Skully, Perdition Games

by L E Fraser

  That night, with the music reverberating across the black lake, Sam had stood quietly on the party’s outskirts, watching the golden god with the bass guitar slung against his naked midriff while his fingers flew across the strings. She remembered thinking he’d been born to hold a guitar.

  Liam was her first, and she’d loved him with an intensity you allow yourself just once in a lifetime, when you are too young to understand that infatuation is precious but fleeting. It lasted a year in secret.

  She’d found out she was pregnant simultaneous to discovering Liam had maintained allegiance to the Angels. Her father had been right. The undercover work had messed with Liam’s head until he could no longer differentiate the person he was from the person he’d pretended to be.

  Liam had promised to leave the club for her and their baby. When the ultrasound confirmed they were having a girl, Liam’s joy had convinced her he would keep his promise.

  And then came the night from hell. He’d stopped at the east Toronto clubhouse and instructed her to wait in the car. Five minutes later, he returned and threw her the car keys, yelling at her to go without him.

  She’d scrambled from the passenger seat, sliding across the gearshift to the driver’s side. Men had poured from the clubhouse, and motorcycles had roared into the yard from every direction. On the arriving men’s jackets, she’d recognized the rival gang’s Outlaws insignias. With shaking hands, she’d sped into the night, leaving Liam behind to fight the war.

  Two Outlaws died that night. Whether Liam was one of the shooters, she didn’t know. She never saw him again.

  Scared and hopeless, she’d confessed everything to her dad. He’d sat beside her at the kitchen table with his face drawn and pale, the butt of a wet cigar resting in the ugly ceramic ashtray she’d made him in grade two for Father’s Day. She’d watched him age before her eyes and when he stood and walked away from her, his shuffling gait had broken her heart.

  Within a week, Liam had resigned from the force under the guise that his mother was ill in Australia. Her father never spoke of him again, but she knew he’d covered Liam’s deception and tampered with evidence to conceal his partner’s involvement with the motorcycle club. He hadn’t done it to protect Liam. He’d done it to save his daughter. If the Outlaws had discovered a cop’s daughter was pregnant by a rival gang member, her life would have been in danger.

  She had an abortion, erasing her final connection to Liam, but her father changed. It was as if the secrets she’d made him carry had slowly eroded his pride and self-worth until he lost himself amongst the lies.

  He died two years later in a car accident. She’d wept by his grave, knowing she’d never be able to forgive herself for the compromises she’d forced her father to make.

  Liam’s true character surfaced when he returned for the funeral, expecting to meet his daughter. When she told him she’d had an abortion, it took four cops to pull him off her. Grace had stood in the cemetery screaming obscenities at her while her sobbing sister clung to their mother. Harvey was the only one who had understood her shame, guilt, and regret.

  She had to let go of the past. If she didn’t, she’d destroy everything she was working so hard to build — her company, her relationship with Reece, everything. Her father was dead. It was time for his daughter to move on.

  WHEN SHE ARRIVED home after midnight, she closed the front door and savoured the solitude of the darkness, blinking when a lamp switched on by the window. Her throat closed when she saw Reece on the chair beside the sofa.

  Before he could speak, she said, “We need to talk.”

  “Where were you?”

  “I’ve been keeping secrets. I’d like to try to explain, if you’ll let me.” She took a tentative step into the centre of the large, open space.

  Reece shook his head. “I know what you’ve been hiding. You had a visitor.” The lighting was too dim for Sam to see his face clearly.

  “A visitor?” She felt a rush of panic. “Who?”

  “He didn’t tell me his name.”

  “What did he want?”

  “To tell you that Ryan Shannon is your father’s son. He said he’s done bleeding for you. He’s broken the only promise that ever mattered to him.”

  She walked to the sofa, sat on the edge, and twisted in her seat so she could see Reece’s face. His expression was blank, but he gripped the arms of the chair so hard his knuckles were white.

  “Liam was my dad’s partner on the job,” she said.

  Reece’s expression was unyielding. “He was wearing his cut — his club jacket — with his patches. You’re telling me your father was partnered with the Vice President of the Hells Angels Australian chapter?” He laughed an ugly sound that frightened her.

  “Let me explain. It’s…” She stopped, not knowing where to start.

  “You had an intimate relationship with your father’s partner, a man close to twice your age. He made a point of taking off his jacket. I’m assuming you’re the ‘Samantha’ he has tattooed on the inside of his left forearm.”

  She took a deep breath. “Listen, you were right. My family lived in London. I didn’t know. They moved the summer before Isabella died.” She spoke fast, hoping he wouldn’t interrupt. “My father was at the scene of Isabella’s accident. He was visiting Megan Shannon. They had a child together. His name is Ryan Shannon. He’s doing graduate work at Dalhousie. Reece, my father lived a double life. He—” her voice wavered, but she held it together, “he had a second family and lied to me my whole life.”

  Reece refused to look at her. “I don’t care about any of that. I care that Liam flew across the world to see you. Tell me the fucking truth. Did you want to see Liam? Is that why you contacted him and lied to me?”

  “I wanted to know about my father,” she said.

  “Unbelievable. Know what that looks like to me, Samantha?” he shouted. “It looks fucking suspicious.”

  “I didn’t want him to come here. I asked him to call me so I could ask about my dad.”

  He ignored her. “Liam had lots to say to me,” he said with an ugly laugh. “I suppose it’s the old bro code.” He stood and paced the room in angry strides.

  “What did he say?” she asked.

  Reece spun around and faced her. She had never seen him so angry.

  “Did your father compromise the murder investigation of two Outlaws so the authorities wouldn’t discover Liam’s connection with the Angels? Did Liam kill those men?” His voice was even now and that scared her more than his shouting.

  “Answer the question,” Reece demanded. “Was your father a dirty cop? Did he protect a murderer?”

  This was why she hadn’t wanted to open up to him. He’d never be able to understand.

  “Answer me. Did Colin McNamara tamper with evidence in a homicide investigation?” he yelled.

  “Yes. Are you satisfied? Yes, he tampered with evidence,” she yelled back.

  “Your dad was a detective sergeant and a good cop. Why would he compromise everything he believed in and risk destroying his career?”

  She stood and faced him. “Because, Reece,” she yelled, fighting tears, “I was at the clubhouse that night. My father didn’t want anyone to know Liam was involved with me. I was seventeen and pregnant with his child.”

  He looked as if she’d slapped him. For a few minutes, he said nothing.

  “If Liam was charged with murder,” he finally said, “there was a chance the Outlaws would kill you in retaliation.”

  She nodded.

  “He didn’t protect his corrupt partner. He protected his daughter.”

  “And it ruined him. I ruined my own father.” Sam put her face in her hands and sobbed, wrenching cries that tore from her throat.

  Reece gathered her in his arms. “I’m sorry. I’ve known for months you’ve been lying and keeping secrets. I didn’t know what to think when Liam showed up. I’m so sorry, please don’t cry.”

  “My mother told me I was a whore and Dad drove i
nto the guardrail on purpose because he couldn’t live with what I made him do.”

  Rubbing her back, Reece hugged her tighter. “No, baby, it was a horrible accident.”

  “I don’t know any more. He wasn’t the man I thought he was at all. My father was a liar and a cheater. My parents even lied about having a son. Why wouldn’t they have talked about my brother, Malcolm?”

  “Who’s Malcolm? I thought you said your half-brother’s name is Ryan?”

  “I mean my parents’ baby. He was born two years before my sister, Joyce,” she said. “I found his death certificate. Malcolm died when he was six weeks old.”

  “Wait a minute.” He pulled away and looked into her eyes. “Are you saying you found out about all this months ago when you were in London?”

  She nodded miserably.

  “No wonder you’ve been so upset.” He pulled her close. “Can you talk to your stepfather?” he suggested. “Would your mother have told him about Malcolm before she died?”

  She shook her head. “I have to talk to you about Harvey, too.”

  Reece seemed confused. “What about him?”

  She was downloading too much information too fast. She took a deep breath and shrugged off her jacket, pulling the sleeves of her shirt down to hide the bruises on her wrists. Something else she’d have to lie about. If Reece discovered Liam had physically hurt her, he’d hunt him down and go alpha male on his ass. Liam had nothing to lose, and Sam visualized Reece shot and bleeding to death on the side of the road. She shuddered.

  He took her hands and held her eyes. “It’s okay,” he said. “You can tell me. What about Harvey?”

  All she said was, “He wants to meet you.” Before he could ask anything else about Harvey, she turned the conversation back to her family. “Why would my parents lie about living in London?”

  Reece pulled her onto the sofa and his eyes filled with sympathy. “I don’t know. On top of losing a child in London, if your father had an affair that produced a son, maybe they wanted to close that chapter. Don’t you remember anything about living in London? What about your sister, wouldn’t she have been in school?”

  Sam wiped her eyes and shook her head. “My mother home-schooled Joyce until grade seven when I went to kindergarten. I would have just turned four when they sold the house in London. Joyce and my mother were close. They loved secrets. Besides, my sister and I didn’t get along.”

  “Does it matter that you lived in London?”

  Sam shook her head again. “No, all that matters is I ruined my father. My mother’s right, I’m poison. I destroy everyone who loves me.”

  “You aren’t a bad person, Sam. You were young and caught up in something you didn’t understand.” Holding her hand, he said, “I don’t judge your father for what happened. If it were my daughter, I probably would have done the same thing.”

  In her mind’s eye, she saw her father sitting across from her at the kitchen table the night she told him she and Liam had betrayed him. “People are a product of the choices they make,” he’d said. “The joy of life is that every new day offers the opportunity to make better choices. Happiness is a choice. All it takes is the strength to leave the past behind and forgive.”

  She clung to Reece for several minutes, basking in the relief washing over her after so many years of guilt and secrecy.

  “Aw, baby, please don’t cry.” Reece hugged her against his chest. “Your father did what he thought was best for his family.” He pulled away and titled her chin up with the end of his index finger. “Don’t you see? He kept you safe, Sam. That’s what mattered to him. So what if he travelled back and forth during the years Ryan Shannon was growing up? He didn’t leave your mother, and I guess we’ll never know why, but he didn’t abandon Megan Shannon’s son, his child.”

  Seeing so much love in Reece’s eyes, she realized forgiveness wasn’t reliant on understanding why people did what they did. She was wrong to think that ferreting out the truth would bring her closure.

  She finally saw her father honestly: as a man, not a hero or a god. Her dad was a lonely man who found love in his life but couldn’t find the strength to make the choice to be happy.

  She leaned forward and kissed Reece. “Thank you,” she murmured against his neck.

  “This means one of us has family,” he said. “Do you want to contact Ryan? We could take a trip out to Halifax and meet him.”

  “Maybe,” she said, grateful she’d have Reece with her if she decided to go. She wasn’t any good at bridging relationships, but Reece was. “It’s all so overwhelming right now.”

  “I understand but give it some thought. Let’s go to bed. We can figure everything out in the morning.” He stood and held out his hand. “When can I meet Harvey?”

  When she stood, the stress flowed out of her body and left her weak and exhausted. She’d had enough confession for one night but made a silent promise to tell Reece about her mother in the morning.

  “I was thinking over Christmas.”

  “I can’t wait.” He turned her shoulders so she faced him and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close to his body. “I love you,” he said, “and I can help you work out some of this shit. You can’t go through life pretending painful things never happened. You have to face it head on and deal.”

  “I’m going to get better at it,” she promised.

  “That’s all I ask,” he said and kissed her.

  PART 3: Closure is an Overused Word

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  October 2015: Toronto, Ontario

  Derek

  MARTY WAS WAITING in the driveway at seven-thirty in the morning, as usual. Over the past four months, Derek had tried to convince himself it was fun having a car service. Bullshit. The alternative to sitting in Marty’s car was sitting in a jail cell. Pending the trial, a condition of his release was that the court wouldn’t allow him to leave his property without his surety, Marty. House arrest was bad but having his business partner driving him back and forth to work was humiliating. He felt like a grounded sixteen-year-old who had failed his driving test.

  “Good morning to you,” Marty declared cheerfully the second Derek opened the car door.

  “Good morning,” he mumbled.

  It wasn’t just the driving. It was the talking. From the moment he settled dutifully on the passenger seat, Marty never shut his mouth.

  “I grabbed you a Java, my friend, a nice hot double-double, just the way you like.”

  “Thanks.” Derek reached for the brain juice. He hated morning people who felt obliged to share their jolliness with everyone in sight.

  “How are you feeling?” Marty asked.

  “Fine.”

  Marty’s eyes drilled into the side of his head while they waited at a stop light. “You’re not nervous?”

  “No.”

  They pulled into traffic, and Derek enjoyed two minutes of blissful silence before the chatter resumed.

  “You can talk to me. I’m here for you, my friend.”

  He gulped his coffee, burning the top of his mouth. “I’m fine.”

  “I’d be a wreck.” Marty laughed half-heartedly. “Has Melissa cleared your schedule for the trial?”

  “Of course,” Derek snapped.

  “Does Jim Stipelli have any idea how long the trial will take?”

  “No.”

  Marty slammed on the brakes. Derek sloshed coffee across his hand and onto the crotch of his pants. “Damn it,” he yelled, clenching the cup, and spilling more scalding liquid on the front of his shirt before he wrestled the wet, mangled cardboard into the cup holder.

  “Sorry,” Marty said. “The guy in front doesn’t have any brake lights. There are napkins in the glove compartment.” He pulled forward, keeping his distance from the beat-up car. “It was lucky there was a cancellation in the court calendar. Four months is great due process for a judge and jury trial.”

  What kind of an asshole considered it lucky to be standing trial for mur
der? An earlier trial date could mean incarceration in a maximum-security prison before Christmas.

  Marty was still chattering away, but Derek closed his eyes and did his best to ignore him.

  Sitting beside Jim at the preliminary hearing in the Ontario Court of Justice, listening to the Crown’s overwhelming evidence, was awful. The September jury selection was equally as horrific. Jim had used all twenty of his peremptory challenges, and they were still stuck with a jury made up of people Derek didn’t consider his peers.

  He couldn’t figure out how things had unravelled the way they had. The Crown didn’t believe Sonia was now telling the truth about being with him. This was all her fault. The stupid bitch had discredited herself by first swearing she wasn’t with him and then changing her tune. Worse, she was too stupid to destroy her disturbing, obsessive memorabilia before the cops issued a search warrant for her home. Why did he always pick fucked-up women? The pictures she took were sickening. She’d been creeping around stalking him for months, and he hadn’t even suspected. Sonia and Gabriella had probably planned this thing together to ruin him. Bitches, both of them.

  “Derek?” Marty said. “I asked how you felt about things.”

  “Since I did not kill the woman, I’m confident our legal system will triumph.” What a lie. He wasn’t at all confident, but he’d be damned if he let Marty know how scared he was. Derek was confident the court would screw him over. His temper turned from sour to toxic.

  “Have your investigators found anything to help?” Marty asked.

  He snorted laughter. “If they were working for the Crown, they’d be doing fantastic.” He took a breath and tried to settle his raw nerves. “We have a witness who can testify the loony-tune claimed to be speaking with her dead sister on her cell phone. I don’t understand why no one believes me. She told me to go to the airport and pick up her make-believe sister. The fact someone can testify that the crazy bitch was chatting up a ghost proves that.”