The Pirouette Predator Read online

  Cody's noticed the way I cross my legs a little too tightly when Luke comes onto the stage; but I couldn't care less about what Cody thinks. He's always lurking around, trying to engage in conversation with me.

  I catch him staring sometimes, looking at me during lunch or in meetings but especially when Luke is around us. It's ridiculous, Luke is over a decade younger than me.

  A girl can dream though...

  I've noticed myself putting more effort into my appearance, dabbing extra concealer under my eyes and blush across my cheekbones.

  I'm trying to make myself believe it isn't all for Luke but if I'm honest, I am trying to hide my new found wrinkles more than I usually would. He's the kind of guy you can't help but want to impress. When he smiles at me or looks at me from under those long eyelashes, I feel special.

  He's told me I look nice a few times in the morning before dancing. Before all of the other students arrive.

  The first time he'd said it, it was so casual while he was dusting a box filled with pointe shoes with rosin.

  I'm embarrassed to admit how much I like it when he says things like that. It makes me feel young again. Alive.

  On the other hand, it makes me feel so deflated when he doesn't notice.

  I run to the bathroom and inspect my face in the mirror, smeared with other girls lipstick kisses.

  I've become so judgemental about myself and my age – but at the same time it's given me something new to focus on instead of Robyn and Michael. Where she is. What he did.

  I have this determination to be beautiful again instead of not caring like the last few months.

  It's given me a drive to try harder. A new lease on life, as they say.

  I wish Robyn were here. I do think of her daily.

  I'm worried sick to my stomach and feeling useless because there's literally nothing I can do right now to help her.

  If she were here we could compare our ageing. Where she has a freckle, I have a freckle. We're not mirror image twins. We are completely identical. It's a wonder our fingerprints aren't a perfect match. I miss her so much.

  The bell rings, allowing the students to drop whatever it is they're doing and head off to their next lesson.

  I head over to the costume room and start to spray freshener on the clothing dangling from the racks. It's nice to be able to turn the blaring classical music off and enjoy silence for a while.

  I'm unfastening my bun when Luke flops down in a chair beside me.

  “Did you see what I did in Act Two? I really think that should be incorporated into the show,” he says, draping a long arm over my shoulder.

  His skin is soft and fervent against my own. The feeling is electrifying.

  I haven't been touched since the day I crawled, snivelling into Michael's arms when we were saying our final goodbyes.

  Luke is unfamiliar, exciting.

  It makes me emotional, remembering the visceral fear I had the day Michael told me there was nothing I could do to fix us.

  I blink back the tears and lean into Luke, eager to smell his cologne. I don't want him to see me cry.

  I know it's wrong but I can't stop myself.

  Before I know it, his fingers skim over my shoulders. I'm instantly aroused.

  I don't know where this has come from but I'm amazed that he wants me.

  He could have whoever he wants and right now, that's me.

  Grateful that the last student closed the door behind her I allow him to lift me off of my feet.

  It's effortless and I can feel his biceps bulging beneath my hands.

  My chest rises and falls quickly, his hands cup my chin. He brings my lips to his, a hint of guava on his breath.

  It doesn't take long for my clothes to fall to the ground.

  I don't care if we get caught, in this moment nothing else matters.

  This is bad. It's wrong. It's completely dizzying.

  He puts me into positions I never thought possible but the moment is ephemeral, over too soon.

  Thank God for those birth control tablets after all.

  *

  Robyn doesn't stay as front page news for long.

  Today there's a photograph of another girl, a student.

  The word MISSING dominates the page followed by what she was last seen wearing.

  She has a scar across her collarbone from an old surgery, a beauty spot at the corner of her left eye.

  I fold the newspaper back up and thrum my fingers on the hardwood table.

  This is the fifth disappearance in the span of three months.

  For a town as small as ours, this is terrifying. How are all of these girls just vanishing?

  Parents of the missing girls have all given statements assuring people that their daughters would never run off and make them worry like this.

  At first there wasn't much concern for Robyn. People have always known her to be a free-spirit, someone who could never live by the book.

  It was only when others started getting poached that she became a potential victim too.

  After all, they all had certain similarities. They all danced.

  There were no striking resemblances in their appearances like brunette hair parted down the middle the way Ted Bundy liked – it was their incredible talent for dancing that connected the dots.

  Some articles compared whoever has been taking these girls to Rodney Alcala, who used to pretend to be a professional photographer and target women who would model for him.

  That was one theory, anyway.

  Another comparison that made headlines was The Beauty Queen Killer, Christopher Wilder.

  People's imaginations were running wild.

  I scratch around in my purse, finding just enough coins to pay for my peanut-butter smoothie.

  River bolts up beside me at the sound of her leash being picked up.

  We wander aimlessly down the street, bustling with weekend traffic. I still get mistaken for Robyn sometimes.

  People wave through their car windows at me or stop me in my tracks.

  It's incredible how many people have forgotten that she has a twin sister. There's an awkward pause when they realise who I am – or rather, who I'm not.

  They try to ask me about the progress in my sisters case but they soon find their excuses to wrap the conversation up.

  River tugs me along the pavement, sniffing around in every direction.

  It's a freezing day. The mountains in the distance have snowcapped peaks that I'm sure the students are all going to see this weekend.

  We bump into Cody further up the road.

  You can't go anywhere in a small town without seeing someone you know.

  He looks different out of his work attire. More relaxed.

  He's wearing a woollen cardigan over a dark blue shirt and corduroy pants.

  He tries his luck winning River over by crouching down to her level.

  In his hand there's a bottle of Merlot. The liquid sloshes around as he asks me what my plans are for the weekend.

  “Not much at all,” I say, vaguely.

  “Well, I'm not going to drink this all myself,” he waves the bottle at me, smiling glibly.

  I on the other hand, could easily drink a bottle of wine to myself.

  “Fancy popping over later for a winter warmer?”

  This is possibly his seventh attempt at trying to get me over to his place. I've lost count.

  I'm starting to wonder if he used to have a thing for my sister.

  The way he looks at me gives me the creeps.

  I'm running out of excuses to turn him down, so instead I sigh.

  “Why not.”

  I'd prefer to have my legs wrapped around Luke's head but I think Cody's cottoning on to my inappropriate relationship with him.

  He seems genuinely thrilled that I've finally accepted his offer.

  He strolls through the graveyard with us on the way up to his place.

  The town is built around one the largest graveyards I've ever seen. There
's a bigger population of the dead here than the living.

  He pours a generous amount of wine which he brings out onto the balcony and sits down beside me. I sip the merlot gratefully as he passes me a blanket to wrap around myself.

  We sit in an awkward silence for a moment as I take in the view of crumbling tombstones and open graves waiting to be filled.

  I can't help but wonder if one of them will one day be for my sister.

  *

  “Can I ask you something?” I say once I've had two glasses of wine. I can feel myself easing up, relaxing.

  “Shoot.”

  “Why haven't you ever left?”

  He pours me another glass of wine, frowning at my question.

  He brings his glass up to his lips but doesn't take a sip. I notice his ring finger.

  The skin is lighter around it.

  I feel like I'm prying.

  “Why have I never left? Honestly? Let myself go a bit,” he pats his belly. I scoff at this.

  “But also, even after my wife left me... this is a big reason,” he points at the bottle of wine he'd bought earlier. I cock my head to one side in question.

  “We're in one of the best wine regions in the world!” his eyes light up as he picks up the bottle. It's only then I realise the date on the label. 1989.

  I don't think I've ever seen a date on a wine bottle go that far back.

  “I know absolutely nothing about wine, really,” I laugh, peering down at the garnet coloured liquid in my glass.

  “What is this, for example?” I point down to the last bit of wine. It looks like there's sand in the glass. I've seen it before but I've always ignored it.

  “That's sediment or, as some people call it, wine dregs or crystals. A lot of people think it's bad but it's the complete opposite. It's a sign that the wine is really high quality,” he swirls the last few drops around in the glass.

  “So it's harmless?” I feel clueless.

  “Yes,” he chuckles.

  “Why did you choose this bottle specifically?”

  He picks the bottle up.

  “This is a 1989 Meerlust Merlot,” he says, twisting the bottle this way and that.

  “It's one of my favourite vintage wines. Do you like it?” he asks shyly.

  “I do,” I nod, taking a sip. It feels velvety on my tongue.

  I still don't quite taste a huge difference between this one and the usual glass of wine I order in a pub with dinner but I don't tell him that.

  “Probably cost a lot with a date like that?”

  “Just over a thousand...”

  I choke, looking up at him in disbelief.

  “A thousand!? You're not serious?”

  We're sitting around an old oak wine barrel watching the sun go down. Sunsets are always best in winter here.

  He clears his throat, a slight smile playing on his lips. I'd never noticed how plump they are before.

  “How do you afford that?” I ask, acutely aware of our teachers salaries.

  “Some people budget for a fancy car they can show off or save up to have a nice holiday. I budget for good wine.”

  I sigh, wanting to get off of the topic of money.

  He must pick up my unease as he switches back to talking about the sediment in our glasses.

  “You get two types of sediment. This one is called colloids. You can tell because it's quite fine. It has a grainier texture, you see?” he brings the glass up close so I can take a good look.

  I can see the teacher in him as he talks.

  He's patient and softly spoken, easy to listen to.

  “The easiest way to explain it is to say it's a protein. It's leftover remnants of the grapes skin and seeds. When wine gets filtered it takes the sediment out and basically robs the wine of a lot of its flavour and mouth-feel.”

  “So you never just go to the shops and pick a cheap bottle off the shelf then?”

  “Only to cook with,” he grins.

  I think of the bottles on my wine rack back at the cottage. They're all cheap and cheerful.

  I've never even considered buying a bottle that costs more than filling my car up with a tank of petrol! I never really saw the point of it. Expensive wine has always been wasted on someone like me.

  I take another sip with a new found sense of appreciation.

  “You said there's two types of sediment?” I ask, genuinely wanting to learn more.

  It feels nice to take my mind off of everything for an hour or two.

  “Yeah. So the other one is called tartrate. Sounds like I'm giving you a science lesson or something,” he laughs.

  I smile back at him, listening to the sound of the crickets all around us.

  “Tartrates are bigger than colloids. Remember these are colloids because they're sand-like. Tartrates are more like diamonds, if you will. They get formed when tartaric acid connects with potassium in cold weather conditions. It makes a crystalline salt formation and has a tendency to stick to the cork or sides of the bottle so when you pour it into a glass it can cling onto the sides of the glass, too.”

  “You lost me at potassium! How do you know all this stuff?” I ask, bemused.

  “I like wine.”

  “Impressive!”

  “If I wasn't a teacher I'd definitely become a winemaker. Maybe one day,” he says whimsically.

  A salty breeze from the lagoon drifts by and I catch a waft of his aftershave. I quite like it.

  “You know, this town, as boring as you might think it is, is home.”

  I never understood people who have no desire to leave.

  I have no right to feel sorry for him if he's truly happy here, but I do.

  Just like Robyn. I always wanted her to get out. Do something with her life. Make something of herself... but she was always so content with staying somewhere familiar and teaching.

  Maybe her and Cody are more alike than I originally realised.

  “I'm sorry – I don't know why I asked you that,” I say, feeling bad.

  “Don't be. I get it. Once you've had a taste of the world you don't want to be in a place like this.”

  He's right. While it feels like I've been to more countries than I can count, neither him or my sister have ever left South Africa. A part of me is using Cody to understand my sisters way of life.

  “Were you close with her?” I ask him.

  “Robyn? No!” he laughs.

  “She was never interested in me, why would she be?” He gestures to himself. My heart breaks for him.

  I flounder for something to say in return.

  I find myself actually warming to Cody throughout the night. I may not be the best judge of character but he seems harmless.

  On my way to the bathroom I stumble upon framed photographs from his wedding day. I'm stunned that they're all still up on the wall.

  He looks... different. Almost handsome.

  I look at his ex wife, studying her face. She's beautiful. I wonder where she is now.

  We have another glass of wine each, snacking on olives and a selection of cheese he's brought out for us on a wooden chopping board.

  He tells me how good of a teacher Robyn was to the kids. He talks about how passionate he could tell she was about dance.

  “I'd often come to the hall and watch the show coming together. She really was very talented,” he smiles.

  Was.

  I can picture him sitting in the back of the hall in the dark, watching my sister.

  I wonder if she ever noticed. I wonder if it made her uncomfortable at all.

  “She still is talented,” I bristle, feeling the mood of the evening darken.

  The quickest way back to my sisters house is through the graveyard.

  Cody tells me he thinks he should walk me home but I tell him I'll be fine with River.

  I quickly gulp down the last of the wine so I can leave.

  He's not happy about me walking alone and makes me put his number on speed dial.

  I'm slightly tipsy after dri
nking on an empty stomach so the walk home is a bit hazy.

  River pisses on someone’s grave obliviously and I stumble on guiltily.

  Crickets and frogs sing through the starless night. I can barely see my hand in front of me there's so much fog.

  Robyn and I always used to come out here late at night to share a bottle of brandy. We would smuggle the alcohol out of our foster parents liquor cabinet and feel so rebellious.

  I find the spot beneath our favourite tree and sit down on a log.

  I still feel this unexplainable nothingness.

  I was hoping that by coming here it would trigger something in me but it doesn't work.

  I wonder if this is how the rest of the world feels. As a twin I've never felt 'alone' until now.

  My sister and I were together from day one, sharing the same amniotic sac. Now there's nothing but a yawning chasm where she once was.

  River pants by my side. I tickle behind her ears to calm her. She's on high alert.

  The wine is dizzying me so I take a moment to lean back against the tree and close my eyes. I let the breeze wrap around me and slowly, I drift away.

  I wake with a start. I can hear footsteps close by, twigs snapping underfoot.

  Dawn is just starting to break.

  I keep dead still but River whines nervously next to me.

  My eyes dart around but it's still too dark to see anything properly.

  The footsteps grow closer, louder, faster. I hold my breath.

  “What on earth are you doing out here?”

  It's a voice I don't recognise.

  I'm frozen with panic, unable to speak.

  A man emerges from the darkness and stands over me.

  “Christ alive, thought you were one of them girls who've been missing. Thought you were dead!” There's a rusted shovel in his hand which he sees me eyeing cautiously.

  “You alright there?” His skin is leathery and his lips cracked.

  He's trembling, sickly looking.

  I nod and scramble to my feet.

  “Dangerous for a pretty woman like you to be out here all alone,” he stabs the shovel into the earth and leans on it languidly.

  “I was just leaving,” I croak, taking a few steps around him. River trots next to me.