“No idea. Bloody nutters. Can’t even leave the house these days.”
“Yeah. Anyway, I’m gonna get in. This smoke is burning my eyes. Catch you later.”
“Laters, Joe.”
I stepped inside and closed the door to avoid the rancid smell of burning paint. The light on the laptop was now green. Hurriedly sitting down, I wiped my hands on my jeans and gently pulled the cover open. It was dusty, and there were more stickers attached to the palmrest inside. The letters on some of the keys were worn out, and the escape key was missing. I wiped the screen with my sleeve and blew on the keyboard. I picked it up and checked one last time on all the sides to ensure nothing was wrong, then put it down again. With immense hesitation I pushed the power key. The drive whirred, another green light appeared, as well as a flashing orange one. The screen lit up with the name of the laptop manufacturer. I waited for a few minutes, my palm beginning to sweat with anticipation, until eventually I was presented with a bright blue screen, Josie’s name, and a box to enter a password.
“Fuck!”
I clicked around and received nothing but a red warning symbol telling me the password was incorrect. Typing carefully, I tried every word I could think of: Password, Josie, Josephine, Joseph, secret, her date of birth, our anniversary, our first kiss anniversary, the anniversary of the night we first had sex. I typed them in every format I could think of. Eventually Vicky stormed into the room, a brush and a case in each hand.
“Why are you swearing so much?”
“This fucking computer.”
“Whose is it? Oh! It’s Josie’s laptop!”
“Yeah.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s locked. It needs a password.”
“You don’t know the password?”
“Of course I don’t.”
She came over and sat in front of me, manipulating the touchpad. I caught a glimpse of her face. Her skin now had a magazine sheen and her eyes a downturned seductiveness that sent my anxiety tumbling down to the pit of my stomach.
“How did you get her laptop?”
“Don’t worry about that.”
“Can you guess the password?”
“No. I tried a hundred times already. Move out of the way. I’ll keep trying.”
She pulled away and left the room. I was beginning to feel extremely anxious. The repeated red warnings frustrated me further and further. I swore and slammed my fist against the table. After many more attempts, Vicky returned to the room, this time with an eye pencil.
“I have an idea, big bro. Do you want to hear it?”
“I give up. I’ll take it to the computer shop tomorrow and get them to fix it. Dumb thing.”
“What do you want from the laptop?”
“Remember Josie was writing a book?”
“Yeah, she told me it was great.”
Vicky grinned widely. I noticed that she was also wearing lipgloss.
“It’s on here and I need it.”
“I can get it for you.”
“How?”
“I can install linux on the computer—well, a part of it. And then from that part, you can get anything you want from the Windows part.”
“No, no. You can’t install anything. You delete it that way.”
“It doesn’t, it installs to the empty space. It’s fine, watch.”
She walked over to our own computer and began searching online.
“No, Vicky. I mean it. Don’t touch this laptop. That’s the only copy of Josie’s book, and you’ll end up deleting it. Just leave it and I’ll bring it to the computer shop tomorrow.”
“But it works this way. Trust me. Martin from my class put a password on the—”
“No. Forget it. It’s not happening.”
“Why? You don’t believe me? You never listen to me!”
“I believe you. I just don’t want to risk it.”
“It’s not a risk it! I know it works! Just watch!”
“Vicky! Enough!”
“I’m not a baby!”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“Yes you did. You don’t think I can do anything.”
“Well you think because you put some make-up on that you’re an adult now? You’re a kid, Vicky.”
“I’m ten years old! I’m not a kid anymore! I’m eleven in three months!”
“I said enough, Vicky.”
“It’s not fair! I can’t do anything! I’m gonna run away! I swear I will! You’re horrible!”
“Shut your mouth, Vicky. Don’t talk to me like that. Go to your room and scrub that mess off your face. It’s seeping into your brain.”
“No!”
She threw the eye pencil at me and stormed out of the living room. A second later I heard her door slam. In the silence that followed I sat once again at the computer. I reached over and typed some more words. Nothing happened. I noticed the pencil on the floor, and picked it up.
The phone rang. I placed the pencil down and answered it.
“What’s going on, Joseph?”
“What do you mean?”
“Vicky just texted me, she sounds really upset. Did you two have a fight?”
“Not really.”
“You did. She asked me if she can live with me, Joseph. What happened?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Tell me.”
“I can’t open Josie’s laptop. Do you know the password?”
“No, I don’t. Don’t change the subject.”
“I’m not. Did you know she’s started wearing make-up?”
“No. So?”
“Don’t you think she’s a bit young for that?”
“Maybe. Is she wearing it all the time now?”
“Well since she came home. I gave her some money and she bought a load of make-up. She’s been plastering it on ever since.”
“It sounds like she’s just doing a little dress-up. Did you really shout at her because of that?”
“No, not just that. But that’s enough don’t you think? Ten year olds aren’t supposed to wear make-up.”
“Give her some credit, Joseph. She’s just exploring a bit. Talk to her. Nicely. Tell her it’s alright; once in a while, at home. Just for fun.”
“It doesn’t seem like the sort of thing she should be doing.”
“Well, technically, it isn’t. But that’s no reason to punish her. She’s just experimenting a bit.”
“Maybe.”
“And the last thing you want is to make it some taboo, otherwise she’ll end up more obsessed with it than ever.”
“I suppose. It’s confusing. I don’t know about that kinda thing.”
“What thing? Make-up?”
“Yeah.”
“Girly things. You’re way too macho for that, aren’t you?”
“It’s not just that. She also wanted to do something to Josie’s laptop.”
“Do what?”
“I don’t know. Install something. Break it probably. Trying to get Josie’s book off it.”
“So let her. If she says she can get it, then she probably can. She’s a smart girl. She knows how to work my phone better than I do.”
“You think so?”
“Absolutely. She’s a kid, not an idiot, Joseph. Don’t you remember what you were like when you were young? And you knew about things that your parents didn’t? You’re the last one to get advice about computers from, anyway.”
“That laptop has the only copy of her novel. If something happens then it’s gone forever.”
“I’d bet on you damaging it before Vicky does. Look; ask her how she can get into it. Ask her to explain it, and then see if you don’t want to do it. But Christ, at least talk to her before you jump down her throat, Joseph.”
“Maybe you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right. Go on, talk to her.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem. Oh, Joseph, wait. About the… you know.”
“What?”
/> “I spoke to some people at the funeral.”
“Yeah?”
“I told them that I knew you were at home all day.”
“How? They wouldn’t believe you.”
“Well… The way I told it made them believe me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t feel strange about this, but I told them we were a couple. That you were over Josie, even before she died.”
I hesitated before replying.
“I don’t get it.”
“You said it yourself; they think the worst of you. That you’re a loser and a thug. I just played that up a bit. They’re only too willing to believe you didn’t really care for Josie, and that you’ve already forgotten about her.”
“I see… What about you though? Don’t they hate you too now?”
“That’s what makes it believable.”
“You don’t mind that though?”
“Please. I hope I never see these people again just as much as Josie did. I was reminded today how much of a slimeball Sebastien is. Anyway, point is, you don’t have to worry. They’ve pretty much put it down to envy and the decline of English values. Actually, I think they’re enjoying playing the righteous victims too much to care who actually did it.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s alright.”
“I mean it though. Thanks. I appreciate everything.”
There was a moment of silence on the line.
“Ok, well. I’m going to make dinner now. Talk to Vicky. Tell me how it goes.”
“I will. See you.”
“Bye, Joseph.”
After putting the phone down I sat rubbing my eyes for a while, thinking over what Monika had said. She was right about pretty much everything. I felt a little lost, and my impulse was to pick up the phone again and call her back, but I could think of nothing more to say. I got up and made my way to Vicky’s door.
“Vee? Can I come in?”
There was no answer.
“Vee?”
A choked voice stuttered from behind the door.
“Go away.”
I opened the door and saw her standing in front of the mirror, brush in hand. She turned suddenly with eyes wide, shifting the hand with the brush slowly behind her, as if caught doing something wrong, yet defiantly so.
“It’s alright. Carry on. You don’t mind if I watch, do you?”
I sidled over to the bed and sat down. Vicky watched me cautiously, like an animal watching a predator.
“Go on. Don’t mind me.”
Slowly she turned to the mirror and made as if to carry on, but I could see her eyes fixed on me in the reflection.
“So you’re into make-up now?”
“No.”
“It’s alright. I don’t mind you trying make-up sometimes. I was just surprised. You should probably wait until you’re older before you start wearing it regularly though.”
“I just wanted to try it.”
“Yeah. Let me see.”
She turned towards me.
“Come here.”
She stood in front of me. I held her arm and turned her gently from side to side.
“Very pretty.”
“No.”
“Yeah, you are. You look very glamourous.”
“No I don’t.”
“Yeah you do. You’re a beautiful young girl.”
I pulled her towards me and embraced her. She felt stiff, but eventually relinquished and held me back.
“You alright?”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry for shouting at you before. But you shouldn’t be wearing make-up so young. In a few years maybe; when you’re a teenager.”
“But my friends all wear make-up.”
“Well they probably need it more than you. You don’t need to cover up that cute little face.”
She squeezed me slightly.
“How about we make a little deal?”
“What deal?”
“You can wear make-up when you’re at home every once in a while, just for fun. But every time you do, you got to perform for me.”
“Perform my play?”
“Yeah, or something else. Monika told me you’ve been trying really hard at drama in school.”
“Yeah, I want to be the best actress in the world.”
“Then you will be.”
“I want to win an Oscar.”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah.”
“Well then, it’ll be good practice.”
“Yeah. I’m going to change my play. I want it to have a song.”
“Like a musical?”
“Yeah.”
“I can’t wait to hear it.”
I let her go and we smiled at each other meekly to signify the tension was broken. She turned back to the mirror and looked at herself, striking a few poses. The repulsion I had felt before rose up again but I quickly suppressed it. I checked the time, it was getting late. I got up.
“Hey Vee.”
“Yeah?”
I hesitated briefly, still unsure.
“You really think you can get the files from Josie’s laptop?”
“Yeah, it’s easy. Do you want me to?”
“Show me how first.”
“Can we have pizza tonight?”
“Driving a bargain now, are you?
“Haha, yeah!”
“Ok, deal.”
Despite the assurance of various internet pages detailing the process, and Vicky’s obvious foreknowledge of what it entailed, I watched her manipulate Josie’s laptop with extreme tension. The thought that all of Josie’s work, and the clues it possessed about her death, might disappear irretrievably was impossible to ignore. As Vicky leapt from her laptop to our own desktop computer, swapping disks and clicking through web pages I halted her repeatedly with new attempts at guessing the password. With each attempt I knew more thoroughly that I would never be able to guess it. Josie was too smart, and too cautious, to have a password that was obvious in any way. It would probably be something long, or misspelt, or ridiculously abstract. I gulped at my third beer of the day, dizzying myself beyond the worrisome thoughts.
“Ok, I’ve done it.”
“What?”
“I’ve found her files. What’s it called?”
“What? Already?”
“Yeah. I didn’t need to install it after all. I just started it from the cd and I can see everything: Look.”
I leaned in towards the laptop. It looked different, but sure enough, there were numerous files that looked like Josie’s: Music, pictures, her CV.
“Wait, click that. Manuscript three. There. That must be it. Quickly, is there paper in the printer? Can you print from here? Copy it to USB.”
“Keep your wig on, big bro.”
“Copy everything.”
“It won’t fit everything.”
“Ok forget it then. Just the manuscript.”
“Ok done. What else?”
I yanked out the USB stick and stuck it into our own computer. I clicked on the file and it opened. Streams of words poured up the screen as I scrolled.
“It works!”
“Awesome. Can you call for pizza?”
“Yeah. Wait, I’m going to print this out.”
I reached over and pulled Vicky up onto my shoulder. She squealed with surprise.
“My smart little filmstar!”
Chapter 18
The Delete-Man and Others [Working Title] by Josephine Baird
Preface
[Insert Anger-man diagram #17 here]
At the bower by the lake I first saw the shape, engraved into a tree crudely. Its strange nature seemed somewhat deliberate, despite the aggressive, hurried slashes and curves that it was composed of. It is difficult to recall my first reaction precisely, but I can remember some quaint sense of allure that drew me to inspect the grooves and indentations with my fingers. It’s not entirely rare that I find some object or image which I am intrigued by, so once my i
nitial response had subsided, I turned my mind to other things and left the carving as nothing more than a mildly interesting curiousity.
That night however, I dreamt violently of that symbol. I am neither prone to violent dreams, nor of remembering them fully, so the sweating, exasperated manner in which I woke was rather disturbing. In the dream I was being attacked, spontaneously and overwhelmingly. From all sides, by objects sharp, blunt, small and large, I was assaulted and penetrated. I felt I was being violated in all ways, with no inch of my body left unscarred, and with seemingly no option but that of utter submission. The objects of my torture were vague and abstracted, but very clearly made up of the curves, lines, and gnarled bark of that shape I had seen by the lake. Albeit in that obtuse sense of connection that occurs in dreams.
Eventually, my state of mind was put under so much stress and anguish that futilely I retaliated. I flailed my arms, kicked my legs, and screamed. Unlike that common experience in dreams, where limbs move as if submerged and vocal chords are utterly diminished in strength, my scream came out as a thunderous roar, my arms were dangerously steeled and fast, and my legs kicked with a gigantic strength. I managed to keep the objects at bay briefly, and consequently more came. I kicked and screamed harder. Still more dangers surrounded me, requiring me to increase my own surge of hate-filled aggression. The cycle continued until I woke up with a dry throat, and a body that ached. My bed sheets were sprawled across the floor—I had no doubt been so overcome with physical anger in the dream that even asleep my body had kicked and shouted.
Aside from the rare occurrence of such a vividly recalled dream—let alone a nightmare of such disturbing quality—certain aspects of the dream provoked me to examine it further. For one, I had recalled in the dream intricacies of the engraved shape that I would certainly have been unable to remember soon after seeing it in actuality. More surprisingly perhaps, upon waking I could remember the symbol as clearly and easily as if I had spent an hour memorising its features.
[Insert phonepad sketches here]
Throughout the following days the shape remained at the periphery of my thoughts, along with the sensation of something unattained, or a task yet to be accomplished. I found myself doodling the image whilst conversing on the phone, or during moments of reverie. (Much later, I also discovered that even my handwriting had altered slightly during this period.)
Delete-Man: A Psychological Thriller Page 18