When her eyes opened, the shower was still running. She could barely see through the steam in the bathroom. The needle hung from her wrist and her blood stained the off-white floor tiles. She didn’t know how long she’d been out, but she had to take a shower and remove the tainted clothes touching her flesh. If the rapist came to, her friends could deal with him. After all, they hadn’t been there for her when she’d needed them.
Having removed her blouse and skirt, she braved the scorching water and stood under the weak jet, still in her nightmare for a while. Inside she was crying but on the outside, there were no tears. It feels like my insides are being shredded. There’s a vandal inside and he’s ripping me up with razor blades... He’s killing me.
Using the men’s shampoo she found on the side of the bath, she scrubbed at her scalp for several minutes. After rinsing off the foam, she washed her hair twice more before scouring her body. By the time she was ready to come out, the outer layer of her skin felt like rubber.
Once dry, she became aware of the masculine scent left on her from the shampoo and shower gel. Even though it smelt clean, it repulsed her. Taking the perfume bottle from her case, she doused her body and hair with Obsession.
In her toiletry bag, she found the toothbrush she’d brought with her. With lashings of toothpaste, she brushed her teeth over the sink. Before long, the white foam that fell into the basin took on a pink hue. Though her mouth was sore and she tasted the blood, she continued to brush vigorously: her teeth, gums, inside her cheeks, the roof of her mouth, her tongue, and as far as she could reach down her throat.
Dressed in the casual clothes she’d brought with her, her body still felt besmirched. However hot the water was, and however much soap she used, the feeling of contamination remained. Eventually, on the outside, it would fade – she knew that’s what happened – but she also knew, on the inside, it would mar her forever.
***
With her hair still wet, Shelley went downstairs. She put her handbag and small suitcase in the lounge before going through to the kitchen. The room was empty. Her friends weren’t there and the rapist’s body had gone, along with his blood that had pooled on the vinyl. They must have started without her.
She turned the gold handle of the cellar door and light beamed up the staircase. When she reached the last step, she felt satisfied to be setting her eyes on the sight she’d been waiting for.
“When did you move him?”
“A few hours ago,” Tara said. “How much did you give him? He’s been out cold since you went up.”
“Only two roofies, and half a bottle of GHB... maybe a bit more.”
“Are you all right, Shell?” Nicole asked.
“I don’t wanna talk about it.” Shelley walked back up the stairs and into the lounge. She took out her curling tongs and plugged them into the socket. Having picked out the items required from her case, she carried them down to the damp cellar.
“Have you been in here this whole time?” Shelley asked.
“Me and Nic have. Angel went for a nap after we dragged him down.”
How her friends could bear the stench of dead rat or sleep in the filthy house, she didn’t know. She hadn’t seen Angel in the lounge, so she must’ve been sleeping in one of the bedrooms, but how could she do that? The mattresses in every room were rank.
Shelley unpicked the edge of the roll of clingfilm. She walked towards the subhuman where he lay naked at the opposite end of the room. The feeling of fleas crawling over her skin intensified. As she got closer, she inspected the damage she’d inflicted after the rape. His face was battered.
Shelley handed Nicole the loose end of the clingfilm. Nicole bent down and wound it several times around his toes. She held it steady while Shelley began binding his feet together with the industrial-size roll of plastic wrap. With his feet secured, Tara and Nicole kept his legs raised as Shelley bound them in transparent layers.
“How are we going to do this?” Tara asked. They were stuck at the top of his fat thighs and unable to raise him. Shelley sprinted up the stairs, grabbed a folding chair from the lounge then came back down to the cellar.
They wedged the curved back of the chair under his buttocks. Her friends levered him up, enabling her to continue the mummification. They jiggled the chair along underneath him as Shelley worked her way up his body.
On reaching his stomach, Shelley removed the handcuffs from his wrists and folded his arms over his torso. She bound them straitjacket-style, then continued the swathing up to his shoulders. Tara and Nicole lifted his head as Shelley wrapped his neck and then his face.
“Can you poke your finger in?” Shelley asked Nicole, because she couldn’t bear to stick her finger up his nose.
“I can’t. Can you do it?” Nicole asked Tara.
Tara tried, but she couldn’t break through the clingfilm. Shelley unravelled the film covering his nose while Nicole went to fetch a knife from the kitchen. Taking the blade from Nicole, Shelley pierced two holes for his nostrils. As she rewrapped his face, she watched the blood ooze from his nose and spread out underneath the transparent cover. At the top of his head, she tore the clingfilm then stepped back to admire her handiwork.
“Do you wanna get some sleep, love?” Nicole asked Shelley.
“No way, I couldn’t.”
“I just thought after what happened, you—”
“She said she didn’t want to talk about it,” Tara said. “You need to learn when to leave things alone.”
***
Shelley went upstairs to the lounge and sat on one of her own chairs. She didn’t want to be in that house. There was no escape from her mind there after the rape. The scene replayed in her head. She saw it occur as if she’d been removed from her body and watching from the ceiling.
Added to the pain were the practicalities. She’d need to pay a visit to the Praed Street Project to be tested for sexually transmitted diseases. After he’d raped her the last time, she’d been clear of STDs. However, over the course of two years, a serial rapist with his modus operandi would most likely have contracted something.
She was distraught with fear over what diseases he might have passed to her. Though she’d have most of the results within a few days of an intrusive examination, it was a few days too many to wait. And the three-month delay before she could obtain a conclusive result on HIV filled her with dread.
A week or two of lone speedballing at home was what she wanted. Her body began to crave, but she hadn’t brought any crack with her – she couldn’t afford psychosis mid-abduction.
Taking her handbag, she returned to her sanctuary upstairs in the bathroom. At least she could have some gear. She looked in the mirror to check her pupils. She wondered how her friends hadn’t noticed their near absence because the pinhead-sized, black dots were retracting through the centre of her blue eyes.