The Pirouette Predator

by Jade Wright

  The buttons on my blouse are quickly undone and my skirt pulled down to my ankles.

  “These are nice,” he slides his fingers into my pale blue underwear.

  I try not to enjoy his touch as he begins rubbing me.

  We aren't where we're supposed to be. I try to push him off of me and lead him into the bedroom but this only seems to excite him further.

  “Want it rough, do you?” he grins at me, pushing me up against a wall so hard my feet leave the floor.

  I take the opportunity, wrap my legs around his waist.

  I fumble for his belt buckle, ripping it off once I've got a good grip. His jeans and briefs drop to the floor. I can feel him hardening, getting wet as he pokes his dick into my leg.

  “Take me to your bed,” I beg, but it's too late. In one swift thrust he's inside me, ramming me harder into the wall. I gasp in real pain, my nails embedded into his shoulders. I close my eyes and wait for it to end, the journal at the forefront of my mind.

  He collapses on top of me once he's finished.

  I fight the urge to squirm away from him.

  Unlike the last time, Luke doesn't rush straight to the shower. He leans over me, his sweaty skin sticking to mine as he grabs our drinks.

  “Bottoms up,” he winks, draining his glass. I try and fail to smile as I toss whiskey down my throat in return.

  “So Ms. Brady, is detention over?”

  His eyes are sparkling mischievously but I can tell he wants me to leave.

  I feel used.

  How can I make him let me stay?

  “Go shower. I'll get dressed so long,” I mutter. Any flirtation in me has long gone.

  He doesn't seem to notice the shift in my mood. Instead, he's tossing my clothes at me as he pulls his shirt over his head.

  “Got somewhere to be. No time to shower. Besides, now I'll be able to smell you all over me for the rest of the day,” he brings his fingers to his nose and breathes in deeply.

  I want to throw up. The whiskey is churning in my stomach as my nausea levels rise.

  I leave his house with barely a backwards glance.

  I'm about to trudge back to my sisters cottage when I stop dead in my tracks.

  Hiding behind the foliage of an Assegai tree, I wait for him to leave.

  I slip a cigarette out of the packet in my handbag, light it up and suck in a deep lungful of smoke.

  It doesn't take him long to come out and lock the front door behind him.

  I watch him yet again bring his hand up to his nostrils and breathe me in. He smirks as he strolls down the road.

  My lip curls up in disgust. As soon as he's around the bend I make the dash back to his house.

  I don't bother with the front door, knowing it's locked. I circle the house in search of an open window. I'm surprised his windows don't have bars on them like the majority of the houses in the area, but it works in my favour when I find one slightly ajar by the kitchen.

  I lift it up with some difficulty and hoist myself up onto the windowsill. I just manage to fit through it, knocking over a succulent that smashes all over the ceramic tiles.

  “Fuck,” I whisper, staring down at the mess. I stand dead still, listening closely for the sound of a security alarm. When I'm certain the place is disarmed, I quickly sweep up the broken pot and soil all over the floor. I'm shaking, wondering if he will notice it missing when he comes home.

  I creep into his bedroom on wobbly legs.

  My eyes land on his bedside drawer straight away.

  As I'm walking towards it I notice his computer screen is on. There are several tabs open. Facebook pages dedicated to each of the missing girls. My sister, Angela, Corrie, Susan, and Jessica. All of the pages are active, comments filtering in every few minutes. Thoughts, prayers, well wishes. I can see all of this on my own computer at the cottage, so I don't fiddle with it.

  Open in another tab is a Google search for 'Traits of a sociopath.' My brain rattles.

  There's a notepad and pen by the mouse and I flip it open. He's written down some of the traits he's found.

  Impulsive. Emotional yet shows no remorse or guilt for their actions. Psychopaths tend to be master manipulators.

  He's underlined things like pathological lying, narcissism and a grandiose sense of their worth. At the bottom of the page he's jotted down a question.

  Are psychopaths predominantly men or women???

  There are three question-marks alongside it. I flick over to the next sheet of paper but there's nothing else written down, just a book of blank pages.

  There's a video file open too, which I click on to. The sound of sex fills the room, coming from his speakers. It shocks me so much that I feel like my heart is going to explode.

  With a shaky hand I mute the volume and look closely at the video.

  Luke's recording himself having sex with someone.

  I can't see her face. He's holding her ponytail like a handlebar, doing her from behind.

  There's a tiny tattoo of a scorpion between the dimples on her lower-back. I don't know why I can't look away.

  He drops her hair, letting it fall down her back in waves. Her ass is raw from his slaps.

  He smacks her again and I can see her flinch but when she turns around to look at him, her eyes are smiling into the camera. She's enjoying it.

  I know those eyes. I know that face.

  It's Jessica's face.

  One of the missing girls.

  His desk has one drawer to the right which I open. I rummage through leaky pens, post-it notes and raw protein bars when my fingers find something right at the back. It feels like a soft wad of material.

  I pull it out curiously to see a scrunched up pair of dirty panties.

  I flick them away, wiping my hands in disgust. Whose are they!?

  I feel the need to leave straight away but know I need to get my sisters journal first.

  I clamber over to the drawer and dig inside for the book.

  It's gone.

  I empty the entire drawer just to make sure. I look under the bed and in the shoe boxes stacked in his wardrobe. I can't find it anywhere.

  I'm shaking with frustration and adrenalin.

  I'm in such a state I hardly hear the front door slamming closed from down the hallway.

  There's no chance of me making it to the open window without him seeing me.

  I frantically look around for a place to hide.

  I'm cramming myself behind his bedroom door when I hear his voice.

  “She's such a bore until it comes to sex. I mean, she's no where near as flexible as Robyn but she's a ton of fun alright!”

  Someone laughs at what he's saying. I'm too petrified to be angry at the things he's saying about me and my sister right now, but I'm acutely aware of the fact that he was with her, too.

  “I still have no idea how you manage to nail the teachers.” It's Steve's voice.

  “I'd share but I doubt she'd be into that,” Luke cackles, cracking open a can of beer.

  They cheers and get lost in conversation about the girls in school.

  Who they've been with, who they want to and who they never would. It's despicable.

  I'm just starting to edge my way out of my hiding place when Luke announces he need to 'take a slash.'

  He's already unzipping his pants as he walks through his bedroom door.

  My heart thunders violently as he swings his door shut behind him, leaving me completely exposed. Luckily he doesn't turn around, he walks straight into the bathroom which gives me time to drop to my knees and crawl to a safer spot.

  I can hear his piss hitting the water in the toilet bowl. I can hear him humming some sort of classical music.

  I'm crouched behind the other side of his bed when he flushes the toilet and walks back into his room.

  I hold my breath and listen to his footsteps, waiting for him to leave the room.

  As he's almost out the door, he stops. I can see the leather tip of his boot tapping up and
down. The house is silent.

  He takes one step, then pauses again. I hear his knees crack as he bends down, close to his computer.

  I see it then. The pair of panties I'd flicked out of my fingers.

  Luke scoops them up, still bent down low. I can hear him twisting his body left to right.

  I've been holding my breath so long I'm turning blue. My lips silently mouthing the word, 'Please, please, please,' over and over again.

  “Jesus, Luke. What're you doing in there, taking a shit?” Steve calls. I take the chance to grab lungfuls of air.

  “Someone's been in here...” Luke shouts back, crushing the panties into his fist and pocketing them. “Probably Ms. Brady, man?” Steve leans against the door frame.

  “Someone's gone through my desk,” Luke pushes himself up from his haunches and opens the drawer to investigate.

  “Nosy bitch!” Steve laughs through a beer belch.

  “Yeah... nosy bitch,” he mutters, unconvinced.

  *

  A lone heron watches me curiously as I kick the lapping lagoon water on my way back home. Clouds roll past me, the African sky already painted pastel pink.

  I bypass the graveyard today, taking the long way home along the waters edge.

  I'm racking my brain, trying to think where my sisters journal could possibly be. I don't know Luke's place well enough.

  I don't know if he has a safe or another storage facility somewhere.

  Questions trickle through my head. Why would he move it? Whose underwear is he keeping in his drawer?

  I'm so consumed with my thoughts that I'm startled when I find myself right outside the cottage. I don't really remember getting here.

  There's more flowers and cards perched on the stoop, all for my sister.

  I have no doubt the houses of the other missing girls are also flooded with things like this.

  I sigh as I scoop up the bouquets and cards that I won't open, kick the door ajar and make my way inside.

  I call out for River and wait for the scampering sound of her claws on the floorboards.

  They don't come.

  I drop my bag and poke my head into every room.

  Sometimes she sneaks into the second bedroom and makes the bed her own, but today she's no where to be seen.

  It's a feeling that hits me out of no where. Dread.

  Rushing out into the overgrown garden, I call her name frantically.

  I'm fighting back tears that sting at my eyes.

  I call her name once more, as loudly as I possibly can and fall silent.

  The echo of my voice travels around me. The only other thing I can hear is the rumble of cars as they pass by the cottage and the rustling of trees in the breeze.

  I stay silent, listening intently.

  The sound of something scratching against wood comes from my left.

  I follow, finding my way around the back of my sisters place. There's a tiny shed covered in bird-shit at the corner of the property. The windows are smashed and there's something nailed to the door.

  I approach it hesitantly, the sound of scratching getting louder.

  I tear the note from a rusted nail that's been jammed into the wood.

  'Stop searching.'

  The words are scribbled roughly, angrily.

  My breathing quickens as I pocket the note and tug at the door.

  “River!?” I scream desperately.

  There's a dull whine coming from inside.

  I yank the door open and River limps up to me. I'm almost certain I'm going to throw up as I drop to the floor.

  Her leg has been completely sawed off.

  CHAPTER 5

  It was a warning.

  I'm curled in bed by myself while River has to stay at the veterinary clinic after surgery.

  It's so quiet without the sound of her soft snores at my feet at night.

  I've opened a case but once again I know the police won't do anything more than they already have.

  They fingerprinted everything. Found nothing. The level of competency here isn't much.

  I'm not used to being without River.

  I look at the note again. It's the one thing I didn't tell the police about.

  The writing looks abnormally shaky, like it had been written by a child.

  My stomach growls hungrily but I don't want to eat. I keep thinking of River, alone in a cage in the clinic. One beautiful leg gone.

  I'm devastated.

  I squeeze my knees and feel a sense of loneliness wash over me. Unwelcome memories of Michael creep up on me. The sensation of his arms around me, the kisses on my forehead.

  Even after what he's done I'd do anything to feel that sense of love right now.

  I unlock my phone with my thumbprint and scroll through our last messages. The goodbyes.

  I'm still amazed at how he could just let me go, forget about me like I was never there at all.

  I want to message him – tell him about River. He'd given her to me last Valentine's Day. It's hard to believe that was less than a year ago.

  River had popped her tiny black and white head out of a pink box and blinked up at me with topaz eyes. I loved her instantly and everything she symbolised.

  She was the start of our future – our family.

  Around her collar hung a sparkling diamond ring. It was a tiny bit too big for me but it was everything I'd ever wanted in a ring.

  He'd listened well.

  After that I'd spend my afternoons in the dog park, letting River play and interact with the other dogs while I planned our wedding.

  I'd been so lucky having someone like Michael who refused to let me work.

  He wanted me to spend my days being creative, enjoying my hobbies.

  He'd told me he earned enough to support us both. He'd said his hours were flexible and he wanted me to be available if he fancied taking off somewhere at the spur of the moment.

  I must admit I enjoyed the idea at first, especially when I was consumed with the wedding plans. Michael would get home around dinner time and listen to me gush about different venues I'd discovered and my shock at how astronomical the prices of caterers were.

  My bridesmaids started coming over every Tuesday evening to help.

  We'd crack open a few bottles of wine, watch hilarious YouTube videos of wedding speeches.

  We'd peruse bridal magazines, cut things out and slap them onto the mood board we'd created.

  We'd planned it so that River would be a part of the day. We got quotes from various dog trainers so that River could learn to carry the rings down the aisle. She'd been the one who had given me the engagement ring, after all.

  As cliché as it all sounded, it was my dream come true.

  I never expected Michael to do what he did.

  It was my maid of honour, Beatrix, who told me.

  Michael couldn't do it himself.

  He'd gotten her pregnant – and they were keeping the baby.

  I left as soon as I found out, River right at my heels.

  I'd thanked God for the savings I'd kept away from my time on the yachts. I'd planned on using the savings to help pay for our wedding but relief had flooded through me as I realised what a waste those deposits would have been.

  I sigh, hating myself for wanting Michael right now.

  Deep down, I know he doesn't deserve me but the need to be loved and protected is overwhelming.

  I shut my phone down before I have the chance to send Michael a message I know I'll regret.

  Last I heard, my maid of honour had hosted a gender reveal party at a shooting range. I couldn't believe it had come around so soon. Where had time gone?

  Both her and Michael had shot glocks at black balloons which had sprayed pink confetti everywhere.

  Of course I'd sneaked onto social media to see the photographs. I'm a huge fan of torturing myself, it seems.

  There was a picture of the two of them grinning at the camera surrounded by a sea of pink. The photo is captioned, 'We can't wait t
o meet our baby girl, Shiloh!'

  I flinched when I read it.

  I was surprised by how many people who knew me, who were friends with me, clicked 'like' on the photo.

  It had been me and Michael who had been together for six years!

  Me and Michael who had sent our wedding invitations out to all the people 'liking' this photograph. They all knew he'd cheated! They'd cheated... yet they still liked this photo.

  There were over one hundred and sixty comments with congratulations and well wishes. I'd been forgotten by everyone.

  I wanted to see comments bad mouthing them for what they'd done to me.

  I wanted people to tell them shooting while pregnant was a stupid thing to do.

  I mean, not only is the sound deafening but there was the possibility of lead poisoning too.

  As someone who has had multiple miscarriages I'd bristled at the thought of what could happen at a shooting range.

  The membrane could rupture or the foetal development could be compromised.

  I know I shouldn't care, but I do.

  Beatrix had been my best friend since pre-school.

  I'd never wish losing a child on anyone. Not even her.

  What I hate is that Michael would actually care if he lost a child this time. She had been able to give him the one thing that I never could. Fatherhood.

  I wonder if he ever thinks of me. Of the life he used to have before leaving me for my best friend.

  I wonder how long they'd been seeing each other behind my back and if he'd still be with me if he hadn't gotten her pregnant. Would I want him to be? If the wool had been pulled over my eyes would I want him back in my life?

  I toss my phone to the empty side of my bed and pad into the kitchen.

  I rip a packet of seasoning open while the kettle boils and sprinkle it over my pot of noodles.

  I'd been so looking forward to pay day to stock up on real food again – but now it seems I'll need to take a loan from the bank to pay for River's vet bills.

  *

  The next morning more press conferences are held by the families of the missing girls.

  I have to make a speech for Robyn.

  I beg for her safe return.

  I say I feel her with me every second of every day... but the truth is I haven't felt my sisters presence for quite some time.