Five Fights (The Game of Life Novella Series Book 5) Page 5

  I’m so tired. I don't want to run. I don’t get a choice.

  Death is lurking behind me. Freedom could be in front of me. I roar as I pull myself up until I’m standing.

  “Boo.”

  I gasp when I see him standing right in front of me.

  His lips spread into a broad smile. His blue eyes gaze into mine. “Give up, Red.”

  “Please, just let me go.” My voice rattles. I know he has no intention of letting me escape. Every clue, every test, everything I’ve endured tells me this has all been part of a game intended to claim my life. It’s what he came here to do, and when I’m gone, he'll win. “Please, Falcon, I never meant to hurt you. Don't punish me for this. Why now? Why now?” I cry out, as the sound of cars becomes even more readily heard.

  “It’s time to go to sleep, Red.”

  “No,” I cry.

  He reaches out his gloved hand in the way a parent would to a scared child.

  I shake my head.

  He laughs.

  “Please, let me go,” I beg.

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  Three loud gunshots ring out in the distance, and when Falcon turns, rotating his body to look behind him, he mutters, “Fucking hunters.”

  I swing away from his hand and take off.

  There’s a small clearing in front of a steep incline. Oh, God. I can’t make it up this. I moan before I see a glimpse of the freeway over its top. A red car passes by.

  “Oh my God,” I whimper as my mind screams at me to climb the fucking incline. With every bit of strength and energy I can muster, I press forward. I run like my life depends on me doing so, because it does. My life comes down to this climb.

  He whistles. I can hear it coming from behind me. It’s almost as clear as the cars whizzing by. I cry. I cry so hard my shoulders shake with the force. I slip. I lose my footing. I reach out my arms to help stop myself from falling, and I scrunch my hands into the dry earth to gain traction.

  Morgan, you’re there. Climb, for the love of God … climb.

  My fingers dig into the natural flora, gripping handfuls of dirt, scratching, pulling to regain a grip. My torso hunches and my toes curl as I push down hard with my legs. The road is so close the tyres passing by are sending the smell of rubber and asphalt up my nose.

  I scream with every bit of air I can force behind the noise. “Help! Help me! Help!”

  My bare feet keep sliding, and I clamber on, finding traction where I can.

  “Here, mousey, mousey.” He lets me hear his footsteps. He wants me to know he’s here.

  Please, no. Please.

  “No … no … no.” My voice quakes with fear as my heart thumps wildly in my chest. “Let me go.” Tears fall as my panic builds to the highest level I’ve ever experienced. “Please.”

  His fingers snatch my ankle, then he applies pressure. I scramble and kick to free myself, but it’s not working.

  I scream a primal scream as I fight, terrified and desperate. “Let me go, Falcon.”

  He snatches my other ankle. He tightens his grip around both. His fingers dig into what feels like my bones. I buck my body in response to the agony I’m experiencing, then reach down with my hands, trying to rip his fingers from my legs, but he holds on firmly.

  I’m sobbing as he drags me like a rag doll back down the incline and away from the road, the road I’d worked so desperately to reach. His actions seem effortless. His breath isn’t even laboured. He’s much too strong for me. This game is over. It ends now. He wins.

  “HELP! Somebody, help me,” I cry in a last attempt to summon a saviour.

  His lips are stretched into a smile when I look up at his mask. His eyes have no mercy. “It’s over, Red. It’s over.”

  I don’t relax. I continue to buck and scream in the hope that someone, anyone, will hear me.

  The sound of the leaves separating and being destroyed beneath me as he drags my body across the ground will be the last sound I hear. He offers no mercy for my ankles as his fingers continue to dig into my raw skin. He whistles his eerie tune, and although I’m bucking my body and twisting against him with everything I’ve got, it’s pointless because he remains in control.

  He drops my legs, and even though my mind shouts at me to get up and run I’m unable to move. The sky, a brilliant blue, is so clear I can’t see a single cloud. I stare, keeping my eyes attached to the vision, and as I do I decide that no matter how painful things become, or how frightened I am as I die, I will think of this sky and remember how my life was once as vibrant as it is.

  I heave each breath with rising panic. Tears drip from the corners of my eyes as I let my exhaustion finally take over and accept that this is what it is—a game I can’t win no matter how hard I try. I want more than anything to be stronger, to try harder, but I’ve conceded the fact that this will be the end of my life.

  His masked face invades my view as he stands above me. My chest rises and then falls with force. I try not to whimper out loud, but it proves impossible and a wounded sound projects from my parted lips. Blue eyes that should belong to an angel, become too much to look at, so I don’t. Instead, I close my eyes and block him from my vision.

  “Look at me.”

  I focus on each frantic breath I take.

  “Red, look at me now.” He raises his voice.

  “No.” It’s barely audible.

  “Look at me, or I’ll pry your eyes open and rip your eyeballs from your head.”

  I cry.

  “Now,” he snaps.

  I flutter my eyelids open to be faced with irises that are large and gleaming with satisfaction. He’s disguised so much of himself, but this enjoyment, the one causing his eyes to smile down at me, this is as plain as day to see.

  “Well, Morgan, here we are.” He leans farther over me. “The hunt for you has been more exciting than I could have hoped for. You did better than I expected. I feel pride for unlocking some fight in you.” He takes a deep breath. “But as always, you had to go and fuck everything up.”

  I hate this man, a man I once lusted for, more than anything. The one I cared to write to for years after we parted ways. If I could find the strength to lift my leg right now, I’d kick him in his balls and then rip his fucking head off with my bare hands.

  “How did you like my game, Morgan? Was it fun?” His words are filled with derision.

  I say nothing, and concentrate on the few final breaths that will part from my lips.

  “Oh, no. The cat got your tongue again?”

  The sound of cars racing by drowns out my breathing. “I hate you,” I manage to sob.

  “And I fucking loathe you.” A bellowing laugh follows as he digs the butt of his rifle into the ground and uses it as an aid to lower himself until he’s straddling my waist, his weight cutting the blood supply to my legs. Is he hurt?

  “You’re a monster.” It’s a hushed whisper.

  His eyes narrow. “Well, that’s true.” There’s an unexpected anger in his tone. “This is your last chance to leave here alive. Are you ready to answer my final question?”

  He holds the rifle an inch from my nose.

  My breath launches into my throat. “Yes.” It’s barely audible.

  “Who am I, Red?”

  My lips quiver. “Falcon Sampson,” I whisper, sniffing back tears.

  He removes his weight from my waist until he’s pulled himself upright and towers above me with his rifle aimed between my eyes. “Wrong answer, Morgan,” he finally says when I regather my sight.

  How can that be?

  “You’re lying.” My voice shakes.

  “Morgan, Morgan, Morgan. How stupid are you really? How the fuck could I be Falcon? You tell me.”

  Confusion rushes through my mind like a jet in pursuit of invasion. “It’s you.”

  “You know shit, Morgan. Shut your stupid mouth,” he spits, pressing the barrel of the rifle hard into my forehead.

  Every muscle in my body tenses as I become too scared to breat
he.

  “Falcon is dead, and if you ever cared for him you would have known that.”

  “Please stop,” I yell with my hands wrapping around the end of his gun.

  “You killed him, Morgan.”

  “I didn’t. You have the wrong person. I didn’t even know he died. I’ve never taken a life.”

  “Oh yes, you have. You destroy lives. You killed him, and now you’ll pay and suffer just like he had to.” The rifle that could blast my life away with one pull of its trigger is yanked from my grip and shifted from my head. He lifts one leg and presses his boot lightly onto my chest. “Who am I, Morgan?”

  “I don’t know,” I cry.

  He shoves his foot down harder against my sternum, which threatens to crumble under the weight. “You were supposed to remember your wrongs, but you fucked up my game. You fucked up my life. You fucked up everything.” He pauses. “If you had let me put you through all the tests I had set up for you, then you would know now that you deserve it. You’d be wanting me to kill you, begging me to.”

  “Please, let me go,” I pant, winded. The need to fire words of hatred fills me, but I can’t speak because the pressure of his boot against my chest increases to the point where air doesn’t seem to be able to enter my throat.

  “Who am I, Morgan?” he asks again, but I have no idea who the hell he is. He lifts his foot from my chest only to stomp it down beside my head, causing me to jolt. He nestles the rifle under his armpit. “Will this give you the answer?”

  He uses his free hand to reach down to the bottom of the mask he wears. Slowly, he peels it back. Blond stubble covers his chin, and when the mask finally parts from his head I see his thick blond locks.

  I swallow a loud gulp.

  “Well.” His lips stretch across his face.

  “The … the … you’re … I never… I’ve never done anything to you.”

  “Are you sure?” His straight white teeth become more visible as his smile grows. “Who am I?”

  “You’re from the news.” I’m confused. I don’t know this man other than through my television set.

  “Am I though?” His thick, light eyebrows dip inwards.

  I cry.

  “I mean, that’s one of my jobs. But this will make you see.” He slides his hand down his side until he reaches the bottom of his shirt. With one hand, he jerks the material from his body.

  I gasp.

  Inked skin. Blues, greens, yellows, and oranges all sit inside the black lines of a large tattooed jester taking up the right-hand side of his chest. I know the cheeky smile on its face, and the hook-shaped keloid scar above the jester’s hat. That scar was caused in an accident from a boat’s propeller. Finally, I have my answer.

  Life is just a circus. The words are written under the tattoo. I shriek in horror and screw my eyes tightly shut to try delete the image.

  “Who am I?” he speaks softly.

  “Logan!” I croak out. I want to say more, but I choke on my own tongue.

  “Logan Raffety the Third, to be precise,” he chortles. “Known to all in this bullshit town, and all over, in fact, as Gregory Stiles from Channel Sixty-One.”

  “Why? Why are you doing this, Logan? Why are your eyes blue and not brown? Why do you look like this?”

  “For you. I came to get payback.” He lowers himself down until he kneels with either leg on each side of my torso.

  “I didn’t do—”

  “I watched you break Falcon. I was left with the pathetic man he became after you walked away. He showed you who he really was, and you ran for the fucking hills. You’re a whore. A worthless bitch, like all women are,” he snaps. “You destroyed him. Those fucking letters—why couldn’t you have let him be? No, you wanted your cake and to eat it too, didn’t you?” Spittle lands on my cheek.

  “After you forced Falcon to kill himself, my life was never the same. Nothing was the same. He was my best friend. The three of us were inseparable until you decided to move on, to go to university then dump us for that dumb fuck husband of yours. I tried to save Falcon, but I couldn’t do it alone. I couldn’t save him.” He leans into me. “Drugs became my escape. Everyone I loved disowned me because of who I had become as a result of your actions …. It’s all your fault, Morgan. You. You’re responsible for everything. Those twelve other women who broke hearts, who took men for granted, stole from them, used them, just like you did to Falcon—their deaths are on your head.”

  I can’t stop shaking.

  “You’re evil, Morgan.”

  “You were my friend,” I manage to whisper.

  “Pfft! Friends, yes, once, but you left and never looked back. He showed you. He gave you all of him.” His eyes narrow. “And you walked away. That’s not what a friend does. Where were you when he died? Where? Not back home. Not at his funeral. Nowhere.”

  “I-I didn’t know. I swear.” I’m petrified.

  “You never should have left him.”

  “Falcon wouldn’t want you to do this to me,” I plead, hoping he’ll realise this to be true.

  “He would, Morgan. He couldn’t do it himself, but I have more balls than that broken-down man you left behind. Instead of taking my life, I’ve taken the lives of the people who were really responsible—bitches like you.” His anger booms into an evil rage.

  “Please, please! I didn’t know. Don’t kill me, Logan. I don’t deserve to die.”

  He throws the gun onto the ground. Blue eyes, eyes that look just as Falcon’s did, stare into mine. “You do deserve it, Red. Shut up!” A small vein protrudes from his forehead. “You had to be number thirteen. You know, as a tribute for my fallen friend.” His nose crinkles as he smiles. “Justice is about to be served.”

  The sound of wailing sirens fills the air.

  “Help!” I scream. “Help me.”

  He smothers my mouth with his hand. “You treat everybody you meet like shit. You treated your husband like shit, too. He’s better off without you.” He has angry eyes and a devilish frown to match. “I’ve been watching you, Morgan. You and your family. I’ve seen everything that goes on in your house. I’ve heard it all and seen everything.”

  “You hear that, Logan?” The sirens grow louder, more urgent. “You can kill me, but the police will know it’s you,” I mutter against his palm.

  He shakes his head. “You really are stupid. Aren’t you? They’re not coming for me. They, too, have been playing a game, and their clues lead right to Winston. You remember him, don’t you? Falcon’s brother. He’s about to spend the rest of his life in prison for not protecting his brother. I didn’t forget him when it came to my punishment. I was more family to Falcon than his own flesh and blood.” He removes his hand from my lips. I take a needy breath.

  “They’ll figure it out,” I say breathless.

  He laughs. “I was a fucking cop, Morgan, before you destroyed my life and I had to do all this to my face. Before I had to move from Melbourne to this shithole. I know what I’m doing, you dumb bitch. People are stupid. Your husband, for example.” A wicked grin is all I see. “That dickhead has left your children with my uncle. You really made this so easy for me, moving in next door to them. Uncle John knows what you’ve done, what you stole from me. He knows who’s to blame for my fall from grace. He didn’t abandon me, because he loves me.”

  My eyes are bug wide. Vomit seduces the back of my throat. Time stands still. Aleeha. Brax. They’re in danger.

  “Oh, don’t worry that ugly little face of yours. I probably won’t hurt them. After all, they didn’t do anything wrong—it’s not their fault they were birthed by you.”

  My tears begin to stream at thoughts of John, my friend, someone who was like a father to me, who’d known all along that this would be my fate.

  “You’re insane, Logan. Reid will find you. He’ll figure it out. Mark my words, you’ll see your end.”

  Logan’s hand reaches for mine, and before I can snatch it away he clutches my middle finger. “Don’t say his name.”<
br />
  Crack!

  “Fuuuuuuck!” I wail. “Oh fuck!” I suck air through my teeth as a fierce throb creeps up my arm.

  “Time to die, Red.”

  Don’t let him do this. Fight, God damn it! Morgan, fight. Your babies are in danger.

  I scream. I don’t stop screaming.

  Reid

  The grass stands waist-high. Trees surround us in every direction. Cruise is a metre in front of me, and all I keep thinking is he’s taking me on a wild goose chase and we’re wasting our time.

  Before we stopped the car and took to the bushland, we were not far from the turn-off that would have led us to the cabin. I shouldn’t have followed Cruise down here. I don’t believe he heard anyone crying for help at all. Maybe this is a ploy to give the police more time to get to Morgan instead of me. After all, Cruise hasn’t stopped pointing out how under-prepared we are to be entering such an environment with no idea of what we’re walking into.

  “Just listen,” he says for the third time.

  I do, but I hear nothing.

  Cruise walks forward. The sun beats down on my brow. It’s so hot in here, it’s like the pit of hell. I stay still, contemplating leaving Cruise behind and racing back to the car now idling on the shoulder of the highway above us.

  “Come on.” His arm flicks in the air, indicating that he wants me to follow.

  “I don’t hear anything,” I snap.

  “I heard screaming. I swear, I heard it.”

  I glimpse a flicker of light, but then it’s gone. My eyes narrow as I explore the area from which it had beamed. I can’t see anything apart from tree after tree.

  This is pointless.

  A woman’s high-pitched scream beats against my eardrums. I search for Cruise, and run, as he does. Hot air fills my lungs, cramping them. I push through the pain and a heat-filled airway and continue to race in the direction of the screaming we just heard.

  I stop when I hear the voice of a male coming from the direction we’re heading. Cruise stops also. We squat, side-by-side in the long grass and listen.

  I can’t understand what’s being said. I jump to my feet and take off only to be crash-tackled to the ground. My mouth is covered. My body is pinned.