Skully, Perdition Games

by L E Fraser

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Quentin

  AS USUAL, THERE was no expression in Gabriella’s large eyes. Gana sat rigid and alert by her side, while she perched primly on the edge of the chair with her hands folded in her lap.

  She was a stunning young woman. Even in the shapeless blue skirt and outdated blouse buttoned to her throat, Quentin could see why she attracted male attention. He could also understand why kids would be nasty. It wasn’t the clothes or stiff posture. It was her off-putting and narcissistic personality. Unlike normal teenagers who would be afraid of getting in trouble and act angry or defensive, Gabriella waited passively, same as she always did when they called her in for a chat.

  Quentin grasped his wife’s hand. He wanted to show a unified front, but he also needed the warmth of her body beside him. “We were called to the principal’s office this afternoon. You won’t be returning to school.”

  Not breaking eye contact, Gabriella replied, “I know.”

  “How do you feel about that?” Nina asked.

  “It’s fine.”

  Quentin frowned at her. “Won’t you miss your friends?”

  “I don’t like the kids at school.” Her lips pinched together imperceptibly.

  “Do you try to get along?” he asked.

  “They call me a slut, because I’m not a virgin.” There was no embarrassment or regret in the statement.

  Quentin had an overpowering urge to walk out of the room. Cowardly, he knew, but he couldn’t talk about what had happened in that awful cabin. He couldn’t think about what that monster had done to his daughter. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his hands into fists.

  Nina put on the therapist voice that Quentin hated. “Rape isn’t choosing to lose your virginity.”

  “Can we not talk about this now,” he mumbled.

  Nina looked at him as if he’d lost his mind.

  “That’s fine,” his daughter turned and smiled at him in an artificial way, “I don’t remember anyway.”

  Instead of letting it go and addressing the matter at hand, his wife said, “Gabriella, are you sure you don’t remember anything?”

  Over the years, she’d asked the same question hundreds of times. Quentin was tired of it. He wanted to focus on the crisis in front of them. The high school had expelled their daughter. How much worse did things have to get before Nina would open her eyes?

  “I don’t remember,” Gabriella replied. “Who cares? He’s dead.”

  Quentin ran the back of his hand across his dry lips and wished he’d poured a drink before they sat down. He didn’t want to dredge up the past. He didn’t want to think about it at all.

  His daughter had killed her abductor while he slept, bashing in his skull with a pickaxe. Based on the post-mortem results, the blood spatter, and her bloody fingerprints on the murder weapon, the evidence was conclusive. Because she was a victim of kidnapping and unlawful restraint, the coroner had ruled the death justifiable homicide.

  Over the years, Quentin hadn’t been able to let it go. What haunted him was the amount of rage it would take for a child to swing a weapon with sufficient force to kill a man. He’d voiced his concern to her therapist, who told him that survival instinct under duress isn’t an indicator of an inherent proclivity for violence. Intellectually, he agreed. Emotionally, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something seriously wrong with his daughter.

  “Sweetie, it’s not your fault,” Nina said. “Sometimes, good people have to do bad things to survive.”

  Gabriella’s expression was blank. “It doesn’t bother me at all,” she said. “We don’t like high school.” She paused. “We do want to go to university.”

  Quentin rolled his eyes. He hated it when she spoke like the Queen, a bad habit she’d picked up years ago. No wonder classmates picked on her. Still, he pounced on the opportunity to change the subject. “Do you know what you want to study?”

  “Biochemistry.”

  In a dark corner of his mind, Quentin imagined campus residence but he forced himself to refocus. “Your mother’s background is in math, so it’ll be an excellent partnership to prepare you for your exams.”

  “We don’t need any help. We could pass the exams today. We’ll go in January.”

  “I don’t think you can,” Nina said. “You need a certain number of high school credits to get your diploma.”

  Gabriella lowered her head and muttered something under her breath that Quentin didn’t catch. Gana whined and butted the edge of her leg with his snout.

  When she looked up, her eyes were angry. “No! We’re going in January. Gabriella is an extraordinary case,” she yelled.

  Well, he’d wanted her to behave like a normal teenager and here she was being disrespectful, which he figured was typical for a girl turning seventeen.

  “Gabriella, don’t take that tone with us and please don’t speak in the third person. People don’t like it.” Quentin took a deep breath. “Let’s refocus. There are rules, you know.”

  Her eyes were hard purple marbles in her face. “Rules were made to be broken,” she said. “Gabriella was bullied and left to defend herself.”

  “You brought a weapon to school.” Quentin snorted in disgust. “You drew a knife on a fellow student. You’re lucky the police aren’t involved.”

  Her mouth twisted into an ugly sneer. “The boy was going to rape Gabriella. The school wouldn’t help.”

  Nina’s eyes widened. “Sweetie, come on, that’s not true.”

  “He grabbed Gabriella’s tit and said he was going to fuck her up the ass.”

  Looking as if Gabriella had slapped her, Nina exhaled in a gasp. Quentin had never heard his prudish daughter utter such vulgar words. Startled and unable to process what she’d said, a fight or flight sensation rolled over him. He stood and went to the bar in the family room.

  He sloshed whisky into a tumbler with a trembling hand. Lies, always lies, with Gabriella. It was impossible to know what was true anymore. He snagged the bottle from the bar and took it with him to the living room.

  “Why didn’t you tell the principal, instead of claiming you weren’t there?” Putting the bottle on the table, he sat on the sofa beside Nina. He downed his second drink and poured three fingers of whisky into the empty glass.

  “They always take the boys’ side. The male teachers laugh about it.”

  Quentin couldn’t fucking believe it. “Gabriella, you’re lying — again,” he shouted, almost knocking over the bottle of whisky when he jumped up and stomped his foot.

  Immediately, Gana stood and dropped his tail. The fur on his back bristled and his lips pulled away from his teeth. He growled low and deep.

  Quentin held the dog’s eyes, clenching his free hand into a fist. “You’re making it up.” He concentrated on keeping his tone calm. “You want to go to university in January and have decided to deflect blame so you can manipulate the school into giving you what you want. Do you think we’re stupid? ”

  “Quentin, sit down.” Nina pulled on his hand. “You weren’t there. You don’t know what happened.”

  Refusing to sit, he snatched his hand away and glared incredulously at his wife. “Are you kidding me? Are you going to let her lie to our faces? Can’t you see she’s doing this to get what she wants?”

  Gabriella stood. “Like the Rolling Stones say, Papa, you can’t always get what you want.” She smiled coldly. “You know the rest.” She brushed passed him with a satisfied smile, Gana following at her heels.

  Quentin watched her go up the stairs. Nina was still on the couch, fighting back tears and shaking her head.

  He picked up the whisky bottle from the coffee table and filled his empty glass, the Stones’ lyrics running through his head. Staring out the front window, he muttered, “Practised at the art of deception.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Isabella

  FROM THE BEDROOM doorway, her sister asked, “Why do you think they named you Isabella?” As usual, she hadn’
t bothered to knock before opening the door.

  Refusing to look up from her desk, Isabella ignored her and continued to doodle on a piece of paper.

  Papa was yelling, and she expected her sister to be upset. Instead, Gabby sounded fine. If Papa screamed at her, Isabella would be in tears.

  After Gana trotted into the room, Gabriella stepped in and closed the door. Isabella didn’t like her sister and the dog in her bedroom with the door closed.

  “You replaced me,” Gabriella remarked.

  “What? That’s not true.”

  “Then why did they give you such a similar name to mine when you were born the day I was taken?”

  Isabella shrugged. “Parents are weird. Our names rhyme, that’s probably why.”

  “You could be right.”

  Okay, something was up. Gabby never agreed with her.

  “You’re so lucky,” Gabriella said. “It’ll be easy for you in high school.”

  You’re wrong there, Isabella thought. Kids were always after her to tell them all the gross details about Gabriella’s abduction. Now she’d be the girl with the expelled older sister, and there would be no end to the rumours and gossip. High school would most definitely suck.

  She kept doodling, hoping that ignoring Gabriella would make her go away.

  “Everyone loves you,” Gabriella went on. “You’re perfect.”

  The conversation was making Isabella nervous. Horrible things happened when her sister was jealous.

  “I’m not perfect,” she said quickly, keeping her back to her sister. “You’re beautiful and I’m not. Plus I suck at school compared to you.”

  Gabriella had snuck up behind her and was gazing down at her doodles. “Papa loves you,” she whispered in her ear, “and he doesn’t like me.”

  Isabella swallowed hard. “That’s not true. Um… I should do my homework.”

  Ignoring her, Gabriella stroked her arm. “Sometimes, I wish you weren’t here. Do you ever feel that way about me?”

  All the time, Isabella thought. “I gotta do my homework now.” She prayed to God to make Gabriella leave.

  “Homework won’t take you long,” her sister said. “Things come easy to you, especially writing.” She reached toward the desk and Isabella grabbed her journal.

  She held the diary close to her body. “Gabby, lots of people write. It’s not special.”

  Her sister shook her head. “I hate writing. Sometimes I have to read the same paragraph four times before it makes any sense.”

  Isabella rolled her eyes. “Whatever, I’ve seen you writing in that book you hide between your mattresses. Besides, your English grades are the bomb.”

  “There isn’t a book between my mattresses, and I don’t do the English assignments. My friend does.”

  Her sister didn’t have any friends, but if she argued, Gabriella would go postal.

  “I don’t get why you keep a diary,” Gabriella continued. “Aren’t you worried people will read it?”

  Well I am now, Isabella thought. She didn’t say anything.

  “Don’t you write all the thoughts in your head in your diary?” Gabriella asked.

  Isabella shrugged.

  “What things wouldn’t you write?”

  Isabella desperately wished her parents would come upstairs. “I dunno. If I wanted to do something wrong, I guess.”

  “If you lied?”

  Isabella nodded.

  “What if you killed something?”

  “I’d never kill anything,” Isabella said.

  “You might think about killing someone,” Gabriella argued. “Thinking about something isn’t the same as doing it.”

  “I’d never even think about killing anyone,” Isabella insisted.

  Gabriella smiled and headed for the bedroom door. With her hand resting on the doorknob, she said, “You’d kill someone if you had to.”

  “Never. I would never,” Isabella said, her voice rising a little.

  Gabriella shook her head. “That’s why I could never keep a diary.” She opened the door, and she and the dog disappeared down the hall.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  New Year’s Day, 1992: London, Ontario

  Quentin

  QUENTIN PAUSED WHILE shovelling the driveway to watch his daughters up in the tree house. Although he knew they used it as a private getaway when their three-bedroom home felt crowded, he was surprised to see them together now because he’d noticed Isabella was avoiding her sister. At times, it was like she was hiding from her. He didn’t know what to make of it, but promised himself he’d keep a closer eye on them when they were together.

  Chewing on the corner of his lip, he stood still and silent, watching their shadows move. The night before, Isabella had told him she needed to talk to him about something important. He’d had too much to drink during their New Year’s Eve celebration to focus and could only remember telling her they’d talk later. Had she said it was about her sister? He’d hurry with the shovelling and call her in for that chat.

  While he pushed snow into little banks along the side of the long driveway, he felt more optimistic than usual. In part, his cheerful mood was because of the morning shots to cure his hangover, but the real reason for his improved state of mind was that Gabriella had received junior matriculation acceptance to the University of Western Ontario for the winter term. Although his suggestion of moving her into residence appalled Nina, he was confident he could spin a case for it by September.

  For a change, money wasn’t an issue. Nina’s grandmother had left Gabriella a generous trust fund that she’d inherit on her eighteenth birthday. For the rest of her life, his daughter would be financially independent and free to make her own decisions.

  He put his weight behind the shovel and thought about his youngest daughter. He sensed Isabella was unhappy. Maybe it wasn’t fair, but he blamed Gabriella. Moving her into the dorms was the perfect solution for everyone. She would learn to love the freedom.

  Quentin was at the road, chipping at hard snow the plow had pushed against the base of the driveway during the night’s storm, when he heard something. He stopped and listened. A few yards over, the two Shannon boys were in their front yard making a snowman. The head was too large, and they couldn’t stack it on the body. It was almost to the top, when it slipped out of their mittens and plopped onto the ground.

  Quentin dropped the shovel on the snow and walked over. “Having problems?”

  Jeremy, the oldest, looked frustrated. “Can’t get the head on.”

  “It might be too high. Let’s see what we can do.”

  The ball was heavy with well-packed snow. By the time it was perched snugly on top of the chubby middle, Quentin was laughing hard and sweating.

  Mrs. Shannon exited the front door with her two-year-old in her arms. “Cool snowman,” she said.

  “Mom, you’re so lame.” Jeremy giggled.

  She laughed good-naturedly. “Am I too lame to make hot chocolate?” she asked. “Quentin, you want to come in? I could be coaxed into adding a bit of the Irish to our cocoa to celebrate the New Year.” She stood aside, letting the kids rush up to the door.

  “A bit of the old Irish would be welcome, me wee lass,” he said.

  “Colin McNamara is in town and dropped by.” Quentin detected a slight blush creep into her cheeks.

  Far be it for me to judge, he thought. He brushed snow off his jacket and joined Megan.

  AN HOUR LATER, Quentin returned to his shovel. He was having trouble keeping his balance, and his gait was wobbly. He didn’t want to finish shovelling. He had a bet riding on the Washington Huskies and wanted to watch the Rose Bowl game.

  Once he’d cleared enough snow to move the car, he hustled to the top of the driveway and noticed Gabriella was still in the tree house with the late afternoon sun at her back. She was standing with her hands on the cedar railing, gazing at the snow drifting against the tree trunk. Without taking his eyes from her, Quentin stowed the shovel beside the house and op
ened the back gate. He followed his daughter’s steady gaze down to the ground.

  Something was lying in the snow. Gana? Quentin blinked and took a hesitant step through the gate. No, Gana was standing beside the ladder. He looked up at the tree house. Gabriella held his eyes. Where was Isabella?

  Quentin’s eyes shifted back to the object on the ground. “No,” he moaned. “No, please, no.”

  The snow cushioned the fall. The snow cushioned the fall. The phrase screamed through his head when he charged toward the tree.

  He became aware of screaming. From a place far away, in the functioning part of his brain, he recognized that the animal wails were rising from his own throat.

  From behind him, the back door slammed. Nina. He couldn’t understand her words.

  Quentin burrowed his hands under the snow and pulled Isabella into his arms. Everything was foggy, moving in slow motion. He was aware of Nina kneeling in the snow beside him. Colin was at his other side. Quentin struggled to process what the man was saying.

  “…911, Megan! Quentin, let me see… I’m a cop. I can help her.”

  Quentin reached for Nina, needing to hold her. His stomach convulsed and he vomited in the snow between them. The stench of whisky wafted into his face. He retched again, empting his stomach of the booze.

  Nina was screaming and pawing at Colin’s back, trying to get to Isabella. Her face was wild and contorted. “Don’t touch her! Leave her alone.”

  “Quentin, help me.” Colin covered Isabella with a blanket and tried to push Nina off his back.

  Quentin crawled toward Nina, trying to grab her hands. Her arms flailed wildly. She struck him hard across the face.

  Megan ran into the yard dragging a blanket. Tears streamed down her face. She threw the blanket around Nina, hugging her tight in an effort to trap her arms against her sides. “Please, Nina. Let Colin help her. The paramedics are coming. Quentin, I can’t hold her. Help me.”