by Marc Horn
‘What façade is that, Mr Vice?’
I sigh. ‘Okay, you want me to tell you what you already know. I’ll do it, just to cooperate with your procedure. But, I’ll tell you now, the procedure’s fucking pointless.’ She studies me, looking fascinated. ‘You’re all working to save yourselves. This is a desperate attempt to keep me sweet.’
A pause. Telling. ‘You will have to elaborate,’ she says.
‘This is my world,’ I explain, holding her stare. ‘My universe. You, you, you, you and you,’ I continue, nodding at each of them, ‘are all here because I created you–’
‘So...’ Her mouth remains open slightly while she thinks. ‘You are saying that you are God?’
‘No, I created God.’
Even after all they’ve heard over the years, all that shite, this still leaves them dumbfounded for a second or two. The two officers glance at each other and adjust their stances.
‘Why would you do that?’ she asks. ‘Why bother to do that? If you are the creator, then why not take the credit for it?’
‘He was designed to distract me. It didn’t work – I’m not religious.’
‘I don’t understand. To distract you from what?’
‘From the truth, love. The truth,’ I repeat, louder. ‘My people tried to sell it to me, but I didn’t fall for it.’
‘So the people you created do not respond as you would like?’
I laugh. ‘Yeah, you could say that. They think they can control me.’
‘You think I’m trying to control you?’
‘I know you are. You’re gonna keep me here, where I can’t find my answers, and shovel drugs down my gob to fry my mind. But all it’s gonna do is diminish my control further. That means you’ll all disappear!’
‘Mr Vice, we are here to help you. We want you to regain a full, healthy state of wellbeing.’
‘Yeah, I know you do. Like I said, keep me fucking sweet.’
‘You know we can’t release you until we are certain you present no further risk to people?’
‘I know what your job is, love. Hey, I could make a date, now. You still up for it? As soon as I get out of here, I promise I won’t stand you up!’ She turns red, even looks a little sad. ‘Don’t feel bad,’ I continue. ‘I nick people, that’s what I do. It means I can’t have a social life. That’s why I couldn’t make it both times. Believe me, I wanted it.’
‘Mr Vice,’ she begins, professional and confident, ‘what did you hope to achieve by threatening Mr Smoughton’s life?’
‘A confession.’
‘That... you are the creator? You seem very certain of this idea. Why would you need him to confirm it?’
‘Because it’s a big thing. I know it’s true, but you fuckers are all so sly, constantly fucking with my head, trying to prove me wrong, that I want to force it out of you − get admissions, prove that I’m not crazy.’
‘So... you accept that you have doubts?’
I close my eyes. ‘No, I have no doubts.’
‘But you took dramatic action just to confirm your idea.’
‘You’re all so afraid of dying, that I brought you closer to it. People respond when faced with fear.’
‘Did Mr Smoughton tell you what you wanted to hear?’
I swallow. ‘No, he didn’t.’
‘Has that enhanced your doubt?’
‘No.’
She looks at the social worker and then back at me. ‘Mr Vice, you were a police officer, a celebrated one. Your job was to make people feel safe. Your behaviour, however, has deteriorated to such a degree that now you have become a danger to these people. We want to make you better.’
‘How you gonna do that?’
‘With therapy... and medication.’ She breaks my stare. Deceitfulness... Drugs. That’s what these fuckers are going to do to me. They’re gonna drug me up so much that I can’t function. Veer me away from the solution.
‘No one comes out of here fixed. I’ve seen fifteen years of this shit. When you let ’em out, they’re mindless cabbages, wandering around in a daze. They’d make good crash test dummies, they’d be good for research, nothing more and you know it.’
‘That’s rubbish, Mr Vice, and extremely negative. That attitude will hinder your recovery. If you won’t cooperate with us, then you will make life difficult for everyone.’ A sternness has washed over her soft features. She may be cute, but she’s resilient too. ‘Don’t you want to feel better? As a police officer, you’re admired and respected by many people. Do you want to lose that image? Do you want to be remembered as a psychopath who could turn on anyone?’
‘I just want answers, love. You wouldn’t be happy living with all this confusion.’
‘What are the questions?’ Her breath smells of mint.
‘Would you buy a mushroom lolly?’
‘No, I wouldn’t, but someone would. We all have different tastes.’
‘When a plane cuts though a cloud, does it erase it like a rubber?’
She scratches her dark brown, collar-length hair. It’s straight, tidy, very clean. ‘No it doesn’t.’
‘You see fifteen cars stopped at a traffic light. Not one of them has their car stereo on. How likely is that?’
‘It’s possible,’ she replies. Her answer’s fast. She heard about this. From Golf Ball Face.
‘Two foreigners – speak shite English, yet they persist in trying to use it in conversation with each other. You can see the frustration on their faces, but they don’t revert to their native tongue–’
‘You don’t speak a foreign language, do you Mr Vice?’
I raise my eyeballs. Course she’ll dismiss each point. I could throw a hundred at her, and she’ll remain cynically resolute. She’s ready for me. I was always coming here. ‘Two people you’ve known for years. Suddenly, they look and sound like the other one. A role reversal. What’s all that about?’
‘They haven’t changed their appearances by choice?’
I groan. ‘No, they haven’t, thanks.’
‘And just you can see the change?’
‘So they’d have me believe.’
‘Then I would say you have mental issues and you need our help.’
‘Yeah, course you would.’
‘Mr Vice,’ she continues, ‘I would like to return to the idea that you raised – that you created everything.’
‘Okay.’
‘Do you have other powers, other than the power of creation?’
She’s treating me like an idiot. This is what they do here. They’re trained to keep a straight face and an empathetic approach, but it’s all to draw out what the subject really thinks and what he’s capable of. I’ve got nothing to hide. They know what I believe. ‘I know when I’m in danger.’
‘And…what about the people you created. Can you destroy them?’
‘I suppose I do every day. Ever been to a funeral?’
She nods slowly. ‘What I mean is, do you have the ability to end a life at will?’
‘Everyone has that ability.’
‘I’m not referring to a physical murder. You know what I’m talking about, Mr Vice.’
‘I can’t control anything,’ I say.
‘So you cannot influence the world around you?’
‘Not at will. But I can’t maintain everything. That’s why Vicky’s switching with Naomi, two different people from different countries look the same, foreigners are speaking wanky English... Shall I go on?’
‘Don’t you find it strange, then, that someone with such immense power cannot control it? Cannot even do anything a normal person cannot?’
I sniff. She’s dismissing what I’ve done. She just wants to know about magic. ‘You expect me to be a superhero?’
‘I would expect someone who claims to have done what you have done, to be able to do things at will that other people cannot.’
‘Once I learn why this is happening to me, and where it’s supposed to take me, then you’ll probably see the miracles you crav
e.’
‘You’re delusional, Mr Vice, that’s what this comes down to. You’re a strong character who has entertained an extraordinary, but ridiculous idea. It has taken over your life and transformed you into a threat. We will work with you to reverse this damage.’
‘And what d’you get out of this? I mean, you’ll get some serious brownie points if you make me sweet, won’t you?’
‘Do you feel any urges to harm anyone in here, in this building, Mr Vice?’
‘No. I know what I’m doing, whatever you think.’
‘Mr Vice, we are going to consult privately for a few minutes.’
And then, all three leave. I can hear the hums of their voices outside the room. Fuck, I’m in trouble here. The drugs will eat away at my brain until I’m a fucking zombie. I can’t let that happen.
30
There are four coppers around when they nervously remove the handcuffs. They watch me intently, ready to dive in if I attack. I smile at the nurses and security guards behind them. They must think I’m beyond help. Just over a fortnight ago, I was the cop decent people wanted around. Now I’m a liability.
I do nothing. Course I do nothing. I can perfectly well control what I do. It’s everyone else that’s going to pot.
The cops linger in the background when I enter the ‘meeting room’. It’s like a mini hall with chairs around the perimeter. Four or five nutcases are sitting down, scattered around the hall. A couple of zoomers are wandering around. They acknowledge me. One of them resumes shuffling along in wavy lines. The other one, tall, lean, white, with sunken blue eyes, patchy, wiry black hair and pasty skin walks up to me.
‘Police,’ he spits. ‘Oink oink.’ Anger in his eyes.
‘Still playing with fire?’ I ask, observing the scarred patches on his scalp where hair had once been.
‘Oink oink,’ he responds.
‘What’s it like in here? I’ve moved in. What’s there to do?’
He stares at me. His lip hangs as if it’s weighed down. Froth bubbles at the corners of his mouth. I’ve seen that same mouth somewhere before. Some person I dealt with had exactly the same gob. A couple of the patients are watching. One of them, an elderly black lady in the far corner has her eyes fixed on me. The zoomer thrusts forward both hands, aiming at my neck. I lean back, lift my right knee to waist height, flick out my foot and strike his stomach hard with the sole of my plimsoll. He flies back and lands on his arse, sliding along the wooden floor, coming to a stop several metres from me. I turn and face the incoming nurses and cops. They see my eyes, my stance, and stop.
‘He tried to choke me. I defended myself,’ I shout. ‘You saw what happened. I’m not a pussy!’
‘We know!’ one of the cops shouts. ‘We saw it! He attacked you. It was self-defence, we saw it. Just chill out, Razors!’
‘Okay, okay,’ the skinny, Asian nurse says. His hands are raised as if he’s going to push something. ‘Just calm down, Razors, we just want to check on Frank.’
I move back towards the side of the hall. ‘Go ahead, I’m no threat to you guys.’
The nurses dash past me, arcing around me cautiously. ‘He’s winded!’ one of them shouts as they sit him up. ‘Relax, Frank, relax. You’ve been winded, that’s all.’
I put Frank in here, about eighteen months ago. The son of a bitch used to light matches and then start fires with aerosol cans. He set alight an old people’s home. I had to break in and wheel the bedded residents out the fire exit. Because of me, not one of them died. I was hospitalised though for smoke inhalation. When I found Frank, I sprayed some fire on his hair.
‘Relax!’
I hear him wheezing. He watches me with fear. Good. That’s how I want it. These crazy fuckers should know to leave me alone.
‘Razors, please leave the meeting room! Phil, show him to his room.’
Another Asian nurse − Phil apparently − beckons for me to follow him. I walk around Frank and the nurses with him and as I pass the black woman at the end of the room she looks directly into my eyes, nodding, ever so slowly nodding.
*****
I don’t swallow their tablets. Look at Frank, for instance. He was mad before he came here, oh yes, but he could string together a sentence. Earlier, he could barely speak. He’s a fucking zombie. No way they’re destroying me like that. I slide them beneath my tongue. They wait till I’ve swallowed the cup of water and then ask me to lift my tongue. I do so, but just before I open my mouth I flick the tablets to the roof of my mouth with my tongue and hold them there. It fools them. I have to appear more mellow afterwards though to convince them that the medication’s taking effect.
*****
The next morning I see the doctor again. I’m permitted to sit on my bed while she and two nurses sit opposite.
‘Have you read the newspaper today, Razors?’
‘I thought I was locked in.’
‘We are keeping you in here for a short time, but that does not mean you have no access to reading material or television. We want you to rejoin society as soon as possible. Keeping yourself informed will help you. We supply newspapers and television. You’ll find them in the meeting room.’
She hands me The Mirror. ‘I read The Sun,’ I say.
‘I’m afraid we don’t have that. Have a look at the front page.’ Her sparkling, brown eyes gaze at the page. It’s about me. The headline is ‘Top cop loses mind’.
I look at her. ‘I’m in the papers more than Rhianna. How come I’m not a millionaire?’
She disregards this. ‘Please, read the article.’
I read the print.
‘PC Vice, known for his countless acts of heroism and bravery, was sectioned yesterday. The officer, nicknamed Razors, had been suspended from police duties for over two weeks following bizarre and threatening behaviour. Yesterday, during a personal tour of GiggleGang factory, a manufacturer of ice lollies, he threatened to throw the guide from a third-storey window. Police intervened, restrained Razors with a taser gun, and then took him to the psychiatric ward at Charing Cross hospital as he presented a danger to the public.
‘The reasons for Razor’s behaviour are unknown at this time, but a few hours after the incident, the commissioner of the Metropolitan Police released this statement:
“It is with deep regret that I confirm that PC Vice, an officer stationed at Hammersmith within the Metropolitan Police, was today sectioned and detained under the Mental Health Act 1983. PC Vice has been an excellent officer with scores of commendations, and is well known throughout the media for his high-profile arrests, but recently it came to the attention of his supervisors that he has been suffering from mental health issues. This led to the officer being suspended from duties on the 30th of August of this year while he was under investigation. Earlier today an incident occurred at a factory where a male was threatened by PC Vice. Officers dealt with the situation and PC Vice was taken to Charing Cross hospital. I do not in any way condone his behaviour, and my sincere apologies go to the victim, who we believe was randomly picked by PC Vice. I am, however, aware that PC Vice’s mental decline influenced his actions, and I wish him a full and prompt recovery. The victim is being treated for shock, and I am pleased to say that there are no other injuries.”
‘Razors, most famous for shooting dead Arthur Kilbride, the child murderer, in self defence just a few weeks ago, is widely respected as a highly motivated, committed police officer who pursues criminals with ruthless efficiency. Sources have revealed that his behaviour deteriorated shortly after the above case, which is still under investigation. He has had sessions with occupational health and had been given leave to recuperate.’
I lower the paper onto my lap. ‘Front page news,’ I say.
‘Yes. How does it make you feel?’
‘Informed,’ I smile.
‘Are you embarrassed? It does not reflect well on you.’
‘I don’t get embarrassed, love. People get embarrassed by their own actions. I never regret my actions.’
/>
‘Then you would go out and do what you did again?’
‘Nah, I’m not gonna get anything out of Lolly.’
‘Lolly?’
‘The bloke at the factory. D’you wanna to hear something interesting? When I held him from that window, he shit himself. Yet when I threw him back into the building, he had a hard on. Why is that?’
‘I don’t know. Let’s not concern ourselves with that. What you need to do, is understand that your behaviour is unacceptable. If you do not, you will not be released, it’s as simple as that. And you will not be allowed to have visitors. There have been two already. One of them has said that she must speak with you urgently.’
‘Cassandra–’
‘Yes, that’s her name. At the moment we believe you might harm her, so we cannot allow you to see her. If we see an improvement, then we will reassess the situation.’
‘Did she leave me a message?’
‘Just this.’ She hands me some newspaper articles, dating back to the eighties. The first one I read says – ‘Sick’. That’s it, just that word as the front page headline. Beneath it is an article about a murder of a young boy. A note had been left beside the dead body, a note which read – ‘I watched him die, till the blood ran dry’.
31
This is a mesmerising distraction. I want to talk to her. I still know what her intention is, but this plot’s got me hooked. Part of me feels it’s important. Part of me feels it could take me somewhere I want to go.
I behave. I cause no problems, helped by the cooperation of the other patients, who do not bother me after hearing what I did to Frank. The black lady still acts strange around me. She watches me whenever I’m near, nodding, always nodding, so very slowly. A couple of times I felt like sitting next to her and asking what her problem was, but both times I reminded myself that she was nuts, and all I’d get from her would be mindless drivel. After two days, my situation is ‘reassessed’ and it’s decided that I can see Cassandra, who has been begging them to let her see me daily.