Candice-Personal Narrative

The Melting Man discovered eighteen-year-old Candice on a walk through the Botanical

Gardens. It became their daily 6am ritual: she ran the spider-paths, around the pavilion; he watched her. On the day he took her the weather was fair and fine and cloudless. He was convinced it was meant to be. He had spent a few weeks preparing, wondering about the pitch of 13 her voice — he was aroused by the idea of a sultry quiver. Candice had all the womanly curves and was old enough to learn the glory of his love, violence, and mercy. As she ran by him, he stared out across the perfectly-shaped gardens and manicured lawns, and infinite greenness. The creeper vines were uneasily strangling their way towards the garden gates, after a recent

Heidi’s hazel eyes glisten. He has her doped up and ponying about every night, for four days. He rides her across the galaxy, names a star after her, and brings her in with a fistful of hair to whisper sweet things into her nape. But the natural current of disappointment within him grows stronger and stronger.

It is the same tired pattern.

He sometimes waits years for one or two glorious weeks. Then he wakes up in his apartment, sweaty and staring into the varnished wardrobe doors which play shimmer-tricks on his eyes — he feels shattered and shagged and flushed. He twitches and tweaks as the darkness creeps in. Dark thoughts steep in every corner of his mind. Strange, but not unwelcome. He has to do something about it, because even hollow men need their sleep.

When it’s all over the Melting Man will take her on a joyride to Whitehorse. During the height of summer the stench is unbearable. He’ll quickly shuffle her out of the boot and roll her down a mound of black garbage bags, towards a plain of refuse where ibis pick at food scraps.

Then he’ll throw more bags down at the sensational feast until all that is visible through the crowd of ibises is a pale hand and a flash of tarpaulin. The staff at the tip aren’t bothered by his frequent visits. He always wraps the girls up very carefully. He’s fabricated a story about being a part-time property developer, but they’ve 14 never bothered him with any questions or asked him if they could check the load. That’s why he likes it there, and hasn’t contemplated finding another place to dump the bodies. The City of

Whitehorse makes it very easy to dispose of a corpse. The Melting Man can come and go as and when. He’ll pay thirty-seven dollars to the Trainee in the blue jumpsuit and wave goodbye.

The Melting Man doesn’t need to hide because he knows that behind the mask there is no man at all. And that is something young Heidi, who has now been with the Melting Man for four nights and five days, will soon learn for herself.

Part Two: The Party

Every Saturday night we have tickets to ride. On Irwell Street, near the screams of Luna Park, we party at a condemned commercial building block that was scheduled to be demolished two years ago. It’s adjacent to a field of concrete and worn-out parking