Retribution: Who would you kill to escape your past?

by Diane Demetre

  Strong, sympathetic arms engulfed her, pinning her arms to his chest. “Jessie. I promise you’re safe. What’s wrong? What can’t you find?”

  “He took my favourite underwear. They’re not here. Oh God. What’s happening? Why would anyone do this to me?”

  “I don’t know. But we’ll find out. Listen…Do you want me to stay the night? I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  She nodded meekly. “But what about Whiskey?”

  “She’ll be fine. I’ll get up at dawn, go home, let her out and be back before you know it. No one will be lurking around at sunrise. These bastards are back in their coffins before day break.” His attempt at humour lightened her mood a little, as did the assurance of his smile.

  “Thanks. I would feel safer if you were here. I don’t really want to stay alone tonight.” The thought of this lunatic returning triggered a new wave of fear in her. The whole episode reminded her too much of her nightmares. The terror of being trapped and unable to escape was shocking enough when asleep, let alone if she was awake.

  “Come on. Let’s have a tea or something stronger if you have anything.”

  Dazed, she crawled off the bed. He tucked her under his arm, and they walked to the kitchen. “I only have herbal tea, I’m sorry.”

  “Tea is fine. You put the kettle on.”

  Rap, rap, rap. “Hello,” called an authoritative female voice. “Officers Charles and Wentworth responding to a break and entry.”

  BJ hurried to the door. “Hello, officers. This is Jessie Hilton.” He waved Jessie over. “It’s her unit.”

  Officer Charles was a tall, dark haired woman, while Officer Wentworth was her male counterpart. Both looked like they could stop a truck.

  “And who are you?” Officer Charles cocked a brow at BJ.

  “Brad Jordan.”

  “He’s a friend,” interjected Jessie. “I called him for help. Please come in and sit down.” The presence of the police steadied her nerves.

  “Actually, we prefer to stand. Can you give us your account of what happened here, Miss Hilton?” asked Officer Charles, her voice official yet kind. Officer Wentworth extracted a notebook and pen, readying to take notes.

  Jessie explained, trying to recount every detail as clearly as possible. They then questioned BJ who retold his part of the story. Over the next hour, the officers inspected Jessie’s flat, and tagged and bagged anything that might give them a clue as to the identity of the perpetrator. A forensics team arrived shortly after and set about unpacking their gear to dust for prints throughout the unit.

  At the dining table, BJ pointed to the note. “This is the letter I found on Jessie’s pillows.”

  The officers peered down at it. “Jessie, can you think of anyone who would do this? Maybe an ex-boyfriend or someone who has a grudge against you? Perhaps someone you’ve jilted?” asked Officer Wentworth.

  “No. I can’t think of anyone. I don’t have time for relationships...” She tried to think, but her mind was a fog.

  “Very well. The forensic team will be finished here shortly. In the meantime, here is my card.” Officer Charles handed her a white business card. “If you think of anything else, be sure to let us know. You may find over the next couple of days you remember things that will help us in our investigation. In the meantime, be careful.”

  “Thank you. I will.” Jessie’s voice was as stiff as her smile. Officer’s Charles warning reinforced the possibility that she could still be in danger. Real danger.

  “Very good then. Once forensics has finished you can touch anything you like. Thank you. Jessie. Brad.” Officer Charles nodded curtly and with Officer Wentworth behind her, strode from the unit.

  When they left, Jessie returned to the kitchen and fumbled around with the routine task of getting mugs, boiling water and making tea. The sense of safety she’d taken for granted as a single woman living alone in a big city had been ripped away from her. In its place, the stark reality of a demented stalker landed with a thud. One thought looped in her mind. This can’t be happening. But it was happening. They say life imitates art, but in her case, life was imitating her worst nightmares. She moaned. Her body sagged. Broken and paralysed, she ground to a halt, staring out into space.

  “Jessie. Jessie. Forget the tea...” BJ’s soothing voice drifted to her from afar. A moment, or was it an hour later, he nudged beside her. “Jessie, honey. Time for bed.” Cradled into his side, she shadowed his lead and trundled from the kitchen. But she was numb. Disembodied. Somewhere else.

  “Excuse me, guys…” BJ called to the team dusting the door lock. “Have you finished in Jessie’s bedroom? She needs rest.”

  “Sure. Go ahead. We’re nearly done out here as well. But you’ll need to replace this lock. It’s been tampered with.”

  “Thanks. I’ll get onto it when you leave.”

  Once in the bedroom, Jessie waited while BJ found some sheets and remade her bed. He helped her up and removed her shoes. “Lie down, Jessie.” Obediently, she lay back, and he folded the top sheet under her chin. “I’ll be in the living room, on the couch. You’re safe, Jessie. I’m here. You’re safe.”

  The last thing she remembered before sleep rescued her were the well-cut lines of his face and the golden bristle of his jaw. His wild blue eyes gazed down at her while he traced his thumb across her cheek. “Sleep,” he repeated, a sympathetic smile etching his face. But when he turned out the lights and left the room, her senses sharpened and the slimy serpents of dread entangled themselves in her stomach.

  Out of the shadows a familiar evil slithered, all groping hands and probing fingers. A man, always a man. Licking wetness—a vile tongue lapped at her cheek. Pledges of love and threats of death whispered in her ear. No, no, no. Fear cleaved her in two. A scream clutched in her throat, tight and scorching. In her mind, she could hear it shrieking for freedom, but it never escaped her body. Arms and legs thrashing, her body bolted upwards. She heaved awake, head spinning, mouth dry. Behind her ribs, her heart hammered as if she’d just danced the dawn variation from the ballet “Coppelia”. Her head hung in her hands, and she swiped away the futile tears cried in her sleep. Before tonight, wakefulness had been her ally. Her only escape from the haunting nightmares. But now, with a stalker lurking around not just in her mind, but in her waking life, when would she ever find relief? As the panic lifted, resignation took its place, leaving Jessie to wonder how her once ordered life had spiralled so far out of control.

  Chapter 7

  How easy was that? Breaking into her unit was a piece of cake. I was in before I knew it. Lucky that old lock didn’t put up much of a fight. That’s why I have three heavy-duty deadlocks on my door. No one will ever get in here without a fight. Bloody landlord tries, but he can go screw himself. This is my unit and possession is nine-tenths of the law.

  She has such a neat little home, nothing out of place, just like her. I made myself comfortable. On the couch, I buried my face into the cushions and smelled where she sat. It reminded me of the talcum powder my nan wore. I lay there for a while, just breathing her in. Next stop was the bathroom. I tried her lotions and creams, rubbing them hard into my skin. It felt good. I even sprayed her perfume down there. But I got so hard, I thought I would burst. It hurt like hell, but I don’t dare touch myself.

  When I went in her bedroom with its pretty girly things, my heart skipped a beat. Make-up, books, clothes…her precious things. Things she touches and treasures. Then, I found her lace bra and knickers, so pretty, so delicate. Just like her. And they smell good too. Soapy and fresh. I imagine how they must look on her lean, supple body. The way the thong cuts into her round, tight arse and between her long, silky legs. How excited it must make her as it rubs and rubs and rubs. When I wrap my tongue around that tiny piece of fabric and suck really hard, I can taste her. Mmm…salty and sweet. My favourite flavour in the whole world. I can taste the journey my tongue will take into her when we are finally together. And her pert breasts that fit snugly into the frilly bra
. I will lick and nip them until they are red and raw. Oh God, it makes me tingle, but I don’t dare touch myself.

  Patience is a virtue my mother used to say when she made me wait for a slice of the cake that she baked. It was stale by the time she finally gave me some. But I got real good at patience. Soon, my dancer, you will come to me, soon. We will have such fun together. Soon.

  Chapter 8

  By the time she showered, changed and ambled into the living room, early morning streaks of marigold yellow dissipated some of the previous night’s terror. Gone were the insipid charcoal hues from the previous days of rain, instead replaced by the vibrant shades of summer glittering on the city’s skyscape. As a sweltering, hot day prepared to broil the city, Jessie’s spirits lifted. The smell of toast and tea wafted to greet her, as did the pleasing sight of BJ’s back flinching under his skin-tight, white T-shirt.

  As if detecting her gaze, he turned, a grin spreading across his face. “Good morning. Feeling better?”

  “Yes, thanks. How’s Whiskey?” She wrapped her fingers around the steaming mug he pushed across the kitchen bench towards her.

  “Overexcited, overactive and now overfed. I bought some groceries. How do you like your eggs?”

  “Just one egg for me thanks. No toast.”

  “You have got to be kidding. After all the calories you burned up with last night’s stress, you need food. Real food. Two eggs, one piece of toast and nothing less.”

  Opening her hands in submission, she conceded. “Okay. Okay. Sunny side up. Thanks.”

  She watched on in amused appreciation as he cracked and fried eggs, buttered toast and poured more tea in a well-rehearsed routine. All the time, he talked about ordinary, everyday things. The more he talked about nothing in particular, the more her muscles relaxed and the terror from the previous night slipped away. Within minutes, they were seated at the dining table, with the first hot breakfast she’d eaten in twelve months. The last had been one she’d allowed her mother to make when she returned home to Coodravale last Christmas. On BJ’s side plate teetered four pieces of toast to match the four eggs sunning themselves on his dinner plate, all of which he hungrily set to.

  “Do you always eat this much?” She shook her head in awe of his appetite.

  “Absolutely. How do you think I stay this big? Not by eating bird seed.” He chuckled at his own joke before returning to the task at hand.

  “Thanks for staying last night.” She hoped he knew how much she appreciated it.

  “No worries. The forensics guys left shortly after you went to bed. I’ve installed a new lock on your front door.” He shoved another forkful of eggy toast into his mouth and chewed contentedly. He reminded Jessie of Whiskey, and she giggled. They say owners pick dogs that mirror themselves. Unaffected by her private joke, BJ continued chewing and talking. “You’ve still got no idea who might have broken into your unit?”

  “No. I thought about it this morning in the shower, but I can’t think of anyone.” She wasn’t interested in eating, so she fiddled with her cutlery.

  “Does someone have a grudge against you? Or is jealous of you?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve always gone out of my way to be friendly and not upset anyone. I have no idea who’d want to do this to me.” Fresh tears bit her eyes.

  He reached over and patted her hand. “It’s okay. I’m sure the police will find this sicko.

  Now, what do you have to organise with the Aussie Ballet so you can get home to your dad?”

  “I’ll get in there early and see David. He’s the artistic director of the company. Hopefully he’ll grant me special leave. I’ll catch up with my best friend, Jasmine and then head off to Yass around lunchtime I guess. It’s a six-hour drive, and I want to be there before dark.”

  BJ scooped up the traces of egg from his plate with the final quarter piece of toast. “Okay. Here’s the deal.” He gulped it down and sculled the last draft of tea. “If you like I’ll drive you to Yass, and I can stay if it suits. I don’t like this stalking shit any more than you do. Until the cops get a handle on this, I think having me around is at least a deterrent. But there’s one condition…”

  “What’s that?” she asked, wide-eyed at his offer.

  “I have to bring Whiskey. I’ve got no one to look after her. So where I go, she goes.” He reached over to clear the plates and scowled at Jessie’s. She hadn’t touched the toast and had eaten only one egg, just as she ordered.

  She trailed him into the kitchen and began rinsing the plates. Although she liked the idea of having him around, she wasn’t sure how Joanna would cope. Her mother was difficult enough without trying to explain BJ’s reason for being there. But she had six hours to work out a reason that might satisfy her. “What about your work? Won’t your boss mind?”

  “Trent’s a bit of a grouch at the best of times, so he’ll be pissed. But since he hasn’t lined up any real work for me, I figure he won’t miss me too much. I need a bit of time off anyway. So what do you say?”

  “Okay. You’re got yourself a deal.” Jessie’s shoulders sagged as if she’d just dumped her heavy dance bag on the floor. It felt good not to carry everything alone.

  “Terrific. Now if you don’t mind finishing off, I’ll go organise a few things. I’ll meet you back here in two hours. I’ve got a key for your new lock, and I’ve left yours on the bench here.” He slid the new door key towards her. “If anything changes, call me. Okay?”

  “Sure.” She stopped washing dishes and fixed him with a sincere gaze. “You know, BJ. All I seem to do is say thank you to you. I’m an awful nuisance…” Pursing her lips so as not to continue, she hesitated, her expression saddening. In the week they’d known each other, she’d been nothing but an inconvenience. Not the way to start a new friendship.

  “Don’t be silly. It’s been a long time since I had someone to look after, aside from Whiskey. Actually, I’m kind of enjoying it.” Planting a kiss to her forehead, he shot her a sunny smile to match the light streaming through the window. “I’ll see you soon.” He collected his tool box and departed.

  Now the hard part. With another steaming cup of tea in hand, she gazed out of her living room window and planned the best approach with the artistic director.

  “Come in, Jessie. How may I help you?” David Fitzgibbons, the artistic director of the Australian Ballet Company for the past five years, waved her into his impressive office. A tall, horsey-looking man, he’d performed male lead roles in famous ballets around the world before taking up this post in his home country. Aside from establishing himself as a legendary performer, he was a rare breed, possessing both creative genius and a savvy business sense. Like a god, he was worshipped and feared by the company and media alike.

  Pushing a few strands of hair behind her ear, she walked over to sit in front of his formidable desk. As a child, she’d loathed being in the school principal’s office. Now, sitting in the visitor’s chair in the artistic director’s office proved even more nerve wracking. Sweaty palms and silent prayers accompanied her fidgeting feet.

  “Thank you for seeing me, David. The reason I asked for this meeting is that my father has had a stroke. Unfortunately, I need to get home straight away. I hate not being able to stay and perform in Nutcracker, but I have to go. He may not pull through.”

  The ensuing silence was interminable. The artistic director fixed her in his autocratic gaze. Quietly drumming his fingers on his desk, he flared his nostrils and sniffed. “I’m sorry to hear your father is so ill, Jessie. That is very sad news. When do you wish to leave?”

  “Straight away, please. I won’t be able to perform tonight. I’m sorry.”

  “And do you think you’ll be back before the season ends?” The finger drumming grew faintly louder.

  “I’m not sure at this stage.”

  “You understand this means Tabitha Simpson will perform the role of the Sugar Plum Fairy for the entire season then?”

  “Yes, I understand.” Jessie lowered h
er head.

  “And you know this may affect the principal ballerina selections for next year?”

  “Yes, David.” She picked at the cuticle on her thumb.

  “Very well, Jessie. Off you go, and I hope your father improves so you can return to at least dance some of the season for us.”

  She lifted her eyes to see the artistic director push back his chair and offer his hand, brusque and final. She accepted his reluctant permission with a shake, almost curtsied, and scurried from the office before heartbreak shattered her poise.

  “How’d it go?” asked Jasmine, rushing towards her.

  “They’re giving me the leave. Legally, they can’t refuse, I suppose. But I could tell by the look on his face, my chances to be a principal next year just got shredded. Oh, Jasmine, I was so close.” Jessie grabbed her friend in a tight neck hug. She wanted to cry. Everything she’d worked for had come crashing down around her because of her father. Why couldn’t he be less sick? Running the memory newsreel backwards, she reviewed the last ten years she’d been away from home. In all that time, her father hadn’t shown any real interest in her or her ballet career. Sure, he’d come to see her perform at times, but she was convinced that was because her mother made him. Not once had he ever said he was proud of her. Yet now, she was expected to go rushing to his bedside because he might die any minute. It wasn’t fair.

  Rubbing sympathetic circles on her back, Jasmine whispered. “It’s not over yet. Come on. I’ve got thirty minutes until the next clean-up rehearsal. Let’s grab a quick coffee before you go.”

  Downcast, Jessie broke the embrace. Looking at the polished concrete floor, she expected to see her future scattered in pieces at her feet. My life is falling apart and there’s nothing I can do to stop it…

  “Hi Jessie, How’s it going?”