Everyday Psychopaths Read online

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  A marriage without fights can’t be a healthy one, but when the fights outnumber the moments of peace, you’d probably start to wonder what the hell you’re doing.

  The Johnsons had reached this stage and therefore I wasn’t shocked not to hear from B for the whole next day. She had gone to hide from agent Julianne, the paparazzi, her marriage struggles, her mother, her disappointing career, yes pretty much everything that upset her. It wasn’t the most mature thing to do, but you can’t go around being mature all the time, right?

  So I figured I should let her take her time and not chase her. Besides, it gave me well-needed break from work. I hadn’t had much time off the last two years and a heavy tiredness had started to creep into my bones.

  But after almost two whole days of rest without a word from B, I started to wonder and sent her a text. No reply. I gave her a call. No reply. I gave her another call a bit later. No reply. The feeling that something was wrong had started to infiltrate my brain like a small but pounding headache. I actually ended up calling Katie, Alice, her mother Katherine, everyone I could think of, but no one had heard from her.

  I deliberated calling A for a moment but decided it would just worry him and ultimately piss him off. He was directing a movie for the first time in his career and it was not the best time to disturb him.

  But how do you locate a missing celebrity? There are surely no phone apps for it and if there isn’t a phone app, then what? A thought hit me that I should call the police, but somehow it seemed too dramatic, too soon. It could still just be stubbornness, maybe she was holing up in a hotel somewhere in the city, eating buckets of ice cream and watching Sex and the City?

  I heard a pling sound from my Macbook. My best friend, IT-genius and European tour travel buddy was writing to me on Skype. I hadn’t talked to him in a week so it was a welcome distraction.

  “Yo,” the message eloquently read. Cesar wasn’t elaborate with words, he preferred to get to the point quickly and his speech was often infused with slang and profanity. He was a super-intelligent and baby-faced goofball with a Rastafari hairstyle and I feared he’d never grow up. He had inherited a small loft in New York and worked for a mobile game developer. This was taking the easy way out for Cesar, who probably had enough computer skills to work for NASA and could hack pretty much any website out there. But hacking websites was not the best way to make a living as he had learned from experience. And police.

  “Hey,” I wrote back.

  “What’s up?”

  “Panic mode. B is missing. They had a fight two days ago and she took her bags and left. Nobody knows where she is.”

  “I could see that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I read about her vomit. Anyone would run away from that sort of thing.”

  “You can say that again,” I wrote and put a sad smiley at the end of it.

  “If you want I can try and trace her. All I need is her credit card details.”

  My heart stopped for a minute. Why hadn’t I thought of this? She must have made some kind of transaction in three days and it might at least give me a clue. On the other hand I didn’t feel comfortable giving out her credit card number to one of the most money-horny people I knew. He was my best friend, but Cesar and money was always a dangerous equation.

  But then again, what choice did I have?

  “Okay, wait and I’ll give them to you. Don’t lose them or use them for something else, okay?”

  “Of course not. And send a text message. It’s safer.”

  Luckily, I had her card details in an old e-mail which she had sent to use in case I needed to buy something online. This was before they gave me my own expense card which gold-ish sheen I treasured and admired greatly.

  I felt a second of regret before I pushed the send-button. “How long does it take?” I wrote to him.

  “Not too long. Give me an hour and I’ll call you.”

  “Thanks, man,” I wrote and headed down to the kitchen to make a sandwich, hoping my decision wouldn’t prove costly.

  Down in the kitchen I found Elena cleaning the floor. She had her permanently disappointed facial expression on and I knew she wouldn’t try to start up a conversation. She rarely did. I silently wondered what her plan was, she was nearing 60 and was still working as hard as ever. I didn’t know much about her, only that she came from small-town Russia with her son twenty years ago and that he was struggling to find a job as an actor (and enjoying the LA party life a little too much), while she was making floors shine in already successful actors’ homes. It was maybe not what she had imagined when she came here, but I wouldn’t know, as we had never talked about her feelings. Her skinny and veiny body did all the talking as the broom squished across the marble floors.

  I took a bite out of my ham and cheese sandwich and pretended to read the newspaper, while I was really too anxious to focus on anything. I wanted Cesar to call me and tell me where B was so I could move on with my life and do other things. It was while sitting at the kitchen bar that I realized how much I cared about her. I always knew we had a bond, a friendship, some kind of chemistry, but my feelings had never been tested like this before. One minute I wanted to quit and the next I felt so sorry for her, that it felt like I could never leave her.

  So it was with a sinking feeling in my stomach that I heard the phone vibrate on the table. The display read “Cesar”. I jumped on it like a cat on a light reflection.

  “What have you got?” I burst out.

  “Not even hello? LA broke your manners, dude. Anyway, her last transaction was at a restaurant, a La Rosetta. In Rome.”

  “In Rome?!” My mind went numb for a second. This was apparently trouble on an international scale.

  “Yes, the two previous transactions also happened in Rome. So my guess is that's where she is, unless someone stole her credit card.”

  “Oh, shit!” Cesar exclaimed, before I got the chance to reply.

  “What? What is it?” My heart was now ready to unleash itself from my chest, which was far from my usually quite a cool character.

  “Crazy lady spent 1300 dollars. 1300 dollars in a restaurant!”

  I sighed a breath of relief, “Believe me, on this level of fame, it's not that much.”

  “Are you kidding? That's almost a month’s rent and I live in New York.”

  “So you're positive she's there? In Rome?” This was a new level of B’s spontaneity, so I had to make sure.

  “I bet you 500 dollars.”

  “If you’re right, I’d owe you big time. This is nuts. I have to call her husband now, thanks for being the C in CSI.”

  “CSI is some bullshit.”

  It was a shame I couldn’t stay on the phone with Cesar, because we hadn’t talked in a while, but I had bigger fish to fry and husbands to call. It took about ten rings before A picked up his phone. He didn’t strike me as over-eager to hear about where his wife went, but maybe it was my imagination.

  A didn’t have even a hint of a clue of why B had decided to visit the capital of Italy. She had been there only once before, two years ago for a cover shoot, he remembered, but he didn’t know anything beyond that. Then he said something which hit me hard.

  “You have to go.”

  “What?”

  “You need to go to Rome and talk to her, Darryl. I can't do it, I've got a movie to finish. And you’ve got this friend of yours to help you too. It’s the only solution.”

  “You seriously want me to fly to another continent and track her down? I’ve called her like twenty times, she’s not answering. It’s not going to be easy, because she obviously doesn’t want to be found.”

  “It's the best we can do. I'll pay you extra, whatever you need. I really need you to do this, you seem like the only one who can talk some sense into her.”

  It's not great when your husband thinks the only guy who can talk to you, is some other guy, in this case me. But I knew he was right. If anyone had a chance of reaching
out to B it was yours truly and that’s why I couldn’t give him no for an answer either. And not only for his sake, but for B’s sake and mine, as I was genuinely worried about her.

  Not that Rome was the worst place to go celebrity hunting either.

  I packed my bags as fast as I could, checked the flights online and bought a last-minute ticket with my glimmering expense card. It was going to be one impromptu trip, but I have to admit I was a bit excited to go to Rome a second time. I thought it might be the break I needed, even if it was going to involve some kind of detective work. I ran down the shining marble staircase and at the end I almost bumped into Elena.

  “See where you going,” she muttered in her sour voice.

  “I’m flying to Rome. B is there. Why I don't know.” I burst out.

  Elena shook her head and sighed, “I know she run away. Her husband never home and she drink like animal. Not happy relationship.” She stabbed a finger at me like I was responsible for the whole thing. This was as animated as I’d ever seen her.

  “I'll call you when we’re coming back,” I said and I was out the door before Elena had a chance to reply.

  END OF SAMPLE.

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  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Jonas is currently the creative director of one of the most successful online gaming groups in the world. He has previously worked as a copywriter and a journalist. When he's not working he cherishes every moment with his family Lenah and Aiden and whatever time there's left he spends writing, reading and playing tennis. He's passionate about traveling and wine and thinks New York is the greatest city in the world. He lives with his family on the Mediterranean island of Malta. Read more about Jonas on his website jonaswrites.com