Without Consent (24 page)

The pain from the blade on her collarbone
forced her head off the bed. Every muscle strained against his weight. For a moment he sat back, knees still pinning her arms above her head. Then he unbuttoned his belt and unzipped his trousers. The smell of ketones in his sickly sweet breath made her gag. He probably hadn’t eaten for hours.

Anya swallowed hard and struggled to think how to stop him. “My ex-husband will be here any minute with our son. He’s got a key,” she lied. “You could get away if you go now. I won’t say anything.”

The words sounded hollow, even to her.

The man cocked his head to the side. “Don’t look at me,” he hissed, and landed a punch to her cheek. “Don’t make any noise.”

The thumping of her heart was almost deafening, and she was sure he was enjoying the sound of air straining to move through her lungs. Is this what excited him—the fear and terror?

Suddenly he froze. “There’s someone downstairs,” he said, zipping his pants with his left hand. The knife stayed put at her throat.

Anya was too afraid to scream.

“Let’s go,” he said, and yanked her up by the hair. Standing, he pulled her head underneath his left arm in a tight headlock, like a footballer holding a ball. Her feet slipped on the floor as she tried to get a grip. The ugg boots had come off on the bed. She didn’t have any control of her legs. The bedroom floor flashed beneath her. The rug slid toward the window in the struggle. A pair of flat shoes were under the bed. She couldn’t reach anything. She tried to get her fingers between his arm and her throat. She needed to breathe. Trying to make a sound, a cough was all that came out. If he had someone else downstairs, she would have no chance of getting away. Maybe one raped and the other killed?

The cold metal pressed harder against her face. It took all her strength to suck in air filled with the stench of body odor.

Slowly, her feet slid down the stairs. Blackness was all she could see. How many stairs were there? She tried to remember. That way she’d know when they were at the bottom. First chance, she’d run for the door.

Light flashed when they turned the corner. The silent TV was still on.

She tried to think. She had to get away, try to get some kind of control. If the police had arrested Lerner, who was attacking her, and why? Maybe Lerner murdered the women but did not rape them.

“Who’s there?” her captor demanded.

He was not expecting anyone! Anya prayed for someone to be here, anyone to save her.

They stood in silence for what felt like minutes, Anya hunched over with the knife in her face. Then he relaxed his grip, just enough to ease her breathing.

“Guess we’re alone after all,” he said. “Now, where were we?”

Anya needed to buy time. Any time at all. She thought of the smell of his breath.

She managed through the arm-hold, “You must be hungry. Don’t you want to eat something first?”

He seemed to pause for a moment then released her, still hanging on to her damp hair.

At least she had the use of her hands, she thought.

“What’s for dinner?” he asked, as casually as if he were home for the evening with his girlfriend.

Anya remembered the profile. Wants to role-play the loving partner. Fantasy rapist. Gentleman. She had to play along.

“There’s a bottle of wine you could open, and some lasagne. It’s cold, but I could heat it up.”

“Do it.” He tightened the grip on her hair. “But don’t try anything. I’ve still got the knife. And don’t look at me.”

Hands trembling, she lifted out leftover lasagne and removed the cling-wrap, feeling the pull on her scalp each time she moved. “Could you put on the light, please, so I can turn on the oven?” She tried to sound casual.

“No lights,” he said. “And use the microwave. Got any beer?”

“No,” she said. “I thought wine was more romantic.”

She felt him loosen the grip on her hair. The knife remained around her chest—for now. For the first time, she thought she might talk him into leaving her alone. She had to gain his trust, get him to open up. She hoped like hell that the profiler had been right. If not, she was about to get herself killed.

She unscrewed the wine bottle. “Pour it,” he said, waving the knife at a glass in the drip-tray. They stepped toward the sink, with his hand still attached to her hair. She could feel his hot breath on the back of her neck.

“You smell nice.” He inhaled again. “Real nice.”

The flesh on her neck and shoulders contracted. She shuddered uncontrollably. He responded by licking her neck. Then he gulped the wine and shoved the glass at her for a refill. The microwave hummed, the light illuminating the clear kitchen benches.

Anya had the knives high up in the pantry, so no little fingers could get to them. Neither could she. Even if she could reach a knife, she was afraid he’d be too strong and turn it on her.

The microwave beeped and steam rose off the lasagne. “Get a fork,” he said, still with the cap low over his eyes. “I’ll eat it here. You can feed me.”

By the way he devoured the leftovers, he hadn’t eaten for quite a while. With his hands still on the knife and her hair, Anya was trapped and had no chance of escape right now. She had to wait. Light flickering from the TV couldn’t be seen from the street. Somehow she had to let Martin know she was home. Somehow she had to get the lights on.

As he chewed, she felt him watch her face as the metal blade depressed her cheek.

She had to play along with the fantasy. It was her only chance of getting away.

“I’ve been waiting for you to come,” she said.

He swallowed hard and stared into her eyes. “How did you know I would?”

“I saw the other girls. I wanted to know what it was like to be with you.” She moved his hand from her hair to her cheek.

He bent forward and brushed his face against hers. The muscles in her face quivered with revulsion, but the gesture worked. Her hair was free of his hold.

“I know you didn’t mean to hurt any of the women,” she whispered. “You were just showing love.”

He raised his head and one of his eyes squinted. She still didn’t know who he was.

She had to be more convincing. Her stomach wanted to purge, to vomit all over him. She swallowed.

“I’d like to get to know you better, you, as a person.”

Don’t cry, she told herself. Stay calm. “I know how intelligent you are, and what you feel about love.” Her voice quavered, so she pushed some hair across his forehead. “That’s why I want this to be right.” Her rapid pulse throbbed in her neck.

“It’s going to be perfect,” he said. “What else is there to eat?”

“If you like, there’s chocolate in the cupboard.”

“Get it,” he snapped, and grabbed her hair again. She complied as slowly as she could.

With a piece of mint-chocolate in his mouth and another in his knife hand, he said, “It’s time to get what I came for.”

He was between her and the back door. She couldn’t run, his grip was too strong. If she could bite the hand holding the knife, he might drop it.

Before she could try, he pushed her into the lounge room and threw her face-up onto the lounge. As her back hit the cushion, he landed on top again, knees pinning her arms by her side. This time he let her breathe. With her legs curled up beneath her and the woollen skirt pulled tight, he couldn’t get his hand between her legs. For a second he looked like he’d cut it open, but pulled back.

His breathing became faster and more shallow. He lifted her jumper, exposing her bra. Taking his time, he bent down, pushed away the material and licked her breasts. She turned her head to the side and swallowed again, trying not to cry.

His mouth quickly made its way to hers. She didn’t struggle, despite gagging when his tongue mauled her mouth. She tried to ease her hand free to switch on the lamp.

Martin should be here by now. She needed to let him know she was home.

“I have to tell you something,” she said. “I’ve got an infection right now and I don’t want you to catch it.”

He stopped trying to force her legs apart. “No problem.” A condom came out of his trouser pocket. The zip went down again.

She arched her back, trying to sit up. “But you could still catch it. I’m a doctor, remember? A condom won’t protect you completely. It’s fungal and makes your skin itchy. It’s incredibly painful when the skin starts to peel.”

He squinted both eyes and grimaced. The thought of an infection near his penis must have bothered him.

“I’ll be better in a few days’ time. Why don’t you come back and we can do this properly? We could make it a magical night. I promise.”

He muttered something she couldn’t make out.

“The police have been watching you. They could be here any minute. You’ve got to go before they find you.”

The man sat up, still pressing on her with all his weight. His eyes flicked around the room.

Jesus. He might go, she thought. With a little more pushing, Anya really believed she could get away. She took a deep breath. “I’ll get you some food to take with you, and see you back here next Saturday, when it’s dark, so no one sees you.”

He smirked again. “You’re a stupid fucking liar.”

A chair scraped the floor in the kitchen and Anya felt relief flood through her. Martin!

The man held the knife against her throat again and froze.

“This is going to stop now,” said a woman’s voice. “Right here, right now!”

For the first time, Anya saw fear in the man’s eyes.

Martin pulled up in front of Anya’s
neighbor’s house. The old woman would no doubt complain, but she whinged about everything.

“You ready?” he asked.

“Dad, why is Mum’s house all dark?”

Martin checked his watch. “She’s probably held up somewhere. Just like usual.”

Ben didn’t respond and continued to play his hand-held computer game.

“I’ll check anyway.” He got out of the car and knocked on the front door, studying the small jade plant in a pot near the path while he waited. It was a plant they were given when they got married. For luck, supposedly. It had always been healthier when Anya looked after it.

No answer.

He climbed back in the car and undid the window. “Guess we wait a few minutes. Her car’s there.” He pointed to a blue Toyota Corolla, two cars ahead.

“Maybe she’s gone to get bread.” Ben zapped another couple of aliens.

“Either that or she took a taxi this morning. She does that when she goes into the city to save on parking. We’ll give her a few more minutes,” he said, flicking on the radio.

The man stared over Anya’s shoulder at the intruder.

No one moved as they heard the knock on the door. The man shoved his hand over Anya’s mouth, muffling her attempts to call out and restricting her vision. There was no second knock.

Anya’s eyes welled. Why hadn’t the woman reacted, she wondered.

“Get off her.” The strange woman’s voice sounded familiar. “Now!”

Without taking his eyes off the woman, he complied and slowly rose to his feet.

Anya sat up and moved backward to get away from him.

“Stay there!” He leaned toward her with the knife. “I’m not finished with you.”

In the shadows, Anya could make out the woman’s shape and the glint of metal reflecting from the TV. It didn’t make any sense.

“How did you get in?” He sounded nervous.

Anya braced herself to run.

“Luke, I know you. You always leave the back door open.”

Anya realized that Desiree Platt was in the house with a knife in her hand.

None of this made sense. Why had Desiree come to help her? Did she know her husband was a rapist?

Luke inched his way along the side of the coffee table. “Des, what are you doing?”

“I can’t believe you’d do this to me,” she blurted. “I trusted you.”

“Calm down, Des. It’s not what you think.” He held one arm out like a peace offering. “How’d you know I was here? Did anyone follow you?”

“No one knows I’m here.”

Anya’s heart hammered. How could a heavily pregnant woman overpower Luke? Her breathing quickened and her fingers began to tingle.

Desiree sounded angry. “I saw the way you listened to Nick talk about her. That’s how I knew you’d come.”

Luke leaned forward. “I’m sorry. I’ll get help this time, go to counselling, whatever it takes. It won’t happen again.”

“You promised! No more women,” Desiree cried.

He kept advancing slowly. “Don’t do anything silly. If you just put down the knife.”

“Not yet…” Her voice trailed off.

She was no physical match for Luke. Once on the ground, she wouldn’t stand a chance. If Anya moved, he could get to her in a lunge. But Desiree was standing even closer.

Anya had to distract him, so Desiree could get help.

She leapt over the arm of the lounge, shouting, “He’s got a knife. Desiree, run, get help!”

As her elbows hit the wooden floorboards, Platt had her hair in his grip again. Pain shot through her arms and knees.

“You stupid fucking bitch!” he said, and thumped the back of her head with something like a rock.

It felt like her head exploded. Dazed, she scrambled to pull free, disorientated by the blinding sensation.

He dragged her back onto the lounge and she felt the metal dig into her cheek again. “Don’t move a fucking muscle.”

Head throbbing, she hoped Desiree had got away. She could cope with almost anything if she knew help was coming quickly.

Clutching her head, she looked across. Her chest tightened. Desiree stood where she had been, frozen.

“The father of my child is a good man,” she said calmly. “You won’t take him away from me.”

Anya didn’t understand. She couldn’t process what was going on.

“You’re right, Des.” With one hand, Luke slid the coffee table to his left, clearing the path to Desiree. With his right hand, he kept the knife pointed in Anya’s direction.

“What about Elizabeth Dorman?” Anya put pressure on her throbbing scalp.

“Don’t you get it?” Luke’s voice strained as he shook the knife. “It was Willard. He did it, just like he killed Eileen Randall.”

Anya hesitated. When he was in control, she had no chance of escape
.

If he lost control, he might do anything. She had to risk it. “Geoff Willard didn’t stab Eileen. She was already dead when he found her. I know because I’ve got the evidence to prove it.” If he came for her, she’d dive and roll. Maybe he’d reach her legs, but not her body.

Luke panted loudly. “You’re lying. Willard killed Eileen. Des even saw him do it.”

“Shut up, Luke! She’s messing with your head. Just like the others did.” The knife glistened again. “She wants to seduce you. She’s exactly like the others.”

What others? Anya didn’t understand. What was Desiree doing? The whole moment seemed surreal with
The Simpsons
playing silently on the screen.

Platt began to pace and bumped his knee on the coffee table.

About ten meters and she could make it to the front door. Her muscles tensed in readiness.

“Honey, you need to go now,” Desiree said calmly. “I’ll stay and sort this out. We can meet at that kiosk where we had lunch last month.”

He froze. “What do you mean, sort it out?”

“I forgive you, Luke. The baby does too. I know it’s not your fault that women seduce you. They were all just affairs that didn’t mean anything.”

Anya slowly edged one leg over the arm of the lounge. Desiree was more unstable than she had thought.

“I told you not to fucking move!” Luke yelled, and the knife jolted closer again.

“I saw you,” Desiree said. “I know where you went when you were supposed to be working. Sometimes I even followed you. I could see the Dorman bitch inside her house, prancing around with the lights on. You always went around the back so no one could see you.” She sniffled and her voice broke. “I’d wait outside, knowing what was going on in there night after night. Do you have any idea what that felt like, every time you went there to see her?”

Suddenly, it became clear. Desiree thought Luke had been having affairs with his victims. She had watched him stalk them and maybe even sat outside while he committed rape. The woman was delusional.

Anya tried to move her leg, which had gone numb underneath her.

Luke stayed still. “Affairs? You stupid bitch. What have you done?”

“I protected what was mine, and our child’s. What I did was for us. Our family.”

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, Des. You killed that teacher.” He rocked on the spot, almost in time with the TV flicker. “I’ve got to think.” He squatted down on his knees. “We’ve got to get out of here. But what do we do with her?”

Desiree bent down to put a hand on his shoulder.

“We can move somewhere new, start again. Change our names and give the kid a chance. Maybe some town in New Zealand.”

They were both going to kill her. Anya swung her other leg over and ran for her life.

“No, Des, don’t! Leave her alone.”

She spun and saw Desiree coming toward her, knife next to her shoulder. Like a cat, Luke landed between the women. Desiree thrust and stumbled forward into his arms. Anya ran for the door, not looking back.

A muffled moan came from behind her, then a horrible sucking noise. Someone had been stabbed. She had to get out. Fast.

She flicked on the light so Martin would know she was home. Nothing.
Shit!
Someone must have cut the power to the lights. The door wouldn’t open. She’d deadlocked it earlier and the keys…Where were the keys?
Shit.

Running into the office, she pushed hard on the locked window. It too was deadlocked. She swung around, trying to think. Pain still pulsed in her head. A chair. What if she threw it through the window? Someone would notice.

She ran round the desk but could not get the chair out from behind. She tried to lift it, but her arms couldn’t take the weight. Oh God, she had to be quick. Then she thought of the back door. It was open.

She sidestepped out of the office, ready to sprint for her life. Then she saw the figure blocking the hallway.

Desiree stood, with the knife poised to attack.

The sucking noise had to be coming from Luke.

“You bitch, see what you’ve done? You’ve killed him!” the woman almost squealed. “You’re going to die, just like the others.”

Anya held both hands up in front of her, showing she had no weapon. Her arms and legs were her only defense, despite Desiree’s pregnancy. She could hear Luke struggling to breathe.

Terror filled her. Desiree had come here to kill her. Luke was all she cared about.

“I’m a doctor, remember. I can help him.” She kept her hands at face-level. “If you kill me, he might bleed to death.”

Desiree lowered the knife. “If he dies, I’ll slit your throat.”

Anya kept her arms forward, feeling her way in what little light there was. When she reached the lounge room, the sucking noise became louder and more frequent. She felt her hair yanked again as her captor pulled her over to Luke. He was lying on the floor near the coffee table. Anya knelt down and felt the wetness seep through her skirt. He was hemorrhaging and there was little she could do.

The gurgling, sucking noise came from the stab wound into his lung. It sounded like a tension pneumothorax, sucking air in and compressing his heart.

God, please don’t let him die yet, she thought. Feeling for a carotid pulse, her hopes faded. It was barely palpable, thready, rapid and weak. She leaned back for the rug from the lounge and felt her scalp tearing.

“Can you get me the rug?” she pleaded. “I need something to compress the bleeding.”

Desiree threw it at her. “Do it.”

Luke was barely conscious as life drained from him. Anya put pressure on his chest, which did little for his condition.

“What’s happening? What’s that sound?”

“It’s just air escaping from the wound,” Anya lied. “If I keep pressure on it, his breathing will slow and he’s likely to pass out. It’s his body’s way of saving oxygen.” She just hoped Desiree knew nothing about first aid. “This is serious. You’ve got to call an ambulance. There’s a mobile in my bag over there.” She pointed toward the kitchen.

“Don’t try anything stupid,” Desiree said, stepping backward to the handbag. Anya knew she was being watched. Her hands kept still, but with her knees she tried to mop up as much of the shiny liquid as possible. Even Desiree had to know he’d lost too much blood to survive.

“It’s not working!” She came over and held the knife between Anya’s shoulder blades.

Anya flinched as she remembered. She’d let the phone go flat and hadn’t recharged it. “What about the landline?” she urged.

“It’s dead,” Desiree said desperately. “You’re gonna have to save him.” She stuck the knife deeper, piercing Anya’s skin. “Remember, if he dies, you do too.”