Educating
Callie
by
Emma Jayne Mills
About this book.
The quaint English town of Frost Ford has secrets, none bigger than the identity of the serial killer who has been tormenting the country and evading police for decades. And now he has set his sights on Callie Wilson. She has escaped him once before but this time he is determined to claim his ultimate prize.
Callie Wilson had life all figured out. A loving family, a dream boyfriend, the best friends and plans to travel and study overseas when she left school. The cracks in her perfect life began to form with the death of her parents when she was eighteen and since then one life changing event after another has left her feeling like everything is spiralling out of her control. With an ex who won’t quit, a possible new love interest and a serial killer stalker Callie may just push herself over the edge before he gets the chance.
Adam Butler craved a new start after the death of his brother, so when his cousin told him of a position on Frost Ford’s tiny police force, Adam wasted no time in applying for a transfer. He expected a quaint little town with a low crime rate and a quiet life. What he didn’t expect was for the chaos that is Callie Wilson to literally fall at his feet and steal his stone cold heart. They bond over the darkness within them, but can Adam keep his mind on the job and ensure Callie’s safety?
Callie and Adam try their best to live in the light but the cracks are growing and the darkness is seeping in...
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Thankyou’s and a few apologies
Bonus content
Text Copyright 2017©Emma Jayne Mills
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Cover Design: BettiBup33 design Studio [email protected]
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Purchase only authorised editions.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, storylines and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
For the dreamers, never give up.
“There is a crack in everything; it’s how the light gets in.”
Leonard Cohen
Chapter One
I have cracks, more than my fair share. But no light gets in. Only darkness. The darkness seeps through my cracks like thick, black ink. There is no room for light inside me. I cover my cracks and I cover the darkness. If you didn’t know me you wouldn’t know they were there, I have perfected the art of hiding them. The real people in my life, the ones who see me, they know about my darkness, they know it’s there even though they can’t see it. I’m fortunate to have them and I’m grateful that they are in my life every single day. They do everything they can to help me heal. So I project light, I do it for them, so that I may see them smile. But I don’t feel it. I never feel, not truly. I live in the light, but the darkness lives in me.
*****
I watch as she runs, in tears, towards the forest. This is it. The chance I have been waiting for all these years. She is alone, vulnerable. Running blindly towards those woods. And anyone who has lived in this town as long as her is aware of the dangers in that forest at night and in this weather. She really ought to know better, she does know better, but it is to my advantage that she forgets herself this evening. I follow at a distance, taking my time, I am in no hurry. I am hiding in plain sight, as I have done for so long in this small town. They live in fear of what hides among them.
The good police man who wanted to play detective almost caught up with me once, he wasn’t quite clever enough to engage me in this game though. He got too close so I dealt with him. Taking him out, along with his interfering wife, was a simple task. I had no need to toy with them, merely to remove them both from my path. Now their daughter will pay the price for their actions and after she has done so, she will redeem them, by becoming my long awaited reward. Their interference in my game only served to give me a greater purpose in my teachings. I wonder if, had they known, would they have continued along their ill fated path?
I had written off my evening as a loss when she was safely inside after walking home from work, alone. I had been preoccupied, my attention diverted. Yet here she is, in my sights once more. Setting herself up for a fall and playing into my eagerly waiting hands. Perhaps this evening won’t be wasted after all. I share a smile with myself, I have waited patiently for her and now she will finally be mine completely. No longer will I have to share her affections with others. It is time for her lessons to begin.
*****
An arm came around me from behind. A cloth covered my mouth and a chemically sweet odour over rode my senses. Then everything went black.
I blinked awake and slowly pushed my limbs into a sitting position, my body ached and my head felt woozy. My vision blurred as my eyes slowly became accustomed to the blinding darkness that enveloped me. My snow drenched clothes had a stiff feel to them, from where they had dried on my body. Stretching out my denim encased legs and trying to ignore the pounding in my head, I took in my surroundings while my eyes grew accustomed to the dark. It looked like a cellar, I thought. It smelled like a cellar, damp and musty, an earthy smell that told me I was no longer above ground. It was nothing more than a cold, grey concrete tomb.
My body began to shake uncontrollably and I knew I was panicking. I also knew I ought to be screaming for help, but something told me anyone who was likely to hear my shouts would not be friendly and I did not want that kind of attention.
A small window sat in the stone wall above my head, just below the ceiling, probably at ground level on the outside. The glass had been roughly painted over in black but it still allowed a sliver of light into the dim room, telling me it was daylight out there and I had been here several hours at least.
I was sitting on what I thought to be an old army cot; the thin green stretch of material that was supposed to serve as a mattress gave little comfort. Not that I could have found comfort in anything at that time. There was a pillow, stained brown and without a case and a scratchy, grey woollen blanket folded neatly at the end of the bed. I briefly considered wrapping the blanket around me to warm me from the chill in the air but a quick sniff told me I didn’t want that thing anywhere near my body.
A jug of water and a glass sat on a small stool next to the bed and I reached for them greedily. I drank deeply, replaced the glass and stood, wobbling slightly as the room tilted in my vision. Reaching out almost blindly to find my way I moved slowly around the room.
This is it, I knew. This was where the others had been. And now he had me. I was going to die. A tsunami of panic mixed with anger drenched me, threatening to drown me where I stood and I began to shake again. How dare he? How dare this maniac take all those women and treat them this way. My stomach flipped and the water threatened to reappear when I noticed the chains. They cascaded down the wall, where they were attached with hooks and pooled in a rusty heap on the floor. My eyes continued to adjust to the dull light as I wandere
d around the room and my heart stopped at the sight that met me when my fingers finally hit a light switch on the bare brick wall. Red paint, well, I thought it was paint and I wasn’t about to entertain the idea that it was anything other than that, had been used to leave me a message on the wall.
“Sweet Callie. You are my reward. It all ends with you. You will be my last.”
My breath shuddered as I attempted to breathe deeply and calm myself. My efforts only succeeded in bringing on another dizzy spell, forcing me to my knees on the cold, hard floor. The killer had been evading the police for months now. Apparently he had left not one single clue to his identity, he had them baffled. My brother and his fellow police officers had speculated that they hadn’t heard of anyone leading the police on a merry dance in this way since Jack the Ripper. And that was taking into consideration all the advances in technology that had come into existence since 1888 and those gruesome murders. This killer had left a string of women’s bodies in the areas surrounding the small town where I lived, killing them only after subjecting them to torturous injuries. There was speculation that he was also responsible for other similar murders spanning at least ten years, spread across the country. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to his killings, the only similarities being that they were all women in their early twenties who had been mutilated in the same way before having their throats slit.
My twin brother had been involved in several of the searches for the missing women in our area. Cameron. His smiling face formed in my mind. I had to get out of here for him. He wouldn’t survive if anything happened to me. I knew, because I wouldn’t survive if it were the other way around. Then there were my friends, my wonderful, amazing friends who had been there for me through every up and down life had thrown in my direction. And of course there was Jase. He would blame himself because we’d argued. I had people to live for. I could not let this happen to them. I could not be responsible for them suffering this way.
I stood and ventured towards the steps that had to lead the main house and climbed them as stealthily as my aching limbs would allow, not wanting to alert my captor to the fact that I was awake. An old fashioned brass door knob sat at waist level on the heavy wooden door. Reaching out I turned the knob slowly, not truly expecting it to be unlocked, that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach returned when the latch clicked and opened away from me.
I never saw his face; he kept it covered under a black balaclava, only his cold, empty eyes were on show, leaving me no clues to his identity. His body was big, muscular, this was a man who stayed fit and I guessed he was strong too. He sat at a circular pine table in a large kitchen, both his hands resting flat on the table top. His eyes were trained on me and followed my every move, every breath, every blink, but he did not speak. I thought about edging closer to the door, my eyes flicking back and forth between him and a door that I thought must lead outside. I wondered if I could outrun him. All I had to do was get to a window or door and break the glass. I’d do it with my bare hands if I had to. He continued to watch my movements, his unfeeling gaze never moving from me. Those eyes terrified me and despite my silent planning I was rooted to the spot in fear.
Slowly, he stood, dressed all in black, and moved to open the fridge. His gloved hands pulled out vegetables and other ingredients; was he going to feed me? I watched as he arranged salad and pieces of cooked chicken on two plates and sliced freshly baked bread. When he was finished he placed the plate on the table and looked at me, he moved a chair out and gestured for me to sit. When I didn’t move he came to me, grasping my arm, surprisingly gently and steered me to the waiting chair. I sat and he pointed at the plate, obviously wanting me to eat. I frowned up at him but received no reaction.
Suddenly frustrated, I picked up the fork he’d set down and stabbed a piece of cucumber with it. I wanted him to talk, to tell me what he was planning to do with me, what he wanted from me. Anything. He merely sat opposite me at the table and watched me as I ate; his own food untouched. Finally, and probably unwisely, I lost patience. Slamming my fork down I stood, the chair toppled and fell back when I pushed it away from me with my legs.
“No!” I shouted at him with a crack in my voice. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t even flinched at my outburst. “I’m not doing this. Who are you? What do you want? If you’re going to kill me just get it over with!”
He shook his head and stood, rising from his chair and slowly approaching me. He was taller than me, and looked down into my face as he drew closer.
“No?” I asked. He shook his head again. “No you won’t tell me who you are? No you won’t tell me what you want, or no you aren’t going to kill me?”
More head shaking.
“No to all of it?” I asked my voice wavering.
A nod. “You’re not going to kill me?”
He shook his head and placed his hand on my arm again, this time steering me out of the kitchen and along a narrow hallway towards another door. I could tell by the peeling paint, faded damask wallpaper and elaborate ceiling coving that this had once been a grand and beautiful house. The kitchen had been recently decorated in warm yellows and was clean and bright. This hallway however, looked as though nobody had walked its cracked, delicately tiled floor in decades. He opened a door and gestured inside to a bathroom. A shower, sink and toilet were crammed into the tiny room. The shower was a new addition I thought, but the rest looked as though it had merely been cleaned and the walls painted a stark white.
“You killed the others.” I stated, holding onto my bravado. A nod in response and another gesture towards the bathroom.
“You want me to use the bathroom?” I asked. Another nod. He then pointed to another door, before reaching across the hallway to open it and waving his gloved hand in that direction. I could make out the end of a bed through the gap.
“I should go in there afterwards?” He nodded. Bile rose in my throat at the thought of what he may be suggesting. I knew the other women had been subjected to horrific violence, but my brother hadn’t told me if they had been sexually assaulted. That there had been no mention of it in the news reports gave me a sliver of hope, but didn’t fully ease my mind. The thought that he had implied he would not kill me did nothing to calm my thoughts either; there were worse things than death.
He nudged me into the bathroom and closed the door behind me as he left. No lock, I noticed as I let out a sigh and leaned heavily against the door. No window either. No way out other than the door I had come through. Feeling helpless, I turned on the shower as hot as it would go, undressed and stood under the scalding water. I let the familiar cherry scented shampoo and conditioner calm me, despite noticing that they were the exact same products I used at home. Had he known this and bought them purposely for my use? The hot water streaming over my skin did nothing to stop it from goose pimpling at the thought that this could be someone I knew. I shook my head and banished that thought quickly. I refused to believe anyone I knew was capable of this. I found brief comfort in the heat as I stood underneath the spray until the water ran cold and then got out and dried myself on a soft, pink, fluffy towel that seemed out of place in the unadorned white bathroom. If I hadn’t been in such an awful position I might have relished in the pampering.
As I opened the bathroom door I looked around the small hallway, no sign of him, but I could hear movement in the kitchen. Moving quickly to the bedroom I found a pair of black dress trousers and a pale pink floral blouse laid out on the bed, along with underwear and a pair of pink ballet flats. Not anything that I would usually wear. I was a ripped jeans, biker boots and faded rock band t shirts girl. I shuddered at the thought of the faceless man picking out clothes for me. I dressed quickly, not wanting him to come in and find me naked, and looked around the room.
Another once abandoned room it seemed had been redecorated. Had he only updated the rooms he intended to use? We hadn’t gone up any stairs and judging by the size of the room I was in it had once been a living or dining room, when the house had see
n better days. Picking up the edge of the heavy green velvet curtain and looking at the window I found that it too was painted black. Surely someone could see that from the outside? They had to realise that wasn’t normal. Who in their right mind painted their windows black? Please let him have observant neighbours, I thought as I scanned the room. I found more creams, perfumes and make-up all brands that I owned even if I didn’t use them. My boyfriend, Jase, had a thing about buying me expensive perfume. I had quite the collection, but I rarely wore it, except for one particular brand that was his favourite. The bottles and jars were all organised neatly on an ornate white dressing table with gold gilded edges. There were silver plated hair brushes and a hand held mirror to match. A pink velvet cushioned stool sat underneath it. All very Victorian, I noted.
I opened the modern, out of place, built in wardrobe to find it full of brand new clothes and shoes. All in the style I realised he must prefer. The bedding was white, with a patchwork bedspread in shades of pink and cream, folded neatly across the end of the bed and the bed itself was adorned with lots of throw pillows in yet more pink. I wasn’t a fan of pink at all. In fact my Dad had often joked that I should have been born a boy. I could play football and climb trees with the best of them had always preferred the company of boys, sharing most of my brother’s male friends even now. My best friend was a boy I met when we were in preschool and we’d grown up together. I was that girl- the one who always hung around with the boys because girls were too much hard work.
In an alcove beside a white brick chimney breast was a book shelf containing nothing but classics. I ran my fingers along the spines of Pride and Prejudice and Great Expectations and other such works, along with several poetry anthologies. A sage green, extremely comfortable looking armchair, with a beige cashmere shawl draped over the back of it sat next to the bookshelf. Ordinarily I would have been excited about a find such as this. A cosy little reading nook where I could hide away for hours, blocking out the real world. But here, my idea of heaven disturbed me beyond my wildest dreams. It made me realise with clarity that he had been planning this for a very long time. This room was set up for someone to stay in permanently. I jumped nervously as a knock sounded at the door. He didn’t enter, so I took it as my cue to leave the room.
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