by Haden, Ross;
~•~
The door opened and an old man appeared, probably Melissa’s grandfather. He was fully dressed, but his face was creased, the way Peter’s father’s was when he fell asleep in his chair. Peter struggled to find words to explain to the man why he was there so late at night. It might be a better idea not to lead straight into it with the truth. The man might think he was crazy.
“Good evening, sir.”
“Do you have any idea what time it is, young man?”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“You better be. What is this about? And who are you?”
The ou toppie was clearly in a bad mood. Peter had to be careful about how much he revealed to him. He needed to get inside to find out more.
“My name is Peter and I’m here to talk about Melissa.”
The old man reeled back, as if Peter had slapped him. “What? What about her?”
“This is very important, sir. May I come in?” Peter stared grimly into the man’s face.
“OK, OK. I’m not sure what this is about … but come in.”
The house smelt like old people. A musty smell that reminded young people that death was a reality. Peter stood uneasily in the living room. He waited for the old man to sit down before he sat on the couch closest to the door. It was warmer here than at the Wilsons’ house. Muggy warm, like the windows weren’t opened often.
“So, what is so important?”
“Sir, earlier this evening I was walking through the neighbourhood. I thought I was going to have a quiet evening, but then I ran into a girl – or rather she ran into me. She told me that she had been taken by someone.”
“Taken?”
“Yes, sir. Kidnapped, she said.”
“So?”
“Well, I took her to this house I am looking after, but she got upset and ran out. Now I’m looking for her.”
“Here? And you’re telling me this girl – you think the girl is Melissa?”
“I know it is Melissa, sir.”
An older woman entered the living room. The musty smell doubled as she sat on the couch next to the old man. Melissa’s grandmother. She looked less confused than the old man, but she was more upset.
“What’s going on here?” she asked.
“Nothing. This young man is clearly confused. He thinks he saw Melissa tonight.”
Again, a shocked reaction, like Peter had torn the old lady’s heart out of her chest. “What makes you think that?”
Peter looked at the old couple on the couch. Their certainty that he was mistaken was unnerving. The only thing he could do was keep calm. He answered with a question.
“Is your surname Peters, Ma’am?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s what she told me her name was.” Peter could not contain his frustration. “I’m telling you, I saw Melissa Peters this evening!”
The old man started forward, his eyes bulging. If he’d had a shotgun he’d have blasted it right in Peter’s face by now. His wife looked down at her lap as if she was afraid to meet Peter’s eyes.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” The old man’s tone was hostile and cold.
“I apologise. It’s been a long night.”
“Just leave, before I throw you out!”
The old man’s raised voice blasted through the house. A girl appeared from somewhere deeper in the house and stared at Peter. Peter blinked and then blinked again. This chick looked like Melissa, but it definitely wasn’t her. For starters her clothes were cleaner. She had shoes on and her eyes were rebellious.
“Go back to your room, girlie!” the old man commanded. “This doesn’t concern you.”
“If it’s about Melissa, it does.”
The rebellious girl was obviously not cowed by the old man. She looked determined to stay. The old man folded as he turned away from Peter. His anger seemed to transfer to the girl as he opened his mouth to shout at her. But before he could get his words out she took a step towards Peter.
“What do you know about Melissa?” she demanded.
Peter was in deep now.
~•~
The girl’s stare burned into Peter’s soul. Her eyes boiled as if Peter had insulted her Matric dance dress. Peter stared back at her, speechless. She turned her eyes away and sat on the couch right next to Peter. His discomfort quickly worsened as the ‘rebel girl’ spoke.
“I asked you a question. Are you deaf, dumb or just an idiot?”
“What’s your problem?” Peter asked sharply. This was getting beyond a joke. He was here to help these people and they were treating him like he had done something really bad.
“Just answer me.”
“She told me she’d been kidnapped by some ou.”
The old man stood up and grabbed Peter. “What is this? Some kind of sick game you play? Do you like toying with people’s emotions?” Angry spit landed on Peter’s face. He was scared for the first time that evening. The Rebel Girl leapt up to separate the two of them.
The old lady sat frozen on the couch, her gaze on the floor as if the dirty carpet was the only thing affecting her.
“Look. You have to believe me. Melissa told me she was taken, kidnapped, by some guy. She called him Cupido.”
“Cupido?” Rebel Girl asked. She looked at her grandparents in confusion. “You’re sure that’s what she said?”
“Yes. He tortured her. I just want to find her and help her.”
“And you’re sure you saw her tonight?”
“Ja. Listen, I really didn’t come here to speak to you. It’s Melissa I wanted to see. To make sure she’s all right. She didn’t want me to call the police. Is she here or not?”
Another confused look. Rebel Girl spoke slowly. “She’s not. She hasn’t been here for a while.”
“What do you mean?” This was getting weirder and weirder. The old couple and Rebel Girl had sad looks on their faces. It was as if they were remembering something terrible, and Peter had caused it. He sat back down and asked again: “What do you mean?”
The old man started sobbing. “It is impossible that you saw her. Just impossible!”
“Impossible? But I’ve just told you I did. And she’s in danger. Look,” said Peter, gabbling now, trying to make them realise how serious this whole thing was, “we need to move quickly. She wouldn’t let me call the police, but maybe –”
The old man laid his hand on Peter’s arm. “Son, I can see now that you mean well. I can see you’re a good boy. But there’s nothing we can do. Melissa has been missing for over twenty years.”
“What?” Peter stared at the old man. Had he heard correctly? “But, that’s impossible. The girl I met was young.” He looked at Rebel Girl. “About your age.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what’s going on here.”
“You’d better start again,” Rebel Girl said. At least she didn’t look like she wanted to punch him senseless any more.
Peter ran over what he’d already told them, stressing Melissa’s age, her appearance, and most of all, her frantic fear. “She said she thought she could trust him,” he ended. “Do you know this Cupido?”
The girl guided the old man to a chair and patted him gently on his back. “Mr Cupido was our neighbour.” She spoke in a serious tone. “And you’re telling me he took her?”
“Yes. I’m sorry.”
“Wait here.” She ran from the room and returned a minute later carrying a large flat box with ‘Melissa’ written on it in curly letters. She sat next to Peter and slid out a photo album. She opened it and pointed at a photograph.
“Is this the girl you saw?”
“Yes.”
It was Melissa. No doubt about it. Her hair was big. Her jeans high-waisted. She’d stepped right out of the late eighties. The photo had faded but her eyes were as brilliant as ever.
“Oh, God
.”
The tears were tragic. Rebel Girl’s bravado dissolved into an ocean of sorrow. Peter wanted to comfort her, but he was afraid.
“Melissa was my aunt.” The girl’s voice was quiet. “I never met her. She disappeared before I was born. The police finally told my grandparents that they should give up; that Melissa was probably dead.”
Melissa. Missing for twenty years? Probably dead? But he’d seen her, just a few hours ago.
At least they all believed him now. The mood in the room had changed. Everything felt calmer. And deeply sad.
~•~
Rebel Girl wiped her tears away and smiled at Peter. “Thank you.”
“For what?” Peter said.
“Ever since I was little I wondered what happened to her.” She glanced at her grandparents. “I can’t believe it was Mr Cupido. How could he have done this? He was always so nice to me. He never raised his voice to me, and he was always concerned about how I felt about Melissa. He told me stories about her and how they worked at the church together. I can’t believe it … and he was a father. His son Selvin still lives next door.”
“Was? Where is he now? Old Mr Cupido?”
“Dead. He died last year. We went to the funeral. I can’t believe this. Does this mean he’s got away with murdering my aunt?”
Rebel Girl’s sadness disappeared and was replaced with fury. It was like she wanted Mr Cupido to be dead, but she was disappointed that she hadn’t been able to be the one to kill him.
“Dirty old bastard. Death is not enough punishment!” Rebel Girl spat.
“Don’t talk like that, girlie. You must have respect for the dead,” said the old man.
“He didn’t respect Melissa! He killed her, Oupie. I don’t have an aunt!”
The old man kept quiet. Rebel Girl’s rage was uncontrollable. Peter stepped closer to her and put his hand on her shoulder. He wanted to comfort her.
“What’s your name?” Peter asked her.
“Charlene.”
“Awesome. Now I can stop thinking of you as ‘Rebel Girl’.”
Charlene smiled. His attempt at humour worked on her. Her shoulders eased up. Her rage faded.
“Well, sir, what are you going to do about this new information?” Peter asked the old man politely.
“We need some time to think about everything. I don’t want to rush this.”
“I understand.” Peter turned to Charlene. “Do you have a pen and paper?”
She rummaged in a rucksack on the dining table.
Peter scribbled on the piece of paper she handed him. “Here’s my number in case you want to file a report.”
“Thank you.” Mr Peters shook his hand firmly. “Sorry about yelling earlier.”
“Do you have a shotgun?” Peter asked.
“No. Why?”
“No reason.”
Peter stood up. He was ready to leave. The night had turned into bundle of awkward conversations and illogical leaps.
“You’re weird, aren’t you?” Charlene asked.
“Kind of, but I usually don’t communicate with the ‘presumed dead’. That’s new.”
“I’m sure.”
Her smile burnt more than her stare, but Peter did not mind this heat. Her radiance was intense, but he wanted more. He walked to the door and Charlene followed.
“I’m glad we have your number,” she said.
“Why? You want to date me?”
“Maybe. I’m attracted to guys who talk to my dead aunt.”
Peter looked back at the house and saw Charlene at the window. She was watching him leave. He waved at her. She smiled and waved back. He turned around and headed back to the Wilson residence. He hoped that he would see her again.
The coldness of the night did not bother him any more. Why had Melissa chosen him? Why hadn’t she let him know she was dead?
He ran through all the events of the evening: a ghost, a flirty middle-aged woman and an angry old man. These were all significant encounters, but he thought about Rebel Girl Charlene the most. Was she the reason Melissa had come to him? He shook his head. Crazy, thinking Charlene’s dead aunt had led him to her, but stranger things have happened.
The night was warm with the memory of human experience. He had affected the lives of three people that night – in a good way. Decisions about his future did not seem impossible any more. All Peter wanted was to connect. All he wanted was to belong. And he’d certainly done that. Peter smiled. Suddenly the world felt like a better place to be in.
Discussion questions
•How did Peter change during the story?
•Do you believe in ghosts or the supernatural? Why or why not?
About the author
Jean-Paul Willemse is 20 and lives in Kraaifontein, Cape Town. He is studying Philosophy and English through Unisa. He started writing in high school and his dream is to write for a living and never leave his house. He describes himself as ‘an introvert who loves writing.’
Being a mentee …
Being a mentee I learned how to collaborate with someone on the plot of a story. When Maire and I mapped out the plot for ‘Among the Stars’, it was surprising to see how someone else responded to my ideas. Maire also showed me how to humanise my dialogue, which had been extremely robotic before. She told me to read out loud to myself and it helped immensely. I am a better writer thanks to my mentor.
2
AMONG THE STARS – PART 2
Maire Fisher
“Are you ever getting off that phone, my girl?” said Oupie.
“Why? This is the only thing stopping me from dying in this place.”
“Don’t say that. You have me and Ouma for company.”
“No offence, Oupie. But I can’t spend all my time watching KykNET.”
Just a small glimpse into my life. Boring, boring, boring. Nothing exciting ever happens to me.
Well, rewind on that last statement. I’ve just met the weirdest guy. Peter Cho. (Charlene Peters, meet Peter Cho.) Really cute, but very strange. Or rather, the reason he was here was strange.
You’re not going to believe this. But this is what he claimed. He came to see Ouma and Oupie with this story that he’d been out walking, on his own. He looks like a bit of a loner. A cat who walks alone (ha ha). Anyway, he says, while he was out on his late-night stroll, this chick came up to him, hair a mess, eyes wild. OK, so nothing majorly strange about that – yet. But get this: she said she was Melissa Peters. Ja, you heard me right the first time. Our Melissa Peters. As in my long-dead aunt who disappeared before I was even born. Beautiful Melissa who everyone says I look so much like.
Have to say, he did quite an impressive double-take when I came into the room. As if he’d seen a ghost. Which I suppose he had. Ag shame, twice in one night might be a bit much to take. So anyway, he says Melissa came running out of nowhere, begging him to help her and he took her off to some place near here where he was house-sitting, got her inside and calmed her down. But then, she got really upset and ran off.
So then he came to see us. Now this is where it gets really weird. And creepy. He says Melissa told him that Mr Cupido – that’s right, old Mr Cupido who lived next door – was the one who abducted Melissa and killed her. I couldn’t believe it. Sweet Mr Cupido who was always so kind to Oupie and Ouma? I can’t ever see him grabbing a young girl off the streets. But then again, ‘books and covers’. You know the expression, right?
This Peter Cho ou, he didn’t want to tell Ouma and Oupie everything she told him, but eventually he did. According to her, Mr Cupido caught her and tied her up … and raped her. I hate even thinking that, but that’s what he said. Shame, Oupie looked like he was going to cry. Ouma did. She sat there with tears streaming down her cheeks and when I gave her a tissue she looked surprised, like she didn’t even know she was crying.
> I have to tell you, I really didn’t like Peter Cho then. How could he do that? Come into our life and bring back old memories, open old wounds and make them bleed again. Point a finger at a kind old man who’s dead and buried and can’t defend himself. I mean, why would Melissa come back now, when there’s nothing to be gained? It’s not like the police can do anything. And even if they could, would they spend time and manpower on an old dead guy, when there’s so much crime happening? Plenty to keep the police busy without going back into the past.
I went outside after Peter Cho had gone and there was Oupie sitting on the bench, next to Auntie’s shrine. I asked him if he was going to do anything, but he just shook his head.
“What is there to do, my girlie?” he said. “She’s gone. And, if we can believe this young man, at last we know what happened to her. Mr Cupido … ” He shook his head. “A pillar of the community. And Selvin. Another good man. Ward Councillor, just like his father. Why should we stir up trouble for him? Children should not have to pay for the sins of their fathers.”
“But we can’t just leave it like this, Oupie. We need to find out what exactly happened. For Melissa.”
“I said no, Charlene! It’s in the past, just leave it there.”
The pain on his face was too much for me. He just wanted to forget about everything that had happened and I don’t blame him. Old Mr Cupido was one of his best friends. And now the memory of his friend was being muddied by Peter Cho.
He’d lit candles for Melissa like he always does, and light flickered onto her photo. It was cold and misty and there was condensation on the glass of the frame. There was Melissa, looking out from the picture. For the first time I thought her smile looked sad, and the drops of water running down the glass … OK, OK, I know I’m the family drama queen – but it looked like she was crying.
Maybe she isn’t at peace? Maybe there’s a reason for all this? I just wish I knew what it was.
~•~
I can’t get Peter Cho out of my mind. It has nothing to do with his smooth olive skin and his dark, mysterious eyes. Nor with the way his hair shone midnight-black under the sitting-room light. And not because of his body – you know that coiled spring look, like someone’s ready to pounce? Or at least move really fast? Mainly, I can’t stop thinking about how sad he looked, like he wished he didn’t have to be here, breaking such bad news. I’ve been feeling sad too. We all have. It’s like Melissa has been dragged back to life, along with the pain Ouma and Oupie felt when she vanished. All the raw fear and the tears.