Snakes & Ladders

by Sean Slater

The Adder had no idea how many victims the Doctor had killed in what she called her ‘business’. And he didn’t really care. He knew the truth. This entire process was not a business, but a game to her – one of dominance and power and sadistic need. With every fresh death, she seemed to climb one more rung on that ladder in her mind.

  But the joke was on her, because the Adder knew one thing about the game that the Doctor did not – there was no end to that ladder. It just went on for ever and ever and ever. Which left them with this demonic game they played. Just Gabriel and Mother; just the Adder and the Doctor.

  In a never-ending game of Snakes & Ladders.

  The thought made the Adder feel bad emotions again, so he leaned forward and hit Play, and once again William’s Beautiful Escape played out on the LED screen. The converted video was old and poor in quality. There was only static for sound. But that did not diminish it at all.

  The Adder watched the young boy fall through the ice, and he saw himself there too – also just a boy – shaking, trembling, crying hysterically, then crumbling to the ground with his hands over his ears. Unable to look. Unable to face what was happening.

  Unable to run for help.

  Back then, this moment had been his own personal Hell on Earth; but over time – over several hundred viewings of the feed – the Adder had come to see the truth behind the moment. The reality. The only real importance.

  Death; it was the only reason for living.

  And William had been released from the chains of this cold world. He had been set free from this Hell. Utterly, totally free.

  The Adder watched the screen with his eyes turning wet as the emergency workers came rushing in and pulled his little brother from the lake. His body was soaked, his skin as white as any angel. Inside his blood and meat were frozen, but his soul was soaring, soaring, soaring far away from here.

  ‘You’re free,’ the Adder whispered. ‘Fly away, little bird. Fly away.’

  The film ended, and suddenly there was a blinding brightness.

  The Adder raised his hands. Looked up at the closet door. And knew what had happened before his eyes even adapted.

  The Doctor had found him.

  Ninety-Three

  From the runaway lane where Striker and Felicia were parked, the drive to the Whistler Blackcomb ski village was less than twenty minutes. Before pulling back on to the Sea-to-Sky Highway, Striker thought of Lexa and Larisa. What were the odds they would both be here in the village?

  Not likely. And yet here they were.

  A woman with dark eyes. That was what Larisa had texted.

  The more he thought about it, the more he feared that finding Larisa might be as simple as finding Lexa. For they were both after Larisa. In a race – one Striker didn’t want to enter.

  Lexa was an expert in finding her victims.

  And that worried him.

  Striker scanned through the notes he’d made on the files. They clearly showed that Lexa’s victims fell into one of two categories. They were either the marginalized people in society – the sex-trade workers, the mentally ill, the poor, the secluded and alone.

  Or they were the extremely well-to-do – victims who had good jobs. Victims who had money. And extremely good credit. Victims who had been carefully selected, because they had no family. No friends. People whose entire life was work. People who no one would bother to worry about if they went missing or passed away from an unexpected tragedy.

  Striker took the box from the back seat and passed it to Felicia.

  ‘I’ve been through these already,’ she said.

  ‘Not like this,’ he said. ‘Go through the files one more time, but this time look for victims who had status.’

  ‘Status? Why?’

  ‘Because with status comes money. When you get the top ten or fifteen income earners, run their name through the property registries and see if any of them owned property up in Whistler or Blackcomb.’

  Felicia’s eyes took on an excited look. ‘One of them was another doctor,’ she noted. ‘And one was a lawyer, I think.’ She opened the box and started pulling files.

  Striker drove back on to the highway and continued north towards the village. Ten minutes later, Felicia had compiled a list of the twelve most well-off victims. She got on the phone with her contact at the land registrar’s office, and began making notes. By the time Striker drove around the last curve of road and saw the bright halo lights of the ski resort, Felicia had already finished narrowing down their targets.

  ‘We got three,’ she said. ‘Four, if you count the lawyer who owned a cabin back in Furry Creek.’

  Furry Creek. Striker was frustrated to hear that; they’d passed Furry Creek Golf Course over thirty minutes ago. To backtrack now would waste more time. ‘What about the other three?’ he asked.

  ‘All up here,’ she said.

  ‘A guy named Robinson – he was a stockbroker – owned a cabin right up on the mountain. In Whistler Creekside, on Nordic Avenue. The next guy, a man named Bellevue – he had old family money – lived on Panorama Trail. Last person’s name is Sutton. He lived just off the main drag.’

  Felicia pulled out her iPhone and opened Google Maps. ‘These cars should have satellite navigation built into them,’ she griped.

  ‘Welcome to city funding,’ Striker replied. ‘Just start querying.’

  ‘Which one first?’

  ‘Whichever is closest,’ Striker said. ‘And hurry up. We’ve finally arrived.’

  Ninety-Four

  ‘I knew it!’

  As the Doctor stood above the Adder, looking down on him, the mask she wore crumbled once again, revealing the monster that lay behind it. Without thinking, the Adder closed the laptop and hit the Eject button.

  ‘The moment I saw the other DVDs, I knew you had more,’ the Doctor spat. ‘Give it to me.’

  The Adder felt his heart hammer inside his chest.

  ‘No,’ he said.

  The laptop’s DVD player ejected out the disc. The Adder gently took it from the DVD tray and tried to place it back in the case; before he could, the Doctor reached forward and snatched it from his hands.

  ‘I’m destroying this thing once and for all!’

  ‘No,’ he said.

  And now there was a tightness spreading throughout his chest. Into his lungs. Into his heart. A strange empty feeling ballooning inside him.

  ‘NO!’

  But the Doctor refused to listen.

  She stormed out of the room with his precious DVD in her hand. It was his one and only copy, with the original lost – his last connection to William – and this time the Adder did what he had never done before.

  This time, the Adder acted.

  Ninety-Five

  The search for the first of the three properties ended as quickly as it began. The first place, a private cabin previously owned by David Sutton, had been bulldozed to make way for a new set of condominiums that were already being sold as timeshares.

  From there, they drove across the small village to the address for a man named Reginald Robinson. They’d barely set up on the place when a grey Audi Q7 pulled into the driveway, and a family piled out.

  Striker spent less than a minute watching them unload their snowboarding gear before realizing this was another dead end. He approached the father, showed the man his badge and credentials, and explained that they were looking for Reginald Robinson.

  The man’s response was direct. ‘He doesn’t live here. Hell, we just bought the place last summer.’

  ‘Do you mind me asking from who?’ Striker asked.

  ‘A doctor from the City.’

  ‘Dr Ostermann?’

  The man nodded, and his face took on a nervous look. ‘Yes, I believe that was his name. Is everything all right? Should I be concerned?’

  ‘You’re fine,’ Striker said. ‘Thank you for your time.’

  They left Robinson’s lot and drove to the last place on their list. As they made their way there, Striker felt a s
ense of futility wash over him. The last address they had was slightly farther out, on the east side of the village. If it was negative, they had nothing. It would be canvass time.

  Not five minutes later, the road turned from asphalt to gravel, and they came to a T in the road. The right lane turned back towards the highway; the one to the left turned from gravel to hard-packed dirt, and ran straight.

  Striker looked down that way. With the night fully cloaked and a fog brooding through the trees, all he could see was a mass of blackness, with the odd porch light piercing the haze. He parked the car on a small outcrop of gravel on the side of the road, then took out his flashlight and shone it all around the road, looking for a street sign. He could find none.

  ‘Google Maps says this is it,’ Felicia said. ‘Panorama Trail.’

  He nodded. ‘It’s desolate.’

  ‘If we drive in, anyone there will see us coming a mile off.’

  Striker agreed. Walking in was the best choice.

  They got out and started up the trail.

  The man who lived here before his death was Luc Bellevue. No transfer of property form had ever been filed, so by all accounts the place should have been used by his remaining family.

  Striker and Felicia followed the bend of the road.

  On the left side, a small lake appeared that was backed by tall thick trees that looked completely black in the night-time shadow. The air above the lake was dark and seemed clouded in mist. Everything was very, very quiet.

  They marched on. A hundred metres later, around the long curve of lake, a cabin came into view. It was small. Quaint. Made of logs. It sat on the north side of the lake and backed right down to the shoreline.

  When they reached the front of the cabin, most of the windows were dark and had the drapes pulled tightly across. Striker spotted movement in one of them. It was fast and fleeting, but it was there.

  Someone was home.

  Ninety-Six

  The Adder found the Doctor downstairs in the study.

  ‘Please,’ he said. ‘PLEASE! ’

  It was the tenth time he had begged her. He knew of nothing else to say.

  She walked past him into the kitchen, a smile stretching her lips and her ice blue eyes holding him in their grip. It was as if she was enjoying this moment, relishing it. And the Adder knew that she was. Cruelty had always been one of her strongest traits.

  ‘I need it,’ he said.

  The Doctor made no immediate response. She just stared at him for a long moment, and the smile slowly fell from her lips. Her eyes darkened. Her jaw turned tight. ‘You disgust me,’ she finally said. ‘You should have been the one who died that day, not my precious William. He would have learned. He would have listened. He would never have caused the damage that you have caused us.’

  She held the disk delicately between her long fingers. When her eyes met the Adder’s – when the faintest hint of a smirk formed at the corners of her cruel mouth – he understood full well her intention.

  ‘No, please! NO!’

  But his cry meant nothing.

  The Doctor tightened her grip and snapped the disc in two. And the Adder let loose a howl that filled the room. He lashed out and grabbed the Doctor by the wrist, and bent it backwards. She let out a cry, half of surprise and half of pain. She tried to pull away from him. When he did not let her, she raised her free hand and smacked him across the face – a hard, full-forced SLAP!

  He did not so much as flinch.

  ‘I wish you were never born,’ she spat. ‘I wish your whore of a mother had drowned you at birth – then my William would still be alive!’

  ‘William is dead,’ the Adder said. ‘He has been for a very long time.’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘You have never been anything but a wretched, pathetic failure, Gabriel. And a poor excuse for a son.’

  The words were meant to hurt, but they had no effect on him. The Adder took them all in, thought them over . . . and then he nodded strangely.

  ‘But I’m not your son, am I?’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I am my father’s son. And you are no longer his wife. You are not my mother. Not any more.’

  ‘How dare you!’ She slapped him across the face again, across the same stinging red mark that already marred his skin, and broke away from him. When he offered her no real reaction, but only smiled, she reared from him.

  ‘You stay back,’ she ordered.

  ‘You’re not my mother.’ He stepped towards her.

  ‘I said, stay back! I order you to stay back. You will listen to me. I am your doctor, Gabriel! Your DOCTOR!’

  The Adder reached out and wrapped his long fingers around Lexa’s slender throat.

  ‘The game is over, Doctor,’ he said. ‘You lose.’

  Ninety-Seven

  Striker stepped off the dirt road on to one of the trails that snaked through the heavily forested area and paralleled the lake. Moving slowly and through shadow, he hoped to be hidden. When he and Felicia moved forward, making their way on to the private lot, they heard arguing inside the cabin.

  He stiffened at the sound. He turned and looked at Felicia.

  ‘Male and female?’ he asked.

  ‘It sounds like it, but I can’t tell for sure.’ Felicia crept up to the window and peered inside. ‘I can’t see anything. Let’s just go in and get them.’

  Striker motioned her back. ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because we don’t know who’s in there yet. If Gabriel or Dalia or Lexa are in there, or if they come up the road and spot us, they’ll run. They’ll get away. And they’ll never stop killing. We need containment.’

  Felicia agreed. ‘Then call in the Feds. The Whistler Police has units ten minutes away from here. Get them here and we can cordon off the whole house.’

  Striker thought this over. ‘If Lexa or Gabriel or Dalia see them, they’ll take off and be gone again, and this time maybe for good.’

  ‘They can use plainclothes cops.’

  Striker frowned. The talk had gone full circle, back to square one. A decision had to be made. He took out his phone, being careful to block the light of the screen with his body, and called 911. All he got was a dropped signal. He put the phone away.

  ‘No reception,’ he said.

  The decision had been made for them.

  He pointed to the southwest corner of the cabin. ‘Cover that. Scream if you need me and I’ll come running.’

  Felicia just tightened her grip on her SIG and slowly made her way through the trees, around to the other side of the house. She’d barely been gone a minute when Striker detected a lone figure walking up the road: average height, long black hair, slender build.

  Dalia.

  Striker watched her as she walked up the road towards the cabin, then crossed the yard. Even in the darkness, he could see that her face was tight and lost. Something was wrong; he could feel it.

  Ninety-Eight

  The Adder stood outside on the frozen grass, his hot breath fogging up the cold night. Small bits of broken ice covered the toes of his runners, and the bottom of his pants legs were wet. In front of him, her upper body submerged face down in the freezing water of the lake, was the Doctor.

  He looked down at her body and felt nothing. Because it was nothing.

  Just a bad roll of the dice.

  Behind him, the soft swish of a sliding door could be heard, and then there were footsteps on the deck. He didn’t bother to turn around. It was Dalia, he knew. Coming back again after running away – as she had done so many times before. Escape and return. Escape and return. Escape and return.

  It was her life.

  ‘Gabriel?’ she asked.

  Her steps came closer, and suddenly there was a gasp.

  ‘GABRIEL! Oh no! Oh no! Oh no! Oh no! What have you done, Gabriel? What have you DONE!’

  She screamed and then screamed some more. He said nothing to her. He did not so much as look in her direction. And seco
nds later, he heard her run off. Somewhere around the house. In that moment, he had lost her. She was gone. And he would never see her again.

  Go after her.

  It was a soft thought in his head, a whisper from the angels.

  But he did not. He could not. For there were other plans now. And they were all that mattered. Running after Dalia would be changing the goal of the game – and that was the one thing that could never be changed. He had no choice in the matter; the rules were long written.

  It was sad. On some deeper level, he knew this.

  But what did that matter? He now wondered . . . had there ever been a choice? Perhaps it was always meant to be this way. Fated. Perhaps tonight’s game would even lead to his own death.

  The thought was enthralling. If Death did come, he was prepared for it. He accepted it. He was happy for it. At last, his own time. His own Beautiful Escape. And he smiled because either way he would win this game – in the biggest release of his life when he freed Jacob Striker from this world, or in his own release from this torment. Either way, he was ready. Ready for the final throw of the dice. And why not? Nothing could last forever.

  All games eventually came to an end.

  Ninety-Nine

  It happened fast. One moment, Striker was trying to move to a better position in order to see what all the screaming was about; the next moment, he saw Dalia racing around the house. She plunged through the trees away from him.

  A second later, Felicia went racing after the girl.

  ‘Stop!’ Felicia called. ‘Vancouver Police, Dalia! STOP!’

  In one brief moment, both women were swallowed by the darkness.

  Striker started after them.

  He got only a few feet before coming to a hard stop. There was no doubt that whoever was inside the cabin – Gabriel, Lexa or both of them – now knew of the police presence. If Striker went racing after Dalia, then Lexa and Gabriel would be free to escape. Maybe this time forever.

  He was torn.

  Felicia needed him. But if he allowed Lexa and Gabriel to escape, there was no telling how many more victims they would kill. Maybe not here, but in another town. Another province. Another country. Everywhere Lexa went, she left a trail of death in her wake. And over the years, she’d programmed Gabriel into being the Adder. All in all, it made one thing clear.