by Haden, Ross;
Nor can I stop thinking about Mr Cupido. He always used to come around to see Ouma and Oupie, bring them baskets of home-grown veggies, pass the Sunday Times on when he’d finished with it so that Ouma could do the crossword. He made a special point of coming here on every anniversary of Melissa’s disappearance with flowers for Ouma and beers for Oupie and him. They’d sit outside on Melissa’s bench and look at her picture and talk about all the wonderful things she used to do and what a happy girl she was.
Later, after I was born, and after my mom ran away and left me here, I’d sit on Oupie’s lap and listen to them, and Mr Cupido used to say things like, “She may be gone, my dear friends, but there is still hope that she is out there.” Was he gloating as he spoke? Would anyone be so cruel?
So Oupie and Ouma didn’t want to do anything, but I felt I had to do something. I couldn’t let it go.
Talk about things working on your mind. It got so I’d jump every time I saw a shadow. The wind in the trees sounded scary and threatening and I felt like I was being watched, that there were eyes everywhere. Maybe that’s the sort of thing that happens when ghosts come visiting. They shake up the air, make everything smell and sound and look and feel different. Was it Melissa? Was she waiting to see what would happen, what we would do?
Well, after a few days I could have told her. Nothing. Nada. Niks. Zilch. Life settled back into the same-old same-old. School, homework, TV, Facebook, eat, sleep. I’ll probably look back on these days and wonder why I didn’t enjoy them more. Take advantage of all the time I had to sleep and do nothing. But not now. Now all I want are answers.
I’ve started watching the house next door, where Selvin lives. The other Cupido – the son of the killer. I never really bothered to notice him much before this. He’s just a tubby, chubby, little, middle-aged man.
But actually – maybe it’s because I’m hyper-sensitive, so aware of what Peter Cho said about his father – but there is something off about him. It’s not my imagination, I know it. When I’m in my room I can clearly see his comings and goings. He goes to work. He goes out occasionally in the evenings – council business, probably. But once he goes inside that’s it. The windows and heavy curtains are always closed too. And no one ever comes to see him. The one time a woman came around to the house, he spoke to her outside on the stoep. Took some papers from her and waved her goodbye. Not very sociable. OK, OK, so those aren’t grounds for suspicion; people who live alone can get a bit set in their ways. But what about this? I’m a morning person – five, five-thirty, and I’m awake. Up, out of bed and ready for my shower. One morning I heard his car going into his garage. Next thing I saw him putting a spade into his shed. Who goes gardening in the middle of the night I ask you?
Who is Selvin Cupido? Is he our good neighbour and kind Ward Councillor? I’m doing the maths here. He must be in his forties. Which means that he’d have been twenty-something when Melissa vanished. Old enough to know if his father was up to something. Old enough for anything in fact. I’m sorry. I don’t care what Oupie says about letting the past stay buried, I want to do some investigating. And you know what? I’m not going to do this all on my own. Peter Cho started this whole thing off. The least he can do is see it through with me. I’m calling him tomorrow, and he’d better say yes.
So I phoned Peter Cho. I have to say he could have sounded happier to speak to me. I mean my heart did a funny little squiggle when I heard his voice again. I forgot to mention that, didn’t I? He’s got one of those low, old-before-their-time voices, gravelly. It’s probably because he’s a smoker. I smelled it on his clothes the other night. Definitely a habit he’ll have to break, if –
OK, back to our conversation. It wasn’t like I could jump right in and ask him to help me spy on Selvin Cupido and the house next door. He’d have laughed and cut me off. So instead, sorry to say this, but I did a bit of emotional blackmailing. All about how I never knew Melissa, the shadow who has haunted our lives, and how much I look like her, and maybe there was stuff about her that he’d remembered. And how I felt she wasn’t at rest. Could we meet, just to talk about it all again? I babbled on and on; it happens when I’m nervous. There’s no pause button.
When he finally got a chance to speak, his voice was softer. “I can’t get her out of my mind either,” he said. “Let’s meet.”
“Cool,” I said. My heart was racing.
I liked the idea of seeing Peter Cho again. I wasn’t too sure how he’d feel about me tricking him into meeting me, though. I’d deal with that when I saw him.
~•~
When I walked down from the bus stop Peter was standing on the corner where we’d arranged to meet.
“Hi.” He looked down on me. (Did I mention that he’s also tall? Hovering somewhere around six foot.)
“Hi,” I said, my voice lower than a stage whisper. He looked even better in broad daylight. The afternoon sun was weak but it still struck a blue-black glow off his hair. The shadows under his eyes made them look even darker. I don’t know what gene pool this boy swam out of, but it must have been a deep one.
“OK,” he said, after we’d walked a block in silence. “Melissa. What did you want to ask me about her?”
I swallowed. “Have you thought of anything else? We need all the details, even the small ones. Something that might just solve the mystery.”
“We need?” he repeated. “Mystery? What mystery? We know what happened. Mr Cupido, your next-door neighbour. Remember? He’s the one who –”
“Yes, I know,” I said. “But there must be something more. Why would she come back now? Why not years ago, when he was still alive?”
“She was scared, remember?” Peter said. “For your grandparents. If they’d confronted him …”
“Oh.” Suddenly all the things I’d been so sure of melted into a sorry little puddle. “I’d forgotten that,” I said.
“She came to let your grandparents know what happened,” Peter said. “That’s all.”
More silence. Another block. And then it came to me. “Hang on,” I said. “If she only came to set my grandparents’ minds at rest, she’d also be able to rest, right? Job done and all that.”
“I suppose so,” Peter said.
“So why do I feel as if she still wants us to do something?” I said.
“What’s with all this ‘us’ and ‘we’?” Peter Cho sounded a bit pissed off. “Look, Charlene, I agreed to meet you to talk more about your aunt. What happened to her, your family, all that shit, I’m sorry about that. But it’s not my problem. Sorry.”
I looked down at my shoes. Baby-girl school shoes. How stupid was I, to think I could take on something like this.
“You’re right,” I said. “I’m sorry. Don’t worry. I’m probably imagining things.”
“Imagining?”
“In the last few days I feel like someone’s been watching me. You know when you almost catch sight of something, and then it’s gone? I thought it was maybe Melissa. If not, it’s just my imagination.” I laughed shakily. “I guess I’m a bit freaked out by the whole Peter-Cho-saw-my-aunt thing.”
“OK,” he said and stopped walking. “This is it. Where I saw her.”
“Oh,” I said.
I looked around. Nothing out of the ordinary. No abandoned warehouses, no graveyards with crumbling headstones and Romeo-and-Juliet type crypts. Just an ordinary street with ordinary houses, a small, rundown playground with a slide and a few swings, a vacant plot, fenced and with someone’s veggies planted in neat green rows. Just your average Mitchells Plain road. Not the sort of place you’d expect to meet a ghost.
“You know, Charlene,” Peter said, “I did take what you said seriously. I just can’t think of anything else about your aunt. Nothing that would help you.”
“OK,” I said, my voice small. “Thanks anyway.”
“See you.”
And then he s
topped, his face sickly sallow. “Do you feel that?” he said.
~•~
“Feel what?” I asked.
“How cold it suddenly is.”
“It’s winter,” I retorted. “What did you expect?” I wanted him to leave. Much as I liked looking upon the extreme coolness that was Peter Cho, if he wasn’t going to help me, he could just go.
“I’m serious, Charlene,” he said. “It’s not cold. It’s freezing.”
Then I felt it too. Cold winding around my ankles, slipping like an icy scarf around my neck.
“It’s her, isn’t it?” Peter said.
My eyes stretched wider than my face. “I think so,” I whispered.
Peter sighed. “What do you want me to do?” he asked.
“I think Mr Cupido’s son, Selvin, is up to something. He lives like a vampire. Sometimes he’s out all night.”
“He could just work late. You know, night shift or whatever.”
“Peter, he’s a councillor. As far as I know that’s pretty much a day-time job. Do me a favour, just come with me.”
Maybe it was because we were moving again, but the moment we started walking it felt as if the cold loosened its grip on us.
~•~
So there we were, a couple of minutes later, sitting on Melissa’s bench in our yard. In silence. Again.
“Look,” I said, staring at the Cupido’s house, “you don’t have to do this.”
Peter laughed. “I don’t think I have a choice,” he said. “It’s this, or live in deep-freeze forever.”
“Ja, but I don’t want you to feel forced into it,” I said.
I felt miserable. As if someone had reached into my belly and was squeezing tight. I knew something was up. I knew I had to figure out a way of learning more. But the last thing I wanted was a reluctant partner. Someone who felt he had to be there.
This time it was me who sighed. The Cupidos had something to do with Melissa’s disappearance. I knew it. I could feel it in my bones, in that part of you that instinctively feels the truth. And now that I had taken to watching him more closely, there was definitely something strange about Selvin Cupido. But was it fair to pull Peter into all of this?
And then I saw it. Over at the Cupido house. A curtain in the back room moving. A fist flashing above the window sill. It opened like a starfish then vanished.
“Did you see that?” I jabbed Peter in the ribs and he winced. He looked at me as if I was insane.
“The curtain, Peter, next door. Back window. Look!”
He stared in the same direction. “There’s nothing there, Charlene. You’ve got ghosts on the brain.”
“Peter Cho, as God is my witness, cross my heart and hope to die, I swear I saw something there.”
Just then Selvin Cupido pulled in. He opened the car door and heaved himself out.
“That’s your suspect?” Peter looked amazed. “That chubby little bra? He couldn’t hurt a fly.”
Mr Cupido waddled up the driveway and glanced over at us.
“Hello, Charlene,” he called.
“Hi, Selvin,” I called back. Was it my imagination, or did his eyes crawl over my body?
I turned to Peter. “Do something,” I hissed.
“What?” He looked confused.
“He can’t suspect us.” I was getting tired of the hissing thing but I had to keep my voice at a whisper.
“But he’s a good ou, your grandfather said so.”
“Peter. I swear to God –” I leaned over and kissed him on the lips and then leaned a bit closer. “He can’t suspect us at all. As far as he’s concerned, you’re my new boyfriend. OK?” I lifted my face to his and Peter Cho bent his head.
“Really?”
“Best I can think of,” I murmured.
“OK.” A small smile lurked on his mouth. “I take it we’ll discuss plans soon?” His breath was warm on my face.
“In a while.” My lips parted and I pulled his head closer. “But first let’s make this look convincing.”
So … Peter Cho. Tall, good looking, geeky-bright – and an amazing kisser.
~•~
He stayed for supper. Ouma was surprised to see him again, but I told her he’d come to see if we were OK after the shock of his news. Peter did well, swallowed, looked politely concerned and patted Ouma gently on the shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It must have been a real shock.”
Supper wasn’t so easy though. When I tried to bring up Melissa and what had happened again, how we should go to the police, or at least try to find out more, Ouma’s eyes filled with tears and Oupie’s voice went quiet, the way it does when he’s seriously angry.
“That’s enough, Charlene,” he said.
My cheeks burned and I lowered my eyes. I hated it when he treated me like a little kid.
Oupie looked at his watch. “It was very kind of you to come Peter, but I’m afraid Mrs Peters and I have to leave. There’s a meeting at the civic centre to discuss the increased rates.”
I shot a glance at Peter, wished I could kick him under the table. Selvin Cupido would have to go to that, I was sure of it. I couldn’t ask Oupie though. I knew better than to make him really angry. Being grounded for weeks wouldn’t suit my agenda at all. Not when there was snooping to be done next door.
“Charlene,” Ouma called as she opened the front door, “see Peter out and do the dishes please. Then straight to bed.”
As the door closed behind her I turned to Peter with a huge grin on my face. “Fab,” I said. “No time like the present.”
“To do the dishes?” he said. “You want me to help you?”
Flip. Sometimes these bright guys can be incredibly slow.
“Didn’t you hear my grandfather? Civic centre, meeting, rates. Selvin Cupido’s a councillor. He’s bound to be there.”
I grabbed him by the hand. “But just to be sure …”
We sat on the bench again, shivering in the early evening air.
“I must be mad,” Peter said.
I giggled. “It’s catching,” I said.
He slipped an arm around my shoulders. “Freezing out here,” he said.
I snuggled in under his arm, then stiffened. “Shh. Peter. There he is.”
Selvin was locking his front door. Hurrying to his car. I don’t know if he spotted us sitting there in the dark, but if he had he’d have seen two kids glued to each other. Pretty convincing. What he wouldn’t have seen though was that while Peter Cho was doing a very good job of kissing me, I had my eyes wide open.
“He’s getting into his car,” I breathed. Selvin Cupido’s Audi growled to life. “OK. Just a few seconds more and we can make our move.”
Peter Cho stroked a strand of hair from my face and tucked it behind my ear.
“I could get used to this, Charlene,” he said.
“So could I,” I smiled. “But later. Come on,” I tugged his hand. “Let’s have a look.”
~•~
The Cupidos’ house was just like ours. Built in the sixties, a square block with a small recessed stoep. “We can’t get in there,” I said as we flitted up the short drive. “Someone might see us. Come, let’s go round the back.”
The Cupidos had the same back door as us and of course it was well and truly locked.
“It’s a Yale,” Peter said. “We could break the window and slip the catch from the outside. But, Charlene, if we get caught, that’s breaking and entering.”
“So what? We can say we thought we saw someone inside and this was the only way we could find out. And that would be true. I did see someone. A small hand, Peter. Not a man’s one. I bet it’s a girl.”
I stopped. Once again I was forcing him into this. And we weren’t his problem. “Look, Peter, you don’t have to do this. Thanks for all your help.”
“Are you totally insane?” Peter was indignant. “Do you think I’d leave you all alone here? Besides,” he smiled, “what would I say to Melissa?”
I squeezed his hand. “Thanks, Peter Cho.” I looked over my shoulder. “We’d better move quickly though. These meetings never go on very late.”
Peter wrapped his sweat shirt around his hand and smashed his fist into the pane. The glass broke and tinkled onto the kitchen floor. I snaked my hand through the hole and slipped open the catch.
“OK?” I clutched his hand.
He gave my hand an answering squeeze. “OK, Melissa Peters, let’s do this.”
We crept through the kitchen and into the musty, dimly lit passage. All the doors were closed. I stopped outside the one closest to the kitchen. “This is where I saw the hand,” I whispered. I pressed my ear to the door. “I can’t hear anything.”
Peter scratched on the door lightly. “Hello,” he called softly. “Anyone there?”
And then I heard it: a faint scrabbling sound as if someone was scratching the floor. And then, another noise, louder this time. Thudding.
“Charlene, look.” Peter pointed down.
There staring us in the face was a key.
“Locked,” he said.
“Ja …” I giggled (a little hysterically, I have to say), “from the outside.”
“He’s certainly making it easy for us,” Peter grinned.
He turned the key and tried the handle. The door was stiff.
“Here,” Peter handed me his sweat shirt, then put his shoulder to the door and shoved.
The smell hit us before we saw what was inside.
A thick smell of unwashed bodies and urine. And rising sharply above that, the rancid, acrid, animal smell of fear.
And then, the wild muffled sound of someone struggling to speak.