Shilo's Secret (7 page)

    She saw him going to the right, so she darted left, but he changed direction at the last minute and she felt his rough hands on her arms as he pushed her down roughly onto the hay-covered floor. She could smell stale tobacco and sweat, as he held both her arms above her head with one hand and started tickling her with the other. Shilo shrieked with laughter. He tickled her under her arms and around her midriff, he tickled her legs. He then pushed her legs open with his knee, and tickled her thighs, and the inside of her thighs.

“Not there! Not there!” she screamed amidst the regaling laughter.

“Why not?” he smirked, between his heavy breaths, “I wanna play with ya!”

    Then suddenly her little, white bikini pants were off, and she felt his huge, rough fingers trying to push into her. Her eyes widened in horror, and her laughter suddenly stopped, and gave way to anxious shouts of pain.

“That’s sore,” she said as calmly as she could, “Please don’t do that, Bill”

    And then she was screaming, but she knew no one would hear her. He shrugged his braces of his shoulders, and pulled down his rough brown trousers. Then suddenly she saw this big, ugly thing that he was rubbing up and down with his other hand. It was pink and purple and hairy and she was very frightened.

“I wan’ ya ta play with me, now,” he said gently.

     His mouth descended on hers and it was wet and slobbery and violent. He tried to force his tongue inside her mouth, but she clenched her teeth. His breath was rancid and his face was prickly and then suddenly there was a gut-wrenching pain from below as something huge tried to push inside her. She could not scream as his mouth was pressing on hers, and his tongue was wetting her face and lips. She felt nauseated and still she could not scream.

   She turned her head from side to side, she bucked her tiny body trying to rid it of the dead weight that pressed down on her.

“No! No! No!” she screamed.

                                                                                *

When Stratt returned, he could not believe what he was seeing as Shilo was thrashing about and screaming hysterically. The terror on her face is what really moved him. This was no delirium evoked by some high fever – this was unadulterated fear that he was witnessing.

“Shilo! Shilo! Wake up!” Stratt said.

“No!” she screamed. “Leave me alone!”

He tried to restrain her arms and sooth her but her retaliatory strength was unexpected, and she struck out catching him on the chest and face.

“No, no, no….” she continued to sob, as he wrapped his arms tightly around her and restrained her with his body weight.

Her eyes flickered open, and she was wracked with sobs.

“No, no, no,” she continued whispering.

   He relaxed his grip on her and held her close and pressed her head against his chest. Her body was convulsing with sobs and the tears flowed. And for a moment Shilo felt extremely secure with his strong arms around her and the sound of Stratt’s reassuring heartbeat in her ears.

“My God, what a nightmare! What was that all about? What on earth were you dreaming about?” he asked gently, stroking her hair as she clung to him.

“It wasn’t a dream,” she said, “It was real and I can’t talk about it... so please don’t ask.”

“Is it something that has happened to you?”

She didn’t answer. She was mortified that this man, this complete stranger, had witnessed her in this vulnerable and uncontrolled state.

“Here, I brought you something for your headache and fever. Come, let me help you.”

   He helped hold her up while she swallowed the two white tablets, and made her drink more water. She was drenched with sweat and still shivering. He couldn’t leave her alone in this delicate condition, so he sat on the bed next to her, with her head on his lap, and she allowed him, after some initial reluctance, to bathe her feverish brow with a wet cloth, smooth her hair and touch her face. Soon she had fallen asleep again. And afraid to wake her by moving, Stratt sat vigil. Her fever began to dissipate, the shivers and tremors, the aftermath of her earlier hysteria and high fever disappeared, and she slept peacefully.

   He loved the feel of her soft hair, and he found himself stroking it often as she slept. He traced the outline of her face with light fingers as he contemplated her beauty. What a complicated woman, he thought. She had one moment been an abusive, arrogant bitch who needed nobody, and now she was a weak and vulnerable mouse who needed to be protected. Guests came and went in their droves, including plenty of beautiful women, there had even been a few supermodels and top Hollywood actresses, but this woman had somehow already made her mark on him, and he had no idea what to do about it. Guests were off limit. What he was doing now was off limits.

                                                                           *

   The dawn sun shone into the room, and when Shilo awoke, she suddenly became very aware of Stratt’s presence. She was lying with her head on his lap and her hair was spread over his legs. She could feel the warmth of his arms around her, and she suddenly felt deeply embarassed by what had happened the night before. She hated it when people could perceive weakness in her and he had seen her at a real low. At a very vulnerable moment. And Stratt of all people … not even someone that she knew well or that she trusted completely. He really was close to being just a stranger … He worked at this game lodge, for God’s sake. He had really seen too much. She looked up at him. His eyes were closed as he leant back on the headboard. There was a hint of morning stubble on his chin and his face was relaxed … and, she had to admit, he was beautiful to look at. Rough, masculine … terriblyenthralling. She stared at him for some exaggerated moments, afraid to wake him by moving. But as if some sixth sense told him she was awake, his eyes opened slowly. Vividly green and sparkling.

“Hi,” Stratt said, “how are you feeling?”

He obviously had a stiff neck from his awkward sleeping position, and stretched it left and right, rubbing it gently with his free hand.

“Embarrassed,” she said. “Very embarrassed. I’m sorry that you had to see that last night.”

“Why?’ he asked.

“Because you shouldn’t have. It’s my dark secret. No one knows about it. But, thank you for looking after me and calming me. I… I needed it,” she said, purposefully not meeting his eyes.

   She sat up and shook her chestnut hair behind hair. Her headache had gone and she felt much better, although a little shaky. Stratt also stood up, without taking his eyes off her.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, “headache gone?”

She smiled and pulled a long, figure-hugging, satin gown over her pajamas.

“This has never happened to me before, and I feel very silly. I can’t thank you enough,” Shilo said. Her softer tone from the night before had once again been replaced by an “I am the great Lady Shilo Delucci” tone.

“Well, let’s try again tonight,” he said

Shilo stared at him wide-eyed, not understanding what he meant at all. Only lying in his lap, her hair being stroked and his strong arms around her flooding her mind.

“I mean with the early-morning game-drive,” he added, realising the implication of what he had just said.

“We’ll see how things go,” she said, “thanks again.”

CHAPTER 5

    The coroner confirmed what Sergeant Andrew Corbett had already suspected. The poor, unfortunate woman had not been raped after her untimely demise. This killer obviously just killed for the sake of killing. The act was brutal and unsuspecting, and then he arranged them, with little imagination, almost as if they had just fallen. Sick bastard, he thought. The press would find out sooner or later, and they would have a field day with this story. Britain needed another serial killer like a hole in the head! The country would go beserk. There would be a media frenzy. Even more so than there had been with the Yorkshire Ripper. But the killer was getting careless.

   Corbett had presumed that in small villages like Pennington-on-Dee, there were not many places where single girls could get picked up. There were no huge malls, film theatres, clubs or discotheques … only the local pubs or eateries. A close interview with some bar owners resulted in a few clues. The Fox and Pheasant had had a young woman in alone. She came in most nights before six, had two drinks, watched the seven o’clock news headlines on Sky, and then left. She was definitely in on the night in question… but this time she had left with a man of smallish stature but with no other identifiable or memorable features. At the scene of the murder, he had left tyre tracks. Tyre tracks from very expensive Pirelli tyres. They were not dealing with a vagrant, or even a local (most of them had farm vehicles, four by fours or small runarounds), but a fairly affluent man who drove, by process of elimination, an expensive car with expensive tyres. He probably lived out of the immediate area, because he was not a recognizable face. He also was not stupid: He did not leave any DNA or any clues, so he probably wore gloves. Yes, he would be caught sooner or later. He was starting to get just a little bit careless.

                                                                    *

   When Stratt stood outside Shilo’s door the next morning at three fifteen, she opened the door almost as soon as he knocked. She had her full length white satin dressing gown wrapped around her.

“Oh, is it half-past three already?” she said, but he could tell she had been awake for a while.

   Stratt nodded, and smiled at her trying to delude him that she had been fast asleep. She had already brushed her hair and put it in a ponytail, and had applied mascara, eyeliner and lip-gloss.

“Give me five minutes,” she said.

   Three minutes later she appeared wearing tight fitting stone washed jeans, a white DKNY tee shirt and a light jersey was thrown loosely over her shoulders. Stratt was leaning against a low wall, his arms folded. God this woman was gorgeous, he thought to himself as she stepped out and shut her door. But be careful, Stratt – she runs hot and cold, he warned himself.

“I was actually nearly ready,” she said, “with all that sleeping I did during the day from the tablets you gave me, I woke up at two and couldn’t drop off again. I would have already been dressed, but everything I put on hurt my back. I wish I had listened to you.”

“Is that an apology,” Stratt laughed.

Shilo remained silent, refusing to give him the satisfaction. She hated to admit that she had been wrong and he had been right. But he caught a slight smirk on her face. Victory was his!

“Aren’t Michaela and your aunt coming?” asked Stratt, knowing the answer even before he uttered the words.

“Ah, no. Aunt Dorianne had a little too much to drink again, and it’s a bit early for Michaela. She’s getting so tired these days”, Shilo lied.

   She had not even asked them … She did not want to. She somehow wanted or rather needed, against her better judgement, to be alone with Stratt. Why? She did not know, but there was a sort of reluctant magnetism to this wild man of Africa. This lovable-repulsive creature. This paradox. There had been some moments, some very tender moments the previous night when he had helped her through her fever and fear, some tinglings and thrills as he had massaged cream into her sunburn. These were things that made her crave more.

“I bought you something,” she said, “just to thank you for last night I really appreciate what you did for me. It was above and beyond the call of duty.”

“Thanks, but it was unnecessary. You’re my guest and I’m here to serve.”

He gave her a mock salute, clicked his heels together Nazi-style and she giggled. She handed him a small package: A gift bag in zebra print. He opened it. Inside was a small blue box. His eyes lit up.