“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.”
