“It’s exactly why I did. Because you were the only one who did care. You noticed me, you talked to me, and you were interested in me. Jessie, you’re the one for me.” Skip’s voice softened to a grating whine as he rattled off his reasons. Climbing up next to her, he huddled in close, like a puppy trying to please.
Oh, God. Oh, God. Swamped by disgust, she suppressed a scream as he rubbed against her rigid body. Although panic-stricken, she knew her only chance was to keep him agreeable in the hope she could talk her way out. “But Skip, kidnapping me is no way to treat someone who cares for you or who you care for, is it?”
“Maybe not, but I knew if I asked you out, you would have said no.” He pouted at her, portraying the affable, sympathetic persona she previously knew.
“But Skip it’s not that I wouldn’t have gone out with you. I don’t go out with any boys. I don’t have time, with my ballet and everything.” She managed a conciliatory smile and sympathetic expression.
Yowling like a wild beast, he thrust his face up to hers, breath stale and stinking. “So who’s the big hero with you, then? If it wasn’t for him, we would have been together on Sunday night a couple of weeks ago. But no, he had to stick his nose in, didn’t he?”
She blinked, her head reeling. It had been Skip who grabbed her on the street that night after yoga class. She evicted the thought from her mind. “But Skip, I’m not going out with him. He’s just a friend.”
“You’re lying. You lying bitch!”
Jessie’s face stung with the venom he spat on each word. As Skip leered at her throat and décolletage, her heart hammered, as desperate to be free as she was. She forced her voice to sound calm as she redirected the conversation. “But Skip, what happened with your old school friend who was coming to visit for the holidays? What was her name again? Chrissy?”
He barked a cynical laugh. “Chrissy. That was just to get you interested. I thought if I talked about a female friend of mine, you might like to meet her? Then, when you agreed, you and I could be alone.”
“So there was no Chrissy?”
“Oh, there was a Chrissy.” Another sinister laugh burst from his mouth. “A long time ago. She was a right bitch, that one. A stuck-up ballet dancer she was.” Jessie bit her lip, wishing she’d never mentioned it. “We were in the same class at school and when I asked her out, she laughed at me, in front of everyone. Bitch! But I showed her. She didn’t go out with me, but she didn’t go home either.” His watery blue eyes danced maliciously. Then he leaned over and licked Jessie’s cheek. The same repulsive saliva which sealed his love letter in its pretty pink envelope was now sealing her fate. “But you’re not like her are you, Jessie?”
“No. No. Of course not, Skip. Not like Chrissy at all. I’d be happy to go out with you.”
Skip slid his index finger down to the top button of her blouse, then along the inner lining of her bra and whispered in a sing-song voice, “That makes me happy, Jessie. Very happy.” Choking dryness corked her mouth. All she could do was grit her teeth. Ignore his touch. “Now, I have something for you, which I hope will make you happy.” A secretive smirk curled his lips. He leaped down from the ledge, in willowy, agile movements. Not like the clumsy, awkward movements she remembered from the restaurant. He was a brilliant actor. He could have been a star on the stage rather than a psychotic kidnapper. Skip pulled his “gift” out from behind a nearby rock and presented it on a clothes hanger. She sucked in air and moaned.
“These are for you, Jessie. Put them on.” Swinging on the hanger were her apricot G-string and bra.
“Skip…” Words failed her as he picked up her G-string, wrapped his disgusting tongue around them and sucked. “I’ve had your knickers inside mine, getting myself ready for you. You taste so delicious.” Wanton lust flamed in his eyes. Then he roared. “Now put them on.”
“Skip, can’t we just talk about…” Oh God. I can’t breathe. Oh God. I…
“Now!” As the bellow of Skip’s voice thundered in the cave, the world spun, and she collapsed.
Chapter 31
Actually, I’m kind of pleased she fainted. It’s been go, go, go since I got to this God-forsaken place, and I need a good night’s sleep. I’ll pour a little more sleepy-bye drug on this cloth to help her along. She can do the underwear modelling and everything else I’ve got planned when we’re both fresh tomorrow. There, she’s stopped squirming…and a bit more for good measure. “Breathe deep, Jessie. That’s a good girl.”
Look how pretty she is. I think all women are prettier when they’re asleep. No talking, no complaining, no nagging. And their eyes are closed as well, so they can’t see what you’re doing. She’s so fast asleep she doesn’t even know what’s happening. I’ll just explore a little bit, not too much. I don’t want to spoil things for tomorrow. Oh, her breasts are so warm and soft. When I cup them in my hands they’re just right. Like Goldilocks, Jessie is just right. Look how her nipples bud when I squeeze them. They want me, I know it. And my cock wants her too. It’s so hungry and hard, but I don’t dare touch myself. I’ll leave that for Jessie to do, tomorrow. But a peek under her skirt couldn’t hurt. See how her legs meet at the top under those pretty white knickers. If I take a big breath I can smell her sex, calling out to me. She’s ripe for the picking. How I would love to touch her, to suck all the sweetness out of her. Slurp until she goes dry. But it’s no fun if she doesn’t know what’s going on. Much more fun when she’s awake and able to enjoy it. Much more fun.
I wonder what happened to the big hero. I got the best of him, I did. The dancer’s mine now, and he’s missed out. He’ll be going crazy trying to work out what went wrong. Well, I can tell him what went wrong in his bloody life… Skip Norton, the genius.
“Good night, Jessie. I’m going back to my motel to get some sleep.”
She’ll be safe here. I’ll put this blanket over her and a pillow under her head. I don’t think the rats will nibble her. She’s too warm. There, I’ve tucked her toes in. She looks like a fairy tale princess waiting for her prince to return.
“I’m blowing out the candles now, Jessie. You sleep tight. No one will find you here. I’ll be back with breakfast in the morning. Then you and I can get down to some serious business. Good night, my lovely dancer.”
Chapter 32
BJ hurtled on until he crested the ridge where he saw the vehicle disappear. Jamming on the brakes, his eyes scanned the landscape. Nothing but distant lights glimmered from homesteads dotting the hillside. He’d lost them. He’d lost Jessie. Fuck! He flung open his car door and jumped onto the road. He grabbed the small pair of night binoculars from his vest and strained to see through them. It was no good. He had no idea where they went or whether they were near or far. Raking his hands through his hair, he lifted his face to the sky and roared like a mighty lion wounded in battle. He yielded to his anguish and guilt, but only for a moment before leaping back into fray. Vaulting into the Jeep, he spun it around and sped back to Coodravale.
Careering down the driveway, he saw Joanna and Richard standing at the front door. On stopping, BJ released Whiskey from the back.
“Brad, whatever is going on?” A tight frown creased Joanna’s brow.
“Jessie’s been taken. I need to use the phone.” Striding past them, he entered the main residence, heading for the landline telephone.
“Taken? What do you mean taken?” She followed behind him, her voice shrill and panicked.
“Probably, the stalker who broke into her unit. I don’t know. She wasn’t in the Garden Wing when I returned from speaking with you. I went searching for her, but she was gone.” As his hand reached for the phone, he regarded the pained disbelief creasing Joanna’s and Richard’s faces. He’d seen that look on his mother’s face when they’d hauled Tony from the swimming pool. It was the same look on his father’s face the day he’d left him and his mother standing at the front door. He’d let them down. He promised to look after Jessie, but he’d let them down. “I have to make some calls.
I’ll put it on hands-free so you can listen in.” His fingers jabbed the keys. Relief washed over him when the phone line connected. “Ricky, is that you?”
“Buddy. I was just about to call you…”
“I’ve got you on hands-free, mate. We’ve got a problem.”
“What is it?”
“Jessie’s been taken.”
“Shit. When?”
“About an hour ago.”
“This might help. I’ve just got off the phone with Angel. It seems the cops found a decent set of prints on an empty Coke bottle thrown into the street garden outside of Jessie’s building.”
“Go on.”
“Ron Jacobs, the gardener, found it after the cops questioned him. When they put the finger prints through the system, they flagged as prints from a closed file.”
“Closed file? What do you mean?”
“A juvenile file from years ago. Because the guy was underage, the authorities closed the file.”
“So how does that help me?”
“Angel got the file opened.”
Good for you, Angel. “And?”
“Seems this kid had a history of animal cruelty and possibly murder. He wasn’t convicted of anything, but a lot of evidence pointed to him with the drowning of a young girl from his school who was a ballet dancer, a Chrissy Potomac. It was deemed an accidental death, but suspicion sat heavily with the kid. They couldn’t prove anything though.”
“What’s his name?”
“Skip Norton. But get this…he works as a waiter at the restaurant Jessie and Jasmine go to. Jasmine’s with me now, and she’s told me all about him.”
“What’s he look like?”
“In his early to mid-twenties, red hair, freckles, strange-looking blue eyes, stutters. He’s not all there in Jasmine’s opinion.”
Throughout the conversation, BJ watched Joanna and Richard while his mind pieced together possible scenarios. When Richard’s face paled, he knew something was wrong.
“What is it, Richard? What?”
“That sounds like a guy who picked me up at Rosie’s Café the other day…”
“Picked you up?” said Joanna, aghast.
“Not now, Mum. He said his name was Peter. Didn’t give a last name. Said he lived in Melbourne and was here on a mini holiday.”
“And?”
“He wanted to know where I lived, and…” A patsy expression of shock settled on Richard’s face as he recalled the meeting. “Oh, God. Aside from me telling him where we live and how to get here, he wanted to know about nearby limestone caves. Which ones were open to the public, which ones weren’t and how to get to them? Oh, God. I led him right to Jess.”
“Don’t worry about that now,” interrupted BJ. “What else did he say? Think.”
“He said he was staying in a motel in town. He didn’t say which one though…”
“Okay. So he introduced himself only as Peter and he’s staying in town. Have you got that, Ricky?”
“Yeah, I’ve got it. I’ll get onto Angel now to alert the Yass police. What are you going to do?”
“I’ll go through what Richard said about the caves around here and see if we can narrow it down. If not, I’m going into town to find this motherfucker.” He glanced an apology to Joanna.
“Just don’t kill him, buddy. Okay?”
“Got it. Later...” He ended the call and turned to Joanna. “Mrs Hilton, have you got a map of the area?”
“I think so. Ken used to keep maps in the hall dresser. And for God’s sake, call me Joanna.” She rifled through the drawer, grabbed the map and handed it to BJ.
“All right. Dining room.” He led the way with Joanna and Richard trying to keep up. She snatched the centrepiece away as he laid out the map. BJ hunched over the table, hands spread wide. His gaze fused with Richard. “Speak to me. Tell me word for word whatever you can remember about this sicko.”
“Well, I told him about the limestone caves here.” He pointed to a crescent on the map, not far from Coodravale.
“Right. Where else?”
“There’re also a couple of caves up over the ridge. Here.” As his index finger marked the spot, BJ knew this was the direction in which he saw the brake lights disappear.
“That’s it. Tell me more.”
“Well, there’s an old cave system there that stretches back into the rock. The entrance is difficult to find unless you know what you’re looking for. Jess and I used to go up there with Dad when we were kids. Only the locals know about it.”
“Not any more. My gut tells me that’s where he’s taken her.” He gripped Richard’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I shouldn’t have left her alone.”
“There’s no one to blame here except the man who took her,” said Joanna. “So what are we going to do?”
“We’re going to find Jessie. Richard, you’re going to get some gear together for me. I’ll tell you what I need. And Joanna, you’re going to go into the Garden Wing and find me some more of Jessie’s clothes. They need to have been worn. Preferably smelling of her so Whiskey can get a strong scent. Take a pair of tongs with you to pick them up and a zip lock bag to put them in. I don’t want your scent on them. Okay? Let’s go.”
As Joanna turned to leave, she locked him in a steely stare. “By the way, who are you really, Brad?”
“I used to be Lance Corporal Brad Jordan, sniper in the SAS, ma’am.”
“Doesn’t surprise me one bit.” A relieved smile lit her face as she hurried off.
“Right, Richard. Let’s get to it.”
Chapter 33
As Jessie regained consciousness for the second time in her inky tomb, she knew exactly what her future held. No longer concerned with the principal role in the Australian Ballet Company, she gritted her teeth for a far greater role—to stay alive. With no idea how long she’d been comatose this time, she shook off the drug’s impact, determined to escape. Noting she still remained free and unsecured, she considered her prospects. Motionless, she listened, her hearing acute. Aside from the rhythmic beat of dripping water smacking the cave floor, she could hear nothing else. On top of her rested a blanket, under her head, a pillow. Not the sort of thing he’d do…unless he’d left and planned to return later. Bastard! Does he think I’m just going to wait here and play victim until he comes back? Well, he’s got the wrong girl!
Outraged at Skip’s arrogance and fuelled by defiant self-preservation, Jessie leaped into action. Sitting up, she yanked off the blanket and removed her blouse. Tugging it with all her strength, she managed to rip it into two pieces which she wrapped around each hand as protection against the sharp edges of limestone. A little dizzy, she paused to rebalance her inner ear. Bracing herself, she visualised in her mind’s eye what she remembered of the cave. Once ready, she secured the pillow in her teeth and threw the blanket to the ground below. Wiggling to the edge of the ledge, she dangled her legs, spun on her bottom and let go. Thud! She hit harder than expected. She realised that because she couldn’t see, she had no depth of vision. The jolt twinged her ankles, but it was nothing a good rub wouldn’t fix.
Deciding on a more cautious approach, she remained on her hands and knees and shuffled to her right so she faced in the direction of where Skip had entered. Leaning back on her bottom, she removed her knickers and used them to secure the pillow to her head like a miner’s helmet. She held onto a corner of the blanket, tossed it in front of her and waited for it to settle to the ground. With pain-staking care, she crawled over the blanket, keeping her head lowered so the pillow would take the first impact if she crept into anything. Repeating this laborious process, she inched her way along the cave’s floor. On each occasion when the limestone scratched or bit her, she cursed. But the pain was little price to pay for freedom. Her father had taught her that if she ever got lost in a limestone cave it was pointless calling for help. Sound doesn’t echo or carry in the caves. So all she could do was continue in her slow procession with the blanket, praying she
hadn’t taken a wrong turn and was heading deeper into the cave system.
Thirst roared in her throat giving way to a sinking feeling of fear. In the suffocating darkness and unable to see or run away, she was transported back to her recurring nightmares. The unending darkness, the whispered threats in her ear, the hands touching her. Calm down, calm down. But fantasy and reality blurred. Overcome with confusion and terror, she cried out. Her arms flailed into the air, scraping against nearby limestone columns which tore off skin as effortlessly as coral branches. The smarting pain brought Jessie back from her twilight zone with a sudden shock. Thick, warm blood smeared her arms and confirmed the damage. She dabbed her wounds as best she could so as not to leave a blood trail, for either Skip or the rats. Despite everything, she was determined to get out. She would not die in this hell hole.
Rubbing a bandaged hand across her leaking eyes, she blinked to clear them of grit. Self-pity sobbed from her mouth, but she crawled on. Suddenly, ahead, light filtered from above. A daylight hole. They open to the ground above, her father had explained. Sometimes, they can be big enough for a person to climb through. Daylight meant hope. It also meant she could make out her surroundings a little easier as precious shards of shadowy light spilled downward. It’s not daytime yet. Maybe just coming dawn.
Encouraged by this new turn of events and now able to discern shapes more easily, she gingerly stood up. Still using the blanket to protect her feet, she shuffled closer towards the light cast by the hole and peered upward. This was her only option. To continue through the tunnel meant she would lose all light and possibly run straight into Skip on his return. Climbing up and through the daylight hole was her only feasible, timely means of escape.
She clenched her fists, readying herself for the dangerous, painful climb. With only a thin skirt and bra protecting her body, and her hands bandaged in her ripped blouse, she reassessed the pillow’s usefulness. Deciding to discard it, she stepped back into her knickers. The cotton blanket was easily sacrificed on an especially sharp edge of limestone as she hacked it into enough pieces to fashion primitive footwear. She knew none of what covered her body would be much protection. It would be her dancer’s training—her agility, strength and balance, which would be her greatest assets.
Retribution: Who would you kill to escape your past? Page 17