Read Delete-Man: A Psychological Thriller for Free Online

psychiatrists. She
never told me though. I just found out because I saw an appointment
card in her bag once.”
    “What’s the address?”
    “I don’t know. That’s why I
didn’t want to say anything about it. She never mentioned it. I
only found out by accident. I only remembered it because of that.
It’s the kind of thing she would usually mention to me. Maybe not
talk about; but at least mention. It felt like some secret that she
was keeping.”
    “Have you got the card?”
    “No. Sorry Joseph.”
    “Can you find out who it
was?”
    “Not really.”
    “Maybe you could ask her mum, go
through her stuff. You must be able to find out somehow.”
    “I don’t think so, Joseph.”
    “You don’t remember the name at
all? An initial? Search for a list of psychiatrists in the area,
maybe you’ll recognise it.”
    “Hmm.”
    “Maybe you could remember the
type of card even, the style, the font. I could even try to match
up the styles or something. Or the date that you saw on the card,
how long ago it was. Maybe that could help.”
    “Ok, ok! Relax! I will try to
find out who it was. I think her mum has her stuff still, She’d
probably let me look through it if I say there’s something of mine
in there.”
    “Perfect!”
    “Well, don’t count on it Joseph.
I don’t know for sure, but I’ll try.”
    “Thanks.”
    I went to the door.
    “Joseph?”
    “Yeah?”
    “I understand what you’re
doing—I don’t agree with you, but I understand. Just try not to
lose yourself, ok?”

Chapter 4
    I couldn’t dispel a feeling of
envy as the bus rolled through the picturesque streets. Not even
the charcoal-grey sky could taint the quaintness of the
white-walled spacious houses. The bus rolled to a stop and I
stepped off onto clean, uncracked pavement.
    I imagined what it would be like
to live on such quiet streets. Walking down them made me realise
just how crowded and noisy the tower block that Vicky and I shared
was, surrounded by hundreds of people on all sides. She would
probably have liked growing up here; for the manicured trees that
lined the road, the pretty, uncluttered shops, the flowers that
filled the windows and gardens. She probably wouldn’t be half as
tough either.
    The squat didn’t look out of
place, it was just as large and grandiose as the houses on either
side of it. But the boxes of empty beer bottles and the trampled
foliage of the front yard gave it away. In a top floor window there
was a large poster proclaiming something about the war.
    As I walked up the path to the
front door—a large, oak thing with an elaborately engraved knocker;
probably worth more on its own than my entire apartment—I heard
sounds from inside. Retro music, the occasional laugh or shout, and
what sounded like some sort of action movie. The door was slightly
ajar, and I pushed through it into a large hallway.
    Inside, the house was a strange
mish-mash of obviously expensive furnishings and decorations, and
second hand bric-a-brac, arranged without the aesthetic cohesion I
imagined other houses in the area had. Two teenage girls bounded
down the stairs chattering away and glanced at me as they walked
by. As soon they exited the house I heard them explode into stifled
giggles. I knew they were giggling at me.
    I poked into a few doors. The
rooms were disorganised, some more than others. One room had a sick
stain on the floor and blood on the walls. My guess was that
whoever lived here hung out in rooms until they were too messy,
then moved onto the next. A couple of guys drinking coffee in the
kitchen eyed me from the other end of a passage.
    I walked towards the sound of
the TV and ended up in a large, fairly luxurious living room. Smoke
hung in the air, and the smell of alcohol-filled bodies was almost
invasively pungent. On the far wall a huge TV displayed video game
images, and around it there was a couch and a couple of chairs upon
which a group of people were playing and drinking. I smelt weed and
saw the