Dead Girls

by Abigail Tarttelin

  And he depended on me. We depended on each other. He did everything I wanted him to do, decorating the flat, buying me gifts, taking me lovely places. He always paid, and I always did what I could to make him happy. I did the sexual things he wanted, and I liked them. They made me feel powerful, to be so wanted by a big, attractive man everyone was drawn to—men and women. I liked that he could overpower me. He liked to pretend to treat me unkindly. Afterward he would whisper the sweetest things. We would do everything together, always.

  Except…he went out at night without me, looking for women. This began shortly before we were married. I thought, well, he’s cheating on me. He wants someone with bigger breasts. He wants someone really sexy. I looked young. I was young, but I looked a lot younger. I looked childish and stupid. I hated my hair. I hated my body. It didn’t do it for him.

  But I couldn’t say anything. Because when I woke up in the morning, he was the person I told about my dreams. We ate breakfast together and he drove me to college. I could have got the bus, but I had become unused to going anywhere on my own. He would always tell me how dangerous it was, how the bus wasn’t the place for a little girl like me. How I needed him to protect me. We went to the same classes. He had persuaded me to change subjects, so I was studying what he wanted to study. He talked about kids. I saw my future in him. We took notes together, sat together. He didn’t like me talking to anyone else, and I didn’t care one bit; I liked talking to him. We ate lunch together, playing footsie under the table. We felt sorry for people who were alone. I didn’t have any friends because he wanted to be with me all the time, but he didn’t have any friends either so I thought that was fair. I especially wasn’t allowed to talk to men who I wasn’t related to. He thought they wanted me. They didn’t, but I liked that he thought that, so I didn’t complain. We drove home together, and I cooked because he loved me to cook for him, and afterward we might play a game. We would pretend we were kids doing our homework, and he was a little boy curious about what was in his pants. It was naughty. I knew other people who were turned on by naughty things, and now I was one of them. A grown-up. Desired. I had a great sex life, even before we had sex.

  The first time was before our wedding night, although that wasn’t the plan and it didn’t happen at all like I imagined. He was excited, holding me down on our bed. He said how small and precious I was. He held my wrists and asked me to struggle. We did this frequently. I didn’t think he was going to put it in. He ripped off my underwear and when I cried out and tried to cover myself with my hands—he hadn’t seen that part yet—he let out a howl I hadn’t heard before and thrust savagely inside me. It felt like he was punching me with it. It felt like a baseball bat. It was painful, and I begged him to stop the whole time, but it was over so quickly and he was in another place entirely, inside his mind. He didn’t hear me before he had finished inside me. I cried. He said he was sorry. He loved me so much, he desired me so much, he couldn’t help himself.

  I knew he loved me, because once, at a party, a guy from the Chemistry Department looked at me, and he beat him until his face was a swollen, red bruise.

  On Tuesday morning, I wake up at six thirty. My tummy is very tense. I prod it. My muscles are getting harder and bigger, I think, with all my exercising. I spring out of bed and open the curtains to see the sun already pretty high in the sky. I haven’t noticed it that much over the last month, with everything going on. Usually I love summer. I lie down on my fluffy carpet and do my 150 crunches, then my push-ups, and then my star jumps (it’s okay because it’s only the kitchen below my room), and then I use my books to do some bicep curls. “All the better to punch your face in with,” I say to myself. Lastly, I practice attack moves in the mirror. “I will not be afraid, I will not be afraid, I will not be afraid,” I whisper as I do them. I make a fist in the mirror like Billie and I made, even though she’s not here now. I feel sad about that. I would have thought she’d be with me this morning in case I am going to my doom. But maybe Billie’s mum is upset and needs her, and so Billie’s staying with her. I understand.

  I practice things that I could say to the pervert. I put my hands on my hips and wink, sexily. I drop my knee and giggle prettily, batting my eyelashes. It’s probably not as good as Hattie would do it, but it’s not bad. It would be better if I could use Hattie for bait, but she won’t do it.

  I asked her before I thought I could do it myself, before school ended. The dead girls were with me, although Hattie didn’t know. They followed me as dogs all the way from the house. I don’t like them as dogs—they’re scary, with their big teeth and their drooling. I felt their hot breath on my hands. When we found Hattie, they turned into girls again. Hattie still wasn’t talking to me, so I had to basically corner her.

  She accused me of threatening her again. Well, she said, “What are you doing holding that knife?”

  And I said, “Woops! I was just polishing it to make sure it was sharp,” and I put it back in my pocket. I had been carrying it around hidden in the palm of my hand in case I was attacked walking alone through the village. I thought about putting it away when I met Hattie, but…I didn’t. “It’s just a Swiss army knife,” I said, shrugging nonchalantly. I think she got the message, which was “Don’t mess with me.” “Dad got it me for camping. It’s barely lethal.”

  “You’re insane,” she said. She was on her way to Poppy’s when I found her, and now she was leaning against the red phone booth near her house. She kept looking toward home, like she wanted to escape.

  “You couldn’t spell to save your dog’s life,” I said grumpily. It was the worst insult I could think of in the moment.

  “Huh? Are you threatening my dog now?”

  “No, stupid! I’m trying to talk to you. Don’t you care about Billie dying? Don’t you want her killer to be found?”

  “What’s that got to do with you?”

  “I have a plan to catch him.”

  “The police are after him, you nutter. You’re just eleven, and a girl. You can’t do anything.”

  “You know what?” I folded my arms and looked her up and down, with lots of judgment. “You’ve always agreed that girls can do anything and we’re better than boys. I guess you don’t think that anymore, huh?”

  She rolled her eyes, but I could tell I had made her think.

  “The Spice Girls would be on my side in this argument,” I pointed out.

  “Urgh. Fine. Go on.”

  Hattie’s obviously been brainwashed by Mrs. A. Mrs. A keeps saying we can’t do anything to stop the man. Mrs. A has no girl power. She’s weak.

  I looked both ways and lowered my voice. “So you can’t tell anyone about this, but my plan is to catch the killer using bait.”

  “Okaaaaay…” She frowned.

  “I’ve been training physically, and I think, with the element of surprise, I’m tough enough to take him. I will also be carrying weapons.”

  “Weapons?” Hattie said loudly.

  “Shush! Yes. Brick rubble in a sock, a knife, and stuff to tie him up with. Then, when we get him where we want him—”

  “Who’s we? You and Nathan ‘dirt on his face’ Nolan?”

  “No.” I paused uncomfortably, which was a big mistake because it’s like an antelope pausing to check if a lion is watching when you’re with Hattie.

  “Oh, didn’t he want to go out with you? Ha! Thera ‘weirdo’ Wilde is even too crazy for a gypsy like Nathan!”

  “Stop saying people’s names with things in between them!”

  “Whatever, Thera ‘can’t get a boyfriend’ Wilde! Haha!”

  “Shut up! Listen to my plan!”

  Hattie was laughing loudly.

  “What if the killer is just around the corner, and you’re alerting him to our plan?”

  “What is this ‘ours’ thing? You didn’t mean you and me when you said ‘we,’ did you?”

  “
Yes, actually, I did.”

  “I’m not helping.”

  “What a great friend you are. I bet if Billie was here now she would be so pleased,” I said. Even the drool around my molars tasted sarcastic.

  “Urgh! She’s dead anyway, she doesn’t care,” Hattie said, but she looked down straight after this, and I knew she was ashamed.

  “You wouldn’t be in danger.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I’d keep you safe.”

  She squinted at me. “Huh?”

  “I’d be really near you, in hiding, watching you the whole time. I wouldn’t get distracted. And I’d have all the weapons. When he pounced on you, I’d just run over and bash him in the head really hard with the brick rubble in the sock, and it would knock him out.”

  Hattie’s eyes widened at the geniusness of my plan. Or so I thought. “What?”

  “I know! And then, when he’s unconscious, that’s when we tie him—”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “We’ll find out the truth of what happened to Billie by—”

  “Oh my god!”

  “I know! It’s so clever! And afterward, vengeance shall be—”

  “STOP TALKING, YOU PSYCHO!” Hattie shouted at me.

  I stopped in surprise. “Why?”

  “You led Billie to her death and now you want to get me killed too!”

  “No!” I said, horrified. “That’s not true! I’ll be right there to protect you!”

  Hattie took a deep breath, shaking her head. “You are crazy!” She started to walk off, toward her house.

  “No, I’m not. Hattie, this is a great plan.” I tried to appease her. “You’d be much better bait than me, you’re so pretty.”

  “Yeah, well, the guy who killed Billie likes kids, and I’m not a kid anymore, so if you want someone to be bait, you should do it, you weirdo.”

  “What? Why are you not a kid anymore?”

  She turned to me and I almost ran into her. She looked down at me. It was like she was suddenly taller. “I got my period.”

  I hesitated. “Whoa. What was it like?”

  Her face screwed up and she looked at me like I was dog poo on the pavement, a classic Hattie look. She started to walk toward me, snapping and looking down at me until she was actually pushing me backward. “It was horrible. There was blood everywhere. It looked like my underwear had been murdered.” She stopped. “But you can’t ask women that, you child.”

  “I’m not a child,” I mumbled.

  “Don’t you want to be? Then you can be bait,” she said, turning away and sashaying back to her house, her bum swinging her skirt from side to side. She has hips now. I don’t have hips.

  Anyway. That was before I realized men thought I was pretty. Now I know I’m okay doing this alone.

  Mum pops her head in while I am dancing in front of the mirror, doing high kicks and imagining the pervert going flying. “Hello, monkey.”

  “Hi, Mummy!” I shout, hopping over to her.

  “You’re in a very good mood today!” she says happily.

  “Yes, yes, yes.” I jump around her. I do feel good today.

  I think I feel powerful because I’m finally actually doing something about Billie’s killer. I jump up and she catches me.

  “Oof! You’re a lump!” she says, and holds me on her hip, even though I am almost as tall as she is.

  “Do you still hate my hair?” I ask nervously.

  “No, I don’t hate it.” She sighs, smelling my head. “I just always loved your long hair.”

  Quietly, I say, “Yeah, but it’s my hair, not yours.”

  “I know.” She pops me down on the floor and flops on my bed, even though she is in her work suit, with her tight skirt and square heels.

  “Are you tired, Ma? You look tired.”

  “Why, thank you.” She is being sarcastic.

  “You still look beautiful.”

  “Oh, good,” she says. I lie next to her on the bed and cuddle into her armpit, smelling her Mum smell: soap, flowery things, and also the sharp, alkaline scent of her deodorant. “How are you getting along, treasure?”

  “Fine.”

  “Really?” She strokes my hair. “What are you going to do today?”

  “Play, probably.”

  “That sounds nice. Don’t leave the house and garden, and if a man comes to the door, whoever it is, scream loudly and call the police immediately.”

  “I will. Bleurgh, men.”

  “Thera, I’m being serious.”

  “I know. So am I!”

  “Thera,” a voice says from the door. It’s Dad. I sit up.

  He’s holding the handle of the axe. “What is it?” asks my mum.

  “Thee, did you break my axe?” He shakes the wood at me, shoving it under my nose. It smells like damp. I look away from him, embarrassed.

  “Answer me, for God’s sake!” he shouts. “There are chopping marks all over the side of the bloody shed. What were you doing with my axe?”

  “Nothing!” I say tearfully, folding my arms. “Stop shouting and get out of my room!”

  “Thera!” Mum says sharply, sitting up on the bed.

  Dad grabs my arm, and I try to push him off me, but he smacks my bottom and pushes me so I sit down next to Mum.

  “Thera, were you playing with the axe?” Mum asks.

  “No, I wasn’t playing with it!” I shout. “I was just trying to get used to attacking with it so if the killer attacks me I can get him back!”

  “Christ alive!” Dad shouts. “You could have killed yourself! What the hell did you think you were doing?”

  I burst into tears.

  “Thera, that was very silly,” Mum says.

  I feel angry at myself for crying in front of Mum and Dad and for being weak on the day when I’m supposed to be strong for Billie. It makes me cry harder. I don’t know what’s come over me. I suddenly feel exhausted. All the dead girls, apart from Billie, appear. They gather behind Mum and Dad in a line. I close my eyes because I don’t want to look at them. Ellie’s voice sounds in my head. “You promised you’d help us, Thera,” she says.

  “You are grounded—do you hear me, Thee?” Dad says. “You are not allowed out of this house. And I’m going to call Nan so she can babysit you.”

  “Why do I need Nan here? I’m eleven!” I say, thinking about the plan.

  “Because you can’t be trusted!” Dad yells at me. “I’m calling her now.” Mum walks out of the room, leaving me with him. I cower toward the back of the bed in case he really is the killer, and then I cry harder because I don’t want Daddy to be the killer—he’s my daddy. “Calm down, Thee, stop crying. You could have really hurt yourself. Stay in this room and think about how silly you’re being.” He walks out of the room and slams the door.

  I do think about how silly I’m being. Silly for crying when Billie is dead and way worse off than me, silly for thinking we lived in a safe place and bad things only happened to other people, silly for ever thinking Dad and Mum were my friends, silly for ever trusting anyone. I should have been more careful to hide all evidence of the plan. I lie in the bed snuffling. I can hear Dad crashing about in the kitchen. I hear Mummy leave for work. Finally I hear Nanny come in and Dad leave.

  I climb out of bed, still shaking and sniffing, and I do what I have to do. I put on the new Wonderbra and the pretty dress, and my black canvas platforms and a nice pair of pink underwear. I put lip gloss on my lips, and eye shadow in purple on my eyes. I take my little velvet backpack and in it I put the mini tape recorder I stole from Mum, the mini tapes I bought in town, and the knife. I add four sealed freezer bags, for evidence. I am about to put my Nano Pet in my bag, when I remember it beeps. I’m uncomfortable about leaving the new one, Lottie. She’s only a baby. I can’t risk
being caught, though, so I leave her in Sam’s room so he’ll know to take care of her if something happens to me, and then I open my window and shimmy down the drainpipe to the ground below.

  I let go of the drainpipe, land in the garden and immediately drop to my knees. Crawling might mess up my dress, so I pull it up and hold it in one hand, and crawl with just two legs and one hand underneath all the windows until I am around the house. When I reach the road, I stand up and run. The platforms are really hard to run in, though, and my toes keep shoving into the toe bit of the shoe. I guess it must be because my feet are on a slant because the platform is slightly bigger at the back? I wish I’d worn sneakers, even though the pervert might not like me as much.

  I get to the copse about twelve o’clock, according to my Action Man watch. I figure the pervert might be wandering about in the fields, since that’s where he found Billie, so I do a recce back and forth across most of the big fields, tramping down the wheat a lot. I have to be careful the police don’t see me, because there are still some hanging out around the top road, so whenever one looks my way I lie down flat on the crop. I lie down flat a lot, because as well as hiding from the police it’s hard to walk on the wheat in platforms and I keep falling over. Probably the cops can see the zigzag lines and crop circles but they don’t know the fields like Billie, Sam, and me, so hopefully they will think I’m a big rabbit. There are two policemen doing the walking this time. That’s all they do, they just walk around. Their car is stopped on the top road, and they are drinking from a flask a bit, and talking and walking up and down looking at everything. I tut at them. What a fat lot of good they are. They didn’t think of the bait idea.

  The night Billie went missing was the first time the police came to talk to me. It was two men about Dad’s age, but I didn’t realize then that men were so bad, so I didn’t mind. I came down in my ’jamas to talk to them, and I sat at the kitchen table while the blonder one held my diary. He had stubble all over his face and I was staring at it.