The Pirouette Predator Read online

  The Pirouette Predator

  by

  Jade Lee Wright

  Dedication

  I dedicate this book to wine, salt & vinegar crisps, true crime podcasts and trashy reality television – all of which kept me sane in between writing this.

  This book is also dedicated to Corona Virus / Covid-19... because without a world pandemic giving me no more excuses to procrastinate against writing, I finally finished this novel! My heart goes out to everyone affected by this virus.

  I'd also like to personally thank the My Favorite Murder Facebook group, Drinkerino's. All of your love and support completely overwhelmed me. You are family.

  Thank you to Jocelyn Blouin, my coffee addict friend who has always believed in my writing and supported me in every step I take.

  Time heals all wounds, they say.

  I say they just have to fester a little bit first; and fester, they did.

  CHAPTER 1

  Dread twists my stomach into knots as my car winds its way down the familiar mountain pass. Years have passed since I've returned home, yet absolutely nothing has changed. That's the thing about small towns, I guess.

  The same rusty signs covered in bullet holes and graffiti stand askew, welcoming me back.

  The same broken fencing along the side of the potholed road still hasn't been fixed.

  Sluggishly, my car pulls to a stop in front of the only traffic light in town. I breathe in deeply, my eyes focusing on the arum lilies that litter the overgrown fields.

  I don't want to be here.

  I already miss the city. The hustle and bustle. The smog. The old Gothic buildings guarded by gargoyles and the sound of the traffic.

  When the light flicks to green my engine sputters to life, struggling in the icy winter morning.

  My fingers grip the steering wheel tighter.

  The Honda emblem shines into my eyes as I turn the corner onto Hazel Street.

  Everything I own in life is crammed into the cardboard boxes piled up on the back seat.

  Clothes and books mainly. An impressive collection of coffee mugs.

  I've never had much. Never needed much.

  Michael and I had bought everything together. The bed, the coffee table, my timber writing desk. Bookshelves, wine racks, rugs. Even coat-hangers. The three-seater sofa he positioned in front of the wide screen television so he could watch sport and play X-box.

  Everything was ours.

  There was never a question about what belonged to whom.

  He doesn't realise that he's taken everything. Left me with nothing.

  He's probably curled up on that sofa we both paid for, right now, with her.

  Memories I try to avoid lurch into my head.

  My heart hammers as I pull into my sisters driveway. The keys are cold and heavy in my hands as I trudge up to the front door. There's a build up of mail that I gather up and drop on the console table once I'm inside. Dust greets me, nothing more.

  There's a dank smell, like no one's been here for a while. No windows are open to let the fresh air in.

  I kick a rock in front of the door and start lugging my boxes inside one by one. I can't quite bear to unpack them yet. It's too hard.

  Instead, I wander through the hallway, staring at the framed photographs that travel along the wall. It's a strange feeling looking at a photo of you and your sister and not being able to tell the difference. We are completely identical and yet nothing alike. It should be easier to tell us apart.

  Robyn does ballet and while I'm just as dainty as her, I've never been able to dance.

  I take a black and white photograph of her in a leotard, her willowy body stretched across the stage. She looks weightless.

  The girl in the picture looks just like me, yet couldn't possibly be. I sigh and return the frame to its hook. I touch the glass and whisper, 'where are you?'

  It's the first time I've spoken in days and my voice shocks me. It breaks an unsettling silence, sending shivers down my spine.

  I'd sent Robyn a message days ago letting her know that I was coming to visit. I didn't think it necessary to go into the gritty details of my breakup. That could be done over a bottle of Riesling on her porch.

  She'd never responded to my message which wasn't like her but I had no where else to go so I'd packed up my life and left my ex fiancé’s house for good.

  Every time I think about it, it guts me. I've been trying so hard to push my feelings aside. Ignore them. That's my coping mechanism, never dealing with the situation head on.

  Eventually the pain will fade if I pretend it isn't there for long enough, right?

  I look through the rest of Robyn's cottage for some kind of sign of her.

  An old ballet barre she's using as decoration is coated in dust.

  There's an entire wall where her old, worn in pointe shoes are dangling, some speckled with blood, showing her years of hard work in the dance industry. She used to go through a couple of pairs of those shoes a week.

  She's always had a thing for plants. The sunflower sitting on her kitchen windowsill has perished. The leaves from her bonsai have withered and fallen off. A creeper plant trailing down her bookshelf is the only thing still alive but the soil in the pot is bone dry.

  There's an old copy of Anna Karenina on her night-stand. The spine is cracked and one of the pages is dog-eared.

  My sisters nose used to always be buried in a book if she wasn't dancing.

  I flick through the book until I find something highlighted.

  It says, 'Love. The reason I dislike that word is that it means too much for me, far more than you can understand.'

  My eyebrows furrow as I place the book back down.

  I sit on her bed. The sheets have a subtle lingering smell of her perfume. I breathe her in, hold my breath.

  I haven't been here for a while but it doesn't seem like anything is missing. There isn't a gap in her wardrobe where clothes should be. Her Burberry travel bag is stuffed away on the top shelf.

  In the bathroom, all of her toiletries are there. Full bottles of TRESemmé shampoo and conditioner stand in her shower.

  I wander back out into the lounge area and pluck at the strings of her ukelele, abandoned to one side of her sofa. It's horrifically out of tune. She used to post so many video clips onto her Instagram account, playing it. I pull up her page now, just to check. She hasn't been active for a while.

  River barks at something outside, her shaggy tail wagging nervously in this strange, new environment.

  I trip on a crack in the tiles on my way to the window. This place needs a lot of work. Tree roots have lifted the flooring, mould has spread over the walls and cobwebs dangle from every corner.

  Outside, someone's got their hands on my rusted car door, peering into the window. My skin prickles.

  Grabbing River's leash, I attach it to her collar and march outside. The man by my car instantly straightens up, his eyes darting from me to my dog.

  “Robyn! You're back. Where the hell have you been?” he booms in an overly friendly voice.

  River snarls as he strides towards me. The hair on her back stands on end. His grin is too wide, showing a full set of veneers.

  He's on the larger side, pale blue jeans straining around his waist and a collared shirt missing a number of buttons. The teeth don't suit the rest of his appearance.

  “Who's this then?” the man asks, smiling down at my dog.

  “River.”

  “Robyn and River, love it!”

  “I'm not-” I start, but he's already bending down, offering a hand out for River to sniff. She does so cautiously but doesn't seem to warm to him like she usually does with new people.

  When he stands back up he tries to pull me int
o a hug.

  “I'm not Robyn,” I say, taking a step back.

  He laughs at this.

  “Very funny. You've had everyone worried sick,” he says loftily.

  “I'm not Robyn,” I repeat, this time more firmly.

  He squints in the sunlight as he looks me over. It takes a few seconds for the realisation to sink in.

  “Jesus... Piper?”

  I nod slowly.

  “Piper Brady... never thought you'd be back in this hell hole of a town again!” he chuckles.

  “I'm sorry, who are you?”

  “Cody. We were in pre-school together way back when!”

  I can't place his features but nod again.

  “You probably hear this all the time, but it's insane how much you look like Rob!” his eyes are looking me over with fascination. You get used to that when you're a twin.

  “Still here then?” I ask, not meaning for it to come out the way that it does.

  A lot of people who grow up here never leave. I was one of the lucky ones, I suppose.

  Even though I can see him trying to hide it, I can tell my comment has offended him.

  “Robyn and I work together at the high school. She hasn't shown up for a while so I thought I'd swing by to see if she's OK?” he peers over my shoulder to the cottage as if trying to catch a glimpse of her.

  “How long has she been missing?” I ask. I don't know why I choose the word 'missing.'

  It sounds alien and unnecessary on my tongue.

  Why hadn't I used the word, 'gone?'

  She can't be missing... she's just wandered off again.

  “Well, she's buggered off for a few days before here and there but she always prances back in like nothing ever happened. This time it's been weeks. I've been here a few times to check in but this is the first time I saw someone parked outside. There's been absolutely no word from her and I'm sorry to say it, the school needs to start looking for a new teacher now. She's chanced her luck enough, you know? When she does come back, she's getting immediately dismissed,” he hands me an envelope addressed to her.

  I let his words sink in, calcify.

  Weeks.

  It has been weeks since anyone last saw my sister... and no one told me.

  *

  Coffee burns my throat as I take my tablets the next morning. I long since stopped punching the pills out of the blister pack one by one. Now I toss a palm full of medication into my mouth all at once.

  I grimace as I swallow, wondering to myself why the hell I still bother taking birth control on top of everything else. I'm at that stage in a breakup where if I never have sex again, I think I'd be OK with it. I can't imagine being with anyone else, starting anew. Learning someone and letting someone learn me from scratch. Telling the same awful stories from my life I'd shared with Michael. A repeat, just with fresh ears. What's the point?

  All these drugs, yet nothing works quite as well as nicotine.

  I bring the cigarette to my lips and let the menthol fill my lungs.

  Everything about the way Robyn's cottage has been left makes it look like she'd just popped out for a walk or something. While I was scratching around earlier, I discovered her handbag. It had everything in it she'd need if she was going away. Her drivers license, bank card, passport – but what really shook me was the packet of pills.

  We're on the same medication. Without it, things can spiral out of control very quickly.

  It's when I saw the pills that things cemented in place for me.

  Something is really wrong.

  She's been missing for forty-nine days and counting. Holding the poster with her face emblazoned on it above the bold MISSING text is surreal.

  I'm so confused.

  We always had that odd twin connection. We could be oceans apart but if she was down, or vice versa, we'd feel it. No matter where we were in the world, if she was craving pizza then so was I. Some call it telepathy.

  Now, I feel nothing. There's just this numbing, empty space where my sister once was.

  Navigating my way through life without feeling her running through my veins is the strangest sensation in the world.

  I really don't want to think of her as dead but her sudden disappearance both physically and mentally has me suspecting the worst.

  If something has happened to her – rape, abduction or God forbid, murder, I'd like to think I'd sense that.

  Instead, it's like she was never there at all. Very much like Michael. My best friend, my lover. It's like he died but worse, because he didn't. He chose to leave me.

  The loss of both my sister and Michael is too much for me to comprehend.

  I'm not holding it together. It's too much all at once. Not my sister. Not the man I was certain I was going to spend the rest of my life with.

  Please, no.

  A tear rolls down my cheek.

  I sit on the stool while I wait for my meds to kick in, pulling hard on my cigarette. I knock back the rest of my coffee.

  After putting up posters on a dozen lampposts I stop at the high school. Cody wants me to chat to the headmaster about helping out while Robyn's 'away.'

  Her energy here is overwhelming. Flowers and cards decorate her classroom. Gifts are stacked up on her desk and messages from the students are scrawled across her chalkboard.

  I read them all, holding yellow chalk between my fingers, trying to think of what to write. I feel like I should leave something there but there are no words. I'm so deep in thought that I don't even notice when I snap the chalk in two.

  I spin the globe that sits atop her desk. As the countries and oceans blur together the door behind me opens.

  “You made it,” Cody smiles meekly as he too takes in the room.

  “I really don't think I'm what the students want...” I try, pointing out that people will probably get spooked out seeing their missing teachers identical twin sister. Plus, I can't teach dance! It's laughable. I could teach them art or acting and theory but not how to prance around in revealing pink lycra.

  “Nonsense. Come on, interview time,” he winks.

  *

  The interview went well, considering. Robyn and I both studied teaching and with the school in dire need of a new drama teacher I was their first port of call. I agreed to be a substitute until my sister comes home.

  Both Cody and the headmaster looked at me with sympathy when I said that. It made me feel stupid. Naive.

  I wake at around 2am again. I don't even need to check my watch anymore.

  Robyn's spare room is suffocating, soulless.

  I pad into the living room and stir River who, enviously, was sleeping peacefully. She follows closely at my heels as we walk through the garden in the dark. It's so cold that there's frost on the grass. My sweatpants get sopping wet as I circle a tree, contemplating the day ahead. It's my first day teaching Robyn's kids.

  I've had my teaching qualification for years but I've never used it. The only reason I studied was because Robyn hadn't wanted to study alone. As free-spirited as she is, it always amazed me how much she thought she couldn't do without me by her side.

  I always knew I'd head off and work overseas – earn the big bucks. The day I'd left we'd both cried but I knew her separation anxiety was so much worse than mine.

  I watch my breath drift off in the darkness, bundling myself up in my plum coloured throw-over.

  Once River's back indoors I lock up, boil the kettle and switch the lights on in the bedroom.

  I choose an outfit, a simple pencil skirt, a collared shirt and a pair of black leather pumps. I have to laugh at how professional I look when I glance in the mirror.

  She was halfway through creating a ballet show when she disappeared.

  To be honest I'd rather be spending my time turning over every stone to find her than teaching a bunch of hormonal teenagers. Sadly though, Michael took every penny I ever had when he left me so I need this job, badly.

  From the moment I enter the classroom I know this isn't going to
be easy.

  Over twenty pairs of eyes ogle at me as I make my way to the desk.

  They've been warned that I'm their teachers identical twin sister but nothing can quite prepare you for seeing a ghost.

  I try to get on with the class, get to know the students and their roles in their current production but they all seem more fascinated by me.

  All they can see is my sister when they look at me. I can't blame them for being shaken up.

  I ask them if I can watch what they've been working on with Robyn and we all head to the hall.

  Everything changes when they get onto stage. I see a beautiful side to each and every one of them, their passion and talent.

  There's two girls and one guy that really stand out to me. They are absolute naturals. Fluid, authentic and excellent.

  Chloe, Bibiana and Luke.

  I make a mental note to keep my eye on all three of them.

  It's Luke that surprises me the most. He's a virtuoso in dance.

  He carries the entire class and gives more guidance than even I do. I feel quite inadequate in comparison.

  I wonder what Robyn thought (thinks) of him.

  I hate that I'm starting to use the past tense when I talk about her.

  There's been absolutely no progress with Robyn's case.

  It's like she's just vanished off of the face of the earth.

  My connection with her has been severed.

  CHAPTER 2

  I immerse myself into teaching. Into watching Luke around me in his canvas slippers.

  It would help if he wasn't so attractive. It would also help if certain appendages were more covered up but his ballet tights hug his thighs and leave nothing up to the imagination. I can make out every single muscle in his body.

  Those baby blue eyes and five o’clock shadow along his jawline makes me weak.

  His height, his chiselled body, athletic but thin. His perfect posture.