Red Ribbons

His gloved hands slid around the steering wheel and he stretched out his fingers on reaching the top. It wasn’t yet dark. He looked at the scarf on the dashboard, and read 19.45 on the clock. She wouldn’t be expected home until ten. He had everything he needed; preparation and good timing were an essential part of his success.


He waited, watching her pull away from the group, reaching into the pocket of her denim jacket, answering her mobile phone. The annoyed look on her face telling him the call is unwanted, probably her awful mother. He would need to take care of that phone; no loose ends.

She crossed at the traffic lights, obeying the green man like a good little girl, then turned down the road towards the sports centre. He followed, pulling in on the left-hand side ahead of her and checking the rear-view mirror to make sure it was only her he saw. Leaning over, he rolled down the passenger window, before calling out to her.

‘Hi there.’

‘Ah, hiya.’ A nice big smile.

‘No swimming this evening?’

‘What?’

‘No kit bag …’ He points to her left shoulder.

‘Oh yeah – no, not tonight, just heading up to see some of the others.’

‘Hop in. I’ll give you a lift. I’m going there myself.’ She hesitates. ‘You can tell me all about your new medals, you must have more.’

‘Only one.’ She laughs.

‘Slacking on the training, are you? Come on, get in.’

‘They don’t come easy, you know,’ she says, sitting in beside him.

‘Nothing worthwhile ever does, Amelia. Roll up that window. We don’t want you catching a cold.’

He knew panic would set in once he passed the sports centre, so before reaching it he said, ‘Mind if I pick up someone else, they are just around the corner?’

‘Sure, no problem.’

‘Turn on the radio if you like.’

‘Cool,’ she bent her head down to flick around the stations.

The entrance to the back lane was on his left. As he turned the car she looked up, almost instinctively trying to get her bearings.

The punch to her face hit the underside of her chin. Dazed, her head hit the passenger side window, and for an instant she stared back at him before lunging for the door handle. He had the large kitchen knife to her throat before she could reach it, pulling her back by the hair.

‘Now, Amelia, let’s be calm. If you are a good girl, I promise I’ll make this easy for both of us. Do you understand me?’

She nodded.

‘Good, now sit back down, nice and easy.’ A trickle of blood crept down her neckline, like a jagged teardrop. ‘We don’t want anything nasty to happen, do we?’ She didn’t answer. ‘No words? That’s not like you.’ He smiled before indicating to the scarf on the dashboard. ‘Tie that around your eyes, good and tight now, double knots, no peeping.’

She did exactly as she was told.

‘You’re doing great, now arms down, join your hands together so I can put this knife away.’

The next three punches knocked her unconscious. A quick check up and down the lane, then he opened the car boot. Once he had shoved her inside it, he tied her hands and feet quickly and taped her mouth. He was about to shut the boot down when he remembered the mobile phone. He pulled it out of her jacket pocket, smashed it under his boot and kicked the broken pieces to the side. The next part would take longer, but the hard bit was over. From here on, it would just be the two of them, and the dark.




He pulled the car into an inlet to the left of the mountain road, the Special Area of Conservation to his right, the city behind him. He turned off the headlights. The road back down to the city was winding, and from his location he could see as far as the old bridge. He timed it, confirming that he had at least two minutes from when he spotted a car, to hearing it pass him. His own car was parked well in off the road, out of sight. The important part was getting the girl down into the ditch unseen. The drop on the far side would be steep, but that did not concern him.

Opening the car boot, her breathing was deep, her chest moving in and out, her body trembling.

‘Let’s play a game,’ he said, and in his mind he heard the old clock ticking – tick tock, tick tock – followed by its familiar elongated pause: everything in perfect rhythm.

He left the duct tape across her mouth to keep her silent. The skin on her lovely face was blotchy, bruised and wet from tears. Her arms and legs still tied securely.

He wanted it to be quick.

Tick tock, tick tock.

He pulled the electric cable tight around her neck, closing off her oxygen, trapping the blood vessels. This time, expediency was all that mattered, although he did not want her to suffer.

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