Delete-Man: A Psychological Thriller

by Johnny Vineaux

  It was Monika, but before my palpitations subsided I noticed something strange. She had her hair tied back and flat against her neck, like I had never seen her do before. Aside from her gaunt and pale frame she didn’t seem like herself at all. She was looking into a mirror, one that had not been in the room before, and applying make-up in her concentrated, diligent manner.

  A few moments later I realised what she was wearing; Josephine’s clothes. A black vest with a small tear in one of the straps that made it slightly lopsided, pyjama bottoms, and a yellow and black friendship bracelet Vicky had made her.

  I felt myself swoon and had to steady myself to keep from losing my footing. When I returned my gaze Monika was standing still and looking at herself. She slumped a little and held one arm with the other in a gesture I knew intimately. She stayed like that for ages, shifting her posture around in small movements and adjusting herself. The urge to shout was incredible. I held my hand to my mouth tightly.

  She disappeared from view, and I remembered to breathe. My hand was covered in spit and blood. I gasped for air and in my periphery saw the bemused and frightened stare of a couple standing a little further on from the bus stop.

  Monika returned with something yellow in her hand. Standing in front of the mirror once again, she grabbed her ponytail and curled it up against the back of her head. For a moment, she bent over out of view. When she stood back up, her hair was different.

  And there she was, my Josephine. Back from the dead. Her frizzy blond curls, her glowing red face, her loose clothes, her gentle gestures and her graceful stance –my Josephine.

  I screamed. I was crying and bleeding. I wasn’t saying anything. It emerged from my throat like the punctured pressure of my heart. I wailed like a wild, feral man.

  Josephine came to the window, her freckles, her pink lips, the mole on her neck. She looked at me with an open mouth and wide eyes. Through the tears I gorged on that image forever, a rapturous confusion pulsating throughout my veins. I had to leave. I grabbed my box and ran away, looking for a place to curl up and die.

  Chapter 8

  I stumbled through the door and dropped my things in the living room. The apartment felt silent and cold, and I suddenly remembered shouting at Vicky with a pang of regret. Her door was shut and a glint light peeked from beneath it. Apart from some splashes of milk and cereal on the kitchen counter there was nothing to show she had come out of her room since slamming it shut.

  I knocked on the door gently.

  “Vicky?”

  No answer.

  “Vicky? You alright? Are you hungry?”

  I went to the kitchen and put the strawberry cake I had bought from the café on a plate. It was a little squashed and out of shape, but it was her favourite kind.

  “Hey, Vee. I’m coming in. I brought you something.”

  I entered to find her lying on her side, facing away from the door. She was gently teasing the hair of a doll, and was wearing her headphones. I heard faintly the brash, sparkly noise of teen pop.

  “Got you some strawberry cake. Smells really nice.”

  She didn’t move, but I knew she could hear me over her headphones. She stopped brushing the hair of the doll.

  “Ok, I’ll just put here then. Have it when you want, but it’ll taste better the sooner you eat it.”

  Placing the plate on her bedside table, I sat down on the side of the bed. There was a brief pause in the muffled music, then another beat started up.

  “Come on Vee. Don’t be like that. Turn your music off a second, I just wanna talk to you.”

  She didn’t move.

  “Let me have a listen then.”

  I reached over, pulled the ear piece out of her ear and put it in mine. It was a song I’d heard blaring from her room probably hundreds of times, and knew in that way pop music seemed to make itself known instantaneously.

  “Oh, I know this song. Nah nah love me, paparazzi. Nah nana na nah, papa, paparazzi.”

  Even though she faced away I could see her cheekbones raise in a smile. I continued singing until she couldn’t hold her giggles in any longer.

  “Stop it! Stupid!”

  “What? You don’t like my singing?”

  “No!”

  “Nana, paparazzi!”

  “Shut up!”

  “Ok, ok! Turn it off then.”

  I took the ear piece out and Vicky stopped the cd player. The silence that followed was stark. She stopped giggling the second the music stopped, and remained stubbornly facing away from me; just to show I wasn’t off the hook yet.

  “Sorry I shouted at you before. I was just feeling bad. I got this really gross scar today. Look. Here, Vicky, have a look. You don’t want to see? Hmm, you’d probably be scared anyway. Busted up my knee pretty badly too. Ripped a big hole in my jeans as well. I’m gonna need you to sew it up for me, otherwise people will think I’m homeless. I’m already pretty smelly, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, you are.”

  “Oh, thanks. Well, anyway, how about we do something this weekend? Cheer ourselves up a bit. Go to the cinema or something, are there any films you want to see?”

  “No.”

  “Nothing at all out?”

  “No.”

  “Ok, what about going to the museum then?”

  “No.”

  “What about… swimming?”

  “No.”

  “What bout… the zoo?”

  “…”

  “So zoo it is then. That’ll be fun, won’t it?”

  Vicky rolled onto her back to face me.

  “Can Monika come?”

  This time I was the one who looked away.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Why don’t you want her to come?”

  “No, I want her to come. But I think she’s busy this weekend.”

  “Liar!”

  “Look, Monika’s weird, Vicky. She seems nice at first, but she’s a bit crazy.”

  “I like her. I want her to come.”

  “Wait. I’m gonna go toilet. I’ll be back in a second.”

  I went to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. I was a mess. My hair was sticking out in all directions, and I had caked blood all over my neck and chin. I needed a shave, but it was going to be tough to navigate the scar on my face. I washed my face and hair quickly with soap, dried off, and gave my hair a quick comb. I still looked like a mess, but I felt a lot fresher.

  When I returned to Vicky’s room she was sitting up against the headboard and listening to her music again. I sat down beside her and she turned the music off.

  “Why don’t you ask Monika to come?”

  “Are you still thinking about that? Don’t you wanna go just me and you? It’ll be fun. We haven’t done anything together for a while.”

  “Cause you’re always going out on your own.”

  “No I’m not. Am I?”

  “Yeah, you’re always looking for Josephine.”

  “What?! What do you mean ‘looking’ for her? Who told you that I was looking for her? Wait, don’t tell me. I can guess pretty much.”

  “But you can’t find someone who’s dead. Only in a graveyard.”

  I put my arm around her and she rested her head against my chest.

  “Do you miss her, Vee?”

  “Lots.”

  I looked up and widened my eyes, trying not to let the tears drop. I didn’t want to draw my hand away from Vicky to wipe them.

  We stayed like that for a while, not saying anything. I felt guilty that I hadn’t held Vicky like that for what seemed like a long time. I had forgotten how much she needed me, and how much I needed her.

  “Ok, I’ll talk to Monika and ask her to come.”

  “Thanks, big bro.”

  “Vee.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you believe in magic?”

  “Huh?”

  “Magic, spells, witches and all that. You read stories about it right?”

  “Yeah.�
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  “What do you know about it?”

  “Lots.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Have you ever done a spell?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What kind of spell?”

  “All kinds.”

  “Come on, tell me. What kind of spells?”

  “Hmm, I dunno.”

  “Are you just pretending, or are you keeping it a secret?”

  “I dunno.”

  “You’re such a stubborn kid.”

  Vicky giggled and the shaking of her body against my leg brought back a little of the pain in my knee. I was embarrassed I had even entertained the idea that had flashed across my mind. Vicky conjured up a magic djinn which caused chaos in London and which Josephine discovered and led to her death. I articulated it to myself to make myself fully aware of how ridiculous it sounded. Despite the urge, I resisted questioning her further, for fear of spoiling the pleasant calm that had been created between us. She was too tired to talk anyway, and I stayed there until she—and I—began to drift off.

  “Hey, it’s late. We both need some sleep. Go brush your teeth and I’ll tuck you in.”

  I brought the uneaten cake to the kitchen and put it in the fridge. I realised how hungry I was, and made myself a tuna sandwich, taking a brief pause to kiss Vicky goodnight.

  Whether through tiredness, or a lack of care, the pain in my knee was becoming harder to ignore. I brought the sandwich to my room and undressed to examine it. It was scratched pretty deep, and there was a large swelling around the bruise that seemed to be causing the deep throbbing pain. I put some heat salve on I; unsure if it would even help. I prodded, twisted and pressed against it. I guessed it was probably sprained too. It felt very similar to an elbow injury I had sustained as a teenager. Back then I had had to wear a support for a few months. I grabbed an old raggy t-shirt and tied it around my knee, hoping it would suffice as a support.

  In a bedside drawer I kept a bottle of cheap vodka for sleepless nights. I pulled it out and took three full swigs as I ate my sandwich. Soon after, I realised my head was swirling and I had finished the bottle. I dropped it onto the floor and pulled my leg onto the bed.

  The moment my head hit the pillow, the room began to sway and move; the ceiling zooming towards me constantly.

  “Why am I drunk? I’m no lightweight. Cause I didn’t eat. Didn’t eat nothing. Nothing.”

  I noticed the light was on and grimaced. It felt like the most impossible challenge in the world to get up, go over to the switch, turn it off, and return. I moaned about it to myself for a while, before hitting upon the sublime idea of closing my eyes.

  I woke up sweating and hot. My knee hurt, my face stung, and my head was sore. I tried to get up and failed. It felt like my body was withering away, weaker than I had felt in a long time. My headache prevented me from focusing properly. I tossed and turned, trying to find a position that would give me some respite from the pain, but every shift only made me feel worse.

  I never took painkillers, I hated the idea of them, but right then I would have given anything for some relief. My throat was parched. I thought about calling Vicky for help, but in the corner of my eye I saw the time—four in the morning—and decided not to.

  I lay there feeling guilty, helpless, and stupid; thinking about every horrible, ugly thing I had done over the past few days. Shouting at Vicky, leaving her home alone, stealing green jacket’s phone, breaking phonebooth guy’s nose, breaking Davy’s toy gun, locking Sewerbird on the roof of that building, hurting Monika, burning that guy’s lap, trashing Josephine’s room. I went through it all and hated myself as I remembered each event. Then I thought about all the things people had done to me, and I began to hate the world. I felt both angry and pathetic. Weak and violent. Determined and confused.

  I cursed God, and begged him to kill me in my sleep, to give me Josephine back, to answer my questions, to make me someone else. I offered my soul to the devil, and talked to the djinn. I made promises to the universe and broke them in the same breath. Then I spoke to Josephine. I told her everything and she understood it immediately. I imagined what she might say, and what she might do. I imagined melting into her soft green eyes. To the timbre of her voice I fell asleep again.

  A day in summer; I was in Josie’s room, drinking beer. Her on the bed, me at the window.

  “Why did you do it, Joseph?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Yes you do.”

  “Because I’m a horrible person.”

  “No you’re not.”

  “Yes I am. I’m a typical man. A dog who can’t control himself.”

  “No.”

  “Yes. It’s true. I saw her and I thought she was much sexier than you. She was skinnier than you, dressed better than you, looked dirtier than you. I’m a dog.”

  I sucked down the rest of the beer and sat at the desk, facing away from her.

  “I don’t believe that. You might believe it, but I don’t.”

  “Why not?! What is wrong with you?! I cheated on you, and you don’t even care.”

  “I do care, that’s why I’m still here.”

  “I don’t understand you. Not at all.”

  “So you want me to hate you?”

  “At least I would understand that.”

  “So tell me you don’t love me then.”

  “I… I just don’t understand you. Why don’t you hate me?”

  “Because you love me.”

  I turned to look at her. She was sat on the edge of the bed, beer in hand. Looking through me.

  “Don’t you see what you’re doing, Joseph?”

  “What?”

  “Same thing you do to everything you love: Push it away.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You’re so used to being miserable, alone, having to fight; that you can’t handle being happy, or enjoying your life.”

  “Maybe… Yeah, maybe. But I’ve got good reason to.”

  “No you don’t.”

  “Yes! I do!”

  “No, you fucking well don’t.”

  “Are you fucking blind, Josie!? Look at me! Look at this!”

  I snatched off my shirt.

  “Look at this… stump! Why me? That’s all I want to know. Why me? I’m deformed, I’m violent, I have baggage, and I’m a pain. I’ve never done anything good in my life. I cheated on you, and you’re still here. I never even understood why you were here in the first place.”

  She got up and came towards me.

  “No, don’t. Sit down. I don’t want you to touch me. I don’t want you to comfort me, or make me feel better. Just tell me one thing—that one thing, that reason you’re with me.”

  I stood there, crying violently, rooted to the spot as she walked over to the open window, and jumped out.

  Two months in hospital, two broken ribs, a broken collar bone and a broken femur. Severe head and chest injuries. I stayed there every hour Vicky was at school, and wheeled her home when she was well enough.

  “Wake uh-uh-up!”

  Vicky shook and prodded me awake, but it still took a full minute before I remembered who I was, where I was, what day it was, and what state I had gone to sleep in.

  “Alright, alright. I’m up. Go shower and get dressed.”

  “I already did.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Eight forty-nine.”

  I snapped up out of bed, ignoring my body’s resistance.

  “Oh shit. Shit shit shit.”

  “I’m gonna be late!”

  I fell out of bed and checked the time for myself.

  “Go make your lunch. I did the shopping yesterday. There should be something in the fridge you can take with you.”

  “I already got it.”

  I scrambled around the room for clothes and shoved myself into them.

  “Lunch, keys… Have you got your reading pack?”


  “That’s tomorrow. Come on!”

  “Ok, good. Let’s go.”

  I grabbed Vicky’s hand and we left the house. The moment we got to the street I realised I’d forgotten my watch, and continued hurriedly down the road.

  “Why are you walking funny?”

  “I told you, I hurt my knee yesterday.”

  “Are you alright?”

  “Yeah, it’ll be fine after a few days.”

  We reached the gates just as a teacher was about to close them. The children were already lined up in the playground and walking into the school one line at a time.

  “Sorry we’re late. Can she go in?”

  “We’re not supposed to let children in once they’re lined up, you’ll have to go through the front office.”

  “Please, I can see her class is still there. It’s my fault, I can’t walk very fast.”

  I gestured towards the bloody, ripped hole in my jeans, the scabby bruise visible beneath it, and realised that wasn’t the best thing to show a school teacher. She frowned at me. I shrugged pathetically.

  “Go on then. Since you haven’t been late before.”

  “Thanks.”

  I kissed Vicky and made sure her clothes were tidy then sent her running off to join her class.

  “I know you. Ms. Robinson, right? I saw you at the last parent’s day.”

  The teacher closed the gates and began locking them.

  “That’s right. How is your mother, is she still in hospital?”

  “Yes, unfortunately.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Is she going to be ok?”

  “We’re still not sure. We’re hoping.”

  “Give her my best wishes.”

  “I will. Thank you very much, Ms.”

  I gave Vicky a wave as she walked inside with her class, smiled at Ms.Robinson before she turned to join them, and left.

  On the way home, I stopped off and bought some plasters, a knee support, some cream the pharmacist recommended for my bruises, and a new notepad. I considered for a brief second buying something for my headache, but knew I would never take it if I did.