Dark Wave (A Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller Book 4)

by David F. Berens

  The crackly voice laughed until she erupted in another hacking fit.

  “Yeah, yeah,” she said. “I’m just givin’ you a hard time.”

  Janie was the longest standing resident in the building, so by default, she was kind of the property manager. If something needed fixing, you asked Janie. If someone was breaking a rule, you told Janie. If someone moved out, Janie rented the new place. She was the one who’d placed the ad for a roommate in the local paper that Troy had answered the moment he stepped off the Greyhound bus. Luckily, his new roommate had been a little desperate to share costs and had waived the down payment when he moved in.

  “C’mon up,” Janie said, and the buzzer did its thing.

  The door clicked, and a second later Troy was jogging up the old wooden stairs, rumored to be leftover lumber from some ship or other that was dismantled after a massive wreck.

  The walls were painted in bright colors so thick they might have had thirty coats, and the handrails were worn silky smooth and had no varnish left on them. It was a highly desirable location to live… and highly expensive. Troy had answered the ad because it asked for a roommate with very inexpensive rent – at least for the area. He met with the guy and they hit it off. Troy felt sure his roommate liked him because he’d be paying part of his mortgage but would only be there on a very minimal basis. Troy liked it because it was ‘bitchen.

  Janie lived down the hall from them. Her door was open and she was leaning out watching for Troy. She stood hunched over an aluminum cane that had a triangle of tennis balls on the bottom – to keep the legs from scratching the floor.

  “Hello, handsome,” she wheezed, “how’s the river biz?”

  “Not bad today,” Troy called down the hall with a wave. “Good tips.”

  “Nice,” she said, smiling. “Gonna take an old lady out to dinner?”

  “Ha-ha.” Troy spouted a fake laugh and dodged the question.

  “Anybody ever tell you that you look like Tom Selleck?” she asked. “Not Blue Bloods Tom Selleck, but Magnum P.I. Tom Selleck, or maybe Quigley Down Under Tom Selleck.”

  Troy laughed again. “Thanks, Janie.”

  She stood watching him as he walked toward his door. He gave it a quick courtesy knock, but no one answered. His roommate had been known to have an occasional rendezvous in the loft, but he always warned Troy when he’d be busy and needed him to blow off coming home for a bit. Another very minor inconvenience to live in this amazing place.

  Jingling around in his pocket, he found the key – his only key. He slid it in the lock and walked into the great room.

  Right in front of him was the living room, with two dark leather couches and a light khaki recliner. Troy had spent more than one afternoon snoozing in that with the Georgia Bulldogs game playing on the forty-seven-inch 4K TV, a pretty cool touch to the rough-hewn antique look of the rest of the apartment. To his left was the bathroom and two separate bedroom doors. To his right was the kitchen, its bright red cabinets, brown, tan, and black speckled quartz countertops, and stainless-steel appliances making it worthy of any gourmet chef.

  Above him, in the twenty-foot-high cathedral ceiling, were beautiful, reclaimed wood beams crisscrossing the massive opening. And dangling from the center of the room, with his belt around his throat, was his roommate, Tayler Evan – dead of apparent suicide.

  “Dangit,” Troy muttered.

  He poked his head back out into the hall and saw Janie had disappeared back inside her apartment. He walked down and knocked on her door. She answered smiling with more than a little surprise on her face, and Troy shook his head as if to dismiss whatever lewd thoughts she was thinking.

  “We’ve got a problem,” he said.

  3

  Dragon Reign

  “You killed me, dude,” Alain Montgomery exclaimed while throwing his arms up in the air. “That’s really not cool, bro!”

  “I had nothing to do with your untimely death, Alain,” said RayRay Tishomura softly. “You just rolled poorly.”

  “Gah!” Alain inhaled and slapped the character sheet that had been lying in front of him. “Can I get back in?”

  “Yes,” RayRay said, running his fingers over a map. “If you have another cleric that is tenth level or higher, I can respawn you at The Glade.”

  “Naturally.” Alain picked up his backpack. “I think I have Finegan, who’s level twelve.”

  “Then you may rejoin your companions on the next turn,” RayRay said and nodded – almost toward Alain.

  Alain pulled a folder out of his pack that had an airbrushed red dragon and a gold armored rider with long flowing white hair on the front. He shuffled through a stack of pages and finally found what he was looking for. He pulled it out and laid it on the table in front of him.

  “Ready for action,” Alain said while rubbing his hands together.

  “Roll for your gear.” RayRay handed Alain a sheet of paper with a list of suitable campaign items listed on it numbered one through twenty. “Five rolls.”

  Alain picked up a twenty-sided die and began rolling.

  “Okay, geez,” Becky Patton said, exhaling. “Are you two done?”

  RayRay inclined his head – almost in her direction.

  “Yes, Becky,” he said quietly. “You may resume your turn. But don’t forget that Alain’s mage is no longer in your party.”

  “I know that,” she responded. “He got butchered by that troll back there.

  “What do you wish to do with his body?” RayRay asked, picking up a special keyboard to make a note.

  “Burn it,” said Samantha, who’d been studying the map in front of them. “If we leave it here or bury it, the undead will just turn him and use him against us.”

  “What?” Alain looked up from his rolling.

  “Sorry, dude.” Samantha shrugged her shoulders. “Nothin’ personal.”

  RayRay cocked his head. “It’s true, Alain. The undead would come for him for sure. He is too powerful to remain dead.”

  “Ugh.” Alain pursed his lips. “Fine. Do it.”

  “I cast fireball on his body,” Samantha said.

  RayRay handed her a die. “Roll for damage. If it’s a seven or better, he is fully consumed beyond resurrection.”

  Samantha took the die and rolled. It was a seven.

  “Thanks a lot,” Alain groaned, and crumpled the character sheet of his thirteenth level mage. “I’ll remember that.”

  Samantha winked at him. “I know you will.”

  “Oh, my, gosh,” Becky grunted, “can we just get on with the quest for cryin’ out loud?”

  The F-art Group – as they called themselves – was a group of students all in their Junior years at SCAD… except for Becky, she was a Sophomore.

  Alain Montgomery – the brown-haired Harry Potter-esque looking kid complete with thick round glasses – had founded the group during his second year at SCAD as a way to insulate himself from the incessant critique of the other students. It was an easy way to say, who cares, I still have friends, when someone tore down your work. Which was often, as Alain wasn’t much of a painter… and that was putting it mildly.

  RayRay was blind. And Japanese. He had jet-black anime style hair, pale skin, and pale, milky eyes. He’d come to SCAD to develop his considerable skills as a sculptor, and by all accounts was well on his way to becoming a great one. His skill was all the more incredible due to his completely useless eyes… which were really odd to look at, as RayRay had originally refused to wear dark lensed glasses to hide them.

  After just a week of RayRay being in the group, his friends had conspired to fix the uncomfortable situation. Becky had snuck into his dorm room one evening while he was showering – offering her an unfortunate glance at RayRay in all his pale nakedness – and stolen his glasses. Jogging out into the hall, Samantha and Alain waited with a similar pair of frames that had blacked out lenses. They popped the lenses out of the other frame, and thankfully they fit into RayRay’s. Then Becky replaced them in h
is room. She’d originally frozen thinking herself busted when he stepped from the shower into his room with no towel and no clothes – a sight she would shudder over for months – but then she relaxed remembering he couldn’t see her. She stood dead still until he went back in the bathroom to brush his teeth or something, and dropped the newly darkened glasses back onto his bedside table.

  They all thought he might know the truth about the lenses and had played along just so he wouldn’t creep them out anymore.

  Becky, the youngest of the group, was the girl who blended in… Little Miss Average. Just average in every way. Brownish hair, brownish eyes, cute smile – but not uniquely cute – and a pretty average talent at painting. She would pass her classes, but she certainly wouldn’t set the art world on fire.

  And then there was Samantha. Young, beautiful, flawless black skin, smart, and talented. She’d come to SCAD to… well, no one in the group knew her story. But after she’d been there a year it was clear she had exceptional talent for fashion design. She was already getting offers from design houses in New York and Los Angeles, and most of her class professors really liked her and pushed her to break barriers and scoff at convention… to trust her instincts, as they had proven time and time again to be fantastic.

  This unlikely group of friends had originally convened at a local coffee house to sip at ubiquitously pretentious cups of java in tall paper cups with cardboard sleeves, but after they’d discovered RayRay was a long-time role-playing campaign master, they’d convinced him to take them through an adventure. He’d dug out an old campaign from the nineties called Dragon Reign, in which the group must rescue a white dragon, make an alliance with the dragon army that the evil wizard Reign is building, and convince them to rise up against their evil leader.

  They’d completed this campaign in forty-eight hours and they were all hooked. Since then, they’d been meeting every Tuesday and Thursday night to play. They all had several characters, and could perform different roles as needed across different campaigns. The current quest had them on the hunt for a massive troll treasure that would make their characters rich beyond their wildest dreams. Which RayRay would most likely not allow to happen… thus, Alain’s mage had to die.

  “Hey,” Alain said as he finished rolling for his characters equipment, “does anybody wanna get a pizza?”

  “Only if it’s veggie,” said Becky.

  “I could eat some too,” Samantha chimed in.

  “Veggie?” Alain grimaced. “What’s wrong with you people? I was thinking meat-eaters.”

  Samantha cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, hell no. I ain’t eatin’ that greasy mess. You knock yourself out, but get me ‘n Becky a veggie lovers.”

  “RayRay?” Alain looked at the blind boy out of habit. “You in for meat?”

  RayRay shrugged. “I can eat any of the above.”

  “Okay, good,” Alain said and pulled out his phone. “I’ll call and get two mediums. Who’s got cash?”

  The others exchanged glances out of the corners of their eyes.

  “Shit!” Alain said. “Okay, I’ll get this one, but you jerks owe me.”

  “Done.” Becky said, and picked up a twenty-sided die and handed it to Samantha. “Now, can we please get on with finding this troll?”

  4

  Samantha Smiling

  Samantha Eliza Dawn took the bright red die that looked like a twenty-sided diamond. Rolling it around between her fingers, she consulted her character sheet and some notes she’d made about RayRay’s incredibly detailed setting for their most recent campaign.

  “Is there a weaver,” she asked – looking at RayRay, who obviously couldn’t look back – “or tailor in this town?”

  RayRay cocked his head to the side. “Why, yes. Yes, there is… just down the main road a bit. You see a green sign with gold outline that reads: Tapestrano?”

  He waited for her to issue the command.

  “Tapestrano, eh?” she asked. “I’m going there. You guys coming with me?”

  “I’m in,” Becky said, quickly raising her hand.

  “I’m not going in there,” Alain spat with disdain. “Where’s the tavern, RayRay?”

  The Japanese boy moved his head slightly toward Alain’s voice. “Sadly, after asking around, you find that there isn’t one... hasn’t been one since the—”

  “Wait, what?” Alain interrupted. “No tavern? What the hell kind of town is this?”

  “Unfortunately, Alain-san,” RayRay said in a dodgy Japanese accent, “you discover that the building that once held the tavern is a burned-out mess of ash and blackened beams.”

  “Well, hell,” Alain retorted, throwing up his hands, “what am I supposed to do while the women-folk are off shopping for clothes?”

  “To discover things about the town,” RayRay said patiently, “you must ask the locals.”

  Alain sighed. “Okay, okay. Is there anyone in the street?”

  “There’re several people walking around. A man with a red beard, a woman with a shawl tucked tightly over her hair, and a—”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Alain held up a hand to stop RayRay. “I ask the guy with the beard if there’s any place to get a drink.”

  “He tells you the tavern was burned in a raid last month,” RayRay said. “He believes it was the troll.”

  Alain pursed his lips and sniffed.

  “But,” RayRay said, smiling behind his dark glasses, “he says there’s a brothel near the outskirts of town.”

  “Boom!” Alain clapped his hands together. “I’m there. You girls have a good time looking for cloth, I’m gon’ get me sump’n sump’n out at the—” He paused waiting for RayRay to supply him with the name of the brothel.

  “Oh, uh, the Home of the Belly Djinn,” the Japanese boy said.

  “Yeah.” Alain nodded. “The Home of the Jelly Bellies.”

  “Belly Djinn,” RayRay corrected him.

  “Whatever,” Alain said. “I’ll start walking. Bye girls.”

  Samantha arched an eyebrow at him, while Becky rolled her eyes.

  “Okay,” Samantha said, glancing at her sheet. “I’m going to the Tapestrano.”

  RayRay smiled. “As you wish.”

  Samantha hadn’t always been a role-player. In fact, before Alain had invited them into the F-art group and then subsequently to his home to have RayRay run a campaign for them, she hadn’t known what it meant to play at all. She’d only said she’d play just so she wouldn’t have to leave the group… they had become friends… good friends.

  Her only friends.

  So, she rolled up a character, a magic-using elf, and called her Mantha. Naturally, RayRay had suggested she make her elf a Dar-elf from the North – a dark-skinned race of elves that lived by a questionable code of honor and dubious motives. Samantha strongly opposed that, declaring it was racist of RayRay to even suggest such a thing.

  “If I gotta be black in the real world,” Samantha had said, “I ain’t gonna be black in this one.”

  RayRay had quickly backed down from his suggestion and apologized. He hadn’t meant any disrespect and had explained that he’d thought of the Dra-elves as a strong and beautiful race of beings.

  “Please forgive me, Samantha. I didn’t realize you were black,” he’d said.

  And that’s when it occurred to her that RayRay didn’t – couldn’t – see her as a black girl. To him, she was Samantha… just Samantha. And then it was her turn to apologize. And after finding out that the Dra-elves were ten times more powerful with magic, she’d decided to be one, and proudly. Her fifteenth level mage was the most powerful in the group… by far.

  They played for months before Samantha began to realize that she enjoyed it… no, that she loved it. Perhaps because it was a world in which she could do anything, be anyone, go anywhere she wanted. A far cry from the world she lived in.

  But lately, things had gotten so much better. And ever since she’d met Tayler, she’d started to realize that she had dreams, goals, ambitions�
� and she actually believed they might come true.

  Aged just thirteen Samantha ran away from home. Her father, an angry hulk of a man, would come in from work with whiskey on his breath and blood on his knuckles. Whatever beating he’d taken down at the bar he would then take out on Samantha and her mother. Her beautiful mother, God rest her soul. She deflected most of the anger away from Samantha, but so much abuse had eventually taken a final, mortal toll on her. She officially died of natural causes, but Samantha believed her mother had simply decided she didn’t want to live anymore. She left the earth to find peace. Samantha prayed that she would.

  The only problem was that without her mother around, Samantha began to suffer all the beatings; sometimes with his hands, other times with his belt. Once he hit her so hard that she thought she’d lose a tooth.

  When she turned twelve, her body started to mature. Looking in the mirror, she began to see a young woman looking back, not a little girl. Unfortunately, it changed the way her father looked at her too. He would go from saying she was a slut and that she was screwing half the town, to breathing heavy on her neck and rubbing his lips against hers. He never touched her, but she began to fear that he would… eventually. On some especially drunken night, he would forget who she was and then he would...

  Samantha decided she wasn’t going to wait around for that to happen. She packed the few things she owned – a couple of sundresses, a toothbrush, a tattered Bible, and a comb for her hair – and after her father left for work, she walked out the door with a pillow case slung over her shoulder.

  She walked right past the school and down to the highway, and a couple hitched rides later, she landed in Carrollton, Georgia. Before long, she was discovered living in an abandoned tractor-trailer behind the Southbound Industrial Park.

  From there she was placed in a foster home. And, unlike so many horror stories she’d heard, her foster home was loving, caring, and supportive. Jeff and Betsy Avery took her in as their own child. Anything and everything she needed was provided for her… as well as things she never dreamed she’d own. A bed… her own bed!