The guilt had eaten her alive as she sat there, realising how little time she had spent with Tatum since their father had passed, and how little she knew of her sister’s movements. She wouldn’t let that happen with Sylva, who had now completely withdrawn inside herself.
With her sister resting peacefully in the ground, she helped her mom back to their friend’s car. Once she was in, she glanced one last time at the spot where Tatum was buried, saying a silent goodbye to her sister, and saw standing there a woman.
It wasn’t anyone who had attended the funeral. In fact, this woman was completely out of place. She had short blond hair, gelled back. She wore torn stockings and a black leotard. Kalli thought she must be freezing to death in this cold weather.
Then the woman looked at Kalli and she saw that her face was painted like a skeleton.
The End
Don’t stop the adventure here - Continue with the next book in the series.
Kallista -The Butcher Book Series #2
Kallista
By
Sian B. Claven
Dedication
To Jackie. Mother. Sister. Best Friend.
Acknowledgments
Kallista was seriously hard to complete. I struggled with the writing and it took me to places I didn’t want to go, and then deeper. This book would not have been possible had it not been for key people in my life who continue to support me as I develop my writing career.
Firstly, I want to thank my Mom, Patricia Vorster, and my sister, Jacqueline Knott, for believing in me, taking pride in my work, and for listening to me ramble about my writing. Your continued support really means the world to me.
To Darren, Kayla, Caitlin and Kelsey - thank you for the late night chats when I was writing, for chatting to me about ideas, and for being the best damn family out there. I miss you.
Danielle Swanepoel - you are the chips to my steak - as the kids say. Thank you for being so supportive and a true friend through everything. For thirteen years you have stood by me through thick and thin, and I couldn’t think of a better person to share my memories with.
To Toni Cox, who not only takes care of me like I’m family, but who loves me for just the way I am - chubby butt and all. Thank you for putting up with me when I’m crazy and stubborn and for constantly reminding me that I am loved. I don’t know what I would do without you.
To Darren Cox, seriously everyone needs to thank you for this book. Your advice has been invaluable. Thank you for letting me interrupt Liverpool games and series to ask you questions, for helping me come up with ways to break into houses and for letting me use you and Toni as guinea pigs to describe cuddling. You rock!
To Poppet - who designs my covers and always makes mye books look so amazing - thank you so much!
To Elaina - editor and chief fixer-upper! Thank you so much for always assisting me with my editing and for always keeping my voice in while fixing up my errors! You’re the best!
To Ashleigh Giannoccaro - my author mom who always has time for me and always helps me out when I need questions answered. I am so happy we are friends and I love all the words you write! Thank you for encouraging me to write words.
To Andrew Christie - friend for life, and a Papa Bear to boot.
To all my Beta readers - Toni, Ona, Tabitha, Karen and Franki - thank you for reading Kallista before everyone else and making sure it was perfect for them.
To my Nightmares - thanks for the Movie Mondays, Teaser Tuesdays, and for always entering all my competitions. You guys make it so worthwhile.
To my fans, old and new, I hope you enjoy Kallista. I won’t lie, it was hard to write, but I am proud to give to you.
Prologue
Strange how quickly time passed, and yet ticked by slowly, simultaneously.
It depended on perspective. A mother with a growing child felt that time moved too swiftly. First this tiny being depended on her for everything, and suddenly he or she sat, talked, walked, and, before you knew it, he or she was at the table doing homework and then off to the final senior dance.
For someone who suffered the death of someone close, time inched forward. Although it became easier to think about the deceased as more time went by, their passing always felt like just yesterday. You wished they were with you to share everything you experienced. You wondered how they would react, especially if you were young when they passed away.
For Kallista Metz, the murder of her sister Tatum changed her life forever. She discovered her sister’s headless body hanging in her closet by her wrists, her head resting at her feet, her mouth open in a silent scream but with no tongue visible.
At first Kalli simply stood there staring, her mind not registering the horror her sight was witness to. Then her brain caught up and an earth-shattering shriek filled the air. She swung from the room, catching her younger sister Sylva in her arms in the hallway so she wouldn’t see it as well, all the while still shrieking.
Luell, their mother, sprinted up the stairs and pushed past her young daughters. She didn’t scream; instead a heart-breaking wail escaped. A heavy sadness weighed down the atmosphere in the house, because there was no greater sadness than a mother losing her child.
The police were called and the stunned family sat in the living room. Their mother was inconsolable, so Kalli did her best to answer all questions. Officer Smith profusely apologised. Everything about him screamed regret, and his words conveyed more than an empathetic response to the death of a loved one; it was also the guilt of being unable to protect her.
They took Tatum’s body away and the house was empty without her there.
Ten years crawled by as Kalli, now the eldest child, grew into a fine young woman. Once an unruly teenager chasing the attention of anyone who would give it to her, she withdrew to her family and spent as much time as possible with them, involving herself in all aspects of Sylva’s life. Their family was close and there was little they didn’t do together. Luell made sure both her girls received excellent educations and, before they knew it, Kalli graduated and was attending college.
It came as no surprise that she chose to involve herself in some aspect of law enforcement. Since her sister’s murder, she had submerged herself in the law, wanting to find ways to improve the system, the techniques, and everything relating to police work, so that murders could be prevented, rather than investigated.
She studied criminology and profiling, and excelled at both. Soon she did her Masters and finally she was ready for her PhD thesis. This was the moment Kalli had been working towards, the very reason she had no friends and never went out, the reason she studied so hard. She intended to use her qualifications to not only help profile a killer, but specifically Tatum’s killer.
After ten years, Kalli moved back into her family home in her old neighbourhood to figure out what really happened to her sister.
Perhaps now trauma would be alleviated and she would stop hallucinating about Robyn, the Skeleton Woman
Chapter 1
The Butcher
The squirrel slowly approached him. It had taken him the better part of four hours to gain the little beast’s trust. He sat on the grass, with his legs crossed, and had patiently held out his hand, watching the little rodent sniff the air and edge his way towards the palm holding some fruit. While it was stupid for trusting him, he knew the rodent was also not smart enough to foresee the danger sitting quietly on the grass in the form of a teenage boy.
Although every day sounds buzzed around him like annoying flies, the only thing that distracted him was a sweet singsong voice, a girl walking past the chain link fence that surrounded his school. When he heard her, his head jerked in her direction, the sudden movement causing the squirrel to bolt up the tree
He didn’t pay it any mind. His eyes were trained on her. Young, maybe ten years old, with beautiful blonde locks, and sweet tones singing a lullaby without a care in the world. Her naivety and blatant innocence intrigued him.
Discarding the fruit, he got up
quickly and, throwing his bag onto his back, quickly made his way to the gate.
Trying not to arouse suspicion, he walked briskly down the road in the direction she went. He turned the corner and there was nothing. She was nowhere to be seen. He was disappointed, like a child whose ice cream had fallen from its cone before even one lick, and he was angry that he had lost her, though he wasn’t sure why.
After everyone left school the next day, he hung back. It wasn’t unusual for him to remain after hours; he used the excuse that he wanted to study in the library or was waiting for someone to pick him up, so his classmates never thought it strange.
He found a quiet shady spot near the gate and sat down, taking out a book to read while he waited for her. He kept glancing at his watch, wanting to make sure he knew what time she passed his school.
The minutes dragged by and, although he would turn the page of his book, he wasn’t absorbing the words. This was merely something to keep his hands busy or, rather, to make him appear busy if anyone paid heed.
He heard her before he saw her; singing a different lullaby, but with the same upbeat, sweet voice that captured his attention the day before. He stood slowly, dusting off his pants and putting his book in his bag. He strolled out the gate just as she passed it; he was around two metres behind her, and ambled after her.
If she had noticed him, she didn’t show it and didn’t seem to care. Nothing broke her stride or her song as she followed her own path.
They rounded the corner and he fell back a little more, not wanting to startle her. Putting his hands in his pockets, he tried not to stare, but it was so hard. When he did look at her, she seemed almost angelic, as though a halo of light surrounded her. She was perfect!
She turned left suddenly and made her way into the park. He smiled, realising that was how he had lost her the day before. He didn’t want to push his luck for the day by following her in, so he fell back, promising himself he would keep a close eye on her.
The following day he decided to wait outside the general store. He leaned against the wall, as inconspicuously as he could, and waited for her. He glanced around; he enjoyed looking around, for he liked being an observer in a world that rarely observed what was happening.
He noticed the store owner, Mr Meyer, known as the friendliest shop owner in town, always willing to help out a hungry family, or stay open late for a mom that never caught the bus on time. People didn’t know what Mr Meyer got up to in his spare time, which mostly consisted of picking up prostitutes and doing drugs with them in the flat above the store, where he lived.
Pastor Jones greeted Mr Meyer as he walked up the street towards his church. Everyone confided in the Pastor, all their sins and ill-doings, and he offered them up to prayer for resolution and redemption. He wondered if Pastor Jones sought out his own redemption for sleeping with half the town’s married women.
Mrs Pens was the renowned librarian who liked to inject murky brown liquids into her veins on weekends, which she got from good old Dr Chrysler. The doctor sold drugs for extra income to give his twenty-one year old wife everything her heart desired.
Indeed, there was a lot to discover if anyone were to pay attention, but only he did and, because no one liked to observe the faults of others, he knew no one would think twice about him hanging around waiting for the sweet lullabies she sang as she walked.
Again he heard her long before he saw her, her voice carried by the wind up and around the corner to where he waited like a leopard in a tree expecting its prey. She rounded the corner and didn’t even glance up at him as she skipped down the street towards the park. He waited until she was a few metres ahead before he pushed from the wall and ambled behind her.
In the park, she took the straight path, and he hung back until he could just see her. She didn’t hesitate to veer off and skip through the trees, and the idea of her secluded and alone in the wooded area of the park excited him. He followed, trying to keep her in view as he threaded through the trees, trying his hardest not to make a sound. She didn’t notice; she was simply happy to make her way, and he could tell she knew where she was going.
Soon enough they reached a path on the other side of the wooded area. He glanced at his watch and guessed that it had taken about fifteen minutes to walk through the trees. Once on the path, she turned left, moving towards the nearby exit gate that led to another busy road. He followed, curious to see where she went next.
She waited until the little man turned green on the traffic light before she crossed the road to the house opposite, letting herself in the front door.
His curiosity satisfied, he made his way back through the trees to the first path so he could head home. He stopped only once to catch a baby squirrel, holding his hand over its face until it passed out and he could stuff it in his bag.
He picked up speed, and was soon in the privacy of his own garden, where he explored the squirrel’s insides without interruption.
He waited for her the next day, and the next and the day after that.
One time, when he was following her, he took the time to carve a small ‘x’ in the bark of every third or fourth tree they passed to see if she always passed the same trees.
She did.
A plan formulated in his mind and it both excited him and scared him. Everything about her enticed him and he wanted to touch her, to hold her, to watch the shiny sparkle of life dim and die as he took it from her.
Every time he thought of this, he became aroused and had to be excused to the bathroom or, if he were home, hide in his bedroom to deal with it.
He packed a bag. He didn’t think it would amount to anything, but still, the thought of it being within his reach was motivational. He began by putting duct tape and plastic trash bags into the bag, followed by some rope and turpentine. He went to the library where he checked out as many books as he could without looking suspicious. He told the librarian he was working on his science fair project, on the effects of chemicals on blood, and this was partially true, because he would need to produce the project in order for the alibi to be effective.
Turpentine made it hard for blood to be tested and matched; he would need that just in case. He also cut his nails, making sure they were as short as possible, putting the nail clippers in his bag … just in case.
When the bag was ready, he took to sharpening his pocket knife, a gift from his father for doing well at scouts. He spent every available ‘alone’ moment honing it, ensuring it could cut through anything. One day, while following her, he realised his knife might not be good enough to cut through bone, and went home and packed the hacksaw, just in case.
Psyching himself up, he imagined every possible scenario for when he got her alone. What he would achieve, what he would rush and what he could take his time with. It filled his every waking moment, his every dream. He needed to do it, or this itch was never going to be scratched and would drive him insane.
He decided, after the eleventh day of following her, it was time.
He waited in the park, wanting to catch her alone in the woods rather than chase her. He got there early and calculated roughly where the middle of her path was, where it wound through the woods. Once there, he dumped his bag behind the tree he intended tying her to, and hid behind another a little further back.
He waited. When his legs grew tired, he leaned against the trunk and soon after sat with his back against it, glancing at his watch almost every five minutes. He had worked out the time she should be passing by, but that time had long passed. It grew dark and she was nowhere in sight.
Disappointed and angry, he retrieved his bag and made his way home; he would try again the following day.
She wasn’t there.
She didn’t pass the store the day after that.
She didn’t pass his school the day after that one.
He was miserable that his opportunity was gone as quickly as it had come. Killing off squirrels, rabbits, cats and dogs just didn’t have the same pizazz it once did; in fac
t, it made the itch more unbearable.
Seven long wretched days went by and he again sat in the schoolyard trying to entice a squirrel. Then he heard her, the sweet lullaby that rang through the air as she walked down the road.
He couldn’t help himself. He ran to his locker to retrieve the bag he had shoved in there and then hightailed it out to catch up with her. He didn’t care if anyone saw him; he needed to make sure she was there.
And there she was. Her blonde ponytail swung in the air as she skipped along to her song. She didn’t have a care or fear in the world as she wandered the same route she always did. He followed, falling into rhythmic step behind her. He shadowed her into the park and picked up speed ever so slightly, not wanting to have to run to catch her between the trees.
They veered off the path, with him behind her, and he counted the trees in his head, waiting until they were almost halfway. He ran up behind her and, before she could turn around to see what the noise was, he had his hand clasped over her mouth. His hands were so big that he covered her nose and mouth, cutting off her air supply.
She fought him, her nails like razors as she clawed at his arm, making him hiss as she drew blood. She tried kicking back against him, but luckily he was tall enough to hold on to her while remaining out of reach of her ineffectual attempts. The kicks died down, so did the clawing, as her oxygen-deprived body started to shut down.
Careful to keep her air cut off, he pinned her to a tree, looking down at her round blue eyes. They were beautiful and full of life, life that was slowly ebbing away with each second that he didn’t allow her breath. She sank to the ground and he had to crouch to keep her from inhaling. Soon enough her head rolled forward, the life that was there a moment ago … gone.
The Butcher Box Set Page 9
