Jean: A Horror Story

(As Told By Patrick Bateman)

Part I

I can stare into the eyes of my fellow men, colleagues I have known for years, and bullshit them through any little psychotic joke I wish to tell. They barely notice. They rarely think twice. If they do? They move on after brushing it aside, as do most people, failing to acknowledge the devil that usually sits right in front of them, day after day. The jokes stemming from the deepest and horrendous trenches of my mind that constantly plague my days. If only these people really knew what it was that was going through my mind, that these jokes I tell aren't for the quick knee-slap, "oh-you're-such-a-hoot-Bateman" moments. I mean what I say and I say what I mean.

But this will be the part of my story that hasn't been told. The part of my story that I regret more than anything, and if I am to be completely honest with you, about the only thing I regret.

I was out with some fellow friends at the new local club. I only go because everyone else does and I have to make sure that I fit in with them. It's crucial with the way my mind goes. The whole night was decent. I had to run into that bastard Paul Allen but that repressed anger quickly subsided when I finally met up with Tim. He had found some women that he thought would be worth our time but I quickly fell into boredom again as I found that they were extremely dense and had terrible taste in music. I mean, who hasn't heard of Huey Lewis & The News before?

I left around a quarter to ten because I couldn't handle much more of the nonsense scene that was unfolding, which wasn't entirely unusual of my attitude towards nights out on the town in Manhattan. It's always about how much more you can have, which isn't hard for me to come up with since I have loads of money, but it doesn't appeal to all the aspects of my brain.

But enough about that. I had other things on my mind, like my recent issue with my former assistant Jean. I had gone through a rough patch where I thought I might actually have to give myself up (a stupid idea on my part that ended up playing in my favor in the end) and in turn I found out that she had gone through some personal items of mine. I never should have let her out of my apartment that night I planned to kill her. But my former girlfriend fucked it all up by calling on the telephone. I felt myself suddenly stopping myself and telling her I might do something bad. Since when was I one to care about doing something bad to someone else?

Regardless, it happened, and she no longer works for me. She switched over and now works for Tim so I still see her occasionally walking through the building. She has refused my phone calls and refuses to talk to me when I have approached her so I may have to get her to talk in another way, which is risky as it is. I know she saw my stuff because she left me one note on top of my planner saying "I'm done Patrick. I knew you were too good to be true." I figure at this point if she hasn't told anyone or the police of my little drawings there really is no reason to worry of her.

But that is not me, I can not get her off of my mind because she knows something about me that I have kept so hidden with a perfected mask for so long. If she ever needed to use it she could and I can't risk that at all and each passing day I realize that more and more. She was in love with me at one point, I preyed on that so I could benefit my own selfish interests, and I messed up by letting humanity come in the way of all of that.

I had to figure out a way to get her to trust me again. Jean was actually essential to my life more than I had realized. Her departure was a realization I wasn't anticipating. I've since rid the evidence she had seen from my office so that there could be no other possibility of her trying to use that against me.

Why had I let her go though? That was a question that had been haunting me since I let it happen. It would have been so easy to do it right there, like other times before, but I hadn't. I told her I might do something bad and told her to leave. Did I finally catch a glimpse of the humanity I have lacked since the dawn of my existence in this mediocre, tasteless world? What was it about her in that moment that allowed my mind to just watch her walk out the door?

I'm Patrick Bateman, and nothing will keep my from prevailing in this situation.

Part 2

I got home a little later than I had anticipated from the night out. I went and rented some video tapes and followed a bobble-headed blonde for a few blocks until I got bored of her inability to walk straight or sexy in her heels. Probably had too much to drink anyway. That kind of takes the fun out of anything I had planned to do.

Once I got home, I tried Jean's cell phone again and it went to her voicemail. She missed my call, again. I had been thinking on a script to say so I put on the best voice I can, told her that I missed seeing her, then ended that I hoped she had a good night.

It was well past midnight now, which was alright with me since I was currently on a much needed vacation from the working world. I sat around a little longer, hoping that Jean would want to call me back, but after not hearing anything I downed the rest of my chardonnay and got ready to get some rest.

Part 3

I awoke to the sun shining through my blinds. It was 10:30, well past the time I usually sleep. This whole Jean situation has thrown my whole routine off and I hate it because routine is one of those things I could always count on.

I got up, showered and chose a nice relaxed outfit, but still stylish enough to let the world know that I'm important. I went to eat a fiber enriched breakfast when I noticed my answering machine was flashing. That was odd. I don't recall being woken up by the sound of my phone ringing, so I must have been more tired than I thought last night.

I hit the play button. It was Jean:

"Hi Patrick… It's Jean. I know you have been trying to get in contact with me for a while and I haven't been responsive. I don't want to play this game anymore with you. What I saw scared me, Patrick, but I did some reading and I think I may have overreacted a little. I don't know why it is that you drew those things. Maybe you were bored. If you'd like to meet for coffee sometime though, we can talk, but I don't know how easily I can just trust you again Patrick. I really liked you. I don't know what those things were that I found. Anyway, I'll see you whenever you return from your vacation. You know where Tim's office is. Bye Patrick."

The phone call ended. Her voice sounded scared but empathetic and it kind of made me sick. Like I was some hurt, rapid dog that she figured out and knew how to help but she still had to approach with caution. Fuck. I need to just nail her in the head.