MURDERED: Can YOU Solve the Mystery? (Click Your Poison Book 2)

by James Schannep

  “We have to forget about tonight,” she says.

  “What about all we’ve learned?”

  “Do you think Agent Danly would accept any of that? I don’t. I’ll remember what we’ve learned, and I’ll use it in my personal investigation, but don’t expect me to talk about it.”

  “Irma…”

  “That’s the way it is. Do what you want, but don’t drag me into it. I’ll deny it if you do.” She looks cold now, like she’s distancing herself.

  “If that’s the way it is,” you say, feeling your own spine stiffen. “Goodnight.”

  You step out of the car, your mind swimming with a thousand thoughts. As you walk to the hotel entrance you feel dizzy, almost as if you’ve been up all night drinking and are only now exchanging insobriety for exhaustion.

  “Americano, wait!”

  You stop, turning to see Irma Dos Santos get out of her car and walk towards you.

  “Maybe ‘forget’ is the wrong word. I’ll never forget this night, nor will I ever forget you. But we do have to keep it a secret. Can you do that for me?”

  Not waiting for a response, she kisses you. It’s brief, but passionate. With a smile at her own impetuousness, she ducks back into the car and speeds away.

  What a night, indeed.

  * * *

  Fortunately, Agent Danly sleeps in well past lunch and you’re able to fib that you were “only taking a nap” when he calls your room just after 2 pm and finds you asleep as well. He bids you to meet him down in the lobby. You find him nursing a cup of coffee when you arrive.

  “Any luck last night?” you ask, keeping coy.

  “Actually, yeah. We’re going to go to the consulate and do a video conference with Agent Bertram, and the day’s already half over, so I’d rather not share it all twice.”

  “Okay…”

  “Sorry,” he sighs. “I’m just tired. How was your night?”

  • Risk it—say, “Don’t be mad, but I found out some pretty interesting things myself…”

  • Keep it to yourself—say, “Just fine. Quiet night alone, like you suggested. To the consulate?”

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Sleep Tight

  Detective Dos Santos drops you off in front of your hotel, declining the invitation for dinner. “I have to get some work done,” she says with a weak smile.

  You mumble your understanding, shake hands, and exit the car. After she departs, you step through the lobby and find a “happy hour” sign beckoning you to lounge poolside and await the sunset in luxury. Sounds good to you.

  Someone left a paperback on one of the deck chairs, so you thumb through it while you wait for the sinewy young Afro-Brazilian waiter in the immaculate white polo shirt to bring the cocktail special out to you.

  The book is a detective-thriller about two FBI agents who work to track down a serial killer in Nebraska. The cover shows bloody footprints in the snow. It looks interesting, but hits a little too close to home after all you’ve been through.

  Putting it down, you let out a relaxed sigh. As the sun sets, the patio lights come on, illuminating the water like so many diamonds shimmering on the surface. The waiter arrives with your drink—a coconut full of liquor, the fruit balanced inside a bamboo cradle—and bends down to allow you to easily accept the libation.

  The alcohol acts quickly on your empty stomach, and soon all your cares melt away and you feel like you’re on vacation again, at least temporarily. The choices you make tonight will only be as difficult as what to order from room service and whether or not you’d like a massage.

  For a fleeting moment, you enjoy yourself.

  * * *

  The next morning, you breakfast alone while waiting for Agent Danly to wake up from his long night out in the favelas. Then you have lunch by yourself. Finally, he calls your room just after 2 pm and bids you to meet him down in the lobby. You find him nursing a cup of coffee when you arrive.

  “Any luck last night?” you ask.

  “Actually, yeah. We’re going to go to the consulate and do a video conference with Agent Bertram, and the day’s already half over, so I’d rather not share it all twice.”

  “Okay…”

  “Sorry,” he sighs. “I’m just tired. How was your night?”

  “Just fine. Quiet night alone, like you suggested.”

  “Great. Let’s go.”

  • Head to the consulate.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Snapped

  Something inside you snaps, and you can’t take it anymore. Breaking into a clockwise arc, you push back to where you first saw the Man in Black, ready to catch him unawares. There on the ground is the metal rod that served as the base of the pitchfork. Lacking any other weapon, you pick it up.

  There’s surprising weight to the piece; this is no Halloween prop. That’s when you notice that the barbed end of the rod isn’t cosmetic, either. It’s a knife-tip, sharp enough to shave with. You sprint through the wake the assassin left—people flee in all directions and the path to the devil is fairly clear.

  You can see his horns bouncing above the crowd. He’s taller than most of the population, and he runs confidently, scanning the crowd for you and your friends. With a hate-fueled burst of adrenaline, you sprint forward, with the pitchfork-rod at the ready. As you get closer, you get a good look—his back is covered in long raven feathers, like a devious sort of hedgehog.

  Using the rod as a spear, you plunge the weapon deep into his back. The man doesn’t even scream, he just drops. The knife tip sticks through his chest, perfectly skewering him through his heart. Hubris was his downfall. So sure he was the predator, he easily became the prey.

  One eye looks up, the other looks down. He doesn’t move, he simply bleeds out. The crowd stares at you—hell, some people are even cheering, but there’s no sign of Viktor or Jane. Up ahead, the Energy Summit awaits.

  • Head inside.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Sobriety

  The Sugar King glowers. “You might have told me that before I went through all the trouble of opening such an expensive and rare vintage.”

  He sets his own glass down upon the tray and dismisses the servant.

  “I had set up a show for us while dinner is prepared. Many of the farm workers here practice capoeira, an elaborate performance that combines dance and martial arts. But now I have half a mind to send you to bed without supper, if I need to treat you like spoiled children!”

  • “Hey, not everyone drinks. Let’s go watch the show and relax.”

  • “Gee, dad, are you gonna ground us too?”

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  SOLVED

  That’s it! You’ve won. You’ve helped bring justice to Brazil and made the world a better place. Few can brag of this accomplishment, and you are one of those few. Well done, but know this: the path you chose was only one of many. There are other ways, and in that vein, other clues you may have missed…

  MURDERED has three unique storylines with over 50 possible endings, but only one best ending. So, if your gut says there’s more to explore, click to RESET or go to THE END for the full chapter list.

  When you’re done, don’t forget to check out the other exciting titles in the Click Your Poison multiverse!

  If you enjoyed the book, it would mean a lot to me as an author if you were to leave a review on Amazon or Goodreads. As an indie writer, word-of-mouth is the only clue some people see, and reviews are the #1 way to help Amazon promote a book to new readers.

  When you’re done, don’t forget to check out the other exciting titles in the Click Your Poison™ multiverse!

  INFECTED—Will YOU Survive the Zombie Apocalypse?

  MURDERED—Can YOU Solve the Mystery?

  SUPERPOWERED—Will YOU Be a Hero or a Villain?

  PATHOGENS—More Zombocalypse Survival Stories!

  MAROONED—Can YOU Endure Treachery and Survival on the High Seas?

  SPIED (coming in 2019)—Can YOU Save the World as a Secret
Agent?

  * More titles coming soon! *

  Sign up for the new release mailing list

  Or visit the author’s blog at www.jamesschannep.com

  Stigmata

  He shakes his head and whimpers a sniveling response. She yells and he recoils, but only shakes his head more resolutely. Blood, mucous, and sweat fly off in generous beads. He tries to pull away, but her grip on his wrist is ironclad. So he tries to bring his hands together in a prayer instead.

  “He says if he tells us, they will kill him.”

  You look at her and nod. You’ve come this far….

  With a squeeze of the trigger, she blows a hole through the palm of his fresh hand—now both are split open. He screams, staring at his open hands, and you can see through them, the boy looking at you through hellish binoculars. Irma ducks down and presses the handgun atop his left foot. She’s paying a vicious game of “hangman,” it would seem. Answer wrong? You lose a hand. Then the next hand, a foot, the other foot—but what’s after that?—in “hangman,” it would be the head. She pulls back the hammer on the revolver, lining up the chamber with a fresh cartridge.

  The boy screams. The door to the house swings open….

  • Use the AK-47, point and shoot!

  • Duck back and see who it is.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Stockholm Syndrome?

  “He said he would kill me if I tried to run away. He made me help him…and…and….”

  Agent Danly puts a hand on his sidearm and says, “Where is he now?”

  “That way,” you say, pointing the opposite direction Viktor actually went. “Hurry, please!”

  “Come on, show me.”

  You burst into sniveling tears. “No! I can’t. I can’t go back there!”

  “Ah, Christ!” Danly mutters. “Don’t go anywhere, understand?”

  You nod emphatically and Agent Danly turns and runs, already removing his radio and calling for backup. You bought yourself a little time, but not much. After he rounds the corner, you quickly move in the opposite direction.

  “Entrada” points to the building’s entrance, where you already made it through security. That leaves two choices:

  • Auditório Principal.

  • Imprensa.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Suicide

  Back on the bike, you gun the engine. The tires squeal against the parking garage’s paved surface and you slide around the corner to bum-rush security. Your bike shudders violently as you feel a punch to your shoulder. That’s when you realize you’ve been shot. This time around, you’re not nearly so close to your targets and there’s nothing between you and them but air. Question: Which moves faster, bullets or a motorcycle?

  Well, at least you went out with style. And you’ll probably make the news.

  THE END

  Suicide Mission

  In your effort to run the guard down, you’ve saved yourself. Sort of. Instead of shooting you, the man dives out of the way of your oncoming bike. The other guards, unable to get a clear shot for fear of hitting their comrade, instead curse and move to regroup behind you. You’re free to enter the garage, but rest assured—security isn’t far behind.

  Shifting to second gear as you enter, the dirt bike’s engine echoes throughout the parking garage. Bad news: just about every car looks the same. You cruise by, trying to read the plates and find the one that matches the paper scrap Viktor gave you.

  As you turn to go to the second level, a bullet twangs from a nearby concrete pillar. That was close, too close—they’re coming for you. You move through the second level, trying not to think about the consequence of missing the car. Time for level three.

  There it is! You look at the license plate a second time just to ensure it’s the right one. Yep, it’s a match. You step off the bike, hurrying to remove the note (and careful not to get your fingerprints on it) and tuck it under the passenger-side wiper blade.

  Done—missions accomplished. But how do you get out? The security officers will soon be on this level, and they’ve proven to have itchy trigger fingers.

  • Trying to ram my way through their lines worked once. It’ll work again.

  • To the roof! I’ll find a way out, even if I have to fly away.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Summited

  “Listen up and listen well,” you say. “I saw that dead woman. I know you’re overjoyed she wasn’t Jane, and I am too for your sake, but someone loved her. I could have just as easily been killed for finding her body. What’s going on here with the Ambassador and the head of the Sugarcane Mafia isn’t right. It has to be stopped, and we can do it!”

  Jane and Viktor smile brightly, motivated.

  “Besides,” you say with a grin of your own. “Won’t it be more dramatic to see the two of you walk out on the stage together, arm in arm, to reveal that Jane is alive and to clear your name? I’ll upload the evidence onto the mainframe.”

  Outside the airport, you look for a taxi. There are plenty of cabs, but it appears that none of them are operating. The nearest taxi driver says something in Portuguese while shaking his head. Viktor translates, “The road ahead is blocked because of Carnaval. We’ll have to walk the rest of the way.”

  After rounding the corner beyond the airport, you see that the cabbie wasn’t exaggerating. People are everywhere. In the distance, gigantic parade floats crawl slowly through the street, readying themselves for the Big Show.

  Most of the crowd hovers around these floats; teams of dancers are climbing aboard or preparing to samba around the base, all of them in matching costumes aligned with the theme of their particular floats. That’s not to say there aren’t other revelers in full regalia; nearly everyone is costumed. Throngs of people dance, drink, and otherwise party through the crowded streets of Rio.

  You see a woman in a skin-tight leopard suit gyrating past you; her costume flows perfectly in tune with her body. Wait, scratch that, she’s completely nude. That’s her body flowing. There’s no costume; it’s all body paint.

  And she’s not the only one. A group of naked men and women, painted to look like marble sculptures, walk past you on their way to the parade grounds. They have enough modesty to wear thong underwear, but their costumes leave little to the imagination.

  Another costume catches your attention: it’s a devil. A hulking man in glimmering black body paint, his body firm and muscular like an MMA champion fighter’s. His face is painted white over black, like a bleached skull (the only color on his otherwise black painted body) and his shaved head is topped with long, twisted ram’s horns. A thick scar covers his chin. The paint is all-encompassing, and with his carved frame and intricate costume, you’d think he would be at the Sambadrome, leading an underworld team.

  Then his eyes move in two different directions. They flick back and forth, looking, searching for prey. When he sees you, the teeth painted atop his lips part to reveal the real teeth in an impish grin. He holds a pitchfork, and you realize with horror that the two outer prongs on the pitchfork are actually handguns, long and slender, with silencers on the barrels.

  Without a doubt, this is the Man in Black. The devil-costumed assassin pulls the two handguns off his pitchfork, as the center rod falls to the ground with a clang.

  “It’s him!” you shout. “Run!”

  Viktor and Jane make a break for it, and in a flash, the fearsome man’s handguns rise up, ready for the kill. You grab the leopard by her crimped, curled hair and fling her toward the devil.

  It’s enough of a distraction. The three of you push into the crowd, keeping your heads low and trying hard to put as many people as you can between that horror and yourselves.

  A loud crack permeates the air and with a scream, a bedazzled woman falls behind you. This is bad. He doesn’t care if he shoots innocent bystanders. You sidestep, plunging yourself into a thicker throng of people, rushing forward as fast as you can. Where are Viktor and Jane? You don’t see them anywhere.

 
Up ahead, like a glittering beacon, sits a mega-conference center that must be your destination.

  • Run for the Energy Summit!

  • Enough is enough—Double back and attack.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Support

  You push open the door, revealing a large control room, complete with police officers watching security feeds and technical experts monitoring everything from audio levels to air conditioning temperature. In the corner of the room, a computer tech loads up a PowerPoint slide that reads, Please Find Your Seats, The Presentation is About to Begin, in both English and Portuguese. As soon as he flips it on, you can see from the security monitors that the text is indeed projected on the mega-screen of the auditorium.

  This is it, you’ve found it! Now to load the USB thumbdrive on that computer….

  The heavy door slams shut behind you and suddenly all eyes turn your way. There are three American DSS agents in suits, none of whom you’ve ever seen before, hovering near the security monitors. The lead agent is tall and square-jawed, his blond hair meticulously combed to one side and pressed down at the ears where his sunglasses normally rest.

  The other men—both built like smokestacks—turn their stone faces to examine you. One is black and the other an islander; they both look like they dropped out of the NFL and into private security. Which is entirely possible.

  In fact, everyone’s watching you, not just the three agents. The whole room is waiting to see what you’re doing here.

  • Make a break for the computer. Once the files are uploaded, they’ll be powerless to stop you!