Free Disappear by Iain Edward Henn

stretch of green at the far end of the semi-rural suburb.
    She had lived in the apartment with Trent for the past two months and so far it was working out well. From the moment she’d met Trent at a party six months before she had the suspicion that, finally, she’d met the right man.
    Trish parked by the side of the reserve. The path ran the full perimeter of the park and was ideal for joggers. In total, it was a run of two kilometres. One lap was just right for Trish. It kept her body trim, her muscles nicely toned, without wearing her down to the point of exhaustion.
    She started out slowly, as she always did, building momentum as she went. It was early spring, and over the past few days she had noticed a considerable warming. This morning there was a stunning blue sky. The sun was already hot, unseasonably so, nature’s preview of the not too distant summer.
    Trish loved this parkland. The air was always fresh and clean here, even though she could sometimes see a brown haze lingering over the city skyline in the distance. It was the main reason she liked living outside the suburbia of Sydney, away from the smog.
    She’d been jogging for fifteen minutes when she saw the other runner on the path ahead of her. A man, dressed in a blue tracksuit with white trim. He was also wearing a cap. It occurred to her that he was still dressed for the colder weather and moving slower than her. It wasn’t long before she passed him on the narrow track.
    ‘You’ll work up quite a sweat in that outfit,’ she called out as she glided by.
    His face, looking down as he ran, was mostly hidden, the cap pushed down low on his forehead. It had a long, broad brim. She caught the flash of a grin as he waved in response. If he said anything Trish didn’t catch it as she sped by. She was really moving now. She felt energised.
    Up ahead was a familiar curve in the path, a spot where the surrounding trees and hedges of bush obscured the path from view. Trish slowed down as she rounded the bend.
    Never return to the scene of the crime. That was how the old saying went. It amused the jogger that he’d returned here, even though this wasn’t actually the scene of any crime. It was the scene of the crime that never was. The first time the watchers had appeared and foiled his plan; a day he would never forget.
    He wondered what kind of life his intended victim had lived over the past eighteen years. He recalled that she was a fair-haired, plump young woman. She’d been so close to death, the thought excited him. So close. Had she any idea how lucky she was to be saved? Wherever she was now, did she ever think of that morning, so long ago?
    It was a brilliant stroke, the jogger reasoned, to return here for his rebirth. And that’s how he thought of this, his return, his freedom. His resurgence. He couldn’t believe his luck when he found that this beautiful young female jogged here every morning. Alone.
    This was perfect. A dream come true, as though it was meant to be. Of course, he told himself, that’s it.
    Fate. This is meant to be.
    The girl was pulling further away. The jogger increased his pace, came up behind her, the coil of wire unravelling in his hand. All of a sudden he felt as though he’d done this only days ago; the long years of frustration melted into nothingness.
    He was exploding inside with his need. Adrenaline surged; the dark power gripped him and rocked him feverishly. It seemed so natural, felt so right. He lunged forward swiftly, slipping the wire around the girl’s neck, pulling the loop tight.
    Trish Van Helegen gasped for air. The wire cut into her flesh and squeezed the breath from her throat. Despite the shock and the sudden searing pain, her mind snapped to the alert. She swung her elbows back, searching for her attacker’s rib cage, but the jogger easily sidestepped her arms while maintaining his vice like grip on the wire. This one was going to fight.
    He kicked his leg forward, smashing into the back of