The Pirouette Predator

by Jade Wright

  I cannot take any chances.

  Even though I know there will be copies out there somewhere, I have to get rid of any form of evidence in my sisters cottage.

  CHAPTER 14

  Drugging that dog was incredibly easy. Piper really needs to teach it not to accept food from strangers.

  It amazes me how vulnerable everyone is.

  The photographs were even easier.

  Piper doesn't even realise how many camera I've hidden in and around the place.

  There's video footage too.

  It repulses me to watch her that way... opening her legs up like another stupid whore. I don't care that she doesn't dance, after what she's done she deserves to join the others.

  She is such a disappointment.

  You'd think they'd have given me a better name.

  'The Pirouette Predator,' what a joke! I was expecting, 'The Ballerina Butcher'. Something with a bit more of a ring to it.

  I think of the serial killer nicknames I know, Helter Skelter, The Zodiac Killer or something like 'Doctor Death' from that podcast I'd loved listening to a while ago.

  I wonder if other serial killers were happy with the names they got.

  Mine sounds so juvenile.

  I guess in my case there haven't been any bodies yet.

  Oh, but there will be and it is going to be glorious.

  Adrenalin pulses through me at the thought of my first kill.

  I wonder who I should choose first.

  Eenie meenie miney mo.

  Chloe is by far the most annoying.

  She hasn't eaten anything I've tried to give her.

  Every time I try to give her something she spits at me. I could choose her – but watching her slowly break seems like so much more fun.

  I spear the last few chickpeas onto my fork before dumping my plate on the ground beside me.

  My hands are blackened from dirt and there's soil under my fingernails.

  I pick up the shovel and continue to dig.

  Six perfect graves side by side.

  I wish I could get the whores to help. How fun it would be to watch them dig their own graves – but I cannot trust them if I remove their bindings and I definitely can't trust them with a shovel in their hands.

  I keep changing my mind.

  I can't quite decide how I want their bodies to be discovered.

  If I bury them it will be longer until someone stumbles across them.

  Their bodies will have decomposed so much that all of my hard work of fattening them up will be for nothing besides my own satisfaction.

  Perhaps I can photograph them, leave shots of how they last looked on top of their rotting corpses.

  I contemplate this as I continue to dig out in the cold, sleet making it near impossible to see right in front of me.

  To be honest, I am second guessing myself just a little bit.

  Can I really kill them? I've never killed anyone before.

  This is all so new and exciting for me.

  It's a bit like a game. A challenge, shall we say.

  Do I have what it takes? Can I do it?

  I suppose the graves are a comfort blanket for me. If I do kill them, I don't want to be left freaking out and without a plan.

  As sinister as my mind may be, I'm not sure I can do the whole dismembering a body thing. I've heard about it before and it just sounds vile.

  I don't like to get my hands too dirty.

  This new life of mine is fascinating, really.

  I am learning so much about myself.

  I could just speed up the process and each day plunge a knife into one of their chests. I could make them watch each other slowly bleed out, anticipating the next day and the next death.

  They'll never know when it will be their turn.

  Eenie meenie miney mo.

  I smile wickedly, exhilarated by my thoughts.

  I toss the shovel to one side and skip down into the basement to see my whores.

  It's time to choose the first girl.

  It's time to put me to the test.

  I untie one of them, she's so weak that her arms flop to her sides uselessly. She can hardly raise her filthy head to look at me.

  I grab her chin and inspect her, holding a knife in my hand.

  I draw the blade across her lips, just enough for it to tickle.

  She tries to jerk away from me but I hold her still.

  “Don't try to fight me, sweetheart,” I tell her pityingly.

  The other girls are fearfully watching, grateful it isn't them. Selfish, all of them.

  I brush the knife down her neck, over her collarbone and torso until I reach her bound feet.

  Her toenails are so long they've curled into her skin.

  I grab her left foot and hold it firmly in my hand.

  Dancing has taken its toll on her feet. They're deformed with bunions – yet these feet can still do such beautiful things on pointe.

  She's trembling as she looks down at me holding the blade against her toes.

  “Shall we play 'This Little Piggy?'” I laugh, wiggling a toe between my thumb and forefinger.

  I'm almost drooling with anticipation.

  “This little piggy went to the market...” I sing.

  “This little piggy stayed home! This little piggy had roast beef and this little piggy had none,” I pull a sad face.

  All of the girls are watching. Waiting.

  “And this little piggy...” I'm snarling now, gripping the knife tighter and tighter as it edges closer to the whores baby toe.

  “Went WEE, WEE, WEE!” I slice the toe effortlessly off.

  It falls pathetically to the cold concrete floor.

  The girl is writhing in pain, her screams so violent under the masking tape she almost breaks free. All of the other girls start squirming in their seats, both sobbing and trying to scream too.

  “All the way home,” I finish with a smile.

  Blood gushes freely from her foot as she looks down at her severed toe.

  There is so much adrenalin coursing through my veins I almost don't hear the footsteps coming from outside.

  My head snaps up to the boarded up window. I can make out the shadow of a figure walking around close to the graves I've been digging.

  The girls are in an uproar, trying as hard as they can to make noise.

  “Shut up!” I hiss at them. There's blood all over my hands.

  I can hear the crunching of gravel, the sound of voices.

  Two people.

  They are so close.

  “If ANY of you make a sound, I WILL saw your toes off one by one,” I wave the knife at them.

  I wipe the blood onto my jeans and trudge irritatedly up the staircase.

  An elderly couple is standing right over the open graves. The woman is pointing and saying something I can't hear to the man by her side.

  He's reaching into his pocket.

  My heart is beating excessively.

  He pulls out a cellphone and starts punching in a number.

  I growl under my breath, my hackles rising as I stomp towards the shovel I'd tossed outside the door on my way down to the girls.

  They are so preoccupied with their discovery they don't even hear me coming up behind them.

  “Hi there!' I call in a friendly voice from behind them.

  They turn on their heels to face me.

  The old woman's mouth drops open at the sight of my bloodstained clothing.

  The shovel is above my head and in one quick swing I connect it with the man's head.

  My entire arm vibrates from the impact as the man falls to the floor, the phone clattering down with him.

  The woman lets out a piercing shriek.

  CHAPTER 15

  No one can quite believe it when two more people are reported missing.

  They, unlike the others, aren't dancers. They were just an elderly couple out for an afternoon walk from the retirement village and they never came back.

  This time i
t's their faces splashed across the newspapers and television.

  I listen to a news-reporter talk about the couple and speculate as to whether their case is connected to the others.

  I'm waiting in the pub for Cody, who has asked me to meet him here for a chat.

  I couldn't keep avoiding him forever.

  The smell of beer permeates the air.

  I'm desperate for a drink after the day at school.

  Naturally, none of the students could focus on anything other than the two new disappearances.

  It's all anyone could talk about.

  Luke hasn't been to class since being questioned by the police. Too embarrassed to show himself.

  I drove past his car on my way to the pub. It was parked at a garage and a handful of men were scrubbing at the graffiti covering the one side. 'The Pirouette Predator' is still easily readable across the doors.

  He'd called me the day I received the envelope with the photographs of us.

  He got the same envelope in his post.

  “This is completely fucked,” his voice had crackled down the other end of the phone.

  I didn't know what to say.

  “I can't do this anymore,” he'd sighed and hung up on me. We haven't spoken since. It was inevitable, really.

  When Cody comes in he orders us each a drink and sits down across from me. He looks tired, with deep dark rings under his eyes.

  “Why did you kiss me?” he asks, getting right to the point.

  I stammer, not sure what to say.

  'I was drunk,' hardly seems like a response he'd appreciate. Instead, I decide to be as honest as I can be.

  “I don't know, Cody. I've been so stressed out and you looked after me so nicely it just kind of happened,” I say, not looking him in the eyes.

  “Piper I like you. A lot. I worry about you living alone and being by yourself a lot.”

  “I have River,” I remind him.

  “That's not the point. I want to look after you.”

  No one has looked after me in such a long time.

  The words are hard to hear and believe.

  “Cody, it was just a kiss,” I feel terrible saying it, but it's true.

  “But-” he starts, but I interrupt him.

  “There's more important things right now than this! Can't you see that? My sister is missing! All those students. The old couple. My dog. The threats!” I blurt out.

  “Threats?” his eyes are boring into my own.

  I rub my temple, trying to collect myself. I can't let things slip out like this.

  “I meant River. Her leg,” I lie.

  “You told me she got hit by a car. What threat?” he looks confused.

  There's too many things in my head, it's overwhelming.

  I can't think straight.

  My phone rings.

  “Piper?” he presses.

  “Just stop it!” I shout, jumping up out of the booth.

  I look down at my phone, at who is calling me.

  It's Dr. Georgia Pienaar. I missed our session.

  I know she's trying to check in on me.

  I can't afford her. I press ignore.

  “I can't handle you constantly being around me, trying to get involved! Stop, please!” my voice is a high-pitched hiss that turns heads around the bar.

  “Piper, what the hell?” he calls after me as I dash out of the pub, leaving my last drink untouched.

  I have to be more careful.

  *

  The text messages from Cody stream in throughout the evening.

  Can you please tell me what you were talking about. Is someone threatening you?

  What really happened to River?

  Piper, please just let me know you're OK.

  I ignore them all.

  I've locked myself inside the cottage, drawn all the curtains closed and am hugging my knees to my chest in bed.

  I'm trawling through Facebook. So many of the students don't privatize their accounts so everything they post is available for the world to see.

  I click onto Bibiana's profile. Her main photo is one of her dancing, naturally.

  She posted a photograph of her and Luke just a few weeks ago and among the thumbs up there were a few angry and sad faces left there by other girls.

  It really does fascinate me how open people are on social media.

  I scroll to her latest status update.

  Folks out of town for the night, gone off on one of their safari excursions again (eye-roll). Anyone up for a girls night?!

  I want to tell her to delete the post.

  She could be publicly handing herself over to the 'Pirouette Predator' or whatever he's called with what she's put out there.

  It's literally telling everyone that she's alone at home tonight.

  There's a few comments on the post.

  One of her friends, Verity, a dark-skinned girl I don't recognise has told her she'll be right over with a bottle of wine.

  One of the boys, Steve has left a snide remark asking them why they aren't studying or doing something useful with their time. Three angry faces appear alongside it.

  My phone buzzes again.

  I'm coming over.

  He's too much. After being alone for a while now, it feels weird having someone pandering after me this way.

  Even when I was with Michael we were never a couple that continuously checked in on each other throughout the day.

  He hardly ever knew my movements, where I was or who I was with and vice versa.

  When Cody knocks on the door I ignore it. He knows I'm inside, my cars parked in the driveway.

  I make a cursory glance at the door, listening to him trying to coax me outside.

  “Piper, let me in,” he's come around to the side of the cottage. He's standing right outside the bedroom window. Luckily the curtains are drawn.

  River looks at me curiously. She recognises his voice now.

  I think back to how close I felt to Cody the night we shared that pricey bottle of wine around his oak barrel.

  I shouldn't have let myself get so friendly with him.

  “Let me help you. If someone's threatening you, lets go to the police!”

  I pull the blanket around myself and wait for him to leave.

  When I'm sure he's gone I roll over onto my side and sigh.

  The silence is a comfort.

  I've just drifted off when a voice speaks up.

  “Goodnight, Piper.”

  It's the same voice I'd heard before.

  I freeze, my eyes struggling to adjust in the darkness.

  My hand swipes at the bedside table but there's no speaker on it. The voice sounded so close.

  Someone is in the room.

  I start to scream, hoping the neighbours will hear me.

  I scream so loudly I think I'm going to shatter my vocal chords, but I don't stop.

  River starts to bark and snarl from down the hallway.

  The room starts to slowly become more visible.

  I look around me and see nothing, but I know I heard that voice. I'm still screaming, my voice breaking as I charge to the front door. I try to open it but it's locked.

  I hammer my fist against it and hurtle into the kitchen to find the keys. They're not where I left them.

  I try the back door but that is locked too.

  I'm trapped.

  “Help!” I scream louder and louder, banging on the door.

  River is panicking by my side, her barking sharp in my ears.

  I'm petrified to look over my shoulder. I can feel eyes on me.

  I know someone is watching me.

  I hear the front door being kicked in. Splinters of wood go flying in all directions.

  I hear footsteps running through the house, following my screams.

  When I see the police officers I collapse onto the floor, my voice finally resting.

  I close my eyes.

  I'm safe now.

  Detective Engelbrecht sits me down and gives me a
cup of sugared water while Jensen searches the house.

  River is anxiously limping around us, unable to relax.

  “Have you been drinking again this evening Ms. Brady?” he asks me bluntly.

  “No,” I lie.

  I don't want them to get the wrong idea of me.

  “OK. What were you doing this evening?” he probes.

  I'm not a good liar. I pause for a second too long.

  “I stayed in. I've just been watching TV,” I say.

  “So this receipt from a bar with today's date on it doesn't belong to you?” he holds up a slip of paper and waves it in my face. Fuck.

  I must have dumped the receipt on the counter when I got back home.

  “Three double gin and tonics and a glass of wine,” he reads.

  I don't know what to say. I don't remember having that much to drink.

  Cody bought me a drink at the bar and I'd barely touched it before storming out.

  I don't feel like I've had that much to drink, but I must have.

  “Look, yes! I went out. I had a drink with a work colleague, but I'm not drunk! You can see that,” I gesture at myself wildly.

  “I beg to differ,” Jensen says.

  Engelbrecht gives him a subtle cough and a stern look.

  “Please,” I beg.

  “You have got to believe me. I heard that voice again. I swear I did.”

  Both of their arms are crossed as they look down at me.

  “What would you like us to do here, Miss?”

  “Read you a bedtime story? Check there's no monsters under the bed?” Jensen sniggers. I'm developing a deep distaste for him.

  “That's it. Get out,” Engelbrecht points at the door that's off its hinges.

  There's someone on their way over to fix it temporarily for the night. I'll need to get a new door sorted tomorrow.

  I wonder if that's another expenditure I'll need to fork out money I don't have for or if the police will foot the bill.

  “Thank you,” I whisper at him, grateful that Jensen's gone.

  “You've put us in a really awkward spot, Ms. Brady,” he says.

  “Please believe me. I'm telling you the truth!”