For me it was love at first sight. I'll never forget the first time I laid my adolescent eyes on Michelle Brixton, I was around thirteen at the time and her loveliness stunned me. Her family had taken over a farm close to ours, well, if you call a fifteen minute drive further past our farm letterbox, close. For the next five years we would ride the same bus to and from school, and each time I saw her it took the breath from me. With rare beauty usually comes arrogance and self importance, but not with Michelle. She was usually friendly and smiley, and maybe a little unaware of the spell she held over people. To me, she was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen, apart from the TV and movies stars. Her beauty was natural and elegant, from her wavy blonde hair to her lovely long tanned legs. I loved her big blue eyes and perfect facial features. I only once saw her in a bathing suit at a school competition, but it was a sight I'd never forget with her heavy breasts and shapely legs. While she was an accomplished and powerful swimmer, she soon gave it away, I think because of the unwanted attention she got. The prying male eyes of both teachers and pupils were maybe too much to handle.
In my teens, I was tall and gangly and not particularly good looking, but Michelle would always smile and say hello when our paths frequently crossed. Little did she know how my heart fluttered when she did so, but I guess I wasn't alone in that department. Other boys flocked to her like a seagulls around a rubbish bin, each scavenging for her attentions and hopefully a little titbit of her affections. But while maintaining her friendly outgoing nature, she appeared to avoid any relationships, or rumours for that matter. This no doubt broke many hearts, for she was considered the most desirable and attractive girl at our school.
My family name is Hilter, which is unfortunately fairly similar to Hitler. From my early school days I was called Hitler, and then some bright spark nick-named me Adolf which stuck with me until such time as I moved away. Out of all the people I knew including some teachers, Michelle was the only one who asked if I minded being called Adolf. I just smiled and told her it was fine, she could have called me anything and I wouldn't have cared.
At the age of eighteen, I left school to work on our family farm and completely lost track of Michelle. I had a few good friends and we did the usual Friday and Saturday night things in the closest town, which was a long and winding forty minute drive away. My dad taught me to drive on the farm at an early age and I got my license as soon as I hit eighteen, after that the family car was always at my disposal. My parents were always concerned at the remoteness of the farm and recognised that I needed to socialise with people my own age. The car came with strict conditions, no booze, drugs or driving recklessly. My dad was a hard man but with a gentle side to him. He would give you the world if you promised to look after it, but you only ever had one chance. I knew that if there was one indiscretion with the car, it would never be at my disposal again. The result would be that I would be confined to the farm forever and a day. Having been brought up around farm trucks and tractors, I had the deepest respect for machinery and the perils that come with them. From the age of eleven, I could competently navigate our tractor and other farm vehicles anywhere on our property, which was helpful to my dad.
Like most young males when among friends, the subject of the opposite sex was never too far from our conversation, especially when a little alcohol was involved. Our tales of sexual bravado and conquests were mostly fantasy, and I doubt any of us had been well and truly laid, me included. Michelle Brixton's name had been raised several times, but it seemed that she'd dropped out of circulation after her school days. One of the guys had seen her in town a few times with her mother, but that's all, which was a shame really, for she was still considered the most desirable girl for miles.
It was on a Saturday night out that my relationship changed with Michelle, but, for all the wrong reasons. I was driving home around two in the morning and taking all the care I usually do when driving on country roads. Road washouts, fallen trees and wandering stock are all things to look out for. It was a sheep farming area, and hitting a stray sheep at fifty miles an hour ain't pretty for the sheep or the car. A horse or a cow at fifty miles an hour can be fatal for drivers and front seat passengers, and always for the animal.
I'd not long turned into our road when a flash of moving white in the scrub near the verge caught my eye, and I pulled over wondering what it may have been. It was the same colour as a sheep but only too tall, and although I caught only a glimpse, it was enough to arouse my curiosity. I stopped and backed up the car a little before swinging the nose in towards the scrub, and I got my first glimpse of a blonde female crouching beside a power pole. My immediate thought was that there'd been some sort of accident and I jumped from the car and ran towards her.
"Hey, are you okay?" I asked loudly.
"NO, NO. LEAVE ME ALONE, PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE. NO MORE, PLEASE NO MORE" screamed a tormented voice as I approached.
It was only when I got close that I recognised Michelle's blonde hair, dishevelled as it was. She seemed to be covered in blood, her top torn away exposing her breasts as her arms flayed wildly towards me in self defence. Her bloody legs were bare with only a pair of dark panties covering her private parts.
"Hey, hey, hey Michelle, it's me, Adolf from school. I'm not going to hurt you."
"Adolf is that really you?" came her more subdued cry as she tried shakily to stand.
"Yes, it's me, let me help you."
I took her arm as she began to fall, "Jesus what's happened to you, you're covered in blood?"
"They hurt me Adolf; they hurt me bad and left me here." she whimpered.
It was only then it dawned on me that Michelle hadn't been in an accident, but assaulted by somebody. In the glare of the car lights, all I could see was torn clothes and pale bare skin, both smeared with blood. She was certainly in a bad way. What should I do I asked myself? Hospital was a long drive, and maybe her family would be a better bet. Her trembling body clung to me for support, her erratic breathing warming my ear.
"Lets get you in the car, and I'll get you home." I suggested.
I half carried the sobbing Michelle towards the car and opened the back door, she just kind of fell in and then crawled along the seat. The glow of the interior light didn't make her look any better. Who the hell did this?
Although I'd never been to Michelle's home, I knew pretty much where it was. I listened to Michelle's sobbing for the next twenty minutes; I was relieved when I finally found her letterbox, and turned up the driveway next to it. I wound my way up the driveway to arrive at a large rambling wooden farmhouse not unlike my own. The house was in darkness and I sounded the horn several times as I pulled up outside. By the time I'd opened the back door and lifted Michelle from the backseat, lights were on and doors were opening in the house.
Suddenly, an outside spotlight turned the night into almost day, and a big bare chested man dressed only in shorts walked out onto the wooden veranda.
"Help, Michelle's been hurt." I called.
"What the hell!!" he exclaimed while rushing to assist me and taking Michelle from my arms.
"I found her wandering by the road up by the turn off, she said someone had hurt her." I said.
He took one look at Michelle, and turned towards the house, "SHERYLL, GET DOWN HERE QUICK. MICHELLE'S BEEN HURT."
Not sure what I should do, I walked up the veranda and stood by the front door as two frantic parents attended to their bloody daughter on the carpeted floor.
"Shall I call an ambulance?" I asked.
Michelle's father nodded and pointed towards a phone on a small table. After I made the call I moved from away from where I could see Michelle, for I'd seen enough.
Eventually Michelle's father approached me, his fright had now turned to anger and he was looking for blood. I didn't want it to be mine.
"Who are you?"
"Stephen Hilter, Peter Hilter's son. I was driving home when I found her."
"Do you know what happened?"
I shook my head, "Nope. I haven't seen her since school days."
