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DANGEROUS BEGINNINGS By Fallon Raynes How many chances do you give someone you love … Chapter 1 Liza stood in front of the mirror, blow drying her long, brown hair. Ledge goosed her from behind, making her squeal. She looked up at his teasing grin and smiled back at him. He hadn’t shown her this much attention in quite a while. It felt fantastic. “How long before you’re ready?” Ledge asked her as she unplugged the hair dryer. “About five more minutes. I just need to finish my hair.” “Okay. I’ll go start the car.” He tossed the response over his shoulder with a wink as he left the master bathroom. Liza blushed. She could barely contain the energy she felt. Date night. It’d been so long since they’d had time to themselves. So long. She quickly curled a few strands of her hair and pulled the rest back into a bun at the back of her head, leaving her neck exposed for Ledge. One more glance in the mirror to make sure she looked presentable, and she reeled over how much she’d aged the past few years. The twins had started college, and this was their first weekend at home alone without the kids. She stopped herself before the tears filled her eyes. “They’re only a few blocks away,” she chided her reflection. “Just stop thinking!” After giving a firm nod at her mirror image, she walked out of the bathroom with her chin up. If she didn’t get downstairs soon, Ledge would come looking for her. She snatched her shoulder wrap from the bed and hurried out of the room. She found Ledge with one foot on the bottom step, ready to go for more, when he looked up and saw her. Another one of his mesmerizing grins spread across his face as he reached out for her. Their fingers touched. “Your chariot awaits, M’Lady.” Ledge said, placing his hand over hers as she snuggled in next to him. Even in four-inch heels, she barely came up to his broad shoulders. His brown hair was peppered with just enough gray on the sides. And still as drop-dead gorgeous as the day she had met him. The smile she was wearing would not leave her face as he ushered her to his car. Liza willed the events of the evening to go well. This will be a good evening. She mentally repeated it over and over as they drove to the restaurant. Chapter 2 The restaurant was almost full, even though it was early for a Friday night—just six o’clock. The waiter weaved in and around the tables, leading them to a corner booth on the far side of the room. Ledge kept his hand at the small of Liza’s back along the way, a reminder that “he had her back” as she wavered slightly in her stilettos. She knew she should have worn a shorter pair. Ledge let Liza slide in on the nearest side. Then, to her surprise, he sat right next to her instead of opposite her. He didn’t see her shocked expression, which she was trying hard to hide, because he was focused on the new waiter who had suddenly appeared. “Good evening. I’m Luke, your waiter for the evening. Would you like to hear the specials?” He was poised, ready to run through the spiel of delectable food choices. A handsome young man, his dark hair curled around his chiseled face and 11
his eyes were a piercing light blue. He wore a crisp, white shirt, black slacks, and black bow tie. Dream waiter. “Yes, please … if you don’t mind,” Liza said in a demure tone. Ledge shot her a quick look, then back to Luke. “Can we also see the wine list?” Luke bowed and said, “Of course,” handing him the menu for wine selections. “And the specials are …” He rattled off the short list, so fast that Liza had a hard time keeping up. It didn’t matter, though. Ledge held up a finger, “Ahh, just a moment, please,” and glanced at Liza. Words were not needed—he wanted her to know he would order the wine and the special meal that they both loved. She nodded, and he turned back to the waiter, giving him precise instructions. “Coming right up, sir,” Luke said with a charming grin and another bow. And off he went. Liza gazed up at Ledge, wrapping an arm around his, and giggled. “Well, this is cozy.” The love in his eyes glowed bright from the candlelight on their table. She hadn’t seen him look at her like that in years. Butterflies erupted in her stomach. She felt like the teenager she was when they had met at high school bonfire. Yes, she would cherish tonight. Because it may not last. There was that voice again. She promptly shut it down. Granted, he hadn’t been himself lately. His hot temper that he was noted for when he was young had returned. She was pretty sure the drug he was taking to quit smoking was causing it. Cantril. He would space out and act like he was looking through her, as if she weren’t even there. She wished he would stop taking it. On the upside, he didn’t smell like an ashtray. Small upside. Ledge placed his hand over Liza’s and gave it a quick squeeze. He opened his mouth to say something just as the waiter returned with the wine setup. Ledge scowled at him but said nothing while the waiter poured a sample for testing. “For your approval, sir.” Luke handed the sample to Ledge. But Ledge waved him off. “I’m sure it’s fine. We selected it, after all,” he said. Luke nodded and filled their wineglasses. “Your steak specials should be up in a few minutes.” His smile would make younger girls swoon. Liza reeled in those thoughts and said the polite, “Thank you” as he turned to walk away. Ledge said nothing, which Liza thought was rather rude. Had he at least nodded? She grabbed her glass and took a sip, looking at Ledge from the corner of her eye. His face was screwed up into a look she hadn’t seen a long time. Jealousy. It was an ugly look on him. She moved to change the avenue of his thinking, “Honey, what was it you were going to tell me?” Ledge seemed to snap out of his trance and peered into her eyes. He opened his mouth, closed it, and shook his head. “I’m sorry, I lost my train of thought. What were we talking about?” “Oh … I had said how nice this was. To be out, and on a ‘date.’” Liza made air quotes on date. “It’s been quite a while since we’ve had time to ourselves. Thank you for making reservations at our favorite place.” Café H was located in the H Hotel. It was one of the prominent restaurants in Midland, Michigan. An indulgence they hadn’t been able to enjoy much because of their busy schedules. “I’m happy too.” Ledge licked his lips and cleared his throat. That was his nervous tell. Is he actually nervous tonight? She suddenly felt uneasy. But why? Why was she feeling so shy and small in his presence tonight? Ledge reached for her sweaty palm, which she quickly wiped on her silky skirt before entwining her fingers with his. He leaned in and whispered, tickling her ear and causing her to giggle. She then nodded her head in response. Ledge’s patented panty melting grin erupted across his features. Liza blushed as red as the candle burning on the table or the wine in her glass. This evening was going to end well. Chapter 3 The drive home was not as pleasant as the ride to the restaurant. Liza wanted Ledge to pull over so she could drive. Having had far too much wine, he was swerving and had almost hit a car head on. They finally made it home without a mark on the car. Her underpants, on the other hand, were a different story, as the joke goes. Her blood pressure was through the roof from gripping the door with her fingernails. It was only ten blocks to their home, but it had seemed like an eternity. All she wanted was a hot shower—and to will the evening’s turn of events down the drain. She quickly escaped the car as it came to a stop in the garage. Then she took her heels off and walked around the side of the car to make sure Ledge was able to get out of the car without hurting himself.
Why, oh why, had he ordered that second bottle of wine? She stumbled backward when Ledge easily pulled his long frame from the car. His eyes were dark and staring through her. The old Ledge was back. The one she had hated in school—the Demon. Just when she thought her heart couldn’t beat any faster, here she stood on the verge of it pounding right through 12
her chest. He loomed over her petite frame. Instinct kicked in. She turned and ran to the door that led to the kitchen. Her sweaty hands fumbled to turn the doorknob. Ledge stalked after her, and her stockinged feet slipped on the kitchen floor. She fell forward and slid a short distance. Before she could catch her breath, Ledge was pulling her up to her feet, holding tight to her arm. It would have been a helpful gesture from anyone else, but she knew better with Ledge. Feeling like she was in the middle of a bad horror flick, she put her hands up. “Ledge … Ledge please …” No response. He didn’t budge, nor did his grasp on her. She tried again, using her best mother voice. “Ledge, please let me go.” His hands dropped to his sides. She hesitantly stepped back to put some space between them, rubbing her arm. He looked at her intently, head tilting one way and then the other. Like a hunter stalking its prey? That was what it felt like to Liza. She moved a few paces away. He followed her with his gaze. She moved around the kitchen table, putting it between them … and herself closer to the garage door. His eyes focused on her like a heat-seeking missile. They stared at each other for a few minutes before he spoke. “Why did you keep making eyes at the waiter? Why? You were with me. You ARE with ME!” Ledge’s voice rose, punctuating words with his anger. “YOU. ARE. MINE, Lizabeth. MINE!” He grabbed the large vase of flowers from the kitchen counter and hurled them at her. Liza prayed her feet would give her purchase on the floor as she twisted out of the way. The vase shattered against the wall. Water, flowers, and glass rained everywhere. Hunched over in case he decided to throw something else, Liza flew to the garage door, yanked it open, and then slammed it behind her. She pulled her car keys out of her skirt pocket and raced to her car. Her hands were shaking so hard she barely got the key in the ignition. Finally, she did—just as Ledge appeared at the doorway, his expression sour and hateful. Liza slammed the car into reverse and sent up a thankful prayer that neither of them had yet closed the two-car garage door. She peeled down the driveway and into the street, where she stopped to shift the car into drive. Out of the corner of her eye—because she dared not look at him directly—she saw Ledge chasing her down, waving his arms.
No thank you, no. She pounded on the gas pedal and let the engine scream as the car jolted her forward, and she was gone. She hazarded a look in the mirror, fearful he had somehow been able to jump on the car. But he was still running, still waving, becoming a small speck in her rearview. She blew the hair out of her eyes, tried to calm her shaking body. And she kept going. Chapter 4 Liza plopped into a comfy chair in Trinity and Oliver Gold’s living room. It was 11:45 that night and she felt horrible she had imposed on them this late. But if anyone could help her with this problem it was her lifelong friends. The Golds were high school sweethearts. Trinity and Liza had been cheerleaders back in the day along with their friend Chrissie—who was currently going through a nasty divorce. Ledge and Ollie had played football together and were also close friends. She hated to retell the story she’d just lived through. Ledge was a saint to these two. He had always been there for them. Liza was still unnerved at what had just happened. She dropped her hands from her face and stared back at the two sets of concerned eyes. Liza took a deep breath in and slowly released it. “I’m so sorry. I just didn’t know where else to go.” Trinity asked the obvious question. “What happened?” She was holding hands with her husband as they sat together on the couch, both in their bathrobes. Liza sighed heavily and started to share the story. After she was finished, Trinity and Ollie both came over to give her a reassuring hug. The tears she didn’t realize she’d been holding in fell freely down her face. The family hug stayed strong around her as Liza finally regained her composure. “Thank you both. Thank you so much.” she said, sniffling as the couple went back to the couch. Then her eyes narrowed. . “I just know it’s the Cantril. He’s … he’s worse than he ever was with his anger and control issues. I’ve never seen him this bad, Trin.” “Well, if it is, then you need to get him off it. I’ve never seen him like that before. Have you, Ollie? You’ve known him longer, better than we do.” Ollie rose and started pacing, his expression thoughtful. Finally, he stopped moving and sat back down. “Yes. Sadly, yes, I have. It was the year before he met you, Liza. He had a huge crush on a girl in our class. She was his everything, or at least he thought so. He followed her around like a puppy until she finally caved and let him take her 13
out. They dated for about a month, I think.” He slapped his thighs before standing to pace some more. “She started liking another guy. And she didn’t let Ledge know. Apparently, she’d been using him to get this other guy to notice her. And as soon as he did, she dropped Ledge. He went berserk! He threatened the guy … well, actually, he would have nearly beat the guy to death if I hadn’t stepped in. After that, I guess you could say he stalked her. Yeah. That was a bad time for him.” Trinity asked, “What made him stop stalking her? My God, Ollie.” “I told his grandma. I had to, really. The cops were already going to pay her a visit, and she needed to know before they showed up.” Ollie shrugged. “She was the only thing that got him out of that funk. I still saw the jealousy, like you mentioned, Liza, but I could also see that he’d found a way to contain it.” He ran his hands through his hair. “And now it’s back. I’ve also noticed he’s not been himself. He’s … he’s a little off. We’ll help you, Liza. We’ll help you confront him, if that’s what you want.” Ollie had just said those last few words when there was a heavy knock on the front door. Everyone stopped and stared. Ollie broke the trance and peered out the window. “It’s Ledge,” he said, confirming their fears. “He looks like shit. I got this.” He gave them a small comforting nod as he opened the door and walked out, closing it behind him. Liza joined Trinity on the couch, where they stared at the door, silent, listening for voices … or any commotion. Chapter 5 “Lizabear, I’m so sorry.” Ledge was squatted down on his knees in front of Liza as she sat motionless on the couch. “I’m so so sorry. I don’t know what happened. I found myself standing on our street. I don’t know why.” He had tears in his eyes. “Please, I need help. I know I’ve been blacking out. I know you said I need to go off that drug. I’ll do anything. Please forgive me?” He looked like a small child begging for her to help him. Just moments earlier, Ollie had talked to him outside and realized that Ledge had no clue of the night’s events. Ollie quickly clued him in. Ledge broke down, and Ollie had pulled him into the house. Upon seeing Liza, he had immediately thrown himself in front of her. Liza’s heart shattered for her husband. She couldn’t bear to see him in this blubbering puddle. She lifted her hand and ran her fingers through his hair—an old trick she’d used to calm Ledge, whenever his night terrors haunted him. He wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face in her middle. And they stayed that way for a long time. Ollie and Trinity had gone upstairs to bed, giving the two sad hearts some privacy. Liza didn’t know if Ledge could reverse the effects of the drug, but she knew they had great friends to help them through it. Together, they could do this. Ledge would get the help he needed. Yes, Ledge would get better. Wouldn’t he?
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Ashby Frost has been writing for almost all of her life, She has found that her love of writing thrillers and murder suspense is her favorite. She loves not knowing at the beginning where a story or a character is going to take her; she just lets the words and imagination flow onto the screen and is usually very pleased with the story she has newly created. Ashby is fascinated with female serial killers and loves to use them in her stories; she also writes stories of strong women; even if they get knocked down, they get back up and do whatever they have to do to save their own life! The short stories and novels are thrillers with a twist of erotica. The stories are not for the faint at heart. If you get embarrassed or are modest about sexuality, then these stories might not be for you. But...if you love a good plot full of excitement, twists, and turns, erotic steamy situations, a killer that is not ordinary, and that keeps you on the edge of your seat - then these short stories and novels are the enticement you need to read each and every one! The murder plots and scenarios that Ashby creates are graphically original, highly provocative, and genuinely unique. Ashby's creativity offers you a story that is very chilling and riveting that will astound you and keep you craving more! If you're looking for a writer that gives you a suspenseful thriller with a dash of murder, she has crossed many boundaries with her writing to ensure that her readers have an unforgettable reading experience. Full of twists and turns, steamy erotic situations, and a story so intense and wicked that it keeps her readers' craving every word and coming back for more… then you will love Ashby Frost! Ashby never uses the same old murder weapons or plots that you can read about all day long elsewhere. Her stories are more graphic and intense by using a not ordinary killer, a weapon that is not practical, and a victim who is willing to try and save their own life by digging deep into their soul for strength. Ashby's books are packed with a punch from beginning to end! If you're interested in reading a raw to the point murder suspense thriller with some erotic spice, then you have come to the right place!
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Finding Megan
By Jordan Elizabeth July 1, 2025 Megan paused next to the tree to look back over her shoulder. Nothing stirred in the woods behind her. The branches above sent a dappled pattern of sunlight across the deer path and the ferns. Earlier, she’d spotted two fawns grazing along the edge of a cornfield, but out here, nothing stirred, not even a breeze. She shifted her stance, leaves crunching under her new sneakers. Maybe a bird had snared her attention. Maybe a squirrel or a chipmunk. A mosquito buzzed near head and she swatted it against her cheek. Nearby, a truck from the 1950s rusted away into oblivion. A sapling grew up from the shattered driver’s window. Someone had dumped it there all those decades ago and nature took it over a playground. Megan’s gut told her to go hide in it. She’d explored it before, when she first started running this trail three years ago, and she pictured the space inside where cushion and springs gave way to rot and bushes. If she laid down among the branches and cobwebs, she’d be safe. She laughed and took off along the path. Her legs needed to run, not her imagination. This morning was just like any other morning. At seven am, the sun didn’t bake her to a crisp. The coolness of the dew kept life fresh. She would do her two miles, get home to make eggs, and hopefully her boyfriend would be back to apologize. She might not make him breakfast until he got out the “I’m sorry.” The woods opened up into a hayfield. She took the path that bordered the stalks swaying in the wind that finally reached her, banishing the mosquitos and gnats back into the darkness of trees. Megan spared a glance at the stone foundation of a long-forgotten home before turning onto the road. No cars zoomed by. Her feet hit the pavement harder than they did on the cushion of dirt, but she didn’t have to worry about being thrown by an upraised root or a pebble. Her breath came in even pants and perspiration dotted her forehead. Her ponytail swayed against the razorback of her sports bra. Something stirred her senses and she looked over her shoulder a stretch of open road. A ditch framed both sides, with trees on the left and fields on the right. Half a mile more and she’d reach the main road where she’d find traffic. Her nerves wouldn’t be so wired then. Megan never made it to Main Street. July 2, 2025 I scowled at my cell phone as it buzzed across the tabletop. Keith needed to give up. This was his fifth time calling. I grabbed the phone before it made me grind my teeth anymore. “What?” “Tell Megan to come home.” I rolled my eyes. “Whatever.” “Tell her to come home.” “She’s a big girl. She can go home when she wants to.” I tapped the eraser of my mechanical pencil across my Shakespeare homework. I didn’t need the distraction when I was trying my hardest to do well during this stupid summer class. Yay me for trying to be productive and get more credits out of the way for an early graduation. “Katmandu, come on.” Using my nickname wasn’t going to help things. “Leave me alone, Keith.” 21
“I know she’s there with you. Tell her I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things.” I stared at my empty kitchen, at Mom’s cookbooks and my sister’s crystals and Dad’s pictures of the constellations. “Megan isn’t here.” “Come on, I know she is.” “Dude. I’m done.” “I know she spent the night with you.” I paused in an attempt to disconnect the call. Megan hadn’t been here, and I couldn’t think of any other girlfriends she would have hung out with. She wasn’t the type to hook up with a random guy. “Where were you last night?” “Here. Where else would I be?” “With your parents?” That’s where he’d been the night before last after they got into that screaming match. “Just put Megan on the phone.” “She isn’t here.” An eeriness settled over me. Megan wasn’t here and she wasn’t at her apartment with Keith. “Let me call her.” I hung up before he could say anything else and tried her cell. It came back that her voicemail was full. She always cleared it out as soon as she saw a message, unless they were all from Keith with another of his lame apologies. My phone buzzed. Keith again. I set the phone on my textbook so I could fill a clear glass with water from the sink. The clock ticked in the living room and our calico cat stalked by on her way to her next napping spot. Good – I was alone. I used a steak knife to slice through the pad my pointer finger. Blood droplets struck the water, shimmering ripples extending toward the glass. I stared at the mixture of clear and red, and concentrated on Megan. We met that first week of kindergarten. I couldn’t remember if I thought about her much before that Friday when we had our chips implanted, but I couldn’t forget that day. She stood in line behind me and kept fidgeting. Whereas I wore a Care Bear T-shirt and hand-me-down jeans, her mother had dressed her in a plaid jumper and black Mary Janes. I have a photograph to prove it. Her blonde hair curled and my brown hair was chopped off at my shoulders. One of us was a princess and the other was…well, a kid rushed out the door because her older sister had practice. “I’m so nervous,” Megan told me. “Don’t be nervous,” I said. “But it’s going to hurt.” She chewed on her lower lip. Ahead of us, a policeman inserted the tracking chip beneath the skin of his hand. The boy screamed. The school nurse handed him a Tylenol and a plastic cup of water. “You’ll never be lost now.” The policeman flashed a big, goofy grin. “I don’t want to do this,” Megan whispered to me. We moved up in the line as the nurse sterilized the hand of the next boy. “This is so they can always find us in case we get lost.” I repeated what my dad told me that morning. “But what if bad people use it to find us? I shivered even though it was hot in the nurse’s office. “That won’t happen. Only the police know how to use the chips.” My turn came and I cleared my mind. I released all my energy so I wouldn’t feel a thing. “All done,” the policeman said. “What a brave girl you are.” 22
I smile and stepped off to the side to wait for Megan. She blinked at me with tear-filled eyes. “Wait!” I rushed toward her. “Can I hold her hand?” The policeman shrugged, so the nurse nodded. I gripped Megan, closed my eyes, and pulled away her nerves. “Wow! That didn’t hurt.” Megan grinned at me. I grinned back. We never stopped grinning. Now, the cup of blood-water trembled so violently that droplets shot out and the glass hopped toward the floor. An image flashed over my mind. Megan’s bloodied chip lay in a garbage bag surrounded by pizza crusts. She would have never cut it out herself. But what if the bad people use it to find us? My hands trembled as I grabbed the phone to call Keith back. “Megan?” he answered. “It’s Katherine,” I gasped out. “You have to call the police and report her missing. Something’s happened to her.” # “Please.” I paced the living room in front of the couch where my parents sat. Mom organized old magazines and Dad fidgeted with a thread in his work jeans. “You have to do something to find her.” “The police will find her,” Mom said. “It might take them too long. They can’t use her tracking chip.” Dad pointed at me. “That we don’t know. You know your visions aren’t reliable.” Great job, Dad. Rub salt in that old wound. “This one felt real.” “What would have us do?” Mom stacked the magazines up too hard. They thwacked the table. “Can’t you do a locator spell?” A footstep in the doorway dragged my attention to my sister. Diana smiled one of those pity smiles that make you want to punch the person smiling. “Those are very strenuous,” she said, “and they work best when you know the person intimately.” “You’ve known Megan forever!” She gave me that smile again. “But she’s more your friend.” And my spells weren’t reliable. I wasn’t some genius witch prodigy like Diana. I didn’t get to attend a special school just for the magically gifted. I took liberal arts at the local community college. “If anyone can do it, you can,” I offered. “I wish I could.” Diana smiled her way up the stairs toward the library, probably to borrow another of Dad’s ancient texts. “I’ll talk to the council,” Dad said. “We’ll see what we can do.” His little Council of Elders wouldn’t care about some nineteen-year-old girl who got in a fight with her boyfriend and disappeared. “Don’t try anything,” Mom warned. “You know how unpredictable it is when you try to cast a spell. You don’t want to do anything dangerous.” “I’m gonna go see Keith.” I grabbed my purse and car keys before I said something rude, or did something magically obvious, like cast a locator spell right there on the coffee table. # 23
I pulled up in front of Megan’s apartment. The front porch sagged and most of the shutters were missing. The first time she dragged me there, with Keith trailing behind, she’d gushed, “Isn’t it amazing? It’s so affordable and we get two bedrooms.” Forget the cockroaches. Well, according to her the cockroach situation had greatly improved over the last few months. I parked behind two police cars and got out with sweat beading my brow. My T-shirt clung under my arms. Maybe Megan would be inside, embarrassed over the fuss she’d made for leaving Keith. He ran toward me as soon as I entered. “Kat, have you heard anything?” “Nothing.” I shook my head. How I wanted to tell him everything would be okay, but I couldn’t get rid of that image of the cut out chip. Someone had hurt Megan. Someone had hurt her bad. The taller of the two policemen shook my hand. “I’m Officer Terry. I’ll be the lead investigator for this case.” “Let me know how I can help,” I offered, and an hour later, there didn’t seem to be much more to tell about Megan’s attitude lately. She loved Keith, but they fought all the time about him hitting on other girls while drunk. Her parents lived nearby – he knew; he’d drilled them for information all morning. “They don’t like Keith.” I glanced at him and plucked at the fringe on my jean shorts. He narrowed his bloodshot eyes. He must have been crying earlier. “But they support Megan in whatever she wants to do.” Officer Terry nodded, as if he understood from personal experience. “We’ve already run her microchip,” he said. “We should have an update on her status any second. They’re already narrowing down her location.” Only they wouldn’t find her, just her chip and uneaten food. I bit my lower lip. After they left, Keith sat at the table with his forehead pressed against his fists. “Nothing can happen to her. They’ll find her, right?” “I don’t know.” I shivered, hugging myself. “I have to use the bathroom.” “What if something happened to her?” His voice broke. Something did happen to her. She wouldn’t gouged out the chip herself. I hurried to the bathroom, the floor creaking under my sneakers. My stomach clenched, as if about to spray up my breakfast. The bathroom stank of mold and wet towels. I fought down a gag as I stepped over a heap of discarded clothing. I found a cup smeared with toothpaste on the rim and filled it with water. Next, I searched for her hairbrush, finally locating it under the small stack of remaining clean towels. Weird place for a comb. I pulled out her hairs and dropped them into the cup. Now I needed something sharp. Manicure scissors did the trick for slicing the tip of my finger. I watched the blood drip in, sinking through the water and entangling in the hair. “Where are you, Megan?” I whispered. An image came, this time of a dart board on a wall of peeling yellow paint with strange, dark smears. One dart protruded from the faded board close to the bull’s eye, but not dead on. Megan might be there. Might. The visions weren’t always accurate. Okay, more often than not they weren’t accurate. Still, that was all I had to go on. It looked vaguely familiar. The dart board wasn’t anywhere in this dump of an apartment. I cleared my throat. It wasn’t anywhere in Megan’s home. It wasn’t in her parents’ house either. They were way too immaculate to have peeling paint and suspicious smears. It could be a pizzeria, which would explain the crusts in the garbage with the microchip. I lifted my eyes to my reflection in the mirror over the sink. Megan had sent me pictures from the bar where she and Keith went the other night. One picture showed her nailing the bull’s eye with a dart. I yanked 24
out my cell phone to scroll through until I located the image. “Yes!” She pointed her two thumbs at the same dartboard with the same disgusting wall in the background. “Keith!” I found him slumped on the worn-out sofa staring at a crack in the wall. “Where was that bar you guys went to?” He glared. “I don’t want to talk about it.” Right. The big fight. “Where was it, though? I think Megan might be back there.” “She wouldn’t go back there.” “But—” “Unless you think she went back to confront Ashlee.” I blinked at him. Who… Oh, the girl Keith flirted up, the match that lit it all up. “Maybe,” I said. “We should tell the police.” He didn’t reach for his cell phone where it rested on their area rug. “You tell them. I’ll go look now. Where was it again?” “Melissa’s Place,” he said. “Downtown.” I’d never heard of it. “You mean in Utica?” “Yeah.” I ran out to my car while calling up the Internet to find a location for Melissa’s Place. “Under new management,” it boasted. Two-point-five stars out of a five for a rating. Nice. The first review that popped up complained about sludge on the floor. Even better. Keith sure knew how to pick a dating spot. # The picture online didn’t do Melissa’s Place justice. The bricks of the three-story building seemed ready to crumble. Dark curtains hid the upstairs. A ragged American flag fluttered in front. The house on the corner had burned down what seemed to be long ago, with not much left to the house except for blackened beams and a boarded up front door. A man with skin turned leathery from too much sun exposure strolled along the cracked sidewalk wearing only a pair of heart boxers. The building next to Melissa’s Place used to be a Laundromat, with the sign still hanging out in front. The windows were smashed and the door sagged on its hinges. I parked in the gravel lot behind the bar. The square space felt as if another building used to reside there once upon a time. I stepped out to find shotgun shells mixed in with the gravel. Classy. I hid my purse under the driver’s seat and locked the door. Getting mugged wouldn’t help anything. Sweat slickened my palms as I headed inside. The back steps creaked under my weight and the door stuck before giving way. A stench of must and old beer slapped me across the face. An old man slumped at a table near a broken jukebox, but otherwise the joint appeared empty. Off to the side behind a table with too many chairs, the dartboard rested on the wall. The single dart from my vision still protruded. That part at least was true. “Hello?” During the ride here, my imagination conjured a scenario where Megan sat at the bar drinking an iced tea. I would walk up to her, we would embrace, and we would go home. The vision of the microchip would be just another mess up of mine. A round girl in cargo capris stepped out from a backroom. “What?” “Um…” I had no idea. “I’m looking for a friend of mine.” The girl nodded at the man in the corner. “He’s all yours, honey.” She couldn’t be much older than me, 25
but she stood with the air of someone who’d seen too much. Her shoulders sagged when she folded her arms under her breasts. “No, not him.” I pulled out my phone to find the picture of Megan with the dartboard. “Her. Have you seen her?” The girl puffed out her lips as if annoyed, but she accepted the phone. Our fingers brushed, and another image flashed in my mind. Megan stared out a window through broken blinds at the top of the burnt house on the corner. I couldn’t get a good sense of her, but I knew that was the back of her head. She swayed as if unable to stand straight. The girl narrowed her eyes at the picture before thrusting the phone back. “Nope. Never saw her. We don’t officially open for a while, so you should get going.” “But—” My phone buzzed against my palm and Keith’s ID flashed across my screen. “That’s probably her.” The girl whirled away to disappear into that back room. “Hello?” My hand shook as I accepted his call. “Kat!” He panted into the line. “Megan’s mom called. The police found her microchip. Someone cut it out of her and left it at the gas station in town.” I stared at the door where the girl had exited. That gas station in town was half-an-hour away. Megan wasn’t there – she was here. She was. I didn’t see any stairs going up, but Megan had to be on an upper floor if she could see that house on the corner. I should call the police, but I didn’t have any proof other than visions I couldn’t explain to them. Calling home wouldn’t help either. My parents would tell me again not to trust my magic. Leave it to the cops. I closed my hand on the knob and turned it, and gasped at another vision. This one tore through me with pain, leaving me weak, my nerves tingling. Megan had felt that pain. Someone had been rough with her, and she’d wept, and they’d forced her to eat something that made the world float away. She’d been drugged. I grabbed the knob again and opened the door to a hallway that stank of cigarette smoke. Doors were left open, showing a cluttered office, boxes in storage, and a kitchen. At the end of the hallway, stairs led upward. I tiptoed past the doors and willed myself to be lighter so I wouldn’t make the steps creak. It took all my energy for that, and when I reached the top, I leaned against the wall to catch my breath. The door at the top was locked. I glanced back down to the hallway, but nothing stirred. The muted voices of the girl and some man drifted up to me. I gripped the knob and willed my energy into that dented brass. If I was my sister, I would know a quick spell, mutter it, and the door would be unlocked. Instead, I had to will it. More energy leaked from me. My head spun. A ringing started in my eyes and my legs wobbled. I had to hold in there. Passing out wasn’t an option. The knob gave and I stumbled through the doorway. My foot hit a board just right, eliciting a moan worthy of a banshee. I froze, holding my breath. No one came running. No one shouted. I eased myself into a new hallway and shut the door behind me. This hallway contained closed doors. I tried the first one. Locked. My mind didn’t tingle. That could mean the room didn’t contain Megan, or that I was too tired, or that it was my magic acting all screwy again. I was growing too weak. Still, I went on, and when I came to another set of stairs, I tiptoed up to the next floor, willing myself to stay light again. On the third floor, I sat to catch my breath, my heart-pounding. I couldn’t waste time recuperating when Megan needed me. The first doorknob didn’t offer a glimpse, but the second one thrummed with the sound of Megan humming. The song stirred my memory, as if she’d 26
hummed long ago and not now, but it had to mean something. I willed the door open and staggered into a room with a cot in the corner. Light came through broken Venetian blinds at the window, just like in my vision earlier. The room spun for a moment, blackness biting at me, but I gulped down the weakness. My eyesight sharpened on a body curled up on the cot. “Megan?” I crept to her and dropped to my knees. She wore just an oversized man’s T-shirt making her skinny body look even smaller. Her hair matted around her head. “Oh my gosh, what did they do to you?” I dropped my phone as I pulled it out to call the police. Darn it all. As I finally got a grip on it, a shout came from the doorway. “Freeze, bitch!” I froze, panting hard. Megan didn’t move. Slowly, I turned my head without moving the rest of my body. A thick man filled the doorway with a pistol pointed at my chest. When he stepped into the room, I caught sight of the girl from downstairs standing behind him with a baseball bat in her hand. Crap. I licked my dry lips. There was no way I could will a bullet not to kill me. My sister could. My parents could. They knew all the right spells. They had all the right training. Who cared about me, the girl with so little magic in her that it never worked? Let her go live like a mortal. A mortal who was about to die because she decided she could save her best friend. “You made her a sex slave.” I needed to add “stupid mortal” to the list of names for myself. His smile moved his busy beard. “Get up, bitch.” The gun didn’t waver. Why couldn’t he be weak like me? My legs almost gave out on me as I stood. He kept smiling. I couldn’t conjure wind to knock him over and out. I couldn’t poof us to a new location. That only happened in movies. I literally had no options. “Kill her,” the girl said from the hallway. Thanks a lot, bitch. “I can’t do that,” the man growled. So I would become another sex slave. What an awesome bar. Grab a drink downstairs and have a drugged hooker upstairs. “Not here,” he said. Okay, so I would still die. I curled my fingers into fists, my nails piercing through my palm. Panic bit at me and my legs still threatened to give out. Heat blossomed on my palm. I must have cut myself. I curled my fingers harder, deeper, drawing more blood out from each hand. Blood I could work with. “Come on!” He grabbed my arm and I swung my hand up, slashing my bloodied palm across his face. Into that blood I sent my will. The blood sparkled and flashed, and his eyes rolled back. He hit the floor with a thud, the gun spinning away. “Bobby,” the girl shrieked. We both ran for the gun, and she got their first, swinging the baseball bat in her other hand. I jumped on top of her to rub my blood across her face. The girl shrieked louder still. She stiffened. Her eyes rolled and she smacked her head on the floor as she fell sideways. I pulled the gun and the baseball bat away, and crawled backwards until I bumped into Megan’s cot. She lay still, but when I touched her neck, a faint pulse throbbed. She lived. I exhaled, slow, willing my own heart to calm down. I couldn’t pass out, not now. 27
“Please.” My dry lips stuck together as I fought to call 911. “Help me. I’m at Melissa’s Place. They tried to kill me. Megan Romer’s here. Sex slaves.” The phone dropped, but I didn’t have the strength to pick it up. All my energy seeped out to my blood so the two attackers could stay unconscious. I was done for if a third predator rushed in. I breathed slow and even, clutching the two weapons, and waited for the sirens. # “I can’t believe you knocked them out.” Officer Terry sent me another shocked look. “Adrenaline,” I rasped. My ears still buzzed with the sound of sirens. The paramedics shut the ambulance doors so they could rush Megan to the hospital. I would see her as soon as they let me. Officer Terry shook his head. “What’s your secret?” I smiled, strength beginning to return now that I didn’t have to pour it all into keeping a man and girl unconscious. “Just a little bit of screwed up magic.”
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The Deadliest Game
By Michael Danese Copyright 2014 by Michael Danese ### “Run! RUN!” echoed in Jim’s head. And he did. For his life. His heart was pounding out of his chest, but he kept on running. This was his chance, his only chance to keep on living. He’s lucky he’s in such good shape. There isn’t much else to do in prison besides exercise, even less to do on death row. These past six years have been a nightmare. Some guys have been on death row for much, much longer. It’s all a mental game for him now. “Every day he is alive, is one he ain’t dead,” is what he always tells himself. Jim has spent many of his 38 years in and out of prison, starting with juvenile convictions for petty crimes like jacking cars and B and E. Crime is all he ever knew, at least until he met Mary. In the age-old discussion of breeding or environment, Jim is a two-time loser. Both his parents were good for nothings. Growing up in West Philly as a minority (there aren’t too many redheads there) forced him to be quick on his feet. But, Jim will be the first to tell you that he doesn’t deserve to be on death row, that he didn’t kill anyone. Yeah, as you know, death row is full of innocent people... Faster! FASTER! He ran as fast and as far as he could. He stopped at the edge of the woods before emerging. He stood there, panting and holding his side. He’s a big guy, six-foot three, with a face full of freckles. Tough to hide when you look like that. He listened hard…couldn’t hear anyone chasing him right now…after catching his breath he cut back into the woods and remained out of site. Jim’s ticket to “freedom” is as a player in a gruesome, violent and deadly game; a game that he is now having second thoughts about volunteering. Apparently there is a faction of hunters that don’t feel that deer, bear, moose or elk are challenging enough for them. They need a more cunning prey, one that is capable of trying to out-think them, or even fight back. So, a small group of filthy rich hunters “invested” with some government officials to try to kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. Legal? Of course not! But, with enough money legality is easily overlooked. This game involves high ranking people in the state, lawyers, and just enough people to make it work, and work quietly. In the Pine Barrens of New Jersey they fenced off a ten square mile “arena” where they could stage their hunt. Five hunters and five runners are deposited into the arena. The hunters each have a .22 rifle; the runners each have a machete. Although the hunters have the advantage, a skillful runner can certainly make his own kill, if he is clever enough. At the end of a threeday weekend, a hunter that makes a kill gets a trophy. It’s just a small statue, nothing grotesque, remember, this IS illegal. A runner that is still alive gets his freedom. And those that don’t survive…simply disappear. The hunters, with their large invincible egos are okay with this. The runners have nothing more to lose. Jim is crouching by a stream and rubbing mud on his face when he hears some shots off in the distance, and the sound of some muffled cheering. He assumes that the number of runners has just been reduced. He pushes himself up and runs away from the sound. A few hundred feet away two hunters are standing over their kill. One guy is tempted to take a photo with his phone, but he knows that it’s prohibited and fights off the urge. Meet Jake, and he couldn’t be more proud as he stands over the body of a thin black man. He’s in his mid-sixties, and the thrill of first blood has him drunk with joy. He’s been everywhere and killed just about everything. But this is a first, and he is reveling in it. Jake doesn’t have a lot of friends, probably because he’s a life-long bully. He decides what he wants and gets it, no matter what’s fair or what others think. It’s probably why his trash hauling business has been so successful. There’s been talk of underworld ties, but that talk remains behind closed doors. The only people he’s interested in are people that could bring him a profit of some kind. His son-in-law, Pete, just snuck off and hurled in the bushes. Pete is about 30, has soft hands and even softer eyes. He’s been hunting with Jake many times, and while it has been a great bonding exercise for him and his wife’s overbearing father, he 39
never really “loved” it. Surely not like Jake does, and even more surely, not like this. Pete wouldn’t admit it, but he was basically bullied into being a hunter. And, while he had second thoughts about participating in the game, he gave in and came along. Now he knows that it’s the biggest mistake of his life. “Come on, Pete, zip it up and let’s go! There isn’t much daylight left!” Jake yelled in Pete’s direction. “I think I mighta spotted a runner over that way. Hurry up, for Christsakes, he’s getting away!” “Okay, okay,” said Pete as he emerged from the bushes. Jim stopped to get his breath. The vision of his wife, Mary, and their two girls, Lauren and Lily, flashing in his head were all the inspiration that he needed to keep moving, and keep alive. Mary and the girls, eight and ten years old, changed his life. At least for a while. Jim was completely clean for four years after he married Mary. He was working construction, and he was pretty good at it. He put his old ways in his rear-view and focused on a future with a family, a row house and a small, white picket fence. His past just kept creeping up. He was getting good at shrugging it off, but it was like a magnet, pulling him back. A few of his old cronies blackmailed him into helping with some drug deliveries. He resisted, and they almost broke his arm. They said next time they would punish his kids. So he did the minimum, didn’t take any unnecessary risks, and all was well for a spell. He had some regular rounds, a few nights every couple of weeks. Mary had no idea. Until it all went bad. One of his “clients” could not pay, and, while Jim was ordered to punish non-payers, he covered it up instead. It was a risk he didn’t want to take, and it turned out to be the wrong choice. The dealers weren’t as forgiving, and they beat him badly. He missed two days of work, and worse yet, he had to come clean with Mary. For Jim, her disappointment was worse than the beating. But the dealers went on to finish the job. They went to the place of the non-payer, and when he still couldn’t pay up, they bashed his head in and trashed his place. They used one of Jim’s wrenches to do the bashing, then carelessly left it there. Detectives quickly identified Jim’s fingerprints at the crime scene and on the wrench. And, well, for a guy with a record and little money, the monkey trial that took place was a slam dunk. Even the public defender that was assigned to the case didn’t really believe Jim’s claim of innocence. The only one still in Jim’s corner was Mary. Even after he was sentenced to die, she remained loyal; visiting him often and keeping him up to date with the girls’ progress. It was a terrible strain on her, but she did her best to keep a stiff upper lip and to try to teach Lauren and Lily that their dad was a good, decent man. Jim heard two shots off in the distance that jarred him back to reality. It was almost dark, and he knew the hunters would be settling in for the night to drink around their campfires and plan their strategy for the next day. He was near the stream, and there he found two fallen trees, almost on top of each other. He was able to shimmy between them and devise a makeshift bed with a pile of dried leaves. He cut a large branch and used it to seal off his entrance. He knew he would be safe here, at least for tonight. Pete and Jake met up with the three other hunters and Jim was right about the campfire. Tony, Rocco and Sal were from New York City. Each were in their forties. They grew up together in the same neighborhood, and all found success in the finance world. Rocco, the youngest, is an analyst. His brother, Tony, is a stockbroker, and Sal, the oldest, is a financial advisor. Hunting was their occasional ticket out of the rat race of the city. They had a long history of hunting together, and they relived every minute of it around the fire as they passed bottles around. Jake tried to keep up as he boasted of his own experiences, but these guys had him beat: safaris in Africa, bear hunting in the Yukon, lions, elephants, you name it. Pete blotted out most of the chit-chat, concentrating on drinking the expensive Scotch that was making the rounds. “Isn’t it illegal to hunt elephants?” he chimed. The conversation halted for a second, then the three New Yorkers broke out in belly laughs. “Ha!” grunted Sal through the guffaws, “This guy’s a regular riot! Like what we’re doing here right now ain’t illegal!” Even Jake found Pete’s “joke” amusing. Everyone did. Except for Pete. 40
The trio from New York notched a kill today, and they were thirsty for more. The five hunters all feasted on the supplied food and liquor, and the more they ate and drank, the more they talked about how the three remaining runners didn’t have a chance. Eventually they all crawled into their luxury tents, with their heaters and electric hook-ups. At the crack of dawn they were all foaming at the mouth to get at it. Tony, Rocco and Sal headed deeper into the woods. Pete and Jake went in a different direction, heading downstream. Jake, who fancied himself the master tracker, explained to Pete how animals are always drawn to water. The trio trekked along for most of the morning without sighting any prey. They made a large arc and found themselves close to the stream. Rocco decided it was time for a bio break. He wandered off by himself, took out his shovel and dug a latrine. He sat over a log reading a paperback when a silent blade separated his head from his neck. A large black figure, completely covered in mud, watched as his twitching body collapsed and bled out. Still silent, he picked up the rifle and retreated back into the woods. He watched and waited. “Yo, Rocco! Come on, we ain’t got all day! ROCCO!” yelled Sal. “Tony, go get your lazy brother and let’s get going!” Sal continued. “Alright, alright, keep your pants on!” Tony said as he headed towards his brother’s corpse. As he approached, the Mud Man carefully took aim. He waited until Tony was right over his brother’s body, and when he finally looked down on him, in the split second before he could scream, a bullet entered his skull. Tony landed on top of his brother in a heap. “Alright!” yelled Sal. “Wait for me – you guys can’t have all the fun!” he continued as he grabbed his rifle and ran towards the sound of the shot. “Where is he – did you get him!?” As Sal lumbered through the woods towards the bodies of his fallen comrades, the Mud Man was ready for him. He was bracing against the V of a large tree, he took a deep breath as he pulled the trigger. The bullet entered Sal’s head and he fell within a few feet of Rocco and Tony. Almost immediately another shot rang out. “I got him! I got him!” yelled Jake. “Wow, look at the size of him! I wonder how he got the gun?” “I...I dunno…” said Pete. “Whad-I-tell-ya! If you head towards the sound of the shot sometimes it drives the prey right into your lap! I never expected it to roll out this way. A few seconds sooner we mighta saved that New Yawker’s life! Oh, well, that’s how the game’s played; a trophy for me and a punched ticket for that poor bastard.” As Pete and Jake got closer, they realized that the Mud Man got all of the other hunters. Pete wretched again, and wished he was far away from Jake and this awful game. The nightmare just keeps getting worse for him. “Amazing – he got all of them, so much for the big game hunters – they became the hunted!” Jake bellowed through his own guffaws. “Do you know what this means!? We’re the only hunters and there are two runners left! How great for us!” “Yeah… great…” said Pete. Jim also heard the shots off in the distance. He figures that, after hearing five shots, he is most likely the only runner left against five experienced trackers. He knows that he needs to be elusive for another day. With nightfall being a few hours away, he’s even more careful not to leave any telltale signs along his path. All of the sudden he is surprised by the sound of a man running towards him through the woods, coming from the direction of the shots. Jim hunkered down, and as the man got closer, he realized that he was another runner. Jim tackled him and they both fell into the bushes. As soon as the guy realized that Jim was also a runner, he stopped struggling. He was completely out of breath. They stayed in the bushes and talked for a minute. His name is Rami. He is a Pakistani, very small and thin, in his early twenties. Rami is almost dwarfed by the size of Jim. Both are glad to see each other, thinking they were each lone survivors. Rami told him that he had met up with the Mud Man and they hid out together. He said that from a distance he watched the situation play out between the Mud Man and the hunters. 41
They now figured that there are only two hunters left, and that they are the only two remaining runners. They decided that sticking together was probably a good idea. Rami said he didn’t think that they were onto him or where he was headed, as they were wrapped up in the shootings. They decided that finding a good hiding place would be better than running. Jim had already scoped out a large bluff that was thick with vegetation. The men crept up the hill while always scanning behind them. They were treading as lightly as possible, as not to disturb the ground and leave any evidence, and also to be able to listen for any voices or footsteps coming their way. When they reached the top they found it to be a good choice. There were a lot of bushes that would provide them good cover, plus, from this vantage point they could see a large area. It would be tough for them to be surprised. They found a few berries to eat, and since it was nearly dark, they both crawled under bushes and made themselves comfortable. They concentrated on listening for the hunters, and refrained from talking as to not allow their voices to be heard. What would they discuss anyway? The usual prison claptrap? What are ya in for? How long? Got family? Where ya from? No, silence and rest were in order. Jim wasn’t much for prayers, but on this night he found himself begging God to give him the wisdom, strength and, yes, the luck that he needs to get through the next day. He knew that all he had to do was to survive another 24 hours and he and his family would be re-located far from Philly, where they could get a fresh start. He was betting his life on it, and he would do whatever he could to win this fight. The first light of dawn pried its way through the tall pines. The morning began differently for the two pairs of remaining players in this game. Rami and Jim were shivering under their blankets of branches, leaves and pine needles. They hesitated to show themselves, and remained hidden as long as possible. They eventually made their way down to the creek to refresh themselves, get a drink and also grab a few berries. Then they returned quickly to their safer spot on the bluff. Jake and Pete emerged from their warm tents recharged and ready to begin the day. Bacon sizzled on the grille and eggs were scrambled as the coffee was being poured. Jake blubbered on about the thrill of the hunt and the sweetness of the kill. Pete just wanted him to shut up. He couldn’t wait for this horror movie to end. They spent the better part of the day searching and tracking. Jake used every one of his never-fail hunting techniques – smelling the air, looking for feces, broken branches, any tell-tale signs of his prey. But this time he came up short. Pete insisted that they take a late lunch break. He was tired of all of this and was constantly praying that they don’t find any runners. They settled by the stream. Pete spread out their prepared lunches of hoagies, chips and beer. “We only have a few hours left to land another trophy,” said Jake. “It’s getting a bit cloudy, I hope it doesn’t rain,” replied Pete, trying to change the subject. Jake then reached into his pack and pulled out a pair of high powered binoculars. He began to scan the area. “Come on, Jake, ya know that’s against the rules!” said Pete. “Rules! These convicts already murdered three hunters! It’s everyman for himself here!” squawked Jake. “Well, one of the basic tenants of hunting is giving the prey a fighting chance!” argued Pete. “Yeah, well most prey don’t have machetes!” barked Jake. At that, Pete got up and wandered towards the woods. “Be careful, Pete, these murderers can jump out at any time!” Jake warned as if he was talking to a child about to cross a busy street. “Well, the murderers now have binoculars,” Pete muttered to himself. A few minutes later, Jake exclaimed, “Hello boys, gotcha! Pete, come here, check this out!” he said walking toward him and handing him the binoculars while pointing. “Look, up at the top of that hill, I’m sure that I see two sets of feet under those bushes. They musta joined up together. Smart! But, now that we’ve found them we can get’em both!” Jake continued. “I don’t…see…oh, yeah, could be, you may be right…” said Pete. “Now, look over to the left, see that ridge? We can climb up there and look over, and each have a clean shot! Let’s go!” Jake said giddily, like a high schooler about to reach under his girlfriend’s sweater for the first time. They didn’t even bother to pack up after their lunch. They circled the long way around the huge hill so they wouldn’t be seen. 42
After almost a half an hour they made it to the top of the ridge. As they carefully peered over the top they could see the two men huddled like frightened rabbits. They were only about fifty feet away, so they were assured of easy kill shots. “Ok, this is perfect, perfect! Get ready!” whispered Jake. “We need to get set and shoot at the same time ‘cause the first shot will spook the other guy.” They both got set up and took careful aim. “I’ll take the little scrawny guy; you take the big red head. He’s a giant, you can’t miss!” said Jake laughing. “Get set, we will shoot on my count, on three, ready…one…two...” Bang! The shot rang out and the echo made it even louder. Rami and Jim dove deeper in to the bushes and scurried around the hill away from the direction of the shot. They ran down the far side of the bluff and disappeared into the woods. They ran until they were completely out of breath. They eventually stopped on the far side of a thicket of trees. “Are you okay?” asked Jim. Rami nodded. “Close call!” he replied. “I don’t hear anyone following us.” he added. “Neither do I.” said Jim. “Let’s keep moving…” he said as they disappeared into the woods. Up on the ridge Pete was sobbing. On the count of two he swung his gun around and shot Jake in the neck. As Jake bled out, their eyes met and Jake was in shock, but his expression was “Why?” Pete yelled at him, “I shoulda did it on Friday before you shot that first guy. You are the cold blooded murderer. You made me do it, and I ain’t a bit sorry.” Soon Pete fired his gun into the air as a signal to the runners. He knew they would keep running. They wouldn’t dare circle back to where he was. He continued to shoot into the air every 30 minutes or so, just to keep the runners moving away from him. As the sun was setting, Rami and Jim emerged from the “arena” and were met by their lawyers and the promoters of the game. There were three other lawyers there, but their clients weren’t as fortunate as Rami and Jim. There was also a bus for the hunters, but as of yet, none had emerged. Jim locked eyes with the promoter that brokered his deal. He wanted to thank him and also kill him in the same motion. He turned to his lawyer and said, “Let’s get outta here. I want to see Mary and my girls now.” His lawyer gave him a coat and told him he would see them soon. They didn’t know anything about the game. Jim wanted to tell them he was released and explain the relocation deal to them himself. He never told Mary about the game. Pete emerged from the “arena” after he was sure the runners were gone. He didn’t want them to see him for obvious reasons. He climbed in to the bus and said, “Let’s go.” “I need to wait for the others,” said the driver to Pete and the promoters. “There are no others. Just me,” said Pete. He knew this game was a “no questions asked” agreement. He went to the back of the bus and collapsed. Pete was happy to be home with his family. He acted surprised when they were notified of his father-in-law’s hunting accident. He never told his wife they were together, part of the rules of the game. As far as she knew he was at a conference in Newark. Pete never even considered hunting again. To this day he is haunted by the memories of the game. He stuck to the rule and never spoke about it. He always considered himself the biggest loser of the game. ### Thanks for reading this story. You can find other short stories by Michael Danese at https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/Danese Connect with me online: danesemc@ptd.net Twitter: http://twitter.com/danesemc Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/#!/michael.danese1 Linkedin: http://www.linkedin.com/pub/michael-danese/8/101/284
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Deadly Mistletoe
Author Ashby Frost
Street lamps illuminate sections of the main street, where snowflakes dance in the air before settling on the ground. Festive decorations adorn each side of the street; Christmas lights changing the color of the snow as they blink. Wrapped in scarves and woolly hats, couples stroll the Christmas stroll, listening to carols, drinking hot chocolate and shopping for the perfect gift. Snow plows drive up the main street in an attempt to keep up with clearing the constant snowfall. All over the town, Christmas parties are in full swing, with people celebrating with an abundance of food, wine, punch and cookies. Kisses under the mistletoe, friends sitting by the fire, trees lighting up the living rooms with twinkling lights and antique bulbs from years gone by. Vodka spiked punch and eggnog a plenty. Finger foods and candy canes are abundant. She stands in the shadows, amidst the falling snow and Christmas lights, watching him through the big bay window that was once hers. The deep red velvet hood from her Christmas cloak covers her long dark brown hair, but leaves her crisp, gray eyes hidden in the shadows; only on occasion is there a flicker of light from them. Her heart races as she watches him, trying to summon the courage to approach the front door to plead with him to give her another chance, to love her again. Her sweet perfume lingers in the cold crisp air — the perfume that he used to love. She wears crimson on her lips, another one of his favorites. Her outfit consists of the figure-hugging, strapless black dress and six-inch red stilettos he had bought her for Christmas last year — the year before he strayed. The year before the temptress kissed him under the mistletoe at his company’s Christmas party. Is tonight revenge? She shakes her head no to her own question. But her heart is telling her yes, yes, this night is her revenge: her sweet, sweet revenge. She looks back up at the bay window decorated for the holidays; she can see the stockings hanging from the fireplace mantle decorated with candles and poinsettias. He walks and looks out the window. Her heart beat races quicker, eager, thinking he is looking at her, seeing her, wanting her. Another shadow in the room comes into view and wraps her arms around him. Her long blonde curls fall over her shoulder as she tips her head to kiss his neck and his cheek. Rage consumes her soul again, anger bubbling to the surface. Her nostrils breathe in the harsh night air feeling the cold burn until she exhales the warmth of the air through her throat. All rational thinking is gone; she is hell bent on revenge. Patiently hiding in the shadows, she watches their guests leave, waiting for the perfect moment. Meanwhile, her frenzied mind wanders. What will the papers say? What would the detectives think later on as they try to find out what happened? Hmm… I want to give them something to talk about. I want them to try their damnedest to solve the crime, but they won’t. They will never know about the deadly mistletoe! She laughs quietly, before smirking toward the house, which she’s still watching from the shadows. No one will know she was there; snowfall is the perfect partner in crime to hide her revenge. As the last car leaves, she walks over to the house’s garage and sneaks in there. Once in, she crosses over to the door that leads into the house and opens it. She knows where she’s going, after all this was her home for a decade. Ten amazing years with the love of my life until one fateful night and kiss that changed everything, she thinks to herself. She opens the coat closest and steps inside; this is where she will stay until she’s ready to make her move — and what a lovely move that it is going to be. She slips off her stiletto heels and her cloak, leaving them in the closet so she can move through the house quietly and unnoticed. The cool tiles on her feet sends shivers to her spine and a smile to her face. She looks in the bedroom where they are sleeping and walks to the end of their bed, staring, wanting: hating him and loving him. 45
Turning away from them she walks into the living room and hangs the mistletoe in the entry way to the kitchen; she reminisces about the many kisses there, year after year. Mistletoe after mistletoe. She draws the curtains over the big bay window on the front of the house and the blinds in the kitchen closed. She sets two shot glasses on an end table with a bottle of Hennessey whiskey decorated with a red velvet bow just for him — his favorite. She lights the candles around the room; a romantic setting for this magical kiss of revenge is a must, right? Quietly she makes her way back to the closet and puts her 9MM handgun in the holster on her tanned thigh that his lips have traveled many times over and over. The memory makes her heart race again and gives her goosebumps. She steps into her red stilettos; fixes her cleavage and closes the closet door. She walks as quietly as she can back to the bedroom; it’s time. She walks to his side of the bed; standing over him, she admires his flawless, muscled chest and gorgeous high cheekbones with that rugged ridged jawline that she loves so much. She wants to touch him but chooses not to. Soon, he will feel her touch, her kiss, again. She pulls the cap off of the syringe, and smirks sexily, before jamming it into his jugular, injecting him with Propofol. He lets out a loud gasp and tries to fight her but he weakens fast. His mistress tries to jump out of the bed but she slams her back onto the bed; she is no match for Darcy and her rage. Darcy looks down at the dainty, blonde-haired beauty wearing a white silk camisole against her pale milky skin. Her brown eyes stare back at Darcy, silently pleading with her to stop. Darcy’s cold gray eyes turn black right in front of her. Rage is all she feels. Darcy bends down and grabs one of her stilettos off of her foot and smiles the evilest smile at the woman that stole her man. She swung the stiletto so hard, hitting her in the neck with the heel and then over and over in her chest. Stab, stab, stab. Her pretty white camisole turns blood red, you know, that deep crimson red that only blood can do. She wipes the top of her heel on the sheet and then puts it back on. Turning away, she walks to the kitchen and fills a pan with ice and cold water. After, she drags a chair into the living room from the kitchen table, before heading to his closet. Walking in, she flips the light on, illuminating his Armani suits and his shoes that are lined up perfectly. She remembers he has all his ties folded neatly in a drawer designed just for them. As she walks through the closet, she runs her fingers over each arm of his expensive suits until she reaches his cologne counter. Darcy looks at all the bottles of expensive colognes that she had bought him; she grabs one of the bottles and removes the cap and breathes the fragrance into her lungs so deeply that it pulls her into a memory, where she felt his soft touch and tender neck kisses. She slams the bottle down on the counter and screams so loudly that she’s sure it caused an avalanche in Vale somewhere. She stomps out to him and bends down in his face and screams, “You son of a bitch! I gave you everything.” She slaps him as hard as she could across the face but he didn’t flinch. Darcy glances at his mistress lying next to him in a pool of her own blood; her blonde curls are now splattered crimson. She returns to the closet, opening the drawer to his silk ties to grab a few. After turning off the light, she goes through the living room and then into the kitchen to add more ice to the water. Now, she’s ready. Darcy goes back into the bedroom; the beautiful black dress on her 5’6 curvy figure shows how a woman can look stunning even during a murderous rage. She grabs him by an arm and a leg and pulls him onto the floor; she stands over him, staring at his chiseled sexy body contemplating one last sexual rendezvous before she takes his life. Instead, she grabs him by his ankles and drags him into the living room and with all of her might she sets him into the chair. His body is still limp, so she can mold him any way she needs him. She ties his hands and his feet and puts a tie in his mouth so he can’t scream. Then she grabs the pan of ice and cold water. Standing in front of him, in all of her sexy raged glory, she throws the water on him. 46
His body jerks as a response and he wakes groggily. Meanwhile, she fills the pan with ice and water again and throws the cold liquid on him. This time, he opens his eyes partially, still a bit groggy, so she throws another ice-cold pan full – his skin is beat red from the cold. Finally, he awakens to see her, Darcy standing there in front of him. He grunts and groans and tries to get free from the bindings to no avail; he is bound. He’s now wide awake and his heart is pounding so hard it’s like thunder in the room; she can hear his blood pulsing through his veins with every single beat of his pounding, heartless heart. He squirms but it’s no use, she has him tied so tightly that there is no way he can get free. He hangs his head because he knows her vengeance is coming; he hopes and prays it comes swiftly but, he knows her, his Darcy will make him suffer for what he’s done. He knew this day would come but didn’t know when. Darcy pulls the gun from her thigh and puts the barrel to his head. He starts shaking and begging for his life in a muffled tone through the silk tie. “Oh sweetheart,” she says sarcastically. “Calm down! I’m not going to kill you. Yet.” She laughs devilishly. His eyes widen and he looks around the room but not moving his head; he doesn’t see his girlfriend anywhere but he spots a small blood trail coming from the bedroom that leads into the kitchen. A feeling of despair comes over him because he knows that she’s dead; he knows all too well, Darcy’s unforgiving rage. She gives him a cold, dark stare. In that, he sees her broken soul; he sees what he has done to her and for the first time since the affair started with his friend’s wife, his colleague, he feels remorse. Maybe he’s only feeling it because he knows she plans on killing him and getting away with it — she is the best homicide detective in Vale, after all. She will clean and set up the crime scene so that she gets away with the murder because she thinks her fellow detectives can’t outsmart her. He shakes his head, knowing that she has probably been plotting and planning this day for the past year, since his and Tiffany’s first kiss; the kiss that awakened him, the kiss that now, is going to cost him his life. Darcy paces as she contemplates removing the tie from his mouth. She grabs a pillow off of the couch and says, “I’m going to remove your gag so we can talk but if you scream or try anything I will put this pillow to your head and pull the trigger of your 9MM pistol. To silence the bang, of course.” His eyes widened again. Oh, fuck, he thinks to himself. She has my gun and is going to make this a murder-suicide scene. A tear fell from the corner of his eye and down his face until it soaked itself into the silk fabric of his tie gag. “I loved you!” She screams. “I loved you, Jesse and you threw me away over a Christmas kiss!” She slaps him across the face, making his face sting where her palm connected with his face. He knows this is only a little of the pain she has in store for him. Staring at him, her eyes are full of rage. This is nothing new, he’s seen her enraged before, but this time he’s unable to fight her off him. Standing in front of him now, she decides to remove the gag. “If you scream, I will shoot you in the head,” she warns. He nods, the only way he can communicate that he agrees. After the gag is removed, he asks in a choked-up voice, “Is Tiffany dead?” Darcy lifts her head to look him in the eyes, grins as she answers, “Yes, she is dead, baby.” Jesse drops his head as the tears well up in his eyes; Tiffany was the love of his life. “Why?” She asks. He raises his head and looks at her but doesn’t say a word. “Why?” She repeats, her fury building once more. He knows his answer will get him killed but it leaves his lips suddenly and quickly makes it to her ears. “Because, I don’t love you anymore.” Darcy grabs the pillow and slams it upside of his head and jams the 9MM into the pillow. 47
He yells, “No please, no! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” She stands there for a moment with the gun still in the pillow; her hands tremble as she slowly lowers the gun. Bending down, she looks him in the eyes, grabs his chin with her other hand and squeezes and says, “Well darling, tonight you will love me again.” She kisses his lips softly and continues to stare at him, but he didn’t react. “You’re pathetic!” She strides to the doorway where the mistletoe is hanging and turns to look back at him. “Tonight, you will kiss me under this mistletoe; I will make my Christmas wish and then I will let you go.” Jesse sat there, listening to her unhinged words but knows deep down, she will never let him go, not this time. She fetches a notebook and pen from the kitchen drawer and walks back over to him. “You’re going to write your suicide note, sweetheart.” The thumping of his heart was so loud that he starts feeling nauseous. “No, Darcy, I’m not writing my suicide note.” “Oh, yes, yes you are!” She unties his right hand and shoves a pen into it. She holds the paper in one hand, and the gun, which is pointing at his temple, in the other. She leans in, whispering, “Write.” “What am I supposed to write Darcy? Damn!” “Write that you killed Tiffany because you found out she was having an affair with a co-worker and you couldn’t bear the thought of her being with another man.” She is serious about this note, he thinks to himself as he also tries to figure out how he’s going to get himself out of this mess and live. After he writes the note, Darcy starts a fire in the fireplace; Jesse is confused as to why she would do that other than to burn evidence. She walks back over to him and takes the note after he signs it and then smiles at him. She reaches for the bottle of Hennessey whiskey and cracks open the bottle pours him a shot and her a sip. She doesn’t let her lips touch the shot glass so her lipstick doesn’t stain the rim. She makes him take a few more shots; he could never handle his liquor. She then unties his feet and left hands, and makes him stand and walk with her over to the mistletoe. Holding the pistol to his temple, she orders, “Kiss me. Tell me you love me and tell me goodnight.” Tears fall down his cheeks; he begs her to stop. “Kiss me!” She demands. “Kiss me!” He bends down and kisses her. His lips taste so good, she thinks to herself. She looks at him and says, “Remember all the years we kissed under the mistletoe in this very spot and made our Christmas wishes?” He nods his head. “Tell me that you love me.” He’s quiet, refusing to utter those words to her. She puts her hand under his chin lifting it up and she bends in for their last kiss. He reluctantly kisses her back and she grabs his hand inside of her black leather gloved hand and holds the gun to his temple. “Goodbye, my darling Jesse.” She presses her index finger on his. The gun fires and he falls to the floor. She looks up and says, “Goodnight, my deadly mistletoe.”
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Cowboy Grit
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Savannah McCann
Chasing That Red Dirt Road
Savannah McCann
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