Disappear (8 page)

He rose early and drove to a long stretch of road in a country area. He remembered having done this once before, many years ago. He found a vantage point in the bush and scanned the road with binoculars. He’d suspected all the way out that no one had followed him but he couldn’t be certain. The watchers were brilliant at staying out of sight, moving as though they were part of the surrounding landscape.

No car. He stood and watched for half an hour, swinging the sights of the binoculars in every direction. No lurking cars. No followers.

No one watching, waiting.

The electric surge of excitement began then. The desire exploded violently inside him; fantasies filled his mind.

He drove home and wondered about returning to his old ways. The thought was delicious. It can begin again, he thought. At long last. Fulfilment. Real fulfilment.

Later, he worried that he was getting carried away too soon. What if it was some kind of trick? An attempt to draw him out one last time so he could be caught red-handed by police.

Why? Why do that after all this time?

He decided the best course of action was to play it safe. Another three weeks passed. Every day and every night the jogger’s head was filled with his vicious dreams. The thrill of it; how he had missed the savagery, the all-powerful sensation of exerting command over life and death.

Twenty-seven year old Trish Van Helegen was a second generation Australian, the daughter of Dutch parents who had settled in Sydney in the late 1970s. She always woke instantly when the pre-set radio alarm clock switched on at 5.45. This morning she opened her eyes to the solid rock beat and melodic swirls of Michael Jackson’s Dangerous. She sat up, stretched, and then elbowed her slumbering boyfriend in the side. ‘Today’s the day, lover,’ she said.

The young man mumbled and shifted position. Trish smiled to herself. All his talk of getting up and jogging with her in the mornings, all his promises. He never budged. This time, though, they had a bet. She was going to make sure she went through with it, partly for fun, and partly to teach him a lesson about making promises and not keeping them.

She placed her hands on his shoulders and shook him vigorously. ‘Today’s the day,’ she repeated, ‘the day you leap out of bed and join me on the run.’

‘Not today, hon,’ he drawled, still half asleep.

‘Don’t forget our little wager,’ Trish reminded him. ‘If you don’t jog with me today, no sex for a week. Remember?’

‘Hmm.’ He rolled over, buried his face deeper into the pillow.

‘You don’t think I’ll make you do without, do you?’

‘Not today, honey. Tomorrow. I promise.’

‘Last chance. Get up.’ She slapped his backside through the blanket. ‘Come on. Or no slap’n’tickle for seven whole days and nights.’

There was no response.

‘Trent!’

He stirred slightly. ‘Tomorrow, hon.’

Trish laughed to herself as she went through to the shower. The hot needlepoint of the water sprayed over her. She could barely wait to feel the brisk, dawn breeze lift her sandy hair as she jogged around the narrow path of the nearby reserve.

The funny thing was she’d started her period the night before, so sex was out anyway for the next week, or near enough to it. She wouldn’t tell Trent, not for a few days at least. She would keep up the pretence. It would teach him a lesson - and hopefully result in his joining her for the runs. She would love to have Trent jogging alongside her, sharing the exhilaration and the freedom.

She stepped from the shower recess, towelled herself dry, slipped into shorts, tee shirt and running shoes. She would need another shower - a proper one - when she got back, but she always loved that initial, brief burst of water rushing over her when she first woke. With any luck, she thought, I’ll be able to drag Trent into the shower with me when he finally starts getting up earlier. Then she thought, maybe that’s not such a good idea. She giggled, imagining those long, loose limbs, sinewy and sleek. She wouldn’t get any jogging done if she started the day in the shower with Trent.

It was a four-minute drive to the reserve, a large, leafy stretch of green at the far end of the semi-rural suburb.

She had lived in the apartment with Trent for the past two months and so far it was working out well. From the moment she’d met Trent at a party six months before she had the suspicion that, finally, she’d met the right man.

Trish parked by the side of the reserve. The path ran the full perimeter of the park and was ideal for joggers. In total, it was a run of two kilometres. One lap was just right for Trish. It kept her body trim, her muscles nicely toned, without wearing her down to the point of exhaustion.

She started out slowly, as she always did, building momentum as she went. It was early spring, and over the past few days she had noticed a considerable warming. This morning there was a stunning blue sky. The sun was already hot, unseasonably so, nature’s preview of the not too distant summer.

Trish loved this parkland. The air was always fresh and clean here, even though she could sometimes see a brown haze lingering over the city skyline in the distance. It was the main reason she liked living outside the suburbia of Sydney, away from the smog.

She’d been jogging for fifteen minutes when she saw the other runner on the path ahead of her. A man, dressed in a blue tracksuit with white trim. He was also wearing a cap. It occurred to her that he was still dressed for the colder weather and moving slower than her. It wasn’t long before she passed him on the narrow track.

‘You’ll work up quite a sweat in that outfit,’ she called out as she glided by.

His face, looking down as he ran, was mostly hidden, the cap pushed down low on his forehead. It had a long, broad brim. She caught the flash of a grin as he waved in response. If he said anything Trish didn’t catch it as she sped by. She was really moving now. She felt energised.

Up ahead was a familiar curve in the path, a spot where the surrounding trees and hedges of bush obscured the path from view. Trish slowed down as she rounded the bend.

Never return to the scene of the crime. That was how the old saying went. It amused the jogger that he’d returned here, even though this wasn’t actually the scene of any crime. It was the scene of the crime that never was. The first time the watchers had appeared and foiled his plan; a day he would never forget.

He wondered what kind of life his intended victim had lived over the past eighteen years. He recalled that she was a fair-haired, plump young woman. She’d been so close to death, the thought excited him. So close. Had she any idea how lucky she was to be saved? Wherever she was now, did she ever think of that morning, so long ago?

It was a brilliant stroke, the jogger reasoned, to return here for his rebirth. And that’s how he thought of this, his return, his freedom. His resurgence. He couldn’t believe his luck when he found that this beautiful young female jogged here every morning. Alone.

This was perfect. A dream come true, as though it was meant to be. Of course, he told himself, that’s it.

Fate. This is meant to be.

The girl was pulling further away. The jogger increased his pace, came up behind her, the coil of wire unravelling in his hand. All of a sudden he felt as though he’d done this only days ago; the long years of frustration melted into nothingness.

He was exploding inside with his need. Adrenaline surged; the dark power gripped him and rocked him feverishly. It seemed so natural, felt so right. He lunged forward swiftly, slipping the wire around the girl’s neck, pulling the loop tight.

Trish Van Helegen gasped for air. The wire cut into her flesh and squeezed the breath from her throat. Despite the shock and the sudden searing pain, her mind snapped to the alert. She swung her elbows back, searching for her attacker’s rib cage, but the jogger easily sidestepped her arms while maintaining his vice like grip on the wire. This one was going to fight.

He kicked his leg forward, smashing into the back of Trish’s knee, causing her to lose her sense of balance. Her hands went to her throat now in a vain attempt to loosen the garrotte, but the thin steely band was imbedded in the skin, blood seeping from the gash.

The jogger pushed her to the ground and straddled her from behind. He released the tension on the wire slightly. He knew he was playing with fire - after all, this one had guts - but he wanted to play. He deserved to prolong his pleasure after waiting almost two decades.

Trish was weak, disorientated and barely breathing. She felt the loosening of the wire and somewhere, in her mind, came a flash of understanding, a ray of hope. Got to fight this, a voice screamed inside her head. Got to … She tried to push herself up again, using her knees while simultaneously raising her hands to her throat. Her assailant snapped the wire tight once more and pushed his knee into the small of her back, forcing her further toward the ground.

Now she began to writhe, a curious gurgling, whining sound escaping her lips as her body jerked in a series of spasms. They were violent, desperate movements. Then they stopped, her body limp.

The jogger’s excitement was at fever pitch, his own breath coming in short, deep gasps. Still straddling the corpse of his victim, he felt as though he was going to explode. He whipped his head about. The reserve was empty, as it had been on the previous two mornings he’d come to survey the scene. It was early, little chance of anyone happening by.

He pulled the girl’s shorts down, ripped her panties feverishly with his bare hands and thrust himself roughly into her. He shivered with the sweet sensation of relief as the morning light strengthened, streaming through the crossbeams of the branches in spidery patterns.

Todd Lachlan stepped from the car and waved as his best friend, Mark Harris, and Mark’s father drove away in their brand new Holden.

It was late – eight-thirty-five, almost his bedtime. The air was balmy, the first real taste of spring. He bounded up the front steps and through the front door of the modest brick and fibro home.

His mother, Marcia, was vacuuming the lounge room. She smiled and called out to him over the roar of the appliance, ‘How was soccer tonight, love?’

‘Soccer
practice
Mum.’ Todd shrugged, walking into the kitchen. ‘Fine, I guess.’ A bright, energetic ten-year old, he had an impish grin and a mess of curly brown hair.

‘I’ll be finished here in a minute,’ Marcia called after him.

Todd poured a glass of coke and sloshed it down. Just a couple of days to the weekend and this one he spent with his father. It seemed longer than almost two weeks since the last one and he was longing to spend time with his dad.

The drone of the vacuum cleaner stopped and Marcia Lachlan came into the kitchen. ‘I’ve a thirsty little man here, have I?’

‘Mmm.’ Todd took another mouthful.

‘Bedtime,’ Marcia said, indicating the wall clock.

‘Uh huh.’ Todd grimaced and placed his empty cup on the counter top. His mother placed her arms around his shoulders and they went into his bedroom.

‘I’ve got some news, good and bad,’ Marcia said.

Todd was curious. ‘Yeah?’ He pulled his soccer shirt off over his head.

‘Your Grandpa is quite ill. He’s in hospital with bronchial pneumonia.’

‘What’s that, Mum?’

‘It’s a serious infection in the chest, love. A bit like the flu, but much worse. That’s the bad news. Anyway, we’re going to Brisbane to visit him. We may be there for a week or so. That’s kind’a the good news, because you get a trip away and a few days off school.’

‘When?’

‘We’re going to fly up tomorrow, darling.’

Alarm bells rang in Todd’s head. ‘Tomorrow! But, Mum, that means I won’t be here for the weekend. I’ll miss seeing Dad.’

‘I know, dear. I know how disappointed you must be, but sometimes these things just can’t be helped.’

‘Mum, I don’t want to miss seeing Dad.’ Todd’s voice rose. The one thing that made his temper flare more than anything else was the anxiety he felt over his parents’ separation. ‘Can’t we see Grandpa next week?’

‘Todd, don’t make this any more difficult than it already is. Grandpa is sick now. When you’re going somewhere to support a family member who’s ill you can’t just put if off.’

‘I don’t care. I’m not going!’

‘I won’t enter into an argument over this, Todd. We’re flying up tomorrow and that’s that.’ Marcia headed for the door. ‘And if you’re going to make this so damn hard for me then you can get ready for bed on your own.’

‘You just don’t want me to see Dad,’ Todd screamed after her, ‘because you hate him, don’t you?’

Marcia paused at the door and glared back at her son. ‘You can be terribly cruel sometimes. Of course I don’t hate your father, how could you say such a thing?’

‘Yes, you do. You hate him and you don’t want me to see him!’

Marcia slammed the door behind, tears stinging her hazel green eyes. She feared there was some truth to what Todd said. She wanted what was best for her son, but was it true, did she always jump at any chance to stop him seeing his father?

A large part of Marcia Lachlan wanted desperately to start a new life. That was so hard, though, when she was still tied to her ex-husband by their son. A father and son deserved to spend time together. As a result Marcia found it difficult to break out and begin afresh. She felt as though she were in a rut, working part time five days a week at the local leagues club and sending Todd off to be with Neil every second weekend.

Todd always came home telling her what a fantastic time he had. The weekends spent with Neil were one long boys own adventure. Playing and watching sport, lunches at McDonalds, trips to the movies. Then it was back to her and the drudgery of school, homework, brushing teeth and taking baths.

It damned well wasn’t fair, Marcia thought. She went to the bathroom mirror, wiped the tears from her eyes with a tissue and brushed her long, brown hair. She was thirty-eight years old, carrying a little too much weight around the hips and she didn’t like the hard lines developing around her mouth. She’d met a man at the club, a local electrician. He was an old fashioned type, solid and reliable, a tall man with a big, hearty laugh. She knew he liked her.