Psychopathia: A Horror Suspense Novel (38 page)

BOOK: Psychopathia: A Horror Suspense Novel

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He cut her again, a long slicing wound down from the base of her neck to her belly, then sliced again, down her thighs, before lowering himself onto her, squirming around, getting her blood all over him. She screamed, and when he sat up, got off her, used his hands to paint her blood over himself, she screamed again, Toby’s name, over and over, and didn’t stop when he bent the knife back to her.

50.

Toby wanted to go back into the padded room, even if it meant putting the jacket back on, tying his arms tight around him so he couldn’t move. He wouldn’t even have minded if he’d been taken back to his room, the thick rubber hose forced down his throat. Even an ice bath would be better than this. Anything would be better than this.

Tully’s eyes were wide, panicked. He could see the whites of her eyes, the
way her pupils rolled around, first to the left, then the right, as though she was looking for a way out.

She needed a way out. She couldn’t stay where she was, underneath him. He could feel her there, wet, skin slick under him. He could feel his hand on the knife, feel his strong grip on it, could feel everything, and when he got up off the bed and looked at himself, he could see everything too. Her blood coated him, a red skin he’d pulled on over his nudity. The scent of it filled his nose, heavy, coppery, setting his mind on edge. It filled his mouth too, the taste of blood, coating tongue, gums, throat.

He should have been screaming. The screams were there, but all they did was echo around in his head. His mouth was laughing, not screaming. His hand flexed around the knife, and bent to do its work on his sister again, cutting red ribbons into her skin.

The cuts weren’t too deep yet. He’d just begun, the game was just beginning. It wasn’t too late to stop. If he stopped now, she’d live. She’d get up from the bed and she’d live. It wasn’t too late. He tried to put down the knife.

She was screaming at him. His name, over and over. He wanted to tell her he was there, he could hear her, but his mouth opened and closed and other words came out, and he should turn around and go back into the restraint room, because he couldn’t help her, and he couldn’t bear to watch. Not Tully.

‘Toby,’ she screamed. ‘Toby
Toby Toby. Don’t do this Toby. Stop him Toby.’ But she didn’t realise he couldn’t do anything. He was stuck, stuck in a mental hospital, just a crazy little man, and someone much bigger had taken over from him. He’d known someone was after him, would come after him, and he’d been right. They were there now, doing terrible things to his sister.

She wouldn’t stop screaming. Toby, Toby, Toby, over and over. The knife dipped down into her skin again and another red ribbon wound itself around her breast. He watched his hand and thought about the rats in the soft room. If he went there, they would come for him.

Something squeaked from the shadows and his head turned to look. Rats. Here too. Drawn to the ribbons, the red suit he was wearing. They would come creeping closer soon, wanting their share.

She was still screaming, and he looked at her face, saw the pale skin, and knew she’d stop soon. There was no way she could last much longer.

Tully? Tully! He screamed back at her, staring at her, trying to reach her, trying to still the hand that held the knife, his own hand. It hesitated, quivered in the air, and then his body straightened, stopped its bloody work and straightened.

Shh. You shouldn’t be here. Go back to your room. It’s safe there.

But it wasn’t safe there. There were beatings and punishments there, and he didn’t understand why. He didn’t understand what was happening here, either, but there was Tully, and she had her eyes open, was staring at him, mouth open. Toby? she mouthed.

Tully.

His sister.

His twin sister.

A cry of rage, and hands grabbed him and pushed him back to the padded room, shoved him towards the door, and one of them held a knife, and when he wouldn’t go, the knife slid into him, pierced him, went right through him.

Get back where you belong!

But he didn’t belong there. Toby belonged with his sister. And she was lying on the bed hurting and he had to help her. Tully. Tully was his sister and he had to help her.

The voice was louder.
Get out of here!
The knife rose and fell again, went straight through him.

I don’t have to go, he said. I can stay and help Tully.
I can stop you.

I can stop you!
The knife again, but it didn’t do any harm. It didn’t pierce his flesh, and it couldn’t reach his mind.

‘Toby? Toby, is that you?’

Tully was on the bed, her hands were tied. He flexed his hands, and the real knife fell to the floor. He knelt down beside her, beside the knife on the floor, and picked it up again. She stared at him, eyes fixed on his, eyes just the same colour as his. They could have been identical twins, if they hadn’t been boy and girl. He wrapped his fingers around the real knife, and reached over to cut the rope around her wrists. He had to saw at it to let her free.

‘It’s you,’ she said and he nodded.
Behind him, the other one was in the straitjacket now. It had been his all along. A shove, and Toby would send him into the soft room, and slam the door on him. But first he wanted him to watch him undo his bloodwork.

‘I knew you’d come to save me.’

He hadn’t known.

‘I’m bleeding real
bad, Toby.’

The rats shifted in the corner again, and he nodded. She needed to stop bleeding. Soon all the blood would be outside her body instead of inside, and then she would belong to the rats. The voice in his head screamed at that, and he
shoved it, sending it toppling back through the door into the soft room, smiling because he could hear footsteps behind it, they were coming for him, they were coming with their blows and beatings, their rubber tubes and wet sheets. He slammed the door and there was no more soft room. Not for him.

He
licked his lips, the taste of blood fresh and warm in his mouth. ‘What do I do?’ he asked, feeling newborn again, and helpless.

‘Stop the bleeding,’ she said, and her lips were pale, no longer rosy pink, but white, bloodless.

Nodding, he got up on a soft sigh, looking around, shying away from the rats. There were clothes on a greasy bench. He shuffled them around, took shirt and pants back to his sister and pressed them to her bleeding body. She shifted, moaned, and he pressed them harder to her, afraid he was hurting her, but not knowing what else to do.

The shirt turned red under his hands
. She needed a hospital. Her eyes were closed now, and she’d be gone soon. He couldn’t let that happen, not when it was him who had almost killed her. He’d only just stopped in time, but that time was running out.

Picking up the knife again, Toby leant over the bed and used it to free her feet. He kept hold of it, but picked her up, cradling her against him, carrying her up the stairs.

Dawn had broken outside, a damp rag wiping away the darkness. He turned for the path to the road, Tully’s head lolling against his chest. He wanted to stop and listen for her breath, but there was no time.

The woman who answered the door screamed. She stood there staring at the both of them, hands pressed to her mouth, but the scream still escaped. A commotion behind her and a man appeared, hair in comical tufts over his ears.

‘What the bloody hell?’ he asked, and Toby thought that was about right, but he didn’t have time for any of this. Stepping forward, he tipped Tully into the man’s arms.

‘She’s my sister,’ he said. ‘She needs to go to hospital.’

The woman was still screaming; the man just gaped at him, speechless. Toby blinked at them and turned on his heel. He’d done what he could. They’d call the hospital. She’d go there and be sewn back together.

He still held the knife. There wasn’t much time. The screaming people would almost certainly call the police at the same time they summoned the ambulance. The police would catch on quick, and they’d bring dogs. He had only a short time.

The car engine was muffled in the morning’s damp drizzle. He put it in reverse and turned around, made a series of turns, aiming away from the port, through the city, and out onto the motorway, over the hills and away. He passed the police car heading towards his sister, but it didn’t slow, didn’t pay him any attention. Half an hour later, he was out of the city, no one the wiser.

There was a pl
ace he could go. Out in the hills, the bush. There were still places a man could make himself scarce for a while. Even in the twenty first century. He’d have to leave the car, of course, and for that he was sorry.

But they’d be looking for it. Tully, dear sweet Tully, his beloved sister, her blood was all over it. All over him. But he could stop soon. Wash in the river, change into the clothes
he’d put in the back seat of the car. He’d put them on, and then he’d go bush. No one would find him for a very long time.

But every now and then he’d come out for a bit of company. He
thought a bit of company, a cup of tea and a sit down with the right person might be very satisfying indeed.