Psychopathia: A Horror Suspense Novel (31 page)

Tully sucked in a deep breath. What was Toby even doing in a pub? He’d been told how damaging alcohol could be to his recovery. It was bad enough that he was still smoking. Chain smoking.

‘Can you tell me how he’s doing?’ Matt was asking. ‘I mean – jeez, I don’t know what I mean.’ He looked around suddenly. ‘Listen, he’s not here is he? I should have asked.’

‘He’s not here.’ Tully leaned over her mug of tea. It had stopped steaming. ‘He’s hardly ever at home. I thought he’d want to spend most of his time here, but apparently not. He’s out at all hours, and when he is home, he prowls around and hardly ever sleeps.’

‘Yeah, he didn’t look like he’s been getting a lot of sleep.’ Matt waved a vague hand in the air. ‘He has this really piercing look about his eyes now.’

Tully shivered. Matt was right; she’d noticed it too, and thought it was spooky.

‘He hardly looks like himself,’ he added.

‘He hardly acts like himself,’ Tully said. ‘Toby was always so laid back. Spaced out most of the time, and not always because of the dope. He was just that way – well, you know that
– always kind of far away.’

‘I didn’t know him as well as you, obviously, or even
Lara. But he’s really changed, isn’t he?’

It was impossible to disagree. ‘I guess that’s what schizophrenia does.’ She tugged on the teabag string.

‘So he is schizophrenic, then?’

Tully nodded, and looked over the table at Matt. Something was bothering him. Her teeth bit into her lip.

‘What is it, Matt? What happened?’

Now he looked even more uncomfortable. Shifting in his chair, he picked up his cup of coffee for the first time and took a sip. Then sighed.

‘Look, it’s probably nothing. Just a bit weird, right? I mean, Toby’s still Toby. He’s just been ill. I was imagining it.’

‘Imagining what?’ It was Tully’s turn to reach out and press her fingers briefly to Matt’s wrist. ‘Tell me. Please.’

‘It was the way he was looking at me.’

Tully blinked. ‘What do you mean?’

Matt pushed back his chair and stood up, crossing to the window and staring out. ‘This is really awkward.’

‘Please tell me,’ Tully said. ‘I won’t mind, whatever it is, I promise.’

She saw Matt take a deep breath and he turned around. ‘Toby was looking at me like he fancied me.’ Another deep breath and the rest in a rush. ‘Like he wanted to take me home and jump my bones. I felt like thousands of women must feel – like he’d stripped me naked and wanted to climb inside my skin.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Tully – schizophrenia doesn’t turn a guy gay, does it?’

Whatever Tully had expected to hear, it wasn’t this. She shook her head but couldn’t think of any words to say. Matt returned to the table and sat down.

‘Even Lara noticed it, but she was just put out. Made a snide little comment and pouted. Then she told me about how he’d tried to make out with her – just before he went to the hospital. Is that true?’

Tully nodded. ‘Yeah, he made a pass at her that last night we were out together. She brushed him off though.’ She grimaced then looked at Matt. ‘Of course. I mean, of course she brushed him off.’

Matt shrugged as though he didn’t care what Lara had done. Maybe things really had soured between them and Tully felt a pang of regret. Matt had been good for Lara. He’d grounded her a bit, kept her flights of fancy at near-manageable levels. Her mind went back to her brother.

Just what was going on with Toby?

It felt so good. Everything felt so good. His ears rang, but even that was pleasurable. She’d screamed so loud. So loud, and for a long time – she’d exceeded even his expectations.

Toby sat back on a kitchen chair he’d rescued from the basement, and smoked a cigarette, his fingers leaving red stains on the butt. He looked at them, his hands wore gloves of red blood and he smiled with lips stained the same colour. Sticking his thumb in his mouth, he sucked the drying blood from it, eyes half-closed as he swayed in the chair. Better than sex. Better than anything.

And so good to taste it again. He’d bitten one of the assistants at the asylum once, rabid for a taste of the sweet stuff, but it had been bitter, rancid. The quality of the vessel was important, and the assistant had been fat, ugly, and roaring mad. He’d spent two months in the soft room after that fed on scraps thrown on the floor that he’d had to eat like a dog, his arms useless in the straitjacket.

But this time, the taste was glorious. As good as ever he remembered. He went back to the cigarette, feeling his own veins pulsing with the infusion they’d just had.

Getting her to the house wasn’t near as hard as he’d thought it would be, but not having a vehicle was a problem, he decided. It wouldn’t do to think that every one of his companions would be as easily led as the flighty Lara in her absurd shoes. He’d ended up carrying her half the way, she squealing and giggling in his arms. True to his promise to himself, he’d cut out her tongue. She could still scream after that, but he didn’t have to listen to her rambling, narcissistic monologues, and what a relief that was.

He dug his wristwatch out of his pocket where he’d put it for safe-keeping, though there was blood on it anyway. Things had gotten ever so slightly
messier than he’d anticipated. It was because of how long it had been. The last time he’d been able to do this was what? Over half a century ago.

Tobias smiled, knowing that if he were to look in a mirror, his teeth and gums would be red with blood. It was all down his chin, and over his cheeks – he could feel it drying there. Taking another drag on the cigarette,
he thought again of the seventy years he’d been waiting for this. Too long. Far too long. He decided then and there, that if he were ever caught again, he’d kill the body he was in as soon as possible, and go looking for another. Maybe that was how vampires managed to live forever.

But he was no vampire. He didn’t need to ask for permission. Not for entry, not for anything. He took what he wanted.

Stubbing the cigarette out, he stood and stretched, hearing his spine crack with satisfaction. It was hard work leaning over a low mattress for that amount of time. Now, of course, it was clean-up time. He checked the window. Still raining, growing dark.

Shame there was no running water in the house. It was cold outside. Pushing open the door, he stuck his head out and gazed around. There was no one there. Not a soul in sight. The Google had been right. This place was almost in the city, yet no one came here. How lucky could you get?

Back inside, he made his way down the steps to the basement, face locked in a rictus grin, jaw aching a little from…well, from the biting. It wasn’t just his knife he liked to use. The room was coated in blood. It was sprayed across the walls, and when he tilted his head up, he saw that some had got on the ceiling as well. It had been just a little messy – he was out of practise, but that would soon be remedied.

Time to get rid of the body
? It held no interest for him now that the blood had stopped flowing, now that it pooled in a wide halo around the girl, congealing into a dull, slick, unappetising mess as he watched. All this had to be cleaned up though – the body removed, at least. He needed the bed it lay on.

Sighing, he stood over the girl’s body, looking curiously at her staring eyes. She’d watched him the whole time, looking at him with an unbelieving expression on her face, as though she couldn’t fathom what he was doing to her. He supposed she couldn’t. The idea that someone could take away her beauty, slice into that soft skin of hers and lick up the blood that welled from the wound – that would go against everything she believed about herself , that she was invincible, destined for greatness.

She had achieved greatness. Only by his definition, not her own. He supposed he didn’t begrudge her the startled look in her dead eyes. It was a hard lesson to learn, that death could run his cold hands down your spine at any time. A smile made the blood on his lips crack. But there were ways to defeat death. Ways to live on.

He picked her up, staggering slightly, and carried her up the steps, grunting with the effort. He
was taking her into the bush outside. No one went there, he was sure of that. The path over the hills to the little house was overgrown. 

The hole had been dug before he’d gone to meet her in town. That was preparedness, and when he dropped her in there, he was glad of it. The euphoria kept him buoyant for a long time afterwards, but he was only human, and human muscles ached and grew tired after such a busy time. The last thing he needed was to spend his waning energy digging. It was bad enough grabbing the shovel and filling the hole back in over her.

She glistened red in the dim light under the trees and he smiled at her. As a special treat – a special thank you – he’d taken her new shoes out of the box, and placed them on her tattered soles. Now she lay in the hole, a new skin of red covering her, and the pretty shoes on her feet. He threw a shovelful of dirt on her face, then bent to the task of covering her completely.

The body he’d requisitioned was straining for breath by the time he’d finished. It was a weak one, this. Pretty to look at, but more suited for the role of victim. He’d been bigger than this in his past life. Not huge, but built well. The ladies had liked him. The men too, those of the right persuasion. He had muscles from working on the railway, and he didn’t mind putting his back into it.

Ah well, sacrifices had to be made every now and then. There was nothing to stop him from building up this body. Nothing at all. He was lucky to have it. Luckier than most.

The rain was heavier now, but that was all right too. It was a source of running water he needed, and a source of running water he had. He tipped his face to
the clouds and scrubbed at it with his hands, feeling the water loosen and clean the blood away. He would have worn it on his skin until it naturally rubbed off, but he didn’t live on his own anymore.

He’d taken his coat off before getting out his knife, but he
’d been so eager to start, he’d forgotten to remove his clothes until after he’d made the first cuts. Scowling, still scrubbing at his clothing, he cursed himself. Stupid. Stupid not to think of something like that. Now he’d have to walk through town in soaking wet clothes, hoping no one looked closely enough to notice the blood stains.

And what would the sister think when he got back to the house she insisted on sharing with him? She was bound to waylay him as soon as he opened the front door – she always
did. Always biting her lip, arms wrapped around herself like she had an invisible straitjacket on, but worse, always watching him. Following him around the house with her suspicious eyes, always a question on those chewed and ragged lips. Where had he been? Where was he going? How was he feeling? Had he taken his medication?

The answer was no, he hadn’t taken
the medication. He’d tried it, in the hospital when he’d first taken over the body properly, but while it may have cleared some of the initial confusion, it also blocked him. He needed the boy’s brain to be cracked. He needed him sick and vulnerable. Otherwise he wouldn’t be able to stay. And more than anything – he needed to stay.

That would have to do. He looked down at himself, but night had closed its
bare fist around him, and his clothes were just stained with darkness. With his coat pulled tight around him, it would barely be noticeable unless someone decided to look closely – and why would they do that? People rarely looked closely. Sniffing, wiping the water from his streaming hair, he went back into the house and picked up his coat. He’d bought it the same day he’d bought the kettle and tea. The boy Toby had only had jackets made of a fabric he couldn’t name, ones that came to his hips. This was a good long greatcoat. A coat to cover a multitude of sins.

The walk back home didn’t bother him. He passed the time reliving the sweet taste of the girl. It had been like drinking nectar, and the pressure and give of his knife against her skin made him light-headed, delirious.

Sure enough, the sister was waiting for him when he poked his key in the lock and swung the door open. She practically pounced on him.

‘Where have you been?’ she asked. ‘I’ve been frantic.’

He blinked at her and imagined her upon the bed, her blood a dark red cloak. ‘I’ve been out,’ he said.

Her eyes were sharp. ‘You’re all wet.’ She tugged at his coat, drew back a lapel and stared at his bedraggled clothing. ‘Why are you all wet?’

‘I walked in the rain.’

‘
It looks like you swam in the rain.’ Her face grew frightened. ‘Oh Toby, what has happened to you?’

He narrowed his eyes at her, and pushed past to his bedroom. The sooner he had his own place, the better. Tully would be on that blood-soaked mattress soon enough, he decided. After he’d gotten her to teach him how to drive the automobile.
He’d not had one in his past life, but it looked easy enough.

In the bright light of his bedroom, his clothes were obviously streaked with blood. He kicked them off, threw them in the hamper and decided he’d wash them in the morning. Tully had taught him to use the new-fangled washing machine.

Tobias lay back on the bed, naked, and rested his hands under his head. All in all, it had been a good day. And better ones were coming. He’d done the girl, just like he’d promised himself.