by Cameron Jace
Insanity Series Book 6
CHECKMATE
by Cameron Jace
Copyright
First Original Edition, March 2016
Copyright ©2016 by Cameron Jace.
All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.
All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this e-book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the hard work of all people involved with the creation of this e-book.
All facts concerning publication dates of fairy tales, scripts, and historical events mentioned in this book are true. The interpretations and fantasy elements are not. They are products of the author’s imagination.
Other Books by Cameron Jace
The Grimm Diaries Prequels Series
The Grimm Diaries Prequels 1-6 (Free)
The Grimm Diaries Prequels 7-10
The Grimm Diaries Prequels 11-14
The Grimm Diaries Prequels 15-18
The Grimm Diaries Main Series
Snow White Sorrow (Book 1)
Cinderella Dressed in Ashes (Book 2)
Blood, Milk & Chocolate (Book3)
Blood, Milk & Chocolate Part 2 (Book 4)
I Am Alive Series
I Am Alive (Book 1)
Pentimento Series
Pentimento (Book 1)
Insanity Series
Insanity (Book 1)
Figment (Book 2)
Circus (Book 3)
Hookah (Book 4)
Wonder (Book 5)
Checkmate (Book 6)
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PROLOGUE PART ONE
PROLOGUE PART TWO
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY -TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY- TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
CHAPTER SIXTY
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
CHAPTER SEVENTY
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE
Prologue Part One
World Chess Championship, Moscow, Russia
The presidents and prime ministers of the world were gathered in the auditorium. They’d come for a global event. They were raising money for citizens who’d recently lost their homes, unable to pay the mortgage and piling bills, and eventually went mad.
The audience clapped with enthusiasm and proudly waved their country’s flags in the air, hailing and praising world leaders for caring, then they showered them with roses and lilies and prayed for them.
The presidents stood proud and blew kisses in the air, pretending to be modest and humble, while they secretly laughed at their citizens. Because, in reality, it was the presidents and prime ministers themselves who’d caused those bills and pushed citizens to the verge of insanity. They were both the killer and judge, which was madly beautiful.
And what better way to raise money but a chess event, where they played games on TV, the same way they played their own people in real life?
The world leaders sat, each on their own small table with a single chessboard upon it. Silence swooped over the auditorium as they began to organize their chess pieces. Of course, all the leaders chose the color white for the game.
Over one hundred and thirty presidents and prime ministers were ready to play. The idea was to accept donations with every move they made in the game. But the trickiest part was that they weren’t going to play against each other. They were going to play against one man.
Yes, you read that right. All the world leaders were playing against one man. They called him the Chessmaster, a genius Russian chess player who’d never lost a game of chess.
“Did he really never lose a game?” the American president hissed to the British Prime Minister next to him.
“Shhh,” the British Prime Minister said. They called him Mr. Paperwhite because he only dressed in white paper instead of clothes. “Be silent. This isn’t an American football game.”
The American president rolled his eyes. The British were a bit too conservative at times. He turned to his left, facing another world leader by the name of King Dick, a flamboyant dictator who ruled a poor third world country with wealthy leaders, each of them richer than Bill Gates and Ali Baba combined.
“Hey,” the American president hissed. “Is it true the Chessmaster never lost a game?”
“What do you care?” King Dick breathed onto his recently manicured fingernails. “Americans can’t play chess anyways. You’ll lose no matter what.”
Mr. Paperwhite snickered at that comment.
“Neither are the Brits,” King Dick mocked him, and the British Prime Minister’s face flushed red. “Only the Russians are good at chess. And the best of the Russians is the Chessmaster.”
“But how can he never lose a game?” The American president gritted his teeth.
“We Americans are big on winning. We’re always number one. But even so, we have to lose a game once in a while.”
“That’s because you’re not as good as the Chessmaster,” King Dick said. “Didn’t you ever hear about him winning the maddest game in the world?”
“Maddest game?” The American president leaned forward. “With whom?”
King Dick looked sideways then also leaned closer, his eyes bulging. “The Chessmaster is so good that it’s said that he won a game he played with…” he shrugged.
“With whom?” The American president’s eyes widened.
King Dick pointing upward. “With God himself.”
“God plays chess?” Mr. Paperwhite questioned from behind.
“Of course he plays chess. He is God. He can play everything.” The American president elbowed the Prime Minister back and said to King Dick, “Did God really lose a game of Chess to the Russian Chessmaster? How?”
“He cheated,” King Dick said, cupping his mouth with a hand.
“Of course. That’s it,” Mr. Paperwhite said. “You only beat God if you cheat.”
“You don’t get it,” King Dick said. “It was God who cheated first.”
“Get outta here!” the American president almost gasped.
“It’s what the myth says,” King Dick nodded. “The Chessmaster is too good, God had to cheat.”
“But how did the Chessmaster win that game?” Mr. Paperwhite asked.
“The Chessmaster cheated back, of course,” The American president said, gritting his teeth again. “Tell me, King Dick, does this mean that the Chessmaster knows God personally?”
“They don’t play golf together on Sundays, but of course he does,” King Dick said. “Why are you asking?”
“I am wondering if the Chessmaster could introduce me to him. We could have brunch in the White House. God and I.”
“Why would the American president want to meet with God?” Mr. Paperwhite mocked him. “He will send you straight to hell.”
“Hell is negotiable,” the American president said. “We could always fix a deal.”
“Then why do you want to meet God?” King Dick asked. “You’re not even good at chess.”
“You want to know why?” the American president said, smirking. “Imagine I knew God personally. Oh, boy we could do some business.”
Suddenly the host of the event interrupted the conversation, tapping his microphone, and the three world leaders straightened in their chairs.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” the host announced. “I’m proud to present the man who never lost a chess game!” he waved his hands in the air and the crowd hailed. “The man who is about to play against one hundred and thirty world leaders at the same time – and promises he will win.”
The crowd was going crazy.
“The man who’d played with God himself and won,” the host continued. “Russia’s most proud son, the Chessmaster himself.”
And there, the Chessmaster appeared from behind the red curtains. To the three leaders’ surprise, the Chessmaster looked like nothing they had expected.
Prologue Part Two
World Chess Championship, Moscow, Russia
The Chessmaster was an old man. Partially bald in the head with flapping white hair sticking to its side, uncombed and stiff, even worse than Einstein’s. He had a small forehead, small eyes, but a long bridge of a nose. He was beardless, but had an unusual mustache. A handlebar mustache that stretched sideways and curved upward like an eagle ready to take off.
He didn’t laugh, but he looked funny somehow. He looked childish, and as if he had a short attention span. In fact, he didn’t pay any attention to the audience. His eyes were focused on the chessboards he was about to raid with his unmatchable talents.
But one thing really stood out. The Chessmaster didn’t wear normal clothes. Not even weird ones. He wore the silver armor of a knight, just like his favorite chess piece.
Chin up, he strode toward his first opponent, the American president, and nodded his head, implying he wanted the president to make the first move.
The president was infatuated with the Chessmaster, though he never expected him to look the way he did, and moved his pawn two blocks ahead.
The Chessmaster stared at the pawn with an expressionless face, then slightly raised his head to meet the president’s eyes.
“In how many moves do you want to lose?” the Chessmaster said in a cold voice that was as gray as cold souls. Appearances aside, this wasn’t a man to make fun of.
“I don’t want to lose,” the president said. “I want to win.”
“Who do you think you are?” The Chessmaster leaned over, hands behind his back. “Rocky Balboa in a Hollywood movie where you beat the Russian champion in the end?”
The crowd, mostly Europeans and Russians, laughed.
“I didn’t mean to insult you,” the president said, “but I want to win.”
“Fine with me.” The Chessmaster shrugged his shoulders. “If you want to win, drink one of the vodka shots next to the chessboard.”
The president hadn’t noticed the tiny vodka glasses lined up next to the chessboard. Seven glasses on each side. Seven for him. Seven for his opponent.
“It’s a Russian custom,” the Chessmaster said. “Make a chess move and take a vodka drink.”
“What’s the point?” The president asked.
“Each vodka shot will make you dizzier and compromise your judgment, so it gets harder to play along.”
“I see,” the president considered. “If I do it, then I will have a chance to win?”
“A chance, yes,” the Chessmaster said, “but I never lose.”
The American president gulped the vodka. It was bitter, and it hammered his head so hard his cheeks reddened and his spine tingled.
The Chessmaster laughed at him. “This is going to be fun,” he addressed the hundred and thirty world leaders. “Now each of you has to drink after his chess move. That’s the rule. Let’s see what happens first. Will you get drunk before you lose the game, or lose the game before you get drunk?”
And so the Chessmaster began to play against each leader, one after the other. It only took him a glance at the chessboard to make his move, while it took each opponent no less than an hour to pick his next move.
The crowd bit their nails with excitement, though most of the game was in utter silence.
It seemed that the Chessmaster was keen on playing the Pope’s representative, an Italian man who represented the Vatican. He’d replaced the Pope because the Pope didn’t drink vodka, and none of them previously knew of the drinking rule while playing chess. Though the New York Times had claimed the Pope refused to play because God had told him not to, being angry at the Chessmaster beating him earlier.
Who believed newspapers anyways?
As the games advanced, world leaders began to sweat, taking their time with each move. All but the Pope’s representative, who looked in a hurry, picking a move and gulping his shot.
“That’s your sixth shot,” the Chessmaster told the man. “I’m impressed you’ve gotten this far without me beating you.”
“I win if I drink the seventh shot without you beating me, right?” the religious man smirked like a drunk on the street.
“You win, yes,” the Chessmaster said. “But—”
The man eagerly picked a seventh move and gulped his last drink. He let out a strong noise from his throat and stood up raising his hand with victory. “I beat the Chessmaster!”
“You must be smarter than God.” The Chessmaster smiled at the shocked crowd. They couldn’t believe the best chess player in the world was losing. Not so easily, or?
The Pope’s representative began to choke and stiffen. The world leaders watched him grow more and more flushed, reddened and unable to breathe.
“Oh,” the Chessmaster began, “I forgot to tell you that the Vodka is poisoned. It’s the kind of poison that kills you once you drink the seventh shot. You could surviv
e drinking six though, but you’d be very sick.”
“What?” Mr. Paperwhite protested.
“You see, you have to beat me in six moves or you will die,” the Chessmaster announced. “And look at you, all the presidents and leaders of the world in one room. I may kill you all tonight. Isn’t that frabjous?”
Everyone stared at the madman with horror in their eyes, unable to believe what was happening. Why did the Chessmaster want to kill the leaders of the world? Who was he working for?
The Chessmaster didn’t answer any of these questions. He returned to staring at the choking man while pulling at his handlebar mustache. One stroke to the right. One stroke to the left.
Then he made his last move in the game. The move that killed the Queen. He nudged the queen piece with the back of his middle finger and watched the Pope’s representative drop dead to his knees, and then stroked his mustache saying, “Checkmate. Who’s next?”
Chapter 1
Mr. Jay’s Limousine, Oxford
I am sitting in the dark of the limousine, not quite sure of what I am doing. It still puzzles me why I agreed to go meet Mr. Jay, whoever he really is. Maybe somewhere inside my mad brain I am still me; a loyal member of Black Chess.
Rocking to the bumps in the road, I don't try to ask questions or make conversation with the unseen passengers inside. I already have so much on my mind. Forget about the choices and decisions for now. I still need to know why I had to kill everyone on the bus in the past. What was the purpose of doing so? Why was it essential to Black Chess that every student on it died?
I take a deep breath, also thinking about what happened to me after the Circus. I am sure I saw the gathering of the Inklings in Lewis Carroll's studio when I had my vision in the Garden of Cosmic Speculation. Lewis, the March Hare, Fabiola, Jack, and me. And the little girl; who was she? Most important is: when and how did I change and become the Bad Alice? What happened to me?
“Mr. Jay will be pleased to meet you,” the woman in the dark tells me.
I say nothing. What's to say? I don't say I am pleased to meet him too, but I have questions that are eating at me.
