by J. D. Weston
Stone Game
A Stone Cold Thriller
J.D. Weston
Contents
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1. Noah’s Ark
2. No Escape
3. Small Sacrifice
4. Strange Days
5. A Light in the Dark
6. Beast Dreams
7. Dark Days
8. Release the Monster
9. Demon
10. Wood for the Trees
11. Days of the Beast
12. Catching a Demon
13. Abduction
14. Choices
15. Old Times
16. Dark Reality
17. The Eyes of the Beast
18. A Kiss from the Beast
19. A Game of Pain
20. Sacrifice
21. Fire
22. The End of an Era
23. Fly Beast Fly
End of Book Stuff
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Also By J.D.Weston.
Stone Cold
Stone Fury
Stone Fall
Stone Rage
Stone Free
Stone Rush
Stone Game
Stone Raid
A Note from the Author
Acknowledgments
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1
Noah’s Ark
When the doors of Pentonville Prison closed behind Noah Finn and he smelled the fresh air, he knew that life on the outside would be harder than on the inside. At least while he was serving his time, guards could lock him in, and other inmates who preyed upon men like him could be kept away, as long as Noah played the game and reciprocated the good deed when the time came.
It had only been three years since he walked as a free man and nothing much had changed, except the sky was blue and cars were newer and more modern looking. On the inside, Noah had developed eyes in the back of his head. An almost sixth sense of situational awareness was the result of an extremely difficult first three months. He'd been beaten, raped and forced to do shocking things to other men with the point of a sharpened tool in his ear as motivation.
On the train to his old home in Dunmow, Essex, he sat at the far end of the carriage where he could see the other passengers and anyone who came in from the next carriage. He would be ready. Something else he'd learned; it wasn't good enough just to know where everybody was, he needed to be ready to defend himself whatever way he could.
He sat and watched London slip by and give way to the green fields of the Essex countryside. It was the middle of the day and a few other passengers shared the journey with him. All of them were oblivious to the man who sat at the end of the carriage, and the terrible things he'd done.
Eventually, the train stopped in Chelmsford, where Noah disembarked and made his way to the bus station outside. It seemed an age since he'd been there, and he remembered it well, despite the local council's vain attempts to keep it looking fresh.
Standing waiting for the bus that would pass through his village of Dunmow, he felt vulnerable. He was aware of his appearance; his dirty old running shoes, tracksuit bottoms and an old leather jacket were all the clothes he had. His smarter jeans had been ruined on his first day inside when he'd been accidentally left alone with two other inmates. Maybe it had been a genuine mistake, but Noah thought otherwise. He knew it had been a chance for the guards to size him up, to see if he would be trouble, to see if he would fight back, cry or just take his punishment. Noah Finn had curled into a ball on the floor and taken the beating. He hadn't cried, it had all happened too fast; the tears had come when he was taken to his cell and left alone for the first time.
The bus arrived and Noah stepped on, glad to be somewhere relatively safe. He noted the cameras on the bus; they hadn't been there before he'd been away. It gave him a sense of security. He kept telling himself that he'd paid his penance, and he was now a free man. Yet he couldn't shake the feeling that society hadn't forgotten, and they never would.
The ride took thirty minutes, and Noah allowed himself a smile at the familiar sights. He made a plan. He'd pick up a few things from the store and then go home, where he'd stay for a few days. It would take that long to get his things together and his money sorted. Then he could leave, and go find somewhere he wouldn't be recognised. A new life was what he needed. A fresh start.
The bus stopped at the north end of the village, and Noah stepped onto the pavement. He habitually looked left and right and then behind him before he began walking at a brisk pace towards the big store halfway down the high street. He glanced over his shoulder and avoided eye contact with the few people he passed by looking into the shop windows. Thankfully, nobody recognised him.
He began to feel safer when he turned into his quiet street. His house was the third from the end, a semi-detached three-bedroom house that his parents had left him. A part of Noah was thankful that his parents were dead. They'd be destroyed by the shame. But part of him wished his mum was alive; he always felt safe with her. She had died a few years after his father, and as he walked along his street, he remembered how they'd sit together in the evenings. Noah had often been taunted by the local children for his appearance. He knew he had the look of a dummy, he knew his jaw hung open, and that his eyes were too close together. He knew his clothes weren't fashionable.
The kids had thrown stones at him and called him names. Some of it was because his parents were strict churchgoers and seemed to be stuck in the fifties or sixties. But he knew that he didn't help matters by the way he looked. One time, some boys had found him in the woods at the end of his street. It was the only place he could go to relieve himself when he got the urge. His parents wouldn't allow their son to molest himself in the house, and though he had his own room, their strong belief in God made him feel as if He was there, even though he secretly didn't believe himself. A stone had hit him on the back of his head, and he'd fallen over with his tracksuit bottoms around his ankles. That was when the taunting got really bad.
Noah's father woke up one morning to find the word 'wanker' sprayed across his old Ford Cortina, and people began to cross the street when Noah was walking towards them. Word had apparently gotten around the small village.
Those boys would be adults now, thought Noah, as he pushed the gate of his house open and closed it behind him. He wondered if they would remember him, or if it would all be put down to childhood shenanigans. He wondered if they'd still call him 'Nobby Noah' if they saw him. He didn't know why he cared what they thought or if they'd remember him. None of it would matter in a few days.
But he knew three girls who would never forget. He also knew that three girls meant three families, brothers, fathers and mothers who would all know sooner or later that Noah had been released. If he could keep his head down for a few days until his money came through from the transfer, he would be okay.
He stepped through the overgrown garden to the familiar brown front door, which now had flaky paintwork and abusive insults sprayed across the small glass window at the top. He shut the door behind him and leaned back onto it. Closing his eyes, Noah took deep breaths. He was safe.
He pulled the small security chain across to its locked position and let his eyes wash across the large hal
lway. The parquet flooring was just as he remembered it, dirty and dusty, but exactly as it had been. The flowery wallpaper his father had hung was peeling in some of the corners, and a simple wooden statue of Jesus on a cross was fixed to the centre of the wall between the front door and the entrance to the living room.
The house was large with huge bay windows at the front and a great chimney breast in the living room. The journey and his emotions had gotten the better of him and, seeing the couches in the front room, he realised how exhausted he was. He tested the lights; the electricity was still on. The bills had been paid automatically from his account while he had been away.
He sat down on the green couch and gently bounced twice, relishing the comfort. His mother's crocheted blanket hung over the back, just as Noah had left it. The TV wasn't a flash flat screen. It was big and boxy, and he had to stand to turn it on. He'd had a nicer TV in his cell, but not his mum's comfy green couch.
While he was up, he took his small bag of groceries to the kitchen. The huge butler sink stood empty, and his mum's pans and cooking implements hung on the walls all around it. The old gas stove seemed to have an angry face due to the position of the knobs and handles. The pantry door was closed. Noah knew it would be a mess inside. He knew the perishable food would either be stale or already eaten by whatever rodents had got in, but there would be tinned food. With the addition of the few items he had in his bag, he would get by for a few days.
"Just a few days," he told himself, smelling the musty, stale scent of his old home. Beyond the kitchen was the small glass conservatory his father had built when Noah was a boy. He recalled how he wasn't allowed to help in case a piece of glass fell and cut him in half. He also remembered that the conservatory could be looked into from the forest at the end of the garden. He wouldn't go out there.
It was a light summer evening, and he'd had a long day, so Noah ventured upstairs. He was looking forward to changing out of the clothes from the prison. Most inmates had clothes brought in for them. But those who either didn't have anybody or couldn't afford it wore the clothes they came in with or whatever was left behind by previous inmates. Noah had been given a pair of old tracksuit bottoms, which he'd taken to the shower room with him to wash.
The old bath taps gave some resistance, but eventually, after coughing and spluttering, and an initial brown offering, they had produced clean water, and it was hot. He let the water run and walked to his old bedroom. The bed was unmade but everything was as he had left it three years earlier. It was a mess. The police had turned the place upside down. It was as if they had known where to look. They'd found the girls' underwear beneath his drawer inside the cabinet, but had turned the place upside down anyway.
He stepped over the mess and pulled out some clean clothes and a towel from his cupboard. Then he stripped, wrapped the towel around himself and headed back to the bathroom. The bath was halfway full when he stepped in, relishing the clean feel of the water and the hot steam cleansing his body. Showers inside had been sparse and brief or had been long and painful if he timed it wrong. He was pleased to sit in the water, and a small guilty smile crept onto his face as he laid his head back and put his arms on the bath edge.
That was Noah's mistake.
It was fifteen minutes later when he tried to turn the water off that he realised he couldn't move his arms. They were stuck to the bathtub. He panicked and tried to rip them off, but whatever held him there began to tear his skin. He kicked the tap off with his foot and sat and thought about his predicament. He was confused. His skin was stuck by some kind of adhesive. But it was impossible.
Then he heard the voice outside the door.
2
No Escape
"Isn't it wonderful?" said Melody, staring out of the window of their rented campervan as Harvey coaxed it around the tight country lanes. "Don't you miss England?"
Harvey didn't reply at first. He finished taking the bend then straightened the van and selected fourth gear before he glanced across at Melody, who sat doe-eyed at the rolling fields and green trees.
"It's nice, yeah," replied Harvey eventually.
"Just nice?" asked Melody with a smile. "I love England at this time of year, the countryside and the rolling hills, the birds. It makes me wonder what life was like when things were simpler."
Harvey didn't reply.
"I love the colours in the grasses and the trees and the blue sky," said Melody. "I love the way the fields seem to join like a patchwork quilt that stretches on forever."
"Have you spoken to Reg?" asked Harvey. "You said you were going to call him to arrange meeting up."
Melody knew the romance of the scenery was beyond Harvey, and she let the change in conversation go as easily as it had come.
"Yeah, I spoke to him yesterday. I told you I did," said Melody. "Don't you remember me saying?"
Harvey didn't reply.
"What is wrong with you?" asked Melody.
Harvey glanced across at her.
"Harvey, your silent, sultry demeanour won't work with me. Tell me what's wrong."
"Nothing's wrong, Melody. Tell me about Reg and dinner. Will Jess be there?"
Melody eyed Harvey, who purposely looked away and out of his own window.
"Yes, she'll be there. I'm looking forward to seeing them. It seems weird Reg having a girlfriend, doesn't it?"
"Are you going to give me directions?" asked Harvey.
Melody understood Harvey's tone. She knew not to push for an answer; it would come eventually, maybe when he was ready to talk.
"Just stay on this road and turn right at the end," replied Melody.
They drove on in silence. The glorious countryside around them overshadowed the fractious mood.
By the time they had reached the end of the long and winding lane, some thirty minutes later, the signs for Dunmow began to appear more frequently, and Harvey began to provoke conversation with Melody.
"So, this is where you grew up then, is it?" he said, seemingly impressed.
"Not far from here. We lived in the village, the campsite is close to our old house," said Melody. "I wouldn't mind taking a walk around there at some point to see the place."
Harvey didn't reply.
Instead, he turned a corner near an old cottage with a huge thatched roof. The high street stretched out before them.
"So?" said Melody. "What do you think?"
"It's nice," said Harvey. "I like it."
"It used to be a lot smaller when mum and dad were younger, but it's such a pretty place. I think it still has most of its charm."
"Where are they buried?" asked Harvey.
"Not far, in the next village, we'll go there now."
"The next village?"
"Yeah, it's a stunning little place called Little Easton. They got married there too."
Harvey didn't reply.
"That's where I'd like to get married, Harvey, so mum and dad can be there. It's a beautiful church."
Melody watched for a reaction from the corner of her eye. Harvey slowed for a pedestrian crossing and turned to look at her, catching her sly stare.
"If that's what you want," he replied.
"You wouldn't mind?" she asked, surprised at how easy it had been to convince him.
"Why would I mind?"
"I don't know, maybe you had ideas of your own."
"I did," replied Harvey. "My idea was to get out of crime, move to France, ride my motorbike and sit on the beach for the rest of my life. And now look, I'm getting married to an MI6 operative, and we've got a dog and a bloody camper van."
Melody smiled and turned in her seat to see their dog, Boon, laying on his back on the couch at the rear of the camper. His ears pricked up and he lazily opened an eye. He closed it again and let his ear fall back flat, and Melody turned back to Harvey.
"Didn't think you'd get so lucky, did you?' she said jokingly. ”You are happy though, aren't you? You seem it. Turn right here."
Harvey took the turn. "I'm o
kay, Melody," he said. "I wouldn't change any of it, so don't worry."
"What's been your favourite part of the trip so far? Kent, the Lake District or Norfolk?"
"It's hard to say," replied Harvey. "The lakes, I think. I have memories of them all, but the lakes were peaceful and exactly how I remembered it."
A few minutes later, they came to a large church on the right-hand side of the narrow lane.
"Stop here," said Melody. "This is it. Do you see what I mean?"
"It's pretty," said Harvey as he stopped the camper opposite the old church.
Melody wasn't listening. She was already climbing out of the van and opening the door for Boon, who was pleased to see the old trees that lined the field.
"You want some time alone? You know, to go see your parents?" asked Harvey. "I'll keep an eye on Boon. We'll be by the lake down there." He gestured at the small lake that sat at the bottom of a hill.
"Thanks," said Melody. "I'll just be ten minutes at the most. Okay?"
"Take your time," Harvey replied.
Harvey watched Melody cross the lane and enter the small churchyard then he took a slow walk to a small road bridge that crossed over the lake beside the church. Boon followed, keen to stretch his legs.
Their trip had been perfect to date. It had been Melody's idea to take some time to see the country, and Harvey had agreed willingly but had wanted to stop at a few places, places he'd been in the past, in a previous life.
