Suicide Affair

Tony Stanford

Description

There is a way that seems right unto a person, but the way thereof is the way of death. It is the 1960’s. Above the rich Native American city of NuSprings, Missouri, the sky is turning dark with a deadly storm brewing on the horizon. Suicide Affair is a multi-book story of how lives crisscross and intertwine. Some affairs, no matter how exciting or appealing, are suicidal when pursued. Dark, intriguing, and sometimes chilling, Dark Skies pulls you down a path you would never wish to go: Rita, a child lost on the path, wanders a dark stormy world of loneliness and survival. Her worst fear is not being raised by the monster who murdered her mother, but the shadows that threaten to eat her soul. Garth, a boy with a good soul, is pushed onto the path and pulled into its darkness through revenge and murder. RiverDawg, an aging witch doctor, plays on the path and toys with those who venture down it. People are his entertainment. Quillpen Jack, a Native American boy hoping one day to become a great warrior, discovers the path is not only dark, but deadly. Will he survive? Will any of them survive the coming storm?

Sujets

• Thrillers
• Suspense
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Outskirts Press
• Date de parution: 11 septembre 2018
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781977204004
• Langue: English

Extrait

Suicide Affair
Book One Dark Skies
All Rights Reserved.
Copyright © 2018 Tony Stanford
v2.0

This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or living persons. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.

This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Outskirts Press, Inc.
http://www.outskirtspress.com

ISBN: 978-1-9772-0400-4

Cover Photo © 2018 gettyimages.com. All rights reserved - used with permission.

Outskirts Press and the “OP” logo are trademarks belonging to Outskirts Press, Inc.

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA


I would to thank the following people for the encouragements keeping me pumped and inspired:

My wife, Sharon
Karen Benthien
Carla McIver Watson
Norma Stanford
Rickie Taylor
Lynne Dorrough
Annette White

Special thanks to Johnna Williamson


There is a way that seemeth right unto a man;
But the end thereof are the ways of death.

Proverbs 16:25
The Holy Bible

CONTENTS
Prologue: Caught in the Storm (Suicide on I-70)
Prelude: Mr. Woodfield (A King in His Own Right)
Part One: 1962–’63
1: The Forsaken Queen
2: Dark Sky
3: Shadow of a Dragon
4: Lost Princess
5: The Anti-Boy Scouts
Part Two:1965
6: Quillpen Jack
7: God and Sinners
8: Survival of the Fittest
9: Thunderbolt
Part Three: 1968
10: Winds of Change
11: Passing the Torch
12: Dark Knight
13: Rumbles of Thunder
14: Higher Education
Part Four: 1969
15: Neighbors
16: Julia Brooks
17: Cousins
18: The Gift
19: Brave and Beast
20: Thou Shalt Not Poke the Dragon
21: Boys
22: Friends
Epilogue: Sawyer Hobb


Prologue
CAUGHT IN THE STORM (SUICIDE ON I-70)
APRIL 2005
Today, Nick Dayton was going to die.
Above him, the sky was dark and growing darker. Thick and turbulent clouds advancing from the west were getting closer. The low, powerful rumbles of thunder were unsettling. Nick felt dread and wanted to flee, but there was nowhere to go. Nowhere to run.
Showers had come and gone; each time cooling the air, each time soaking him and bringing a chill to his bones. He stood on the side of I-70 trying to thumb a ride with a westbound traveler. He wasn’t having much success. The fact was, he was down on his luck. The past several years of his life had gone from bad to worse. Dark and stormy as the day was, so was his life. More and more, suicide seemed his best resolve.
He told himself he didn’t care. That nothing mattered anymore. The truth was, it did matter, and he did care. Deep inside, he wanted to live. He wanted to forget the past. But, was it possible? The past haunted him, and sleep didn’t come easy. At least five people were dead because of him. Could he ever forget that?
Stress, guilt, and drugs over the years had taken a toll. Sunken cheeks, crow’s feet at the corners of listless eyes, and premature graying of his uncombed hair and facial stubble made him look older than what he was.
The rumbles of thunder were louder now. Only feet above his head, small, dirty nimbus clouds raced by as if they were trying to flee the approaching beast—while beside him, the uncaring traffic sped past him as if he were invisible.
Yet, sticking out his thumb again, he hoped for a ride.
An old, worn, faded army shirt with Dayton over the left pocket served as a jacket covering a faded black T-shirt. The army shirt, belonging to his dad, had sentimental value. Nick’s dad had committed suicide when he was still young; a note left behind explained how the family would be better off without him. Nick now understood—when all hope is gone, suicide is the only answer left. Nick had little to no hope left.
Another car wailed by. Nick expected to soon be caught in another cold downpour and perhaps in a dance with lightning. Death from lightning might not be so bad.
Betty, his ex-wife, popped into his mind. She was born a Brandt and was the sister of his best friend from childhood. Would she care? It was doubtful, and he couldn’t blame her.
Nick felt the sting of loneliness.
If only he could reverse time and go back to when they were first married and happy, and life was fun. It was his fault their marriage hadn’t worked. Overly ambitious, he was persuaded to do things he now regretted. Things which had stressed him and made him impossible to live with. How could he have been such a fool? Look at him now.
And he still loved her.
More cars zoomed past him.
Another was approaching.
A foreign one? He couldn’t tell. He stuck out a pleading thumb. The approaching car, a black Porsche, pulled off onto the shoulder. Feeling the first drops of the coming rain, he hurried to the car. The window on the passenger side went down, a voice from within said, “Hop in.” Was his luck changing? He wanted to believe so.
Nick slid in and shut the door. “Hey, man, thanks a million! You’ve no idea how I ap-pre-ci-ate . . .” His voice trailed off as he looked over at the driver. Stunned and speechless, his optimism dissipating, he realized the car window was going up. A feeling of apprehension gripped him, and he wondered if he hadn’t made a mistake. The driver, staring ahead, let off the brake and pressed down on the accelerator. The car jumped out onto the highway and began racing toward the dark beast in front of them.
The first thing Nick saw when he looked at the driver was his arm. Resting on the console between them, hand on the gear shift, the driver’s long sleeve white shirt was spotted with blood. Nick followed his arm up to his shoulder and onto his face. The driver’s face, younger than his, also bore small cuts. Cuts now crusted over.
Unconcerned with what he might be thinking, the driver continued looking forward with a blank expression. Looking into the man’s right eye, Nick thought he looked distant—like he really wasn’t there. Nick knew the feeling all too well.
Eyes darting back over what he had seen, he noticed smears of blood on the gear shift, steering wheel, seat, and a smudge above the driver’s head.
“You all right, man?” Nick finally mustered out. “Do ya need a doctor?” He hoped for a friendly explanation.
“I’m fine,” answered the man. “Sometimes a man needs to bleed.”
Nick looked at the man, puzzled about his answer and what he meant.
The driver asked, “Heading somewhere?”
“Denver.” Denver wasn’t far away, and the sooner he got out of the car the better.
It was raining now. Hard enough to distort the view, but the driver seemed unconcerned with the visibility and hadn’t yet turned on the wipers. Nick took a moment to assess his surroundings. He could smell gasoline. The CD player was on, and the music was turned down low. An electric guitar was stuck in the space behind the seats. On top of the dash, next to the windshield, laid a small round mirror with a razor blade on it.
Looking out the windshield, Nick could barely see and took it upon himself to turn the wipers on. Having been in one severe accident, he didn’t wish to be in another. His last accident had sent him from being a successful truck driver with his own rig to the drifter he now was.
“Got a name?” the driver spoke with little emotion.
“Nick.”
“I knew a girl named Nikki. Nikki York. She committed suicide. Drove off a bridge one stormy night. Her body swept away by the raging water. Ever hear of her?”
Nick did know of a girl named Nichole York. And she had committed suicide. He didn’t know the girl, but he did know the girl’s mother, Rita. “No,” he lied.
“A shame, she was a real good looker! A siren. If you know what I mean.”
Nick looked at the man’s face. Who is this guy? It was strange, the man almost seemed to be hiding a smile. There was a crazed look in his eyes. Was he hiding something? Again, Nick looked at the cuts. They could have been made by a razor blade. Why would the guy have cut himself so? Nick noticed another thing, besides the fact they were traveling close to one hundred miles an hour . . . The diver was wearing a small gold spoon around his neck. A type of spoon used for coke. Was he a coke addict? Stoned? Did he realize what he was doing? It might explain the distant look, the cuts—the blood.
Suddenly, Nick began to feel an ache of his own. A craving, a hunger to feel alive again. He looked back at the spoon, then at the dash, and again into the man’s eyes. His body was yearning. He hadn’t been high in such a long time. Suddenly, he wanted to be high now more than anything.
But it was drugs that ultimately brought him to the place he now was. At first, the speed helped him to stay awake, enabling him to cover hundreds of extra miles a day, almost doubling his annual income. Eventually, though, he had become terribly strung out, and one night, traveling beyond the speed limit, had forgotten to turn his headlights on. He didn’t see the car pull out in front of him. Carrying a full load and appearing out of the darkness of the night, he ran upon the back of a car with locomotive force. The three guys in the car were killed and Nick had spent weeks in a hospital. Financially ruined, career gone, he survived with no permanent physical damage.
Finally, unable to control the intense desire, Nick broke the silence. “Hey, man, you wouldn’t by any chance have some blow, would you? I could really use some