Skully, Perdition Games

by L E Fraser

  He backed toward his truck one small step at a time. “I had the septic system and the water well checked for you, too.” Regardless of how foolish his feeling was, his feet were itching to get to the safety of the truck.

  She didn’t move. She stood straight and still, staring at the cabin with her large white dog sitting like a statue by her feet.

  “Stocked some groceries,” Declan added. “The deep freeze in the shed is full and you have enough dry goods for months, but you’ll need to make a run into town in a few weeks,” he said.

  “We’ll hunt,” she said, turning to him and smiling.

  There was something frightening about the smile. Declan couldn’t figure out why, but he had the sudden, overpowering urge to run. He turned to leave and stumbled on the snow, scrambling to his feet while feeling vulnerable with his back to her.

  When he reached the truck, he spun around to face her. He blindly groped at the door handle with a rising sense of panic. He took a calming breath before managing to yank open the door. Once inside the truck, he felt safe and a little foolish.

  Before closing his door, he raised his hand in a final wave and shouted back to her, “Welcome home, Isabella.”

  The End

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I OWE A huge debt of gratitude to my fantastic editor, Sadie Scapillato, and my copy proofreader, Elizabeth West. Let’s hope I followed all their great advice.

  Writing takes a team of talented people so I’d like to thank my 2015 web developer, Mike Doyle, for redesigning the website and turning it into an efficient marketing tool.

  US Author Joseph Hirsch generously provided critical notes on the final draft. His work is amazing, if you’re looking for a good read. Paula Henderson shared her wealth of knowledge on addiction and recovery, in addition to beta-reading three drafts. It takes a true friend to read the same thing multiple times. Ottawa fantasy author Krista Walsh — another gifted storyteller worth checking out — spent hours sharing her expertise on indie versus traditional publishing. The Batchawana First Nation of Ojibways was patient in answering questions and correcting facts.

  I want to thank the readers who asked me to keep writing about Sam McNamara’s adventures after reading Simon Says, Perdition Games. As Blanche DuBois says in A Streetcar Named Desire: “I have always relied on the kindness of strangers.” In my case, it’s not because I’ve lost all contact with reality… at least I hope not. You see, writing is the art of speaking to strangers, and when those strangers are kind enough to share their opinions, the stories grow stronger.

  Most of all, thank you for reading Skully, Perdition Games. Sam and Reece are returning protagonists, but each novel has a new plotline.

  Authors appreciate the time readers take to give their novel a whirl. I’m requesting a bit more kindness by asking you to write a review on Amazon and Goodreads to offer your feedback. My goal is to provide you with a few hours of well-deserved entertainment. Good or bad, your opinion is priceless.

  Haven’t read Simon Says, Perdition Games yet? Turn the page to read the first two chapters. Enjoy!

  Thank you,

  L.E. Fraser

  www.perditiongames.com

  Twitter: @perditiongames

  Facebook: perditiongamesseries

  SIMONSAYS

  PERDITION GAMES

  By L.E. Fraser

  Amazon reviewers are saying…

  5* The prefect thriller, with a number of ups and downs.

  5* This is a must read!

  5* …forward moving, fast paced plot…

  5* This is not a novel you can predict throughout.

  5* Incredible writing and editing.

  Where will you be when the sun sets in the sky,

  when the children’s games are done and all their laughter dies?

  When the Pacific Loon finally takes to flight,

  which saviour will you bribe to stand guard throughout the night?

  The emaciated wolves bay at your door.

  Have you travelled far from Babylon, my virgin whore?

  Hear their heartbeats through the silence of the woods.

  They howl for you, my child, and they wait where you once stood.

  L.E. Fraser

  PROLOGUE

  SYLVIA SHOVED THE hem of her sackcloth robe into the twine around her waist. Her heart was racing, and, every time she tried to breathe, there was a stabbing pain in her chest. She ran.

  Thorns sliced open the vulnerable skin of her arms, and she swiped her right hand against the sharp twigs to try to protect her face. Blood dripped from the end of the middle finger on her left hand where the detached nail hung to the bed by a string of bloody tissue. Still, she ran.

  Without warning, a piercing pain shot through her chest. Her stomach convulsed and bloody vomit spewed from between her cracked lips. She stumbled and choked on the blood that ran down her throat. She stopped running.

  From directly behind her, she heard a pitiful whimper and a soft swishing sound, like air escaping from a balloon. The noise of breaking branches was intrusive in the dark forest. She froze and waited in fear, expecting to hear the gleeful shouts of their pursuers.

  After a moment of absolute silence, she whispered through the darkness, “Get up, Mandy, we have to keep moving.”

  “I can’t.”

  She leaned down and felt around the rough ground until she hit flesh. She ran her fingers along the girl’s forearm, grasped Mandy’s thin wrist and pulled hard. The body barely shifted. “We can’t stay here.”

  “I can’t run any further.”

  Mandy was making little meowing sounds that broke Sylvia’s heart. If they rested, he’d catch them. They couldn’t give up. They were too close to freedom. She took a deep breath. “The road is at the top of the escarpment, we can make it.”

  “I can’t,” Mandy repeated through her tears.

  Sylvia sat down hard, and her knee smashed against a boulder. Agony shot across her kneecap, and a spasm seized her calf muscle, forcing her to bite on her tongue to keep from crying out in pain. Shuddering tremors ran down her legs. She curled into a fetal position on the ground beside Mandy and wept in pain and frustration.

  She was twenty-eight and had volunteered to be Mandy’s mentor when the sixteen-year-old had arrived at the sanctuary six months earlier. When she made the decision to try to escape, she took her protegé with her. Now, the responsibility weighed heavily on her shoulders.

  They’d left just before ten o’clock at night, and she’d struck the sentry with a plank stolen from the lumberyard. Fear had weakened her grip and coated her hands in sweat. The club slipped at the point of impact, and her blow had barely slowed the man’s attack. He’d thrown her to the ground, hurled aside her weapon, and savagely kicked her. He would have killed her, but Mandy had grabbed the makeshift club and bludgeoned the man. Together, the women had dragged him to the side of the shed, but Sylvia couldn’t commit murder. That was her first mistake. They would discover him. Mussani would know what she’d done, and there would be no mercy if he caught them.

  “Go on without me,” Mandy whispered.

  She dug deep to find the strength to go on and slowly sat up, groaning in pain. “We stay together. It’s our only chance. Get up.” The desperate words echoed loudly through the forest, and she pressed together her split lips. She could see Mandy’s eyes shining with fear.

  They waited in tense silence and then Sylvia whispered, “He’s coming. He’s close now. I feel him. We can’t stay here.”

  “I’m so scared.” Mandy grasped her hand. “Why did we do this? We shouldn’t have done this.” Hysteria laced her voice and she was gasping for breath.

  “We’re going to be okay,” Sylvia promised. “The road is at the top of the escarpment.” She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, and it was sticky with bloody mucus. She was thankful that the darkness camouflaged her injuries. She was not okay and knew she didn’t have much time left.

  She removed the tie to her
robe and shivered when cold air rippled against her naked flesh. She made a slipknot at each end of the rope, gliding one circle over her injured hand. The rough hemp caught the torn nail and ripped it free from her finger. The intensity of the pain made her cry out.

  “Sylvia?” Mandy whimpered, with a pitiful hitch in her young voice.

  Fumbling to find Mandy’s hand, Sylvia secured the other slipknot around her wrist and squeezed the girl’s hand. Now the rope connected them for better or for worse. As the clouds parted and the half moon looked down on them, they ran.

  JB WATCHED MUSSANI light a cigarette, and the misshapen flame from the lighter bobbed in the wind. The moonlight turned his dark eyes into mirrors that reflected the cigarette ember. A reddish orange dot glowed in the middle of the pools of darkness in his face. JB turned away, alarmed by what he glimpsed in the disembodied eyes.

  “Whatcha wanna do?”

  Mussani took a deep drag from the cigarette, and the red ember shone again in his eyes. JB shuddered and dropped his gaze to the ground.

  Father Mussani nonchalantly leaned against the front grill of the Jeep. His tone was calm and melodic when he said, “We wait.”

  Toeing the gravel at the side of the road, JB tried to emulate his companion’s casual stance but his brow broke out in perspiration, and the pits of his chambray work shirt were sticky with sweat. Unable to endure the darkness and silence, he asked, “What if th-th-they don’t c-c-come this way?”

  Mussani flicked the burning cigarette into the woods. “They’ll come.”

  “Could head s-s-south,” JB suggested.

  “To the lake?”

  He felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment. “C-c-could have a b-b-boat,” he stuttered, ashamed of the difficulty he had in spitting out the four miserable words.

  Father Mussani ignored the stuttering, and gratitude washed over JB. Father never commented on the speech impediment or suggested the stutter meant he was stupid.

  Mussani pulled a flask from the inside pocket of his ceremonial robe, unscrewed the top, and put the bottle to his lips. The smell of whisky tainted the wind. He didn’t offer the flask, and JB didn’t expect him to.

  The road was north, the lake was south, the valley was east, and the woods were west. The sanctuary farmland ran between, with its buildings along the east border beside the valley. As usual, Mussani was right. The sisters would walk north to civilization, but they’d have to travel through the acres of woods that hugged the road. There were no paths through the thick brush and mature trees, and they’d need to climb a steep escarpment to reach the road. JB didn’t think they could negotiate the trek without light. It had been raining for a week, and the forest ground was slick and treacherous. At least one of the sisters had a serious injury. A shiver of shame scurried along JB’s spine.

  “W-w-what should we do when they g-g-get here?” he asked.

  “She has lost the vision. If possible, she will transcend. That’s the only way to achieve self-realization.”

  “She’s my friend.” JB pulled at the crotch of his pants, a nervous habit his father had beat him for when he was a kid. He’d tried to stop but he couldn’t. One of the reasons he’d joined Bueton Sanctuary was because people didn’t laugh at him over his bad habit, his stutter, or the birthmark that scarred his right temple.

  “She’s a sister and has broken the oath. Are you questioning the Creed?” Mussani asked.

  The clouds broke apart, and the silver crest of the half moon winked. For just a moment, the moonlight illuminated Mussani’s face. What JB witnessed in those dark eyes made him look to the ground and exhale a single puff of fear.

  With his head lowered submissively and his hands clasped tightly against his chest, he said, “I’d never disobey the Creed.” Although shamed by his quivering voice, he was proud that his passion had empowered him to speak the words without stumbling over the first syllable. Feeling doubt and confusion, JB gazed up at the heavens to hunt for a star to wish upon, but there were none.

  SYLVIA HAD MANAGED to lead Mandy north along the irrigation tracks, so crossing the acres of fields was easy. The orchard had been tricky. When they hit the woods that crested the land, they were both confused about what direction they were going. If they fell off course, and Mussani sent out the dogs, the animals would tear them apart. The road was their only hope.

  Mandy had stopped crying, a small mercy for which Sylvia was grateful. The trouble she was having breathing, the unsecured robe, and the freezing temperature had forced her to slow to a shuffling trudge, but the gentle tug on the rope indicated that Mandy was still moving behind her.

  As she towed the terrified adolescent, Sylvia accepted she’d made a terrible mistake. What she was putting the girl through was worse than the initiation ceremony would have been. Her decision to take Mandy and run, without a plan to ensure they escaped, was stupid. If he caught them, he’d kill her and, although he probably wouldn’t kill his pet, Mandy would pay a high price. There was no turning back. She had to get the girl to safety.

  The half moon’s light in the cloudy sky was now stingy, and the frigid wind was merciless. Their feet were bare, and the escarpment was becoming harder to climb. In places, they had to crawl in single file. At a spot where they could walk upright, she shoved aside jagged branches and held her arms behind her to try to keep the sharp twigs from slapping Mandy’s face. Each time she stumbled, Mandy grasped the loose fabric of her open robe and pushed on her back to steady her. Under the indifferent eye of the moon, they slowly ascended the steep hill.

  She turned to glance over her shoulder, slipped in a puddle of mud, and lost her balance. She grasped at the trees in an effort not to fall back down the hill. With a startled cry, Mandy’s hands pawed and pushed at her back to try to balance her. Sylvia swayed for a moment and then pitched backwards, rolling over Mandy and sliding downhill. Dragged by the tethering rope, Mandy tumbled after her and crushed Sylvia’s face into the moist, decaying leaves.

  A rainbow of light exploded in front of Sylvia’s closed eyes. She could feel the warmth of her blood streaming down her chin, and her mouth filled with the coppery taste. Every time she tried to breathe, there was a crackling sound in her chest. She felt like she was drowning, and the night air tasted metallic. She was certain one of her broken ribs had punctured her lung. If she died in the woods, Mandy wouldn’t make it out. They had to get to the road. She fought against the pain and focused on Mandy’s hysterical yelps.

  “Get off,” she whispered, forcing the two words from her bruised lips.

  The girl pathetically whimpered, and her breath was hot and wet against Sylvia’s neck.

  “Get off,” she grunted.

  Mandy rolled over and the tethering rope stretched taut across Sylvia’s back. They lay together on the cold ground. Above them, the moon slithered beneath a cloud. The darkness was a black velvet blindfold. In that moment, Sylvia knew God had finally turned His back. He was showing them their destiny, and it was hell.

  JB TRIED TO keep track of time by the number of cigarettes Father Mussani smoked. Ten minutes was the average time to smoke one, and Father had puffed on five. He figured there were about thirty minutes between butts, so that meant they had waited at the side of the road for nearly three hours.

  JB wished he had the sense to leave. He had nowhere to go. He wished he had the courage to save Sylvia. He knew he did not. He sensed Mussani coming into his space and took a small, involuntary step back.

  “Problem, JB?” The voice came from his immediate right.

  “I was wondering b-b-bout the ceremony.”

  “Why?”

  He struggled to stay immobile, hoping Mussani couldn’t smell his fear. “H-h-how can she be initiated?”

  “She’ll be initiated here.”

  “What about the w-w-witnesses?”

  “Two, Brother, we only need two,” remarked Mussani.

  JB asked the question that had nagged at him ever since Mussani’s second cigarette. “Who
will g-g-guide Sylvia?”

  Father didn’t answer. His silence spoke volumes to JB.

  “I c-c-can’t. Sh-sh-she’s my friend.”

  Several moments elapsed before Mussani spoke in a slow, even pitch. “You’ve been initiated, Brother, and cleansed to guide the metamorphosing of the worthy. Sister Sylvia is a traitor.”

  JB remained still and silent at the side of his Messiah.

  “Are you questioning the Creed and the ordinances, which you swore had saved your miserable soul? Don’t you believe that the doctrines of our existence are absolute loyalty, confidentiality, and—”

  “And obedience,” JB interrupted, anxious to redeem himself in the eyes of his mentor. He felt sweat trickle to the loose waist of his sackcloth pants.

  “And obedience,” Mussani agreed. His voice filled with enthusiasm, “Look, Brother, a shooting star!”

  “SYLVIA, LOOK A shooting star!” Mandy’s voice sounded so young and innocent. “Wishes come true on shooting stars. Make a wish, quick before the tail fades.”

  Sylvia tried to focus on the star blurring and flashing before her eyes. She wished for Mandy to make it to safety. Her eyes rolled, and she opened her mouth to let the bloody saliva run from the corner of her swollen lips. She placed her palms on the ground and pushed her broken body to its knees. Agony exploded in her chest, forcing her to bite hard on her lip to keep from screaming. She tucked one foot underneath her and stood.

  “Come on, Mandy. Road, over the hill.”

  “Did you make a wish?” Mandy asked as she stood up and followed along behind.

  “I made a wish,” Sylvia agreed and closed her eyes against the tears.