Persona - A Disturbing Psychological Thriller (5 page)

‘Nope.’

‘Because you enjoy your own company?’ John-Paul ventured.

‘I enjoy trust.’

‘That’s a good quality.’

Zen arched back his neck and inhaled deeply. ‘And a rare one.’

John-Paul narrowed his eyes. ‘What happens when you’re wrong, Zen? I mean a misguided opinion, judgement...course of action?’

‘Someone suffers,’ Zen hissed.

‘Regardless of their innocence?’

‘We all lose it.’

John-Paul sighed, ripped out a clump of grass and let it fall through his open fingers. ‘Not caring if you’re wrong is not your main problem, Zen. You don’t
know
if you’re wrong. You’ve developed total self-security.’

Zen smiled. ‘Thank you.’

Disgust crept into John-Paul’s tone: ‘No one to confide in, no one to criticise you, compliment you, or inspire you. You’re entire life is contained inside your own head. That’s very sad.’

‘You pity what you also fear,’ Zen responded. ‘That’s very weak.’ He inched closer. ‘Last time we met, you tried to arrest me. You going to humiliate yourself again?’

John-Paul eased his shoulders back and squared up to Zen. ‘I don’t fear you,’ he said. ‘I have Jen’s interests at heart.’

In an instant, Zen spun around. John-Paul instinctively lifted his arms towards his face, but Zen grabbed hold of his wrists at chest height and squeezed them together. John-Paul tried to pull away, but his adversary’s grip was too strong. Zen’s knuckles turned white and John-Paul felt his own hands go numb. Zen’s face was set like stone as he steadily curled the fingers of his right hand around John-Paul’s right wrist so that he held both wrists in one hand. Then he rested his free hand on his own thigh. Still John-Paul could not break away. Zen spoke with venom: ‘You fear me. Your stomach churns at the thought of visiting me. You force yourself to do so out of self-disgust at your own cowardice. You feel helpless and each night pray to God that I’ll leave
you
alone, not Jenny, because you fear confrontation with me more than her death.’

John-Paul spoke weakly: ‘Everyone’s wary of madmen.’

‘You’re afraid of threat. You know nothing about
justice
.’ Zen spat in his face. ‘Spineless...’

John-Paul struggled, again to no avail.

Zen flicked out his free wrist and cupped John-Paul’s neck in his hand. ‘Sit still or I’ll break your fucking windpipe,’ Zen ordered, but his victim bent away. He clamped the neck like a vice, securing John-Paul’s feet on the ground with his own. John-Paul began to choke, his eyes frozen in fear. Zen spoke calmly: ‘Imagine you’re an onlooker - we’re close, but neither of us is struggling. Everything appears normal. In fact you are slowly dying. It’s easy.’

John-Paul wanted to beg for his life, but could only croak. His head grew heavy and his body limp, in defeat. Overwhelmed by a ferocious power, it was pointless to resist. He knew he had seconds to live, if he did not breathe now he’d die.

‘You’re terrified of me,’ Zen proclaimed. ‘Blink if I’m right, you fucking waste of spunk.’

Barely able to open his eyes, John-Paul blinked as best he could.

Minutes later, he looked up. Zen was nowhere to be seen, but the echoes of his laughter reverberated in John-Paul’s head.

* * * * *

Wrapped in her king-size duvet, Jen replayed the past.

Ben’s tones reverberated as he sang in the shower.

The sun kissed the balcony as the curtains swayed gently in the breeze. The house was beautifully decorated. Birds were scattered against a backdrop of evergreens. She heard Ben turn the shower off and step onto the mat, still singing Forever in Blue Jeans.

‘Jenny, come here,’ he called.

‘No,’ she said. ‘You come here, I’m comfortable.’

‘Yeah? Well I’m drying myself, you come in here!’

She pushed herself up and joined him. He put his arms around her and pulled her toward him.

‘Kiss me,’ he said.

‘No,’ she said coyly, trying to break away.

‘Hey,’ he whispered softly, ‘you do what I tell you!’ He laughed playfully as he tensed his muscles and kept a hold on her. She knew there was no point in resisting.

‘I haven’t brushed my teeth yet!’ she protested.

‘Don’t worry about that.’ He pressed his body against hers. ‘You’re shaking.’

She locked onto his deep blue eyes. ‘I don’t know why.’

His smile was so sincere. With his lips closed, he kissed her softly seven times. Then he opened his mouth and massaged her tongue with his. Seconds later he broke contact, looked into her eyes, stroked her hair, then moved to the sink and began to brush his teeth...

‘What’s wrong, Ben?’ she asked timidly.

‘What d’you mean?’

She started to cry. ‘Don’t do this to me! Why would you hurt me like this? I waited so long for you!’

He ignored her.

Tears streamed down her cheeks. ‘All this pain. So much pain…Why, Ben, why?’

He stopped brushing, dropped the toothbrush in the sink, and drove his fist into the mirror. She saw his grotesquely fragmented face in the glass and ran.

Jen opened her eyes. She was twisting the past. The actual scene had ended with Ben brushing his teeth; the conversation that took place after that was fictional - a search for answers, a desperate attempt to forestall the unbearable times ahead.

Nothing further had been said. She would never speak with him again.
Rest in peace, Ben.

7

Ryan was puzzled. Here he was, sat on a plastic chair in his own room, while Ginger lay on his bed smoking pot.

‘Don’t know what you’re missing, lad,’ Ginger said.

‘I think the cons outweigh the pros.’

Ginger drew a long, smoky breath. ‘I beg to differ, my friend.’

Ryan studied him. He felt intrigued; as if Ginger could teach him many things. He watched rings of smoke float around his tiny room, until they blended with the walls and ceiling, like a tablet dissolving in water.

‘There are times in this world when you just need to chill,’ Ginger added.

‘I think drugs are for losers,’ Ryan said boldly.

Ginger laughed, baring his yellow-tinted teeth. ‘Just consider that for a moment… How much d’you earn?’

‘Enough.’

Ginger’s indifferent expression suggested to Ryan that any response he’d given would’ve bounced off. ‘Well actors and musicians earn more than you could imagine,’ Ginger began. ‘Yet their lives revolve around drugs. Drugs nurture their creativity, inspire their work and reward them for success.’ He held up his joint as if it was an exhibit in court. ‘So is this little bastard really a bad thing? I don’t think so.’

Ryan shrugged. ‘I’ve often thought that. I just don’t want anything fucking up my head.’ He caught Ginger’s eye. ‘I like to be in control.’

Ginger smirked. ‘Really? Word is you’ve lost control. Keep clear of Ryan is the word around the manor.’

‘Well,
you
didn’t.’

Energy bubbling in his voice, Ginger said, ‘I know you better than that, my son. You’re just confused. All that’s needed is a wee bit of guidance to realise your huge potential.’

Ryan smiled. Ginger seemed to understand him. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘There’s so much I need to do, but sometimes it’s hard to prioritise.’

Ginger moved closer to him. ‘Don’t worry lad, that’s why I’m here - to organise. I won’t interfere with your brilliant mind. I’ll just provide a structure to your thoughts.’

Ryan looked at him. ‘That’s very kind.’

‘Well guys like us need to stick together.’

Ryan glanced at the floor and thought for a second. ‘It’s hard to know who to trust.’

‘Indeed,’ Ginger agreed. ‘A good friend is worth his weight in pot.’

‘Only geezers can be good friends?’

Ginger looked deadly serious. ‘Oh yes…
Fucking
yes, Ryan. Don’t ever trust women. Confide in them, you salute the enemy. Just fuck ’em lad, nothing more. There to guzzle your cum and burp sperm, that’s all.’

Ryan sniggered.

‘Use and abuse,’ Ginger said merrily. ‘Let’s turn this game around.’

‘Yeah, that sounds right.’

‘Course it fucking does!’ Ginger said, patting Ryan on the back. ‘’Cause I’m telling you! Remember, me and you are like peas in a pod, ’cept I’m older, so you can benefit from my mistakes.’

Ryan suppressed a smile. It was a wonderful thing to have such a selfless, wise friend; someone who respected him and didn’t condescend, and someone he could turn to with complete confidence in a crisis. ‘Thank you, Ginger,’ he said sincerely.

‘Not a problem. Want a smoke?’ Ginger proffered the joint.

‘No.’

8

Jenny awoke to Sinead O’Connor’s new hit: Nothing Compares 2 U.

She shot up, frantically pulled her denim jacket off the bedpost and fumbled around in the pockets. Oh God, his number, it was in here, I’m sure it was! But her fingers only poked at the cotton lining. How drunk must she have been last night? She scanned the walls – cluttered with posters of Madonna, Patrick Swayze and INXS – in the hope that she’d stuck the note on one of them. She wouldn’t have lost it, it had to be safe somewhere. She sighed when she saw it stuck to her wardrobe. Then she lay back on her bed and smiled as last night unfolded in her mind.

She’d met him before. He was friend of Geoff’s, an ex she’d gone out with for about a month. Geoff had won her affection with his cool demeanour and thoughtfulness, and at first had seemed almost disinterested in sex, but it wasn’t long before he turned out to be just as sex-obsessed as the rest. Once that became obvious, Jenny let him go.

Geoff
was smooth and flattering, but it was his excessive praise that drew her suspicion.

‘You look fantastic,’ was his reaction to absolutely everything she wore. And when she tried anything on in a shop he’d say, ‘It’s made for you, baby’. She’d talk about things on the news, on-going things like abductions or murder cases, and he’d listen intently, ask lots of questions and say how upset it made him, and how much he wanted this and that to happen. But he never watched the news or read the paper himself. And he’d laugh at things she said that really weren’t funny. Sometimes he’d laugh so loud that she’d watch him perform, aware that a genuine smile fades gradually. She wasn’t particularly funny. She didn’t know one joke and wasn’t known for her comebacks either.

His playful touching gradually turned more intrusive, as did his sex-talk; at first he’d graze her arm, stroke her hair, or pinch her side, but then he’d chance touching her legs, her bum and let his hand linger there for seconds. And he’d start to talk about her breasts, his body and his penis. She told him to stop, and he would for a day or two, but then he’d test the waters again. It was clear what he really wanted. If he meant the nice things he said, then he wouldn’t have tried to push the sex issue so soon. He wasn’t the one.

But maybe Ben was. She’d met him once when Geoff took her to The White Swan, and found him confident, attractive, and
–
something else…How could she put it? He had a presence, a powerful presence about him. When she spoke to him, he listened in such a way that she felt valued. A lot of boys seemed distant when she talked to them, looking intently at her, but mistiming their responses, as if they were just fooling her into thinking she had their attention; as if it was a huge effort to stay engaged, but they did it because it might get them sex. Ben exuded none of this thinly veiled desperation. He was listening to what she was saying, absorbing her words, and enjoying a conversation. And when he spoke she found herself transfixed, focused, compelled. At the time she ignored any negative emotions, since she was in a relationship with Geoff. But now that they were over, and she was single, she acknowledged that she’d fancied Ben from that first meeting.

Before she went out last night, she was in a bad place. Her friends had boyfriends and she was feeling left out. When they didn’t ignore her, they tended to condescend her, and she sensed it was because they considered her childish and prudish. The awareness that she was being sidelined was agonizing.

Bitter Tears by INXS played on the radio.

And some boys typecast her as a tease or a waste of time, who deserved to be screwed senseless. In a world where sex was readily available and meaningless, she was an outcast. Word had spread that dating her was a waste of time, as she wouldn’t put out. Although this eliminated the type of person she wanted to avoid, it seemed that all boys were in it for one thing and she would never be approached. Many times she’d been told how attractive she was, but at nightclubs boys seemed to shun her. She was starting to get paranoid, but couldn’t shake the impression that every boy knew about her and had no time for her. Watching her friends with their boyfriends, she wondered if her time would ever come.