Perfect Victim by Megan Norris, Elizabeth Southall Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Megan Norris, Elizabeth Southall
and she moved upstairs.
I had described her to police as a creature of habit. ‘Rachel was fifteen going on eighteen going on twelve.’ My girlfriend Chris said, ‘She couldn’t help being naive, just look at her mother!’ She was not mature for her age. But we could not deny that from the time Rachel had left school she had blossomed. Young womanhood agreed with her. Mike and I were looking forward to her future.
Thursday and Friday now tend to blur together, but to the best of my memory we left home early Thursday afternoon.
On the way we called into our friend David’s employment where he was just completing the new poster. We had decided not to include Rachel’s name on it, I suppose, for her privacy on her return.
But by now it had been three days and we knew Rachel wasn’t coming home. We knew she loved her family and boyfriend too much to let them worry. There was always the chance she had been raped or kidnapped for a brothel. Some well-meaning friend had informed us about a date-rape drug. We were told she could have been given this in a drink, drugged, even shipped out of the country. I thought this was a fairytale, but by the end of our search we had heard more of a trade where occasionally girls were kidnapped and taken overseas. Mike said that if one of the alternatives was being kidnapped for child prostitution, with no chance of rescue, he would rather she was dead.
We decided to call briefly into the dance school before connecting with the police, who in the meantime, thank God, had been to take statements. Monday she was reported missing, Wednesday afternoon we get past the front counter, and finally, Thursday morning some action.
Vicki the dance teacher said, ‘Elizabeth, can I speak privately with you?’ Her tone made me feel insecure, and I followed her into the office of Dulcie the artistic director.
‘It’s about Emmanuel. They interviewed him in considerable detail, and I was present because he was under-age.’
I sipped my tea and thought, what on earth is she going to say?
‘They asked him really private questions. I felt so sorry for him. Like, is she pregnant?’
So that was it. They thought she was running away because she was pregnant. I laughed, and said, ‘They’re not even sexually active.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ she replied, and said something like, ‘I thought they were as pure as snow.’
Well, maybe not that pure, I thought.
‘Elizabeth, apparently within the last month … something did happen, but he swears she’s not pregnant. It was protected.’
So, I thought, it had to happen sooner or later. How long had they been a couple? Ten months, and so deeply in love I had been quite concerned by their obvious devotion to each other. He truly was her Romeo.
Silly thoughts come to mind at times like these. Like, Rachel would die if she knew Manni had been through the third degree. Like, poor boy, fancy finally consummating your love only to have some idiot kidnap your girlfriend.
I remembered a time when Rachel was twelve and had gone on a Baptist church youth camp to a place called Gum Creek. She came home ‘in love’. She hurried me into her room and closed the door, and with a great grin on her face said, ‘I’ve had my first tongue kiss.’ Giggle, giggle.
I looked at her, flummoxed by this delighted child. This really did require some kind of answer. I leant back against the window-pane and said, ‘Did you get lots of shivers running up and down your spine?’
‘Yes,’ she answered, sounding absolutely amazed. ‘How did you guess?’
She called this young man Macca and fortunately he lived far far away, over the distant hills. Our phone bill went up dramatically, for at least a month.
Her very first love was her kindergarten friend Ryan, her childhood chum. Together they made mud pies and were fun beach pals at Cape Paterson. There was Anthony who, according to his mother, was besotted with her. Sadly for Anthony, Rachel was not
I had described her to police as a creature of habit. ‘Rachel was fifteen going on eighteen going on twelve.’ My girlfriend Chris said, ‘She couldn’t help being naive, just look at her mother!’ She was not mature for her age. But we could not deny that from the time Rachel had left school she had blossomed. Young womanhood agreed with her. Mike and I were looking forward to her future.
Thursday and Friday now tend to blur together, but to the best of my memory we left home early Thursday afternoon.
On the way we called into our friend David’s employment where he was just completing the new poster. We had decided not to include Rachel’s name on it, I suppose, for her privacy on her return.
But by now it had been three days and we knew Rachel wasn’t coming home. We knew she loved her family and boyfriend too much to let them worry. There was always the chance she had been raped or kidnapped for a brothel. Some well-meaning friend had informed us about a date-rape drug. We were told she could have been given this in a drink, drugged, even shipped out of the country. I thought this was a fairytale, but by the end of our search we had heard more of a trade where occasionally girls were kidnapped and taken overseas. Mike said that if one of the alternatives was being kidnapped for child prostitution, with no chance of rescue, he would rather she was dead.
We decided to call briefly into the dance school before connecting with the police, who in the meantime, thank God, had been to take statements. Monday she was reported missing, Wednesday afternoon we get past the front counter, and finally, Thursday morning some action.
Vicki the dance teacher said, ‘Elizabeth, can I speak privately with you?’ Her tone made me feel insecure, and I followed her into the office of Dulcie the artistic director.
‘It’s about Emmanuel. They interviewed him in considerable detail, and I was present because he was under-age.’
I sipped my tea and thought, what on earth is she going to say?
‘They asked him really private questions. I felt so sorry for him. Like, is she pregnant?’
So that was it. They thought she was running away because she was pregnant. I laughed, and said, ‘They’re not even sexually active.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ she replied, and said something like, ‘I thought they were as pure as snow.’
Well, maybe not that pure, I thought.
‘Elizabeth, apparently within the last month … something did happen, but he swears she’s not pregnant. It was protected.’
So, I thought, it had to happen sooner or later. How long had they been a couple? Ten months, and so deeply in love I had been quite concerned by their obvious devotion to each other. He truly was her Romeo.
Silly thoughts come to mind at times like these. Like, Rachel would die if she knew Manni had been through the third degree. Like, poor boy, fancy finally consummating your love only to have some idiot kidnap your girlfriend.
I remembered a time when Rachel was twelve and had gone on a Baptist church youth camp to a place called Gum Creek. She came home ‘in love’. She hurried me into her room and closed the door, and with a great grin on her face said, ‘I’ve had my first tongue kiss.’ Giggle, giggle.
I looked at her, flummoxed by this delighted child. This really did require some kind of answer. I leant back against the window-pane and said, ‘Did you get lots of shivers running up and down your spine?’
‘Yes,’ she answered, sounding absolutely amazed. ‘How did you guess?’
She called this young man Macca and fortunately he lived far far away, over the distant hills. Our phone bill went up dramatically, for at least a month.
Her very first love was her kindergarten friend Ryan, her childhood chum. Together they made mud pies and were fun beach pals at Cape Paterson. There was Anthony who, according to his mother, was besotted with her. Sadly for Anthony, Rachel was not