Sixth Victim

by Kate Mitchell

  ‘Take me now, my darling,’ Cecelia stretched out to his head. But the soft silky hair of her lover became coarse, thicker, and wavy.

  Had his hair changed? This was not how she remembered him. But their lovemaking had been so long ago, so long ago that he was not as she had imagined him. Or was it? Why couldn’t she open her eyes? She was asleep, that was the reason. But how did Thomas know where she was?

  Love, he knew where she was because he loved her. Love will always find the person they love.

  My God, what was he doing to her?

  ‘Thomas, Thomas, please don’t, you’re hurting me.’

  And still, he was pushing, hitting the floor of her pelvis, raiding her. No rhythm, but anxious to complete. This was not how she remembered it. This was not love; this was pain.

  ‘Thomas, you’re hurting me. Stop it. I want you to stop.’

  But he carried on pushing, thrusting, and now the pain was becoming more intense. She had to do something before he tore her apart. Was this pain because she had not had sex for years? No, it should not be as bad as this. Love is gentle.

  ‘Stop Thomas.’ Cecelia pulled herself out of this drugged sleep.

  Thrashing to put on her bedside light, the burning fires entering her and causing panic. She hurt as she had never hurt before, and this frightened her. What was he doing to her? She had to stop this now. He was holding down her legs preventing her from kicking.

  The light booted open the room, the dark fell back like a caught rat weaseling back into the corners. This rat which had been caught was staring at her. Still fully clothed with his zipper open, he witnessed her shock. William was staring down at her.

  In those few frozen seconds, Cecelia contemplated everything she must do, and then he smiled at her, for he had won.

  ‘You are hurting me, William. Please stop,’ she said calmly finding a new sanity from within. ‘This is not how we make love; don’t you remember?’ he should not see how terrified she was for that was the best part of his pleasure.

  He cocked his head to one side, just a little jerk, but it was enough to show that he was surprised, she had surprised him.

  ‘Don’t you remember how we did it before?’

  Her roaring pain was subsiding just sufficient to hold on to her mind. Don’t show him you are frantic, you want to scream, become hysterical. Another thought tumbled in, Mary Ann’s boyfriend was not the person she thought he was, and Cecelia was now finding this out.

  ‘Don’t you want me to kiss you?’ she smiled now raising her chest with hands held out towards him. ‘Remember the tenderness we shared. Me in your arms, our lips meeting—that was the most beautiful love I have ever experienced. You and I together, William. There is no other one but you.’

  Keeping her eyes on his. It was a magic ring that kept her safe as long as she didn’t take her eyes from him.

  ‘Why don’t you undress, and we can lie together. Look,’ Cecelia patted the bed beside her, not taking her eyes off him, an open invitation. ‘Come on, don’t be shy.’

  This was a mistake because he veered back from her.

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t mean; I mean I’m very attracted to you—I desire you, William.’

  ‘I wish I could believe that,’ his eyes had moved to her chest.

  ‘Believe it.’

  ‘You rejected me every time I came close to you…’

  ‘And do you know why?’ her voice gambled and panic. ‘Let me tell you why.’

  His eyes traveled down between her breasts and now making their way ever downwards. He wasn’t listening to her.

  ‘Because of Mary Ann—that’s the reason why I rejected you. I didn’t want to upset her.’

  ‘You shouldn’t worry about her anymore.’

  Why, what had he done to her?

  ‘You’re just like the rest. Pretending to be interested in me. I thought you were different, but you are not. They all promise me things when scared. Yes, you will love me forever. You will do anything for me because you don’t want to die.’ William mimicked in a girl’s voice sounding like Mary Ann. ‘All of you are whores.’

  ‘But Mary Ann loves you…’ the panic was setting in fast and fierce. Was he threatening to kill her if she didn’t do what he wanted?

  The Alandra Slasher. It fell into place like a rattler writhing in a bag, waiting to be released. But he had visited Phoebe to find that she wasn’t there. He had gone into Phoebe’s shop while she was busy, turned the open notice to closed, and killed Phoebe for pleasure.

  That red light flew into her eyes, pounded into her heart, and blew a fit into her soul. William had killed Phoebe because Phoebe wasn’t her.

  She screamed with rage and in that tempest of temper, sprung up out of the bed to smash his face. Her wrist, slow motioned was grabbed hold of. Brown animal eyes, dead from inside drilled into hers because now he was going to kill her. This was her time to die.

  ‘No,’ Cecelia screamed. The few kickboxing lessons must be of some use.

  He was bending her arm back and delighting in his power.

  She didn’t want to die now. Her thirst for living had not been quenched. She wanted to live and to breathe and to be like she had never done before. She thought she had finished with life, but she hadn’t.

  Take your life, Cecelia, it was Phoebe. Don’t let him take it like he took mine.

  ‘He will not kill me, Phoebe,’ Cecelia to the ghost that had appeared by William’s side.

  It was that strange unquiet visitation that caught the lost mind of its axis. William turned to look at the waif that Cecelia was talking to. It was enough. Cecelia kicked him in the stomach, and he fell back choking.

  Strange the need to make certain that her kick had met its mark. Those few seconds which she should have taken to get away had been badly spent. Too late, Cecelia turned to run away. Suddenly feeling her nakedness, she looked for her cover. All those habits of modesty were against her, an extravagant folly had cost her dearly.

  She was going to live. The future opened its arms to welcome her. She was going to live, not die, certainly not die yet. Not too far to the closed-door when a hot gloved hand grabbed hold of her ankle and pulled her to the floor.

  ‘No, no,’ Cecelia screamed now crying.

  Legs that had once been running to escape were now floundering, paddling the air, but had hit something. William used her legs to pull himself upon her. Grabbing her once lose free arms and bringing them to his attention. She was his to do with what he wanted.

  She stared at him puzzled, confounded. William looked different. And still staring at him. Did she not understand that she was going to die? That he was going to kill her. He could not kill her successfully if she were not afraid. He wanted her afraid, this was part of the event; this was what gave him that extra high, the violence.

  It was his nose Cecelia was looking at. A nose is just a nose. She shook her head with irony and then smiled.

  ‘You are wearing a false nose,’ still naked Cecelia laughed.

  She was laughing at him. He leaned back and stared at her.

  ‘Who are you that you should need to cover yourself?’ Tears crumpled quickly and running from her eyes. Irony and madness had produced this strange reaction. An invitation to death and Cecelia had forgotten to be scared.

  ‘Don’t laugh at me.’ The owner of those dangerous eyes was now frantic for recognition. ‘Don’t you realize that you are going to die?’

  ‘Don’t you realize how foolish you look?’ hysteria had made her throw back her head into the madness of laughter. ‘A man who has to dress up to pretend that he is someone important. How funny is that?’

  ‘You should be scared. You should be very scared.’

  ‘And you should wear better prosthetics,’ and still, Cecelia carried on laughing.

  William touched his face, the rubber nose which once had been secure had now peeled off. He had been humiliated.

  Madness had turned to laughter, for Cecelia, laughter is the best an
esthetic in the world. To die laughing was a wonderful way to go. And she had rolled over in a paroxysm of laughter.

  It was there on the floor dropped from his belt. In the scramble, it had become dislodged from his person and there it was, his strap-on penis, a dildo and William had been wearing it. That made sense why it was painful, Cecelia roared into another scream of laughter. Was there anything real about this man?

  She should have been scared of him. She should have cowered when he stood, begging him for mercy, but Cecelia wouldn’t stop laughing. Raised full height, William hated her with a vanity. Coming across, he dragged her up to face, and still, Cecelia carried on laughing.

  When he slapped her, Cecelia slapped him back. He couldn’t get her to take him seriously. But she would.

  ‘You whore,’ William said, his venom was like a rattlesnake that was about to strike.

  ‘A man with a false nose and who can’t even fuck. Is there anything you can do on your own?’

  And then she stared at his thin pencil of a mustache. Hypnotized, bobbing her head to one side and frowning. Lifting her bruised arm, she plucked at the hair and removed it.

  ‘Who are you?’ the soberness of her retrieval had given her equal status.

  The game was up, Cecelia had seen him, and the brightness of identification traveled wide into her eyes.

  ‘Mary Ann, is that you? What are you doing dressed up as William? I thought William had killed you.’ She hid her mouth with her hand. ‘My God, I should have seen who you really were before now. You and William are the same.’

  Her head was flying across the room, slapped into orbit while Cecelia’s cheekbone took the full impact from the wall breaking the tender mask of her flesh and drawing out her red life.

  Mary Ann? Why hadn’t she seen through the disguise? All the time when she was talking to William’s nervous face, it was Mary Ann. Her mind was tumbling with confusion, the hit caused by the wall’s contact that Cecelia didn’t hear the stomp of feet until his hands grabbed hold of her arm to pull her upwards.

  Was Mary Ann wearing contact lenses? Cecelia was once again staring into her eyes.

  ‘You lied to me.’

  Faces changed in anger; features alter with the rivets of temper. Mary Ann was ugly. Ugly, ugly, ugly.

  ‘You told me you were a virgin.’

  Her teeth were so near Cecelia’s nose that she wondered if she would bite it off. How absurd.

  ‘Well, I was a virgin once,’ Cecelia drawled tasting the metallic flavor of her blood.

  ‘Did you lose it to Thomas? Or was it someone else? I read your diaries. You whore. You’re no different from your friend. Pretending to be something that you’re not – have you no respect for yourself?’

  A shock of electric intelligence came buzzing waking up Cecelia’s befuddled mind. Phoebe?

  ‘You killed Phoebe?’

  ‘She begged me to die in the end. I shall never forget the look on her face when I told her you were in love with me, not her.’

  ‘You killed Phoebe?’ Cecelia repeated herself.

  ‘I would have given the world for you. I would have treated you like a princess. You would have wanted for nothing.’

  ‘You’re mad—insane. What made you think I ever wanted you?’

  ‘It was you who came to me, remember?’ Now it was Mary Ann’s turn to be baffled and insulted. With a sudden jerk, she grabbed hold of Cecelia’s face to take that last kiss from her lips. But she was angry, she bit hard into Cecelia’s lips and pushing her tongue into Cecelia’s mouth.

  ‘Get off me. Get off, you bitch,’ Cecelia pulled her head back with narrowed eyes. Repelled by this intrusion she spat out Mary Ann’s saliva into her face.

  ‘You tramp. I’m going to take you whether you want it or not.’

  ‘Take me, how? You have nothing to give. You’re not a man, and you’re not even a proper woman. You take what you want because you don’t understand love. You are a poor excuse for a human being…’

  And the rest of her words remained irrelevant because Mary Ann was dragging Cecelia across the room to the bed. Throwing Cecelia on the bed with hatred, she pulled open her legs. There was going to be justice for Mary Ann from her own making.

  ‘No,’ Cecelia moaned now sorry that she had mocked her.

  With horror, Cecelia saw her kitchen knife laid on the side table. What the hell was she going to do with it? And then Cecelia knew, telepathy shared minds. The strap-on still lay on the floor, but Mary Ann had a replacement.

  ‘Oh my God, no. Please don’t.’

  ‘Are you scared now? When I’ve finished with you, you won’t be a woman either.’

  Screaming, oh how she screamed. Whistling up hell and damnation, Mary Ann was going to cut her from within. Kicking her legs, but they didn’t do anything because Mary Ann held them down with her large hands.

  ‘Please, have mercy. I beg you.’

  Words which would remain idle judging by the look on Mary Ann’s face. Struggling to sit, Mary Ann pushed Cecelia back down.

  It was the doorbell followed by heavy beatings which signified a sudden change. Cecelia’s screams had been answered, in that moment of sharpened tension, taken by surprise, Mary Ann spun around. An opportunity was created for Cecelia to kick Mary Ann off. One high kick was all it took to send Mary Ann, tumbling backward onto the floor.

  Out of the bedroom, running down the stairs, this time, Cecelia gave no thought to her nakedness. Running to the door. Whoever heard would save her. But the front door was locked.

  Thunder pounded on the stairs. Mary Ann was in fast pursuit and gaining upon Cecelia.

  ‘You won’t get away from me,’ Mary Ann with hard determination, half-man, half-woman, transmogrifying.

  What to do? Where to go? Cecelia saw her coat; inside it was the gift that Detective Travis had given her. She screamed with panic, pitying her life. Running for her coat, praying to God for His favor, this was her only hope.

  Screaming, Cecelia’s voice peeled with agony when the knife came slicing across her back. Ripping her from one shoulder to the other. The pain was agony. Her time was short. She grabbed her coat just as Cecelia was kicked to the ground with a fierce roundhouse kick, but she still had her coat. With her hand in the pocket, Cecelia squeezed the trigger. Mary Ann stopped suddenly and fell backward.

  24

  There is always an investigation when someone is killed, even if it is in self-defense because the formalities of death still have to be recorded. The Alandra Slasher was dead. It was official. Life had been taken and this time it was the victim who took it, Cecelia Clark.

  It was a strange and uncomfortable moment to return to the Alandra Police Department, Cecelia stayed in a hotel, free of charge from a grateful owner. And now climbing out of the cab, still tender from the stitches across her slashed back, there was a crowd of Alandra people waiting. Arriving early in the morning, bringing flowers to cheer her. Lights flashing and welcoming applause. A respected killer who had killed the right person.

  ‘So, I see you’ve got yourself an appreciating crowd,’ smiled Detective Travis who heard the arrival and had gone to greet Cecelia herself.

  Showing Cecelia into her office, Detective Travis noted how Cecelia held herself. This had been one hell of a time for the diffident freelance investigative journalist. Quickly, Detective Travis pulled out a chair and waited until Cecelia sat down.

  ‘How’re you feeling?’ Detective Travis asked now sitting on the other side of her desk.

  ‘Alive and grateful.’ And still, with every moment passing, Cecelia wanted to cry.

  Every sound made her shake, every sudden movement, not because of the withdrawal symptoms, but because her nerves were shot to pieces. Now she was trembling, those tears were already bubbling to the surface blurring her eyes. Gulping them back, Cecelia stole a quick look at the Detective.

  ‘I thought I was dead,’ she whispered looking down at her hands trying desperately not to cry.

  ‘You t
hought you were dead? I was sure you were dead when we broke into your house and you were lying on the floor in a pool of blood I saw myself going to your funeral.’ Detective Travis was incredulous.

  Now biting her lips fiercely and trembling, Cecelia was unable to look at Travis.

  ‘I was naked.’

  ‘Yes, you were naked. But it doesn’t matter,’ she pushed a box of paper tissues across her desk to her. A recent acquisition. Had she anticipated this kind of scene?

  Gratefully, Cecelia took one and applied it to those swollen tears, and hating the fact that she was making a fool of herself.

  ‘We were just grateful that you were alive—that’s how you must think of it. Life is good, Cecelia, and you were determined to hold tight on to it. And while I remember—not that I would forget; did you know there was a reward for the Alandra Slasher? Ten thousand dollars,’ she smiled and nodded. ‘But perhaps not enough for what you’ve done. But it’s a start from a grateful people. My God, I just can’t believe we got the Slasher and finished her reign of terror. As I can’t believe that it turned out to be a woman. Mary Ann Leigh was some sort of mixed up lesbian…’

  ‘Who called for the police?’ Cecelia kept having to remind herself that she was alive and that she was alive not just now, but for years to come.

  ‘Isiah Jackson.’ Detective Travis was waiting to see if Cecelia recognized the name. But evidently, she didn’t. ‘His sister was Sarah Jackson.’

  None the wiser, Detective Travis was going to have to explain it to her.

  ‘Just over twelve years ago, a young girl was found dead, drowned the coroner recorded. The case was dismissed as a tragic accident, a possible suicide. But the family refused the findings. They believed she had been murdered by her friend, Mary Ann Leigh.’

  ‘Mary Ann Leigh?’ Cecelia softly repeated.

  ‘Yep, Mary Ann Leigh. She was the photograph on the bedroom table. She missed out on her fifteenth birthday by one week,’ Detective Travis paused in reflection to wait for this idea to be assimilated. ‘The coroner found marks on her shoulders as if she had been pushed down to keep her under the water, and drowned. Which was dismissed by the coroner as bruising caused by struggle. I am not quite sure what he meant by that.’