Frozen Statues, Perdition Games Read online

  Copyright © 2017 by L.E. Fraser

  First Edition – June 2017

  ISBN

  978-0-9947742-5-5 (Paperback)

  978-0-9947742-4-8 (eBook)

  Frozen Statues, Perdition Games is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and

  incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are

  used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,

  is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, or by any

  means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,

  or any information browsing, storage, or retrieval system, without

  permission in writing from the publisher.

  Produced by:

  L.E. Fraser

  www.perditiongames.com

  Cover design by Mike Doyle Design

  Also by L.E. Fraser

  Frozen Statues, Perdition Games

  Red Rover, Perdition Games

  Skully, Perdition Games

  Simon Says, Perdition Games

  For Brian and Jeff

  Should all your stars explode and your worlds turn to ash, I’ll shine a light and lead you home.

  There will be comfort food and pugs.

  PROLOGUE

  “WHERE IS THIS place?” he asked.

  “Not far.” She undid her seatbelt, slid across the split leather of the bench seat, and pressed her body against his.

  As the road turned sharply, he adjusted his headlights and the high beams illuminated an iridescent cloud of swirling snowflakes. Thick brush and dense trees inclined toward a gunmetal grey sky, trapping the snow on the pitted asphalt that cut through the stony escarpment. Tall evergreens crowded against the rocky shoulders of the winding two-lane highway. If they broke down, they’d be in a world of trouble.

  The high beams of an oncoming truck pierced the cracked windshield of his old Buick. He tried to avert his eyes and the car skidded to the right. Looming in his peripheral vision was an ice-coated snowbank flanked by two giant rock formations. With a gasp, he steered into the skid the way his father had taught him. The back wheels did a loose shimmy across a patch of black ice before he gained control of the vehicle.

  His girlfriend took a brush from her purse and ran it through her long dark hair. He could smell a hint of lemon from the shampoo she used.

  “I thought you told me that Reece Hash and his fiancée… What’s her name?” she asked.

  “Sam McNamara,” he mumbled. She talked about McNamara all the time and it pissed him off that she was pretending not to remember Sam’s name.

  “I only went to your parents’ farm for Christmas because you said she’d be there.”

  The accusation was loud and clear, as if he’d offered a macabre bribe: You’ll get to meet the famous private investigation duo who thwarted a sociopathic cult leader’s evil plan. I’ll take you to where he buried all those women and massacred seventy-two of his followers.

  But the horror of Bueton Sanctuary wasn’t her interest, as it turned out. It was Incubus, the serial killer. Three years ago, the psychopath had held the city of Toronto in the grip of terror before Sam McNamara exposed him. As hypnotic snowflakes twirled around the car, it occurred to him that his girlfriend’s fascination with Incubus was downright creepy. No wonder she’d made such a bad first impression on his family.

  As if she’d read his mind, she said, “Your family should love me as much as you because we’re together. What’s their problem? I mean, come on. They’re pig farmers.” She laughed.

  “Soy.”

  “What?”

  “They grow soy. The pigs were my little sister’s 4-H project and we kept them.”

  “Doesn’t it bother Hope that you eat her pets?”

  “We don’t eat them,” he retorted.

  “But you sell the piglets to people who eat them,” she argued. “And your older sister was a total bitch to me,” she went on. “You never stand up to Margaret.”

  Bullshit, he thought, but didn’t say anything. Last week, he hadn’t shown for his weekly lunch at the university quad with Margaret because of the catastrophic family visit. That was when he accepted that he’d surrendered his balls to his girlfriend. But there were advantages to going along to get along.

  She shifted in her seat and he glanced at the gentle curve of her thigh as she crossed her long legs. His eyes drifted across her flat stomach and up to the swell of her full breasts. The ethereal ambient light reflected off her jet-black hair, and her skin was so pale it appeared translucent in the strange light. She was beyond hot—way out of his league. He was just a skinny country bumpkin who suffered from anxiety. When she’d initiated a conversation with him on Bumble, he’d thought it was a joke. But they’d connected right away. Over the past four months, he’d been the envy of all his friends.

  Shearing winds broadsided the car and visibility dropped to zero in the whiteout. He cringed when she started playing with the radio. The last thing he needed while driving through a blizzard in the middle of nowhere was the distraction of music. And her preference was heavy metal, which he hated. After a moment of fiddling with the dial, she exhaled in frustration, dug her phone from her purse, and expertly tapped on the screen. “Dead Memories” by Slipknot blared from the phone.

  The weight of her body pressing against his leg and shoulder was making him claustrophobic. He nudged her with his elbow. “Put your seatbelt on. I wish you’d told me how far northeast of Toronto your friend’s cabin was.”

  “Don’t be a pussy. It’s just snow.”

  He nudged her harder. “Seriously, babe, put on your seatbelt.” With a worried eye, he studied the sinking fuel gauge. They should have stopped at the last station, but she’d insisted they had plenty of gas to make it in and back out again.

  A gust of wind threw sheets of snow across the windshield and plunged them into darkness. His stomach clenched with fear, and he bit his lip so hard he tasted blood. The labouring old wipers cleared a narrow crevasse that expanded until the road opened before him once more. He released his breath in a puff and rotated his neck to loosen the stiff muscles.

  Unconcerned with the fact they had almost careened into a ditch to die of hypothermia, his girlfriend kept talking. One of the reasons he’d fallen in love with her was her charming ability to chat with anyone. He hated when he was the one who had to keep a conversation going. But tonight, he wished she’d be quiet and let him drive. Above the roar of heavy metal, she gushed over how they were family and would be together forever. How, once they found an apartment, they’d do everything together. How, once he changed his major to business, they’d have all their classes together. It would be awesome, she gushed, to spend every moment of every day side by side.

  His earlier sense of claustrophobia escalated to suffocation. Cold sweat prickled his forehead and the back of his neck. The hideous visit to his parents’ farm replayed in his mind. His father had battered him with questions about how he was going to swing rent in one of the most expensive cities in North America, pay his car insurance, and contribute to his tuition. All while keeping his marks up so he didn’t lose his scholarship. The lecture had droned on for twenty minutes. He’d dodged every call and text from his family since.

  The wind was now blowing at gale force and whistling through the poorly sealed windows of the old Buick. The tires kept spinning against a carpet of freezing slush that coated the asphalt. Pounding bass from the deafening music made his headache worse. He wanted to go back to his dorm room and pull the blankets over his head. No—what he wanted to do was go home and let his mother s
tuff him with comfort food while he played video games with his younger brother and sister.

  “Oh, see those yellow markers? Turn right.” She ran her hand across his thigh and into his crotch. “I bought you a little treat.” She rifled in her bag and ran something soft across his cheek. It jangled beside his ear and he glanced at her hand. Handcuffs. Fuzzy purple fabric covered the bracelets. Dim light caught the metal chain and it twinkled salaciously. Instead of being aroused, a wave of terror embraced him as he visualized himself handcuffed and vulnerable in a wilderness cabin.

  Reducing the car’s speed to a crawl, he navigated the turn. The car plowed through loose snow on a narrow lane, and his stress increased with every rotation of the tires. Getting accepted into the University of Toronto’s Environmental Studies program had been brutal. Why was he switching to business? At nineteen, he didn’t want the responsibility of an expensive apartment or a live-in girlfriend.

  High evergreen boughs protected the unplowed trail from the heavy snowfall. Driving was much easier but the road was barely wide enough to accommodate his car. He winced as branches scraped the sides of his Buick. This was stupid. He didn’t want to be stuck in the middle of nowhere during a snowmageddon. He’d only agreed to go because the road of least resistance was peaceful. It was time to man up and tell her he’d changed his mind. But the small gas station they’d passed a while back wouldn’t be open now, and he didn’t have enough fuel to make it back to a major highway to find a 24-hour station. They’d have to wait until morning. Tonight, after a few drinks, he’d tell her he wanted to slow down. If he chose his words with care, she’d understand.

  A ramshackle log house loomed in the headlights. The car skated a few feet before stopping a foot from a rickety porch.

  She gathered her belongings and reached for the door. “I popped some supplies in the trunk. Grab them, okay?”

  He shut off the car but left on the headlights and stared at the log house. It wasn’t what he’d expected. Sheets of plywood covered the windows. There were three padlocks securing the door. He spied a CCTV camera mounted above the door. Why did the owner need so much security out here in the boondocks?

  In the side mirror of the car, his appearance depressed him. His narrow face was pale. There were dark circles beneath his hazel eyes, and his long brown hair was limp and greasy. He’d lost too much weight over the past few months, and his back and shoulders hurt from the tense drive.

  Turning away from the mirror, he reached into the backseat for his overnight bag and dug out his cell. No signal. He climbed out of the car and leaned against the open door, staring at the house. Something about it felt wrong. Sam McNamara had once told him that evil has its own energy. Her eyes had been pools of dark glass when she warned him to trust those primal instincts. You feel it, run. She never spoke of the horrors she’d witnessed, but over the past six months, she’d changed. They were scary, unhealthy changes.

  “Rough drive, overactive imagination,” he mumbled. The feeble reassurance did nothing to reduce his anxiety.

  “What? Come on, it’s cold.” She was doing a little jig and fiddling with a keychain.

  “I don’t have a cell signal.”

  She shrugged. “It’s the storm.”

  “Is there electricity?”

  “Why are you being such a pussy?” She stomped away and he waited for her to open the padlocks on the front door before he popped the trunk. The interior light illuminated two large boxes. Bewildered, he examined multiple cans of meat, fish, fruit, and vegetables. Why pack so much food for a short visit?

  “Are you jerking off over there?”

  He slung his bag over his shoulder, stacked one box on top of the other, and heaved them from the deep trunk. Balancing the boxes in his arms, he closed the trunk with his elbow and tramped through shin-deep snow and up the steps to the porch.

  She used the light on her cell to guide him through the door. The small circle barely lit a foot in front of him. He shuffled inside. There was a terrible odour. Like an animal had died. Under the rancid stench, there was a strong musk of body odour and a whiff of shit.

  She poked his back. “Keep going straight.”

  He took a couple more lumbering steps. His legs quivered with the need to run. “This place is giving me the creeps.” He placed the boxes on the ground.

  “It’s because it’s dark. Leave the boxes and we’ll go to the cellar and start the generator.” She pushed him.

  He stiffened his body and braced his legs. She shoved him again. Hard.

  His heart thundered in his chest. The smell and the darkness were freaking him out. No way was he staying in this hellhole. “Hey, I’m sorry but I’m out. Let’s find a motel.” Prepared to deal with tears, he turned to face her.

  The light she held illuminated her face. For a split second, he didn’t recognize her. Pure rage contorted her elfin features. Before he realized what was happening, the left side of his head was on fire. Backing up, he tripped over the boxes and fell. A sharp pain jabbed his lower back when he landed. Canned goods clattered around him. His hands flailed at his sides, swiping against tumbling cans that rolled across the floor.

  “Why did you make me do that?” Her voice was deep and impassive.

  Dazed and disoriented, he stared up. She was holding something long and cylindrical in her right hand. Above him, the world spun. He squinted as sharp needles of pain gouged into his eyeballs. A gurgle emanated from the back of his throat.

  “Now you’re marked,” she said.

  The dizziness intensified and dots danced in front of his eyes until they joined and there was nothing but black.

  * * *

  HE WOKE TO the sensation of his body sliding. Warmth bathed the side of his face. A taste of coppery blood filled his mouth. When he tried to speak, all he produced was a weak burble.

  She was panting and her iron grip was crushing his anklebones. His head bounced against uneven edges of wood. His dragging fingertips brushed against stairs, but his hands were nonresponsive to his brain’s command to grab the edge. The smell of sewage and body odour intensified as they descended. A narrow shaft of light came from somewhere on her body, but her back blocked the source. Oppressive darkness blanketed him.

  At the bottom of the stairs, she tugged him across cold earth. Jagged stones dug into his hands. She dropped his feet and there was a rattling. Grunting, he struggled to roll over but she took hold of his ankles and yanked him across a barrier. His feet fell to the ground again. She circled his prone body and loomed over his face. An LED light on a band around her head blinded him.

  “They won’t come because of them.” Her voice was serene. “They’re the bait. You’re the prize.”

  His body finally obeyed his brain’s command. He turned on his side and grabbed her ankle, trying to pull her foot from under her so she’d fall.

  With a squeak of alarm, she shifted her weight to her other foot and wrenched her leg free. She kicked him in the stomach and pain lanced from his belly to encase his torso in misery. There was a clang, followed by stomping footsteps. Above him, a door slammed. Then silence.

  Blind in the darkness, he crawled forward until his forehead hit a barrier. Shifting his weight onto his knees, he felt carefully about him with his hands. It felt like metal fencing. He wrapped his fingers through the mesh in front of him and hoisted himself gingerly to his feet. Excruciating pain made him exhale in a gasp. Salty tears mixed with the blood dripping into his gaping mouth. His legs shook as he took tentative steps alongside the chain-link, moving his fingers from opening to opening. There was a lock box against the edge of a door. He continued to trace the barricade. It ended at an L-junction and he shuffled to his right. As he circled the pitch-black confinement, his jumbled brain refused to accept what his fingers insisted was there. A cage.

  Someone moaned. With intense concentration, he listened. He heard it again.

  “Is someone there? Hey! Can you hear me?” He shook the chain-link and the rattling echoe
d through the darkness. “Hey! I’m trapped.”

  “We’re all trapped,” a resigned voice whispered. “Shut up. She doesn’t allow talking.”

  “What’s going on? Why are we here?”

  “No talking!” hissed a different male voice.

  “How many people are here?” he asked. “What does she want?”

  A third voice murmured from his left, “Shut the fuck up.” There was a high-pitched giggle, the deranged sound of insanity. A moment of silence followed before the voice said, “Wait for it, brother. It’s what happens if we talk.” Ominous laughter rang through the darkness.

  Suddenly ear-splitting music pounded all around him. Screaming in terror, he stumbled backwards and clamped his hands against his ears in a futile attempt to block out the screeching vocals and hammering bass. Turning in a tight circle inside his dank enclosure, he screamed until he was hoarse and all he produced were gasping sobs of despair.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Sam

  IN THE HALLWAY, Sam shook snowflakes from her short strawberry-blond curls and stamped her feet to loosen the grime that clung to her boots. Instead of remaining on the rubber mat, the filthy slush flew through the doorway and settled into the old orange shag carpet. Not that it mattered, what with the multiple stains that already spotted it.

  She understood why her fiancé and business partner hated their office. The scarred old partner desk took up most of the three-hundred-square-foot space. Bent orange metal blinds on the windows listed to the left because the cord had broken last month. A pair of dented file cabinets prevented them from opening the door all the way. The place was a dump, plain and simple, and they needed to renovate, a point Reece had been making for the past two years. He’d left the Ontario Provincial Police and joined her PI firm when they fell in love. He’d given up a lot to be with her and deserved to be comfortable. It was clear he wasn’t.