Dead Broken - Psychological Thriller / Horror

by Gerard Gray

  I could still remember being in the grotto where the blessed Mary appeared to Bernadette. I was standing on my own in the early hours of the morning, shortly after my dad had died. I had his picture in my hand.

  I hesitated. I was crying again, but you wouldn’t have known it. The water was washing away the tears.

  They say that if you go to help with the sick at Lourdes that you come away with blessings. I hoped with all my heart that the blessed Mary would bless me now. That she would come to my aid and take both myself, and that poor creature under the white sheet away from this sick place. I joined my hands together and started to pray through the tears:

  “Hail Mary, full of grace, the lord is with thee…”

  *

  Steven was moving about on the other side of the door. I reluctantly turned the shower off, blanking my mind for the umpteenth time. I was aching, shattered both mentally and physically. I hadn’t had a proper sleep in days, and I needed my sleep. I am one of those people who can’t function properly without eight hours of undisturbed sleep, which meant I hadn’t functioned properly in about five years.

  My earlier accident hadn’t been that bad in the end, just a little bit of stool on the bottom of my pants. Steven had found a new set of clothes for me; the clothes I’d been wearing were beginning to smell anyway. Steven had left a carrier bag along with the clothes. I think he wanted me to put the old pair of dirty pants into it.

  I stood up like a zombie and stared into the mirror. My teeth were furry, my head bristly, and I was sporting a full beard. I had never grown a beard before, due to having to go to work. Some of my colleagues had beards, but it didn’t feel right for me – a bald man with a full beard.

  I touched the mirror. I looked like my dad with no hair.

  “Dad, how am I going to get out of here? I’m not trying to be funny, but he’s utterly mad. I hope that when you died the illness died with you.” I suddenly thought of what it would be like in heaven if my dad were still bipolar. He would be flying around, night and day, on some insane crusade or other, travelling like lightning across the skies. I hoped to God that this wasn’t the case.

  But if it were, then perhaps that would explain one or two things. Was that why he had so blatantly helped me on dying? I don’t know many people who get helped like that from a recently deceased loved one. But I did. He did help me.

  “You need to get rid of him, dad. I know you can do it. You need to get rid of that madman before he kills whoever is lying under that sheet, before he kills me.” I was crying again, I just couldn’t stop crying. It reminded me of the time I had had a breakdown. For two months straight I had cried. I didn’t need a reason either; whenever I was alone I would just suddenly break into tears.

  “No,” I said, wiping the tears from my eyes. “I’m not going there again. I need to be strong. I need to be strong for Michael and Depp. They need me. They need me to teach them how to speak properly. I managed a slight smile. Karen would have killed me for thinking this. Women are weird. They seem to be allowed to point out all of our faults and foibles, but if we do the same, even slightly, then it’s divorce time. You know, I can’t even remember Karen apologising once for getting something wrong; I on the other hand found myself saying sorry on a daily basis.

  “Are you almost finished in there? I just need to put the trash out and I’ll be right with you.” Steven’s voice was amiable, friendly. The half smile disappeared from my lips. I winced on thinking about the trash. I knew only too well what he was talking about.

  I suddenly found my thoughts staring at that door again. The room and its recent bloody history were now sitting behind a thin curtain at the back of my mind. I stared at it for a couple of seconds. Unlike with the memories of my dad, I never wanted to see those memories again. I was happy to let them rot.

  A disparate thought rose up before me. It had come right out of the blue… or had it? I think it had been with me all along, buzzing around my head like a fly, like Tinkerbell. This little fairy had been flying around me for the past couple of hours, prodding and kicking my head, but I hadn’t noticed her… until now.

  Had Steven framed me?

  I could feel my heart speeding up. It hadn’t actually clicked with me, that something wasn’t quite right, until he had left me alone in the shower. It was then, with shocked horror, that I remembered the dream I’d had at my mum’s. My God, how the hell did I know about the vibrators and the paddling pool? The dream had been way too much of a coincidence. It was like an overdose of deja vu.

  I had often thought about deja vu, and I had come up with a theory? Perhaps something happens in our lifetime that is so profound that it sends vibrations rippling through space and time to be picked up by our former and future selves, like radio waves. Perhaps people are right when they describe time as being like a tube, our past and future connected to us almost physically – the fourth dimension. And these reverberations simply ripple back and forth.

  Had I actually dreamt the whole thing? It could have been a coincidence, but the facts were uncanny. What about the vibrator? I stopped myself from going any further. I didn’t want to take my thoughts anywhere near that monster’s deeds, anywhere near that room.

  I shifted my thoughts instead to his book. Perhaps he wasn’t lying about it, as mad as it sounded. Perhaps the book magnifies the deja vu effect, turning the phenomenon into vivid dreams. And if I had had nothing to do with the serial killer dream, then what about the cat?

  Of course, it all made perfect sense.

  The head, Pete. Remember the cat’s head. Whoever has it killed Tiddles. I bet he has the head.

  “You’re not wrong there, dad. Whoever killed the cat, kept the head as a token, it’s so obvious. And I don’t have the head, so I couldn’t have killed the cat. Fuck, I knew it. I knew I couldn’t have killed Tiddles.

  “And what about the scratches? He had scratches all over his hands, dad.

  “He killed the cat, not me. I fucking well knew it!”

  But did I even know Steven before the cat incident? Did he know me? There were too many holes here. And it definitely didn’t make perfect sense. None of it made any sense. The cat’s head could be anywhere – I could have hidden it anywhere.

  I placed my hands on either side of my temples and pushed hard.

  I was going insane.

  “Nothing makes sense anymore, nothing.”

  *

  Steven opened the door, peeping his head into the room.

  “All clean?” he said, rather jovially. “Feeling better?”

  I was sitting hunched in the corner, my arms securing my knees against my chest, rocking back and forth, back and forth. I raised my incredulous eyes to look at him. I wasn’t the insane one – he was. How could he hack to death someone like that and still be smiling amiably? My barbed wire thoughts hurt too much to go on. I stopped struggling, lowering my head in defeat.

  Steven opened the door and walked over towards me. He paused for a couple of seconds, a gesture of sympathy settling in his eyes. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you a cup of tea.”

  I stared up at him, sheer hatred burning a hole in my gut. Fuck, I wanted to kill him. I wanted to stab the fuck out of the monster. I glowered at the man for a second before lowering my head once more, utterly dejected. I was exhausted. I didn’t want to think anymore. Steven took me by the arm and pulled me gently to my feet. He then lead me out of the bathroom and into the hallway.

  “Where are we going?” I mumbled.

  “To get you something warm to drink, and after that you can open up your last present.”

  “No…” I whined. We were halfway down the stairs but I decided to drop to the floor anyway. I was acting like a child who refused to go any further – like Michael. “Please let me go. Please let the person under the sheet go. We haven’t done anything to you. It was me they hurt, not you. And I don’t want to hurt them anymore. Please let them go. I’ve forgiven them. Isn’t that enough?”

  S
teven looked at me with pity in his eyes. “You’re not good with violence are you?”

  Laughter spluttered from my mouth like vomit.

  “Well you don’t need to worry,” he said, putting his arm around me like a friend. “The violence is over for you. That’s all over… for you.”

  “Please don’t kill me. My children need me. My wife needs me. I have a very sick mother who needs me. They’ll be worried sick. Please let me go.”

  “I’m not going to hurt you, Peter. Haven’t you realised that yet. I just need someone to help me do this. I have big plans for you, good plans, but for now I just need a friend.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

  Reality rushed in to sober me up. OK, unless he was going to kill himself after this was all over, or hand himself in, he was going to kill me. It was as simple as that. Surely he knew that if he ever did let me leave this place that I would squeal like the proverbial pig. In fact, I would make it my life’s work to track the bastard down, and surely he knew that.

  My mind came to a full stop.

  Had I learned nothing? Had I not wasted the last six months of my life chasing after revenge? Had I not almost thrown away my marriage, my family? No, I would try to forgive him. As hard as it might be, I would try to forgive this man. But I would still help the police. I would still want to do all I could, within reason, to make sure this man ended up in prison. And I hadn’t forgotten about his brother, either. I had to help the priest.

  I let Steven pick me up from the stairs and lead me towards the kitchen.

  “No more violence…” I pleaded. “Please no more violence.”

  “I promise you, if you do what you’re told, that there will be no more violence. Violence has nothing to do with your next present, anyway.” Steven’s voice was starting to get excited again. “Violence isn’t your thing, I realise that now. But perhaps this will be. I think you’re going to like what I have in store for you next. I really do.”

  *

  Steven ushered me into a chair and sat himself down at the other side of the table. He poured some tea from an elegant, old-fashioned teapot into two cups. I noticed that the one closest to me had a chip around the rim. I turned my head to the window. It was dark outside, but I didn’t have the slightest clue what time it was.

  “What time is it?”

  “Late.”

  I didn’t push it.

  “Do you remember our conversation earlier?”

  “Sorry?”

  “About the youth of today?”

  My mind was in a precarious mess. It felt shaky and unsafe, on the brink of shutting down. And I knew only too well what happens when your mind shuts down, when the walls holding you up finally fall away. I proceeded to walk back over the night’s events, treading very carefully, broken glass strewn at my feet. I remembered the conversation about the neds, about how he didn’t think they were out of control.

  “Look at this.” Steven held out his smart phone for me to look at. I tried my best to focus on the screen, before shaking my head.

  “Read it. Don’t worry, it’s short.”

  I moved my tired eyes to the screen once more. It was another article from the BBC. It was titled “Youths throw woman in front of train.” Steven looked irate. “Fucking does my head in,” he spat.

  I sat back in my chair, momentarily afraid. He was getting angry again. I didn’t want him to get angry. I knew what his anger could lead to.

  “Just read the story.”

  Frightened, I quickly did as he asked. The article was indeed short and to the point. It was about two twenty-somethings who had allegedly pushed an old woman in front of a train after her telling them off for smoking.

  On finishing it he took the phone back off of me.

  “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”

  What? What was he talking about? I didn’t know what he was talking about. I instinctively searched for the cellar where my bed had been for the past couple of days. I wanted to go to sleep. I was so tired.

  “Youths throw woman in front of train. Where are the fucking youths in that story? Where? I see a couple of men in there mid twenties attacking a woman, but where are the youths. It makes me so fucking mad how irresponsible these bastards are. No wonder England thinks there are children with knives waiting on the end of every street corner to murder them, when they are bombarded with this propaganda bull shit every day.”

  “Scotland,” I whispered.

  “What?”

  “We’re in Scotland, not England.”

  Steven chose to ignore me. “Every day we open our newspapers or log onto sites that highlight the slightest incident involving “violent youths”. It’s fucking irresponsible. We’re living in the media age, Peter. It’s the media that controls the world, controls which way it spins, and do you know what’s so frightening about it? Eh? It’s headless, Peter. It has no single leader, no one person to blame, it just is. It’s a headless monster, a gossip merchant, an allegory of all that is bad about the human race. Now there’s the face of your broken society – the fucking press. It’s the fucking Wild West as far as they’re concerned.”

  Steven wasn’t talking to me anymore. It was ironic how we had both been caught up in the same insane issue, but had most definitely landed on separate sides of the fence. I found it hard to understand why he thought like this. It was plain for all to see that discipline had gone to the dogs. I was living proof of that. And as for the press, they were just doing a job because we wanted them to do it. The press did a lot of good in the world. Who else would bring the corrupt underbelly of society to account, or show up the mendacious politicians for what they really were?

  I threw all these useless thoughts from my head. I was too tired to think about nothing. And how fucking dare he pick fault with anyone after what he had done tonight. My mum has a saying: remove the plank from your own eye, before attempting to remove the splinter from others’.

  “We’re living in the media age, Peter. They control the world. They decide who lives and dies in the arena of our global society. They…

  “Oh, shut up!” I screamed. “Just shut the fuck up. Do you know what you’re doing here? You’re murdering innocent people. I don’t care if they’ve done one or two questionable things, they’re young and we’re all allowed to make mistakes when we’re young. So please spare me your pontificating rant – I got enough of that from my dad when he was ill. Whatever it is you’re going to do just do, and let that be an end to it. I’m tired, so very tired. I’m tired of all this bullshit, and I’m tired of you. If you’re going to kill me, then kill me. Just fucking kill me, you boring fucking man.”

  Silence.

  All was deathly quiet.

  Steven slowly picked up a spoon and proceeded to stir his tea.

  “If that’s what you want,” he said, quietly. “We’ll finish our tea and begin. Drink your tea and eat your biscuits.”

  Chapter 21

  Bunches

  Steven picked up the double barrel shotgun and pointed it at my chest. I had promised myself that I wasn’t going anywhere near that room again, but his gun was crumbling my resolve. I couldn’t face that room again, though. I just couldn’t. I had the sickest feeling that this time I wouldn’t be coming back out.

  Steven stood up, walked around the table, grabbed me by the back of the neck and dragged me to my feet. My outburst had appeared to throw him at first, but it hadn’t taken him too long to start spouting his shit again. “Up you get you spoilt little bastard. Here I am about to give you a present, and you’re not even grateful. You people have so much these days you appreciate nothing. Want a new console? Buy it on eBay cheap. Want a new kitchen? Stick it on the credit card. You don’t even know you’re alive, mate.”

  Steven led the empty shell that used to be known as Pete, to the door. He put out his hand, ushering me in with a forced smile. All thoughts were gone from my head; I simply walked straight in.

  I found myself staring
into the corner of the room, utterly numb. The chair was still fixed to the radiator but the boy and the paddling pool were gone. I turned my attention to Steven as if to ask where the boy was, but suddenly changed my mind. I didn’t want to know.

  Steven walked around to the side of the bed, quickly undoing one of the edges of the white sheet. The maggot looked dead. It wasn’t moving. Perhaps it was asleep. I hoped to God it was asleep.

  “Are you excited?” he asked. “Can you guess what it is?”

  I blanked my mind. I knew only too well what was under that sheet.

  I suddenly heard my heart beating in my chest. It was beating so loud I thought it was going to explode into the room, just like that monster in the film Alien. I reached down to touch my stomach. It was on fire.

  “Do you mind if I do the honours, or would you like to open it?” The white linen sheet covered the entire bed. It was pulled taught on either side, tucked tightly under the mattress, restraining the victim below. I just stared at him, my head as empty as a cupboard.

  Steven smiled enthusiastically as he reached down to pull the sheet from under the mattress. He freed one of the sides then skirted around the bed to free the other. “Are you ready for this?” he said, grabbing the top of the sheet. And with his next breath he pulled the cover right down to the bottom of the bed.

  Oh, dear God. I stared incredulous at the scene before me, a thousand digital images tumbling from my brain. I was looking at a Japanese bondage fantasy. All those websites with tightly bound, exotic Japanese babes, websites that any descent person would click the X on as quickly as they popped up, were flashing through my mind.

  Lying on the bed, fast asleep, was a girl wearing nothing but a tight top and a pair of white panties. She looked like a delicate doll. Freckles speckled her nose and cheekbones, her black hair tied back into pigtails, perhaps making her look younger than she was. Or perhaps she was just young. Her hands were tied behind her back with some rope securing her body tight. I found myself being drawn to her legs. They were long and athletic, each one tied to a bedpost, pulling them slightly apart.