My Deadly Obsession Read online

  Copyrigh t©2014 by Matt Shaw

  Matt Shaw Publications

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  The characters in this book are purely fictitious.

  Any likeness to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Sindy Cole - 1984 to 2014

  My

  Deadly

  OBSESSION

  M A T T S H A W

  A SHORT STORY

  VIDEO ONE.

  (Video Number One. Scene One. Take One.)

  I nervously leaned forward in my leather office chair and reached for my computer mouse. Not sure why I am so nervous. It’s not as though people can see me yet. It doesn’t matter if I make a mistake. Hell, even when I am filming, it won’t matter. As long as I get it right in the end - this can take as long as necessary. I just need to be patient. Can’t rush it no matter how desperate I am for people to join with me in my celebration of her. Remember the saying: All Good Things Come To Those Who Wait.

  I moved the onscreen cursor across to the record button and gave the mouse a click. A countdown played down on the screen. Five, four, three, two, one. The red light is flashing. Here we go.

  This is the easy video. Video number one. A casual introduction. I sat back in my office chair and made sure I was completely in the viewfinder of the webcam. Don’t want to do something stupid and just film the top of my head - as pretty as it is. Fuck I look good. Hardly surprising. Took me so long to get ready. Needed to look my best on the off-chance she sees this video. I’m sure she will once word gets out about it. Her agent, or someone, will see it and point her in its direction. A thought flashed through my mind; imagine if she got in touch! Imagine if she sent me a little video message back saying hello, or something like that. How awesome would that be?

  I realised the camera had been filming me staring at myself for the past ten seconds now. Great. Look like a bumbling idiot. I started to introduce myself and stuttered over the words. Jesus Christ. What’s wrong with me? It’s the thought of her watching this later. It’s thrown me off my game.

  I leaned forward and killed the recording.

  Fucking thing.

  Okay. A couple of minutes to calm down and I’ll go again.

  (Video Number One. Scene One. Take Two.)

  The red light flashed.

  “My name is James Edwards and I am Sindy Cole’s biggest fan. As such, I thought I’d set this YouTube channel up so I could talk to you guys about her, share my thoughts and meet like-minded people who love her too so - you know - if you’re a fan of hers, feel free to comment and we can get to know each other and share in our passions.”

  I stopped the video recording.

  Perfect.

  I have more to say. Of course I do. Can’t very well start off with a video that short. It won’t encourage people back to my little page. Especially given the fact there are so many videos to choose from. I need to make mine stand out. Which is why I stopped the video now. I’ll pick it up again on location. That way it keeps things visually interesting too. Hell, I’ll even splice in some pictures of Sindy. It’s not as though I do not have enough of them to choose from. Been collecting them ever since she first burst onto the scene a couple of years ago. Pictures of her dressed in everything from a French Maid’s outfit, from one of her videos, all the way through to a sublime underwear shoot she did for one of the many lads’ mags who were lucky enough to collar her. Man what I would have paid to be on that shoot. So sexy.

  I ignored the Twitter rants from people who said she dressed provocatively to detract from her lousy voice. All I can say is - when I read those tweets- it was a good job there was distance between those who wrote the comments and myself. Not that I would have done anything other than shout at them. They’re not worth more than that. Just a series of comments from narrow minded individuals or ugly little whores who are jealous. Fuck them.

  (Video Number One. Scene Two. Take One.)

  The trees are behind me swaying in the gentle breeze of the summer’s day.

  “Why do I love Sindy Cole? Well - what’s not to love? She’s beautiful both inside and out. Luscious brown hair which glistens no matter what the time of day, a bright smile which can lighten any miserable day, eyes so deep you can see into the very depths of her amazing soul, a perfect ten of a figure and then of course you have that voice. A voice like silk which perfectly captures the lyrics of her heart-felt songs. There have been many singers before Sindy and I am sure there will be many after her - but none will come close to matching her brilliance.” I paused a moment to give the future viewers of my channel time to reflect upon my words. “Some of you might recognise the park I’m currently standing in. Well - for those who don’t - in two days time, Sindy will be playing her biggest open air concert to date and I’ll be right here! How many of you will be joining me? Feel free to hit me up in the comments. Maybe we could all meet up before the show?”

  Cut the recording.

  Perfect Take.

  Nailed it in one.

  I’m made for this shit.

  It’s a shame I have to upload this now really. Maybe I should hold off for a few days until after the concert? I could always edit it up to the end point so it’s ready to launch after her show. I just think it would be more highly viewed if I have footage of her performing from the gig. Maybe get close enough to the stage so I can get some raunchy up skirt shots to encourage the perverts to come along and take a look too. Really maximise the viewing potential.

  My heart skipped a beat with excitement as my mind - distracted by thoughts of her on stage - turned to the possibility of being pulled up on stage for one of her slower numbers. Maybe she’d let me put my arms around her tiny waist? Hold her closely, slowly dancing from side to side as she sings to me and only me. Sure there’d be many thousands of people watching but - at that moment - I’ll be the only one of any importance.

  Fuck it, I’ll upload the video as soon as I get home. If there is a chance she sees it before the gig - she may well recognise me in the crowd. More of a possibility of being picked to go up there with her. Worth a shot.

  Ooh, best get some new aftershave.

  Read in a magazine somewhere - maybe the same one which released the photos of her in her skimpy underwear - that her favourite scent (on a man) is Davidoff’s “Adventure”. I’ve worn it ever since but am running low. Stock up before the show. Make sure I’m prepared for when she pulls me up onto stage.

  Stop getting excited. That pessimistic little voice in my head again. Why can’t it just fuck off? Asshole thing pretending to know what is best for me. It knows nothing. Only I know what is best for me. And in this instance - what’s best for me is to get my ass down to the store to get more aftershave.

  I packed the small camera back into its carry case which came with it when I purchased it a couple of days ago and took a final look around the park. Just think, the next time I’ll be here - she’ll be here too. How exciting.

  * * * * *

  Since finding her music, I haven’t really listened to anyone else. Occasionally I tune into the radio - if I’m writing a blog or something - to see if there is anything else which grabs my attention but there’s nothing. Everything sounds the same; loud and noisy with lyrics which could have come from a child. Lyrically she’s easily on par with Cash but even he doesn’t come close to her. I ended up binning my old music collection from my car. The disks just took up space and served no purpose other than to annoy me. I’d find myself searching through them all just to find the one Sindy Cole album I was looking for. On one occasion, in such a stress, I ended up throwing a Foo Fighters’ album out of the car window, into the path of an oncoming vehicle. Why I even had that shit in my car is beyond me anyway. It’s not as though they’d even exist today if it weren’t for Grohl murdering his so-called friend Kurt. One way to get ahead in the music industry I suppose - kill your competition.

  If Sindy asked me too, or I was that way motivated, I’d kill her competitors if necessary.

  I slid the last photograph (Sindy in a shiny-silver leotard costume) into the timeframe of the editing program and sat back admiring the picture. Whenever I find a new photo of her, I always drag it from the website I find it on and into a specially created file on my computer. If I really like the picture - and I usually do - I then put it onto a USB drive and get it printed off in the supermarket near my home. Over one hundred and thirty-two pictures of her stuck to the wall in here now. Over one hundred and thirty-two Sindy’s watching me, teasing me.

  A scary thought nudged its way into the forefront of my mind; over hundred and thirty-two pictures of her means that I have had over one hundred and thirty-two self-love sessions. A masturbatory experience for each picture printed not that - at the time - I believe I am alone. I stare at the pictures and it is like she comes out of them and takes me in her own hand, her mouth, her cunt or even her asshole on days when the mood suits. Over one hundred and thirty-two incidents whereby I’ve spilt my seed over her.

  I laughed.

  Probably won’t be sharing that snippet of information in one of the videos.

  I do not want to come across as a weirdo.

  I clicked through the various menu options on the editing software’s extensive toolbar until I came across the option which allowed me to
finalise the film. A few tweaks here and there, including naming the file and choosing where it saved it - and I hit ‘export’. A pang of excitement as I realised I was one step closer to uploading. It’s silly but I’ve been meaning to do this for a while now and there was always a reason why I didn’t; some poor excuse ranging from having a headache, to having an unsightly spot which would surely put the audience (and Miss Cole) off from watching me - all the way to the more serious end of the scale which saw me being chased down by the Black Dog of Depression. Well - no more excuses - this is it. Another hour, or two, and I’ll be live for the world to see.

  I really hope Sindy gets to see it.

  Fuck it.

  VIDEO TWO.

  (Video Two. Take One.)

  I probably shouldn’t be filming right now. I should be taking a little time out to collect my thoughts and calm down a little but I can’t. I’m just too fucking angry and it’s his fault. Some jumped up hip-hop wannabe cunt who thinks he has the right to push women around.

  I woke up to images plastered all over the Internet of Sindy’s pretty face covered in bruises; a split lip, a black eye, an unsightly graze on her cheek. The stories all read the same - an argument with her current (I’m presuming ‘no longer current’) boyfriend which resulted in being pushed down the stairs and punched. A battered face, a broken rib, and bruises on most limbs - she was lucky that was all. He could have broken her neck. Just as I’d like to break his. Part of me wondered whether he did such a brutal act in order to find something else in his shit fucking life to rap about. Must be hard trying to pave your way as a hip hop artist when your partner sells four times the albums you do, making you look like nothing but a rank amateur. Well now you look like a woman-beater too. A cunt of the lowest degree. I’d give anything to let him feel how I feel with the use of my fists and size twelve boots. Of course it means the concert is off. They said they’ll re-issue the tickets when she is feeling better. I can’t blame her for cancelling. She is hardly well enough to perform - although I’m sure she would. It was probably her agents who told her to cancel. I feel no malice towards them.

  Obviously I jumped on Twitter to express my well-wishes to Sindy in a nice message. At least, as nice as one hundred and forty characters permits. Fucking thing. The people who devised Twitter clearly aren’t sociable people in real life. Conversations with them must be riveting; whole days and experiences broken down into fragmented sentences of shit.

  “Jake Kelly, you’re nothing but scum,” I ranted at the webcam as the red light flickered away at the bottom of the onscreen box, “and I hope - one day - you meet someone who puts you in your place. I hope you feel what you made Sindy Cole feel when you kicked her around. I hope - more than that - that they break your fucking neck. Not enough to kill you though. I do not want you dead. I want you paralysed. I want you to live a long and lonely life confined to a wheelchair, unable to do anything for yourself. I want the people who are supposed to be looking after you to abuse you. I want them putting their fags out on you. I want them using you as a stress-defeating punch-bag after a long day. I want you suffering for many years. You rap about what a great man you are. You’re neither great nor are you a man. You’re a piece of fucking…” I tailed off.

  I am as bad as he is.

  I leaned forward and clicked the camera off.

  If Sindy sees this video she will see nothing but a hate-filled man. She will see another Jake Kelly. They say violence breeds violence but - no - not in this instance. I’m aiming my thoughts at the wrong person - letting my anger and hatred drive me. I should concentrate on Sindy. My Miss Cole. Let my love lead me. I deleted the small thumbnail of the previous video and hit the record button once more.

  (Video Two. Take Two.)

  Sindy does not need to see more violence or words of hatred.

  This is her hour of need.

  She needs to see love.

  She needs to see kindness.

  She needs to see me.

  “Sindy…” my heart was racing, it took everything to try and remain as calm as collected as possible, “… I’m sorry to hear what happened to you. You do not deserve such hostility. A soul such as yours deserves only peace, success, health and happiness. I am not a rich man…” at least not until the student loan clears, “…and I cannot provide you with more success but I can provide you with peace and happiness which - in turn - should lead to health. You’re a beautiful person and I know you wouldn’t usually look at someone such as myself but I want you to know that I am here for you. I have a heart full of love and - if you want it - it is yours to have. I will love you. I will honour you. I will cherish you. Today, tomorrow, forever. Death will not ever do us part.” I took a breath. “Sindy, I just want you to know that I wish you well. I love you and, that you make my life a little less dark.”

  I reached forward and turned the webcam off.

  Maybe I’ll add some kind of romantic music in the background? Something classical - perhaps - like Moonlight Sonata? Actually - no - no need to add anything. I should just upload it as it is. I do not want her believing I spent a lot of time planning it. As crazy as it sounds, I’d rather she saw how ‘off the cuff’ it was. Yes.

  I’ll upload without any editing.

  It’ll show her my love is pure without needing to be planned.

  She’ll see how I genuinely care for her.

  I opened the Internet browser bar and searched through the history for the YouTube channel I had created the previous day after I’d edited my first film. A little jump for joy when I noticed the stats for my first video indicated some views and - not just that - a waiting comment.

  Something to read whilst the next video uploads.

  I clicked through to the section which offered me the option to upload the next video - a few more presses of the mouse button and I had selected the relevant file to upload. This bit was always the hard bit: Whilst the progress bar of the upload slowly crawled across the screen, the site asked for various boxes to be filled in - including a name for the file. Yesterday I entered it as SINDY COLE - VIDEO ONE. Today it will simply be - VIDEO TWO. This way people searching for her videos on YouTube will come across it. There’s not enough information in the title alone for them to know what it is so - hopefully - they’ll click onto the link hoping to find a new music video or interview with her. Instead, what they get is me talking all things Sindy. The aim is to do daily videos sharing my love for her and reviewing her work - not that I can see me ever saying anything unfavourable. Today though is obviously different due to what happened yesterday. Today - they’ll click onto the link and see me telling Sindy that I love her and - to sum it up - that she should be with someone such as myself; someone that will care for her.

  In the ‘about’ section I put the words: Jake Kelly is a woman-beater, show your support for Sindy. That way my audience knows (if they bother reading this section) the video is not to shout at Kelly like I had originally intended but, rather, to show our support for Sindy. Show her that, no matter what shit she is going through, we - her fans and loyal followers - are here for her and thinking of her.

  A pop-up box appeared on-screen informing me my video had successfully uploaded. Didn’t take as long as yesterday but that was hardly any surprise. After all - today’s was much shorter in comparison to yesterday’s introductory vid. Satisfied another good job was complete, I pressed the site’s back button until I was on my own homepage again; a picture of me in the top left corner and my two videos in the centre of the screen alongside their descriptions.

  I smiled.

  Taking shape already.

  Nice.

  I clicked on to the first video to check how many likes it had and sat back to re-watch it as it started its auto-play cycle. I had watched it yesterday, when I finished it, but I have to say - I had forgotten how well I came across on camera. I looked good, I sounded good. I should get a job on some television channel as a presenter.

  I looked at the counter for the number of times viewed. One hundred and seventy-three. Not too bad for a little under twenty-four hours since it went live. In fact I’m feeling quite proud. Under the counter was the symbol of an up-turned thumb and a down-turned thumb. Next to those were smaller counters showing how many people had either up-voted the video - or down-voted it. One for each. A fifty-fifty split of my audience. I guess I can live with that but I would have preferred one hundred percent up-voted. Ah well - I’m sure the more views the video gets, the more people will give it a thumbs up.