The End of Games

  The End of Games

  Tara Brown

  Chapter One

  Renos

  The presents under the dimly-lit tree were shiny like they had lights beneath them, making their paper glisten.

  I ran a finger across the shimmering silver gift at the foot of the tree, sticking out onto the area rug. There was nothing but a huge S on the tag. No name, just an S. I ran my fingers across the S and realized it felt wet.

  When I lifted my fingers, they were red. The S turned to blood and ran down the tag, making a puddle on the wooden floor.

  “Shit!” I panicked, looking around for something to mop it up before it stained my area rug.

  That really is the problem with being a mom, you can't switch off the need to mop up spills, even in a dream where presents bleed onto your floor. All you really see is another fucking mess to clean up. That would be why I wake up tired most days, I'm even cleaning in my dreams.

  Who am I kidding? My savage addiction to caffeine had to be at least half the reason I was so tired. I wasn’t even human until my second cup of coffee.

  But as the dream faded, I didn’t wake up tired that morning. I woke feeling nauseated, my head spinning.

  My blurry eyes burned when I opened them so I closed them again immediately.

  The crick in my back was worse. Great. My to-do list started to rifle through my head, looking for an empty slot to fit a massage, or at least a chiropractor, into.

  Jules’ seventh birthday had passed, of course, but the party was still planned for Saturday. I needed to pick up the cake and a Monster High doll for each girl attending. Yeah, I was going to be the rich mom who was able to buy each girl a Monster High, instead of a shitty, little goodie bag. Let the snooty moms enjoy me upping the ante on that one.

  Ha, bitches!

  I went to fluff my pillow but it wasn’t there. My hand dragged along the bed but then I realized it was the floor.

  I’d fallen out of bed again?

  Another restless night?

  I opened my eyes to see my attic.

  Shit.

  Sleep walking?

  I looked around, “How the hell?” The attic was closed up completely. Why had I come up there? There was almost nothing up there, just me and Jules’ old rocking chair in the corner next to all the crap I still had to sort through. Most of it was from James' ‘escape my wife and kids’ death, and then his real death.

  Knowing him, he’d be like the monsters in the horror movies and just keep coming back.

  Fucker. Skeezy fucker.

  I sighed and sat up, but my head spun.

  “Shit.”

  I shook my head and tried to see the broad scope of my being in the attic alone. I hadn’t crawled up there. I hadn’t closed myself in, so there were larger issues I wasn’t addressing yet. I looked around the room, nodding. I had been put up there.

  How had they done it?

  I smacked my lips together, noticing something. I had all the side effects of a drugging—funny metallic taste, foggy brain, thick tongue, stomach ache, crusty eyes, and I couldn’t reach the fear and anger attempting desperately to get to me. My old spy body tried frantically to make me aware of my situation.

  I looked at the hatch, it was closed. If I’d been sleepwalking, which I hadn’t done since I was nine, I wouldn’t have been able to close the hatch.

  No, someone had put me up there.

  I scrambled to the hatch and started to pound on it, “Mitch! Jules! Mom!” The desperation was fighting the frog in my throat as I screamed. The unimaginable started to fill my head. What if they had my children? Why had my mom not saved us?

  A light stream of smoke started to filter up through the cracks.

  Was the house on fire? I sniffed the smoke, coughing a little. It was real. It was all real.

  "MOM!"

  The raging scream for my mom left my lips just as I recalled them taking a trip. She had them at a ‘company-owned’ resort for the weekend. Payment for the suck-ass trip to ‘Thailand’. They were probably at Camp David, poor kids. God knew what she did in her free time. Nothing like democratic politicians telling stories and drinking too much while operating the boat.

  I winced. At least they were safer than I was.

  The good news though, they weren’t with me. The bad news, I was alone and my house was on fire.

  Maybe I’d drank too much. What had I done last night?

  I’d drank red wine, the new Dreaming Tree. I'd eaten a pad Thai frozen dinner and watched half of the second season of Vampire Diaries on Netflix.

  Mmmmm Damon.

  Everything came back into my memory slowly, and the red wine and Damon lingered in there.

  My delayed reactions and dulled senses started to fade as the small traces of smoke filtering into the attic from the upstairs increased.

  Was it a frame-up to make the world believe I was dead, or was it a real attempt? I looked around the attic and nodded, “It’s real, Evie.” They would have told me I was being offed if it wasn't real.

  The tiny vent, in the top corner of the front of the house, was the only way out. The whole attic was a death trap.

  In my peripheral, I caught a glimpse of something polished. I turned my head to see my wedding ring, engagement ring, grandmother’s ring, and my locket, all sitting in a neat little pile near the hatch, awaiting its chance to ID me after the fire.

  “Shit.”

  The monster from the horror movies was back. Had he done this? Had he put me up here and put my jewelry there, for me?

  I reached for them, but my fingers froze along the way to touching them. If they wanted me dead, wasn’t it better if I were dead? It would be better if my ‘dead husband’ thought me to be gone.

  Fuck it, I grabbed my locket. I needed that. The rest could burn, but I needed that piece of him.

  I looked around. Ideas came fast, but they mostly involved Coop saving me—or Damon. Either would be acceptable.

  “Shit.”

  I spun in a circle, assessing every object within the small room.

  I muttered, “Useless shit.” I sat down on my heels and smacked my forehead. “Evie, come on, wake up. Think Evie, think.” I needed to come up with a plan. My brain was stuck on Damon auto play and the drug hang-on wasn’t letting me switch channels. Him shirtless, drinking scotch and smirking the way he always did. Dear God, I was about to die and that was all I could think of.

  I looked back over at the rocking chair and wriggled my lips.

  I got up and dragged it to the side of the room where the vent was. It was several feet away still, but if I could get to the beam, I could swing over to the vent. I started piling books and boxes on top of the chair. It rocked and knocked everything off.

  “Oh, Evie. Come on,” I sighed and placed a book under either side of the rocker to stabilize it. My eyes watered, and not from my usual self-pity tears. The smoke was starting to get quite thick. I coughed and stacked the boxes, books, and bags again. It made an unstable tower but it was the best I could do.

  Looking around the space, I sighed at my hatred of old furniture. If I hadn’t hated it, we would have had old dressers and shit stacked up here. Instead, we had bags of clothes I wasn’t ready to part with, all size twos and possibly containing shoulder pads and acid wash. Then there was the stash of his shit I had tossed up there, not ready to burn just yet. I didn’t want my kids to think I was a soulless whore. Not to mention, the boxes of books like Sweet Valley High and V.C. Andrews. Books I swore I would save for my daughter, if I ever had one.

  I glanced at the Flowers in the Attic book and shuddered; Jules would never be allowed to read that. Never. Clearly, not a well-thought-out plan on my part. It did, however, make me want to have a little conversation wit
h my mom. What had she been thinking, letting me read it? It might have explained a few of my sexual preferences Servario had discovered, like having my hair pulled and my ass spanked. I blushed and forced him out of my head.

  I held myself steady with one hand on the wall and started to climb the stack of crap with my other hand and my feet. I clung to the wood so hard my fingers began to bleed. My dream started to feel real. I felt like any second I would find an S made of blood as a signature and a farewell.

  What if it was Servario trying to kill me, like he’d threatened to do tons of times?

  I had no answer that I could trust. I knew my vagina’s answer was a hearty no. But I couldn’t trust that slut.

  My brain screamed that I had only ever spent a week with him and he had stuck his finger in my bum. He was not to be trusted.

  Tears streamed from my eyes from the exertion and the smoke. I grabbed onto the edge of the wall where the insulation ended and the beams were. I started to pull myself up, but my feeble arms shook. I cried out as more blood dripped from my fingers and splinters got lodged in them. I had to hold myself in place as I kicked away from the chair and climbed the wall with my toes. I managed to get in a near pull-up and swing my arm up and out to grab a beam in the trusses. I hung there, panting and unsure of what was next. The brilliant plan had been to get to the vent, but I didn’t feel like I had gotten much closer since I still had to get my body up onto the beam. The smoke was thicker, the higher I went, and my fingers were about to let go as droplets of blood left them and greased the beam I clutched to.

  I felt the urge to give up, but Jules’ birthday party and Mitch’s soccer game were next Saturday. Not to mention, the start of school in a few weeks. I was too busy to give up. I started to move across the beam, like it was a monkey bar. I managed to get one leg on the beam and hung on with that leg as I swung with the other when I got close enough to the spot where the vent was. My core was strong. I might not have strong arms anymore, but I had killer abs. Thank you, hot yoga for not being completely useless.

  I swung, catching my toes on the ledge of the vent and paused, starting to laugh.

  What the fuck was I thinking?

  I was going to fall and die or get hurt enough that escaping the fire would be impossible.

  I crawled my hands closer to my feet, wrapped the extending leg over the beam, and hung there again upside down. I was nearly wheezing from exertion, and my hands were leaving bloodstains everywhere they touched.

  I called out desperately, “COOPER!” He might hear me with all his cameras and bugs.

  Little pervy bastard.

  “COOP! COOP, COME FIND ME! COOPER! WAKE UP, COOP!”

  Calling out to him made me feel like giving up again. I liked that he always saved me. That wasn’t the only thing I liked… But I felt like Bill Murray washing balls and staring at the older ladies in Caddyshack every time I thought about him in a naughty way.

  I pushed the thought away and started my slow progression to sitting up on the beam.

  I whispered a mock prayer, “If I live through this, I swear I’ll sign me and Jules up for mommy and me gymnastics.”

  Jesus, and start lifting weights.

  I grabbed the beam next to me and dragged my poor body up to a sitting position. I coughed and gagged as I slid along the beams to the vent, kicking the plastic vent out and leaning my face out into the cold night air. I gulped in the clean air.

  A black sedan sat across the street but up a few houses. I could see the man in the driver’s seat was reading something. His angle wouldn’t be great to see the attic vent, thank God.

  I choked on the clean air for a minute, trying to figure out how to get off the roof.

  I sat back, putting my feet through the vent, and slid my body through the hole. I grabbed the vent with my trembling fingers and stood on the roof. I looked at the car. He was still reading.

  Lazy fucker. Where was the work ethic in the new spies?

  I crept to the edge of the peaked part of the roof and shimmied along to the back. My heart was rapidly attempting to push me off the roof, it was beating so hard against the house. Everything hurt but there wasn’t time to think about it. I crept to the back of the house, to the huge tree by the back deck. The tree that James, the man whore, and I had argued about. I had wanted to cut it down; it made weird noises in the storms. I looked at it and nodded, "So glad I never won that argument." Tears streamed down my terrified face.

  The self-pity tears were back. I dare say, I even heard a ‘why me’ in the back of my mind.

  “Evie!”

  The floodgates opened when I saw Coop standing on my back deck. I sobbed but he shook his head, “Stop being a baby. You have to jump into the tree. The fire is out of control. Hurry up.”

  I shook my head, “I-I-I can’t.” It was true. Him being there meant I was safe and he would save me, and I didn’t have to do anything else. I shook my head but he rolled his eyes and pointed at me, “I am not climbing this fucking tree to come get you. Now jump. Pick a branch and jump.”

  I sniffled and nodded, “Alright...fine...I fucking hate you." Somehow it all had to be his fault.

  I caught my breath and looked down. The ground was rushing up at me. I shook my head and closed my eyes for a second, “I can't do this, Coop. I can't jump. I’m not twenty and stupid. I know how the hard ground feels from this distance.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose, “Jump or die.”

  I took a breath and picked my branch. I was about to sit down and cry until I died, but the roof cracked behind me as the fire spread. I screamed.

  "Just jump, Evie, for Christ's sake."

  I did a couple squats and closed my eyes again, as I leapt for the branch. When my fingers caught it, I gripped for dear life but the sweat and blood made my palms slippery. My grip was lost and I dropped to the next branch. I screamed as my back hit the branch and I scrambled for a grip. I caught something in my hands and held on for dear life. I opened my eyes, only then, to see I was hung up in a branch...floating mid-air... halfway up my house. I caught my breath and looked for Coop. His eyes were huge. He swallowed hard, “Oh shit, Evie. You scared the hell out of me.”

  I snarled, but my back getting hit had knocked the wind out of me. The branch cracked and slowly lowered me to the ground as it broke off in a series of cracks and tears. He ran his hands through his hair and sighed, “That was graceful.” I could hear the relief in his voice. I groaned, “I hate you.”

  He jumped the fence of the deck and picked me up off the ground. I clutched to the branch, leaned forward, and threw up everywhere.

  “Also graceful.”

  I heaved, “Fuck…you.”

  He rubbed my back, “Come on, we gotta go ‘round back. They got eyes on the house. I’ll be stunned if they didn’t see that display.”

  I shook my head, “No.” I wiped my face. He gave me a horrified look as I lifted my shirt up to wipe my face again.

  He seemed confused, “You got blood everywhere.”

  "I have a million slivers in my hands." I stepped back and looked at the house, “The cat.”

  He shook his head, “Ralph’s in my car. He was in the yard when I got here. Luckily, they got the sleepiest fucker ever on this place. I think he was actually napping when I arrived. Anyway, Ralph's safe but pissed.” He held his arm out, showing me a huge scratch.

  I winced, “He’s okay, though?”

  He nodded, “Yeah, but your house is screwed.”

  I sobbed a little, my babies’ pictures and all their things. The things we had accumulated as a family. All that was left was the crackling sound of the flames and the wood. "My kids have officially lost everything. James has taken it all."

  Coop ran his hands over my shoulders, "Evie, they still have you."

  I sniffled and watched as it all burned up. One of the windows next to us burst, with flames shooting out. I growled and pulled his gun from his harness. He snatched it back, “We gotta go.”


  I shook my head and limped around the side of the house. One of my socks was missing and my pajamas were torn and shredded. Leaves, bark, and blood covered me, and I felt like I needed an iron lung. I hobbled to the front of the house, staying in the huge bushes that separated my yard from the one next door. No one was awake. No one noticed that my house was in flames. Probably because none of my smoke alarms were going off anymore. Something had killed them off.

  Fuckers.

  I looked back at Coop and pointed to the car, “I’ll be right back.”

  Coop grabbed my arm, “Wait. They think you’re dead, let them.”

  I snarled. He let go and stepped back, "Or not."

  I limped across the street and opened the driver door. The man in the dark clothes looked up. I punched as hard as I could, grabbed his gun from his lap, and smashed him in the face with it. He cried out as I dragged him from his seat. He grabbed me but I kicked him in the balls. We both screamed—my bare toes against his pelvis was a bad experience. He bent over to throw up, but I pulled him across the street with his gun to his head. He fought back but my rage was far superior to his training. I smacked him in the head again and tossed him into a bush, holding his own gun on him, “WHAT THE FUCK?”

  He shook his head, “How?”

  I growled, “Forget how, you little dick. You lit my house on fire? My kids could have been in there.”

  He gave me a slimy smile. I fired a bullet into his thigh. The silencer made the shot almost inaudible.

  He grabbed the wound, crying out.

  “Why?” I asked.

  He shook his head, “I can't tell you.”

  I fired a bullet into his other thigh.

  He screamed again.

  “Why?”

  His face was tight but he managed words, “It was just a job, lady. You were just a mark. I can't tell you, because I don't know. The message came through a couple days ago.”

  I looked at Coop who was shaking his head. I ignored him, “Who hired you, dipshit?”

  He shook his head, “I don’t know. Money was a wire transfer and the gun and phone were in a locker at a bus station for me.”