Gemini: A Psychological Horror

by Stuart Keane

  The waitress took the tip and thanked her, wishing her a good day as she left.

  Shay exited the coffee shop and followed the waitress’s directions. She spotted the salon at the opposite side of the road. The ‘Glam’ logo ran across the top of the entrance in tall white, capital letters. The glass-fronted building was surrounded by pastel blue marbled panels, lending the property an unambiguous, contemporary appearance.

  Darting between the queuing traffic, she crossed the road and walked through the main entrance. The heat inside washed over her, a stark contrast to the freezing conditions outside. A young attractive woman with shoulder-length brown hair, perfectly manicured eyebrows and a faultless complexion lingered in the reception area. She propped herself on a slim stool behind a white, high-sided desk, filing her nails and reading a newspaper to pass the time. To her right was a large three-tier glass-fronted cabinet that held an array of beauty products, salon treatments, and expensive merchandise.

  The woman smiled as she saw Shay enter the shop. “Good morning. Can I help you?”

  Shay smiled at her. “Hi, I was wondering if you had an appointment available?”

  “Of course, what time were you looking for?”

  “Right away, if you can fit me in.”

  The woman looked at the monitor on the desk in front of her. “Okay, we’re fairly quiet for about the next hour and a half. What were you looking to get done?”

  Shay took the stolen credit card and, after some hesitation, handed it to the woman. “It’s my birthday. My husband has been stupid enough to give me his credit card to use and abuse. Do your worst.”

  The receptionist’s eyes lit up at the potentially large commission payment standing right in front of her. She took the credit card from Shay, placed it into the breast pocket of her uniform, and smiled.

  “Please, follow me.”

  She led Shay through a large studio lined with a row of leather chairs positioned in front of several tall mirrors. Large selections of styling products were stored in tall black trays beside each seat. The floor was made of laminated wood, and spotlessly clean. The immaculate walls were painted a pretty off-yellow. Funky dance music filled the room from powerful speakers high on the walls.

  Shay thought she’d died and gone to heaven.

  The woman led Shay into a waiting area and gestured for her to take a seat. Shay composed herself and sat down. As she did so, the woman handed her a slim brochure. “I’ll just go and prepare a few of the staff while you decide on which package you would like.”

  Shay opened the brochure and began to skim through the details. She was amazed to discover that she didn’t recognise most of the treatments that were available.

  Do you really need an elemis deep tissue back massage?

  The receptionist returned after a few moments accompanied by two women, one of similar age and the other slightly older. They wore identical uniforms and their faces were adorned with several of the cosmetics on sale, which added a certain authenticity to their roles. The receptionist addressed Shay with an eager smile, noticing the customer’s bemusement at the choice of treatments available in the brochure.

  She gestured towards the two women, who were smiling as if their lives depended upon it. One of them was preparing a glass of champagne. “This is Nikki and Charlotte. They’re going to be looking after you during your visit this morning. Have you decided on any treatments?”

  Shay looked at the woman and shrugged her shoulder impassively. “I’m not sure.”

  The woman smiled and took the brochure from her, flipped the pages until she reached the back, and placed it back in her hands. The page was headed Special Offers. She pointed to one of the selections.

  “If you don’t mind spending the money, I can highly recommend that option.”

  Shay read the details, looked at the three women, and smiled. “Why not?”

  Ninety minutes later, Shay lounged in a plush leather chair and admired her reflection in the mirror. She felt transformed, her body relaxed from the all-over massage. Her skin looked healthy, perfectly smooth and positively glowing from the various complexion treatments. She moved her face closer to the mirror, admiring the perfect shape and definition in her eyebrows and lashes. Her fingernails were now perfectly manicured and painted in a lively purple colour. She admired her new hairstyle, the bleach blonde dye and style slightly shorter, more choppy and radical than her usual look.

  A perfect change, she thought.

  The young woman who had originally served her walked over with a smile on her face.

  “Oh, wow. You look absolutely fantastic.”

  Shay spun around on the seat to face the woman, beaming. “Thanks.”

  “I take it you like the makeover?”

  She chuckled. “You bet your arse I like it.”

  The woman looked at Shay, carefully inspecting her choice of wardrobe.

  “I hope you don’t mind me saying, but seeing as your husband is treating you for your birthday, can I recommend that you get him to treat you to some more clothes … you know, to top it all off. After all, it will be his treat as much as yours. You’re on the best street in London to go clothes shopping.”

  The woman removed the stolen credit card from the front pocket of her uniform and waved it around in front of her as if trying to emphasise her point.

  Shay smirked. “Yes, don’t worry; I’m nowhere near through being done for today. Now if you don’t mind, could we settle up?”

  “Of course, follow me over to the counter.”

  Shay collected her belongings and followed the woman, who processed the payment and handed the card terminal over for her to punch in the pin number.

  “So, after my little spending spree on Oxford Street this afternoon, and since you put the idea for new clothes in my head, where would you recommend?”

  “It depends, there are some great stores in Knightsbridge. What type of stuff are you looking for?”

  Shay answered her question. The woman’s mouth instantly dropped open in shock and she fell silent. The silence was broken by the sound of the receipt printing from the handheld terminal.

  Embarrassed, the woman handed the credit card back to Shay, along with the receipt. “I’m not really sure, I’m guessing for that sort of stuff, you’re best heading to Soho. You can get there on the Tube. Let me just check, you did say bondage gear?”

  Shay smiled, and nodded.

  IX

  The extravagant lobby of the Primrose Hotel was nearly double the size of her apartment, and Odette had to relax for a moment to take it in. She walked through the door and breathed out, the sweat on her face now cloying, and admired the white walls; a plain but beautiful décor, the stone pillars that divided the room into partitions, and the vast mahogany desk that served as the focal point of the room. A smattering of Persian rugs on pristine grey tiles completed the unique look, lending the large space an air of quality. A comfortable stay at a grand venue for less than the expensive chains like Hilton or The Savoy.

  She ambled over to a nearby seating area, which consisted of three plush brown sofas positioned around a sparkling glass coffee table. No reading material was present so she sat at the edge of the nearest sofa, placing her Tesco bag between her feet.

  She took a moment to observe.

  The lobby was empty and silent, bar the clerk behind the reception desk. She noted his slicked hair, his unwavering gaze and the designer glasses on the end of his pointed nose. Being the only other person present, she felt like the focus and attention was suddenly on her, like her arrival had somehow activated a bright spotlight and emphasised her presence. She knew it was a figment of her active imagination, but she still couldn’t shake it. She needed a room, somewhere to hide out … and fast.

  Odette removed her gloves and wrung her hands together, still sweating from her hasty journey. She’d left the car on West Street and made the fifteen-minute journey here on foot. She saw no one, and bothered nobody on her travels, but she sti
ll had the small prickle of fear, of trembling uncertainty, deep in her stomach.

  When would they find the body?

  Would she have time to get away?

  Would she be a suspect?

  All questions she knew the answers to. And although she cared about the outcome and repercussions of her actions like any other normal human being, she couldn’t help but feel her sanity, and her grasp on reality, was slowly fading.

  That’s a natural feeling, Odette. You need not worry.

  Yes, because the murder in the taxi went so well.

  Yeah, well, preparation is everything until you come unprepared.

  What does that even mean?

  It means we’re alive, and he ain’t. A thank-you wouldn’t go amiss.

  Thank you. Odette shook her head. I can’t believe I’m having a fucking conversation in my head.

  We can hear you, you know?

  “Urgh,” she grunted, and stood up. Collecting her Tesco bag, she walked over to a nearby phone booth, a small grey payphone attached to the wall and flanked by two plastic fins, and leaned against it.

  Gonna phone a friend, eh?

  Odette closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the white wall. The cool stone soothed her clammy skin, and she sighed, finally feeling a little relief. She cracked her knuckles, which sounded abnormally loud in the silence of the lobby, and composed a plan.

  We get in, rent a room, and hide out for a few days.

  What about Shay?

  What about her?

  You have a bet on, remember? Three kills. And you’re one up already. Sure, you broke the rules a little with a kill in the two-day preparation you agreed on, but she’ll probably be doing the same thing. A psycho can rarely wait, especially when a challenge has been set. Kudos.

  Odette opened her eyes and sighed.

  You’re winning, the voice insisted. I doubt she’s found anyone yet.

  What’s your point?

  Keep up, slowpoke. You can hide out all you want, but that will make you the loser. You can’t kill anyone in your hotel room. Well, unless you’re thinking of a Jeremy Kyle marathon but that’s just plain nasty.

  Maybe that’s not a bad thing.

  What, the Jeremy Kyle marathon? Maybe you are insane.

  No, the hiding out. Losing.

  That’s boring.

  And safe, for a while anyway.

  It’s certainly not any fun. Please, and I thought we were making progress.

  One thing at a time…

  Odette hoped the abandoned Ford Focus would get stolen; after parking on the kerb, she’d left the doors wide open and the keys inside. Following that, the car was no longer a concern to her. It was clean of her prints. She looked down at her pocket, remembered the crumpled gloves within, and smiled. Wise choice, she thought.

  See, preparation. Until you’re unprepared, it’s all good.

  I wonder about you sometimes.

  Ha! Right back atcha.

  Odette couldn’t help but smile.

  West Street was far behind her now, but the real test was just about to begin.

  Turning around, Odette took a deep breath and walked over to the reception desk. As she approached, her shoes clacking on the tiled floor, the clerk looked up, removed his hands from the keyboard before him, and plastered on a practiced smile. Odette ran a hand through her hair, attempting to look flustered and occupied. She smiled too, short and sweet.

  “Good evening. May I help you, ma’am?”

  “Yes. I’d like a room, please.”

  “No problem.” The clerk tapped his keyboard, his fingers bouncing across the keys with expert precision. “You in town on business?”

  Odette nodded. “Yes, you could say that.”

  After a second, he smiled. “I have several rooms available. We have standard, economy, and two suites.” He looked up, prompting a response.

  “How much is a suite?” Odette asked, leaning onto the counter.

  “One hundred and sixty-seven per night.”

  “I’ll take one.”

  “Excellent –”

  “On one condition,” she interrupted. The clerk looked at her, his eyebrow raised. He leant back, offering a brave face, but said nothing. Odette continued, “I need it for seven nights, but I can only pay cash.”

  “We would need identification, ma’am. You wouldn’t believe how many people skip out on our rooms, despite our preference for a certain … clientele,” he hissed.

  “Really? I can pay you right now,” she added.

  “Sorry, it’s protocol.”

  “Listen. I broke up with my boyfriend today. I found out he was being unfaithful, and I can’t stay in our house any longer. It’s the scene of his horrid betrayal, and I have nowhere else to go. I don’t have family,” she lied, preparing the invented story she had rehearsed for the past hour. “I haven’t been home, and my purse is there. I only have cash. So, please, see it in your heart to help me.” To finish the story, she rubbed her weary face, selling irritation and tiredness, the only truthful part of the theatre.

  The clerk sighed. “I’m sorry, there’s –”

  “I’ll pay you.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll pay for the room, and put a bit more on top, a little added money for you. As a security deposit, so to speak. I know that’s what you hotels care about most. You can stick it in the coffers, or your own pocket. I don’t care. I just need a room. Please.”

  The clerk stood silent, considering her offer.

  He prevented himself from recommending another hotel, one lower on the paygrade and social strata, but his strict professional honesty went against the very idea. You never turn away a willing, paying customer, and this situation came down to one simple thing; he had a paying customer right here, and she was intending to pay, a lot more than expected too. He’d be providing a service, making the hotel proud, and showing the establishment in a decent, caring light.

  And, besides, you might get a nice bonus out of it too, he thought.

  Sure, he had professional honesty listed on his imaginary resume but even a fool doesn’t turn down free money.

  Finally, he nodded.

  “Okay. Name your price,” he said, trying to keep his voice level and low.

  Odette smiled, reached down into her Tesco bag, and retrieved a block of money. “How does this look?” She slapped it on the counter with a heavy thud, and watched the clerk’s eyes widen.

  “Yes. That … that will do just fine. One room key or two?”

  The night passed without incident, and despite the events of the previous evening, Odette got a decent night’s sleep. Sitting on the edge of the bed, the sheets crumpled around her bare back and her hair resembling a messy bird’s nest atop her head, she sighed and squinted at the sun shining through the open window. The relaxing sound of chirping birds and early morning activity filtered through, putting a brief smile on her face. Another long day ahead, with nothing planned. She groaned, and realised that, from now on, her life would never be the same again.

  No Gavin.

  No home.

  No job – and that particular realisation stunned her into silence, knocking the wind out of her. For some reason, and despite losing a long-term partner and her fixed abode, the loss of her income was the most shocking aspect. She found herself surprised, stunned even. Odette rubbed her face and sighed.

  You could just go to work.

  Yes, and then what? They’ll know where I am. The police can find me easily.

  It’ll be more suspicious if you don’t turn up. If anything, it’ll cast you in a bad light and bring attention to you if you don’t attend. At least if you act normal, you have an alibi for yesterday evening.

  Oh, and what’s that?

  The clerk of the hotel.

  There’s a gap between alibis, though. And what if they find both bodies and link me to them? They’d nail me to the fucking wall.

  The voice remained silent.

  “I
need to talk to Shay. She’ll know what to do.”

  Odette walked naked across the large bedroom, entered the bathroom, wincing as her bare feet touched the cool tiles, and squatted on the toilet. As she relieved herself, she thought of a plan. Her eyes flicked to the Tesco bag, with its vital contents, and realised she didn’t have Shay’s number.

  But Shay had hers.

  I turned mine off, no GPS.

  Good idea.

  Thank you, but what if she’s sent me a text already and I missed it? What if I’m losing already?

  Then you better turn it on and find out.

  Odette flushed the toilet and returned to the bedroom, her attention focused. She emptied the Tesco bag onto the bed and sorted the contents into piles. First, she placed the blocks of cash into the small safe beside the bed, and followed the instructions to create a personal, temporary key code. Second, she piled her clothes on the mini dresser beneath the window, keeping a hoodie, t-shirt and some battered jeans. Third, she bundled everything else back into the bag and placed it in the bottom of the wardrobe.

  I’ll deal with those later.

  Odette dressed in a hurry. She slipped on her jeans and t-shirt, zipped up her hoodie and roughly brushed her fingers through her long, tangled mane. As she slipped her feet into her trainers, the prospect of leaving the sanctuary of the hotel room staggered her like a gale force wind, and made her stumble. She sat on the bed, a sudden bout of nerves wracking her to the core.

  You have to do this.

  Shay’s your only solace, the only person who knows about your … newfound obsession.

  Odette bundled her hair together and twisted it into a tight bun, turned and put a grey beret on her head, and added some Donna Karan sunglasses. She glanced in a nearby mirror. It’s not perfect, but it’ll do nicely. Incognito, so to speak.

  Feeling better? Can we go now?

  Odette nodded, but said nothing.

  “Hold the lift!”

  The walk into the town centre was a bit of a passing blur for Odette. As the evidence of her spending spree bumped against her leg, the bags rustling with their various contents, she marvelled at just how easy it had been. She’d spoken to no one bar the various cashiers, providing necessary small talk when required, and walked in and out without so much as a glance from any of the public. No one stopped her, no one stared in her direction. Overall, the trip had only taken two hours.