{FIENDISH PLAY}
{1}
JAMES
I had never held a gun before tonight. My mother had forbade weapons of any kind in our house. And growing up, my Dad taught me to protect myself with my fists as well as my mind. But now, here I was. A gun thrusted into my clammy palms while I was kneeling down on a dirt-stained floor. Blood and sweat dripping from my forehead. Blood, because it had been painted on my forehead as part of the initiation process, and sweat, because I was nervous as fuck.
I stared at the weapon. Such a foreign object to me, yet for some reason it felt right being in my grasp. There was something familiar in its power. But even though it commanded fear, my fingers still shook trying to hold it steady. The blond woman who had burst in and stopped the ceremony held another gun in her hands. She kept it pointed at all the dark beady eyes that circled us. “Get up off the floor James,” she instructed. She knew my name. How did she know my name? Out of fear and my own reluctance in going through with initiation, I made the snap decision that this person was here for my own safeguard. I quickly chanced another look at her. More familiarity pulsated in my head. Something about her features reminded me of my sister. Same cheek bones, same eyes, same defiant stance. Though my sister was the type of girl happier with a book in her hands than something deadly and dangerous. I quickly pushed the comparisons aside. This wasn’t the time to let my overactive mind wander.
The woman nudged me with her shoe, and I focused on pushing myself up and off the floor, using the gun she had given me as leverage. I tried to keep the gun raised as I got to my feet, but my arm drooped down in my own hesitation. What was I doing? I’m supposed to embrace my choice. I’m supposed to want to join this secret society called the Lappell. But as much as my heart knew I should have gone through with it, my head told me something different. It told me to trust the crazy blond and follow her lead.
My new partner in crime reached over and pulled up my arm in one rough movement, giving me further commands. “Keep your arm straight and steady. And keep it aimed on all of them. And...If anyone moves, pull the trigger.”
I gulped, but I did as I was told, more fuelled by adrenaline than courage. Although deep down I wasn’t sure if I could actually fire a gun. I couldn’t take a person’s life. That wasn’t me. I was protective down to the core, but a murderer? I don’t think so.
“Did you sign anything James? Were you branded?” she asked me, urgency and fear in her voice.
“N...noooo,” I stuttered, answering both questions with the same answer. My eyes drifted over to the hole in the ground where the fire burned and the pokers were heating. The other side of the room was where the table and official signature documents were positioned. Neither stage was yet completed in my initiation. I was in the middle of finishing the first stage — learning to bow down to my superiors and reciting the official mantra and rules of the Lappell secret society when she burst into the room, guns blazing.
She made a relieved sound that vibrated from her throat. “Good. That’s good,” she said, nodding. “I made it in time.” She moved closer to me, pushing me behind her back protectively, like a lioness with her cub. “Don’t lower your arm James. Keep it steady. You’re doing great.” She pushed back quicker into my body, forcing me to walk backwards. “We’re leaving now. Okay.” Her voice now directed to the hooded figures that loomed in front of us like deathly soldiers. My eyes scanned the room again for her, but she wasn’t here like she promised she would be. Where was my love? Was she safe? Did she know about this?
I felt the blond woman grab part of my robe at my chest. She bunched up a handful of the material in her hands so she could feel that I was connected to her. We inched slowly backwards again towards the archway that led out of the underground ceremony space.
A figure pushed out of the crowd, stopping only inches in front of her gun. His eyes remained shielded by the shadow created by the hood, but I knew who it was. There was only one person it could be. It was my group leader Byron Fraylock. Only he would have the sack to put himself into the line of fire like this. He stood there, watching the blond, not saying a word. But he didn’t need to. I studied his body language. He didn’t flinch, didn’t shake, didn’t show any fear. That was because there were two very important things I learned about Byron Fraylock over the past couple of months. One...that the six foot five, raven-haired business major was third in line to the Lappell presidency, and from what I had seen, the guy was scared of nothing and no-one. And two...that the Lappell, its members, its purpose, and all that it stood for, meant everything to him. He would do whatever it takes to make sure he served them with every ounce of his being. Byron was also the guy who recruited me on campus and offered me this world of power and secrets. “Offer me her,” I quickly told myself. The so-called perks had nothing to do with me willing to join. In the end, his offer was one I couldn’t refuse. The only bargaining tool he needed was the girl I love.
I could feel the woman’s body tremble in uncertainty, her hand struggling to keep its hold on me. Byron’s confidence was making her nerves unravel. “Who are you? Are you part of...them?” he said, almost casually, not at all intimidated by the possibility of death. He seemed more concerned about her position against the Lappell, rather than his own safety. You could see his mind ticking over about the ‘why’ she was doing this.
And who were these ‘them’ he made reference to? Another group? Another section of the Lappell? My mind started to race with possibilities. Perhaps leaving with her would be an even bigger mistake.
“You’re not having him. He’s not yours to take,” she said with resolve. “Not while I can do something about it.” Her grip on me tightened once more, and then I felt instinct kick in. The instinct to run away and get out of this whole situation. Hearing her urgency filled me with a new kind of dread. Something I hadn’t considered before. Something that I didn’t know. “James, you’re only scratching the surface of what’s going on. There are things at play you can’t even imagine. Secrets you don’t know. Secrets that will change your whole world forever.” Her words rang in my head when she begged me not to do this. That was before I kissed her forcefully on the lips and told her I loved her and that she was worth it. She was worth everything.
Byron grunted out a laugh, still unfazed by the blonds’ interference. “Wait...you know it’s him, don’t you? That’s why you’re here?”
She drew in a breath, sensing the pieces falling into place in front of his face. She tried to cover it up by straightening her back even more in a show of strength, like what he said was ridiculous, but it was clear she hadn’t anticipated such a question. Her ankles quivering and giving away what was already running through my head. There was something else going on. There was more that I didn’t know. I could feel it now as my grip tightened on the gun in my hand. It was as if my heart was finally catching up to all the bombs going off in my head. I could almost smell the lies and deceit filling the whole room, wanting to creep in and invade my soul. I knew I should have trusted my mind to begin with, but this felt like the only way I could be with her. To keep her safe. To have a future together. To have this all-world-consuming-love. I would do anything for her, including giving up a seemingly normal life and becoming someone I’m not.
“That’s really none of your concern. And he hasn’t completed initiation so there’s really nothing you can do to stop us leaving. He can do it on his own free will. Those are the rules.”
“Oh really? You think there is nothing we can do to stop you?” he challenged.
Byron stepped forward even closer so that the barrel of her gun was lodged in his gut. He either wasn’t convinced she wasn’t going to pull that trigger or was willing to take a bullet. Either option wasn’t going to hel
p me out of this.
“C’mon now,” Byron said, knowing that enough time had passed to confirm that she wasn’t about to shoot. “Just leave him here where he belongs...turn around, and walk away. No one has to get hurt.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” She moved backwards again still holding onto my clothes. “He’s coming with me, and I’m going to do whatever it takes to make sure that happens.”
Byron held up his arms and then threw them down in a ‘ready-set-go’ movement so the figures behind him would charge at us. They all moved forward behind him like a dark-hooded satanic army.
Her body froze once more. Her head now darting side to side, looking all around at the group, considering her options. The tension had reached boiling point. We were at an impasse and something had to give. Someone had to win. Then suddenly, a thunderous sound engulfed the room and rang in all our ears.
A gun had been fired.
{2}
Six weeks ago...
It was about an hour’s ride from the airport to Appleton, a small town where Cloverley University was located. At first, my parents were dead against me completing my final year of college in the United States, since I had been living in both Australia and Europe since I was born. They didn’t understand why I would want to come here when there were so many excellent art programs in the world. Actually my reason for wanting to come to Cloverley was simple. It was three words that compelled me to fight for it. Professor Liam Aston. The world renowned artist was teaching this year at Cloverley, and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to study under one of my greatest idols. I was majoring in modern sculpture using techniques in wood and steel manipulation and Professor Aston was known for his modern impressions in sculpture using urban materials. When I applied to the program for my final year, I was accepted immediately. My French art professor was more than happy to give me a reference and send through pictures of my work. Whatever he said must have been glowing because I was also invited to the art student innovational. It was a special dinner introducing those students with the highest potential in their final year.
However, my parents still had reservations about sending me to this country. It was just one year I told them. Twelve of the quickest months of their life. But for some reason, they didn’t favor the culture of the US. They believed people here were too stuck in commercial society. They claimed that they fed too much off popular trends, and our generation in particular, gets too swept up in partying and anarchy. ‘Anarchy.’ Yes, anarchy. Their word, not mine. My parents were weird sometimes. Loving and supportive and a little too overprotective, but weird. I couldn’t make sense of how they came up with their perceptions, especially about a country that they had never lived in before, and sometimes I think they just invented them as an excuse to keep me close. Which was probably true since my mother liked to know my whereabouts every time I turned a corner. I had to constantly remind her I wasn’t a little boy anymore. I was twenty one years old. I was a man. Sometimes I would even stomp my foot on the ground, which I’m sure never helped her to see me as much older than I acted when trying to get that point across. But then my mother would cry, and I would naturally give in to whatever her demands might be. She could be melodramatic, but she was so supportive of my art and what I wanted to do. It was hard not to bend to her crazy yet obvious manipulations when she showed so much love for me and my passion. It was the same for my Dad too. Well, actually, he wasn’t my real Dad. My real Dad died in a car accident before I was born. It happened on a rainy night drive with my mother while she was pregnant with me. There was loss of control...the screeching of wheels...a tree out of nowhere...You know how that story goes. Girl loses lover. Child loses Dad.
But you would never know that my step-dad wasn’t my real one. He loved and supported me just as much as my mother. I kind of lucked out in the parent department, even with such sad beginnings. I don’t know how many kids can say that these days.
My only hang-up as a child was the amount of travel we seemed to have to do for my step-dad’s work. He was an investment consultant and had a diverse and worldly client list. We never lived in the same place for more than a few years. I think it would have been nice to have had some stability or had a place I could really call home. I was still trying to find a place in the world to plant my feet. For some reason, every town, in whatever country I found myself, I still had a constant feeling of displacement. Like my background didn’t fit my story. I was never sure if I was at the start of my path, or at my end. I’ve never understood the feeling of being lost, when my life was always on track with what I wanted to do. There weren’t any missing pieces to who I was.
But in saying that, the travel did provide me with much life experience. France especially. I managed to complete the last few years of high school as well as the first couple of years of college there. I had formed some good friendships, great contacts in the art community as well as met and dated my first serious girlfriend Nancine who I met in high school. There was part of me that was sad to be leaving her, but there was also a part of me looking forward to what was next in my life. I think that I loved her. Though it certainly wasn’t enough to make me want to stay in France. It was just first love. Puppy love. The kind of love where I would say that I loved her deeply, but I wasn’t in love with her. Still, I was sure we would always share closeness. We parted on good terms and I knew we would always be friends. She was good that way. I knew she felt the same, like there was something missing in our relationship. She could see always see the bigger picture and knew we both had a lot more to give, both to the world and other people. I think that’s why I connected with her in the first place. We had the same understanding of what we could give each other for the now, because it was the only state of mind we were both living in. That, and the fact she was beautiful, smart, kind-hearted and had a terrific sense of humor. I was going to miss those qualities. They were definitely the kind of things I looked for in a girl.
So, since my...I’m going to go with the term, ‘supportive’ parents, insisted I focus on my final year of study, they also provided me with enough money to cover this year’s rent, tuition and expenses. I wasn’t the type of guy to look a gift horse in the mouth, and gracefully accepted their terms on finance. They were the best kind of parents after all. And they just wanted me to follow my dreams without any added pressure or stress of worrying about money. I guess you could say my parents were also pretty well-off. Okay they were rich, but I’m not the type of guy to boast about their fortune. As a family, we lived modestly. They didn’t believe in being indulgent in the spoils of life. I think they disliked the kind of attention that wealth brought to people and they liked to live quietly in the shadows of high society. It was something that rubbed off on me too. Not being swept up with the idea of money. It was also probably why I followed my heart with my art rather than studying something that would give more bank. I had to appreciate their outlook on life in that sense. I had no regrets or reservations about what I wanted to do as a career. Even as a boy, I liked to create things with my hands, especially using the elements of wood and steel. My mother was an artist too, but used paint. It was nice that I inherited her same kind of passion and creative spirit. Although sometimes, I wondered what I inherited from my Dad. My real Dad. My mother says that not only am I the spitting image of him, but that I think the same way as him too. Far too fast and with too much complexity. She said when he was alive, he was a financial advisor in New York and that big companies sought out his knowledge and expertise in business. “So smart,” she would say. “So charming.” I could always see how much pain it causes her to bring up his memory. Her love for him that was real once upon a time is always obvious in her face and in her voice. My mother didn’t wear her heart on her sleeve, but her past. And as sad as it is for me to see that grief, it’s always given me some kind of peace in my head. I guess I do need to see her miss him to know how great a man he was. It gives me hope that maybe I too, can become just like him one day.
My living situation was the other influencing factor in my mother finally heeding to my year away. When she learned that one of their business acquaintances had a son who was starting the same college at the same time, and needed a roommate for his off campus apartment, she said it was an ideal fit for me. Of course I agreed to live with the guy if it meant they would let me go without the added guilt trip. In the end, and after much reassurance I would be back after the year, they sent me off. My mother crying in my Dad’s arms, and me feeling like I could finally breathe for the first time in my life. It wasn’t that I resented my parents’ love and protection. I would be a fool not to be more than appreciative for what I had. It was just that I was a guy, and independence and freedom was an important part of really finding out who I was and where I was going in this big round world. I couldn’t help but crave the distance from them.
I sent ahead some boxes filled with my gear a few weeks in advance to my new off campus apartment. I was told it all had arrived safely as well as my chosen mode of transportation. I had that shipped across to the States as well. My only other worry was that my new roommate was a decent guy. The last thing I needed was to be living with someone who partied too much and brought his lifestyle home with him. Hell, I could get swept up in that lifestyle too. I was just as hot-blooded as the next guy, and loved to have a good time, so I didn’t need the added temptation being dangled in front my face when I knew I had to focus in my final year. He was a freshman after all. Having fun was like an extra subject added to the freshman label and honestly, I don’t think I could resist the fun and debauchery if it was all around me. Hopefully the guy wouldn’t become a distraction.
When my cab pulled up in front of the two-leveled apartment complex, I could see my motorbike parked out front near the garage. I sighed, feeling relieved that my girl made it here in one piece. My new year was off to a good start. I took the stairs to apartment two. I liked that we were on the second floor. There was a decent view of the lusciously green woodland not too far away. Being able to see trees filled me with a calming effect. It was a weird companionship I had with wood. It both inspired and grounded me.
Fiendish Play Page 1