Ballerina’s Flesh Gallery - Chapter 3: Chapter 3
You are reading Ballerina’s Flesh Gallery, Chapter 3: Chapter 3. Read more chapters of Ballerina’s Flesh Gallery.
Last month, another dance instructor from the Royal Ballet Academy vanished—Victoria Roland, a stunning beauty who'd recently gotten married. Like Emily Ashcroft, she disappeared without a trace... only to turn up days later in the school's back alley, naked and unconscious, dumped by a masked assailant.
By the time she came to and scrambled to cover herself, it was too late. Someone had already snapped photos and posted them online. Then the internet did what it does best—trolls photoshopped her into compromising positions, and just like that, the myth of "The Hooded Rapist" was born.
The weirdest part? When Victoria and her family went to the police, she refused to press charges. She claimed she'd gone hiking with friends, gotten lost for three days, and insisted the viral photos weren’t even her.
Now, sitting across from me in the vice principal’s office, Victoria fidgeted on the sofa while two detectives took notes.
"Ms. Roland, we just need to go over last month’s incident," the first officer said.
Victoria had been pouring tea with graceful precision—until his words made her hands freeze mid-air.
"Oh, the hiking trip? I thought that case was closed."
"Hiking?" The stone-faced detective arched a brow. "With who?"
"I—I went alone," she mumbled, eyes darting away.
Even I could tell she was lying. The detectives definitely noticed.
The kinder officer leaned forward. "Ms. Roland, if someone’s threatening you... here’s my direct line. No one can hurt you while we’re involved."
His partner nodded. "The law doesn’t bow to criminals. We will get justice."
Victoria bit her lip, conflict flashing in her eyes.
Seizing the moment, I pulled up Emily’s photo. "She was your student, wasn’t she? Another girl’s missing now. If we don’t stop this guy..."
Victoria’s breath hitched. Then, shoulders slumping in defeat, she whispered, "Fine. I’ll talk."
She stared at Emily’s picture like it was a lifeline. "After the faculty party last month, I... had too much wine. On my walk home, I ducked into the alley to, well—" Her cheeks burned. "The second I finished, someone clamped a hand over my mouth, shoved me into a burlap sack, and..."
"And then?" I urged.
"He took me to... some basement. Kept me there." Her voice cracked. "The rest... I can’t."
By the time she came to and scrambled to cover herself, it was too late. Someone had already snapped photos and posted them online. Then the internet did what it does best—trolls photoshopped her into compromising positions, and just like that, the myth of "The Hooded Rapist" was born.
The weirdest part? When Victoria and her family went to the police, she refused to press charges. She claimed she'd gone hiking with friends, gotten lost for three days, and insisted the viral photos weren’t even her.
Now, sitting across from me in the vice principal’s office, Victoria fidgeted on the sofa while two detectives took notes.
"Ms. Roland, we just need to go over last month’s incident," the first officer said.
Victoria had been pouring tea with graceful precision—until his words made her hands freeze mid-air.
"Oh, the hiking trip? I thought that case was closed."
"Hiking?" The stone-faced detective arched a brow. "With who?"
"I—I went alone," she mumbled, eyes darting away.
Even I could tell she was lying. The detectives definitely noticed.
The kinder officer leaned forward. "Ms. Roland, if someone’s threatening you... here’s my direct line. No one can hurt you while we’re involved."
His partner nodded. "The law doesn’t bow to criminals. We will get justice."
Victoria bit her lip, conflict flashing in her eyes.
Seizing the moment, I pulled up Emily’s photo. "She was your student, wasn’t she? Another girl’s missing now. If we don’t stop this guy..."
Victoria’s breath hitched. Then, shoulders slumping in defeat, she whispered, "Fine. I’ll talk."
She stared at Emily’s picture like it was a lifeline. "After the faculty party last month, I... had too much wine. On my walk home, I ducked into the alley to, well—" Her cheeks burned. "The second I finished, someone clamped a hand over my mouth, shoved me into a burlap sack, and..."
"And then?" I urged.
"He took me to... some basement. Kept me there." Her voice cracked. "The rest... I can’t."
End of Ballerina’s Flesh Gallery Chapter 3. Continue reading Chapter 4 or return to Ballerina’s Flesh Gallery book page.