As for the Pretoria Slasher’s half-brother, well that’s a whole other story. Apparently, he’s been raping, mutilating, torturing, killing, and heaven knows what else, for almost as long as brother dearest.
“They’ll both be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law,” the source said. “And their stays at casa C-Max will be extended.”
C-Max, the maximum security prison in Pretoria, however, may not be equipped to handle either prisoner. According to other gossip around town, they both seem to suffer from some sort of mental disorder. This is purely speculation, but is it truly so farfetched to say they suffer from schizophrenia? I don’t particularly think so.
Then again, no insanity plea has ever been won in South African law history… Maybe they won’t try the trick for their respective defences? Who knows?
I’ll keep you updated on what’s what as more information is released, so subscribe to my blog and stay in the know!
Yours truly,
Andrea Miller
*EDIT* I’ll be doing a vlog series on muti crimes in the near future. If you want to know more, follow me on my YouTube channel. Handle: TrueCrimeSA.
—TrueCrimeSA.co.za
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Chapter 43
New Orleans, Louisiana
1 December, 2015
The trumpet swells as the tune reaches its crescendo. The piano plays in harmony, fading out slowly for the trumpet to take over. The cellist plucks at the strings of his instrument, while the singer sings a haunting song to an upbeat melody.
I sip my cocktail—Sazerac the waitress called it—tentatively, relaxing in the front row of the jazz club, watching the show. Here in this city of carnivals and culture I can forget about the jagged red scar on my abdomen. I can forget about Kenneth Mtetwa (otherwise known as Him) and Simphiwe Mtetwa (also known as Human-Tooth-Necklace-Guy), and the terrible deeds they’ve done.
I can forget about everything bothering me, if only for a little while.
It’s why I came here in the first place; to enjoy a different culture, to see the sights, to heal safely in another country, and to forget how foolish I can be at times. My actions had almost cost Leila her life, as well as my own.
Still, we got the guy. We put him behind bars and he’s going to stay there for a long time—the rest of his life if there’s any justice in the world.
Rynhardt touches my hand gently, leans over to me and whispers: “I’ve got to run to the men’s, don’t go anywhere.”
I smile. “Okay. Enjoy yourself.”
He rolls his eyes, smiling back, before giving me a quick peck on my cheek and leaving the table.
The set ends and I applaud loudly, beaming, as the musicians take a bow.
This is what pure joy feels like, even if I’m recovering from a possible life threatening wound. Rynhardt took time off work to join me on my three-week holiday in New Orleans, and it’s been great so far. We might have only arrived yesterday, but I’m happy I didn’t end up coming by myself. After the whole ordeal with Him, of me almost dying, he forgave my stealing his car, but only if I promised never to do it again. I never explicitly promised a thing, though.
There’s a possibility we’re also in an actual relationship now, although neither of us have talked about it. We just, kind of, fell into a routine. Whether it’ll grow into something more, I’m not sure. Right here and now, I don’t even want to think of the future.
A waitress saunters over, places a dish filled with oysters in front of me, and smiles.
“I didn’t order this,” I say.
“It’s been paid for,” she answers, her accent heavy, before she walks off to tend to another table.
I study the dish, but before I take some, a man with short bleached dreadlocks, dressed in white from head to toe, sits down opposite me.
His skin contrasts profoundly against his ensemble, but that’s the point. He commands a whole room with his daring appearance.
I pull my hand back into my lap and square my jaw.
“Oysters Rockefeller,” he says in an Ugandan accent, pointing to the food in front of me. “Best in the city.”
“Shouldn’t you be preparing for your criminal case?” I ask.
The Rabbi grins. “I was acquitted of all charges, thanks to lack of evidence.”
“Congratulations,” I answer, my throat tightening.
“You still owe me a favour and I’ve come to collect.”
“I’m on holiday, recuperating after my run-in with Kenneth Mtetwa.”
“I heard. Had it not been for the twins’ protection, I’m sure you would have been dead,” The Rabbi says. “You have some good friends in them.”
“Or maybe I was just lucky enough to survive a lunatic’s attack?”
“Surely, you can’t still doubt these things’ authenticity. After all you’ve seen and experienced?” He looks incredulous.
I respond with a slight shrug.
“Be that as it may, I am cashing in my favour. I have a friend who’s in trouble, you see? A friend who has been accused of a horrific ritual murder, which I know she didn’t commit. There are good, there are evil, and then there are the neutrals. I am one of those neutrals who do not pick a side. She is a neutral, too. Seeing as you’re one of the best, I was thinking you can extend your services to help get her off the hook, and find the real killer while you’re at it.”
“If I say no?”
“You won’t say no. You live for this stuff… You aren’t called the Crimson Huntress because of your hair, Esmé.”
I slump back into my chair. “Can this at least wait until I’m back in South Africa? I really need this break.”
The Rabbi fixes his jacket. “Your request would be difficult to implement, considering she’s right here in New Orleans.” He gives me a wolfish smile, the kind which makes me wonder if he’s about to eat me alive. “Perhaps you should brush up on your voodoo trivia tonight in between humping your detective. I’m not sure how well you know the culture.”
“I know enough,” I say.
“Good, then I’ll pick you up at your hotel first thing in the morning. Bring your boy-toy along for the ride if you want. What’s it they always say? The more the merrier?” The Rabbi stands. “Fate is a funny lady; don’t you agree?”
I answer him with a glare which could lance boils.
The Rabbi winks, pointing at the oysters with his index finger again. “You wouldn’t have experienced New Orleans until you’ve had those. They’re absolutely delicious.”
I’m about to respond with a snarky comeback about sharks, but The Rabbi disappears into the incoming crowd.
“So much for having a relaxing holiday,” I say to myself, picking up one of the oysters.
“Oh, you ordered without me?” Rynhardt sits down.
I hand the oysters over to him, which he accepts with a smile.
“I have some good news and some bad news,” I say. “Which would you like to hear first?”
“Good news,” he answers.
“Well, we might have to extend our holiday, which is proudly sponsored by… You guessed it! Snyders International.”
“I like the good news. What’s the bad news?”
I bite the inside of my cheek, inhale deeply, and decide to ease him gently into my life as an occult crime expert. “What is your standpoint on voodoo as a theology?”
Epilogue
27 May, 2019
It’s been three years, to the day, since the commencement of my incarceration, for the so-called “murders” of five people. The courts and the media called me a monster, even attempting to have the constitution revised to recall the death penalty.
I do not see how they can judge me.
Is it wrong for a person to step on an ant? Do we call them murderers, as well?
I’m kept in solitary confinement, where my only company is this diary and a soft tip pencil, which I sharpen against the nail-scratched walls—courtesy of the previous, desperate and weak in
mates who once occupied this poorly lit cell.
I am considered a danger to the other inmates. Even my one-hour daily exercise is in an empty yard, watched over by several armed guards.
Good thing, too.
If anything, solitary confinement has strengthened me; physically, mentally, and spiritually. My connection with the ancestors has never been stronger. They keep me company, day and night, whispering their wants and needs and ideologies. Plans: so many plans.
All I need is one more opportunity to kill, one moment to fill me with power again!
I am patient, though.
My time will come.
Soon.
Acknowledgements
Firstly, I’d like to thank the wonderful staff at Omnium Gatherum Books for taking a risk on Muti Nation. A HUGE thanks go out to Kate Jonez for all the hard work she’s put into the production of this book, as well as all the other books published by Omnium Gatherum Books. Another big thank you goes out to Johnny Worthen, for the countless hours he’s put into editing Muti Nation. Without them, there would be no book, so again, thank you so much.
This book would never have been completed without my talented, supportive, and incredibly handsome fiancé, Manus. For listening to me when I tried to rationalise certain plot points, while I developed characters, and when I ranted about my inability to finish Muti Nation, thank you. For keeping my coffee mug full and giving me love and attention even if I didn’t deserve it, thank you. For putting up with me for all these years, thank you so much my honey-bunny-angel-baby. You really are the better half. Don’t worry, though, I won’t hold it against you.
Sakina Murdock deserves lots of praise. Sakina inspired this book and helped me stay on track from the get-go. If she hadn’t asked questions about South Africa, and certain widely unknown cultural aspects, I would never have gotten that spark of inception. Furthermore, her insight in the editorial phases of my work is always greatly appreciated.
Joan de la Haye—my respite from life—gets super hugs and loud “thank you’s” for the countless hours she spent listening to me whine, helping me finish some bottles of fermented grape juice, keeping my spirits up more often than not, and accepting my weirdness. She truly is the best type of best friend a girl needs.
To my family: Mona-Lisa, Mom, Aunt Marietjie, Francois, thank you for believing in my abilities as an author. I might give you all a hard time, most of the time, but I do love you regardless of my…Monique-ness.
Special thanks go out to my first readers (you know who you are), for finding residual gremlins in the book. Mercedes M. Yardley gets super hugs for taking a chance on reading, and endorsing, Muti Nation. Joe Mynhardt gets two thumbs up for being a spectacular day-job boss (no, seriously, I have the best day-job boss ever).
And to all the people I inevitably forgot to mention by name, because I’m just too excited right now to formulate proper thoughts, I appreciate your friendship more than I can put into words. Thank you for always being supportive. Thank you for always being there. You guys rock!
Author’s Note
Reality is often more horrific than fiction, which is the case when it comes to muti-related crimes in and around South Africa. While you may recognise many of the routes and landmarks ahead, certain buildings and enterprises don’t exist. Some of the case studies presented as real, fortunately, also haven’t occurred. However, a lot of this book is based on real events and circumstances South Africans deal with on a regular basis.
Muti Nation is a fictional tale with one foot in reality.
About the Author
Monique Snyman lives in Pretoria, South Africa, with an adorable Chihuahua that keeps her company and a bloodthirsty lawyer who keeps her sane. She is a full-time author, part-time editor and in-between reviewer of all things entertaining. Her short fiction has been published in a number of small press anthologies, and she’s working hard on a couple of novels in her spare time. Find out more about her by visiting www.charmingincantations.com/blog.
Table of Contents
Muti Nation
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
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Author’s Note
About the Author
Muti Nation Page 26
