THE GAME OF LIFE OR DEATH
A Novel
by Charles Prandy
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Copyright © 2014 by Charles Prandy All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
Cover image by Ronnell D. Porter
Other Books by Charles Prandy
Jacob Hayden Series The Avenged – Book 1
Behind the Closed Door – Book 2
The Game of Life or Death – Book 3
Within – Book 4
Stand Alone Novels The Last of the Descendants
To be notified of future works by Charles, please go to www.charlesprandy.com.
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Prologue
I had just fallen asleep or thought it felt that way. My bed was cozy and warm. The air conditioner remained at seventy-five because of the humid August night. Henry, my chocolate Labrador Retriever, was lying on the floor at the foot of the bed, sound asleep. The lights were off. The house was peaceful and quiet. My body felt like it was becoming one with the mattress. My mind raced from image to image before it finally slowed enough to allow me to fall asleep. Before I closed my eyes, the clock on the nightstand read 11:33 in bright red numbers.
Then I was woken up.
A voice whispered in my ear, “Try not to scream, Detective.”
My eyes shot open.
I was lying on my back.
My hands were tied to the headboard.
My feet were tied to the footboard.
My mouth was covered with duct tape.
My shoulder screamed with pain.
The room was dark, but there was no mistaking that a person stood over me. I tried to yank my hands free but they were tightly secured.
“Detective,” the voice whispered again, “obviously you didn’t take my letters seriously.”
My pulse quickened and sweat rolled off my forehead. My heart felt like it was going to pound through my chest. I pulled at my hands again, but they wouldn’t budge.
“No use,” the voice said again. “You can’t get free.”
I yanked my legs, but they were tied too tightly. My mind raced. Thoughts darted in and out. How could I get out of this alive? I was tied to a bed with no means to defend myself. I was exposed to whatever brutality this madman had in mind. I yanked my arms and legs harder, but the only thing I was doing was exerting energy. I finally stopped. I was now drenched in sweat and breathing heavily through my nose.
“Are we calm yet?”
The dark figured moved from my bedside toward the bedroom door. I thought for a second that he was leaving, but then the light came on. He stood near the door with his back facing me. He wore a black T-shirt and blue jeans. His shoulders were broad and his back was wide, like that of an amateur bodybuilder. He had long, dark hair that was pulled back in a ponytail. The cop in me tried to see any distinguishing marks or tattoos on his arms, but they were bare. When he turned around, I was startled. He wore a mask that, at first glance, made it appear as though he didn’t have a face. I couldn’t make out what he looked like.
“That’s good, Detective. I can see that you’re already trying to identify me.”
He looked to the floor, bent down, and petted Henry. I moved my head just enough to see that Henry wasn’t moving. That wasn’t like him.
Then he stood up and walked closer to the bed. He leaned over and let the nose of his mask touch my left ear.
“I’m not going to kill you, Detective,” he whispered again. “At least not tonight. But I wanted you to know the seriousness of the game. I wanted you to know that I can reach you anywhere you are. You need to be sharp. I need you to be at your best. That’s the only way the game will work. So keep your eyes and ears open because the next time you see me, you will surely die.”
He then placed his left hand over my face, and seconds later my eyes closed.
Henry’s wet tongue tickled my nose. I opened my eyes to see Henry’s head resting on the edge of the bed. He’s a big dog weighing close to sixty pounds, but he’s still considered a puppy, being only nine months old.
The morning sun was up, flooding the bedroom with light. Henry’s eyes bored into mine, and I knew he was telling me that he needed to go out. I must have overslept. I looked over at the clock and saw that it was nearly ten in the morning. I should have been up hours ago for work. Did I forget to set the alarm? Then I remembered the dream I’d had. It seemed all too real. I sat up and swung my legs off the bed, looking around the room and wondering why my wrists felt sore.
Part One: The Previous Day
One
I just met the President of the United States for the first time. It was an odd encounter, given that I was the one who saved his wife’s life from Jack Smith. The First Lady herself never thanked me, but the President wanted me to know that they were truly grateful for what I had done. The Oval Office was everything it appeared to be in the movies. The President was nice and cordial, but the short meet and greet didn’t give me the impression that we were going to be the best of buddies. I was only there for about ten minutes, and then the Secret Service brought me back home.
The August humidity caused me to start sweating in the short few seconds I walked from the Secret Service vehicle to my front door. There was an envelope waiting for me on the doorstep that wasn’t there before I left the house. I picked it up and saw that my name was on it in cut out letters. My eyes suddenly grew wide. Being a homicide detective for the city of Washington, D.C., I’d seen my share of wackos and had heard pretty much every horror story imaginable. So when I saw the cut out letters, I knew this couldn’t be good. I opened the envelope and found a letter inside. The letter was from the same nut that wrote me earlier in the year saying that I was going to be playing a game called Life or Death, and that the only way to win was to kill him before he killed me. This letter said basically the same thing.
When I received the first letter, I had it dusted for prints and saliva, but nothing was found. I hadn’t heard from the guy all summer, so naturally I thought the letter was just a mean joke. I guess I was wrong. I folded the letter and opened the front door. As I entered the house, my cell phone rang and I saw that it was from the station.
“Detective Hayden.”
“Jacob, it’s Hellsworth.”
Captain Hellsworth doesn’t call me very often, so my interest was piqued a little when I heard his voice.
“What’s up, Captain?”
There was a long sigh, and something in his voice didn’t sound right.
“I’m not sure how to say this, so I’m just going to come out and say it.” He paused. “They’re dead, Jacob. The Rules are dead.”
I staggered back and nearly collapsed. I grew up in the suburbs of Maryland, and the Rules were a family that I was e
xtremely close with. Both of our families moved to D.C. after I graduated from high school. Over the past fifteen years, Mr. Rule had become a pillar in the D.C. community for a lot of the cancer awareness work he had done through one of his foundations. Growing up, I was best friends with their oldest son.
My legs were shaking. I had to hurry to the couch because I knew I couldn’t stand much longer.
“All of them?” I asked.
“I’m sorry, Jacob. We just got the call about thirty minutes ago.”
My voice shook when I spoke again, “What happened?”
“Why don’t you come in? We can talk about it here.”
“How’d they die?” I asked again. Tears streamed down my face.
Captain Hellsworth hesitated before answering. “They were executed, Jacob.”
Two
I was numb and at a loss for words. I sat there with the phone in my hand, staring mindlessly at the wall in front of me. The Rule family, a family that I’d known most of my life was dead. Why? Why would someone want to kill them? I laid my head back and closed my eyes. With my eyes closed, my mind brought up their faces. I remember the first day I met them. My family had just moved into the neighborhood in Rockville, Maryland. I’d recently turned six years old. This was the 70s, so at that time we had big afros. It was the beginning of summer, and my mother took me for a walk around the neighborhood. I remember that there were a lot of kids playing, and a man was washing his car.
We walked by a house that was on a slight hill, and I looked up into the window. All I saw was a big afro. I couldn’t make out anything else. I tugged at my mother’s hand and pointed to the window. The afro quickly disappeared. We stopped for a second, and my mother waved toward the window. The afro slowly reappeared, and a small hand about the size of mine waved back. Then a bigger body appeared with a bigger afro. A dark-skinned woman with high cheekbones, full lips, and a broad smile waved at us.
“Hi y’all doin?” She said through the window.
“Fine,” my mother responded. “We just moved into the neighborhood. Takin’ my son for a walk.”
“Oh, well welcome.” There was a slight pause, “Where’s my manners. Why don’t y’all come in for something to drink?”
At this time people didn’t seem as apprehensive about strangers back then. The woman greeted us at the door. Standing next to her was the little boy from the window. We were about the same size and build. His complexion was a little darker than mine, but his afro had mine beat by about two inches.
“Who do you think would win in a fight, Superman or the Incredible Hulk?” The little boy said to me.
“Superman,” I said.
He smiled. “Yeah, Superman would punch him in the face and send him to outer space.”
The woman looked down, “Rule, what’d I tell you about violence?”
The little boy rolled his eyes.
The woman greeted my mother. “I’m Laura Rule.” She placed her hands on the little boy’s shoulders. “And this here is our little Rule.”
Little Rule extended his hand to me. I think it was the first time I’d ever shaken a hand. I looked to my mother, and she nodded with a smile. I shook little Rule’s hand. “I’m Jacob Hayden, and I’m going to be a professional basketball player when I grow up.”
We went inside the Rules’ home and spent the next few hours getting to know them.
I sat up from the couch. My mind was still in a whirlwind. I suddenly felt guilty because I hadn’t spoken with the Rules in a few months. After my parents died some years back, outside of my in-laws, Dennis and Laura Rule were my other surrogate parents. Oftentimes, they treated me as if I were their other son. Was there anything I could have done to prevent this from happening? I didn’t know the answer to that, but what I did know was that as long as I was breathing I was going to find out who killed them.
I picked up my car keys from the kitchen counter and headed for the front door. In order to find their killers, I needed to see the crime scene. Was I ready for what I was about to see? I didn’t think so.
Three
I’d been to the Rules’ house a million times over the years, but today felt like it was the first time. Everything seemed surreal. Flashing blue and red lights caught my eyes when I turned onto their street. There seemed to be at least a dozen or so cops standing around the front yard with some going in and out of the house. There were news vans parked around the corner with reporters standing in front of cameras giving the latest updates of the horrific murders. This was an upscale neighborhood in the Rock Creek Park section of the city. A small crowd of people stood outside of the police tape probably wondering what had happened.
I stepped out of my car like I’d done a thousand times throughout my ten-year career, but this time was different. I usually try and take in the crime scene before I see the bodies, but not this time. I walked straight to the house, ignoring the other cops who acknowledged me. As I neared the house, the empty feeling that was growing in my stomach seemed to have widened. I didn’t speak to anyone. My eyes were focused in front of me, and I wasn’t even sure if I blinked.
Finally I came to the front door, and the coppery smell of blood instantly hit my nostrils. There must have been a lot of it for the smell to be that strong. I paused momentarily, second-guessing if I should go inside. Death is a hard image to forget. My mind flashed back to my wife, Theresa, for a moment. She had been killed in our house while I slept. I tripped over her lifeless body as I walked through the dark of our house. I never saw her face because I was immediately knocked out by her killer. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe that kept some nightmares at bay.
I took a deep breath. I could hear people talking inside the house. One of the voices was from my new partner, Patricia Jennings. She was a rookie detective with a lot of upside. She was talking about the placement of the bodies as if she were talking to herself. I guessed that she was speaking into a tape recorder for later analysis.
Finally, I stepped inside. I was shocked at what I saw. There was no doubt about it, I was going to have nightmares tonight.
The first person I saw was Dennis Rule, the father of the family. He hung from a beam in the middle of the living room by a rope tied around his neck. The room had a high vaulted ceiling with wooden beams running from one side to the other. He was naked and his belly had been slashed open. Dark bloodstains covered the carpet underneath his hanging body. His intestines were half dangling out from his stomach. The look on his face was horrific. His eyes bulged from their sockets, and his tongue hung limply from his mouth. He looked nothing like the peaceful man that I had grown to love.
Next was Laura Rule, Dennis’s wife, and their two adult daughters Kim and Stephanie. They were tied to chairs facing Dennis, and their bodies were slumped forward. I stared at them. When I was a teenager, I’d had a slight fondness for Stephanie, but I was her brother’s best friend so I knew she was off limits. Which brought me to my next thought, Where’s Rule?
Pat stood next to me, holding her smartphone with the voice recorder app up.
“They were forced to watch him die,” she said.
Judging by the placement of their bodies, I couldn’t argue with her theory. I was nearly speechless when I opened my mouth.
“They have a son named Rule. Has anyone heard from him?”
“Someone’s trying to reach him now. Apparently he’s out of state.”
Rule works as a fugitive recovery agent or better known as a bounty hunter here in the city.
“Captain said they were your friends,” Pat said.
I struggled to answer, “Yeah.”
I took a step closer to the bodies. My palms were moist, and my head felt like it was swimming in the clouds. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. As hard as it was to look at their bodies, I was in a stark trance at the same time. I couldn’t pull my eyes away. I didn’t realize that I was crying until Pat pulled on my arm.
“Let’s go outside,” she said.
Sh
e had to pull hard to get me to move. Finally I looked away, but not without engraving Dennis’s horrid image into my mind.
Once outside, I leaned over, rested my hands on my knees, and took a deep breath. My head still felt like it was swimming in the clouds, but I was starting to come back to earth.
“This was an ambush,” I said.
I stood up and looked at Pat.
“I’m guessing three or four guys. Dennis was a big and proud man. I can’t see one or even two men doing this.”
“He looked like he was tortured before he died,” Pat said.
I nodded.
“And this wasn’t just some random attack,” I said. “He was meant to suffer. His family was meant to watch him die.”
“Why?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
“Could it have been work related?”
“That’s always a possibility. He headed a small venture capital firm here in the city.”
I turned around and looked back into the house. Dennis’s body was being taken down.
“Why don’t you stay here and see what other information you can gather,” I said. “I’m going to go to his office and see what I can find there.”
Four
He watched the detective from the crowd of onlookers. This wasn’t the first time he stood in the background and watched his prey at work. He’d also done it in Texas. After his stint in D.C. he planned on taking his talents, not to South Beach, but international—to London, Seoul, or Cairo. But first he must deal with Detective Hayden.
He called himself The Game because in his mind that’s what he was. He believed that he embodied that fullness—the noun, adjective, and verb that describe the word’s meaning. He’d been watching the detective for close to a year now. The detective first came on his radar two years ago when a national network picked up a story of a little boy’s body that’d been found in the woods of a park in D.C. The news camera caught a young African American detective walking away from the scene. The reporter asked the young detective if this victim was related to a case of another young boy that was murdered a week earlier. The detective didn’t comment on the relationship but looked into the camera and said that he was going to find out who killed this child. There was a fire in the young detective’s eyes that gave The Game goose bumps. Right then he knew that the young detective was going to be a worthy adversary.
The Game of Life or Death: A Detective Series of Crime and Suspense Thrillers (The Jacob Hayden Series Book 3) Page 1
