The cold air dances over my bare chest. Goosebumps scattered over my skin like villages over a large cloth of land.

"How did you sleep, " Joan asked me as she draped her plump arm over me. Her skin felt soft against mine and a thousand of her touches could never make me tired of her.

"Great, " I said. "I'm just sorry that we didn't find Rachel yesterday."

I was sorry too. As I finally found the light switch, there was no sign of the tall, blue-eyed figure.  She had escaped.

"Let's not have her spoil our day, " she said, turning over. Her breasts were full as they hung over her body. My fingers yearned to reach for them.

"Hey, I need to go, " she said as her fingers traced my jaw. "We don't want your dad to come home and catch us in bed, do we?"

"But I want you to stay, " I pouted.

"We have a whole future together Elizabeth, " she said as she buttoned her pink linen shirt.

"Do you really think so, " I said picturing a future without apartheid. A future where love can escape the cage of conservatives. Such a time was a pleasant dream. Hazy and distant.

Joan's eyes sparkled as she stood inches away from me. Despite knowing that we would see each other soon, there seemed an unbreakable force that tore our bonds apart. It was a force that seemed to tell me that we had lost.

"I love you, " she said as she leapt out my window.

My heart beat a million times. My mum was in the hospital with my dad worried sick, Joan and I had a future filled with pain, uncertainty and a callous stalker that was out to get us.

My mind wandered back to my mum's words. I heard the strain in her voice, the desperation as she said those words to me.

With those very words in mind, I sprinted to Mrs De Voos's house.

"Elizabeth, " the old lady said wearing a look of surprise on her face. "What a pleasant surprise. Here I was telling old Mr Smith about how you've grown into a beautiful young woman."

I would have been touched to hear that she has been praising me to another person. But Mr Smith wasn't exactly another person. Mr Smith was her Persian cat.

"I truly am honoured to be praised by you, " I said growing impatient. "I'm sure your feline friends understood every word of it. But you've got me mixed up with my sister. I am not the pretty one. Caroline is."

"Oh, she may be a curvy blonde, " she winced as if she found the thought of Caroline disgusting. "But it was always you who was special."

I smiled. I didn't want to remind her who dug up her vegetables, threw stones at her window and scared her cats until they fled. Yet, I was glad she had faith in me.

"Do you mind if I came in, " I asked.

"Come on in dear, " she said smiling. A few teeth were missing from her mouth, making me wonder how she could ever speak. "I just took some honey biscuits out of the oven and tried to feed it to Tibbs. But cats have the most unusual taste."

"So do you, " I murmured but luckily the good lady did not hear me.

"No thank you, Ma'am, " I said, wishing I had Caroline's patience. "I was actually hoping to get a look at your security footage."

"Go ahead dear, " she said steering me towards the monitors.

The screen in front of me was glaring bright and as I rewatched the footage, I reached a shocking conclusion.

"Rachel never broke into our house, " I said.

"I watch the footage every day, my love, " said Mrs De Voos, appearing behind me with a plate of honey biscuits. "No one has entered your house except yourself and your family."

'How is this possible?' I whispered as a loud smash jolted me.

"Some pest of a kid has smashed my window again, " Mrs De Voos muttered. "If it's another dirty baseball I swear to God I will...."

I looked at the direction of the smash. It was not a baseball ball. It was a large, brown object amid the shattered glass. A brick!

"It's a brick, " she gasped. "And it has a note on it.  The hooligans."

Surely enough the brick had a note tied around it with an old piece of elastic. A note that had my name on it.

As I spared a second to clutch it in my hand, my heart was in tremours. How did this letter-writer know I was here? Was Rachel following me? Was my stalker even Rachel?

I opened the clean parchment which contained neat, rather small handwriting.

Dear Elizabeth,

I warned you. I warned you about the dangers of where you place your heart, but you still failed to listen to me.

Your actions last night; which was to you an act of passion, was an act of revulsion.

The night you spent together has made me pursue my own act of passion. An act so powerful that it would cleanse Johannesburg of all Joan's kind.

As you read this, I have called the 'wit is wonderlik', a group that will wash away the colour from our streets.

Any effort you make is like yourself; trash. Your sweetheart is dying, if not dead. Their guns will end the soul that loved you.

Mourn in dignity, Elizabeth.

                                   Sincerely,
                                   Your stalker.