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AMONG THE STARS – PART 1
Peter Cho strolled down an empty street. He found comfort in the solitude. Recently his life had been an endless barrage of questions, decisions he could not make.
“But with results like yours, you could do anything, son.” His father’s puzzled face. “What about astrophysics? Your teachers, they all say …”
“Leave the boy alone.” His mother’s worried voice.
His friends hounded him about girls. “Why don’t you get a girlfriend, man? You’re always so alone. Some female action will do you good.” Philip was always concerned with girls, Peter wasn’t. All the girls he met were too interested in the Kardashians or who won Idols. Peter was indifferent to their pitiful attempts at being cool. They were pathetic sheep and their bleating was too loud.
He needed to be somewhere quiet, away from everything. The ad in the local newspaper had been a godsend. So here he was, in Mitchells Plain, house-sitting for some bored couple who had decided to get away from the charms of suburban bliss. And it was bliss. The house was fully equipped for a teenager who had just finished school. It had motorised gates, heated flooring and an ice-maker in the fridge for lonely nightcaps.
Peter wandered aimlessly, his shoulders hunched, trying to ignore the cold wind knifing through his thin hoodie. ‘Mind over body.’ That’s what the years at the dojo had taught him, and patience, and vigilance. Scoring eight As for Matric, and learning ju-jitsu, were the only parts of his high-school career he’d really enjoyed. When it came to the other stuff, the more he learned, the more pointless it all seemed. And now that his secondary education was completed, he floated in limbo. Above him were the expectations of his parents, and below was his faith, slowly dwindling as he realised the vast emptiness of the universe. His cynicism stretched to all aspects of his life.
Sound suddenly jangled on the night air. His cellphone.
“Hello.”
“Hello, Peter. It’s Mr Wilson. Any trouble so far?”
“No. Everything is fine. You have a wonderful home.”
“Oh, yes. Thank you. Just to remind you of the ground rules: no friends in the house and no using the telephone. But I’m sure you have plenty of airtime?”
“Yes, Mr Wilson.”
“Another thing. If you need any help, call our neighbour, Mrs Pryce. She has also agreed to check in every few days.”
“OK, thanks Mr Wilson. Enjoy your holiday.”
Peter checked his airtime and slid his phone into his pocket. A new reason to hate his life. No airtime for the next week. He did not want to ask his parents for money. They’d give it to him, but he’d be made to feel guilty. He had to find a job, he knew that. Something to keep him occupied while he did some soul-searching. But as far as he could tell his soul was somewhere hidden among the stars. He looked up, but he could only see clouds, shrouding the full moon.
Just ahead of him a small park spanned the block. Two lonely swings and a slide. It was a depressing sight for anyone older than five. He crossed through it, remembering the name of the road it was on. He didn’t want to get lost on his first night in the area. The frost on the grass crunched under his feet. As he stepped onto the blackness of the tar road, a flash of movement caught his eye. A figure was running towards him.
Whoever it was ran with a rhythm tuned to desperation. Peter watched as the runner came closer. His breath quickened, sending small puffs of vapour into the freezing air. The figure was a few metres away. A girl. She was beautiful, but filthy. Her feet were bare, her jeans were torn and her hair was a mess.
Peter measured up the girl. She looked like trouble. He didn’t know what to do. “What if she’s luring me into some kind of trap?” he thought. He took her measure again once she was up close, looked in her eyes and noticed how scared she looked. He shrugged off his suspicions. This girl needed his help.
Peter struggled for words, squeezed a few out: “Are you OK?”
~•~
The clouds cleared and the moon shone out. The wind died down and the harsh sound of the girl’s breathing echoed through the night. She was probably trouble, but Peter couldn’t leave her here. He might be indifferent to annoying ‘sheep’ girls, but he couldn’t ignore a girl who was obviously hurt.
Peter looked at her closely. Her jeans were slashed at the sides as if she had climbed out of a broken window. She looked like she hadn’t washed for a while and her eyes were wild, like an animal that wasn’t used to human interaction. “What’s the matter?”
“I need your help.” Her voice was ragged and it seemed as if she was going to pass out at any minute.
“Ja, but what happened? Are you hurt? Is someone chasing you?”
“I … I don’t know.” She looked over her shoulder, then back at him, her eyes glistening. “I escaped. I don’t think he knows I’m gone.”
“He? What are you talking about? Who did this to you?”
“We need to get out of this street. Quickly. Before he knows I’m gone.”
The girl grabbed Peter by the arm and shoved him back across the road into the park. Her grip was strong. She had a drive that only fear could inspire.
“Wait!” Peter said as the girl speeded up. He stopped and turned her towards him.
“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on.”
“He kidnapped me. We need to get somewhere safe. Now!”
“OK, OK.” Peter lowered his voice, the way he did when his dog was freaked out by thunder. “Take it easy. Calm down. What’s your name?”
“Melissa.”
“Good. I’m Peter. Look, I’ll take you to my place. You’ll be safe there.”
“Thanks, Peter. Come on – quickly.”
They walked at a brisk pace towards the Wilson residence. The longer they walked the more doubtful Peter grew. Melissa looked traumatised and he had no doubt that she had gone through something, but he needed details.
“How did you escape?” he asked.
She stopped walking and looked at him anxiously. Her face was grey with fear. “Please. We don’t have time for this!”
“Yes we do. I’m trying to help you. I need to know what happened.”
“I got away. That’s all that matters right now.”
Tears were running down her cheeks, streaking them silver in the moonlight. Any further prodding and this chick was going to go mental. “OK, let’s just get to the house.” He motioned for her to continue walking.
They hurried on silently until they reached a street named Crowley. Melissa gasped as she saw the street sign and walked even faster. Peter had to jog to keep up.
“Do you know this place?” he said breathlessly.
“I … I … don’t know. There’s something … Let’s just get through here quickly.”
Peter wondered what time it was. It was really cold now, one of those icy, crisp, Cape Town winter nights. There might even be snow on the Hottentots Holland mountains in the morning. But for now, they had a warm house waiting for them. It would be even warmer when he figured out how the heating system worked. They entered and Peter immediately went to the thermostat and fiddled with the knobs.
“That should work,” he said.
Melissa lingered in the doorway.
“You must be freezing,” Peter waved her in. “Come, sit down.”
She chose to sit on the couch closest to the door.
Peter rubbed his hands together and checked the thermostat again. “Maybe there’s another control,” he muttered, looking at the dial.
Melissa rubbed one grimy foot over the other and shivered.
“Are you still cold?” Peter asked.
She started at the sound of his voice. “No. Just scared. He’s out there. I know it.”
“Would you like something to drink?”
“No.”
“OK. Well, the best thing to do now is to call the police.”
“No!” she yelled. Her earlier desperation was back.
Peter didn’t want to spook her any further. “Fine, we’ll just talk.”
~•~
Peter sat on the couch. Melisa’s outburst made him feel uneasy. He smiled nervously. “Are you sure you don’t need anything?” he asked.
“No, it’s … I’m fine. Thanks for helping me.”
“I didn’t do much. You practically dragged me along with you.”
“Yes, but you listened. You believed me …” Melissa’s voice faded into a whisper.
“Hey, tell me something about yourself,” Peter tried to change the subject. He did not want her getting all emotional again.
“Like what?”
“What’s your surname?”
“It’s funny actually. My surname is Peters and your name is Peter.”
Peter didn’t find it particularly funny, but he was glad that she saw humour in something.
“What are we going to do now?” he asked.
“Promise me you won’t call the police.”
“I promise, Miss Peters. Melissa.”
“You know, sometimes I didn’t know whether it was day or night. I hoped that he would just come in and kill me. But he just kept me there like I was some kind of trophy. I had to get out.”
“Well, you’re safe now. Why can’t I phone the police?”
“He has friends. He has friends everywhere.”
“He’s not my friend. I don’t even know him.”
“Thanks. But I can’t go to the police. He’ll hurt my family.”
“Who is this guy?”
Melissa looked away for the first time since they had started talking.
“He’s sick man, that’s who he is. He tortured me. Found it funny when I screamed.” Melissa’s voice was quiet and small. “He raped me, over and over again. He tied my hands and gagged me. I wanted to die.” She spoke mechanically as if the events she was describing had happened to someone else.
Peter was stunned. This girl had gone through hell, far worse than anything he’d expected. She had flung his life into a melodrama and he’d become one of the main characters. He wanted to escape, but that wasn’t an option. He had to help her, somehow. But how? What was he supposed to do? Especially if she was freaked out about the police? He needed some advice. “Melissa, I need the bathroom. Excuse me.”
Melissa was staring into space, her face a frozen mask. Had she even heard him?
Peter headed towards the kitchen where the telephone hung. Using the phone, letting someone into the house. Breaking all the rules. Somehow they didn’t seem all that important. He picked up the phone and punched in Philip’s number.
His best friend answered.
Peter was relieved to hear a familiar voice. This chick really had him feeling freaked out.
“Yo, bra. I need your help.”
“Who is this?”
“It’s Peter.”
“Oh, Peter. Sorry, bra, didn’t recognise the number. What’s happening? How’s the Plain?”
“Not kwaai. There’s this chick in the living room. Says that she was kidnapped.”
“Is she hot?”
Typical Philip. He’d be making jokes at his own funeral.
“Ja, but this is serious, bra. I don’t know what to do.”
“Phone the cops. Let them handle it.”
“Ja, but she says …”
The door opened. Melissa was standing there, a shocked look on her face. Peter hung up the phone slowly. He had done something horribly wrong. He had betrayed her.
“Who were you calling?” Melissa said in a soft voice.
“A friend,” Peter replied. “I was asking him for help.”
He hoped that the truth would reassure her. It did not.
“Don’t lie!”
“I’m not lying. You can trust me, Melissa.”
She laughed, but her eyes were empty, like someone had scooped all hope from them. “I thought I could, but you’re just like him! I thought I could trust him too!”
Peter could not speak.
Melissa turned around and headed for the front door.
“Melissa, wait!” he yelled. “I can help you.”
“You have no idea what Cupido is capable of!”
“Let me help you.”
“No one can help me!”
She wrenched the door open and ran off, leaving the door ajar. Icy outside air filled the house. Peter stood still for a minute, uncertain. She had asked for his help and he’d treated her like a crazy person. He needed to find her. He ran out of the house, down to the end of the road and retraced the way they had come.
Melissa Peters was nowhere to be seen.
~•~
Peter ran back to the house. His mind was racing. Millions of thoughts like spiders crawled over his brain. He rushed to the kitchen and picked up the phone. The police would know what to do. He took a deep breath and shook off the spiders. What did he have to say? He had nothing. The girl had disappeared and the police wouldn’t believe a teenager without an adult around. He put the phone back in its cradle and leaned against the wall
So much for three weeks of peace and easy money. Peter’s night had descended into chaos. A leisurely stroll through the neighbourhood had turned into a quest to help a kidnapped girl. That’s if she had been kidnapped. He stood in the front yard chewing his lip. Who was this girl? She’d shown a desperation and courage that Peter had only witnessed in the movies. And then, like an idiot, he had let her down. He looked up at the stars and made a vow. He was going to find her and help her through her trauma, whether she trusted him or not.
He checked the time on his phone. Just before ten. He looked over to the neighbour’s house. The lights were still on. Maybe Mrs Pryce would know who the Peters were. He locked up the house and headed next door. He’d have to be careful not to mention Melissa. He couldn’t betray her twice in one evening. He rang the doorbell and was surprised to get a quick answer. The door opened and an attractive woman in her forties answered. She was wearing an oriental dressing gown.
“Yes?”
Peter swallowed. His first night house-sitting and already he had a problem. “Good evening. I’m sorry to disturb you.”
“It’s fine. I was just watching some TV.”
“Good, um … I’m Peter. I’m looking after the Wilsons’ house. I need to ask you something.”
“Oh hello, Peter.” Mrs Pryce looked him up and down and smiled. “Mr Wilson told me about you, but he didn’t say how handsome you are. I’m Wilma Pryce. Nice to meet you.”
Peter swallowed again. He shook Wilma’s outstretched hand. Her grip was loose, but her hand was warm, and she let it linger in his. Was she flirting with him? He stepped back and spoke seriously.
“Nice to meet you too, Mrs Pryce. I found a letter in the post box earlier and it’s addressed to a Mr Peters. Do you know where he lives?”
“That must be the Peters in Crowley Street.”
Peter’s heart jumped. The street sign that had freaked Melissa out. First proof that she’d been telling the truth. “Yes,” he said, “that’s probably them.”
“Well, they live just a few streets down. Number thirty-four, I think. The postman’s always mixing mail up. We’re Cowling Street. But you’re not planning on going there now? Isn’t it rather … late?” She smiled at Peter again.
“Um … no – I mean, yes. I mean, thank you, Mrs Pryce.”
“No problem, Peter … and it’s Wilma. Pop in any time. My husband works nights.”
Peter shifted uncomfortably. Wilma sensed his discomfort and leaned close to him.
“Don’t be scared, Peter. I don’t bite,” she said. Peter could feel her warm breath on his cheek. She was getting too close.
“I really have to go now, Mrs Pry– I mean Wilma. It was nice meeting you.” Peter backed up, almost falling off the stoep.
“Goodnight, sweetie.” She smiled seductively at him.
Peter hurried off the stoep. He didn’t trust Mrs Pryce not to eat him whole.
But his query had been worth it. He’d found out where Melissa lived. It was all beginning to make some weird sort of sense.
His need to find Melissa grew more urgent as he began his journey to the Peters’ residence. He replayed all the information he had got from her. Her kidnapper had raped her, his name was Cupido and he was apparently very influential.
All Peter’s own worries – what to do with his life, how to do his own thing without hurting his parents – paled in comparison to what Melissa had gone through.
He reached Crowley Street and walked along until he saw number thirty-four. The lights were still on. Nervousness grew tentacles in his stomach. Either Melissa was here, or the kidnapper was – or worse.
Peter Cho stepped up to the door and rang the bell.
~•~
The door opened and an old man appeared, probably Melissa’s grandfather. He was fully dressed, but his face was creased, the way Peter’s father’s was when he fell asleep in his chair. Peter struggled to find words to explain to the man why he was there so late at night. It might be a better idea not to lead straight into it with the truth. The man might think he was crazy.
“Good evening, sir.”
“Do you have any idea what time it is, young man?”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“You better be. What is this about? And who are you?”
The ou toppie was clearly in a bad mood. Peter had to be careful about how much he revealed to him. He needed to get inside to find out more.
“My name is Peter and I’m here to talk about Melissa.”
The old man reeled back, as if Peter had slapped him. “What? What about her?”
“This is very important, sir. May I come in?” Peter stared grimly into the man’s face.
“OK, OK. I’m not sure what this is about … but come in.”
The house smelt like old people. A musty smell that reminded young people that death was a reality. Peter stood uneasily in the living room. He waited for the old man to sit down before he sat on the couch closest to the door. It was warmer here than at the Wilsons’ house. Muggy warm, like the windows weren’t opened often.
“So, what is so important?”
“Sir, earlier this evening I was walking through the neighbourhood. I thought I was going to have a quiet evening, but then I ran into a girl – or rather she ran into me. She told me that she had been taken by someone.”
“Taken?”
“Yes, sir. Kidnapped, she said.”
“So?”
“Well, I took her to this house I am looking after, but she got upset and ran out. Now I’m looking for her.”
“Here? And you’re telling me this girl – you think the girl is Melissa?”
“I know it is Melissa, sir.”
An older woman entered the living room. The musty smell doubled as she sat on the couch next to the old man. Melissa’s grandmother. She looked less confused than the old man, but she was more upset.
“What’s going on here?” she asked.
“Nothing. This young man is clearly confused. He thinks he saw Melissa tonight.”
Again, a shocked reaction, like Peter had torn the old lady’s heart out of her chest. “What makes you think that?”
Peter looked at the old couple on the couch. Their certainty that he was mistaken was unnerving. The only thing he could do was keep calm. He answered with a question.
“Is your surname Peters, Ma’am?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s what she told me her name was.” Peter could not contain his frustration. “I’m telling you, I saw Melissa Peters this evening!”
The old man started forward, his eyes bulging. If he’d had a shotgun he’d have blasted it right in Peter’s face by now. His wife looked down at her lap as if she was afraid to meet Peter’s eyes.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” The old man’s tone was hostile and cold.
“I apologise. It’s been a long night.”
“Just leave, before I throw you out!”
The old man’s raised voice blasted through the house. A girl appeared from somewhere deeper in the house and stared at Peter. Peter blinked and then blinked again. This chick looked like Melissa, but it definitely wasn’t her. For starters her clothes were cleaner. She had shoes on and her eyes were rebellious.
“Go back to your room, girlie!” the old man commanded. “This doesn’t concern you.”
“If it’s about Melissa, it does.”
The rebellious girl was obviously not cowed by the old man. She looked determined to stay. The old man folded as he turned away from Peter. His anger seemed to transfer to the girl as he opened his mouth to shout at her. But before he could get his words out she took a step towards Peter.
“What do you know about Melissa?” she demanded.
Peter was in deep now.
~•~
The girl’s stare burned into Peter’s soul. Her eyes boiled as if Peter had insulted her Matric dance dress. Peter stared back at her, speechless. She turned her eyes away and sat on the couch right next to Peter. His discomfort quickly worsened as the ‘rebel girl’ spoke.
“I asked you a question. Are you deaf, dumb or just an idiot?”
“What’s your problem?” Peter asked sharply. This was getting beyond a joke. He was here to help these people and they were treating him like he had done something really bad.
“Just answer me.”
“She told me she’d been kidnapped by some ou.”
The old man stood up and grabbed Peter. “What is this? Some kind of sick game you play? Do you like toying with people’s emotions?” Angry spit landed on Peter’s face. He was scared for the first time that evening. The Rebel Girl leapt up to separate the two of them.
The old lady sat frozen on the couch, her gaze on the floor as if the dirty carpet was the only thing affecting her.
“Look. You have to believe me. Melissa told me she was taken, kidnapped, by some guy. She called him Cupido.”
“Cupido?” Rebel Girl asked. She looked at her grandparents in confusion. “You’re sure that’s what she said?”
“Yes. He tortured her. I just want to find her and help her.”
“And you’re sure you saw her tonight?”
“Ja. Listen, I really didn’t come here to speak to you. It’s Melissa I wanted to see. To make sure she’s all right. She didn’t want me to call the police. Is she here or not?”
Another confused look. Rebel Girl spoke slowly. “She’s not. She hasn’t been here for a while.”
“What do you mean?” This was getting weirder and weirder. The old couple and Rebel Girl had sad looks on their faces. It was as if they were remembering something terrible, and Peter had caused it. He sat back down and asked again: “What do you mean?”
The old man started sobbing. “It is impossible that you saw her. Just impossible!”
“Impossible? But I’ve just told you I did. And she’s in danger. Look,” said Peter, gabbling now, trying to make them realise how serious this whole thing was, “we need to move quickly. She wouldn’t let me call the police, but maybe –”
The old man laid his hand on Peter’s arm. “Son, I can see now that you mean well. I can see you’re a good boy. But there’s nothing we can do. Melissa has been missing for over twenty years.”
“What?” Peter stared at the old man. Had he heard correctly? “But, that’s impossible. The girl I met was young.” He looked at Rebel Girl. “About your age.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what’s going on here.”
“You’d better start again,” Rebel Girl said. At least she didn’t look like she wanted to punch him senseless any more.
Peter ran over what he’d already told them, stressing Melissa’s age, her appearance, and most of all, her frantic fear. “She said she thought she could trust him,” he ended. “Do you know this Cupido?”
The girl guided the old man to a chair and patted him gently on his back. “Mr Cupido was our neighbour.” She spoke in a serious tone. “And you’re telling me he took her?”
“Yes. I’m sorry.”
“Wait here.” She ran from the room and returned a minute later carrying a large flat box with ‘Melissa’ written on it in curly letters. She sat next to Peter and slid out a photo album. She opened it and pointed at a photograph.
“Is this the girl you saw?”
“Yes.”
It was Melissa. No doubt about it. Her hair was big. Her jeans high-waisted. She’d stepped right out of the late eighties. The photo had faded but her eyes were as brilliant as ever.
“Oh, God.”
The tears were tragic. Rebel Girl’s bravado dissolved into an ocean of sorrow. Peter wanted to comfort her, but he was afraid.
“Melissa was my aunt.” The girl’s voice was quiet. “I never met her. She disappeared before I was born. The police finally told my grandparents that they should give up; that Melissa was probably dead.”
Melissa. Missing for twenty years? Probably dead? But he’d seen her, just a few hours ago.
At least they all believed him now. The mood in the room had changed. Everything felt calmer. And deeply sad.
~•~
Rebel Girl wiped her tears away and smiled at Peter. “Thank you.”
“For what?” Peter said.
“Ever since I was little I wondered what happened to her.” She glanced at her grandparents. “I can’t believe it was Mr Cupido. How could he have done this? He was always so nice to me. He never raised his voice to me, and he was always concerned about how I felt about Melissa. He told me stories about her and how they worked at the church together. I can’t believe it … and he was a father. His son Selvin still lives next door.”
“Was? Where is he now? Old Mr Cupido?”
“Dead. He died last year. We went to the funeral. I can’t believe this. Does this mean he’s got away with murdering my aunt?”
Rebel Girl’s sadness disappeared and was replaced with fury. It was like she wanted Mr Cupido to be dead, but she was disappointed that she hadn’t been able to be the one to kill him.
“Dirty old bastard. Death is not enough punishment!” Rebel Girl spat.
“Don’t talk like that, girlie. You must have respect for the dead,” said the old man.
“He didn’t respect Melissa! He killed her, Oupie. I don’t have an aunt!”
The old man kept quiet. Rebel Girl’s rage was uncontrollable. Peter stepped closer to her and put his hand on her shoulder. He wanted to comfort her.
“What’s your name?” Peter asked her.
“Charlene.”
“Awesome. Now I can stop thinking of you as ‘Rebel Girl’.”
Charlene smiled. His attempt at humour worked on her. Her shoulders eased up. Her rage faded.
“Well, sir, what are you going to do about this new information?” Peter asked the old man politely.
“We need some time to think about everything. I don’t want to rush this.”
“I understand.” Peter turned to Charlene. “Do you have a pen and paper?”
She rummaged in a rucksack on the dining table.
Peter scribbled on the piece of paper she handed him. “Here’s my number in case you want to file a report.”
“Thank you.” Mr Peters shook his hand firmly. “Sorry about yelling earlier.”
“Do you have a shotgun?” Peter asked.
“No. Why?”
“No reason.”
Peter stood up. He was ready to leave. The night had turned into bundle of awkward conversations and illogical leaps.
“You’re weird, aren’t you?” Charlene asked.
“Kind of, but I usually don’t communicate with the ‘presumed dead’. That’s new.”
“I’m sure.”
Her smile burnt more than her stare, but Peter did not mind this heat. Her radiance was intense, but he wanted more. He walked to the door and Charlene followed.
“I’m glad we have your number,” she said.
“Why? You want to date me?”
“Maybe. I’m attracted to guys who talk to my dead aunt.”
Peter looked back at the house and saw Charlene at the window. She was watching him leave. He waved at her. She smiled and waved back. He turned around and headed back to the Wilson residence. He hoped that he would see her again.
The coldness of the night did not bother him any more. Why had Melissa chosen him? Why hadn’t she let him know she was dead?
He ran through all the events of the evening: a ghost, a flirty middle-aged woman and an angry old man. These were all significant encounters, but he thought about Rebel Girl Charlene the most. Was she the reason Melissa had come to him? He shook his head. Crazy, thinking Charlene’s dead aunt had led him to her, but stranger things have happened.
The night was warm with the memory of human experience. He had affected the lives of three people that night – in a good way. Decisions about his future did not seem impossible any more. All Peter wanted was to connect. All he wanted was to belong. And he’d certainly done that. Peter smiled. Suddenly the world felt like a better place to be in.
Discussion questions
• How did Peter change during the story?
• Do you believe in ghosts or the supernatural? Why or why not?
About the author
Jean-Paul Willemse is 20 and lives in Kraaifontein, Cape Town. He is studying Philosophy and English through Unisa. He started writing in high school and his dream is to write for a living and never leave his house. He describes himself as ‘an introvert who loves writing.’
Being a mentee …
Being a mentee I learned how to collaborate with someone on the plot of a story. When Maire and I mapped out the plot for ‘Among the Stars’, it was surprising to see how someone else responded to my ideas. Maire also showed me how to humanise my dialogue, which had been extremely robotic before. She told me to read out loud to myself and it helped immensely. I am a better writer thanks to my mentor.