Assassin Deception

Assassin Deception

C.L. Scholey

A Whispers Publishing Publication

Assassin Deception

A Whispers Publishing Publication

September 2011

© 2011 C.L. Scholey

Cover illustration © 2011 Anastasia Rabiyah

ISBN Not Assigned

All rights reserved.  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system-except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the Web-without permission in writing from the publisher.

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

Published by:
Whispers Publishing
, P.O. Box 1165, Ladson, SC 29456-1165.

Dedication

For my family and friends, who continue to support my love of writing

Prologue

Chloe lifted her hand and moved back the long vines of the willow tree; the vines lay touching the overgrown, dark green grass. As always, she ventured forth, enthralled. Her little home had the most beautiful tree for miles around, amidst a huge backyard. Sheltered under it was a cast iron table and chairs, meant for the very young. A tiny doll buggy and ancient toys that her mother had once played with found sanctuary under the tree.

Granny had taken Chloe aside one day a few years ago and told her of the magic that lay within. Chloe had been awestruck. In order to get to the magic, you traversed an enchanted stream, filled with goldfish Granny swore could speak—if you listened closely enough.

Small pirate boats floated around or lay sunk within the sand below; armed, eye-patched, wary pirates kept vigil. The stepping stones must be carefully maneuvered. One small slip and the adventure would be over before it began; the trolls would get you first. They would turn you into an adult, in a world where magic no longer existed.

Chloe was too smart for the trolls. She knew the steps; she had practiced her entire life, all eight hard years.
You must stay away from the ones covered with black pitch
paint.
Granny had taught her well. With childish delight, she approached the hard table. She glided her hand over it in a loving gesture.

The doll in the carriage laughed on a whispered breeze, encouraging her forward. Chloe dipped her hands into the carriage and withdrew the ancient, one-eyed doll with the hardened face; the one Granny claimed was in need of protection, the one called Salvare;
to save.
The limbs were stiff as always, hard to move and position for their endless tea parties.

One glass eye was a cloudy blue, but no matter. The doll was beautiful and always listened to her. Granny had once more made her pink clothing from the wonderful yarn she could knit with flowing ease, quick fingers that danced along the silver needles. Chloe hugged the doll to her breast fiercely, not at all minding when the hard limbs pressed into her tender skin.

“You will never fail me. You are always here for me,” Chloe whispered. She laid her head on top of the doll’s hard, cold, hairless head.

Wincing, Chloe could hear the yelling in the background. Her father was screaming at her mother in the front yard. She squeezed her eyes shut as he raised his voice even higher. The names he screamed at her mother made her recoil. She shook upon hearing the hard slap.

She knew he would leave soon. The door to the car would slam. The tires would spin, and he would be gone. Silence would follow. Her mother would try not to cry, though her tears would mix with blood to drip from her quivering chin and bruised lips and cheek. Her anguished eyes would beg he once more love her, and return to them soon. Granny’s face would seem carved in stone as she watched her son-in-law abandon them again. At least this time Chloe had been spared a brutal assault.

Chloe listened as her predictions played out. Yet this time when her father raced from the driveway, there was a horrendous explosion. There were screams all around. Frightened, Chloe raced from the seclusion and safety of the willow tree, dropping her doll to the ground, where it landed on the soft grass with a gentle bounce.

She rounded the corner of the backyard to the long driveway and was horrified to see her father’s car engulfed in billowing flames. Her mother was screaming, thrashing, being held back by her neighbor, Mr. James Flare.

Chloe stopped halfway down the driveway; she stared, transfixed by the roaring flames of the fire. They billowed about, as though dancing a morbid death dance with their helpless victim. She became aware that Mr. Flare’s son, Dirk, was crouched before her. Everything seemed to move in slow motion.

She looked into the man’s blue eyes, mesmerized with the compassion they held for her. She had known this man her entire life. His brother, Damien, her very best friend, often played with her. Though she and Damien were an entire two years apart, he seemed just as smitten with the magic of the willow tree, at ten. Especially when Chloe named him Salvator;
one who saves
.

Dirk was older. He was already a grown man of twenty-two and even bigger than her father. Dirk had told Chloe her granny was wise and that Chloe should listen to her whenever she ventured to their home to play, which was often enough. Dirk had held her when she cried her sorrow every time her parents fought. He told her to give them time. For years she had given them time. Now it seemed their time had run out. Her father was dead.

“Why, Dirk? What did I do wrong?” Chloe whimpered. She pressed her small head to his broad shoulder and clung to him in desperation.

“You didn’t do anything, honey. None of this is your fault.”

“Who killed my daddy? Who took him away from me?”

“It doesn’t matter, honey. It’s over now. Your daddy is at peace.”

Dirk lifted her into his arms. Chloe could see her mother in James Flare's embrace. He was whispering urgently in her ear. Her mother nodded. To Chloe she looked somewhat relieved, and then even more frightened.

Chloe wondered at that. James was always very kind to her and her mother; he was her daddy’s boss. He often bought Chloe toys or clothes she needed. He let them stay in this house, rent free. He took care of her better than her father did, as most of her father’s money went to drinking and gambling. Never once had James frightened or harmed either of them in any way. Chloe loved him.

Dirk was carrying Chloe towards his car. She knew he was taking her to his father’s home. She heard sirens in the distance. Her mother and grandmother were huddled next to James and a few of his men. Men Chloe had met and thought were kind. Men who took the time to play ball with her and Damien, men who gave her piggyback rides. She was dismayed when her mother suddenly collapsed into James’ arms. He picked her up and headed off with her into the house.

“I want my mommy,” Chloe whimpered, as Dirk settled her into the front seat beside himself.

“Your mommy will come for you tomorrow, sweetheart. My father will take care of her and your granny, don’t worry. My father will take care of everything.”

* * * *

Chloe couldn’t sleep. She lay awake, staring at the white ceiling in Damien’s room. She had often spent the night, especially after her parents had fought. Sometimes her granny had walked the long driveway beside her home, traversing the massive, black, wrought iron gates, carrying Chloe wrapped in a blanket, secure against the cold night air.

Most often they were met halfway by a car or a few men who worked for Mr. Flare. Chloe would be taken by one of the men and given to Samantha, James’ wife. Samantha would check her over, looking for any new hurts her father had inflicted, while James hovered nearby.

Chloe never went to a hospital. If her injuries were severe a doctor was called to the home. After each of her parents' fights, James left the house with a few of his men to look for her father. She had overheard James saying once her father was dangerous while drunk.

Chloe rose from her bed and on silent feet left the room. Her tummy rumbled. Hopefully Samantha was in the kitchen and would give her a homemade cookie and a warm glass of milk. Chloe trod down the long hallway to the massive oak staircase. Her tiny feet made no sound on the polished steps; not one board squeaked to give her position away. Once reaching the bottom she moved towards the kitchen, but she changed her direction as she heard raised voices coming from the other room.