The Unborn

Chapter 23

Ben studied the old timber home. It was in serious need of some repair and looked as though it had seen it’s glory days many years ago. The cream paint on the weatherboards was peeling in chunks, the verandah railing was bowing outwards away from the house and the old louvres encasing the face of the home were chipped and covered thickly with dust. It was far from what he had imagined it would be. When he thought of youth hostels, a picture of a neat brick premises sprang to mind. Or at least something a bit tidier, anyhow.

He read the sheet of paper Anna had given him last night and memorised the young girl’s description before folding the paper into a small neat square and sliding it back into his pocket. He had slept terribly last night. He tossed and turned and couldn’t shake the fear that this young Sarah Robertson may have fallen prey to the monster that murdered Tessa, Kylie-Anne and Marla. Not that there was concrete evidence to support their theory of one murderer, it was just a fairly loose assumption that he and Mike were working with. Anna’s lies or omissions had played on his mind all night. No matter how he tried to explain her actions away, she was looking guilty as hell of something. He was certain she was not the murderer. He knew she had issues, but a murderer? No, she was capable of many things, he was aware of that, but getting her hands dirty with something such as the nature of these crimes didn’t sound like her. However time was ticking away and he was running out of approaches with her. She needed to start telling him the truth about anything, everything she knew. Even though she had given him a small piece of information to go on last night, he still had the feeling that she was sitting on a volcano of knowledge and pretty soon, that volcano was going to erupt. He just needed it to happen soon.

He stood at the front door of the hostel. His eyes scanned the verandah on his left and on his right. There was nothing odd or out of place that he could see. The fly screen door squealed and screeched under the pressure of his hand prying it open, the high pitched noise reminded him of fingernails being drawn across a black-board. A shiver ran down his spine. With his other hand, Ben wrapped loudly on the heavy white door. He heard the sound of voices from inside, laughing, talking and some bickering, everything one would expect when a handful of teens were picked from the street and crammed into a halfway house together.

Just when he was about to knock again, the door flew open and a young girl barged through, her head turned back towards the inside of the house. She was still yelling obscenities and abuse when she ran right into Ben, nearly knocking them both to the ground.

“Watch what you’re doing. Couldn’t ya see I was trying to get through?” She snapped at him after regaining her balance. Her eyes bored into him. Ben was struck with how much hatred appeared to be present in her face. Clearly her time on the unforgiving streets of Freybourne had put its stamp on her.

“Excuse me,” he replied, opting to let her harshness slide off his back.

“Yeah, well get outta the way next time, will ya?”

“I said I was sorry,” he answered, standing his ground a little firmer now.

“Yeah, well sorry don’t do jack for me, buddy.” The girl stormed past him and contin-ued on her way out of the hostel.

Ben followed her path for a few seconds before returning his attentions to the open front door. Inside on the left he could see a small office window with a buzzer mounted on the wall next to it. He stepped inside and pressed it. Then turned, waiting for someone to greet him. The music and conversation deeper inside the house grew louder, he saw a young girl with black hair poke her head out from behind a wall, looking down the hallway at him. She disappeared and then he heard a voice yell, “There’s some guy at the front door.”

Within seconds a group of three or four teens gathered in the doorway, all whispering and giggling with each other, staring at Ben before turning back to each other and whispering and giggling some more. They reminded him of the girls who hung out in the hallways when he was at school. They’d all stand in the hallways leading into the classrooms chatting about boys and the latest hot topics and rate each boy as he walked past them and into the class. He recalled how he often heard them rate him as a ‘hottie with a cute smile’. The memory brought a reminiscent smile to his face.