Three more times he tuned to different frequencies, each time finding similar, meaninglessly random sounds. I looked at him. I was losing my patience but he continued grinning.
“Ok, ok man. Now watch this.”
He put the radio down, leaving it on one of the frequencies. He picked up one of the other radios and began tuning that.
“Different frequency.”
One by one he tuned each radio to each of the frequencies with the random noises. As he did so, they began to complement each other, forming complete words. I strained to make out what they were saying. He tuned the fifth and final one, then set it down. With all the frequencies being played at once, a repeating message could be heard clearly:
Jump and fly. Jump and fly. Magic pieces. Flip, jump, and fly magically. Elegant seconds when you kick out. Geared speeds when you lean forward. Jump and fly. Jump to fly. One with you. Fly. Jump. Magic. The wheels are yours.
I listened to it a couple of times.
“What does it mean?”
“No idea, man. Ain’t it freaky though?”
I pulled out a notepad and pen. Balancing the pad on my knee I wrote down the message.
“What did Josie say about this?”
“Josie? She loved this, man. Said it was just what she was looking for. Asked me where I found out about it.”
“Where did you find out about it?”
“Oh, man, can’t tell you.”
“You told Josie though, didn’t you.”
“She already knew about most of that stuff. More than me anyway.”
“If you’re worried about me revealing your ‘secrets’ then don’t. All I want to know is what happened with Josie before she died. Do you want to help me or not?”
“Yeah, I wanna help you. You’re alright. But some things I just can’t tell you, man. I told you what me and Josie talked about, showed you this—that’s enough.”
“No. It’s not enough. Where do I go from here? All I know is she was interested in this radio stuff, and in your art for some reason. I need a name, someone who can tell me what Josie was trying to find out from all of this.”
“I told you. She was interested in why I was successful. She’s not the first girl who came on to me like that.”
“Came on to you?”
“No offence, man.”
“What a fucking egotist you are. Josie was looking for something—the root of these messages probably. Or this ‘delete-man’ you mentioned. What’s that?”
“Don’t lose your head, man. I was beginning to like you.”
“I don’t give a shit if you fall in love with me. All I want is to know what you’re not telling me.”
“Whatever. We’re done here. I got things to do.”
He knelt to pick up the radios. I grabbed him by the shirt. He pushed my arm away.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Tell me!”
“Get lost!”
He threw a punch which half-caught me on the shoulder. I threw one back that connected with his side. He backed away, then jumped at me, grabbing me in a headlock. We tumbled around for a while, each straining to get the upper the hand. I quickly realised he was tougher than he looked. I wasn’t going to force it out of him.
“Alright!” I shouted. “I’m done!”
He released his arm lock, and I took my arm away from his throat.
“You’re crazy, you know that?” he said, leaning over and panting. He offered me his hand, and I let him help me up.
“I just really need to know what you’re not telling me.”
I helped him pick up the radios, and we walked back to the roof entrance.
“Some things you’re better off not getting involved in, you know,” he said, as we walked.
“Maybe.”
As we drew close to the entrance, I suddenly sprinted ahead, passing through the door and closing it behind me. I snapped the padlock shut just as he thumped into the door on the other side.
“What the fuck?! Open the door man!”
I leant against the wall.
“Come on, man! This ain’t funny. We both know you’re not gonna leave me out here.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because soon as I do get out you wouldn’t last ten seconds.”
“Where do I live?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll fucking find you.”
“What’s my name?”
“Fucking arsehole, that’s your name.”
“Hahaha.”
He thumped and kicked at the door.
“I’m going to leave now,” I said, “but if you tell me what I want to know, then I’ll mention you’re up here to someone before I leave.”
“Fuck you.”
“Ok, I’ll drop by tomorrow morning to see how you’re doing perhaps. Maybe you can catch a pigeon for dinner.”
“Fuck you! Don’t you dare go anywhere, man! I swear I’ll kill you!”
He kicked and thumped at the door even harder, swearing and screaming.
“Ok! Ok! I’ll tell you, man! Fuck! You there?”
“I was just leaving.”
“Wait, I’ll tell you.”
“Go on.”
“What do you want to know, arsehole?”
“What’s this delete-man?”
“It’s a symbol.”
“What kind of symbol?”
“It’s supposed to have some kind of power, some sort of effect that nobody knows about.”
“I don’t understand.”
“That’s what it is.”
“What does it look like?”
“It’s…well…a kind of stick man, but…no, more like a crucifix, with a…”
“You don’t know, do you?”
“Fuck you. Of course I know. It’s…like a crucifix, but with a diagonal line through it, squiggly line… or another cross over it. Or it can be a, man-thing, sort of.”
“Doesn’t sound like a very powerful symbol.”
“That’s what it is, now let me out.”
“Ok forget the delete-man. Who told you about the radio signals?”
“This is ridiculous! I’m a fucking famous artist! Do you really think you’re gonna get away with this shit? Fuck. You’re a criminal man.”
“Go on, tell me who.”
There was a long pause. During which I took out my notepad. I tore off the top sheet, the one with the message on it, and put it in my pocket.
“Claude Packard.”
“Where can I find him?”
The pause this time even longer. I could hear Sewerbird quietly cursing to himself as he evaluated the situation.
“Don’t tell anyone I told you any of this.”
“Why would I?”
“There’s a design bureau called Mixed Sources. He works there.”
“All of this seems very tame. Why were you so afraid to tell me about it?”
“You don’t understand. Even I don’t understand it. But the delete-man is supposed to be some really heavy shit. Only a few people know about it. Nobody knows where it came from, but any time it comes up, it’s always linked with some pretty messed-up stuff, man.”
“What stuff?”
“Demons and stuff. They say even if you just draw it, you summon some powerful shit. Like, powers, man. Powers that could tear the world apart.”
It was my turn to pause. I wondered if he was playing with me. It took me a few seconds to realise he wasn’t joking.
“Hahahaha! What?! Are you serious? Is that what you were so worried about telling me? The most pathetic, childish conspiracy ghost story I’ve ever heard?”
“You’re the one who wanted to hear it. There it is, man. You’d better believe it though. For your own sake.”
“If it’s so scary, why were you gonna build big delete-men everywhere as your art?”
“I just said that to Josie. Just trying to impress her.”
I leant against the wall, chewing it over.
“You gonna le
t me out now or what?”
I knelt down and slid the notepad and my pencil under the door.
“There you go. I hope you know how to make paper aeroplanes.”
Chapter 5
Neither Vicky nor Monika was home when I arrived. There was a note on the TV, and eight missed calls on the phone, as well as a message. The note was written in tall, loopy, elegant-but-rushed handwriting. It read:
Joseph, where the hell are you????
Going to my place B
Bringing Vicky with me.
Call me ASAP!!!!
X
The missed calls were from Monika too, as well as the message on the answering machine. I hit the button to call her back, and she obviously saw my number, because she answered the phone almost mid-sentence.
“…eight…no, eight-thirty, Joseph! Christ, what the hell were you doing? Did you forget about Vicky or something? Or were you just expecting me to take care of her all night? I’m serious, I actually thought you had run off and left me with her. I’ve been panicking all day.”
“I’m sorry. I lost track of time. What’s that noise? Music? Where are you?”
“I’m at home with friends—waiting for you to come pick Vicky up so we can go out.”
“You’re boozing it up with Vicky there?”
There was a menacing pause before Monika spoke again.
“I swear, Joseph. If you was in front of me I’d rip your other arm off. You’ve got no right to—”
“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sure you took great care of her. I just got held up.”
“Whatever. How soon can you get here?”
“Twenty minutes, max.”
Monika let out a long, tired sigh.
“Ok. Get here fast, Joseph.”
I put the phone down and left the house, jogging to the tube station. I got lucky with the trains and found myself on an almost empty carriage heading towards Monika’s place.
The stops seemed to take forever, and the spaces in between dragged on. I picked up a newspaper lying a few seats down and browsed it.
After skimming the football news I flicked my way to the front of the paper. It was one of those free papers; the kind with day-late news and not enough space to properly write about any one thing. One headline in particular caught my eye:
WIFE SENTENCED FOR MURDERING HUSBAND
Judith Klepick, 29, was sentenced to life in prison for the murder of her husband last Friday. Gary Klepick, 38, died of suffocation in October under highly suspicious circumstances. Early reports by the police believed it to be suicide.
Mrs. Klepick’s sentence came despite her plea of temporary insanity. She told the court she had no recollection of killing her husband, or of the days surrounding his death. She claimed to suffer from severe, prolonged blackouts during which she was neither aware nor in control of her actions. However, the court dismissed her plea as ‘a desperate attempt’ when later information revealed she had conspired to run away with a lover, with whom she was alleged to have had an affair.
The story struck me. It seemed to glow off the page. Perhaps illogically, it felt in a way like some sort of proof; of the possibility that at least my suspicions were justified. A murder which had at first seemed like suicide—it was almost the same. And yet in that case it had eventually been revealed that there was more to it. The lack of information frustrated me, and I made a mental note to read more about the story when I had the chance.
As I leafed through the rest of the newspaper, I got the notion that strange things were happening all around London. I noticed a story about a used ambulance being used to abduct people and pump them full of psychotropic drugs. Another story mentioned a drugs ring that had been using unmapped, underground tunnels built during WWII to avoid detection. One article mentioned an alarming trend of violence breaking out during concerts within the past few months.
I rarely read newspapers. I would idly check out the news on TV when I had the chance, and perhaps I had simply lost touch, or perhaps I was just noticing these kinds of stories more now. But it seemed like these sorts of things didn’t usually happen. I felt concerned.
I reached my stop and got out. The station wasn’t too far from Monika’s house, but it was bitingly cold, and I hadn’t eaten since morning. I arrived at her front door shivering and tired. She opened the door with a frown and invited me in.
There were loud voices and laughter emanating from the living room. I followed Monika through the door and saw five incredibly attractive people sitting around the coffee table, drinking aromatic drinks and smoking. Vicky was standing next to an incredibly thin, short-haired blonde. She was wearing a pair of oversized pink glasses and a beaded necklace that obviously belonged to the blonde. They were laughing and giggling as if they were both teenagers. The others watched and laughed too. Of them, three were girls and one a guy. All were meticulously dressed and alluring. It was like walking into the pages of a magazine, and I imagined that together these people made any situation seem like a fashion shoot.
Vicky saw me and squealed.
“Big bro!”
“Hey. You look very nice. Where did you get those?”
“Belinda gave them to me.”
The blonde smiled at me and I smiled back.
“Is she your sister?” asked the guy. I noticed they were all looking at me, and felt all the more self-conscious for it.
“Yeah. I hope she didn’t cause you any trouble.”
“Aw, she’s a sweetie. So cute,” said a redhead in some sort of retro 80’s get-up. She turned to the girl next to her and laughed: “I want a little sister now!”
“Are you going to come out with us?” asked Vicky.
“No, we’ve got to go home. You’ve got school tomorrow.”
“But I want to go out to party with Belinda.”
I groaned internally as soon as she said it. I could tell she wasn’t about to leave without a fight, and with everyone around a scene seemed unavoidable. Luckily, Monika pressed a hand on my shoulder.
“Can you come with me a second, Joseph? I want to have a quick word.”
I followed her into the kitchen where she fumbled in a tiny handbag and pulled out a slip of paper.
“Here. This is the number of Josie’s psychiatrist.”
“That was fast.”
“Her mum called me while I was out: Talked for nearly an hour about the funeral—crying on the phone, making me cry too. She wants an alteration on her dress, wants the drapes to be red, doesn’t want too many snacks afterwards, wants this, wants that. She’s a slave driver.”
“So how did you get it out of her?”
“I told her Josie and I had the same psychiatrist, but that I lost his number and couldn’t remember his name because it was such a long time ago. Blah blah blah. Eventually she got it for me.”
“Smart.”
“Are you saying I’m not?”
“Did she mention me at all?”
“Yes. She told me not to tell you where the funeral was going to be held.”
“So where is it going to be held?”
Monika laughed.
“I’m serious. I want to know.”
Her laughter turned into a look of shock.
“Joseph, no. Please don’t go and make a scene. It’s not fair to Josie.”
“That I go to her funeral? How is it fair that I’m not even allowed?”
“It’s not. I’m not saying that.”
Monika steadied herself on the table and held her head. She had obviously had a few drinks already.
“You can go leave flowers and visit her afterwards, Joseph. The funeral is just going to be her mother and some old friends crying.”
Monika was right. I didn’t even want to be at the funeral. I wasn’t sentimental about things like that, and it would obviously end in a scene, much as I might try to avoid it. I had only met Josie’s mother once, and she had judged me as scum right then. Nevertheless, I wanted to be there out of a
sense of principle, and the hope of somehow getting a hold of Josie’s personal belongings that had been entrusted to her mother.
“Ok. I won’t go,” I said, although I still wasn’t sure.
“Joseph, I wanted to talk to you about Vicky.”
“What about her? Did something happen today?”
“No, no. She was a sweetheart all day. I took her to the office, everybody loves her. She was trying on clothes, had pictures taken, everything. She loved it.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“Yes. Well, that’s it, Joseph. We spoke a little bit and…”
Monika trailed off, thinking about what she was going to say.
“Joseph. Don’t bite my head off for saying this. But I think you should let her mix with people a bit more. She loves it so much, she’s so sociable. She told me that—”
“Fuck you, Monika. Fuck you. You picked her up from school once and now you’re telling me what she needs? You haven’t got a fucking clue.”
“Joseph—”
“No, shut up. I’ve had a tough day, and I don’t like your tone. When you wake up early every morning to make a packed lunch, or do her homework with her, or buy her shoes, or have her come wake you up in the middle of the night because of nightmares; then you can talk to me about her.”
“She told me, Joseph.”
“Yeah, I’m sure she did. If anything is wrong with her, then it’s that she’s spoilt. I break my back trying to make her life great. I always put her first. She’s beginning to take it for granted.”
“I know, but—”
“The government don’t even know our mother’s gone. If they did they’d put her in a foster home or something, I live every day in fear they’ll come knocking and start asking questions.”
“Joseph, will you just listen to me for a second?”
“What?”
“I know you do that. I’m not telling you that you need to change. Vicky loves you a lot. You do a fantastic job of raising her right. I’m just saying she would like to meet more people. I remember when I was a girl—I was a lot like Vicky—and I wanted to meet people, socialise, but I never got the chance. It makes me sad.”
Delete-Man: A Psychological Thriller Page 5