Persona - A Disturbing Psychological Thriller

by Horn, Marc

  A psychopath, without a doubt. Dave knew it would haunt him for a long time. No matter what Ben did, he couldn’t desert him. His thoughts of Ben made him flinch as he recalled the ferocious eyes penetrating him when he’d been pinned against the wall. He had to get ‘Ryan’ into his head.

  38

  Sitting in the armchair of his twelfth-floor flat, Andre glared at the city through the window. Yesterday John-Paul had returned to the woods, and now he was in hospital bandaged up like a mummy. Jen was hysterical. The idiot had deserved what he got, but Jen did not.

  Zen - real name Ben Salks - was extremely competent. He’d tuned into John-Paul’s psyche, located his weakness, and then exploited it.

  Andre felt a constant buzz about this job. Previous targets had been easy - purely physical, lacking subtlety. He hoped to meet his match now. He was in his prime, as fit as he had ever been and at his most proficient. How long would that last? The time would come when age would hinder him. He had five years left, maybe ten, but after that he’d have to take a back seat, so he wanted to soak up this exhilaration while it lasted.

  He lifted his mug from the table and took a sip of his coffee. Stuffed heads of deer, large cats and even a bear were mounted against the walls of his flat on thick oak plaques, each beside a photo of Andre posing next to the carcass with his rifle.

  Behind Jen’s despair and fear, Andre could see a happy girl desperate to break free from that misery. Though John-Paul cared for her, he was self-important. The ludicrous decision to revisit Knoll Wood had been a grievous error. Straight into Zen’s trap. Perfect…

  And now things were worse. Jen had let the law shoulder the responsibility for John-Paul’s life, which, although dramatically reducing the threat to her health during that incident, meant that now the police were involved. Zen was wanted for attempted murder.

  The CID offered counselling, round-the-clock home surveillance, and after Jen had helped create a photofit of Zen, they pasted it all over town. But they couldn’t offer guarantees, and Andre knew their involvement was a severe burden rather than blessing. Yes, they could protect her while she stayed at home, and while the guard remained there she would not be harmed. But Zen would simply go to ground and return when the commotion died down. That meant Andre may have to wait too, and the sudden interest in Zen could compromise Andre when he killed him. When Zen had been a nobody, his death would have made little impact. Now it would be front-page news and that risked Andre’s exposure.

  He’d thought about declining the job, but had rejected the option. It was a quality job he would relish. And Jen deserved to be avenged. She was suffering for a mistake she’d made over ten years ago. She hadn’t learnt how Ben had found out about it until he returned five years later as Zen, and revealed that he’d tasted Geoff’s semen in her mouth...

  Zen had decided that five years was a sufficient amount of time for her to punish herself for her mistake, before he’d intervene. Jen had then learnt from police that Geoff had committed suicide, after sustaining injuries that had left him paralysed from the waist down. Obviously Zen had crippled him, but, bizarrely enough, Geoff had not named him as the suspect.

  When Zen had returned three months ago, Jen explained to John-Paul - who knew nothing about Zen - that she had slept with someone else while they were dating ten years ago – that was all she had told him. She was paranoid about losing John-Paul, and feared that disclosing the revelation that she’d had sex with her boyfriend’s friend and sucked his penis while her boyfriend showered, would make John-Paul rethink her commitment to him. The experience had damaged her extensively and it had taken a long time for her to fall in love again. When she had, eight years later with John-Paul, she was desperate to keep him.

  She hadn’t even told John-Paul names, despite his insistence that he could track down Zen if he knew his background, since she was worried he might uncover the truth and reject her. She’d told him Zen was untraceable, that police officers involved last time had used Zen’s previous identity, but had unearthed nothing about his whereabouts - he had seemingly ceased to exist for years. She had, though, agreed to professional help, and they had hired a hitman, who managed to track down Zen, but failed to eliminate him.

  Jen was in a bad way. Andre had not seen her since his first visit, nor would he. He’d explained to them that he would not visit again. He was not a sitting target. He’d spoken to her on the phone and the emptiness in her tone was clear. John-Paul’s injuries kept her preoccupied though. Her inner withdrawal was inhibited while she nursed him. Andre shook his head. Maybe now John-Paul would think twice before defying him.

  Zen would have gone berserk. Jen had spoilt his plan. Watching from the woods, he would have cursed her response. No pressure or tribulation, and therefore no success. She’d been desperate – out of her mind with worry – but it hadn’t come close to the maddening intensity he craved.

  Now Zen would make her suffer. He’d line up something horrific. Andre had to be one step ahead. Only he could save her and prevent further pain. It was a mission he would not fail.

  39

  ‘Are you there?’ Ginger asked him, leaning in.

  Ryan smiled. ‘I’m closer.’

  ‘Closer?’ Ginger moved to Ryan’s window, watched the morning traffic.

  ‘Yeah, I deactivated two.’

  Ginger turned, his eyes wide. ‘Two? Double delight?’

  ‘Yes,’ Ryan confirmed proudly.

  ‘Which ones?’

  ‘Voyeurism and homosexuality.’

  Ginger covered his eyes and grit his teeth. ‘Who’d you bum?’

  ‘I was bummed.’

  Ginger removed his hand, stared anxiously.

  ‘Dave took me in the dirt box.’

  Ginger’s face contorted. He turned and gripped the windowsill. ‘Dave’s a closet?’

  ‘Not now. He’s a full-blown bender.’

  ‘And you’re…not?’ Ginger winced while the question hung in the air.

  ‘No.’

  Ginger closed his eyes. ‘That’s an enormous relief. I’ve been shitting myself about that! Doesn’t surprise me about Dave though – he’s so effeminate, always checking his fucking nails.’

  Ryan frowned. ‘You’ve never met him.’

  ‘We’ve never been introduced, but I’ve seen him. Remember, I look out for you.’

  Ryan sighed. ‘I was shocked... I knew he was a fanny repellent, but I thought that was because he lacked sex appeal. Now I know, on a deeper level, that he’d created that façade to put women off him and nurture his true sexuality.’

  ‘That’s deep,’ Ginger said dispassionately.

  ‘But it isn’t that simple,’ Ryan continued. ‘See what you make of this; it was only when he found his dad’s gay porn stash that he realised he was gay. He said it all fell into place then.’

  ‘He inherited the gene,’ Ginger mumbled.

  ‘No.’ Ryan sat up on the bed. ‘He convinced himself of that, and now it’s fucked up his life!’

  ‘It certainly has.’

  ‘Don’t you think it’s an injustice? He wasn’t meant to be gay. He’s been totally devoured by the power of suggestion!’

  ‘Chill, lad. This is getting too fucking heavy!’

  ‘But you have to understand. He’s my best mate and I feel partly responsible. I used to take the piss out of queers, and that forced him to bury his tendencies so deep that they took over his life. And because he thought I’d inherited Will’s madness, it reinforced his belief that he shared his father’s inclination.’

  ‘Guilt won’t help you.’

  Ryan shook his head. ‘It’s not all about me. I take care of Dave.’

  ‘Yeah, too fucking much!’

  Ryan looked up. ‘Well, I got rid of a mine. That’s all you care about.’

  Ginger faced him. ‘You’re all I care about. I don’t even know Dave. Anyway, enough of this shit. The other mine?’

  ‘I got Stacey to suck Dave’s dick, and fucked Fay in
front of her.’

  Ginger smiled. ‘Devious. I like your thinking. So this took place before the gay thing?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Hmm. And it didn’t work for you?’

  ‘I enjoyed hurting Stacey. She was in tears.’

  Ginger laughed.

  ‘She threw Fay out and told me to go and find her, said we were suited.’

  Ginger laughed louder. Ryan joined in.

  ‘So, it’s not your place?’ Ginger asked.

  ‘No, it was just another shag, and obviously Dave couldn’t get into it.’

  Ginger walked over to him and held out his hand, which Ryan shook. ‘Congratulations, lad, you’ve made significant progress and the journey can’t go on much further. Don’t lose this momentum. Keep fate flowing.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘I’ll see you soon.’

  Ginger left the room.

  Ryan stretched out. He felt validated that Ginger was pleased, but other than that he was not content. Theoretically he was closer to his place, but he’d never felt further from it. He felt dizzy spinning through the cosmos, and nothing in sight offered balance and equilibrium. He hoped Ginger was right. He was relying on his advice.

  40

  Fay was made up and ready to go a whole hour before she needed to leave her house. Stood by the front door, her fingers crept to her crotch. Angrily, she pulled them away. If she saved herself it would be so much better. She’d had a preview, and now she was desperate to go the full distance. Ryan’s dick was so big and hard, and she wanted to sit on it more than anything. She’d lost a friend because of her obsession, but that sacrifice was insignificant when compared to the pleasure she’d experience. Stacey was a soppy bitch. No wonder Ryan wanted the real thing. She would satisfy him.

  She remembered the exchange that had taken place yesterday, after Ryan had pulled out of her and rushed to find Dave…

  ‘Look at you,’ Stacey hissed. ‘How utterly despicable.’

  Fay said nothing as she pulled up her leggings.

  Stacey sniffed. ‘Too ashamed to speak to me and too ashamed to show your face.’

  Fay turned and stared defiantly at her. ‘I’m not ashamed. This is real life, Stacey. It’s not a fucking fairytale.’

  Fresh tears trickled down Stacey’s face. ‘This is what a friend does?’

  Fay smirked. ‘Friend…’ She tutted. ‘Open your fucking eyes. Why should I miss out on good sex because you think it’s unfair?’

  Stacey closed her eyes, whispered, ‘How could I have misjudged you so badly?’

  Fay sneered. ‘Because you’re up there with the fairies. That’s why you misjudged Ryan, too.’

  ‘Ryan’s behaviour does not help excuse yours in any way. You were my friend.’

  ‘Oh, fuck off! You think I was gonna make do with pencil dick while you had Ryan? I wanted to fuck him at The Newt.’

  Stacey didn’t respond.

  ‘Sex feels too good to justify holding back,’ Fay continued.

  ‘Go and convince yourself somewhere else,’ Stacey said shakily.

  Fully dressed, Fay stared at Stacey. ‘This is trivial, Stacey. Open your legs more often and you’ll realise that.’

  She waited for a reaction, but didn’t get one. She walked to the door, opened it, and then glanced back at Stacey. ‘Pull your head out your arse.’

  Then she left.

  Stacey was a joke. Fay shook her head, deciding not to waste any more time thinking about her.

  Forty-five minutes later, Fay left her house and walked to the meeting place. The air chilled her fingers, so she buried them in her coat pockets. What a venue to choose when it was almost fucking December! She found the bench beside the bin by the oval lake, and sat down on it. She was twenty-five minutes early. And she was hot and wet. It felt wonderful knowing that good sex was imminent. Ryan was the best-looking bloke she’d ever laid, and last night she’d masturbated three times over the memory. It would have been mind-blowing if he’d made her come. Well, that would happen now.

  ‘Fay,’ he whispered from behind her.

  She turned, saw him smiling in the densely set trees encasing the lake, and then giggled. ‘What’re you doing in there?’

  He beckoned for her to join him. ‘Come here.’

  Hastily, she made her way across the frozen mud. Then he grabbed her hand and escorted her though the woods.

  ‘Where’re we going?’ she asked, intrigued and excited.

  ‘Somewhere we can fuck.’

  He was everything she wanted. Strong, sexy, wild. She hoped she wouldn’t have to wait much longer.

  Minutes later, he stopped and looked at her. ‘You want this?’ he asked, squeezing his penis inside his tracksuit bottoms.

  ‘Yes!’

  Ryan turned her around, held her waist, and then pressed his crotch against her buttocks. She assisted, gyrating her hips as he rubbed himself over her. He cupped her enormous breasts in his hands while Fay ran hers down his hips and up the inside of his thighs. This was it. Finally she’d get what she wanted. She threw back her head and moaned.

  Ryan rubbed her crotch with one hand, and used the other to flick open a switch-blade and slit her throat.

  He stepped back, let her crash to the ground.

  He closed the blade, placed it back in his pocket, and then stared at the blood pouring onto the earth. It blossomed into an eclipse of death, an opening that had sucked her in. He’d taken her life, erased her future, decided her fate. He was the supreme being, granting the power of life and death.

  He closed his eyes, let the feelings cleanse him.

  They didn’t.

  Again, he looked at her limp, lifeless body, sprawled out and useless. He’d taken everything from her; removed her from the world. No more laughter, sex, or happiness. No children, marriage, or achievements. He, Ryan, had taken all that. He had had the capability, desire and nerve to see it through.

  He felt nothing. Complete detachment. There was no release or comfort.

  He checked the surroundings, looking for signs. It could be anything, but nothing caught his eye. The woods were silent. No animals in sight, and the branches resembled nothing familiar. No symbols or messages. The sky was uninspiring, blending into dusk, offering nothing except cover.

  He sighed, tired.

  Another mine deactivated. He was closer, that was all…

  He dragged Fay to her grave fifteen metres away. It had taken him all day to dig the frozen dirt and now he was exhausted.

  He dropped her in the hole. The thud echoed when she hit the bottom. The hole was deep. She was unlikely to be found by any missing person search, or uncovered by animals.

  He began the arduous task of filling the hole, demoralised and miserable. It was getting dark – soon he’d have to use the red-filtered torch. If anyone interfered, he’d be burying two people.

  41

  Fear abatement was forbidden. Police, communities, hitmen - all were useless against him. Jenny was foolish to underestimate him.

  Zen welcomed the security measures taken by the police. Soon she would know that nothing could stop him, and the guilt and despair would swell inside her until a million voices and images stole her attention every minute of every day.

  She didn’t have his strength. Madness would consume her. Already he could feel it calling her.

  A disused office building stood seven hundred metres from Jenny’s house. From the top floor Zen could see their driveway. He’d used it as a surveillance point on many occasions. Gaining access had been simple – the fire escape took him to the roof, and there, in darkness, he had worked the skylight lock free and lowered himself through.

  Zen opened the office window just enough to poke the barrel though, and then took up position. Street lamps illuminated their front garden like a beacon. Smiling, he adjusted the sights on his sniper rifle. He wore a fleece top, jogging bottoms, thin gloves and a balaclava - all black.

  Last night, just before he went to bed,
Nathan Edmunds had served brews to the two officers standing on his drive. Why wouldn’t he? Zen didn’t scare him. He’d left Zen for dead in the woods, hadn’t he?

  In Zen’s book, that was the second-biggest mistake the Edmunds family had ever made. They should have strangled him. He’d been incapacitated, unable to resist. But they hadn’t finished him and now he was back.

  He studied the garden. This was the third-biggest mistake – handing the coppers mugs of tea.

  He relaxed, his rifle aimed two feet to the right of the officer, the sight barely moving as he breathed. He cleared his mind of thoughts – distractions would handicap him. He meditated as he watched, feeling tension fade.

  At a quarter to midnight, Edmunds opened the front door, holding two mugs. Zen’s breathing deepened, but he quickly regulated it. He pressed his finger onto the trigger surface, watched Edmunds walk down the driveway. Edmunds handed Officer Left a mug and then turned to Officer Right. As soon as Edmunds mouthed his first word to Officer Right, Zen squeezed the trigger, keeping the rifle rigid as the shot was released. Edmunds was knocked backwards onto the lawn. Perfect headshot…

  Zen watched the officers panic for a few seconds, then withdrew the gun and closed the window. He laid the rifle down beside the holdall, then pulled himself up to the skylight and climbed through. He could hear her screams as he descended the steps.

  By the time police choppers hovered over the area, Zen was a mile and a half away, running along a train track. He had to move quickly as thermal imaging would have picked him up easily.

  Five miles from the scene, he moved into the undergrowth of a grassy bank beside a station. Minutes later, when a train pulled in, Zen emerged and climbed inside.

  Jen cradled her father in her arms, beside herself with grief and regret.

  ‘Don’t touch the bullet wound, Jen,’ officers whispered. She looked at them, wanting to be hysterical but feeling only helpless.

  ‘What does it matter?’ she sobbed. ‘You-you let my father die. What was the point? Why did I do-do this to him?’