Read Online Delete-Man: A Psychological Thriller by Johnny Vineaux - Free Book Online
Authors: Johnny Vineaux
Ads: Link
don’t want to go home.”
“You’ve got school
tomorrow.”
“I can go to party and go to
school after.”
“No you can’t. You’re already
sleepy, I can tell. Come on.”
“I don’t want to!”
The blonde girl turned Vicky
around to face her, and in a sweet, child-like voice said:
“Don’t worry, you can come to
another party with us someday. We’re not going to a good party
anyway.”
“Do you promise?”
“I promise,” said the blonde,
and despite the effort, I felt some sort of indignation towards
her. I never made promises to Vicky I wasn’t sure I could keep. She
took promises seriously.
I took Vicky by the hand as she
said goodbye over and over again to everyone.
“Aren’t you going to give the
sunglasses back to the nice girl?”
“It’s ok,” the blonde smiled.
“She can keep them.”
“Thanks.”
Once Vicky had kissed and hugged
and shared one last joke with everyone, including Monika, we left.
On the train home Vicky knelt on the seat and stared at her
reflection in the window, playing with her new sunglasses and
pouting. She didn’t seem angry at me, which I was grateful for.
“Why did you call me big bro,
Vicky?”
“That’s what Monika calls
you.”
“Ah, I see.”
By the end of the train ride
Vicky was nodding off with her head on my chest. I gently woke her
up and we made our way home. She leapt onto her bed as soon as she
could and crashed out. I didn’t bother waking her up to get her to
brush her teeth, it was already past nine. I took off her shoes and
over clothes and tucked her in, then grabbed a drink out of the
fridge and flicked the TV on.
Ten minutes later I turned it
off and decided to work out. I thought about calling the
psychiatrist, but supposed his office would be closed at that late
hour. I wasn’t particularly into working out either, as we didn’t
have any fruit or decent food. Working out without eating
nutritiously afterwards isn’t the best, but I was far too anxious
for bed just yet.
I was done after about forty
minutes. My body ached and I could feel sleep coming on. In the
shower I noticed a bruise coming up on my neck, presumably from
Sewerbird’s punch. My clothes were filthy from scuffling on the
roof too.
I wrapped a towel around my
waist and emptied my coat and trouser pockets to get them ready for
the wash. I found the scrap of paper with the radio message on it,
the psychiatrist’s number, and also Bianca’s. Once I’d put my
clothes in the laundry basket I went to the phone and dialled.
It rang through to her answering
machine—that sultry Brazilian accent.
“Hey Bianca, it’s Joseph. Just
calling to say thanks for the heads up about Sewerbird. I saw him
today, and he told me some pretty interesting stuff. Can’t get my
head around it though, so I was wondering if you wanted to meet up
again perhaps. Something about a delete-man? Anyway, let me know,
you have my number. Bye.”
I took one last look into the
fridge, wrote a note on it to do some shopping, then dropped onto
the couch. I thought about turning on the TV again but I knew I'd
end up wasting hours watching something dull if I did. Instead I
reached over to the drawers next to the couch and pulled out some
papers from the pile in the first drawer.
The Warden was an indulgent man,
unable to resist furthering my humiliation. He spat on my
food—sometimes spilling it entirely onto the floor-and when he
locked the door he would take his time, ensuring that I heard the
loud clack of the bolt closing multiple times. Then he would wave
the key in front of his grinning cheeks before shutting the hatch
on the grill and whistling his way to the next cell.
I saw in him all that I despised
about humanity. I swore never to enjoy such base pleasures; never
to revel in another’s misfortune. I would stare at him as he locked
my door, and perhaps he mistook my intense glare for bitter hatred,
or a jealousy that fed his ego. In fact, I was memorising-little
“You’ve got school
tomorrow.”
“I can go to party and go to
school after.”
“No you can’t. You’re already
sleepy, I can tell. Come on.”
“I don’t want to!”
The blonde girl turned Vicky
around to face her, and in a sweet, child-like voice said:
“Don’t worry, you can come to
another party with us someday. We’re not going to a good party
anyway.”
“Do you promise?”
“I promise,” said the blonde,
and despite the effort, I felt some sort of indignation towards
her. I never made promises to Vicky I wasn’t sure I could keep. She
took promises seriously.
I took Vicky by the hand as she
said goodbye over and over again to everyone.
“Aren’t you going to give the
sunglasses back to the nice girl?”
“It’s ok,” the blonde smiled.
“She can keep them.”
“Thanks.”
Once Vicky had kissed and hugged
and shared one last joke with everyone, including Monika, we left.
On the train home Vicky knelt on the seat and stared at her
reflection in the window, playing with her new sunglasses and
pouting. She didn’t seem angry at me, which I was grateful for.
“Why did you call me big bro,
Vicky?”
“That’s what Monika calls
you.”
“Ah, I see.”
By the end of the train ride
Vicky was nodding off with her head on my chest. I gently woke her
up and we made our way home. She leapt onto her bed as soon as she
could and crashed out. I didn’t bother waking her up to get her to
brush her teeth, it was already past nine. I took off her shoes and
over clothes and tucked her in, then grabbed a drink out of the
fridge and flicked the TV on.
Ten minutes later I turned it
off and decided to work out. I thought about calling the
psychiatrist, but supposed his office would be closed at that late
hour. I wasn’t particularly into working out either, as we didn’t
have any fruit or decent food. Working out without eating
nutritiously afterwards isn’t the best, but I was far too anxious
for bed just yet.
I was done after about forty
minutes. My body ached and I could feel sleep coming on. In the
shower I noticed a bruise coming up on my neck, presumably from
Sewerbird’s punch. My clothes were filthy from scuffling on the
roof too.
I wrapped a towel around my
waist and emptied my coat and trouser pockets to get them ready for
the wash. I found the scrap of paper with the radio message on it,
the psychiatrist’s number, and also Bianca’s. Once I’d put my
clothes in the laundry basket I went to the phone and dialled.
It rang through to her answering
machine—that sultry Brazilian accent.
“Hey Bianca, it’s Joseph. Just
calling to say thanks for the heads up about Sewerbird. I saw him
today, and he told me some pretty interesting stuff. Can’t get my
head around it though, so I was wondering if you wanted to meet up
again perhaps. Something about a delete-man? Anyway, let me know,
you have my number. Bye.”
I took one last look into the
fridge, wrote a note on it to do some shopping, then dropped onto
the couch. I thought about turning on the TV again but I knew I'd
end up wasting hours watching something dull if I did. Instead I
reached over to the drawers next to the couch and pulled out some
papers from the pile in the first drawer.
The Warden was an indulgent man,
unable to resist furthering my humiliation. He spat on my
food—sometimes spilling it entirely onto the floor-and when he
locked the door he would take his time, ensuring that I heard the
loud clack of the bolt closing multiple times. Then he would wave
the key in front of his grinning cheeks before shutting the hatch
on the grill and whistling his way to the next cell.
I saw in him all that I despised
about humanity. I swore never to enjoy such base pleasures; never
to revel in another’s misfortune. I would stare at him as he locked
my door, and perhaps he mistook my intense glare for bitter hatred,
or a jealousy that fed his ego. In fact, I was memorising-little
Similar Books
