The Psychoplay

Why do you want to kill me?” I shrieked.

Expecting the answer to boom at me, I waited for a frightening second. Nothing.

I clutched the script tighter to my chest as I recalled the next line ‘Because it’s what I do.’

“Are you ok, Claire?” Mom came in without a knock.

“Keep out,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Practicing again?” She cocked an eyebrow. “You have stepped down from the role. Yes?”

“Yes,” I lied. “An understudy now, thanks to you.”

“Now, now, you know it’s for your own good sweetie,” she came closer and tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. “After what you did…”

“That man was scary looking!”

“That didn’t mean you should panic.”

“It looked like a gun!”

“It was just a phone!”

“I’m seventeen, ok?” I reminded her. “You can’t control my life anymore. I’ll run away right now.”

“And where would you go, exactly?” A vile smile played on her lips. “You need to be treated first.”

Just a few more months, I told myself and I could get rid of this monster.

“Your therapist said…”

“Get out!” I shouted.

She raised her eyebrows and shrugged before she left the room. If only I could wipe that smirk off her face.

These days it was just therapist this… Therapist that. Therapist. Therapist. Like the therapist could make me realize I had a major mental issue, and I would stay with and forever dependent on her. She’d like that.

But still I had agreed to the therapy sessions willingly. ‘You don’t have a problem, Claire,’ The therapist had told me. ‘You have a specific obsession. We can work on it together.’ All my hope went down the drain when the actual work started. She made me try other hobbies. She talked and talked, trying to fish out the root cause of my identified obsession, and I practiced my lying ability alongside. Recently though her commands had started to branch out to heights of ridiculousness. And now she had started to sound like mom.

‘Clean out the mementos you have kept from all your plays. You need to start letting go.’

Let go of what brings me joy? Did she want to make me miserable? Clean out meant throw away, despite her choice of words. I had nodded, I had to just play along to show mom I wasn’t insane. Now thanks to her, my costumes, special props, that I had on display all these years had to be moved to secret storage.

“Just until I turn eighteen and then I can keep whatever I want,” I reassured myself. Until then I would continue therapy and work on how I could be more convincing and better at hiding my obsession. My situation had to get under control before it could foster problems in my future acting career.

However, the play I was in was making me uncomfortable. Not because it was a side role, I’d pretty much bagged the female lead – a reporter, Erin, who teams up with a detective to catch a serial killer. My role in our Spring drama ‘The Psychoplay’ was a huge shift from the romantic and fantasy roles I’ve always played. It had made me paranoid. Okay, I admit to it­– My roles don’t leave me easy. I don’t just assume the character I play, I become it.

“Deep breath,” I flung open the window and took in the sweet smell of moss and grass. The breathing technique was the only helpful thing I’d learnt in therapy so far.

From the corner of my eye, I caught a tiny glimpse of my neighbour. Standing on a stool, I cheated the privacy fence in his yard. He and his girlfriend moved in a few days ago and I hadn’t the chance to meet them, not personally at least. Squinting in the moonlight, his features were more noticeable. Bare body. Tattoos swerved from his neck and branched out to his arms. Blond hair too long for comfort. Muscles glinted that made them look intensified. Oddly scared, I wanted to never get in proximity.

I pulled the curtain halfway shut before a sound emerged from the direction. Back on the stool, I saw the man slumbering a large trunk into a pit which wasn’t there earlier today. My eyes scanned the whole area for the girlfriend. He successfully buried the trunk and brushed himself off.

Why would he kill his own girlfriend? I wondered. The detective’s line from my play came naturally to me – ‘They don’t have a reason, don’t have a heart; psychopaths and sanity are miles apart.’

“You are overreacting as usual,” I chided myself. “She is alive… somewhere.”

My mind didn’t comply, and I went to bed with the lights on. But that was not enough to keep nightmares at bay.

                                #

I just couldn’t make it to the rehearsals without a pit stop.

This wasn’t me, the me I knew would make a wiser decision. It was none of my business and I wasn’t on the prowl for murderers, like Erin; but it was too late now. Already at the neighbour’s door, I rapped at it and took a few steps back – in clear sunlight. As said in the play ‘People who stray from public and light are the most likely targets. Like little Susie who ran under the old bridge, looking for her ball.’

When the man appeared, his body was still bare. He had changed shorts, and a loose pony got the hair off his shoulders.

“Yes?” He fired up a cigarette.

“I need to talk to your girlfriend.”

“Emiko? I don’t suppose she knows you,” He studied me from head to toe and then blew smoke to my face before continuing “You are the girl from next door.”

“I was wondering if she is any good at singing,” my nose wrinkled at the smoke. “There’s this play and…”

“She’s history now,” he smiled a bit too widely. “I’m Drake and you are?”

“I’m Claire,” frightened by his choice of words, I struggled to keep my composure. “I got to get going,” my phone began to ring impatiently, proving my excuse.

“See ya,” he smiled again before he shut the door.

As I headed to the gate, I couldn’t keep my eyes off the patch of ground that hid the trunk. Pots with all sorts of flowers covered the uneven ground. A temporary solution for him perhaps, if only I wasn’t a spectator to the covert burial last night.

                                #

“Claire’s here,” Amber’s voice bounced off the auditorium’s long walls.

For a moment, everyone's head turned, and dead silence filled the air. Amber dramatically ran to me, her fiery hair swaying from side to side, complimenting her attire.

“Finally,” She held my hand. “Daniel is just about done with his scene. You are right on time.”

The guy on stage continued with his lines. Daniel. He was kind of cute for a crazy psycho– unlike Drake. Though Daniel had no theatre up his sleeve, Ms. Withers recommended him as an idea to hype up our drama. It worked remarkably; the whole college buzzed with excitement for ‘The Psychoplay’ and how Daniel, the most popular guy on campus would play the role of a serial killer. Normally I would protest, but let it go. Ah! The things we do for love.

The curtains closed on him, and Ms. Withers signalled me and the detective– whose role was played by Shane, to get ready for our cue.

“This is the 21st Century; no longer can a psycho get away with such inhumane murders. With our minds working in sync, we can catch him, Erin. This clue that he has carelessly left behind will lead us straight to him.”

“Yes, it will,” my mind trailed back to image of the trunk.

“Claire?” Shane whispered. “Go on.”

“Huh?”

“Do you need the script Ms. Reese?” Ms. Withers called.

“Of course not!” I frowned at the insult.

My co-actors gawked at me, except for Daniel who was busy taking selfies.

I messed up every scene after. Like when a victim’s dad asked, “Where is Alice?” I could only remember Drake’s words – ‘She’s history.’

Beads of sweat covered my face, humiliating my years of stage experience.

“I just need a break,” I gave up. “I’ll be ready tomorrow.”

Ms. Withers agreed most readily. The torture my performance had inflicted on her, showed on her face.

“What’s behind those dark eyes of the drama queen?” Amber blocked my way to the entrance. “It’s nothing. Just messed up today.”

“Mom?” She asked me and I didn’t answer. She nodded and continued. “Don’t ruin your shot at the TV documentary offer. The headhunter will be here.” She leaned closer and whispered, “Besides Daniel might come as a complimentary prize.”

“I’ll make sure both of them are floored,” I winked at her and tossed a look over my shoulder. Especially Daniel.

Outside the scent of flowers wafted through the air. A perfect day of Spring, if not for the dark cloud huddled over my head.

“Hey Claire,” Shane jogged over to me. “Get this tomorrow.”

“Why don’t you give it to Daniel?” I took it from him readily.

A butchers knife. Plays needed real objects to do justice to it ; most of which were usually substituted by toys. This was no toy though. I could see how ecstatic I looked, in the reflection that bounced off it. The handle was solid and rustic with ‘RIP’ carved on its handle. I had protested its usage for being too cliche. Ms. Withers reasoned that it’s not bad to use cliche in an original script. 'RIP gives a punch', she said. I found her thoughts interesting and dropped my case.

“Can’t trust him,” he said. “Besides you are in a scene with this too.”

I couldn’t forget that. The initial script had me bag the psycho serial killer and get him arrested. But with the buzz around Daniel, it was changed. Now, the end had me trapped and vulnerable; the curtains came down with the psycho pointing the knife at me, letting suspense hang in the air for the viewers.

I didn’t protest there. For Daniel. He would be the star of the show. And he would build himself from here and take acting seriously. He would forever realize my role in his success and… Imagining our future together made me giddy. Both of us. Together. Actors.

“I don’t know what happened back there,” Shane brought me back to reality. “Just get it off, okay?”

“That’s exactly what I am gonna do,” I looked back at the knife.

It wasn’t going to help me in the play, but it would certainly help defend me tonight.

                                #

Trespassing just wasn’t my thing.

On the other hand the play was tomorrow and it was on me to get rid of my insecurities or confirm my fears.

‘Everything is fair in love and war, young Erin; but also, when lives are at stake.’

After relocating the flowerpots, a short scout for a shovel saved my manicure. Three feet in, the trunk surfaced in the perfect chiaroscuro painted by the moon. With a great heave, the lid fell open. Surprisingly instead of foul odor, heavy musk engulfed me. Girl’s stuff filled the space inside.

My shoulders drooped in relief. My suspicion was wrong.

“You don’t have to put that back.”

An instant was all it took to pull out the knife and spring to my feet.

Drake. He wore a denim shirt and jeans. His hair was now trimmed to well above shoulder length. He smiled. It was the first time he looked so attractive.

He folded his arms and tapped his foot, awaiting explanation.

“I saw you burying this last night and I thought… Emiko… missing today…and” I tried explaining.

“You don’t think I killed her. Do you?” He laughed and then his eyes widened at the sight of my knife. “Woah! I’m a good man,” he raised his hands in defense. “She broke up with me yesterday and I wanted to bury her memories that’s all.”

“I’m sorry,” I dropped the knife, ashamed of even holding it.

“It’s alright, she came back. She’s scared out of her mind. Thank God, I recognized you else the cops would be here by now.”

“I might as well apologize.”

“Yes,” he stroked his chin, glancing back at the house. “You might have to hurry though; the phone is in her hands.”

The plays did it; I was in a mess yet again. I couldn’t take the chance of commotion with the police. The play was tomorrow and Erin couldn't be replaced. I could be dropped and the useless understudy would mess it all up. Also I wasn’t going to let mom know about this. No matter what she told me, I knew the concern was just a show, for the outside world. 

I do everything for my only daughter. My world. My love. 

My puppet. 

I needed the role in the documentary to help me move out soon.

"Okay."

Drake nodded and led the way with dragging feet. Light spilled from the front door. I fought the urge to slap myself across the face. Who was I kidding? I was Claire, not Erin. I had no business investigating anything. This screw up would be what would straighten me up moving forward. Would help me not to act on my obsession in the future. I was confident that I didn’t even need the therapist anymore.

I kicked off my muddy shoes and entered in haste before slow-poke Drake. The sooner I would wrap this up, the faster I could get back to practicing for tomorrow. Everyone would look at me in awe. Daniel would acknowledge me and ask me out. The start of a great love story…

After a few more steps, my hand quickly clenched my coat pocket only to realize what I needed was gone.

Specks of dirt led to a muddy trunk lined up to the wall. I didn’t need to wonder about what was inside. The realization of what I had just gotten myself into, hit me hard.

‘Do not unarm yourself with the sweet talk. Acting is what they are good at.’

Too late. I turned to the sound of slow, heavy steps. The missing knife was clenched in Drake’s fist. The initials ‘RIP’ laughed at my situation as if saying-' You say I’m cliche, but I speak the truth. Now Rest in Peace.'

“Too bad you got to go. I wish we could’ve gotten to know each other better," he shut the door, a frenetic look gleamed from his eyes as he pointed the knife at me. "Such a shame. Say hi to Emiko for me,” 

My heart drummed the music from the end of the play. My insides shook; my body froze. I glanced up with faint hope that there were curtains waiting to come down, but that wasn’t to be.

Drake advanced with the crafted skill of a predator that never missed its prey. I was doomed to Erin’s fate.

“Why do you want to kill me?” I shrieked.

“Because Claire,” the answer came this time. “It is what I do."

THE END