Persona - A Disturbing Psychological Thriller (45 page)

I check her phone for GPRS capability, which is becoming a feature in some newer phones. Of course kidnapping her in such a way was dangerous, but I was neither stupid nor careless. Prior to it, I assessed the associated risks and concluded that Elizabeth would keep my address to herself. I knew she was driven by greed – her thoughtlessness would prevent her from contacting people who cared about her. She would not think to tell anyone where she was going or what she was doing. She believed she was strong and independent. Now I will test that belief...

The rest of the bag contains a sickening amount of cosmetics. I look forward to seeing what Elizabeth really looks like. She also has a tampon. I place this in a bag along with the cosmetics. She will not need it. I have bought enough tampons for her to use.

I will keep her phone with me. After a day or so I will dispose of both hers and the blonde’s. Neither phone has GPRS capability, but, regardless, soon the police will try to trace them. Possibly not the blonde’s, but I will not take that chance.

Elizabeth tries to scream. It is barely audible. I am glad she is awake. Much longer and I might have started to worry. Her unconsciousness was not supposed to last more than a couple of minutes.

It must be terrifying for her. I enjoy her fear, so initially I will not tell her that I will commit no further crimes. I will be guilty of kidnapping and no more.

She fights the restraints pinning her limbs and body to the chair. She struggles and hyperventilates so much that she is going to pass out. I will let her. Eventually she will become calmer and look for answers. And she will get them. But not yet. For now, she will learn to live with fear. She is dependent on me. She does not know who I am or what I am going to do. Enjoy this, Elizabeth.

She passes out. I expect this to be the last time she does. She will realise it’s more dangerous for her to be unaware of what is happening.

Seconds later, she revives. Her breathing is very heavy, but she has stopped screaming. She whimpers. She does not yank at her restraints, but uses steady strength to try to break free. After a forced exhalation her muscles lose their tension and tremble. She has succumbed. She recognises that I am in control. And she wants to know why. For tonight at least, I will not tell her. The knowledge that she knows me will ease her fear. She will promise herself it is a grudge or something that can be corrected. I cannot allow that. Tonight must be the worst night she will ever have. I make her aware that I am here by walking around the basement. I will talk to her tomorrow, on Wednesday. Her fear will keep her awake through the night, while I sleep. I must be fresh, she must be exhausted.

It is 7:34 p.m. I leave the house and stroll to the chip shop. To my neighbours (who I have never spoken to), I must not appear to have changed my routine. I have to assume that, through their windows, they have sussed my lifestyle – I prefer fast food, rent a lot of DVDs, order goods online and live alone. Since buying the house two years ago, I have never had a girl visit. In fact, only my parents have come round once, and that was just after I moved in. Their reluctance to revisit was my doing. I do not want them in my life.

I am very much a man of routine. This routine must be seen to continue when Elizabeth’s disappearance is broadcast on TV. I will not be a suspect, just as I will not be a victim.

After watching a couple of DVDs, I check on Elizabeth. When I enter the basement she starts to mumble something. It’s midnight. I turn on the air conditioners and leave the lights on. Then I go to bed.

6

I wake at seven. After eating and taking a shower, I grab a blanket and visit Elizabeth.

Again, she mutters something when I enter the basement. She is scared, angry and freezing cold. I see goose pimples on her skin and her entire body shivers. It feels as if I am standing inside a huge fridge. And Elizabeth wears just a sleeveless top, short denim skirt and brown sandals.

Her body is thin, but not too thin, her skin is unblemished and her nails are long and manicured. Her close-fitting top leaves little to the imagination. She pays a great deal of attention to her exterior.

Out of necessity, not compassion, I lay the blanket over her body and turn off the air conditioners. From behind her, I take the bag off her head and place it over my own. Then I sit in my chair. I cannot see her, but her fear is clear. I have quite an intimidating presence – six foot four inches tall and over eighteen stone.

‘Find me, Elizabeth, then I will remove the bag.’

She mumbles something.

‘Form me in your mind. You have the answers.’

Whimpering.

‘I will not communicate further until you tell me who I am.’ I stand up, walk around her and place the bag over her head. As I head out of the basement I decide to give her a clue: ‘You accorded me the same respect you would a maggot. But when this is over, it is the maggot that will eat your rotting corpse.’

I ascend the stairs and log into a kung fu chat forum. It was this forum that taught me how to apply a choke. I have never studied martial arts. On a far smaller scale, this art has a similar following to Star Wars. It is a federation that teaches classes all over the UK. It has thousands of students. Master Yin owns the federation and his pupils idolise him. What he says is gospel and his website is inundated daily with hundreds of questions about kung fu. I log in for the same reason I do lightsaberon.com. This website also posts notices about upcoming events and past successes. An article about Master Yin’s performance at a recent international mixed martial arts competition catches my eye. The headline congratulates him for winning bronze, and then Master Yin details his efforts. He explains that he had been forced to submit in the semi-finals when his opponent locked his ‘injured’ leg. In the forum there are several responses to this article, each of them full of praise for the master’s achievement. I add my own: ‘Master Yin, I was disappointed to read of your failure in the tournament. If my ‘ master’ is not good enough to beat his opponents, then he is certainly not good enough to teach me. I train to defend myself. How can I defend myself against the individual who beat you to a pulp? I have wasted my money listening to your rubbish. You will not see me again. And you have no right to call yourself ‘Master’.’ I post this message and smile slyly. This will stir up outrage and the responses will be very amusing.

I log into lightsaberon.com. The responses to my last posts are predictable, samey and boring, so I dismiss the post and start a new one: ‘In A New Hope, Lord Vader is warned that imprisoning Princess Leia will generate sympathy for the rebellion, which implies that the empire is concerned about public opinion. Great thinking, then, to call their new creation a “Death Star”, don’t you think?’ I post this, get offline, leave my computer on stand-by and go to the basement.

Elizabeth no longer shivers. ‘Nod if you know who I am.’ She nods. This surprises me. I did not think she would find this so quickly amongst her highly selective memories. From behind, I lift the bag slightly and rip the tape off her mouth. She takes deep breaths as if emerging from water in which she had almost drowned. ‘Speak,’ I say.

‘You are...you are...someone I didn’t phone.’ Her voice is shaky and pathetic. ‘...I’m sorry...I’m truly, honestly so sorry...’

She tries to resist as I place the tape back over her mouth, but I am more than strong enough to hold her head still with one hand. ‘Wrong, Elizabeth. Another cold night for you.’ I remove the blanket and leave the basement.

I have printed out hundreds of pages of articles relating to communist brainwashing. I spend a couple of hours refreshing my knowledge of these procedures, then I heat up a frozen pizza and eat it.

At midday, I wander down to the basement. As soon as Elizabeth comes into view, she slowly nods at me. It is a cautious, ominous, knowing nod, one that leads me to believe she has found me. I rip off the tape.

‘You are...you are the guy in the pub. The guy I introduced to Heather, my friend. The guy I pretended was my...boyfriend...’

‘What do I look like?’

‘I can’t...remember.’ Her breaths are rapid and her voice desperate.

‘We both know why you chose me. Describe me or I go.’

She is crying. I do not interrupt. After a couple of minutes she says, ‘You...you look…wrong.’ She waits for me to speak but I do not. Eventually, she realises she must continue. ‘Your face is...very large and round...and your nose and mouth and eyes are tiny. I am so sorry. I was cruel. But this will not work, you will be caught–’

I fix the tape against her mouth just as she starts to scream. ‘Because you screamed you will experience another cold night. You now live according to my rules. You will never scream.’ I take the bag off Elizabeth and sit down on my armchair.

‘You were right,’ I say as she looks at my face.

She turns away and closes her eyes.

‘Know what they used to call me at school?’

Looking down at her feet, she shakes her head.

‘Moonface.’

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