Psychopathia: A Horror Suspense Novel (21 page)

There was still a dent in the wall where the glass had spun off their homemade Ouija board and
hit it at approximately 75 miles an hour. Kilometers. Whatever. She was just glad there hadn’t been any repeat of the weird stuff since they’d been back. It had been probable that there wouldn’t be, what with the blessing and passing of the troublesome spirit at her father’s place, but still. You couldn’t be sure about much in life, she’d learnt, and you really couldn’t be sure that the dead would stay dead.

Tomorrow was going to be busy. For starters, she had to pry Toby from his bed sometime in the AM, and go flat-hunting. They had to find a place, and soon. Like, tomorrow. Tomorrow would be good. Sure as shit, they couldn’t stay here.

Obviously, they weren’t going to be sharing a place with Lara and Matt like they’d planned. So she and Toby had to find their own place for just the two of them, or find a bunch of others to share with. Which was going to be a bother, at the very least. She hadn’t made a great many friends at uni, not people to say more than hi to, anyway. And the ones she knew well enough to call, had all told her they were organised for accommodation already. Damn.

Tully sipped at her bottle of beer and leaned back against the couch cushions. She was so tired, she wished Toby would shut up so she could doze a little bit.

Her eyes snapped open and she sat forward. Who was Toby talking to? She could hear him, in his room, pacing, muttering, pausing every now and then as though listening, then muttering again. Pacing. Muttering. She put the bottle down on the coffee table and went to his door, leaned there a minute, then knocked.

‘Toby?’

The muttering stopped.

‘Toby, who are you talking to?’

The door was snatched open and Tully almost toppled inside the room. She blinked and squinted. It was really bright in there, all Toby’s extra bulbs strung up, just like in the garage at their father’s place.

‘Why’s it so bright in here?’ she asked, shading her eyes and gazing around the room. ‘And it stinks. When was the last time you cracked the window open?’ She looked at him. ‘Or had a shower? Jeez Toby, what have you been doing all day while I’ve been fucking working?’

Toby scowled at her. ‘You’re not my goddamned mother, you know. You can’t tell me how to live.’ He looked across the room at something and flapped his hand. ‘I am, I am already.’

‘You are what?’

‘Getting rid of you.’ This time he flapped his hands at her, shooing her towards the door.

Confused, she looked around the stark room. He hadn’t bothered to unpack here, either, but at least he hadn’t thrown all the furniture out of the room. ‘Who were you talking to?’ she asked.

‘What? I was talking to you?’

‘Before that. You said
I am, I am already.
That wasn’t to me.’

His mouth worked. ‘Yes it was. I was talking to you.’ Again the glance across the room.

‘What are you looking at?’

‘I’m not looking at anything. I can’t tell you.’

She raised her eyebrows and felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle. ‘Which is it? You’re not looking at anything, or you can’t tell me.’

‘Both,’ he said, emphatic. ‘Now you have to leave.’

That didn’t sound like a good idea. ‘I don’t want to. Or actually, how about you come out and we sit on the couch and talk. Just relax, okay? We haven’t done that for ages. Just chill out and chat. Or we can watch a movie. How about that?’

‘No. I don’t want to.’

‘Why not?’

‘I’m busy.’

‘Doing what? What’s there to be busy doing in here on your own? Come and watch a movie with me.’

He wouldn’t look at her. ‘You’re in on it with them,’ he said, and suddenly pulled at his hair and turned away to pace the room. Tully looked on in horror. ‘Red, bed, head, said! You know they had a fish farm? Fish, dish, wish.’ He covered his ears. ‘You’re in it with them. I know you are. You’re going to do it to me next, I know, he told me, you can’t hide it from me, I know you’re always watching, even when the door is closed you look through the keyhole, I know you do, you think I don’t see you watching but I’m always watching too that’s why I don’t sleep. I hear you walking up and down the corridor, I hear you coming closer,
I hear you looking at me.’

Her heart was pounding. Something was really wrong with Toby. She grabbed at him and wrapped her arms around his narrow chest.

‘Look at me, Toby,’ she said. ‘It’s me, Tully, your sister.’

He struggled against her, head shaking furiously. ‘You’re only saying that to trick me. They don’t let us have visitors. Did you know they have a fish farm? Fish in my bed head red dead!’ He twisted against her, and she had to let go. He went back to his pacing.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘They do it to all of us, they say it’s for our own good, they say it won’t hurt.’ He stopped and turned to her, burst into wild sobs. ‘I don’t believe them. Don’t let them, don’t let them. It’s a hook, like for fish, but I’m not a fish.’ Crumpling up on the floor, he drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his head, sat there rocking, crying.

Tully flung herself down on the floor beside her brother. She looked at him, helpless, and drew him to her, pulling his head onto her shoulder, feeling his tears through her shirt.

‘Shh,’ she said. ‘It’s all right. It’s me, Tully. I’m right here, everything’s all right.’ Words for the sake of them, comfort. He clung to her, crying noisily. ‘Hush,’ she said. ‘Everything’s going to be okay.’ She hoped she wasn’t lying. Something was obviously wrong with Toby, but she didn’t know what.

‘Have you bee
n smoking again?’ she asked. ‘Did you go buy more weed?’ She didn’t know how he would have, without the car which she always took to work, but she supposed it was possible that his dealer had made a house call. She tried to look at his face. ‘Toby? Are you doing something else? Not the weed, I mean, something else?’ She hated to think what it could be. Meth sprang to mind, and she wracked her brain for what she knew about the drug. It made you ugly, she knew that much. And itchy too, apparently, like bugs were crawling under your skin. But that was all she knew, and it wasn’t much.

Toby had stopped his mad crying, and snuffled against her chest instead, rocking back and forth.

‘You want to lie down?’ she asked. ‘Rest a bit?’ She felt him nod, which was good. At least he was listening to her. ‘Okay, stand up with me, then, and we’ll get you to your bed.’ And turn off some of the lights. She felt like she was in some interrogation chamber, lights blinding her.

He let her help him up, and
he followed her to the bed like an obedient child. She sat him down on it, then lifted his feet so he lay down. He rolled over and curled up on his side, head on the pillow, eyes open.

‘Tob
y?’ she asked. ‘Are you okay?’ Stupid question. He was quite obviously as far from okay as it was about possible to get. ‘What have you been taking?’

His lips moved, but she couldn’t hear what he was saying. Kneeling down beside the bed, she leaned close, but it was all nonsense. He was just muttering a load of nonsense. The weird rhymes again. It was as though something in his brain had gone wrong, something
between his thoughts and his mouth. Her chest hitched, and she swallowed down a sob. Now was not the time to fall apart. It was imperative that she find out just what he’d been taking.

Sniffing, she pulled his blankets over him. He did not look at her, just lay there, lips moving, hands clasped under his chin, and every now and then he would jerk, pedalling his legs. She looked down at him and chewed a fingernail. Maybe she should call someone? But who? If she hadn’t known it already, the last few weeks had proved that she and Toby were totally alone in the world. There wasn’t anyone to call.

Maybe Mary? Tully banished the thought as soon she had it. Mary wouldn’t know what to do. She’d tell their father, and things would all turn to shit. He’d have a meltdown and there’d be lectures about the dangers of substance abuse. Then, if he did anything at all, he’d send Toby away.

She wondered if she should call a doctor, but that was stupid. It was late at night, there were no doctors to call. Casting her eyes about the room, she decided the sensible thing to do would be to find his stash, figure out what he’d taken, and then make a decision. She hoped she wasn’t going to have to drag him off to the hospital to have his stomach pumped. But no, it was too late for that – whatever he’d taken was well and truly cruising back and forth in his bloodstream.

She started with his bag of clothes, and when she looked at him to see if he was watching, his eyes were fixed on the wall opposite, and whatever he was seeing there. He wasn’t paying any attention to her.

The clothes in the bag were mostly unworn, and Tully knew why – she didn’t think he’d changed his clothes since they’d been there. It was better than digging through a bunch of dirty washing, but it meant one more thing for her to worry about. Toby, whatever his faults, had at least always been clean. She glanced over at him again, and thought that if this was a cartoon, he’d have a stinky green miasma all around him.

But she was getting sidetracked. It was drugs she was supposed to be worrying about right now. If she could find what he’d been taking, she’d have a starting place for figuring out what was going on. And if she had that, maybe she’d know what to do.

There was nothing in the bag. Nothing in the pockets of his jeans. She emptied the whole bag, stuck her fingers in every pocket, but nothing. Where else would he have put it? He’d never hidden his dope stash before, but then, he’d never done anything stronger than a bit of weed. He wasn’t the type. She stopped before she corrected herself and said he didn’t used to be the type.

The boxes had mostly books in them. Stuff for
uni, a bunch of science fiction paperbacks, the set of Game of Thrones novels she’d given him for Christmas. He hadn’t even started those yet. She sidled up to the bed and dipped a sneaky hand under the mattress where he lay. Maybe he’d tucked his bag of whatever goodies they were under there.

Nothing. The bottle of bourbon lay on its side under the bed, but it was still three quarters full when she pulled it out.

‘Tully?’ he said, and gave her a fright. She’d thought he’d gone to sleep, despite the way he twitched under the blankets. Still on her hands and knees from checking under the bed, she crawled closer to him.

‘What is it Toby?’ He wouldn’t look at her, just stared at a point over her left shoulder. ‘I’m right here, bro.’

‘You know what they did with the sheets?’

His question took her completely by surprise, and sent an unpleasant shiver down her spine. She couldn’t help but think about the sheets she’d found in the bath. Twice.

‘What did they do with the sheets, Toby?’

But he just shook his head. ‘
Wound them tight, wound them tight. Tighter than the jacket.’

Tully squeezed her eyes shut, trying to keep back the tears that threatened. ‘You’re not making any sense, Toby. Please start making sense.’

He shifted his gaze and looked at her. ‘Who are you?’ he asked.

That was it. The last straw. She stared at him in horror, then jumped up and ran from the room, hand over her mouth, tears spilling. He didn’t recognise her. He’d asked her who she was – just minutes after saying her name. What was wrong with him?

On the couch with her head in her hands, chewing her inside lip raw again, wondering what to do. She shook her head. Something was really wrong with him, and she was starting to suspect it wasn’t drugs. She’d never heard of drugs fucking you up like that.

But what did? Wiping her eyes, Tully took a swig from the bottle of beer she’d left on the coffee table, then got up on legs that didn’t want to hold her. She looked quickly in at Toby’s room, but he was still lying in his side staring at the wall, still muttering to himself.

What she wanted was in her room, and she snatched it up off the bed and took it back into the living room, where she could keep a closer eye on Toby. The door to his room was partially closed, and that was all she could see, but she could feel him there, feel his distress pressing against her. Something was wrong with him.

It took too long for her laptop to boot up. She spent the minutes worrying at a thumbnail, darting glances at the brown door to Toby’s room. When it was ready, she opened up Chrome, and stared at the Google search box. What did she want to know?

Hesitantly, she typed in the first words,
behaviour changes,
then frowned, and picked out a couple more.
Delusions, talking to people who aren’t there.
The search results that came up made her blood run cold. Her hands shook on the keyboard and she tucked them under her arms, the tears spilling freely now.

Oh Toby. It wasn’t drugs doing this. It wasn’t a bit of marijuana soaked in something new. It wasn’t anything like that.

On the screen the words stared at her.
Schizophrenia and Mental Illness. Psychosis. Schizophrenia and Psychotic Illnesses.

Schizophrenia.

Her hand moved to cover her mouth, and she didn’t want to click on any of the links. None of them. No thank you. Toby wasn’t sick like that. He was okay. There was nothing wrong with him. Nothing at all. He’d just had some bad weed, that was all. Or maybe the shock of seeing the spirit had made him lose his balance for a while, that was all. He was okay.