The Murder That Never Was: A Forensic Instincts Novel by Andrea Kane Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Andrea Kane
top of the staircase, the crazed woman jumped from out of nowhere to block him. At this point she was half woman, half monster, puffed face like Ursula the Sea Witch, except red with anger and drunkenness. A huge vein was popping out of the side of her head, no doubt a manifestation of her “migraines.” It was time for the Boss Battle…
Wailing with rage and insanity, Mrs. Higgins whipped out an empty bottle of vodka and raised it over the boy’s head, preparing for a kill move. Gamer instinct told Ryan to aim for his enemy’s weak spot. He made the boy jump as high as he could while aiming his fist right for that throbbing vein...
Queue a cutscene. Totally stunned, Mrs. Higgins’ head snapped back, causing her to stumble and fall backwards down the staircase. She collapsed at the bottom in an unconscious heap. Camera angle shifted, and it was suddenly clear that she was dead—impaled by the jagged edges of her own liquor bottle.
A fitting end.
Ryan moved the boy forward at a breakneck pace, headed for Level Two. There were ten levels in total. The premise behind each level was the same as the first: there was an evil captor—each with a different persona and a different name: Mrs. Higgins. Mrs. Kaminski. Mrs. Gillman. Mr. Hilltop. Mrs. Korman. Mrs. Bridges. Mr. Todd. Mrs. Flanders. Mrs. Wilkins. Mr. Engels. As with the first level, Ryan took screenshots of all the captors’ names.
Each of these ten captors unleashed punishment on the terrified boy, who grew older, stronger, and smarter with each level. He continued to hide when necessary, looking for clues that would help him escape. The escape plans got more challenging with each level, as did the captors. Each Boss Battle got harder, too, with more shots needed to destroy the captor in various ways.
The House ended with the boy—now a teenager—walking off into the sunshine. Inconclusive but hinting at the positive. Typical gamer melancholy for dramatic effect.
Ryan sat back in his chair and folded his arms behind his head. He had to take a minute to congratulate himself for not losing his gamer edge. He could still complete a complex game faster than any pro.
Okay, enough ego for now. Time to analyze the scenario. ScoobyDoo’s game was very unusual and very specific in the way of details. No doubt he’d had the whole game scripted before he’d started coding. Something made him choose this setup when no other survival games were like it—and whatever that something was, was personal to him.
Ryan was willing to bet that he’d lived this life.
So what had he become as a result—a stronger, more compassionate man or a dangerous monster?
The answer to that would tell Ryan who he was potentially helping to vanish off the grid.
Upper Montclair, New Jersey
Julie and Milo were settled into their new apartment—as settled as vagabonds on high alert ever were.
For the time being, life seemed to be holding its own.
Home from the gym, Julie sat on her bed, cross-legged. She opened her laptop and signed in. In the smaller bedroom, she could hear Milo on his headset, calmly but expertly answering the questions of a Dell customer.
Calling up her Facebook page, she settled herself to read the newsfeed and see what was going on.
She never expected to find a personal message waiting for her. But she did.
Nervously, she clicked on it. It was from Shannon Barker—the sixteen-year-old gymnast who the dead Julie had been training at the gym and who was destined to be an Olympic contender.
With pains in her chest, she read:
Please call me, Julie. I understand why you ran. It was probably you they were after. We need to talk. I’m completely unhinged. I don’t know what to do. Should I go to the police? What did you find out about Jim Robbins? Who else is he working with? Is it someone at the Olympic training center? Call me on my new cell at 312-555-4929.
Julie’s throat was so tight she could barely speak. She shoved the laptop aside and ran into
Wailing with rage and insanity, Mrs. Higgins whipped out an empty bottle of vodka and raised it over the boy’s head, preparing for a kill move. Gamer instinct told Ryan to aim for his enemy’s weak spot. He made the boy jump as high as he could while aiming his fist right for that throbbing vein...
Queue a cutscene. Totally stunned, Mrs. Higgins’ head snapped back, causing her to stumble and fall backwards down the staircase. She collapsed at the bottom in an unconscious heap. Camera angle shifted, and it was suddenly clear that she was dead—impaled by the jagged edges of her own liquor bottle.
A fitting end.
Ryan moved the boy forward at a breakneck pace, headed for Level Two. There were ten levels in total. The premise behind each level was the same as the first: there was an evil captor—each with a different persona and a different name: Mrs. Higgins. Mrs. Kaminski. Mrs. Gillman. Mr. Hilltop. Mrs. Korman. Mrs. Bridges. Mr. Todd. Mrs. Flanders. Mrs. Wilkins. Mr. Engels. As with the first level, Ryan took screenshots of all the captors’ names.
Each of these ten captors unleashed punishment on the terrified boy, who grew older, stronger, and smarter with each level. He continued to hide when necessary, looking for clues that would help him escape. The escape plans got more challenging with each level, as did the captors. Each Boss Battle got harder, too, with more shots needed to destroy the captor in various ways.
The House ended with the boy—now a teenager—walking off into the sunshine. Inconclusive but hinting at the positive. Typical gamer melancholy for dramatic effect.
Ryan sat back in his chair and folded his arms behind his head. He had to take a minute to congratulate himself for not losing his gamer edge. He could still complete a complex game faster than any pro.
Okay, enough ego for now. Time to analyze the scenario. ScoobyDoo’s game was very unusual and very specific in the way of details. No doubt he’d had the whole game scripted before he’d started coding. Something made him choose this setup when no other survival games were like it—and whatever that something was, was personal to him.
Ryan was willing to bet that he’d lived this life.
So what had he become as a result—a stronger, more compassionate man or a dangerous monster?
The answer to that would tell Ryan who he was potentially helping to vanish off the grid.
Upper Montclair, New Jersey
Julie and Milo were settled into their new apartment—as settled as vagabonds on high alert ever were.
For the time being, life seemed to be holding its own.
Home from the gym, Julie sat on her bed, cross-legged. She opened her laptop and signed in. In the smaller bedroom, she could hear Milo on his headset, calmly but expertly answering the questions of a Dell customer.
Calling up her Facebook page, she settled herself to read the newsfeed and see what was going on.
She never expected to find a personal message waiting for her. But she did.
Nervously, she clicked on it. It was from Shannon Barker—the sixteen-year-old gymnast who the dead Julie had been training at the gym and who was destined to be an Olympic contender.
With pains in her chest, she read:
Please call me, Julie. I understand why you ran. It was probably you they were after. We need to talk. I’m completely unhinged. I don’t know what to do. Should I go to the police? What did you find out about Jim Robbins? Who else is he working with? Is it someone at the Olympic training center? Call me on my new cell at 312-555-4929.
Julie’s throat was so tight she could barely speak. She shoved the laptop aside and ran into
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