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His Garden of Bones
A Skye Cree Novel
Published by Beachdevils Press
Copyright © 2015 Vickie McKeehan
All rights reserved.
His Garden of Bones
A Skye Cree Novel
Copyright © 2015 Vickie McKeehan
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic format without written permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published by
ISBN-10: 0692426043
ISBN-13: 978-0692426043
Printed in the USA
Cover design by Vanessa Mendozzi
Wolf designed by Jess Johnson
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www.vickiemckeehan.com
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His Garden of Bones
A Skye Cree Novel
VICKIE McKEEHAN
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
For Gene,
the only one who encouraged me
to follow my dream
Into the darkness they go,
the wise and the lovely.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Epilogue
His Garden of Bones
A Skye Cree Novel
by
VICKIE McKEEHAN
Prologue
Fifteen years earlier
Pocatello, Idaho
An Easter cold snap had moved through the Snake River Plain the previous night, blanketing the area with two feet of snow. Though the storm had dumped a generous helping of the white stuff all over the playground, by mid-morning kids in the Fairwood section of the city had come out to take advantage of what was probably the last snowfall of the season.
On this Saturday just before the holiday the children donned their winter gear—wool caps, mittens, scarves, and warm coats. Noisy laughter filled the park as the rambunctious youngsters fought over swings, climbed on jungle gyms, and slid down slides—all except for Dillard Barstow.
Dillard sat off to one side by himself. The tall, lanky teen studied the other kids while sketching on the pad he took everywhere with him. He watched as the kids paired off into groups. Some played a game of tag while others tossed a football back and forth. He’d always been reluctant to join in with the classmates he’d known since kindergarten. None of the activity interested the skinny boy who was a little too tall for his age anyway. Despite his height, he’d never been athletic and because of that fact he made sure he steered clear of the jocks. Truth be told, Dillard steered clear of most people. He tried to avoid going home where his father often called him a wuss and gave him grief. As bad as his father was, his mother was much worse. She liked to bully everyone around her. Dillard seemed to be her favorite target.
Maybe that’s why the boy chose the path of least resistance. Dillard would simply evade any situation that might end up in a confrontation. There was no need to go looking for trouble when he could find plenty of it at home.
To his credit, the shy, troubled fourteen-year-old was known among his teachers for his smarts and artistic talent. No one in town would likely put Dillard Barstow in the category of ball-busting bruiser.
Today, he stationed himself near the sandbox where he could keep an eye on pretty Camilla Prentiss, the dark-haired girl with hair so black it gave off an almost purple glow. He loved all that hair and how soft it looked.
She’d brought her little brother along to play in the dirt while she leaned back against a tree to read one of the Harry Potter books he’d seen her check out at the library. Several months back she’d caught his attention because she lived two streets over from him on Maplewood. The lovely Camilla had been on his radar ever since.
This morning he didn’t mind the little boy so much as long as he got to see the girl of his dreams. At eleven, Camilla was three years younger than he was. Despite their age difference, there was something about the way she carried herself that made him realize they were destined to be together. He liked to watch her from a distance. Getting to know her wasn’t an option. He dared not approach her for fear of rejection. He was far too timid to engage in an actual conversation. But he couldn’t deny the crush he had on her. He’d heard other kids at school, girls mostly, use that word when they really liked someone. Girls often talked about their “crushes” during lunch or before school or they snickered about it on the bus.
But it was a different story with eight-grade boys, like him. Sometimes in gym class the guys used much stronger language. Even in the boys’ bathrooms, Dillard had overheard crude remarks when the others didn’t know he was listening. That’s when it had happened. That’s when he realized what he’d like to do to Camilla.
He didn’t need to talk to her. For the past six months he’d been keeping track of everywhere she went and everything she did by following her around the neighborhood whenever he got the chance. That’s how he knew everything there was to know about Camilla Prentiss.
There’d been the time last summer when he’d stationed himself outside her bedroom window while she slept.
He’d stayed there for hours and hours and been lucky enough to see her get up to go to the bathroom. His stakeout had lasted until four-thirty that morning. That perfect time right before the sun came up when he’d had to leave to get ready to go to church.
From that day forward, he’d trailed after her on her trips to the mall, then again each time she walked to the store for her mother. He knew for a fact that just recently she’d started babysitting on a limited basis for the Grainger family. The Graingers lived a block over on Cedar Ridge and whenever Mr. and Mrs. Grainger went out to dinner on Saturday nights, Camilla looked after the couple’s baby daughter. He knew because he’d kept a vigil outside the living room window. Once, he’d almost gotten caught when the Graingers had returned earlier than planned. Since their meal out had lasted no more than ninety minutes, he hadn’t had the time to work up his courage to act, to do what he wanted to do with Camilla.
That’s why tonight would be special. He’d see to it.
For weeks now, he’d felt the change occurring inside him. He’d recognized the signs building. His urges had grown stronger and stronger. If his control slipped, he knew there would be no turning back. Up to now, it had taken a tremendous amount of effort to lock away his burning fury. But with each tick of the clock, he felt himself losing ground, losing another inch on the tether that held him back from opening that door. He saw a sliver of blinding light and knew full well he had no choice but to break through the barrier to get to the other side.
He glanced over at the other kids to see if anyone had noticed him. As usual, no one had. For much of his life Dillard Barstow had been an invisible entity. So far, he’d been lucky. No one had caught on to the seething rage inside.
Dillard was fed up with it all. Tonight he would release all those feelings he’d kept under wraps for so long. Tonight would be his inaugural run.
After an hour or so, he watched Camilla gather up her little brother and walk off down the street, heading back to her house.
For now, he made himself sit like a statue to keep from going after her. Now wouldn’t work. Following her might tip his hand. Broad daylight wasn’t the best time to act. The little brother would surely get in the way and need to be dealt with. So he would wait for her to walk over to her babysitting job at the Graingers’.
Tonight he’d let loose his inner demons. His heart beat faster just thinking about it.
Glancing down at the Timex on his wrist, he counted the hours until Camilla would leave her house. He’d have to bide his time till then. In the meantime, there were a hundred things he needed to do to get ready. He would go over his plan until he left nothing to chance.
That afternoon, he prepared right up to suppertime when he packed a satchel and snuck out of his house at six-thirty on the dot. Since his parents were headed to a planned event at church and would be there until ten that night, he had more than ample time to spend with Camilla.
It took him seven minutes to walk over to Cedar Ridge. Once he reached the Graingers’ single-story home, the first thing he noticed was that the couple’s car wasn’t parked in the driveway. Panic set in. How long had the Graingers been gone? If they usually stayed out for an hour and a half—as his frequent late-night skulking in the shadows said they did—the clock had already started ticking.
Damn his mother for making him clean his room. If he’d been able to leave earlier he would’ve been here to note the exact time they’d backed out of the driveway. Now he wasn’t exactly certain how long he had to get inside.
Taking several deep breaths to settle down, he needed to get his mind back on the prize. He had to get a grip—with his first kill he was bound to make a few mistakes.
Okay, so Camilla was already inside alone with the baby. But since the Graingers ate a meal with lightning speed, he had to work fast. He’d have to step up his plan of action because they’d be coming back soon enough.
That kind of thinking had him moving his ass around to the back of the house. He peered through the window of the baby’s room, the window he’d already broken the lock on, two nights before. The little girl wasn’t in her crib yet. He couldn’t see or hear anyone around, so he lifted the frame of the glass and scuttled over the ledge, dropping onto the floor. Without a sound, he scurried on all fours into the closet before Camilla caught him—and slid the mirrored door almost closed.
Impatient, he waited, watching through the slice of an opening he’d left.
His wait lasted so long he thought about crawling back out through the window. But then he heard footsteps coming down the hallway toward him and hoped it wasn’t the Graingers.
Through the crack, he saw Camilla come into the room to tuck the sleeping child into bed. He watched as Camilla pulled the blanket over the baby. The moment she turned to go, he burst out of his hiding place, jumping her from behind. Camilla twisted and fought but he managed to cover her mouth with his hand and tackle her to the floor. Straddling her, he tried to keep one hand over her mouth while she bucked and struggled. Afraid of losing the upper hand, he reached for the first thing that had weight to it—a small wooden rocking horse. He brought it down over Camilla’s skull. The force of the blow knocked her out. But he knew it wouldn’t last for long.
Knowing he needed to hurry, he pulled Camilla down the hallway into the living room and continued dragging her across to the kitchen. He threw back the door and pulled her out onto the back patio. He left her there on the concrete long enough to go retrieve the bag he’d left under the windowsill.
When he noticed Camilla was coming to, he took out the roll of duct tape, yanked off a strip and stuck it across her mouth so she couldn’t scream. He dug out the rope, used it to wrap around her wrists.
Camilla started crying. But he’d prepared for that. Annoyed with her, he grabbed the flashlight he’d brought and used it to hit her on the head again. He jerked the groggy, injured girl to her feet and forced her to walk across the yard.
If he didn’t want to get caught, they had to get moving and fast. Using the massive oak trees as cover, he tugged her along behind him. The two slogged through wet leaves and mud left over from the nasty weather the night before.
Because he had a particular destination in mind, he took off through the verdant forest of conifers using the zig-zag pattern he’d practiced many times before. Using the beam from the flashlight, he had no problem finding his way in the dark to the hiking trail behind the subdivision. The path would eventually lead to the isolated, rugged terrain at the foot of Bonneville Peak.
The darkness slowed down their progress but not enough for him to stop short of his destination.
He stuck to the plan.
Soon the fast-moving current of the river caught his attention as it churned with the new rainwater from yesterday’s storm. The sound of the stream told him they were almost there. The summer he’d turned twelve, he’d discovered one of the best places to retreat, a small natural cavern in the side of a rock formation. Secluded, the cave made for a perfect hideout.
Camilla put up a fuss when they had to cross the brook, but he slapped her to get her moving again. From there he pinpointed the exact spot where the embankment sloped upward. Dragging Camilla up the steep hill, he looked for where the landscape leveled off, searching for the place in the cliff that formed the opening. He felt along the uneven rough wall until his hand hit air. He shoved Camilla inside the cold damp cave and watched as she stumbled. The girl went down on both knees.
That monster he’d carried inside him for so long roared through him like a raging beast. Before he knew what was happening he struck her in the head with his flashlight. Her body dropped to the cold, hard ground.
To his surprise the first trickle of blood seduced him in a way he hadn’t expected. Wanting more, he hit her in the head again and then rolled her over so he could see her face, her eyes. He pounced on the top of her chest, yanked off the strip of duct tape from around her mouth so he could touch his lips to hers. Clumsily he tried to kiss her. But whe
n she turned her head away from him, he punished her by poking his finger into one of her eye sockets. The girl struggled and tried to get away, but with her hands tied with rope she had difficulty making any real progress.
Dillard, larger and motivated, caught up with her and used his body to keep her pinned down.
While the circle of light glowed from his flashlight, while shadows skipped on the cave wall, he let his fingers do the rest as they wrapped around the girl’s throat. He held on—tight, tighter, refusing to let go of little Camilla. It seemed like it took all his strength to squeeze hard enough until she stopped fighting him.
When he realized she’d grown still, he reached around her body and brought her up against his chest. As he watched Camilla take her final gasp of air, he vowed to find her a special place, a place that only he would ever know about.
With one hand, he stroked her hair, his fingers becoming bloody from the gaping damage he’d done to her head. He realized then he’d never forget the silky texture of all that raven black hair or the fragrance from the scented shampoo she’d used earlier.
He sniffed the air again, found the smell of blood and death intoxicating, far more so than he’d fantasized about. He closed his eyes, but not against the reeking stench. He chose instead to suck in the deep breaths of the floral scent he imagined. The aroma of Camilla, the whiff of the flowers he envisioned would stick with him always. It would remind him of fragrant purple blossoms, like sweet perfume. He tightened his grip on the strands of Camilla’s raven locks so that he could bring her closer. Awkwardly he planted a kiss on her lips, as they turned colder and bluer. He moved his hand across one breast just beginning to pop out, finding it harder than he’d thought.
Rocking back and forth, his mind captured every nuance of the moment. Maybe because he knew that from this night forward he would forever measure success by his precious little Camilla. He would treasure every minute, replay every part over and over again for later. He sat back taking in the delectable shade of her hair. She was like a delicate bud, a fragile blossom he would shape into his own. He would plant Camilla in a garden of his very own, the one he would create, create just for his raven-haired beauty.
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