Chapter 3

December 22^nd. Pembroke was growing anxious. Over the last few days, he had been practising his boxing skills on a newly purchased punching bag. This served to keep him in shape, control his mental health, and also prepare him for the taking of Dilan. He had gone over the ways of abduction. He knew that the CCTV cameras around the school were working and ruled out taking her close to there. The obvious choice appeared to be to intercept her as she walked from her foster home to the doss house that was the asylum hotel late at night. The route was along quiet residential roads and along some fields.

The kit that he took in the rented car was simple. Masking tape, multiple restraints with Velcro, a mouth gag and a hood. He carried it on the night of the 22^nd and waited for Dilan to emerge. She did, and he thanked God for routine. He realised that the foster mother must be OK with this and any disappearance would reflect very badly on her once they looked into it. Pembroke wore a thick coat and hat, fake glasses with false lenses, and a fake moustache. In the dark, he looked like a normal man who was not Mr Edward Pembroke. He followed her on foot, thinking that even if Dilan realised she was being followed, she would not realise it was her maths teacher. They neared his car, which had the boot open ever so slightly. Unfortunately, another car came in the opposite direction, followed by another, then another, they were now passed his car and if he grabbed her now he would face a long distance of dragging her/carrying her back with or without the ball gag in place and there was too great a risk another car would come or even, God forbid, a pedestrian. He remained behind her until they got to the town centre ten minutes later and saw her go into the hotel. He was sure this hotel must face some consequences for the flagrant abuse of their facilities. He had heard that several prostitutes had been held there against their will and been doing business in the hotel rooms. Police had been called, but somehow the hotel just carried on as normal.

Pembroke now faded into the background as other men were lounging around smoking evening in the cold December night. He heard Dilan tell someone to “fuck off” as she entered the hotel. He had wondered whether she was “working” there as none of the men outside seemed like boyfriend material. He walked back to his car, drove home, went to bed. And next morning he drove back to the hotel and waited to see what might happen. He saw her emerge at 8.30am in a thick coat with rights underneath. He assumed this was her school uniform. He need to quickly drive home again, change to his normal clothes, and drive his normal car back to school. Checking the register he noticed that she had come into school that morning.

School was breaking up the next day with a half day. He figured if he had a move to make, he needed to make it soon. His classes ended early and so he drove back home changing back into his “disguise” and in his rented car and waited near the school. He saw Dilan emerge and noted she was walking back towards the hotel. She must be working as a prostitute at the hotel, he was amazed. Why even bother going to school? Perhaps she saw school as a safe haven from the life she was apparently leading. From previous visit outside her foster home he had noticed other young men parked outside. It seemed to be a great place to groom vulnerable young girls.

He had checked local escort agencies but could not find any links to her. There was a shady telegram group which promised girls for hire in a town centre hotel, but his position as a teacher meant this might be too dangerous. He preferred to visit prostitutes well out of town.

Nevertheless, he suddenly felt the urge to give it a go. He was parked just near the hotel and the streets were packed with festive families and shoppers looking for gifts. The sounds of Christmas hits wafted from every shop. He took out his phone and started messaging nearby “girls”. He became inundated with instant messaging from three different profiles. He asked for pics. He was sure he was talking to a pimp who was probably controlling all three different profiles. The first returned images of a girl he recognised from another telegram chat in another town, doubtless some porn model. The second looked a little more realistic but was a middle aged blonde lady. He held his breath waiting for the third lady, but just saw another blonde woman, in her twenties.

He guessed that if he were to visit one of these ladies, he would likely meet another girl who “had to cover for her”, and that might be Dilan. Could he take the chance? A teacher being seen visiting a prostitute might be a sackable offence. It would certainly draw unwelcome attention. Even in disguise, in close light anyone who knew him might recognise him if they looked hard enough and as a teacher there would be many who did, whom Pembroke would not himself recognise. Why on earth was that maths teacher in a hotel with a fake moustache?

For the first time, Pembroke faced a depressing realisation. This wasn’t really going to happen, it never was. It had been an expensive project which had provided much catharsis over the last few months, but he wasn’t really going to kidnap a schoolgirl. He felt relieved. It would never have come off. He would have regretted this for the rest of this life, rotting in a prison cell, wondering how a few months of harebrained scheming had overturned his life when he should have just jerked of to some porn to get over it.

He slowly drove off, and returned home.

December 24^th

Pembroke completed a short half day at school. He went to the pub afterwards, soaking in the happy festive atmosphere. He wished he had a family, but his ex Karen, had not been able to have them at first, though she would later scream at him that she was glad she had never had kids with him.

Pembroke was drinking with some teachers and they were sharing stories of what they were getting up to with their families. Pembroke sighed that he was divorced and may spend Christmas with his cousins in Ipswich (this was a lie). He did not want to be dragged to someone’s Christmas dinner as a sympathy guest. Nevertheless he enjoyed the camaraderie and warm chatter of the pub.

“Wonder what pupils will come back with a septum ring in the New Year” cackled Ms Henderson, a French teacher. “That is going out of style surely now?” replied Pembroke.

“Young girls these days, I tell you they would take your husband off you.” Ms Henderson replied while gulping down a pint of bitter. “When are the police going to do anything about those ... migrants hanging around the school gates?” riposted Mr Thompson, a fellow maths teacher. “We were told we were going to have a few pupils for a few weeks back at start of term. There has just been more of them and this town is too small for them.”

Pembroke started to realise where the conversation was going to go, and prayed it would soon go back to anything else. He immediately thought of the septum rings and places where they could be inserted.

“Half of those girls are trafficked and the police are doing nothing. Some of our own are getting driven all over the place by them. I tell you what, if I find my niece is hanging out with those 21 year old sixth formers I will have words with them and the headmaster.”

“It’s a disgrace” said Ms Henderson, her voice carrying.

“Here”, a voice came from the next table, “you lot teaching at the high school?” “Yeah” came the common response. “Sorry for your trouble then, they are all scammers.” The voice came from a gruff man in flat cap drinking in the table next to them, seated with two others.

“My sister is fostering some of them. She can’t keep them in, they just come and go. She’s actually asked to be taken off the list and kicked them out but the police asked her to let them back in for a few more weeks. They say they’re under 18 but they’re all in their twenties and the girls are whores, my sister is just lucky they don’t do any business at her house.”

“It’s the hotels, they’re making the money, they get 100 a night for them” replied Ms Henderson.

“My sister got a few quid for em, but honestly she wishes she never did it. They come and go, and most of them aren’t even officially at her place anyway. She’s gone off to Dublin for Christmas and tried to lock the place up but half of them have copied keys.”

“Half my street has been burgled since they moved them in” chirped in another from the table.

“When are the government going to move them on to London or Manchester, they don’t want to be here” moaned Mr Thompson taking another swig of his pint.

“How can the police not do something?” said Mr Pembroke. “I think its scandalous we have so many vulnerable kids living in hotels and foster homes and barely coming into school.”

The others were a bit tired of hearing about “vulnerable kids” and did not sympathise. They seemed much more focused on getting rid of them. “Vulnerable my arse, Eddie” scoffed Thompson and the table laughed.

“Well they won’t get into my sister’s house this Christmas. We’ve just changed her locks, I said Fiona, cannot be starting the new year like this. No more of those kids in the house. They won’t be on the streets anyways, I’m sure, or ... well to be honest I don’t care.” Said the flat capped man at the table.

Pembroke suddenly perked up. Fiona. That was the name of Dilan’s foster carer. The owner of the house where he had followed her.

“No more creeps driving past, parked outside and uninvited guests” continued the stranger. Pembroke shuddered a little.

“I understand” said Ms Henderson, “and I’m sure they’ll find somewhere to stay. But how can this be good for them, where are the families? I mean some of these girls are twelve.”

“They say they’re that, they are all older” dismissed the stranger, contemptuously.

Pembroke had often wondered whether Dilan was really just fourteen. But her growth spurt in the few months he had known her, and her appearance alongside her peers, had convinced him she was telling the truth.

“Well they will get a shock if they ever try to get back in there!” the stranger laughed. “I’ve told her to get those camera rings installed. I’ve got one in mine, with all these burglaries I keep telling her she needs to get cameras in.”

Pembroke suddenly thought to himself, that Dilan may well go back to Fiona’s place tonight. And find it locked. What would she do? Had she been at school today? He hadn’t even checked. He cursed himself for not getting her out of his head.

“Those councillors don’t live in the real world” Pembroke interjected. “We should never have invited them here. It’s been nothing but trouble for us and them.” He said it with such feeling that the he got a “hear hear” but his real motivation was that he was tired of the never ending intrusion of his kidnap fantasy.

At once his mind had gone from a gentle adult conversation in a warm pub, back to the depths of depravity. He saw a young girl at the bar and recognised her as an ex pupil. She smiled back at him and Pembroke returned it. She must be about nineteen now. She was cute with a nose septum and purple hair. He suddenly started thinking about the piercings he would be free to put on whomever he could abduct into his basement.

The conversation continued to revolve around the immigrants. After one more round they said their goodbyes and wished each a merry Christmas.

Pembroke drove home with three pints. He was nervous particularly as this was the season police tried to catch people out. He got home and then thought about what to do.

If he drank more, which he really want to do, he would be confirmed as staying in and having a festive Christmas Eve on his own. But if he had himself a quick ready meal, it would fill his stomach and he could do “something.”

After eating the same, he thought he might as well drive to over to ‘Fiona’s.’ It was now getting dark, so he took his rental car. What an inexplicable waste of money this was providing out to be, he laughed to himself as he drove off. He forgot the moustache but wore a hat and glasses. He didn’t really know what he thought would happen. He got to Fiona’s place and parked outside. Now dark, he could see all the lights were off.

He listened to the radio and got lost in the discussion on Israel’s war on Gaza. He started to sober up and told himself, he was waiting outside Fiona’s on the very small chance Dilan would show up, not be able to get in, and he would be able to either give her a lift, or he would “grab her.” The odds of Dilan showing up were thin. Where was she now? Maybe she had been told the locks were changed? Maybe she had been there already and gone back somewhere? Maybe she had no intention of going to Fiona’s today or ever again? Maybe she actually had a Christmas to spend with family and friends. He guessed that, as a Muslim, it was unlikely she would.

At the very least, he was exhausting all his options. He would probably see Dilan again. But the longer time went on, the more he might realise this was just not going to happen. What would he do with the basement? He couldn’t’ just leave all that equipment lying around even if it was all strictly legal.

As he sobered up, he also thought something else. The flat capped stranger had talked about the perverts parked up around his sister’s house. He was sure it was not just him he was talking about as he had spotted others too. But what if, knowing the house was empty, they were keeping watch on the house anyway? Even if locks changed, some of the “guests” might be motivated to break a window to get in, particularly if they wanted to get their own stuff. In fact the more he thought about it the more he realised it would be a sensible thing for them to do.

He looked around, and started to wish he had brought his moustache. If the flat capped stranger saw him a few hours later parked outside, he would probably wonder what the hell was going on. He took off and circled around but could not see anyone in the cars parked nearby. Plenty of cars were whizzing by though with Christmas shopping.

He suddenly thought of how sadly his life had turned out. Successful or not this evening, what a pathetic way to spend your Christmas, he thought. A teacher decorating a sex dungeon for a fantasy prisoner, and then stalking his own pupil, for months on end. How on earth, he suddenly thought, had he not been caught so far? He also thought of Karen, and the end of their relationship and the end of any chance of having a normal family life.

It had been two years previously when they last saw each other. Karen had already caught him out on seeing prostitutes by checking online payments which he could not explain, of 50 pounds at a time. They came up online and matched with a company commonly known as an escort agency which she had found out through a woman’s reddit forum.

“I’m sorry, I know you don’t love me, I know you don’t find me attractive, but prostitutes, honesty, that is disgusting.” She had said to him. She was short, plump and friendly and plain looking and plain speaking. “I am afraid you cannot live here. You need to move out.”

That was it, and Pembroke found himself living in a bedsit while teaching in London in his late forties. He discovered that single life was no longer fun and so had moved to Norfolk.

It was time to live a normal life. There could be no better Christmas present for himself. He would go home, destroy his “problematic” hard drives. Over the festive period he would get rid of the trash in his basement, and use it for something productive. Maybe he could use it as a venue for a local drama group or art classes?

Pembroke glanced at the clock. It was 6.30pm. He suddenly felt like George Bailey in “It’s a wonderful life”. He felt like driving around town proclaiming festive cheer to all mankind. He would bring in the new year a new, better man. Turning on his lights, he moved off and felt a pang of optimism of what the new year would bring. He turned on the radio and smiled as Wham’s “Last Christmas “ came on. He drove off and made for the roundabout at the top of the road, to turn back and go back into town where he resolved to get himself some extra groceries for himself and some more wine and maybe even a decoration to put up himself.

“Last Christmas” played out and it was replaced by “sympathy for the devil” by the rolling stones which struck Pembroke as an odd Christmas song choice for the radio as he completed the turn around the roundabout. As he faced down the road past Fiona’s to go back into town, he noticed a solitary figure walking up the footpath. His lights and the streetlights illuminated the figure as it grew near.

It was Dilan.

Mick Jagger’s swaggering voice seemed to come to life in the form of a devil on his shoulder as he recognised Dilan. She was wearing a large coat, carrying a backpack and tugging a long a suitcase on wheels. He instinctively slowed down, and as he drove past her, saw her turn off the footpath into Fiona’s driveway.

“Fuck” shouted Pembroke to no one but himself. “This was fate, the devil wants me to do this. “ He looked into the rear view mirror, driving slowly. At the next house, he stopped, reversed up their driveway, and turned about to go back to Fiona’s.

Dilan’s angelic face had been visible underneath a woolly hat with her dark hair spilling out from it. It had definitely been her. Pembroke drove slowly; he could not just keep driving back and forth up this road. Breathing into himself, he thought about what to do. He turned into Fiona’s driveway. He looked at the front door, Dilan had already got there and was pressing at the front door bell. She turned around to look at the car approaching. She did not display any alarm. Pembroke had turned off Mick Jagger and the rolling stones. The sudden silence impacted him. Without that soundtrack reality hit in. His arms started to shake. He had to do something. Now.

He rolled down the window and called out. “Dilan, are you looking for Fiona?”

“Yes, who are you?” Suddenly Dilan sounded defensive. Pembroke had his glasses and hat on and was concealed behind glaring lights.

Pembroke breathed twice before his next sentence. It’s Mr Pembroke from the high school. I am your maths remember.” He smiled and looked at Dilan.

“Oh, hello sir...” Dilan look confused. “Where is Fiona, where is everyone, what are you doing here?”

“Fiona is out and asked me to check on anyone who was showing up.” Pembroke suddenly prayed the man in the pub was right and there were no cameras around the house. He got out of the car.

Dilan had an instinctive distrust of men. Why was Mr Pembroke here and why was he wearing glasses? What connection did he have with Fiona, and had she recognised that car before, following her around?

Pembroke looked around. The only house that had a view of them was dark, they must be out. He was however weary that his car was illuminating Dilan.

“Do you want a lift to somewhere? I can take you to Fiona where she is staying.” He said. He immediately realised this didn’t make sense, she didn’t want to see Fiona, and “checking on who showed up” sounded weird. He could see Dilan getting suspicious.

Dilan was cold and tired but still alert. This damn house was locked; she really wanted to spend tonight here. She had planned to spend Christmas day at Fiona’s where she could at least rely on Christmas dinner. Although Fiona had often been angry with her, she sensed she would always give in. She had a soft spot for Dilan, it was the others she really couldn’t stand.

She was tired of Willowbridge. She wanted some break from the bitches at the school who bullied her and her ‘boyfriend’ Abdul who shared her with his friends and forced her to turn tricks.

She didn’t like Mr Pembroke. He was creepy. She recognised it straight away, how he lusted after her. Once she had seen his face staring at her backside in the reflection of the TV monitor as she pushed it to the back of the room. Even allowing for some of the middle aged men she had been forced to have sex with, the thought of him looking at her made her queasy.

“I am good, I will wait here. I can text someone.” She replied curtly.

Pembroke was taken aback. She folded her arms in front of him. It felt so rude; he was her teacher offering her a friendly lift. He had been kind to her in class. And this was the thanks he got? Instant disapproval, suspicion, and was disgust even detected in her response?

“You sure? Its Christmas Eve” said Pembroke. He suddenly felt drunk. He felt defeated.

“Yeah, what are you doing here, on Christmas Eve?” Dilan responded. “That’s not your car, but I’ve seen it before.”

Pembroke froze. Until two minutes ago, he was safe. Now, he had a very questionable scenario on his hands. What would happen if he just sloped off now? Word would get around, if not through school then through Fiona, or someone, that he had been creeping around.

Was it his imagination, or did he see her hand dip into her pocket and grab what appeared to be a phone? It might as well be a gun for the damage it could do to him...

“Look Dilan if you must know, I am part of the local neighbourhood watch.” Pembroke suddenly realised that he was going to have to take her down, as if she was a gunfighter and he was unarmed. “And Fiona is not happy with what is going on. She is actually off to Ireland if you must know.”

Dilan thought about what to do. She decided she wanted to get back on the main road. “OK well I’m leaving; I walked here so I can walk back.” She began pulling her suitcase along the drive way and tried to veer as far to the side of Pembroke as she could.

“Well, if you wish, Dilan...” Pembroke moved to go back into his car. As Dilan moved back, he noted she had one hand on the suitcase, another on her phone. His long intended move had been to punch her in the stomach as hard as he could. This would wind her, and stop any screaming. But her puffy coat meant that there was good chance it would cushion the blow or make him miss her solar plexus. He hesitated and she passed him. He sat down on his driver’s seat, and watched her walk past. This was not just a lost opportunity; this was the equivalent of Karen’s threat to set the police on him. He had to do something.

Instead of swinging his legs into the seat, he sprang up, and lunged towards her, planting his foot on the back of her calf, just below where her coat showed her jean clad legs. She instantly fell forwards and having both hands full, fell forwards onto her knees then on her face. Pembroke jumped on top of her and wrapped one arm around her neck and pulled her face off the rough surface of the driveway. His other hand clamped over her mouth.

“Shut your fucking mouth bitch” hissed Pembroke. His adrenalin was pumping. He was sure he had injured himself as well as Dilan in this move. He looked to his right and saw to his horror there was a clear view of the pavement and someone could drive or walk past at any moment.

He got up and kept his forearm jammed up under her throat and lifted her feet off the ground. His other hand kept its grip over her mouth and nose. The car door was open. He got her towards the car and looked back. He pushed her down on the passenger seat so that the car obscured the view from the road.

She weakly raised her arms and tried to grab his arms away, but she could hardly breathe. She might soon asphyxiate or he could break her neck. He was surprised at how bony she felt. In his glove department, he felt around and found the little box containing the ball gag. The most important thing was to stop any noise.

He took his arm away from her throat, put his knee on her back and kept his hand over her mouth while letting her nose go free. His other hand batted away her attempts to grab with her hands.

“Keep still. Keep still or I will fucking cut you.” Pembroke didn’t know where the animalistic anger came from. “Shut up and open your mouth.”

He tried to work the ball gag in but couldn’t. She broke free and raised a cry. It was deep and guttural rather than high pitched and Pembroke prayed it was not enough to rouse anyone above the ongoing engine and the noise of the main road. His hand went back over her mouth. He rolled her over, and kept both hands over her face and his elbows over her arms. He had her immobile. Her nostrils flared in breath.

Dilan herself was terrified. She had been hit before, but this was different. She thought she was being strangled, she could hardly breathe. She could also barely see and thought she would black out with the pain.

Pembroke looked for the ball gag lying beside her. He raised himself up, and leaned his knee into her stomach. Her eyes bulged. She thought he would kill her with this. He took one hand off her face and grabbed the ball gag. She spewed and choked, and when he was satisfied she couldn’t scream, he took his other hand off her face, grabbed both ends of the ball gag, and pushed it into her mouth, while also gripping her cheekbones. Her eyes continued to bulge and looked right past him. Suddenly he remembered to take his knee off her stomach and panicked, thinking she might be dead or irreversibly injured. Her arms had gone limp.

Dead or not, he finished what he had started and completed the ball gag around her mouth and pulled it tightly. He raised her up, her arms came up weakly to challenge him. He pushed her into the car, onto her stomach so that her head banged into the gearstick. Pembroke panicked thinking the car might go backwards down the driveway. It didn’t. He grabbed the restraints from under the seat, and thanked God he had taken this kit with him. He grabbed one wrist and roughly wrapped it in Velcro clad fabric, while he watched her other hand go to her mouth. The gag might be choking her, but it was better to have to dispose of a dead Dilan than have to defend himself against a charge of kidnapping a live Dilan.

Her backpack was still on her back, and so he had to bend her arm right back to get it close to where the centre of her back should be.

He grabbed the other hand off her face, and yanked it down. She harrumphed loudly through the gag, showing her energy was coming back. His knee placed over her other arm, he wrapped another restraint around her other wrist, then brought it to her other wrist under his knee, while his spare hand searched on the car floor for the link to place between them. It had been there 30 seconds ago damn it!

Finally he found it, underneath her legs, while her arm went free. He grabbed it again. She had nothing to grab onto, except the gearstick. He finally snapped the restraints together. She was now handcuffed with her hands behind her.

He hauled her up. He looked over the car roof and checked the driveway. Nothing. Quickly he bent her over and pushed her back into the car. This time he head went crashing into the door on the other side and her stomach landed on the gear stick. He reached for another pair of restraints and grabbed her two ankles. He placed the restraints against them over her jeans. His hands were now covered in mud. He took a step back. He looked around. The house overlooking the scene was still all dark. The sole window seemed to have no one in it. He quickly sprinted to the bottom of the drive way. He slowly emerged and was able to look up and down. No one had come walking by in the last minute or so. He sprinted back up to his car. Dilan was out of his car, and on the ground trying to move like a worm.

Pembroke breathed. He would be exhausted in a minute once the adrenaline stopped. He grabbed a last piece of his kit. A chain was attached to the link of her hand cuffs to her ankle cuffs to the footcuffs which was only a foot long, which brought her feet right up close up to her buttocks.

He carried her, and again was surprised at how light she was. He opened the boot and dumped her in head first. He quickly went for her phone and searched her pockets. First her coat, which he unzipped, then her jumper, then her jeans. The task was not erotic in the slightest, she felt like a stick insect and his main concern was finding the phone. It briefly stuck him that maybe he was into fat women after all. It seemed so unnatural to reach under the thick coat and feel a bare torso that felt like a thin pole compared to him.

Still no phone. He frantically searched the ground for it. He found the suitcase but still no phone. He took out his own flashlight and turned it on. Again he looked at the entrance onto the pavement. Was anyone coming? He had another furtive quick glance. He saw a couple with two children coming about sixty metres away!

He turned and sprinted back up. He closed the boot on Dilan, her wide eyes staring at him as he forced it down. He prayed it would fit, and after kicking her legs in, he was able to slam it shut. He then raced to the driver’s seat, and turned off the lights and engine.

He could not see whether the couple had passed or not from being in the car. After a minute, he got out, and checked again, only cars, no pedestrians. They must have passed by. He then went back to looking for her phone. He finally found it, it had flown about five metres out of her hand where he had kicked her.