Sixth Victim

by Kate Mitchell

  ‘Oh yes, I am pleased,’ Mary Ann frowned. ‘But are you certain they’ve got the right person? I’m sure I saw him two nights ago, in fact, I’m convinced of it.’ Puzzled and distressed, Mary Ann found displeasure in the flowers instead. Flicking at the petals then looking at her white gloves. ‘They must have the wrong man.’

  ‘You will be asked to attend the lineup; you’ll probably see him.’

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ Mary Ann muttered to herself. A foul mood was building. ‘It’s not him—it can’t be.’

  ‘He’s owned up to the rapes.’

  ‘The man who tried to rape me looked like Clark Gable, and by the way, he was scrambling to get away which suggests that he valued his freedom. Oh dear, this is very distressing. It’s really messed up my head—don’t the police know what they are doing? Can’t they get anything right?’

  ‘Mary Ann,’ Cecelia, surprised, she became angry. ‘Once they have him behind bars, you will be safe. Don’t you see what this means? You will be able to get on with your life, and do the things you should be doing, like going for auditions.’

  ‘You know what this dreadful nightmare has done to me? I’ve lost all my confidence to go on stage. Even thinking about it makes me shake. I’ve never been like this before. I don’t know what has happened or why it should happen to me. You have no idea.’

  Surprised, Cecelia watched Mary Ann pacing the floor, she had anticipated elation, not temper.

  ‘This last two weeks, my life has been misery. Because I smile, you think I’m not suffering? I’m an actress for goodness sake. Not a doll or a toy with strings. No, I’m a mess. And for you to think that I can return to my life as if nothing has happened. It’s impossible.’ A temper was building, clenching fists, kicking furniture then she stopped in front of Cecelia. ‘You don’t seem to understand, or perhaps you don’t want to acknowledge my distress. How can you appreciate how I feel when you’ve never been raped? You wait and see when it happens to you. Then you’ll see how you feel. I can guarantee you won’t be smiling.’

  What a wicked thing to say as if she was prophesizing something like this to happen. ‘Hopefully, I shall never be raped to find out for myself.’ Cecelia felt sick.

  ‘Yes, I hope so too,’ said Mary Ann giving the armchair another kick.

  Shaking with temper, Mary Ann left the room.

  ‘Why did you bring me these?’ her return came with a storm, Mary Ann held out the opened bouquet free from the pink tissue to Cecelia.

  ‘Because you like flowers?’ Cecelia frowned now baffled.

  ‘But why these?’

  ‘I don’t understand what you mean. You like dianthus, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ now she was staring hard at Cecelia and concentrating. ‘Did you pick these yourself?’

  What could she say? There was a threat to Mary Ann’s question.

  ‘Yes, I picked them.’

  ‘No one else helped you?’

  ‘No. What is this all about?’ The flowers had been a gift and should not have produced accusations and questioning.

  ‘You don’t understand, do you?’ sighed Mary Ann, her eyes kept held of Cecelia’s.

  ‘If you don’t like them, I can take them from you. I can take them home or give them to someone else who will appreciate them more.’

  ‘No, no.’ Mary Ann’s temper had cracked across her brow. ‘I was probably overreacting.’ She held on to the flowers and stared into the petalled heads as if she didn’t quite trust them. ‘They are lovely, I just wish they had been one color instead of two.’

  ‘When I saw these flowers, I thought these were the ones you would like. The flowers said happiness, fun, and they were meant kindly,’ was there any point trying to be friendly to this person when everything you did was under criticism. It was depressing. ‘I brought you flowers to cheer you up and make you feel happy.’

  ‘It’s the meaning attached to flowers, I thought you were trying to say something to me.’

  ‘To be happy, that’s what my meaning was.’ A little white lie came with a face now set in a sulk. ‘You shouldn’t try and interpret everything a person does, gives, or says to you. Life would be impossible. Accept it for what it is. A gift given with sincerity; I want you to be happy. I think life has been pretty tough on you.’

  Mary Ann stared at Cecelia. ‘You know, you really are a nice person.’

  ‘I try my best,’ Cecelia smiled as a flush of dishonesty made its way into Cecelia’s cheeks, she shrugged. ‘I wanted you to know that you don’t have to worry about the Slasher. He’s now locked up, and now it’s time for you to get on with your life.’

  ‘Only if they have the right man?’

  Perplexed, Cecelia didn’t know what to say to her except. ‘I thought you would be pleased. You can get back to living…’

  ‘So, you keep on saying,’ muttered Mary Ann angrily.

  ‘Yes, so I keep on saying,’ repeated Cecelia bitterly. This visit had been a great mistake; she wouldn’t be doing this again, ever. ‘And now the reason for my visit is over, I think I’ll go.’

  Immediately Cecelia’s departure was halted by the strong fingers clutching her wrist. ‘Cecelia, I’m sorry. Do you see what I mean about my head being all over the place? Sometimes, I think I’m going mad. I have such bad dreams; I can’t tell what is real and what isn’t.’

  Carefully trying to extract her wrist out of Mary Ann’s hands. ‘I am sorry what happened to you. Truly sorry. And I am sorry that I added to your problems by bringing you pink and white carnations. I wanted to help, and I thought in helping you could help to keep this man in prison by adding a bit more about the person you were raped by, but I see that what I’m doing is stirring bad memories.’

  ‘I’ve ruined it, haven’t I? I’ve made you hate me.’

  ‘No, you haven’t made me hate you,’ she lied. ‘I am a journalist; this is what I do. I talk to people to find out the facts on a story. There are no personal feelings attached except considerations to each other.’

  ‘Yes, I can see now that you don’t like me,’ Mary Ann’s eyes were on Cecelia with morbid concentration.

  ‘Look, Mary Ann, I know you’ve been seriously damaged by the attack,’ said Cecelia, tactfully. ‘You need to see a doctor to get help.’

  ‘I’m not mad.’

  ‘I didn’t say you were. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I used a counselor myself once upon a time. It’s nothing to be ashamed of,’ smiled Cecelia gently. ‘Now and again, we all need help, and you have had a very bad time. I’m surprised the police haven’t suggested counseling before now. You need someone to talk to…’

  ‘I can talk to you. I need a friend that’s all I need. You’re not coming back, are you?’

  ‘I didn’t say I wasn’t.’ Why couldn’t she say she was never coming back and this was the end of whatever relationship Mary Ann cared to imagine they had.

  ‘If I see a counselor and get myself sorted out, will you still be my friend, please?’ her eyes bored into Cecelia screwing their way into the soft covers of her soul, digging deep until they couldn’t be pulled out. ‘Please…’

  Cecelia sighed a heavy sigh with the breath of the inevitable. There was no other answer to be made except, yes. It was enough to satisfy Mary Ann, and also the reason why she allowed Cecelia to go.

  5

  Tonight, was Cecelia’s kickboxing class, but first, she stopped off at the florist just in time to see Phoebe bringing in the large bins of flowers. Phoebe nodded but carried on taking in her bins of flowers.

  ‘Just closing up, you can come in for a moment if you like. How did you get on with the interview?’ Phoebe asked, the daffodils swaying in their bin as she went entered her shop.

  Obviously, Cecelia should help, and seeing a tray of potted plants followed carrying them in after her. They were heavier than she thought.

  ‘Thanks. Over here would be good. Mind you don’t get yourself dirty.’

  In silence, they brought in the re
st of the plants.

  ‘That was very kind of you,’ Phoebe cocked her tri-colored head to one side. ‘Is there something you want to ask me?’ she smiled again mischievously as if she had already guessed the question.

  ‘The flowers weren’t well received. She was very upset when she saw the color.’

  A broad smile now took up the contours of Phoebe’s mouth. What had she been up to?

  ‘What does the flower's color mean?’

  ‘It shouldn’t mean anything if you like flowers, after all, it’s not the flower's fault. I didn’t think she would know; few people know the language of flowers.’

  ‘It made my interview very difficult,’ Cecelia frowned.

  ‘Then she is being very awkward and rude,’ said Phoebe going to the cash register to hit the no sale button.

  Cecelia watched Phoebe collecting the notes, rolling them, and securing them with an elastic band before placing them into a blue suede bag, the drawstrings were drawn pulled together. There were a great many bills in that bag. Clearly arranging and selling flowers was profitable.

  ‘I feel like a drink,’ said Phoebe picking up a material bag, another string job. ‘Do you fancy joining me?’

  ‘I’m going to my kickboxing class tonight,’ said Cecelia now incredulous, her eyes boggling on the bag of money. Was she not going to the bank first?

  ‘A nice hobby I understand,’ said Phoebe slipping her arm through her casual jacket and tugging over her shape.

  ‘Don’t you have security people to collect your money?’

  ‘No. It’s too much hassle. You have to get yourself registered, fill in forms, and answer all those questions which nosy people ask. Why do they need to know my age, and if I’m married or single, and what were my aliases?’

  ‘Do they?’

  ‘I don’t know, I’ve never bothered to go down that route. I hate rules. Rules are for safe people so they know what they can do next in their lives. I make my rules up as I go along. You should do it too.’ She smiled at Cecelia. For an eccentric English woman, she was very relaxed. ‘Come for a drink. I need a drink; you don’t have to have alcohol and you can tell me about this woman. She sounds hysterical.’

  ‘She might be having a breakdown after everything she’s been through.’

  Phoebe laughed. ‘What I mean is, she sounds weird.’

  ‘I don’t think she’s weird, she’s been through a great deal.’ A sigh. ‘She’s trying to get a handle on her life. I feel sorry for her.’

  ‘Do you?’ the question came with a wicked look of clarity which said she didn’t believe Cecelia. ‘Do you always get yourself involved with strange people,’ and then she looked down at herself and laughed. ‘I guess so. Come and have a drink and some warmth in a down to earth bar. I love these places; they remind me so much of home.’ Phoebe now swinging her bag over her shoulder still in a good mood, this was obviously something she had done before.

  How easy Cecelia felt maneuvering herself to go somewhere, not that she didn’t want to. Her only excuse was to go home and get ready for class. With Phoebe life kicked into excitement. To join her in a drink became, yes.

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Good.’

  They walked to Phoebe’s favorite bar chatting about nothing in particular. Yes, it was nice to have a friend.

  ‘I’ve got to speak my mind,’ Phoebe said when they got their drinks and were now sitting down.

  A few people leaning on the counter ordered something to eat and took their glasses to their tables. It was a nice atmosphere. The dark varnished wood paneling and the gold of the taps with the sparkling glasses gave a feeling of grandeur, everyone was an aristocrat. The atmosphere was happy, convivial voices mumbling with chatter, conversations indistinguishable from another. And yet they were the decoration of a good social get-together while beer became its perfume.

  ‘This is who I am,’ Phoebe had a beer in front of her licking the froth from around her top lip. ‘I am very forthcoming with my opinions. My grandfather was a Yorkshire man.’

  Which left Cecelia none the wiser about this personal history.

  ‘About the two-colored carnations.’ Phoebe leaned back twisting the end of her predominately red-dyed hair around her finger. ‘Quite honestly, I didn’t think she would know the meaning.’

  ‘What does it mean?’ Cecelia leaned forward.

  ‘From the Victorian era, a single-color bloom from a lover meant yes, while a striped one means, I can’t be with you, in fact, it’s also a sign of rejection.’

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘Quite honestly, if I were you, I would avoid this needy woman. I don’t get good vibes from her.’

  ‘She’s not so bad, she has her problems.’

  ‘From the little I’ve heard of her; she will pull you down. I don’t like her. But that’s your choice, I think you should be careful though.’ Phoebe took another swig of her beer. Perhaps one glass was enough to make Phoebe drunk because from time to time Phoebe looked past Cecelia as if her eyesight weren’t quite focused.

  Then Phoebe jumped from one subject to another and in the jump, directed the conversation to her age. Twenty-nine, while her monumental birthday was next year then she would be thirty. Not a young woman anymore so she couldn’t fool around with life. Phoebe scratched her neck. So far, she had a couple of affairs that fizzled out for the reason that it was probably her fault. One man was telling her what to do while the other one had nothing to say for himself, he needed guidance from a strong woman. ‘Or,’ Phoebe grinned at Cecelia, ‘a mother.’ Whatever. Being with him was making her into a bully. So, it looked like she was going to remain an old maid. Have lots of cats and get into witchcraft.

  To Cecelia’s shocked face, Phoebe burst into laughter and said she was just teasing. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do in the next five years which was an odd way to feel since she had always envisaged where she would be and what she would do the following year. Like her life had been terminated from that day onwards, and then she laughed again. ‘What I mean is that every year, nineteen, twenty, I could see myself being that age.’ She shrugged. ‘It just hasn’t happened yet with me being thirty. But it will.’

  Her passion though had to be flowers; she also had an interest in cultish rites. She read tea leaves, and she was also involved with herbs and recently about the moon and when it was the right time to plant. She firmly believed in reincarnation.

  ‘I have been here before. I know I have although I don’t remember anything about my previous lives. It’s that déjà vu feeling that I’ve done this before.’ She pressed her finger hard on the table as in demonstration. ‘We have two beings inside us. One that we are in constant contact with, we chat to it all the time asking questions and seeing what it thinks or feels. But there is the other one behind which acts like God, not interfering but listening and waiting. When we die, we will leave this dimension and join the others. It’s our vocation to gather as much information as possible in the harmony of the whole. Do you understand what I’m talking about?’

  ‘I have never thought as deeply as you on the subject.’ Death was always an uncomfortable subject for Cecelia; she wasn’t ready to embrace the proposed astral life.

  By the end of the hour, Cecelia had made her mind up that she liked Phoebe, liked her a lot. Interesting, funny, and happy with a very different way of looking at life and the approach to it.

  ‘Look, I’ll walk you to your class,’ said Phoebe finishing off her drink.

  ‘Why don’t you come in with me?’ smiled Cecelia.

  ‘I might even do that,’ again she looked to the side of Cecelia. ‘Oh, he’s gone,’ she nodded.

  ‘Who’s gone?’

  ‘A man who kept looking across at us. He was good-looking, pity. I smiled at him, but he never smiled back, so he obviously wasn’t interested in me. Never mind, it’s his loss. Come on, we had better get you to your class.’

  They walked together side by side chatting about the films they sa
w and the ones they liked and disliked. But they both agreed they liked the classics, Gone with the Wind was Phoebe’s favorite while Cecelia said she loved those of Fred Astaire. The black and white dancing films, like Top Hat.

  ‘Oh, I see what you are,’ said Phoebe pushing away, ‘you are a dancing romantic,’ and then she swung around and did a few dance steps, shuffling her feet in imitation tap. Embarrassing but fun.

  It happened so quickly. Violently, the bag on Phoebe’s arm was wrenched off, a figure in black pushed her to the side after punching her hard. She fell backward and hit her head on the cement post.

  Two, three seconds of dizzying activity that didn’t register with Cecelia. Another dance routine? What was Phoebe doing? A man had run in and grabbed a reluctant dance with Phoebe. But then she heard Phoebe yell when she tumbled.

  ‘My bag,’ Phoebe cried, her mouth bleeding from the strike. ‘He’s got my bag.’

  Looking toward the running man, the bag from Phoebe’s arm was missing. In one frame of thought, the connection was made. This wasn’t a dance; it was an assault.

  ‘No, Cecelia, don’t chase after him,’ cried out Phoebe still crumpled on the ground. ‘It’s only money.’

  ‘But it’s everything you’ve got,’ looking back, the grey coated man had quickly disappeared into the shadows of unkempt shrubbery.

  ‘Don’t please don’t. You could lose your life. Can you give me a hand to get up?’

  ‘Are you all right?’ Cecelia asked bending down to take hold of Phoebe’s hand. Her eyes searching for any damage.

  ‘A bit shook up that’s all. I think I might have to take up kickboxing as well to protect myself. I never saw that coming,’ struggled Phoebe getting onto her feet.

  ‘The whole point of it was to catch us by surprise and unprepared,’ Cecelia placed her hand under Phoebe’s arm to haul her up when she noticed the red colored stream was running down Phoebe’s cheek. ‘Oh my god, Phoebe, you’re bleeding.’

  ‘I thought I might be. My head took quite a whack although I’m not as dense as I look,’ she tried to laugh, but her mouth was bleeding as well. Phoebe spitting out, a tooth into the palm of her hand. She stared at it as if it shouldn’t be there. ‘He punched out one of my teeth. Oh knickers, tell me how I look?’ Phoebe opened her mouth for inspection.