too much.

  This beautiful kind forgiving woman had sent her pretty much to hell, and Candy could not bear the sight of her.

  "Just go Faith. Go and fuck yourself."

  It was only some time later that she came to revise her opinions.

  It was later that day that Candy sat with Brekin over one of their many lunches together. It was spaghetti and Candy watched as the giant deadlocked man manoeuvred the stringy pasta around his fork and into his mouth.

  "Why the dreadlocks, Brekin? I keep meaning to ask."

  "You mean apart from being Black?"

  Candy at once felt herself blush. She had intended no stereotype.

  However she caught a thought from him; joking girl, and felt better.

  "Jah only lets you into his religion if you haf dreads."

  "You’re a Rasta?"

  "No shit, sweet bread. You’re a quick study. Only been here several months and already you haf me figured out."

  Candy was used to this teasing. However she wasn’t prepared for what Brekin said next.

  "You’re a foolish girl. She came to get you out. Now they won’t let her in. So now It’s up to me."

  "She what?"

  "She had a gun in her bag. She feel sorry for what happen to you. Her mother died because of the evil goat in the goat's world."

  "It still won’t bring back my friends."

  "Neither it will, still. But then all she gave you was LSD. You took any other of your drugs then you still would be here. She just tried to help the inevitable. She’s a lovely girl. Now it’s gonna take God knows how long. But of course you know why she didn’t succeed?"

  "No. Why?"

  "It wasn’t time. What did you see?"

  "I saw a wolf."

  "That’s the future. What else did you see?"

  "I saw her mother... "

  "Mmhm. Tragic. That the past. The other riders didn’t know she was coming here. Don’t worry, Candy. All be fine in Babylon in de end."

  "How do you know all that?" Candy asked earnestly.

  "Same way I know a woman cum. Experience."

  For the second time during that conversation Candy blushed.

  "No, seriously how do you know about Faith and the acid and everything?"

  "You believe they kept her waiting twenty minutes before they let her see you. She wanted to smoke so they let her use the smoking room at her own peril. Only, Brekin was deh. We got to talking; on the inside, and she told me everything. But Brekin gonna help you. You got someone bringing you stuff in. Not yet. Maybe a year from now, maybe less Brekin think of a way. And Brekin he want in. Hawk face a part of dese boundless whans,” Candy frowned as the Rasta divulged back into the tone of his native slang speak, worried that the rest of the conversation would be near incomprehensible to her Americanised mind, and was glad that her pleas for him to speak fucking American had not gone completely unheard,

  ”We all got our grudges. I'm a part of this now. But when I get you out you better return the fucking favour girl, because Brekin ain't sitting in this fucking place for the rest of his mother fucking life; you better believe that."

  ONE MONTH LATER

  Candy was out walking in the hospital grounds.

  It
was a privilege she had been granted, courtesy of Wanda.

  The suggestion that Candy would benefit from more time alone, in calmer surroundings, had come after the staff psychologist's previous meeting with the serial killer. Candy had been over sedated with Thorazine, and Wanda had suggested this as an alternative, for which Candy had been grateful. She had spoken to Wanda about Belinda's dislike of her and Wanda had agreed to oversee Candy's general care.

  For Wanda, the thought of moving the body from its place in the garden; where it lay beneath a thick layer of concrete, had been too much for her to bear. So she had pretty much succumbed to her life as Candy’s go-to-girl. She had told Candy as much during one of their sessions, and had finally broken down. It had then been Candy's turn to act as councillor.

  She had explained to Wanda that she had had no choice but to use every advantage at her disposal, as not a single person had believed her story or even considered it's possibility; and despite the hold Candy had on Wanda, the psychologist had noticed that Candy had ceased to make threats when placing her requests for drugs or their necessary components.

  When Candy had asked for rolling papers and a packet of gauze mesh to fit both her hash and crack pipes, she did so with a politeness which Wanda found at first unnerving. It was only when purchasing said items that the psychologist realised that her characteristically aggressive patient was trying to be kind.

  However if one thing could be said about Wanda, it was that she was good at what she did; and she understood that there was probably motive for Candy's apparent change of behaviour.

  Perhaps, she had mused, Candy had become worried that if pushed too hard, her drug mule would crack under the pressure, that she would perhaps even call her bluff; although she was equally as sure Candy would play that card if necessary.

  As for Candy's situation, it was only Wanda who knew the truth of the matter. Candy had discussed it with Wanda on an ongoing basis during their therapy sessions and Wanda found herself taking an interest in Candy's story, which disturbed, intrigued and terrified her in equal measure.

  At the beginning of each new session, Wanda would hand Candy enough narcotics to get her through the days until their next meeting.

  Wanda herself had developed an ever growing habit on heroin, and, like her patient, Wanda would sit during the sessions with glazed eyes, listening to Candy recount her various experiences - from meeting Jack and taking 'the walk', to gaining her gift of empathy, and so on.

  And during these times she would be glad for the anaesthetised state the drug provided; finding within its cocoon of numbness a certain safety from a reality she would never have dreamt possible.

  However this meant that along with Candy's habit she also had her own to feed.

  She still had over sixty thousand dollars left from the life insurance policy she had taken out on her husband three days after they had married. This along with the wage she got from her job at the institution meant that there was no immediate need to worry, and her daily fixes certainly helped her maintain this view.

  Five days after killing her husband, Wanda had made a sweaty phone call to the local police department to report her husband missing. She had given a full description.

  The following day at work she received a phone call from one of the detectives at the police station.

  She had nervously handled the phone, expecting, as she had been ever since pulling the trigger, to be arrested and questioned as a murder suspect.

  Therefore, when the detective asked her to come in and identify a body that had been found covered in third degree burns in unusual circumstances, she had burst out in hysterical laughter. Moments afterwards, she had apologised to the detective who reassured her that laughter was a natural initial reaction to tragedy.

  She knew of course this was correct.

  It was akin to the 'flight into madness' Manic depressives were apt to take as a natural defence against depression. She had learned all about it in her second year of university.

  After the call with the detective had ended, she had hung up the telephone and tried to stop her hand from shaking by taking a series of deep breaths. It occurred to her she was having a panic attack. After it showing no signs of abating she had used her key to enter the hospital pharmacy.

  The pharmacist on duty knew her well and barely looked up from his paper work, giving a slight wave of his left hand. She had returned the gesture with a slight nod, however the pharmacist, a skinny man she knew as Carl, had gone back to the bundle of pages on his desk.

  Unnoticed, she had gone to the medicine cupboard and had swiped a small plastic tub, containing one hundred, 10 milligram, diazepam tablet. She had then made her way back to her office and locked the door, with the intention of taking a couple of the pills.

  She prescribed them to her patients on a daily basis, for symptoms of anxiety and knew this would give her the calming effect she desired.

  Opening the cap took a surprising amount of concentration, and she administered the pills into her left palm with as much care as her shaking hands would allow.

  From here she took two of the pills and as gently as possible shook the remainder back into the tub. A few had fallen onto the thick grey carpet and rolled beneath her desk. Taking a deep breath, she had noted their resting place beneath her desk, promising herself that she would attend to them later.

  If there was a later.

  Part of her still believed that she was being lured into the station, that the police knew all about the murder, and they would arrest her as soon as she set foot inside the building.

  Of course, she knew rationally that this was preposterous.

  The police did not work that way, and she knew that had they suspected anything she would have been in their custody now.

  It also occurred to her that the police would be expecting an anxiety ridden mess. She was supposed to be identifying the corpse of the man she loved.

  The drug would make her feel like she had not a care in the world. If she wanted to convince them that she was really upset about the bastards' death, then nervousness and anxiety would be expected, not suspected.

  Yet the lingering thought that she was being set up had not left her.

  She made up her mind. She would not swallow the Valium. Not yet at any rate.

  Instead, she had decided to carry it in her purse. That way if it did turn out to be a trap, she would find a way to ingest the entire tub, hopefully unnoticed, and it would all be over. There had been one thing that was for sure. She was not going to spend her life in prison for that bastard.

  All in all she had imagined it a painless way to go.

  Feel good for a while, before falling into everlasting sleep.

  She had explained briefly to the duty doctor about her missing husband and her call from the detective, and he had smiled sympathetically, promising to pass on the reason for her absence to the professor. He had stood for a moment, face turned to the ground, thinking of something else appropriate to say to Wanda. When he had looked back up, Wanda was gone.

  The man had been relieved.

  Arriving at the station she had waited only a moment at reception before the detective she had spoken to on the phone arrived. There had been nothing eye catching about him, nothing out of the ordinary and had she seen him anywhere else; in a bar, on a bus, hell even on television he would have been instantly forgettable.

  However, she had never forgotten his face.

  From his eyes, a light brown, all the way down to the small patch of stubble he had missed whilst shaving that morning, she could still recall every detail.

  He had led her by the arm, very gently as she recalled, through a labyrinth of tunnels which tapered downwards in a slight but steady decline. The detective had explained the reason for their descent. The temporary resting place of the deceased was directly beneath the precinct.

  She had wanted then to laugh out loud.

  Temporary resting place of the deceased! Ha!

  Ins
tead she had looked away from the detectives soft gaze.

  Had loosened his grip on her arm and gripped his instead. Allowed him to feel the unsteadiness of her hand. Turned her face from him as much as she could. Willed him to believe that the convulsions which passed throughout her body were brought about by a person racked by grief; a woman trying to repress the sadness brought about by fear of loss.

  Not a woman trying desperately to suppress laughter.

  She had done enough of that already, and initial reactions were one thing; but she was on her way now to see a corpse that they suspected may be her husband. Her dead husband.

  Laughter at this point would be unnatural.

  Thankfully the detective had patted her shoulder gently. Her head was pressed against the smooth exterior of his suit jacket. She remembered smelling a mixture of cigarettes and cologne.

  They stopped at the end of a very steep corridor.

  It ran downwards from the top to bottom, where sat a set of metal doors. At the side of the door was a keypad with nine buttons running from right to left, top to bottom.

  By this point all trace of amusement had departed from her and anxiety and fear had once again set in.

  The detective gave her a questioning look which said 'Ready?'

  Wanda had nodded and the detective had typed in a series of numbers on the keypad, too quickly for Wanda to follow, even if she had wanted to. It struck her then that he must enter this room often and wondered how many times he had used the phrase 'temporary resting place, although this time the thought had served as a distraction from what lay ahead.

  Wanda had glanced around her.

  The room consisted of wall to wall metallic cabinets.

  Each cabinet had five rows, starting from the top down. And each row had six metal square doors. Behind each of which was a drawer. A temporary resting place for the dead.

  She had read once in a magazine, some time ago, that Japanese businessmen liked to holiday in containers similar in size to these. There was an entire hotel made up of the things; capsules they were called. Lying on their backs, guests had the choice of either sleeping in these tiny compartments or watching tiny television screens whilst they rested on a comfortable mattress. With startling clarity she remembered how the pictures in the magazine had looked eerily like the tiered rows of 'capsules' in front of her.