Skully, Perdition Games Read online

  CHAPTER TWO

  Nina

  QUENTIN LEFT THE lasagna in the oven too long. The edges were overcooked, and the cheese top was hard and brown.

  Gabriella whined and refused to eat it. Nina was strict about eating what was served or doing without. Quentin, on the other hand, bustled to the kitchen and made their daughter her favourite. She wouldn’t eat the peanut butter and jelly sandwich either.

  Gabriella had her elbow on the table, another no-no, and her chin was perched in the cup of her open hand. With the other hand, she poked the tip of her index finger into the sandwich. “What are we going to do now?”

  The smell of peanut butter was upsetting Nina’s stomach. Saliva filled her mouth, and she closed her eyes and breathed through her mouth to keep from vomiting.

  “What are we going to do?” Gabriella repeated in a shrill voice. The five-year-old was cranky, tired, and probably hungry. An explosive mix.

  Quentin grinned. “Now, we do the dishes.” He picked up their daughter’s plate and rubbed the top of her head. She swatted away his hand, crossed her arms on the table, and threw her head on top.

  Gabriella was old enough to clear her own dishes. She certainly shouldn’t be slapping at her father.

  “Sit up, please,” Nina said, “and take your arms off the table. Why don’t you help Papa clear the dishes?”

  Her daughter ignored her. “Why can’t Mama do the dishes and we play? It’s boring here.” She didn’t lift her head from the table.

  “After the dishes,” Quentin continued, as if she hadn’t spoken, “we’ll play a game. Hey, I know, maybe Mama could give you your treat.”

  Nina glared at him. She was saving the gift as a distraction when boredom turned Gabriella into a troll.

  Gabriella sat up straight. “I want a treat. Give it to me”

  “Ask nicely,” Nina told her.

  “Can I please have it?”

  “May I,” Nina automatically corrected.

  Quentin leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Pick your battles. Don’t poke the bear cub. It was a long drive.”

  She studied her child from the corner of her eye and decided he was right. It had been a long drive and everyone was tired. If Gabriella saw the craft material, maybe she’d be excited about the project.

  “If I give it to you tonight, you have to promise to go to bed when Papa tells you. No shenanigans.”

  Gabriella frowned and there was a belligerent expression on her face, but she nodded.

  Nina went into the bedroom to fetch the box. When she returned, she’d barely managed to let go before her daughter pounced on it.

  “We’re going to make a memory book for the baby,” Nina explained. “We’ll collect things from the woods and shells from the beach and add the items to the book. Every day, we’ll write about what we did. After the film is developed, we’ll add photos.”

  Gabriella crossed her arms and said in a haughty voice, “We did crafts in kindergarten. They don’t do that in grade one. It’s for babies.”

  “This is a big girl craft. You didn’t write on your crafts in kindergarten.”

  Her daughter gave her a steely glance. Other than displeasure, Gabriella’s eyes rarely showed any expression. They were violet spheres devoid of emotion.

  “We’ll put it away for now. Tomorrow morning, while Papa’s fishing, we can gather things you’d like to add.”

  Gabriella studied the stickers and coloured pens. “I wanna play with them now.”

  “We’ll start tomorrow,” Nina repeated.

  “How about I clean up, and you guys start?” Quentin suggested.

  Nina shook her head. “No, we’ll start tomorrow. We can take a nice hike in the forest to find neat things.”

  Bits of her nightmare flashed before her eyes. She carried the box to the bedroom and shoved it under the bed.

  When she returned to the living room, Gabriella announced, “We’re gonna play skully.”

  Nina raised an eyebrow at her husband. “May as well since we have lots of beer caps.”

  He laughed. “Lighten up, I’m on vacation. Besides, I grew up with skully.”

  She pulled her daughter onto the sofa. “Papa was born in New York City. We played a similar game called caps, but Papa brought skully from the streets of New York to little old London, Ontario.”

  Quentin bounced eight beer caps in his hand. “We have extra, in case we lose one or two. Did you bring candles?”

  Deciding to ignore the amount of beer he’d consumed, she nodded. “Emergency candles. They were in the box with the dry goods.”

  “Why do we need candles?” Gabriella asked.

  “We melt wax into the bottle cap to make it slide faster,” Quentin said. “You slide your cap so it lands on a number.” He demonstrated by flicking one across the coffee table.

  Gabriella caught it and flicked it back. Quentin grabbed it before it flew off the table.

  “What numbers?” she asked.

  “We use chalk to mark off a big box on the cement patio. Inside the box, we draw smaller ones with the numbers one to twelve. In the centre is a box for thirteen, with four rectangles around it, like a skull and crossbones,” Quentin said. “We can pretend we’re pirates, arr.”

  Nina grinned. “When you’re sliding your cap, don’t get stuck in the skull. I spent most of the game in the skull when I played.”

  “No way, I always hit your cap to set you free and protected you from the killer.” Quentin winked.

  “What’s a killer?” Gabriella asked.

  “After you’ve landed on all the outside numbers, you go to each box around the number thirteen. When you land on one, you say a word until you complete the phrase ‘I am a killer’. Once you’re a killer, you knock players’ caps off the board until you’re the last one and win the game.”

  “I want to play now.” Gabriella scrambled out of her seat and raced to the door. “I want to be a killer and I want to use the chalk.”

  The cement patio was at the front of the cabin, facing the lake. Together, they watched the sunset colours bleed across the horizon. They’d built a small campfire in the pit, and Nina was enjoying the sweet smell of burning wood and the crickets’ evening serenade. Quentin was taking her turns. Lounging in a wicker patio chair — cocooned in a woolly blanket and sipping tea — was much more her speed.

  Quentin was letting Gabriella win the game. She’d completed the twelve board numbers and was flicking her cap around the skull. She lay on her stomach, her eyes wide, and her face pale, while she focused.

  “I,” she hollered, “am…” her lips tightened in concentration and her eyes narrowed when she flicked the cap, “a… killer.”

  She jumped to her feet and turned a flushed face toward Nina, beaming. “I am a killer,” she said. “I won. You and Papa lost. You’re losers!”

  Quentin crouched so he was eye level with her. “Princess, that’s not nice. Besides, you haven’t won yet. You still have to hit me to take me off the board, remember?”

  She slapped him hard across his face and shoved him in the chest. He rocked on his heels and fell backwards.

  “Gabriella!” Nina pushed on the chair arms so she could stand.

  Looking dazed, Quentin sat up and waved his hand. “It’s okay. I didn’t explain it properly.” He rubbed his elbow, which he’d skinned on the patio.

  “It’s not okay. Gabriella, we do not hit. We do not push people,” Nina said.

  Gabriella’s lip lowered to a pout, her forehead wrinkled, and her eyes blazed. “I am a killer. I won.”

  “Say you’re sorry this instant.” Nina struggled to keep her voice calm. “You’re sorry for hitting, for being a poor sport, and for talking back.”

  “Chill out, it’s not a big deal.” Quentin climbed to his feet and brushed chalk off the back of his shorts. “It’s late and we’re all tired.”

  Nina ignored him. “We’re waiting for you to apologize.”

  “Sorry.” She studied the skully
board. “I did win. Papa’s cap isn’t on the board.”

  Quentin laughed. “Guess my big bum knocked it off.” He leaned down and lifted her up. “Mama’s right. It was naughty of you to hit your old papa.”

  She touched his cheek, and for an awful moment, Nina expected her to hit him again. Instead, she giggled. “Your face is scratchy, Papa.”

  “Papa bear, grr. Time to get Goldilocks to bed.” He carried her into the cabin.

  Nina wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and poured a bucket of water on the campfire, staring at the red-hot centre.

  “She’s just high-spirited, it’s nothing to worry about,” she murmured to the dying embers.

  After the last wisp of smoke drifted from the dead campfire, she trudged inside to tuck her daughter into bed.

  IT WAS AFTER eleven by the time they settled Gabriella. It was two-thirty when her screams woke them.

  Quentin put his hand on Nina’s shoulder. “It’s another nightmare. Stay here.”

  “Bring her in with us,” she suggested.

  A moment later, he tucked a moist, sleepy Gabriella between them on the bed.

  “It was a dream,” Quentin said to the sobbing child.

  “Mama, you left me,” she said. “It was raining and the woods were scary.”

  Nina’s blood ran cold and a shiver raced up her spine. She looked at her daughter’s tear-streaked face in the dim light, unable to speak.

  “Why, Mama?”

  Quentin sat up. “Has Mama been telling you silly ghost stories, princess?”

  Ignoring him, their daughter said, “I want a doggy.”

  He smiled and hugged her. “It wasn’t such a scary dream after all. Want some of Papa’s water?” He held the glass to her lips.

  “A big white doggy.” She shoved the glass aside.

  Quentin tucked her against his side. “Sorry, kiddo. No doggy, Papa’s allergic.” He squeezed Nina’s hand a little too hard. “Too bad Mama can’t shake off her bad dreams as fast as you can.”

  Gabriella must have heard them talking in the car. Nina was positive she’d never said anything about her dream in front of their daughter. Laying silent and uncomfortable in the dark, she felt anxious and out of sorts. Something was tickling the back of her mind. When she peeked at Gabriella, her daughter was fast asleep between them.

  “Quentin, are you sleeping?” she whispered.

  “No,” he mumbled.

  “Why does she want a big white dog?”

  He rolled over with a sigh. “I don’t know. Didn’t we see a picture of a dog sled team at the Ojibway store we stopped at on the way up?”

  She relaxed. “Right. That’s probably where Ella saw the dog from her dream.”

  He studied her in the distorted moonlight from the ugly stained-glass window. “She didn’t say anything about a dog being in her dream. She said she wanted one, and she’s been asking for months.” He paused. “That dream you’ve been having, is there a dog in it?”

  She slowly shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.” Was there? “Let’s go to sleep.”

  He yawned. “Have pleasant dreams for a change.”

  Watching the moon through the ugly window and feeling the baby kick, Nina listened to her husband’s breathing even out and waited for sleep.

  They’d saved all year for this vacation. Nina wished they’d stayed home and camped in the backyard.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Nina

  “GET UP! GET UP! Get up!”

  She locked eyes with her daughter, who was leaping up and down on the bed. Gabriella was already dressed in an embroidered peasant top and a cute pair of denim shorts.

  Groaning, Nina rolled over and glanced at the travel clock. It was five-thirty in the morning. When she tried to sit up, a wave of dizziness knocked her back to the pillow. Her mouth was dry and a headache throbbed in her temples. Worse, she was having cramps. The contractions had started a few weeks ago. The first time it happened, they’d raced to the hospital to have an ER nurse inform them — condescendingly — that Braxton Hicks contractions were ‘normal and nothing to worry about’.

  “Where’s Papa?”

  Bounce, bounce. “Getting ready.” Bounce.

  He was going fishing. Nina moaned and tried pulling Gabriella down to a seated position.

  She could sense the tumbling movement of the baby. While she lay still and waited, the baby kicked, so she didn’t think her illness had anything to do with her pregnancy. But her body felt sluggish and achy. It was probably a twenty-four-hour bug. Gabriella had had it the week before.

  “Sweetie, go get Papa for me please.”

  Gabriella leaped off the bed and hollered for her dad.

  A moment later, he glanced through the bedroom doorway. “What’s up?”

  He looked so relaxed and happy in his fishing kit. Quentin was an eternal optimist and seldom complained about the extra hours he put in at the office. Fishing was the only activity that separated him from the family, and he needed the solitude to unwind. She wasn’t stealing his fun because of a flu bug that would be gone by evening.

  “Just wanted to wish you happy fishing.” She smiled. “Don’t forget your hat. The afternoon sun will be hot.”

  He grinned and placed a crimson hat decorated with colourful lures on his head. “Pretty spiffy, eh?”

  “You bet. Can you help me up?”

  He lifted her out of bed and put his lips on her forehead. “You’re warm.”

  “No worries, it’s just sleep sweat.” Another stabbing cramp assaulted her stomach.

  “Babe, you’re pale.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Gabriella can come with me, we have the life jacket,” he suggested. “She said it’s yucky and doesn’t want to go, but she’ll enjoy herself once she’s on the boat.”

  She’d be cranky if they forced her and would pout. Quentin would have to bring her back. There wasn’t any point. Instead, Nina would relax her TV rule and nap on the sofa while Gabriella watched cartoons as a treat. “No, it’s okay.”

  “Did you have that nightmare again?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “You know, you’ve always had wild dreams.”

  He was right, but usually she remembered the details and could figure out the dream’s origins. This time was different.

  Because An Da Shealladh is a vision of what’s to come, not a memory of what has been, Grandma’s voice warned.

  Gaelic nonsense. Her subconscious was dragging out the dream every night because of guilt, a mother’s best friend.

  “Do you think Gabriella is excited to be a big sister?” she asked.

  “Sure, what little girl wouldn’t want a baby to play with?”

  “I suppose.” Nina reached for her housecoat. “She’s spoiled. Maybe she’s worried the baby will take attention away from her.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “She is not spoiled. Kids need to feel loved and safe.”

  She sighed and wrestled with her housecoat.

  He helped her navigate her arms through the sleeves. “Babe, you’re warm.”

  “I’m fine. It’s an oven in here.”

  She wasn’t fine. Now she was standing, the room was lurching. Her legs felt rubbery and her bowels felt loose.

  “It’s cooler in the front room, but it’s going to be a hot one today. Maybe I’ll wait until a little later to go out. I don’t want to leave if you’re sick.”

  She’d rather have a quiet day watching TV and laying on the beach with Gabriella than a wild, rambunctious day filled with high-octane Quentin fun. “Seriously, I’m fine. It’s supposed to rain for the next two days, and we’ll be stuck inside. Go.”

  “Want me to come ashore at noon to check-in?”

  “If you want, but you don’t have to.”

  For a moment, he seemed torn. Then they heard the calls of the anglers from the dock.

  “I better get going or all the good spots will be taken.” He winked.

&n
bsp; In spite of how awful she felt, Nina laughed. Lake Superior was over eighty thousand square kilometres of clear blue water. There would always be good spots.

  “How about a trout or northern pike dinner?” he asked.

  “Probably bass,” she said. “Whatever the catch of the day is, it better be cleaned and filleted before it hits my kitchen.”

  She waddled to the front room and watched him close his tackle box and kiss Gabriella.

  The second Quentin was out the door Gabriella pouted and said, “I’m hungry.”

  “How about cereal? There’s Count Chocula.” Nina rubbed her hand across her sweaty face.

  “I want bacon.”

  The idea of bacon frying made her stomach flip. “Not this morning. Maybe we can do bacon and Cheese Whiz sandwiches for lunch.”

  Gabriella grabbed a bowl and the cereal box from the cupboard and sat at the scratched wooden table. She looked at Nina. “I can get juice,” she said.

  It was rare for her to be helpful. If Nina was honest, her daughter could be a brat. Gabriella’s teacher had described her as ‘precocious’, but the judgment in her eyes had suggested it wasn’t a compliment. The teacher had also used the words ‘submissively non-compliant’ and ‘impertinent’.

  “Thank you, juice would be great.”

  Her daughter took the carton from the fridge, put it on the table, and sat down.

  Nina sipped the orange juice. The acid churned in her upset stomach, and she felt chills. Gabriella nibbled on her cereal, and they sat in silence.

  “What are we going to do?” Gabriella spun a feather from an abandoned lure between her fingers.

  “Well, we could make a sand castle.”

  Her daughter frowned.

  “I think Sesame Street is on television.”

  The frown deepened.

  “We could make cookies later.” A bubble of bile rose in Nina’s throat, and she grasped the table edge and closed her eyes.

  “I want to go with Papa,” her daughter said.

  If she slept a little longer, she’d feel better. Quentin could bring Gabriella back for lunch and have the afternoon on the lake alone.