Three Breaths (The Game of Life Novella Series Book 3)

by Belle Brooks

  By

  Table of Contents

  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

  Published 2018

  ISBN – 9780648126355

  Three Breaths

  ©2018 by Belle Brooks

  Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilisation of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher, Obie Books, Po Box 2302, Yeppoon QLD Australia 4703.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  All rights are reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in past in any form. This edition is published in arrangement with Obie Books Q.L.D.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Published by

  Obie Books

  Po Box 2302

  Yeppoon Qld 4701

  AUSTRALIA

  Cover design by Tracey (Soxie) Weston.

  Editing by Lauren Clarke

  Formatting by Jaye Cox @ Formatting the affordable way

  For Robin Yatsko, Tammy Coffey, and Amber Luttke

  Thank you for being you. You three mean the world to me.

  Love ya faces, Belle

  A NOTE TO THE READER

  The Game of Life Novella Series is comprised of five parts. To enjoy this highly suspenseful psychological thriller, it’s advised that you read each book in the correct order as shown below.

  Book One – One Fear

  Book Two –Two Footsteps

  Book Three – Three Breaths

  Book Four – Four Hearts

  Book Five – Five Fights

  These books have been written using UK English and contain euphemisms and slang words that form part of the Australian spoken word, which is the basis of this book’s writing style.

  Please remember that the words are not misspelled. They are slang terms and form part of everyday Australian vernacular.

  Reid

  The downlight above Maloney’s head creates the illusion of a halo as he stares at the television. He seems relaxed with his arms outstretched on top of the lounge, and his knees spread wide apart from each other. His sneakers start where his blue jeans cut off, and they appear almost brand new when I come to focus on them in the light—stark white, no scuff marks, no tattered laces. I don’t know why this seems off-putting to me, but it does.

  It’s a gentle clearing of his throat that causes me to shoot my eyes upwards. Maloney rotates his head in my direction, from that of the television, and subtly nods before he again turns away. I can’t help wondering how Maloney managed to get the job of being my babysitter because that’s how this situation seems—like I’m a toddler under constant supervision. All day, and so far, all night, someone’s watched my every move. I didn’t abduct my wife, and I’ve never wished harm upon her, not even in my angriest moments. I want Morgan to come home more than anybody. I also want to know where my money is, and why this is happening to our family, and to my wife.

  Maloney hasn’t said much over the last couple of hours. In fact, he’s the quietest he’s been since he walked into my home and took up temporary residence here. Is fatigue getting the better of him as it is me? My eyes burn, and the headache beating across my eyebrows makes me squeeze my eyes tight together every few minutes to reduce the strain. I should sleep, but I’m too scared, because what if the phone rings and I don’t wake to answer it? Will this game-playing son-of-a-bitch kill Morgan like he promised he would if I’m not at his beck and call?

  “Reid, are you okay?” Maloney says softly.

  “Huh?” I need to get out of my head and away from my thoughts.

  “Are you okay?” he says, this time slow and drawn out.

  “No,” I sigh. “Where’s Morgan? Is there any new information?

  “We don’t know anything yet.” He tips his head to the side. “We’re doing everything we can.” Maloney’s go-to phrase. I’m sure I’ve heard him speak these same words numerous times today.

  “It’s been over twenty-four hours. I’m worried as fuck, and tired as shit. I bet Morgan is …” I don’t finish speaking because my thoughts flash between differing scenarios.

  Morgan’s skirt is hiked above her hips. Her knees spread wide. Her knickers rest by her ankles. There’s blood streaks down her inner thighs, and when I see the deep purple hand print bruised into her skin I leap to the dirty mattress littering the concrete flooring and use my body as a blanket to cover her exposure.

  “No, no, no,” I hiss.

  There’s a miniature train circling a track beside the Ferris wheel. Its horn blows each time it rolls by a fat plastic controller standing at its side. The amusement park is absent of children’s laughter, flickering lights and show tunes, until the Ferris Wheel begins to rotate unexpectedly. I tip my chin upwards in search of the children who are now screaming. I smother my mouth with my palms when Morgan’s body comes into view. She’s tied to the metal structure by her wrists. Dangling so high above the ground.

  “Morgan.” I blink excessively, trying to halt these visions. I don’t want to see Morgan that way. I curl my head into my forearms, muttering, “Leave her alone.”

  I envision a lake. It’s big, with dirty brown water and tree branches hanging over its banks, and there’s Morgan, face down, floating in the lake, all the life she had perished.

  “Help.” It’s a weak deliverance of the word from my lips.

  A room, no grander than the area I’m sitting in, is dark. There’s a spotlight focused onto a four-poster bed, and as I search for my wife, it’s as if the air in my lungs leaves as hers did. She’s posed, naked, with her throat slit from ear to ear, and there’s so much blood splattered high up the walls that the urge to vomit overcomes me. Morgan's blue in colouration, and cold when I come to brush her cheek with the backs of my fingers.

  “Reid.” My name sounds as if it’s being spoken from a distance. I don’t answer.

  A dirt road stretches for miles and I’m frantic as I rush down it. I stop when I see a beaten body laid out in the centre. I gasp. The black skirt and heels Morgan last walked out of the house in … It’s her. It’s Morgan. I dry-heave at the sight of her trodden body and the view of her skull caved inwards. Red, so much red, creates patterns through the dirt surrounding Morgan, and I jump back in horror when it reaches the tip of my shoe.

  “Fuck,” I growl.

  “What’s happening, Reid? Reid, can you hear me?”

  I want to vomit. I’m shaking. I c
an’t breathe. “Make it stop.” I bolt upright to my feet with my eyes wide and my breath jagged.

  “Look at me.” His hands grip tightly around my biceps. “I think you’re having a panic attack. Just look into my eyes.”

  I can’t because all I see is Morgan. Dead.

  Her head is hanging limply between her legs one moment, and then she’s running through uncontrollable flames the next.

  A flash of her hanging from a noose slung high from a tree, so high I’d never reach her to remove it, takes over, and I can’t seem to make these flickers of film my mind is creating stop.

  “Come on, mate. Stay with me.” Maloney pauses. “Lynette,” he yells.

  “Morgan,” I cry out, as I brace my body by crossing my arms over my chest.

  Fog is filling an alleyway. I’m hesitant, but the need to enter is overpowering. The alleyway suddenly becomes clear, as if someone parts the thick, smoky veil, and there, discarded amongst bags of trash, is my wife’s lifeless body.

  I cover my mouth. “Fuck.” I drool, wiping at my lips. I hold my breath and then let out a gut-wrenching groan.

  “Breathe, Reid. Come on now, just breathe.”

  It’s Maloney; I can see his caring eyes searching mine.

  “He’s hurting her. He’s torturing her, raping her.” I pant and then moan out my agony as I fold at my mid-section.

  “You don’t know that. You don’t know these things have happened to Morgan or that they will. Come on.” Maloney’s hand presses against my shoulder as I struggle to draw air into my lungs. “In through your nose, out through your mouth,” he instructs calmly.

  I do. Three drawn breaths lessens some of the panic that’s hit me like a bus collecting an unobservant pedestrian.

  “I’ve got you,” he says. He grips my hands and then tugs me by my arms until my feet drag along the ground. He's moving me.

  “Sit, Reid,” Maloney says.

  “Okay.” It’s a barely audible response.

  Maloney is crouched in front of me when I come to eye him. His chin is tilted back slightly and his mouth partly open. “You can’t go to those types of places inside your head. Trust me, if you do, there’s no coming back from them. Every scenario you play out will consume you, and then you’ll be useless to us. You need to stop this so you can be strong for your wife. Falling apart like you’re doing will do diddly squat.” There’s a long pause. “You’re stronger than this.”

  I nod.

  “Lynette, can you get him some water please?”

  Lynette? Where did she come from? Where is she? I try to locate her, but Maloney obstructs my view.

  “Of course, Max.” She’s courteous.

  “Reid, you and I are going outside, aren’t we?” Max’s tone is laced with concern.

  I don’t respond.

  “We’re going to get some fresh air, the two of us. We’ll be outside, Detective.”

  I growl through my teeth as I curl my fists into tight balls and beat them into my thighs. “Morgan,” I groan, suppressing the urge to release any further anguish.

  The air is still. There’s no breeze, not even a hint of one to come. It’s muggy and dry, but even so, I don’t want to leave this space. At least I can breathe out here.

  Maloney offers a half-hearted wave to Senior Constable Prospect, the lanky redhead who has barely said a single word to me yet. I’m not sure what it is about Prospect, but he seems strange in so many ways. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t say much, or maybe it’s because when I do catch him moving about, he always seems to be scanning his surroundings, like one would when snooping.

  Prospect stands a fair distance away from Maloney and myself, out on the lawn, not far from the tyre swing hanging limply from the tree I tied it to not long after Brax was born. I watch as he points with one finger to his ear, and that’s when I realise he’s taking a call, or maybe he’s listening to a message. His lips don’t appear to be moving, and I can’t hear him speak.

  “Hey, don’t beat yourself up over losing it in there,” Maloney says quietly, his finger outstretched towards the open front door. “It happens to the best of us.”

  “Yeah,” I say, defeated.

  Maloney slips his hand into the pocket of his jeans, swiftly removing a pack of cigarettes, and as he does I contemplate what it would be like to put every one of those cancer sticks in my mouth and light them all at once. I know Cruise used to say he smoked because it lessened his stress levels. I wonder if that works for panic, too.

  “Would you like one?” The packet is held outwards not far from my hand.

  “I think I’ll pass. Those cigarettes taste like shit.”

  “They do.” The corners of his lips rise as he slides the pack right back where he retrieved it from.

  “Don’t let me stop you from having one though.”

  “I don’t smoke.” Maloney’s direct in the way he declares this as if it’s common knowledge to the world.

  I cock my eyebrows. “So why do you have them?”

  “We all carry a packet. It’s something we learn in the police academy. I guess I smoke, but only when and if I need to. You’d be amazed at how a simple cigarette can get a perp to open up and talk, or a frazzled civilian—”

  “Some water.” I turn. Lynette. Her face mute of emotion. Lynette has such serious features, which become more noticeable as she stands under the patio’s light. I’m not sure if it’s because of her crow-dark eyes, or if it’s because I haven’t determined if we’re friends or foes at this point, but the unease that comes with being in her company sends shivers like spikes to my spine.

  “Thanks.” I accept the glass from her and scull the liquid in only a few gulps.

  “Would you like more?”

  I’m surprised to find her waiting with an outstretched hand; surprised because I’ve not found her to be patient or caring in the brief encounters we’ve had.

  I shake my head, handing her the glass.

  “Okay,” she says deadpan.

  I don’t have a chance to reply with anything further because with a blink of my eyes, Detective Dyson is gone.

  Prospect ambles up the front stairs and lingers beside Maloney. I stare him down as he leans into Maloney’s side and whispers something, sporting an enigmatic smile. Prospect irks me. What’s with this need to whisper?

  Maloney inclines his head gravely in response.

  “I’m going inside.” Prospect eyes me. There’s a coldness to the glare he delivers.

  “Yep,” Maloney mumbles.

  “Any news?” I blurt, the moment Prospect disappears.

  “No, not yet.” Maloney seems distracted in answering, as if he’s thinking about something in-depth. Does he have new information he’s not willing to share? Is it bad?

  “Are you sure? You haven’t heard anything from Detective West?”

  “No news.” He’s blunt, and I know he’s lying.

  The panic that consumed me not so long ago rebuilds. My hands tremble, and I bear down on my teeth as if by doing so I can clamp any remaining hope I have in my heart between them.

  “We’ll find her.” Maloney’s soft-spoken.

  “You know … Have you …” I can’t find the words.

  “Ask me anything. I’ll answer. No BS. I promise.”

  “Do you have any children?”

  He nods promptly.

  “Married?”

  He nods again.

  “You know when you’re in a shopping complex, and you turn your head for only just a moment, and after you do your kid just up and disappears on you?”

  He nods once more.

  “The feeling of raw panic you experience instantly has your mind conjuring up all the terrible situations that could take place if you don’t find your kid immediately. You start yelling their name, and you run, you run flat-strap like it’s instinct to do so.”

  “Yeah. I do.”

  “You’re searching, but every second ticking by is a second you can’t change if trouble has found
them.” I pause, thinking about the times Brax and Aleeha have done this to me in the past. “Then you see a blur of their clothing, or you hear their tiny voice in your haste, and the panic surging your adrenaline leaves you as quickly as it set in. The sirens of danger stop ringing vociferously in your head, and you realise they were safe the entire time. It was a silly toy or bright object which called them away from your side in the first place.”

  “Mila, my daughter—she’s done this to me.” Maloney gifts an understanding smile.

  “It’s the worst feeling.”

  “It is the worst.”

  “You walk over to your little brat, and every part of you wants to shake the living shit out of them as you bark how scared you were straight into their innocent face. You need your child to comprehend how dangerous it was that they left your side, but even though this is what you want to do, you don’t.” I raise my arms linking my fingers behind my head. “Instead, you wrap your arms around their guiltless body and hold them as tightly as you can, thinking, Thank God you’re safe.”

  Maloney’s nodding. “That’s generally how the aftermath plays out.”

  “That’s what I’m waiting for, Max. I’m waiting for the relief to come so it can drown out the panic swirling inside me. I need these sirens blasting in my head to stop sounding. Right now, I want to run—scream Morgan’s name. Let the world flash me by as I search for her.”

  “I get it. I do.”

  “If this was your wife?”

  “I’d be shit scared. There's no doubt in my mind.”

  “How old’s your daughter?” I’m curious, but also trying to gain a level of friendship with Maloney that might see him open up and give me some information to set my uncertainties at ease.

  “She’s three.”

  “I remember my Aleeha being small like that.”

  “Mila’s a good kid.” The corner of his lips tug upward until he’s contently smiling. “But she’s a sassy firecracker like her mamma is.”