It Takes Two

by Haden, Ross;

  Contents

  1

  Among the stars – Part 1

  Jean-Paul Willemse

  2

  Among the stars – Part 2

  Maire Fisher

  3

  The red necklace

  Mzimkhulu Mackenzie

  4

  Sister trouble

  Helen Brain

  5

  Truth or dare

  Zikhona Gwadiso

  6

  Second time lucky

  Michelle Faure

  7

  Damage

  Sonwabiso Ngcowa

  8

  Free at last!

  Asavela Peko

  9

  Torn Apart

  Phoebe Sibomana

  10

  Payback

  Joanne Hichens

  Author Photos

  Mentoring our future writers

  1

  AMONG THE STARS – PART 1

  Jean-Paul Willemse

  Peter Cho strolled down an empty street. He found comfort in the solitude. Recently his life had been an endless barrage of questions, decisions he could not make.

  “But with results like yours, you could do anything, son.” His father’s puzzled face. “What about astrophysics? Your teachers, they all say …”

  “Leave the boy alone.” His mother’s worried voice.

  His friends hounded him about girls. “Why don’t you get a girlfriend, man? You’re always so alone. Some female action will do you good.” Philip was always concerned with girls, Peter wasn’t. All the girls he met were too interested in the Kardashians or who won Idols. Peter was indifferent to their pitiful attempts at being cool. They were pathetic sheep and their bleating was too loud.

  He needed to be somewhere quiet, away from everything. The ad in the local newspaper had been a godsend. So here he was, in Mitchells Plain, house-sitting for some bored couple who had decided to get away from the charms of suburban bliss. And it was bliss. The house was fully equipped for a teenager who had just finished school. It had motorised gates, heated flooring and an ice-maker in the fridge for lonely nightcaps.

  Peter wandered aimlessly, his shoulders hunched, trying to ignore the cold wind knifing through his thin hoodie. ‘Mind over body.’ That’s what the years at the dojo had taught him, and patience, and vigilance. Scoring eight As for Matric, and learning ju-jitsu, were the only parts of his high-school career he’d really enjoyed. When it came to the other stuff, the more he learned, the more pointless it all seemed. And now that his secondary education was completed, he floated in limbo. Above him were the expectations of his parents, and below was his faith, slowly dwindling as he realised the vast emptiness of the universe. His cynicism stretched to all aspects of his life.

  Sound suddenly jangled on the night air. His cellphone.

  “Hello.”

  “Hello, Peter. It’s Mr Wilson. Any trouble so far?”

  “No. Everything is fine. You have a wonderful home.”

  “Oh, yes. Thank you. Just to remind you of the ground rules: no friends in the house and no using the telephone. But I’m sure you have plenty of airtime?”

  “Yes, Mr Wilson.”

  “Another thing. If you need any help, call our neighbour, Mrs Pryce. She has also agreed to check in every few days.”

  “OK, thanks Mr Wilson. Enjoy your holiday.”

  Peter checked his airtime and slid his phone into his pocket. A new reason to hate his life. No airtime for the next week. He did not want to ask his parents for money. They’d give it to him, but he’d be made to feel guilty. He had to find a job, he knew that. Something to keep him occupied while he did some soul-searching. But as far as he could tell his soul was somewhere hidden among the stars. He looked up, but he could only see clouds, shrouding the full moon.

  Just ahead of him a small park spanned the block. Two lonely swings and a slide. It was a depressing sight for anyone older than five. He crossed through it, remembering the name of the road it was on. He didn’t want to get lost on his first night in the area. The frost on the grass crunched under his feet. As he stepped onto the blackness of the tar road, a flash of movement caught his eye. A figure was running towards him.

  Whoever it was ran with a rhythm tuned to desperation. Peter watched as the runner came closer. His breath quickened, sending small puffs of vapour into the freezing air. The figure was a few metres away. A girl. She was beautiful, but filthy. Her feet were bare, her jeans were torn and her hair was a mess.

  Peter measured up the girl. She looked like trouble. He didn’t know what to do. “What if she’s luring me into some kind of trap?” he thought. He took her measure again once she was up close, looked in her eyes and noticed how scared she looked. He shrugged off his suspicions. This girl needed his help.

  Peter struggled for words, squeezed a few out: “Are you OK?”

  ~•~

  The clouds cleared and the moon shone out. The wind died down and the harsh sound of the girl’s breathing echoed through the night. She was probably trouble, but Peter couldn’t leave her here. He might be indifferent to annoying ‘sheep’ girls, but he couldn’t ignore a girl who was obviously hurt.

  Peter looked at her closely. Her jeans were slashed at the sides as if she had climbed out of a broken window. She looked like she hadn’t washed for a while and her eyes were wild, like an animal that wasn’t used to human interaction. “What’s the matter?”

  “I need your help.” Her voice was ragged and it seemed as if she was going to pass out at any minute.

  “Ja, but what happened? Are you hurt? Is someone chasing you?”

  “I … I don’t know.” She looked over her shoulder, then back at him, her eyes glistening. “I escaped. I don’t think he knows I’m gone.”

  “He? What are you talking about? Who did this to you?”

  “We need to get out of this street. Quickly. Before he knows I’m gone.”

  The girl grabbed Peter by the arm and shoved him back across the road into the park. Her grip was strong. She had a drive that only fear could inspire.

  “Wait!” Peter said as the girl speeded up. He stopped and turned her towards him.

  “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on.”

  “He kidnapped me. We need to get somewhere safe. Now!”

  “OK, OK.” Peter lowered his voice, the way he did when his dog was freaked out by thunder. “Take it easy. Calm down. What’s your name?”

  “Melissa.”

  “Good. I’m Peter. Look, I’ll take you to my place. You’ll be safe there.”

  “Thanks, Peter. Come on – quickly.”

  They walked at a brisk pace towards the Wilson residence. The longer they walked the more doubtful Peter grew. Melissa looked traumatised and he had no doubt that she had gone through something, but he needed details.

  “How did you escape?” he asked.

  She stopped walking and looked at him anxiously. Her face was grey with fear. “Please. We don’t have time for this!”

  “Yes we do. I’m trying to help you. I need to know what happened.”

  “I got away. That’s all that matters right now.”

  Tears were running down her cheeks, streaking them silver in the moonlight. Any further prodding and this chick was going to go mental. “OK, let’s just get to the house.” He motioned for her to continue walking.

  They hurried on silently until they reached a street named Crowley. Melissa gasped as she saw the street sign and walked even faster. Peter had to jog to keep up.

  “Do you know
this place?” he said breathlessly.

  “I … I … don’t know. There’s something … Let’s just get through here quickly.”

  Peter wondered what time it was. It was really cold now, one of those icy, crisp, Cape Town winter nights. There might even be snow on the Hottentots Holland mountains in the morning. But for now, they had a warm house waiting for them. It would be even warmer when he figured out how the heating system worked. They entered and Peter immediately went to the thermostat and fiddled with the knobs.

  “That should work,” he said.

  Melissa lingered in the doorway.

  “You must be freezing,” Peter waved her in. “Come, sit down.”

  She chose to sit on the couch closest to the door.

  Peter rubbed his hands together and checked the thermostat again. “Maybe there’s another control,” he muttered, looking at the dial.

  Melissa rubbed one grimy foot over the other and shivered.

  “Are you still cold?” Peter asked.

  She started at the sound of his voice. “No. Just scared. He’s out there. I know it.”

  “Would you like something to drink?”

  “No.”

  “OK. Well, the best thing to do now is to call the police.”

  “No!” she yelled. Her earlier desperation was back.

  Peter didn’t want to spook her any further. “Fine, we’ll just talk.”

  ~•~

  Peter sat on the couch. Melisa’s outburst made him feel uneasy. He smiled nervously. “Are you sure you don’t need anything?” he asked.

  “No, it’s … I’m fine. Thanks for helping me.”

  “I didn’t do much. You practically dragged me along with you.”

  “Yes, but you listened. You believed me …” Melissa’s voice faded into a whisper.

  “Hey, tell me something about yourself,” Peter tried to change the subject. He did not want her getting all emotional again.

  “Like what?”

  “What’s your surname?”

  “It’s funny actually. My surname is Peters and your name is Peter.”

  Peter didn’t find it particularly funny, but he was glad that she saw humour in something.

  “What are we going to do now?” he asked.

  “Promise me you won’t call the police.”

  “I promise, Miss Peters. Melissa.”

  “You know, sometimes I didn’t know whether it was day or night. I hoped that he would just come in and kill me. But he just kept me there like I was some kind of trophy. I had to get out.”

  “Well, you’re safe now. Why can’t I phone the police?”

  “He has friends. He has friends everywhere.”

  “He’s not my friend. I don’t even know him.”

  “Thanks. But I can’t go to the police. He’ll hurt my family.”

  “Who is this guy?”

  Melissa looked away for the first time since they had started talking.

  “He’s sick man, that’s who he is. He tortured me. Found it funny when I screamed.” Melissa’s voice was quiet and small. “He raped me, over and over again. He tied my hands and gagged me. I wanted to die.” She spoke mechanically as if the events she was describing had happened to someone else.

  Peter was stunned. This girl had gone through hell, far worse than anything he’d expected. She had flung his life into a melodrama and he’d become one of the main characters. He wanted to escape, but that wasn’t an option. He had to help her, somehow. But how? What was he supposed to do? Especially if she was freaked out about the police? He needed some advice. “Melissa, I need the bathroom. Excuse me.”

  Melissa was staring into space, her face a frozen mask. Had she even heard him?

  Peter headed towards the kitchen where the telephone hung. Using the phone, letting someone into the house. Breaking all the rules. Somehow they didn’t seem all that important. He picked up the phone and punched in Philip’s number.

  His best friend answered.

  Peter was relieved to hear a familiar voice. This chick really had him feeling freaked out.

  “Yo, bra. I need your help.”

  “Who is this?”

  “It’s Peter.”

  “Oh, Peter. Sorry, bra, didn’t recognise the number. What’s happening? How’s the Plain?”

  “Not kwaai. There’s this chick in the living room. Says that she was kidnapped.”

  “Is she hot?”

  Typical Philip. He’d be making jokes at his own funeral.

  “Ja, but this is serious, bra. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Phone the cops. Let them handle it.”

  “Ja, but she says …”

  The door opened. Melissa was standing there, a shocked look on her face. Peter hung up the phone slowly. He had done something horribly wrong. He had betrayed her.

  “Who were you calling?” Melissa said in a soft voice.

  “A friend,” Peter replied. “I was asking him for help.”

  He hoped that the truth would reassure her. It did not.

  “Don’t lie!”

  “I’m not lying. You can trust me, Melissa.”

  She laughed, but her eyes were empty, like someone had scooped all hope from them. “I thought I could, but you’re just like him! I thought I could trust him too!”

  Peter could not speak.

  Melissa turned around and headed for the front door.

  “Melissa, wait!” he yelled. “I can help you.”

  “You have no idea what Cupido is capable of!”

  “Let me help you.”

  “No one can help me!”

  She wrenched the door open and ran off, leaving the door ajar. Icy outside air filled the house. Peter stood still for a minute, uncertain. She had asked for his help and he’d treated her like a crazy person. He needed to find her. He ran out of the house, down to the end of the road and retraced the way they had come.

  Melissa Peters was nowhere to be seen.

  ~•~

  Peter ran back to the house. His mind was racing. Millions of thoughts like spiders crawled over his brain. He rushed to the kitchen and picked up the phone. The police would know what to do. He took a deep breath and shook off the spiders. What did he have to say? He had nothing. The girl had disappeared and the police wouldn’t believe a teenager without an adult around. He put the phone back in its cradle and leaned against the wall

  So much for three weeks of peace and easy money. Peter’s night had descended into chaos. A leisurely stroll through the neighbourhood had turned into a quest to help a kidnapped girl. That’s if she had been kidnapped. He stood in the front yard chewing his lip. Who was this girl? She’d shown a desperation and courage that Peter had only witnessed in the movies. And then, like an idiot, he had let her down. He looked up at the stars and made a vow. He was going to find her and help her through her trauma, whether she trusted him or not.

  He checked the time on his phone. Just before ten. He looked over to the neighbour’s house. The lights were still on. Maybe Mrs Pryce would know who the Peters were. He locked up the house and headed next door. He’d have to be careful not to mention Melissa. He couldn’t betray her twice in one evening. He rang the doorbell and was surprised to get a quick answer. The door opened and an attractive woman in her forties answered. She was wearing an oriental dressing gown.

  “Yes?”

  Peter swallowed. His first night house-sitting and already he had a problem. “Good evening. I’m sorry to disturb you.”

  “It’s fine. I was just watching some TV.”

  “Good, um … I’m Peter. I’m looking after the Wilsons’ house. I need to ask you something.”

  “Oh hello, Peter.” Mrs Pryce looked him up and down and smiled. “Mr Wilson told me about you, but he didn’t say how handsome you a
re. I’m Wilma Pryce. Nice to meet you.”

  Peter swallowed again. He shook Wilma’s outstretched hand. Her grip was loose, but her hand was warm, and she let it linger in his. Was she flirting with him? He stepped back and spoke seriously.

  “Nice to meet you too, Mrs Pryce. I found a letter in the post box earlier and it’s addressed to a Mr Peters. Do you know where he lives?”

  “That must be the Peters in Crowley Street.”

  Peter’s heart jumped. The street sign that had freaked Melissa out. First proof that she’d been telling the truth. “Yes,” he said, “that’s probably them.”

  “Well, they live just a few streets down. Number thirty-four, I think. The postman’s always mixing mail up. We’re Cowling Street. But you’re not planning on going there now? Isn’t it rather … late?” She smiled at Peter again.

  “Um … no – I mean, yes. I mean, thank you, Mrs Pryce.”

  “No problem, Peter … and it’s Wilma. Pop in any time. My husband works nights.”

  Peter shifted uncomfortably. Wilma sensed his discomfort and leaned close to him.

  “Don’t be scared, Peter. I don’t bite,” she said. Peter could feel her warm breath on his cheek. She was getting too close.

  “I really have to go now, Mrs Pry– I mean Wilma. It was nice meeting you.” Peter backed up, almost falling off the stoep.

  “Goodnight, sweetie.” She smiled seductively at him.

  Peter hurried off the stoep. He didn’t trust Mrs Pryce not to eat him whole.

  But his query had been worth it. He’d found out where Melissa lived. It was all beginning to make some weird sort of sense.

  His need to find Melissa grew more urgent as he began his journey to the Peters’ residence. He replayed all the information he had got from her. Her kidnapper had raped her, his name was Cupido and he was apparently very influential.

  All Peter’s own worries – what to do with his life, how to do his own thing without hurting his parents – paled in comparison to what Melissa had gone through.

  He reached Crowley Street and walked along until he saw number thirty-four. The lights were still on. Nervousness grew tentacles in his stomach. Either Melissa was here, or the kidnapper was – or worse.

  Peter Cho stepped up to the door and rang the bell.