Persona - A Disturbing Psychological Thriller (23 page)

‘Wondering what to tell the bitch?’ Zen asked, walking up to him.

From behind, he slapped John-Paul’s face. ‘You listening?’

‘Yes,’ John-Paul murmured, reeling from the blow. Thousands of leaves on the ground were spinning around him.

‘I understand why you came here.’ Zen moved to John-Paul’s front and slapped him again, sending him sideways.

John-Paul could see Zen wore full camouflage and black gloves.

‘It takes a precise length of rope to have your face dangle at fist height, and a precise dead weight to pull you up too quick to evade the trap. Chasing isn’t professional. Why’s your voice so high?’ His face broke into a grin.

John-Paul screamed. Zen stifled the noise by grabbing his face. ‘Do that again and I’ll hit you so hard you die. As a hostage your prerogative is to survive.’ He released his grip and John-Paul swung back. Zen sat down on the ground, crossed his legs and stared ahead.

‘You came to worship the site where you defied death,’ he said, looking up at his prey. ‘I appreciate that euphoria, but I have my concerns.’ He lay on his back and folded his arms behind his head. ‘You momentarily blocked out fear,’ he continued, and then smiled at John-Paul’s petrified eyes. ‘I need you to fear me every second. When you sleep, I must dominate every thought.

‘Before you construe that night as a personal victory, I must tell you
everything
that happens comes down to my discretion. I let you live.’ He pointed at the severed noose. ‘I knew the consequence would be your return, but it was worth it. The sharpest predator lets the prey come to him.’

He stood up. John-Paul flinched. ‘It’s time to refocus. You never overcame your fear – you just couldn’t live with it. When I blew away your façade like overnight dust
,
you realised you hated yourself. That cowardly pussy is who you are. The
resurrection
was a welcome diversion from yourself, but now I’m going to bring you back.’ He laughed, sending shivers through John-Paul. ‘I’ve had this in place for days. You took longer to visit than I expected.’

Zen pointed to the coil wrapped round John-Paul’s legs. ‘I’m going to lower this rope so that your lips are next to my dick.’ John-Paul shut his eyes. Zen smiled at his quivering body. ‘Once I’ve done that, you’ll undo my Levis and take out my penis, gently, like a bitch. Then you’ll wrap your soft lips around it and suck hard till I shoot jizz down your throat. And you’ll swallow all of it, any spitting and I’ll fuck you in the arse too.’

John-Paul began to cry. ‘No…no…no.’ He struggled pointlessly.

‘You think I’m gay?’

John-Paul kept his eyes shut.

Zen slapped him and his eyes shot open. ‘You think I’m
gay
?’ Zen roared, face red with fury.

Seeing madness in Zen’s eyes, John-Paul panicked. ‘No, no, I don’t,’ he stuttered.

‘You’re insulting the kidnapper?’

‘No.’

‘I’ve let you get too brave, cunt.’ Zen rammed his fist into John-Paul’s ribs. John-Paul flew back from the blow, screaming with pain. Zen waited till John-Paul swung back, then held him still with one hand, curled his fingers tightly over his ribcage, and jerked it outwards hard and fast. John-Paul buckled towards him, roaring with pain.

‘A man can grow numb to fear,’ Zen explained. ‘I gave you a break from it to keep it alive and potent.’ He grabbed John-Paul’s hair and pulled it down so he was rigid. When John-Paul tried to resist with his arms, Zen promptly let go of him and walked away. John-Paul grit his teeth, tears streaming from his eyes, and tried to withstand the pain of his broken ribs. As his high-pitched whimpers echoed through the trees, he wondered where Zen had gone and rotated his body as much as he could bear to look for him. Knowing something bad was about to happen he tensed up in fear…

Zen grunted as he swung the baseball bat into John-Paul’s left wrist, connecting perfectly. John-Paul’s reaction was stifled – short, regular bursts of agony resounded. The bat then smashed into his other wrist and this time he screamed.

‘When will you learn to cooperate?’ Zen grabbed the hair again, pulled it down, and then drove his open palm into the bridge of John-Paul’s nose. The screaming continued.

‘If I have to pull your tongue out I’ll be angry, because I want to talk to you and you might live to tell the tale.’

Writhing, John-Paul forced himself to quieten down, his mouth stretching in agonised determination. Squeals of pain were contained in his throat.

Zen jabbed John-Paul’s face and then drove a straight punch into his mouth, breaking teeth. The sound satisfied him. He walked to the barrels and eased a plug free from one of them, letting sand pile onto the floor. Slowly, the barrels rose into the air and at a certain height, he replaced the plug and then walked back to John-Paul, whose feet were now level with Zen’s forehead. From behind John-Paul, he picked up the baseball bat, took a huge swing and hit his right ankle. Then he moved to the other side, repeating the action on the other ankle. John-Paul stopped wriggling. Zen crouched down next to John-Paul’s head, which was pressed to the dirt.

‘Don’t worry, Doctor Zen has prepared himself for this.’ He withdrew a sturdy case from his pocket and removed a syringe. Jabbing the needle through John-Paul’s jeans and into his thigh, he released the fluid, then removed the needle, bent it back onto itself and replaced it in the case. After this, he returned to the barrels and pulled a switch knife from his combats. He opened the blade, cut the rope just above the weights and heard John-Paul thud onto the ground. Zen walked back to him.

‘Your medical diagnosis is broken ribs, nose, wrists, ankles and jaw. Teeth are missing. You must stay conscious because I’ve got something lined up. You’ve had a shot of morphine for the pain, which will take effect in a few minutes.’

John-Paul’s eyes were swimming in his head and the pain was intense. Zen cut the noose free from his legs, threw him over his shoulder, grabbed the bat and axe and then carried him to the Rover.

‘Slim Jim,’ Zen croaked, as he walked beside the vehicle, thinking John-Paul might be curious why the glass wasn’t broken. ‘Couldn’t have the cops sniffing around. Where are the keys?’

John-Paul twitched an arm at his right side. Zen reached into that pocket, took the keys, opened the boot, dropped John-Paul inside, then slammed it close, opened the driver’s door and jumped into the seat. He smiled to himself as the engine sparked into life and then he drove out of Knoll Wood.

Tossed around by Zen’s erratic driving, it wasn’t long before John-Paul felt the painkiller kick in. The pain numbed considerably, but he hadn’t the strength to attempt to escape. He felt drowsy, and being thrown around like a rag doll increased his dizziness. At the same time he felt light-headed and nauseous.

He found it hard to make sense of his many thoughts and vomited violently. ‘What a fucking idiot,’ he repeatedly whispered, sobbing.

What more would Zen do to him? He’d broken his bones – was that not enough? He rested his forehead on his limp wrist and wiped tears on the back of his hand.

Was this the end? He thought of Jen, his family and friends, his job, the lake where he fished, the heath where he ran. He wanted to breathe that air again, wanted to kiss Jen and hold her tight, drink with his friends. He prayed he would see everyone special to him again.

Zen had said he might live to tell the tale. He felt a glimmer of hope when he remembered that and knew that to survive he must be strong and positive. A dejected, pessimistic man wouldn’t last long if hanging onto life. He had to accept that his survival instincts would be honed and that he’d have to fight for his life. He’d done it before and he’d do it again. It was either that or wave goodbye to life, to his loved ones. ‘I won’t do that!’ he whispered.

Zen broke sharply. The boot opened and John-Paul squinted at the afternoon light.

‘Enjoy the ride?’ Zen asked.

Zen pulled him onto the ground, observing John-Paul’s pinpoint pupils that confirmed the morphine had circulated properly. Landing on a slope, John-Paul felt totally disorientated. Lifting his head, his blurry vision registered the lake about forty metres away at the bottom of the hill. Terror swept through him. He was going to be drowned!

‘Yeah, you’re right, I didn’t come for the scenery,’ Zen said flatly, dialling a number on John-Paul’s mobile phone. Seconds later his call was answered.

‘Hi, Jenny, it’s Zen.’

‘
Oh my God!
’ she screamed…
‘Why have you got John-Paul’s phone?’

‘Excellent.’ Zen laughed. ‘I hoped you’d have caller I.D. Yep, John-Paul’s with me. We’re at Danson Lake, north-east corner. Take this grid reference down…’ He waited five seconds. ‘Five, three, four, seven… two, eight, seven, six. I repeat five, three, four, seven… two, eight, seven, six. That’s on a one in fifteen-thousand Ordnance Survey map, and it’s the exact point where John-Paul will be drowning in his vehicle. If you’re fast, you’ll save him. You’re twelve minutes away. I’m rolling the Rover in exactly nine. Goodbye.’ He pressed ‘off’ on the phone and threw it into the lake.

John-Paul choked back tears, plagued with guilt at the pain he’d caused Jen. She’d be hysterical. She’d lose her mind. ‘Jen, I’m sorry,’ he whispered and heard Zen laugh. He looked up at him and his hatred flared. ‘You fucking cunt,’ he slurred, rolling over onto his knees.

‘John-Paul,’ Zen exclaimed. ‘Some spine. I’m impressed.’

‘I fucking hate you…you fucking slag,’ John-Paul droned, feeling exhausted and restless at the same time. ‘I’m going to fuck you…you slag.’

‘You’re in no position to threaten me, with or without broken bones.’ Zen kicked him in the face and he smashed onto the ground.

‘Stay awake, cunt, or you’ll die,’ Zen warned him.

John-Paul opened his eyes and groaned. He felt as if he was about to fall, as if the grass that supported him would give way.

‘Your survival depends as much on you as her. You have to stay alive until she rescues you.’

For a second John-Paul thought Zen was helping him, but quickly came to his senses, realising Zen wanted Jen to play God with him – John-Paul had to be alive for her to dictate his fate. Sick bastard! All John-Paul could do to quell her pain was stay alive. Even then, it’d damage her, and he didn’t know how much more she could take before she broke down permanently. But if he died it would all be over. She loved him and if she felt responsible for his death it would destroy her.

‘Anything you’d like to say? Because there’s a chance you could die here,’ Zen said, smiling.

‘Why?’ was all John-Paul could mumble.

‘What did the bitch tell you?’

‘She…slept with…someone else.’

‘And?’

‘That’s all.’

Zen laughed. ‘She doesn’t want to undermine your trust.’

‘What?’

‘Shut the fuck up, cunt!’ Zen screamed and then dragged John-Paul to the passenger seat. Throwing John-Paul’s body against the seat, he then grabbed some rope from the back seat. Zen must have put it there, John-Paul thought, as it wasn’t his. Zen tied John-Paul to the seat then grabbed his face and turned it toward him. ‘This could be it, boy! Remember to take a deep breath.’ Zen slammed the door closed, walked to the bonnet and sat on top of it. He kept his eyes on his watch.

John-Paul was immobilised. Only his head and legs above the knee were free. There was no hope of escape. He watched Zen’s wavering frame checking the time, and choked back the tears again. He had to be strong, but he was so scared. Last time, Zen had knocked him out, and when John-Paul had regained consciousness he was swinging by his neck, so there’d been no preliminary torture to endure, no heart-stopping anticipation like this – suddenly he had been there, struggling for his life, and he’d reacted with courage and resolve.

Now all he could do was watch Zen and pray that someone would intervene. He tried to move his whole body free, but only his knees lifted up a little and the movement intensified his disorientation. He stared at the dashboard, steering wheel and the gear stick, which were all out of focus due to the drug. He’d only just bought this car and now he was going to die in it. Stop it, he urged himself. You have to live. You have to live or Jen will die. That was something he wouldn’t allow. Whatever happened she must live.

Zen turned, winked at him and tapped his watch. Then he pushed himself off the bonnet, walked to the driver’s door, opened it and leant inside.

‘Might see you again,’ he whispered and then released the handbrake. The car rolled forward slowly and John-Paul heard the door slam close. It gained momentum and within seconds launched itself into the lake.

Zen watched it sink, rise and sink again, and then left.

Concealed in the copse, he waited for the dramatic scenes to unfold.

Hearing vehicles approaching, he wondered who else she’d brought along.

‘Bitch!’ he hissed when he saw the police vehicles roll over the hill. ‘Cheating fucking bitch.’ There were two patrol cars and a dog van. She’d pay for that. Badly.

Jenny and her father followed behind in their own vehicle. Zen didn’t know if he could watch now. It was fucked up, a failure. Digging his fingers into his face, he pulled the skin down hard, leaving bright red marks behind. She’d absolved herself of the responsibility – John-Paul’s life was in someone else’s hands. There would be no progress.