Abstract Reality: A Psychological Horror Novel

By Cedric Buhagiar

Rick Ironside, a young cop by profession and a heavy metal band member by passion, meanders down his own winding life path as he struggles to balance his social life on one hand and his private one on the other day in, day out. Scars left by a traumatic childhood and a broken family taint his view of inescapable social life, urging him to find solace in his own intimate reveries and in his sister. Ricks communal and professional life experiences speak for themselves, as if automated, while he strives to stay afloat and keep his instincts at bay. His inner struggles are given expression to through his own inner voice, taking shape as his intimate reveries that are at one and the same time an attempt to exorcise his own psychological demons as much as a signalling of a state of psychological deterioration, which, although being a mere internal whisper, howl fiercely in the readers ear.

Things spiral out of control as Rick is suddenly summoned on to the scene of an ongoing crime. He is tossed into a living nightmare, where he is reunited with his sister, whose safety he takes upon himself to keep at all costs. Together, they must delve deeper into a darkly abysmal reality while reacquainting themselves with haunting memories from the past that manifest themselves as monstrosities. But whose is the other voice that appears in Ricks mind? Why is it vying with Rick in a struggle of wits? Can Rick stay sane and see himself and his sister out of this mess? Abstract Reality is an intimate story of a young man who toils with the different faces of his own reality as well as with the ghosts of his own past: a journey through the dark plains of the human psyche, weaving together memory and present external encounters and experiences into a dark veil that barely separates insanity from reality, if at all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: Apr 29, 2014
• ISBN: 9781493194261

Cedric Buhagiar

Mr Cedric Buhagiar works as a police officer for the Malta Police Department. He studied at the local higher secondary school till the age of sixteen and joined the force at the age of eighteen. After six years as a lawman, Mr Buhagiar decided to expand his artistic skills by writing his very first novel, Abstract Reality. In addition to his profession, he also studies martial arts and enjoys playing bass in a local band as an alternate means of expression in the vast sphere of creative artistry. He currently resides in the Mediterranean Island of Malta and can be contacted at [e-mail].

Book preview

Copyright © 2014 by Cedric Buhagiar.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2014906975

ISBN:      Hardcover   978-1-4931-9424-7

                Softcover     978-1-4931-9425-4

                eBook          978-1-4931-9426-1

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 04/23/2014

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris LLC

0-800-056-3182

www.xlibrispublishing.co.uk

[e-mail]

573038

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

Foreword

Chapter I: Me, Myself & I

Chapter II: Sharing Chemistry

Chapter III: Deceptive Schemes

Chapter IV: Intensive Torture

Chapter V: Whispers In The Woods

Chapter VI: Father’s Touch

Chapter VII: Fading Mother’s Love

Chapter VIII: The Hidden Hand

Chapter IX: Abstract Revelations

About The Author

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

A very special thank you goes to my dearest cousin Janica Buhagiar, artist Claire Azzopardi and long time friend Adrian Farrugia, for without their solid support this project would not have been possible. On an end note, I'd like to acknowledge the numerous people encountered whose influence—be it positive or negative—contributed greatly to the realization of this novel by setting alight the spirit in which I was able to put this novel's words to paper.

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A fter Cedric approached me to have a look at Abstract Reality , I sat down for several sessions with him to discuss what stylistic strategies could be adopted to fine-tune the prose. As our exchanges went on, I gained a better glimpse into the author’s mindset. It started becoming evident that he wrote this novel on a very personal note while also fusing this autobiographical aspect with fictional elements that strongly shed light on where his influences lay.

Even though trying to pigeon-hole any creative work tends to result in reductionism or parsimony, for the sake of clarity it is safe to say that Abstract Reality is a work of psychological horror. However, not too far into the story, the reader starts picking up on what the author is trying to do with this conceptual foregrounding. On the surface, it may seem like he is simply trying to blend seamlessly the supernatural and the psychological, which is perhaps a notion as old as ancient spiritual or religious forms of enquiry into the connection between humans and the supernatural. But at a second and more attentive look, the supernatural elements identify themselves as more than just imagery projected from the author’s psyche on to the page. They are more akin to a patchwork of snippets of influence gathered along the way, each of which lends itself as a metaphor to express instances of personal experience here and reflections there. Consequently, the old adage—we love what we fear the most—is a truism here. The horror genre becomes a way to purge oneself of hardships encountered along the path of growing up by becoming somewhat like voodoo-esque figurines adopted in rituals to absorb emotive malaise induced by past scars before being tossed into the fire of self-overcoming. Paradoxically, though, they also embody a cocoon tainted in a barely tangible sense of nostalgia in which one can nestle himself.

The protagonist—Rick Ironside—presents himself as a mouthpiece for the author’s inner voice as he struggles to come to grips with his transition to young adulthood. He inducts us into the different facades of his life—that of a cop torn inside between his professional obligation and his own set of morals, a passionate musician, a loving brother, and an introvert who has a penchant for self-education, self-expression, and his own company. Rick navigates his way, initially through horrors that, as it were, are hidden in plain sight; something Rick alludes to as a collective of strictures imposed on the self inadvertently present in daily social life. Later, what starts off as a call to duty to check on a hit quickly spirals out of control, setting into motion the machination of Rick’s bleak fate as he is thrown into a hellish existence and left to put together pieces of a puzzle that paint a picture of his own dysfunctional past. Rick’s grit and integrity are tested to the fullest, and we stand alongside the protagonist as he endeavours to keep his sanity intact in midst of his own plight.

The author’s regard for the necessity of significant and profound human relationships is epitomised in Jen—Rick’s sister. Rick only hints at her relevance in his life in the first section of the book, and she only makes her entrance on stage after the nightmarish turn of events. But what seem like mere intimations about Rick’s sister are heavily imbued with implicit fraternal love and care. Jen is, by and large, the roots to Rick’s stability in life. Her position in the action of the story, therefore, creates a double-bind, as she is the motivator for Rick to prevail while also being his Achilles’ heel whose safety he swears to protect for all intents and purposes. Their conversations are the only light shining throughout the dark journey, and they serve to provide the reader with respite from a shady and labyrinthine ambience whose claustrophobic character seems to breathe down the protagonists’ necks as well as ours as readers.

Running counter to Jen’s ongoing intervention to safeguard Rick’s lucidity is the obscure voice that resounds within his mind. Initially, it slips into Rick’s thoughts masking itself simply as mere self-doubt. Its plausibility as such at this point in the story stems from Rick’s ambivalent attitude towards daily social encounters. On the outside, Rick’s actions and words are dictated by the unwritten codes of social interactions. Contrastingly, on the inside, Rick’s inner voice lets the reader in on his concealed instinctive and more intimate aspects of his mind, which at times appear to be on the verge of bursting forth in a violent birth. And yet, as the story unfolds, the whispering voice increasingly evinces itself as a full-bodied consciousness that is waging a war of wits against the protagonist and positions itself on the other side of the scales from Jen.

To sum up, Abstract Reality is a story that tells about journey that reflects on the passing from one phase in life to the next, all the time while trying to piece together past and present, which, more often than not, can be a very painstaking experience if those pieces are jagged and incongruent. And in toiling away through his journey and trying to make these ends meet, Rick is human and very much so indeed. At times, his temperance and integrity shine through when he is pressed with choices whose consequences can vary from trivial to vital. On other occasions, his shortcomings are laid bare by the author without restraint. Besides being a reflection on personal growth and a confession about how we all pay our debts due to our own psychological baggage we must bear, it also has a lot to intimate about interpersonal relationships and how sometimes they make us and at other times, they break us. And all considered, Rick teaches us that every time we fail to cope with our circumstances, our mind creates our own horrors that project themselves forward and out and become the reality we live in.

I sincerely hope that all those who come to read Abstract Reality will take away something self-reflexive as I believe that as much as the novel attempts to put forward its own devices, it also tries to sound its own voice—one that at times screams hysterically during its own becoming and transitioning, and at others, whispers almost indiscernibly.

Adrian Farrugia

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I t was a typical winter night on January twenty-ninth, half past eight in the evening. The sound of thunder echoed in the distance. Heavy acid rain poured down and ice-cold winds blew against his face. He was walking slowly with hands inside his side pockets towards the Black Lotus Pub, which was located a few blocks away from the attic apartment where he lived in. Christmas and New Year’s greetings, The feasts of the hypocrites as he called them, have finally come to an end. Now it was the time to shift back from amicable smiles and back-patting to sly grins and backstabbing.

From the mouth of the rain-soaked alley emerged Rick Ironside, a pale young man of twenty-three with light brown hair in a crew cut and an athletic physique that stood approximately five and a half feet tall. A short stubble covering his narrow jaw connected evenly in length with his undercut. He had a pair of deep, cold, hazel eyes, and a lightly scarred left eyebrow, where a piercing used to be back in his teenage years. He also had a small, silver nose ring on the left nostril of his narrow, pointed nose and a silver labret ball piercing at his thin lips.

Rick was a typical early bird; his mild obsessive compulsive personal disorder was a bit of a problem in his adolescent days, but self-discipline through martial arts training helped him come to terms with his own compulsion to the point of even benefiting from it. He manipulated his condition to observe his surroundings as well as his actions with a keen eye for detail, which he regarded as a great asset for his line of work as well as for his musical skills. Rick carefully paid attention to every part of his body as he shifted from one minor movement to the other while performing a technique at the dojo. Something that even his instructors where actually surprised in hearing when Rick brought this matter to light, even telling Rick that he shouldn’t go in such detail as it was an advanced phase of training that only higher grade trainees should practice. Rick was neither an optimistic nor a pessimistic person, although his life mainly consisted of more downs than ups. Instead, he chose to be a realist rather than affiliating himself with either side. He preferred putting himself somewhere in-between so he could speculate and appreciate the true values of both the negative and positive aspects of life. He deemed them to be two separate, yet extremely important, entities that would put him at vantage point if handled properly. Rick was a pacific person who didn’t let others or his surroundings rub off on to him so easily. He strived to keep his calm and a clear head as much as possible throughout many difficult situations. However, when faced with overwhelming pressure, he would occasionally act on impulse which inevitably exposed his uncontrollable side very easily. He regarded anger as a lack of self-control and as his greatest weakness. He always kept looking towards his goals, regardless of how stupid or wise they were. Nevertheless, he always considered different points of view and opinions which could ease in reaching his ambitions and having a better understanding of life itself. Although Rick knew a lot of people, he chose only to befriend a selected few. He readily gave a helping hand to those in need whenever possible, which in turn made him feel useful in the systematic society. This in particular was one of the main reasons he chose to become a police officer in the first place. But on the whole, Rick was an all-round good guy with a friendly attitude and a sarcastic sense of humour, where if one played their cards right, he would be a most respectful and loyal friend.

Rick approached the Black Lotus Pub with water dripping from his chin, dressed in his black army boots and black combat trouser with a fitted, ribbed, black zip-up polo shirt under a black leather biker jacket. Once inside, he unzipped his leather jacket and half of his polo shirt, revealing a black T-shirt with the logo of his band, Scion of the Jackal in jet-white printing, where he filled the role of a bass player. A thin black cord was well fitted around his neck with a small black tourmaline gemstone wrapped in silver wiring hanging from it. He deemed the stone as a good-luck charm ever since his teenage years. He once read that black tourmaline gemstone was a strong protector against misfortune, attracted inspiration, goodwill, and friendship. It was believed to calm and give self-confidence and cheerfulness to its bearer. It was also believed that it helped with mental disorders and assisted the troubled mind. He regarded these latter postulations as something secondary since Rick mainly put faith in his own self-potential which was the sole benefactor of what he had become.

The Black Lotus Pub was a typical small chill-out heavy metal bar with maroon wall paper decorated with broken electric guitars along with heavy metal vinyl and band posters. Three dirty white antler chandeliers emitted a cosy warm light hung from the olive green ceiling. The wooden bar counter was to the wall opposite the entrance, and its surrounding tables were all made from dark rosewood. The floor was covered with black tiles which had a rusted metal effect to them. The overall image actually gave the whole place a somewhat dark yet cosy look which Rick had a penchant for.

Once inside, Rick was greeted by one of the bartenders: a skinny, short, fair-haired guy.

‘Hey, Rick, how’s it going?’ the bartender asked.

‘I’m fine, man, how about you?’ Rick said in his deep baritone voice.

‘I’m cool, been here since two. Be off soon, though,’ he added with a smile. ‘By the way, awesome performance your band gave the other night. Those were some slick bass lines you pulled. Scion of the Jackal needed the boost. Progressive Death-Doom Metal, is it?’ he asked.

‘Yeah. Thanks for your support, man. Will we be seeing you again?’ Rick inquired. ‘Our next gig’s supposed to be held in three weeks’ time.’

‘Yeah sure!’ he exclaimed enthusiastically.

‘And do you mind if I hand you a poster to stick around here to promote the event? I should have a batch printed by next week,’ said Rick while faking an expression of excitement which he was relatively good at. ‘I don’t mean to be rude since it’s not gonna be held here—’

‘No problem, man, a pleasure indeed.’ The bartender cut in, ‘Looking forward to seeing you on stage again, man.’ He tapped Rick’s shoulder. ‘You just keep up the good work, man… Good music’s become a rarity these days. Later Rick,’ he concluded before returning to tend the tables.

‘Later, man, really appreciate it,’ Rick replied gratefully.

Rick secretly sighed; he couldn’t actually remember the guy’s name since he first ran into him while the bartender was high after Scion of the Jackal’s last show around six months ago, and as the latter approached Rick with the intention of congratulating him on giving a great performance, he packed what would usually be at least a three-minute conversation in a high frequency, frenetic twenty-seconds; words slurred to the point that it made it impossible for Rick to make out the self-introduction from the rest of it. All inadvertent meeting that ensued happened when either one was drunk. Then, he almost blamed himself since certain ‘black-outs’ occurred to him by the time he shook hands with anyone lacking his interest; whether it was one or the other, he couldn’t bother anyway. The thing that unnerved him most was that while talking to the bartender, a certain urge echoed inside his head: Punch him! Break his fucking face! Just clench your right fist and break his face!

Rick even felt his fist closing as if he unconsciously gave in to the provoking thought itself. The bartender never did anything wrong or anything unusual to Rick; on the contrary, he showed almost silly enthusiasm for the band which rubbed Rick the wrong way every time he saw him. The thought of that action painted in his head actually made him feel uncomfortable to keep eye contact while talking to the guy. Those negative thoughts happen frequently to Rick with various people, being either friend or foe. Only his close friends and relatives seemed to be exempted from those thoughts, fortunately for them and Rick. Police officers tend to confront many difficult and harmful situations due to their line of work. Eventually Rick started considering that maybe it was those very experiences that triggered such unruly impulses. Even though he felt the same urges at a lessened degree way before he joined the force.

The pub had a few clients that evening. A couple sat in one of the corner tables, kissing and fondling each other. Three bikers sat at the bar counter. Their sheer arrogance was the only thing littering the atmosphere as the trio impatiently asked for quick alcohol service as well as appetiser distribution. All of their clubhouse members were well known with the local district police for their usual midnight brawls. Luckily, there weren’t enough people for them to start one. Rick went to sit at the usual corner table with two chairs where he could observe everyone and everything around him while remaining inconspicuous. There, the sound of music wasn’t so loud and a proper conversation could be held effortlessly at anytime. So he sat down with his back against the wall and rested both legs on the chair adjacent to his. He fished out a packet of cigarettes from his trousers’ left thigh pocket and retrieved a silver Zippo given to him by his identical twin sister, Jen. Rick glanced at the Zippo’s Celtic engravings with the Latin inscription Fortius Quo Fidelius meaning Strength through Loyalty, which was custom-engraved on it in italic font. Rick repaid his sister’s generosity by giving her a shining, dark-green enamel ring pendant with the archangel sigils depicted within that had Meus Vita Cruor, meaning My Lifeblood, engraved on its backside in the same italic font as his Zippo to show his gratitude and appreciation towards her. Jen was the only person to have ever felt Rick’s velvet glove within his iron fist. Rick’s true self was only available in minor fragments to those who managed to gain his trust. He always applied the usual give-and-take rules with everyone, for he believed that no one shows their true intentions in impeccable honesty.

He lit his first cigarette for that day, filling his lungs with smoke, and put the Zippo on to the packet of cigarettes, altogether placed neatly to the side. His OCPD forced him to become quite a neat freak, which he regarded as both a blessing and a curse.

I can feel my hands coming back to life again. Fortunately, this is one of the few pubs that allows its customers to smoke indoors. Rick pondered at the warmth of the flame in his hands and against his face while lighting up the cigarette. Feeling extremely pleasant compared to the bitter weather outside the pub, he leaned his head back and exhaled the smoke towards the ceiling while the nicotine kicked in, inducing slight dizziness.

Finally, a moment alone to myself… , he thought, which was abruptly interrupted by ‘the unnamed bartender’.

‘Can I get you something, Rick?’ the bartender asked, overexcited as if serving an idolised celebrity.

‘Double whiskey Cola would be fine, thanks,’ Rick replied calmly. ‘Wait,’ Rick shot back as the bartender quickly turned towards the bar counter. ‘Make them two, please.’

And your fucking heart on a ceramic plate for interrupting me! the urge cried out inside Rick’s head again, now even more aggressive than before. Rick quickly sucked on the cigarette butt to take his eyes off the bartender in disgust at his own thoughts.

‘Right away, Rick.’ the bartender replied overzealously as if he was an obedient slave ready to serve his master.

Just make it quick so that I can drown all this shit stirring in my head… , Rick continued in thought, eager to down the first dose of whiskey down his throat.

Silence and solitude had both become Rick’s most cherished friends as he