Once she had her brew, she went back upstairs, but only made it halfway. Standing at the top of the stairs was Robyn, or her spectral hallucination.
Kalli had had enough. She was not going to let her own issues and trauma stop her from solving this case. She marched upstairs and through Robyn. As she did, she felt as though she had walked through a sudden cold pocket, and shivered slightly. She shook it off quickly and entered her office. Not really sure why, she paused at the door, and noticed the moving shadow of a person.
She held her piping hot coffee as a weapon and shouted, “Don’t move! I am armed!”
Kalli pushed the door fully open and stepped into the room in the direction she thought the person would be, but as she did so there was a high pitched shriek and all the glass in the room shattered, including the cup she was holding. She dropped the handle quickly and put her arms over her head to protect herself.
When she was sure nothing else was breaking, she gradually lowered her arms. Every window, every light bulb, everything constructed of glass had shattered. She wasn’t sure how the intruder did it, but it had been a big enough distraction to allow him, or her, to escape.
She whipped her cell phone out and pulled Mike’s card from her pocket. She dialled his number quickly. He answered on the fourth ring, sounding like he had been asleep. She apologised profusely and quickly explained the situation, asking him to come to the house and help her. After he acknowledged that he would be there with back up, she hung up and looked up at the window, her body tensing in fright.
There was Robyn, but this time without her head.
Kalli’s hands shook, but she stood her ground, reminding herself that it wasn’t real and that psychological breaks could not hurt her. She jumped out of her skin as someone knocked loudly at the front door. Robyn’s body vanished.
Making her way quickly downstairs, she peeped through the little hole in the door to see Darren Blackwood standing on her front porch.
She pulled the door open. “Darren? What are you doing here?” She kept a hand on the door in case she needed to slam it shut again.
“I heard breaking glass and came to check that everything was okay,” he said, trying to see past her into the house.
Kalli closed the door slightly. “You’re just a good Samaritan, are you? Did you just happen to be in the neighbourhood?”
“No, I live next door.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “Still don’t trust me? Ask Mike if you don’t believe me.”
“What are you? A team?” she asked.
“No, but Mike knows I am innocent and is trying to help me prove it. Look, I’m right next door. If you need anything, just let me know, okay?”
“And why would I need anything from you?” she asked as a car pulled into her driveway. “And since when do you live in old Mr Wild’s house?”
“I don’t,” he said, “I stay on the other side. That old house is in a trust and isn’t for sale.” He turned on his heel and left the porch. He greeted Mike as he passed his car and went back to his house, slamming his front door.
Mike watched him go before approaching Kalli. “Is everything okay?”
Two patrol cars pulled up to the sidewalk and four officers got out.
“No, someone was in my house,” she explained. “They did something, I don’t know how, but they made all the glass in the room shatter before high-tailing it out of there.” She stepped aside to let the officers in.
Mike signalled for them to search the house. He stayed with Kalli and flipped open his notepad. “Mind if I ask a few short questions?”
Kalli shook her head. “Go ahead.”
“Firstly, why would someone want to break into your house?”
“Oh, come on, Mike! How would I know the answer to that?”
He smiled. “Fair enough. Did you see if anything was missing?”
“No, I didn’t touch the scene at all, so the officers could process it.” She tapped her foot nervously. “But they were in the room where I have all my notes about the murders.”
Mike wrote on his pad. “You think it was someone after your research?”
“That’s a tad bit conspiracy theory, don’t you think?”
“Unless the killer knows you’re on to something.”
Kalli shivered; the thought hadn’t even crossed her mind. She had been so focused on solving the mystery of her sister’s death that she hadn’t realised that someone, specifically the killer, wouldn’t want her to do that.
“Look,” Mike said, flipping his notebook closed, “with all the broken glass and everything you’re going to be vulnerable tonight. Why don’t I spend the night? I’ll sleep on the sofa in the living room, and that way you’ll have some on-site protection until you can get those windows boarded up and replaced. Okay?”
Kalli looked at him, sizing him up. “Okay,” she agreed. “I’ll get someone in to fix the windows tomorrow, but it would make me feel more at ease having you here. Once the officers are finished going over the room I’ll move the notes to Sylva’s room and lock that door. At least that way I can sleep.” She hugged herself, leaning against the wall. “Also, did you know Darren lived next door?”
Mike nodded. “Yeah, he’s lived there a few years now. He was always hoping he could solve the murders himself, you know. But he believes more in the supernatural route than actual facts.”
The way Mike said it made Kalli think that she might give Darren’s theories some credit, but she didn’t say anything. For now, all she could do was wait for the officers to finish so she could clean up and go to bed.
She couldn’t wait to get back to her work, especially if it had been the killer and if she was onto something.
Chapter 9
The Butcher
HIS FATHER KNEW. HE had to. He hadn’t let his son out of his sight since the report of Robyn’s death. Although his father never said anything, he did things, like lock his bedroom door at night. He put bars on his windows so he couldn’t sneak out. He was to be home all the time and his father checked. If his father wasn’t checking, his brother was. His stupid older brother; always perfect, he could do no wrong, not at home nor at school.
The itch was unbearable. He couldn’t even leave the house to find small creatures to kill and it seemed the animals had wised up to his antics because none appeared in their garden.
He ached for it.
The years trickled by. High school faded away. He didn’t work, and his father didn’t mind.
Then his father was no more.
Old age had finally caught up with him and he couldn’t help but feel his heart do back flips as the ambulance took his father away.
If his brother knew why their father kept him locked away, he didn’t say anything.
He was free to move again, he was free to satisfy the itch.
After a few choice conversations, he managed to arrange a job. He secured work as the maintenance man at one of the nearby high schools. It was perfect! He could find his next victim and no one would question him being there. He had considered going for an adult, but they presented their own problems. No, he liked the young ones, all that life ahead of them snuffed out by the power he wielded. The power of death.
It had been years since he had taken Robyn’s life and although he still had his two small mementos to play with, he wanted to expand his collection.
The one that shone most brightly for him was a girl called Tatum. Everything about her radiated perfection. He had to have her.
He took his time planning her demise. He wanted everything about her death to be perfect. He wanted to enjoy every single second of it.
After securing a copy of her class schedule, he made sure to plan his cleaning routine around it; that way he could always see her. He studied her, her habits, her likes and her dislikes. He already knew where she lived, so it wasn’t hard to figure the route she walked home.
Then something he had never felt happened to him.
He was jealous.
She an
d that obnoxious loud mouth friend of hers would ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ over the popular boy in the school. His name was Roger and he clearly had eyes for his Tatum as well. He reasoned, for Tatum to be truly his, he would have to remove the obstacles out of his way.
Roger was an obstacle.
He paid careful attention to the loud mouth friend, Jacqui, because she told anyone and everyone what the latest plans were, and therefore it was easy enough to discover when the girls planned to go to a house party. She was going to convince Tatum to go so that Roger could ask her out. Roger and Jacqui conspired to do it; he hated that. He despised that they would betray her in such a manner.
He wouldn’t be able to show up at a teenager party without being noticed, so it wasn’t the perfect opportunity. He had to wait for the moment to present itself.
TATUM HAD NOT ENJOYED the party at all. She had gotten ill, no doubt from drinking alcohol. He heard Jacqui recount the story to Roger, and she also assured him that she would convince Tatum to go to the fair. Roger in turn assured her that Darren would ask her to join them and they could all go together.
He could blend in at the Fayre. He needed to ensure he was there when they went.
HE WAITED FOR WHAT felt like hours. Perhaps he had misheard and gotten the day wrong, or they had changed their plans. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself by just standing around, so he went to some of the attractions, pretending to be fascinated.
They weren’t coming and he was tired, so he decided to go home. He was about to exit the parking lot when he heard them behind him, laughing as they got out of a car. Jacqui and Darren were all over each other, while Roger was trying to restrain himself and was acting like a gentleman.
He doubled back and followed at a distance, keeping an eye on them. Now and then he let them drift further away, but most of the time he knew exactly where they were.
The closest he got was in following them into the fun house. He was near Tatum at any given time, always in the room just behind them. He heard their voices; he could hear her. He heard her scream and it was music to his ears.
She wanted to go home, and he knew he had to get there before they did. Roger had to drop their friends off, so he could make it provided Roger dropped them before Tatum.
He had taken his father’s car; he made sure to wait until they were out of the parking lot before he left as well.
THE STREET WAS SILENT as he passed Tatum’s house. He had an idea which way Roger would go after dropping Tatum, but he couldn’t be sure and needed to remain inconspicuous. He chose to park three houses away. Enough time to turn around to head in the opposite direction, if needed, and enough distance to not be suspicious.
His heart beat out of his chest. The itch that burned inside him begged to be scratched and, the closer he was to satisfying that itch, the more it burned.
He was patient. He waited in the dimly lit street without moving. To someone passing by it would appear as though he had fallen asleep. It was such a safe neighbourhood, supposedly, that no one would think twice about it really. He didn’t worry about dangers; he was the danger and it excited him.
Headlights behind him stirred him. He watched the car approaching Tatum’s house in his left side mirror. He didn’t move his head or body in any way in case they noticed him, but his eyes were focused on that car, on his victim.
He saw Roger open the door for Tatum and then they talked. He couldn’t hear them, and couldn’t quite make out their faces, but they kissed, and that was enough to boil his blood. How dare that brat defile his perfect little project? He clenched his fists, breathing heavily through his nose as he willed himself to calm down. This was how people got caught. They acted rashly and in anger, and he was no fool.
The headlights came on again and the car roared to life, as though the idiot’s car was celebrating his victory. He couldn’t help but smile to himself - how short-lived his little celebration would be.
Roger came down the road, a large smile on his face as he bobbed his head to whatever music he was listening to.
The Butcher waited. Pulling out directly behind Roger’s car would be suspicious. He watched as Roger indicated to turn left at the corner, and then started his car.
For the most of the drive he maintained a distance. He kept behind other cars in the lane, generally with two or three between them. Keeping an eye on when Roger turned, he sometimes delayed his own turns so the teenager didn’t grow suspicious of someone following him.
It wasn’t until Roger swung onto an old highway, a well-known short cut around the town, that he decided it was time to regain the distance, putting his headlights to full beam so that Roger couldn’t identify his car.
Roger didn’t seem to notice anything for the first twenty minutes. Then he noticed a glow highlighting Roger’s face ... the tell-tale sign that he was on a call with someone.
He needed to act quickly.
Revving, he pulled up to Roger’s car, careful to keep far enough back so that Roger couldn’t see him clearly. When Roger did look, he swung the steering wheel and smashed into Roger’s car, causing him to almost veer off the road. Before Roger was able to correct, he slammed into him again, not too hard or he might suffer an accident himself. On the fifth slam he caught the back end of Roger’s car and sent him veering off the road and into a tree. He hit his brakes immediately.
There were no signs of other vehicles on the road, so he left his car there, with hazards on. If anyone came along he could claim to be helping the boy, before high-tailing it to a new home. Always have a backup plan. He was no longer a child, after all.
From the back seat he retrieved his katana.
It was a beautiful blade he had picked up while on holiday with his family. No questions were raised about purchasing it from the roadside antique show, because his family was quite aware of his fascination with blades, and the fool selling it had seriously under-priced it. He had used his savings, but it was worth fifty times what he had paid. It was the real deal and the foolish old man didn’t realise that neither his father nor brother knew its value, so he bought it to keep as a decorative sword for his room.
Now he was be able to use it for its true purpose.
He unsheathed it; the blade had a slight curve, but was a slender single-edged sword. There were different guards for the katana, but this had the round one he preferred. The best part of the katana was, if oiled and polished regularly, it never needed to be sharpened, and he was about to test if it truly could cut through a person in one swoop.
The excitement aroused him like never before. It had been too long.
He took out his trusty knife as well and stuck it in the waistband of his pants. He looked up quickly and saw that Roger was still in his car - he hadn’t moved at all. He walked towards the car, putting on latex gloves as he went.
The door was jammed, but with a lot of huffing and puffing he managed to pry it open. He unfastened Roger’s seatbelt just as the boy started to stir. He noticed blood from his leg where it was broken, but didn’t care. Roger was a means to an end.
He grabbed him and pulled him out. The agony of movement made Roger scream, but he simply dragged Roger into the wilderness on the side of the road until he found a tree low enough to hang him from.
Roger whimpered, drifting in and out of consciousness as The Butcher reached behind him to unclasp handcuffs from his trousers.pants. He handcuffed the boy’s one wrist and rested him against the tree. He unsheathed his katana and held it carefully in his hands.
It felt like an extension of himself.
It was perfect.
With one hard swing he cut through Roger’s neck and embedded the blade in the tree behind him. The head rested against the blade for a while, but as soon as he withdrew it the head fell forward and landed with a dull thump.
The relief and adrenalin that rushed over him was enough to make him weak in the knees. He nearly dropped his blade in excitement, but instead held it shakily, admiring the clean cut. Straig
ht through the muscle and bone without any problem. He sheathed it and sighed; he felt as if he had just sunk into a relaxing hot bath after weeks of living on hard ground in a forest.
It was heaven.
He lifted Rogers’s body and, with much effort and a bit of time, he managed to swing the handcuffs over the low branch and catch them with his free hand. He let go of the body, straining to grip the open handcuff. He raised the boy’s free hand and without much difficulty got the handcuff around it. Leaving him there to hang, he placed Roger’s head neatly at his feet, carefully brushing off the soil and leaves that clung to his face and hair.
Kneeling, he pried open Roger’s mouth, pulling his tongue forward, and inserted his knife to carefully slice through it, holding the tongue in his hand. He squished it in his fingers, enjoying the feel of the muscle in his hand.
He stood, admiring his work for a few seconds before turning around and leaving, pocketing the tongue.
ROGER’S DEATH WAS A shock to the entire student body. On the first day back at work after satisfying his itch he noticed the impact he had on the students and school faculty. Everyone missed Roger, and the hallways were quiet for most of the day. Kids spoke in hushed tones. Many girls cried, but none were as affected as Tatum was.
The effect his actions had on her was exciting to say the least. He watched her throughout the day as he mopped floors, washed lockers and screwed in light bulbs. She was withdrawn and pale, her eyes constantly red, and her cheeks were stained from the numerous tears she shed.
In the past, news reports revealed the grief of the family of his works of art, but seeing it in the here and now was far more interesting. He was getting to her mentally. Not only would he have his way with her, making her his ultimate art piece, but he would get into her mind, her heart and her soul.
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