READ A SAMPLE OF THE PROGRAM BOOK ONE
Chapter One
Shots dulled under the thumping of his heart. He crouched low behind the barrel.
“You fuckin idiot, you’re cornered!” His heart skipped when the beast came into view, its bulk filling most of the lane. It skulked forward on all fours, resembling an enormous grizzly, though its muzzle was long and wolf-like. Its nose rose as it sniffed the air. A low, rumbling growl vibrated. Its menacing head turned. Bright yellow eyes glowed. It would find him. There was no doubt. Trapped, he had no choice. He stood and took aim.
“Shoot Bailey.” The words of his best friend Cam came too late. The beast lifted him like a rag doll as it snarled. Strings of drool hung from jagged fangs. Its claws squeezed, ending his hopes of survival. A deep cry rose to a triumphant crescendo as the beast ripped him in half, discarding his body like a torn piece of paper.
Game over flashed on the screen. Bailey slid the headphones off and frowned. “Cam, you’re meant to help?
Cam’s thin lips spread into a grin, his streamlined frame rose from the sofa, and he lumbered toward a stack of boxes piled against the side wall. He rustled through one. He emerged with two glasses of amber liquid. “Sorry,” he said, sauntering over. “This will numb the pain”. He handed a glass to Bailey. “Anyway, how many times have I told you, never back yourself into a corner?”
Bailey leaned against the back of the old lounge and looked around Cam’s garage, the same way he’d done Friday nights for as long as he could remember. His only alert everything was about to change, the prickling of hairs running across his body.
He inhaled another drag of the joint Cam had given him. A late birthday gift and a dig at his gaming skills in one hit. When Bailey arrived, Cam had launched the joint across the room. “Here, catch. Something for you to do."
There was no denying his friend’s abilities far surpassed his own. It was worth the ribbing. Besides, given Cam lived in the western suburb of Watson, he had far easier access to party favours like scotch and pot.
Bailey gulped the last of his drink and melted against the old lounge. His eyes roamed the familiar space. The left side still functioned as a garage, housing Cam’s dad’s car. It was no Benz, but to Mr. Davis, the old Toyota was as good. Bailey shivered. There it was ag5ain. A crawling sensation on his skin. He glanced at the door. Closed.
“You sons of bitches!” Cam shouted above the sounds of gunfire and explosions.
Bailey smiled. His half-closed eyes took in Cam’s lanky form and messy hair under headphones. Atop an old desk, the large curved gaming screen. A gift from himself to Cam last Christmas. Yep, this was his favourite night of the week with his favourite people. He had nothing to worry about. Bailey’s shoulders slumped. He remembered his father’s reaction the last time he and Cam had got caught smoking marijuana. A month of extra chores and a lecture on consequences, he was still reminded of. Bailey straightened and reached for the joint. His head spun. He blinked. Lines of vivid light streaked across the walls. Yellow, green, blue twisted and entwined along with his gut.
“What are they?”
“What’s what?” Cam said, looking over his shoulder.
“The lights on the walls, when did you do them?”
Cam stood and stepped toward him. A goofy grin spread.
Bailey folded his arms across his chest. “What’s so funny?”
“It’s the pot, Bailey. You’re just hallucinating.”
“What are you talking about? You don’t hallucinate on pot.”
“I told you, remember, the guy said it had a kick to it.”
“You mean it’s laced? With what?” Bailey’s heart raced. He stubbed out what was left of the joint. He watched Cameron sit beside him. Bailey squinted. I don’t remember him being that tall. He looked up as Cam towered over him.
“Bailey, are you alright? The guy said the stuff would only kill you.”
"Kill me! “What did you say?” Bailey yelled
"I said, he told me the stuff wouldn’t hurt you.”
Bailey’s muscles tensed. The taste of metal filled his mouth. He stood and paced. “Why did you do this?” he said as much to himself as to Cam.
“Relax, man, you’re all good.” Cam pushed a bowl toward him.
Bailey looked at the bowl of fries on the coffee table. “How did you get these?”
“Mum brought them in. You spoke to her a couple of minutes ago.” Cam ran his hands over his head. “Oh man, you’re tripping. Sit down. Eat up. It might help.”
Bailey sat and looked at the bowl. His head recoiled as the thin-cut potato strands rocked back and forth. He poked one with a finger. The potato fries stood on end and shuffled around. His fingers were about to clamp around one when a small mouth with rows of teeth tried to bite him. Bailey snapped his hand back. “Aaaaah!” They jumped, covering him. They took nips at his chest, neck and arms. He flicked and pulled at them. They’re everywhere! One jumped from his chest to his nose, latching on and swinging like a weird nose ring. Bailey scratched his face as he leapt from the couch. In one movement, he pulled his jumper over his head and tossed it across the room.
“You’re okay, Bailey. There’s nothing there!” Cam’s voice rang out in a panic.
A loud thump vibrated in Bailey’s ear. Another and another, like a giant’s footsteps.
Louder. Bailey covered his ears.
“Run!”
Who said that? Cam? Bailey dashed ahead blindly. He bumped into objects, crashed through others. Shouts cried out in the distance. He couldn’t worry about them. How could he have been so stupid as to listen to Cam? He must have meant this to happen. To get rid of him or something. Fear turned to anger as he burst through a door. Cool air washed over him. Under streetlights, he sprinted past neighbouring houses, a chorus of dog barks echoing behind.
Panting, Bailey stopped as he reached the Watson train station. He scanned the empty platform and sat on a bench seat. I’ll go home. It will be fine. He snapped his head in the direction of the voices. It was Cam and his dad. Mr. Davis pointed at him. They’ve come to take me back. How could they betray me like this?
“Well, if that’s the way it’s going to be, then,” Bailey stood his ground. He couldn’t understand why he felt so raw and hostile, but it was there, and he knew one thing: if he needed to, he’d act on it. A noise came from behind him. He spun too late. A jolt hit him. His body shook, and he fell with a thud.
The soft whoosh of air filtered through Bailey’s nose, carrying the scent of plastic. Not a pleasant sensation. Bailey squirmed. The mattress squelched underneath. Beep, beep, beep. Annoying, like an insistent fly. He blinked. His eyes heavy. His father’s face came into focus. Why’s he in my room? “Wh…what is it, Dad?” Without a word, his father’s expression signalled that something was wrong. Bailey went to sit. His father placed a hand on his chest.
“Son, stay still. You’re at Ordermane Hospital. A reaction to something you took, but you’re going to be okay.”
Bailey watched as a doctor approached, stethoscope draped around his neck. His father stood to intercept him. The two spoke. Bailey strained to hear, with no success.
The doctor headed away, and his father pulled a chair close to the bed and sat. “Bailey, the blood test showed phencyclidine, apparently known as PCP or angel dust.” His dad cleared his throat. “This is a serious drug, son.” His father turned his head away and blinked a couple of times.
Bailey’s mouth went dry. Angel dust? How could it have been?
“Last night, was that the first time you’ve used it?”
Bailey’s heart sank. His father’s hurt was clear in his eyes. “What? No, Dad, I only had weed. I wouldn’t. Angel dust isn’t even around here.” His father’s hand patted his arm.
“It’s alright, get some rest.” The tone of his father's voice told Bailey things were anything but alright.
Over the next few hours, flashes of memories returned. Bailey dismissed some at first, not believing them. As time passed, the night unfolded in his mind one awful fragment at a time.
Chapter Two
Bailey rifled through a pile of clothes on his bedroom floor, yanking a pair of blue denims out. He held the pants up, giving them the once-over before he sniffed. “You’re good for at least another day,” he muttered as he shoved one leg, then the other, into his jeans and hauled them up.
About to slip into a tee, he paused at a soft knock. His mother entered, a sharp look of disappointment on her face, a look not normally reserved for him. “Here you go sweetie, this one will be better.” She plucked the tee from his hand, simultaneously draping the shirt over his arm, then she touched his face.
“Remember where you come from. Your father and I don’t want people thinking poorly of you.” Withdrawing her hand, his mother scanned the room and left, closing the door behind her.
Bailey raked his teeth across his bottom lip as he picked up his phone.
New message, Cam.
Tough break, man. It sucks what happened.
I should never have believed the guy. He said it was a stronger mix. I swear nothing about Angel dust.
Bailey tapped a response. Truth be known, he was annoyed Cam had got the laced joint, but he had accepted it.
It’s on me, not you. I chose to smoke it. I’m sorry I hit you, man. I imagine your dad probably doesn’t want me over anytime soon.
Bailey stared at the screen. The reply came quickly.
It adds character. Besides, I bet I’ll look badass to the girls at school tomorrow. Dad’s fine. Told me to tell you, if you don’t screw up from time to time in your youth, you ain’t livin life’s lessons. He grounded me for a month. A confused emoji ended the message.
That wasn’t the whole truth. Things weren’t okay. Bailey brushed his wayward fringe aside. One thing left to do. Face the consequence.
His father’s home office sat off the kitchen, nestled at the end of a hallway. When he was young, Bailey would pretend a monster lived there. When he wandered near while playing, his mother would be quick to head him away.
"Don’t disturb your father, he’s working.” It was rare for Bailey to be called to the office, rarer still for a good reason. In his seventeen years, he could think of only two times. When he came first in cross country at the age of thirteen, and the first time he was chosen for the state hockey team.
As he passed through the kitchen, he spotted his mother preparing breakfast with increased meticulousness. She looked up and acknowledged him with that same forced smile.
His father’s office door was no different to any of the other internal doors in the house, yet it definitely held a sense of foreboding. Bailey stood quietly at the door and listened to a faint tapping. His father’s laptop.
The door opened, and Bailey looked up sheepishly into his father’s eyes. In his mind, he said, Sorry, Dad. Outwardly, he swallowed.
His father stepped to the side and ushered him in. His face remained neutral. Never a good sign.
“Sit down,” his father said. “Son, I spoke to Mr. Davis, and I’ve gone over these messages again and again.” He slid the mobile a touch on the desk. “Still, I am baffled as to how we are, where we are. The other way around would be easier to understand.”
A low dig at his friend. His father had always seen Cam and his family on a lower social level, and he definitely didn’t like the suburb of Watson. Bailey turned his head away.
“Okay, Bailey, let’s hear it.”
“It was me, Dad, not Cam. Your son. The great and wonderful Bailey Parsons. I’m the one who flipped out and caused the damage.” Bailey knew he was going too far. Maybe it had been his mother’s comment earlier that added fuel to the rant. “You think Cam and his family are trash or drugos. If that’s true, I must be worse. I guess you’ve never made a mistake in your life, Dad!”
His father stood abruptly. “Now that’s enough!”
Bailey stood wide-eyed as the crimson flush faded along with the crease in his father’s forehead.
“It’s because I’ve made mistakes. I must be hard on you now. Next year you’ll turn eighteen. Your decisions, your own.” His eyes locked back onto Bailey's. “Believe me, son, the consequences can be harsher.” His father took a shallow breath. “Your mother and I have raised you better than this. You told us in the hospital you smoked marijuana and had scotch. So how did PCP get into your system?” His father’s head lowered as he sat. “I thought our relationship was better than deceit.”
Bailey’s stomach dropped. “Dad.”
“This is not the first time we’ve discussed drug use. I told you then how dabbling in marijuana can lead to other drugs. Dangerous ones, all for what? A cheap thrill. To be part of the crowd.”
Bailey averted his gaze and slouched back against the chair. “It’s not like that. We don’t drink and smoke every day or anything. Hardly ever, really. Pot doesn’t cause violence.” He shook his head. “Honestly, Cam would never give me something dangerous. He didn’t know. The guy told him it was okay.”
His father rose from the chair, shutting him down again. “And yet, you blindly took the word of a dealer and ended up in hospital. Not before assaulting your friend and damaging property. Either of which could damage your future opportunities if charges were laid.”
Bailey’s head lowered along with his voice. “I know I messed up.” He dared himself to look up again. “I get it. I let everyone down. I’m not going to screw up again. Promise.”
His father sighed. “This is to protect you from yourself, son.”
Bailey’s tongue loosened again. “Do you think I want to hit my best friend? This is to protect you, Dad! Your reputation, not mine!”
His father stared from behind the large antique desk. He waved his hand toward the door. His final words trailed Bailey as he left.
“We are taking care of this today.”
Enjoyed the Sample? The rest of the story awaits.