“So you’re not in here playing dress up. What rock you under then?”
The bathroom door was open. I went inside and snatched at the shower curtain.
“Smart. That only works in films.”
Monika’s room was also empty, but the opened drawers and the mess of cloths over the floor made it clear she had been there recently.
“I see.”
After another couple of long swigs I put the bottle down on her dresser and investigated the mess. The doors to Monika’s cupboard were wide open, like the gaping jaws of some prehistoric beast, all manner of shapes and colours emerging from it. Half-packed and thrown aside, a large white suitcase lay across the floor in front of it.
“Feeling more like a black day probably.”
Monika’s desk faced the window, and along the sill she had placed various framed photographs and cute objects. I leaned in and peered over them. One of them showed Monika with Josie at some kind of party; Monika’s arm draped around Josie as they squished their faces together and kicked their legs back. I picked it up and studied it.
“Why?”
I smashed the frame open and pocketed the photo. I pulled out all the desk drawers and rummaged through them. I threw her clothes about the room, tore them between my teeth, kicked her chair apart and tipped over her bed. After a while, I didn’t need the pretence of looking for something. I punched the walls until my fingers were raw and limp. I threw myself around and kicked at the furniture—put my foot through the window.
“Monika why!”
Looking frantically for something else to break, I saw a box of matches in one of the drawers. I grasped at it, put the box between my teeth and took out a bunch of the matches. The sulphur fizzed as I struck them, a beautiful, brief flame shooting up in front of my eyes.
I tossed the lit matches onto the bed, and after them, the box. The flames subsided for a few seconds before catching again, the fizzing blaze arose once again, bigger this time. It caught a nearby sweater and the flames again subsided before growing. I watched them pulsate; receding slowly then catching again, gradually larger. Like waves of yellow and white they rose and fell against the mattress, clothes, and the carpet. Glowing cinders extended, leaving a black trail behind them.
Only when the mattress had become a bonfire, and the smoke threatened to fill the room, did I turn and leave. I shambled down the stairs, falling over the last few, and scrambled out into the street. There were few people on the road, and looking behind me there was not much indication anything was wrong with the house yet. Behind the broken glass of Monika’s bedroom window a flashing glow flickered against the walls, slight plumes of smoke just discernible against the thin, cold air.
At the end of the street I began to hear crackling and snapping. I turned back. The smoke was tumbling out of the window in thick, bulbous shapes now. Dissipating elegantly across the street and up into the air. A few onlookers on the road behind me looked on as they walked past slowly. Eventually one of them took out his phone, dialled quickly, then brought it to his ear.
As inconspicuously as possible I made my way towards the station. It was a long shot, but perhaps Monika would be at work. With calm focus I made my way there, thinking of the flames devouring Monika’s wardrobe.
“Hi.”
“Hey. Is Monika in today?”
“Monika who?”
“Umm. Tall, slim girl, black hair down to here.”
The guy at the desk shot me a look of jaded sarcasm. There were a couple of girls who fitted that description in the entrance alone.
“Hang on.”
I pulled out the photo I had taken from Monika’s room.
“This girl.”
The receptionist took the photo and looked at it. He showed it to a colleague standing beside him drinking coffee. After a quick glance she spoke to me without even looking.
“Not in today. Called a sicky.”
She made a grimace at the receptionist who grimaced back in acknowledgement.
“Thanks.”
I took the photo and left. The salty air of the Thames wafted vaguely through me. Without forethought I found myself walking towards it, and along the south bank. I had no leads. With a strong sense of frustration I let go of Monika in my thoughts. I would find her eventually, it was not something I was able, let alone willing, to give up on.
There were other things to worry about anyway. I thumbed the papers in my pocket and decided to visit Dr. Hughton. Josie would have wanted him to see what she had written, and he could probably tell me more about those symbols. In all the frenzy of chasing Monika I hadn’t given much thought to them, but the book had given me an annoying feeling of time running out. I placed a hand on my leg and paced towards the station once again.
Chapter 21
Dr. Hughton’s receptionist looked like a completely different girl. Her pristine blond hair was gone, and she now wore a black bob haircut that revealed her pale, delicate features.
“Hello, may I—Sorry, excuse me. Wait! He’s in the middle of—”
I slammed the door to Hughton’s office open and walked right up to him, extending the papers in front of me.
“Read it.”
“Dr.Hughton! I’m very sorry, he just barged—”
“It’s ok, Sarah. I remember you, don’t I?”
“I’m Josephine’s boyfriend.”
“Ah. The detective.”
“What is this? Excuse me, but you’re interrupting my session.”
The voice came from behind me. A man in a loosened tie and his shoes off got up from his lying position on the leather couch.
“Get out,” I said.
“I beg your—”
“Get. Out.”
“Who do you think you are!?”
“Please, gentlemen. Let’s calm down and sort this out.”
The loosened shirt stood over me. He was a full few inches taller than me.
“How dare you storm into a session like some kind of maniac. I’m sorry John, I don’t know who this person is but that’s incredibly—”
I dropped the papers on a side table and threw my palm around. The sharp, slapping sound reverberating in the high-ceilinged room. He bent to the side, clutching his face.
“What the fuck? You fucking idiot! Fuck! Are you fucking crazy!”
“Stop this!”
I grabbed his collar, spun him, planted a foot forward and pushed him as hard as I could.
“No!”
He smashed into the high glass window shoulders first. The glass cracked, but it held strong. He fell to the floor.
“Take your stuff and get out.”
Hughton tried to go over to him but I shoved him back into the chair.
“Simon! Are you alright?”
“Ugh.”
“He’s fine. Read.”
Sarah knocked then opened the door.
“Is everything o—Oh my!”
“Everything is fine. Help him take his stuff and get out of here. Me and Dr. Hughton need to talk.”
Sarah helped Simon get to his feet and leave the room, returning once more to collect his shoes and coat. Hughton eyed me with a mixture of defiant caution and curiousity. Sarah glanced back. I gestured for her to close the door. I sat on the couch that Hughton’s patient had lay on.
“Go on then. Read it.”
“What is it?”
“Just read it.”
The papers had fallen to the floor in the commotion. I noticed and picked them up, handing them to Hughton who took them slowly, keeping his dark brown eyes on me. He sat back, licked his thumb, flicked through the pages, and began reading.
After a while Hughton flicked back the pages and tidied the papers against his knee.
“Do you have any more? The images themselves?”
“I don’t know. I took this from Josie’s laptop. Maybe there’s more on there.”
“Would you mind if I made a copy of this?”
“No. Go ahead.”
He got up from the chair and left the room. Through the doorway I saw him hand the papers to Sarah and press his hand against her shoulder comfortingly. They exchanged words then Hughton re-entered the room and handed me the original copy.
“So?”
“It’s interesting. I had an idea Josephine was interested in the subject, but never to such an extent.”
Hughton retreated to his regal chair and sat down softly.
“And?”
“I’m sorry, Joseph. I’m a little confused as to why you were so determined to show this to me. What is it you would like to know exactly?”
“The symbols. The effects. Is all that stuff possible?”
“Is a symbol possible? I don’t follow you.”
“You know what I mean! Can a symbol make someone do things. The things Josie said.”
“Theoretically, yes, it’s possible. In reality though, it’s unproven, and would employ so many concepts that we are as yet unsure of that it’s almost beyond examination.”
“You don’t believe it.”
“Oh no. I believe it. Absolutely. I would say we’ve had such images in society for at least a few centuries now.”
“You say that like it’s meaningless.”
Hughton crossed his hands, considered them for a moment, uncrossed them, and continued.
“Look. Nothing of what Josephine wrote is particularly sensational or even revelatory. There is, yes, some interesting anecdotal evidence, but the idea itself has been written about many times. It’s a simple, logical conclusion.”
“Conclusion to what?”
“Modern life.”
“I don’t understand.”
“What would you say are the main precepts of modern life, Joseph?”
“What’s a precept?”
“Well, in this case, a fundamental ingredient.”
“I don’t know. Just cut to the chase.”
“Free markets, liberal exchange of information, and the commercial consumption of technological progress. With all those working collectively, it’s obvious that the logical end point is the most potent message, conveyed in the most efficient manner, through the most accessible channels—to ‘cut to the chase’, as it were, these images which Josephine speaks of. They are inevitable.”
“I knew it! So she was right! What can you do about it then?”
“Do about it? Joseph, there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“Wait. One minute you’re telling me that these symbols exist, dangerous symbols—“
“Probably.”
“—But that you can’t do anything about it? You don’t even sound like you care.”
“I care, Joseph. Nobody who spends any time in the study of psychology—or perhaps sociology in this case—could explore such things without concern. But think about it for a moment, what exactly can be done? Censorship? Perhaps some years from now we will see restrictions on advertising, once it is acknowledged as potentially harmful in some way, much like cigarettes.
“That would require evidence however. Irrefutable evidence brought about by extensive research. And who would fund such research? Who holds the cards? Or the money, to be precise. Look how long it took for us to discover the harmful effects of tobacco, still longer for it to be marginalised, many more years for it to be banned moderately, and yet people continue to smoke, and to die from it. This is with the knowledge of direct links between smoking and cancer. Nothing so concrete could ever be formed with regards to advertising’s effects.”
“What about warning people though? Telling them about the harmful effects?”
“A good idea. Go ahead and do so. You won’t be alone. I would warn you against expecting much of a response though.”
His calm tone frustrated me. I got up and paced a while, trying to loosen the stiffness in my leg a little.
“At least if people knew they might be a bit slower to get sucked in.”
“Would they? How can one know when they’re ‘sucked in’, Joseph?”
“Well when they start doing things that aren’t normal.”
“Such as?”
“I don’t know. Things that they wouldn’t normally do.”
“I see.”
I looked out of the broken window. In a reflection Hughton turned in his chair, draping an arm around the back to face me.
“Do you normally try to throw people out of glass windows, Joseph? Or pretend to be a policeman for that matter?”
“That’s got nothing to do with it.”
“Isn’t it something you’re prepared to consider?”
I turned and looked at him.
“You’re a smart guy.”
“Thank you.”
“So we’re all screwed. That’s what you think, then?”
“To tell you the truth, Joseph, I honestly don’t know. It’s an incredibly complex thing. Think about the ramifications of such an idea; that we can be fundamentally affected by such an incidental thing as seeing a singular image. If Josephine’s evidence is true, and that exposure to these symbols can lead to such acts as murder, arson, and all manner of criminal activities, then the intricacies of it are mind-boggling.
“Where does accountability and ethics enter the picture? Is a man guilty of murder if one of these images was the instigator? If the cause was external? Far wiser men than you or I have spent their entire lives devoted to questions such as nature versus nurture, the notion of existence, where the self begins—if indeed it does—and where society ends. The conclusion to most of those questions? We don’t know for sure. Now you ask if I am capable of not only answering those questions, but whether I can influence the answer. I can’t. What’s more, expecting every individual on Earth to answer those questions also, regardless of the information you give them, is unfathomable.”
I rubbed my eyes whilst he spoke. It was too much to take in, but his defeatist tone imbued all of his words with a hopelessness I couldn’t stomach. I took my hand away from my eyes and saw a small blue light refracted through one of the cracks in the window. The park was empty, but on the street directly below a police car pulled up and halted its siren. Two officers swiftly exited the car and entered the building.
“Are your colleagues here already?”
“You called the police?!”
“I instructed Sarah to do so, yes. I’m sorry, Joseph. I sympathise with you, I really do. But you cannot assault people like you’ve just done.”
“You’re full of shit.”
I looked around for another exit, but there was none. I ran to the door and grasped at the lock.
“How do you lock this?”
Hughton only looked at me with a calm pleasance. I grasped at a nearby cabinet. It was heavy, but on the smooth wooden floor I could slide it just enough by pushing it from the other side. I managed to push about a foot of it in front of the door.
“What exactly do you hope to achieve, Joseph?”
I steadied my good foot against one of the cabinet’s legs, and with one final push tipped it over against the door.
“Very good. But what now?”
“Shut up.”
A wry smirk extended on Hughton’s face, like an audience member pleased he got the joke. I paced around the room, grasping for ideas and looking for something to fend off the policemen if I had to.
“They’re here now.”
There was a loud knocking at the door, and a muffled but authoritative voice behind it.
“Police! Open up!”
I paced faster.
“They won’t wait forever, Joseph.”
“Come on! Open the door!”
There was a loud thump, and the cabinet shifted slightly.
“Shit.”
“Joseph, remove the cabinet and be reasonable. You don’t have anything to fear.”
“Shut up.”
“What exactly are you running from? Or, perhaps more appropriately, running towards?”
“Enough!”
My eye was caught by the s
mall Japanese teapot I had seen before in Hughton’s office. I picked it up, tossed it up gently in my hand to feel its weight, then pitched it at the window as hard as I could. It soared through without breaking speed, the cracked glass separating for a split-second before falling like smashed snow.
“What on Earth—”
The door thumped rapidly, the cabinet shifting every few seconds or so. I ran to the window and looked out. It was a twenty foot drop. A few feet to one side of the smashed window was a drainpipe that led to the pavement. I kicked out the rest of the glass in the side and grasped around. It was too far, but just above the window there was cabling.
“Joseph! Stop this! You’ll fall! Don’t be stupid!”
Hughton’s hands grasped at my coat as I gripped the cabling and swung out of the window.
“Joseph!”
The cabling came away from the wall mid-swing, but just before it fell too slack my foot made contact with drainpipe. I hooked it round and pulled myself towards it, letting go of the cabling and grasping the drainpipe before I fell head-first backwards. I wrapped my arm around it, hugging it like some saviour for a brief second.
“He’s outside on the drainpipe! Go downstairs!”
I shimmied down the drainpipe roughly, slipping and catching my hand and feet on various boltings and ridges. In places I had to let go with my arm, and could only grip the pipe by clutching it between my head and shoulder.
Six feet from the floor I let go completely and crashed to the ground clumsily, saved from injury only by the foresight of landing on my good leg and rolling over. Even so, the impact was hard. I felt the gashes in my hand, and the strain on my legs. I shuffled to my feet and scrambled for the nearest doorway.
“Sir? Are you ok? Did you fall?”
It was an opticians. I ran through the racks, behind the counter, and into the back.
“Customers aren’t allowed in there, Sir!”
Bursting through into some sort of kitchen, I turned and took another route that led to a small locker room and office. On the far side was a fire exit. I slammed the handlebar down and fell outside into a cobbled side-street that branched into various other main roads. I took the smallest one and kept running until I came upon a series of garages fenced off by a metal gate. I clambered over it, shuffled towards a corner, where I couldn’t be seen from the street, and sat down against the wall.
Delete-Man: A Psychological Thriller Page 23