Day #12, ‘Harmless’ – by Amber Averay
Reaching for the large Tupperware container on the bottom shelf of the pantry, Mel groaned when she heard the doorbell ring. She hoisted the tub of Self-Raising Flour up, plunked it on the table and, brushing her hands on the tea-towel over her shoulder, strode for the front door. It was too early for a visitor – although any time of the day was considered too early. She wasn’t one who invited or welcomed guests, finding people pushy, peculiar, and altogether too brash.
But she smiled as she pulled the door open, blinking in surprise at the man who stood there. Even more unexpected than the ‘average’ caller, the police officer in his crisp uniform stood tall, somehow looking relaxed and alert all at once.
He offered her a smile and inclined his head. ‘Morning, madam. I am Officer Markham, and my colleagues and I are asking if anybody has seen Trudey Tanner.’ He handed her a flyer showing a pretty young woman, seemingly in her late-teens, smiling shyly at the photographer. ‘She was last seen in this area, and we are door knocking to try and see if anybody saw, heard, or remembers anything at all.’
Mel studied the face gazing up at her, the fine bone structure that gave the subject a timeless elegance, the large eyes that were soulful and deep. ‘I’m sorry, Officer, but I haven’t seen her.’ Such a photographic face, she thought, wondering foolishly if the girl had sought a career before the camera. It had clearly loved her!
‘Are you sure?’ asked Markham, his voice low, polite, firm. ‘Please, take as long as you need.’
‘I’m sorry, but I haven’t seen her. I would like to think I’d remember if I did – such a pretty girl as her would be hard to forget. Poor thing…’ She exhaled heavily, sadness etching lines in her forehead and creasing between her eyebrows. She looked up at the policeman, catching him looking surreptitiously over her shoulder to examine the hallway behind her. ‘Would you like to look around? I don’t mind,’ she assured, when he arched a brow at her, not at all nonplussed at having been caught eyeing her home. Despite not appreciating guests this was important, and she’d watched enough true crime shows to know that everybody must be a suspect until the victim and killer/killers were found.
Or kidnappers. Abductors. Tormentors… Whoever had taken the girl.
Markham thanked her and Mel stepped back, allowing the large man enough room to move past her and into the hallway.
She had a small home, single storey, weathered floorboards stretching throughout, dulled paint on the walls – once a vibrant buttercup-yellow – and plaster flaking from the crumbling ceiling. Two bedrooms – sparsely furnished, a loungeroom that was perhaps the most comfortable space in the place, and a kitchen that was compact, but large enough for Mel who lived alone.
‘Sorry,’ she said sheepishly, flushing somewhat when Markham took in the bowls, measuring cups, tubs of flour and sugar and electric mixer. ‘I was about to start making a cake.’
‘Special occasion?’
‘Ingredients about to run out, and don’t want them to go to waste.’
He chuckled, mentioning that his wife often did the same thing, and thanked her for her time before making for the front door.
Before she closed it after him, Mel said to the officer, ‘Good luck with the search, Officer Markham. I hope you can find the girl. Poor thing must be terrified.’
He nodded, thoughts already fixed on the next house, thanked her again, and loped down the front path.
Mel closed the door, bolted it, and returned to the kitchen where she resumed preparing her cake. It was going to be chocolate – because who didn’t love that? – and after measuring out sugar, milk, pinch of salt, melting the butter, adding the cocoa, she popped open the Tupperware container that held her flour. After measuring out the amount she needed, she slipped her hand into the powdery substance and felt around carefully, fingertips closing on plastic concealed within. Slowly she eased it free, tapping the flour from the sealed baggie, and then snapping it open removed some of the pieces within and dropped them into her mortar. It was a slow, painstaking task, but with the pestle she crushed the flakes of bone until they were almost finer than the flour, and tipped them into the mix.
Later, when the cake was finished, the chocolate icing gleaming richly and speckled with rainbow flakes, she carried it out the back door, across the cemented ‘entertainment area’, and into the small shed. She really just used this space for storage, filling it with boxes of old clothes she couldn’t bear to dispose of, sentimental mementoes, sweet keepsakes that meant nothing to anybody but her. It was cluttered, but not dirty.
Near the far wall, almost concealed from sight by nearby shelving and old coat racks, was a lever that, when pulled, revealed a secret entry to an old bomb shelter underground.
She’d found it by accident, when she was sorting through the shed some two…maybe three years ago. Its fascinating discovery led her to research her property, and she learned that most homes in this area possessed subterranean bomb shelters. Soundproof, insulated, nicely concealed… Perfection.
She bounded down the narrow staircase curling into the earth, carefully sealing the entry behind her, and moving through a low doorway she came into a dark room where all sound was blissfully muffled.
‘Hello, sweetie! Sorry it took so long, I had an unexpected visitor.’ Cheerily, Mel flipped on the bare overhead bulb and a garish light burst into the darkness. She smiled at the filthy girl chained to the bed and set the cake on the table cemented into the floor in the far corner.
Swiftly slicing free a piece of the cake, she took it on a paper plate to the girl, who stared at her with dull, empty eyes. ‘I made this for you, to celebrate,’ said Mel, reaching for Trudey’s unbandaged hand and clamping her fingers around the edge of the plate. ‘You’ve been with me for four whole days, and nobody has tried anything foolish. We’ve had no interruptions, no accusations, and even Officer Markham today suspected nothing.’ She issued a breathless little laugh, as if they giggled together over a naughty secret they shared. ‘If he’d come a bit later, he might have been able to try the cake… But it’s yours, and only fitting that you have first bite.’
Wordlessly, lethargically, hopelessly, Trudey shook her head and tried to speak. Mel laughed at her pathetic efforts, gently squeezing her good hand. ‘No, a promise is a promise! Here, let me help you.’ She broke off some of the cake and held it to Trudey’s cracked lips, waiting with remarkable patience until her tolerance failed. Pinching the girl’s broken nose shut, ignoring her squeals and snorts of pain, she applied pressure until Trudey’s mouth opened to suck in breath and then shoved the cake in. ‘You can’t fight me, sweetie,’ she said, tenderly brushing filthy, matted hair from her prisoner’s face. ‘You need to eat or you’ll die.’
She hoped this girl was smarter than the others who had come before. So many of them had fought, either refusing to eat, or eating until they made themselves sick and vomited until dehydration became fatal. Some of them tried to bite her, thinking themselves smarter than she. Some of them screamed and cried and begged for salvation, for freedom, howling their desperate fury when she laughed and mocked their efforts.
‘Eat, my darling. It’s a treat for you…’ She continued to feed Trudey gently, tenderly, tucking morsels of cake past the bruised, swollen lips and into the mouth beyond. ‘Would you like some water, my love? Yes? Hold on a moment…’
While at the table Mel cut another piece of cake, humming a jaunty little tune. While the finger she’d removed from Trudey’s hand was curing, she had many bone shards from previous victims that were ready for use. She liked to keep them for a time, a treasure from the girls who tried to escape her and only succeeded when she released them, and then she would hold the bones close, infusing them with the happy memories she’d shared with their providers before crushing them to powder and feeding them to her latest companion.
It was a circle, a beautiful ring that expanded and was enhanced by every new face woven into it. Friends of the past were kept, blessed, until they could become part of the new friends, and so on.
Smiling to herself, ignoring Trudey’s gasping sobs, Mel ate some cake herself before returning to her guest. Celebrations were always best when enjoyed together.
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