CONCUSSION: MAJIK LEVEL 1 GRIMOIRE 1 – CHAPTER THREE – GAME – RAW, UNEDITED

CONCUSSION
GAME
RICHARD SKEET

Copyright © 2015
RICHARD SKEET
All rights reserved.

Phone Call

When Ray and Ray’s hot-as-fuck mom get home from the hospital:
Ray’s sexy-mom goes into her bedroom;
gets on the phone.
Ray’s mom: “Richie?”

-Pause-

Ray’s mom: “Can you come see him?”

-Pause-

Ray’s mom: “Hold on.”
Ray’s sweet-ass mom closes her bedroom door.

Who’s my mom calling?
Ray’s mom emerges from her bedroom,
about 30 minutes later.
She’s been crying quite a bit:
Nose is red,
as are her eyes.

Ray’s mom: “Ray,
I love you so very much.

I’ve tried to:
shelter you;
protect you from the world;
raise you in a Christian household.

You’re a sweet kid,
a good kid,
but,
I can’t protect you anymore;
I’m afraid.

You asked me to take Karate;
I chose not to get you lessons;
I should’ve listened.
You knew you were in danger;
knew words wouldn’t help you;
wanted knowledge to protect yourself.

I didn’t want you to be trained to be a fighter.
I wanted you to solve your problems by talking it out.
I felt the school’s teachers would protect you;
your friends would protect you;
your words and your smarts would protect you.
I was wrong.

It would’ve been financially difficult for us to afford Karate,
but truth is:
I didn’t want you to have that training.
I hoped somehow,
if you just kept your head down:
bullies would leave you alone.
I was wrong.

Ray’s mom is about to tell a story.
Ray turns off the TV,
out of respect,
and to listen.

Love

Ray’s mom: “About 13 years ago,
I fell in love with your father.
He was fun to be with,
good looking,
smart,
funny.
He had money;
was generous.
Swept me off my feet;
bought me jewelry;
took me on vacations;
showed me a life foreign to me.

I was raised poor;
my parents were poor;
their parents were poor;
I had always pinched pennies.
Your father was not that way.
He seemed to have endless supplies of money.
He was always happy,
full of strength,
vitality,
energy.
Men respected him,
and,
at some level it seemed:
they feared him.
At that time,
in our relationship:
I couldn’t understand why.

Your father always treated me well.
We loved each other very much,
but,
he lived by a different set of rules,
than I grew up with.
My parents were passive people,
involved in The Church.
They felt money was the root of all evil,
so,
right away,
they distrusted your dad.
They kept telling me,
‘Some day you’ll see the darkness within him;
when that happens:
come home.’
I didn’t listen;
your father and I eloped.
We were young,
very much in love.
Despite what my gut told me:
I followed my heart.
We were married,
within a month of meeting each other.
Crazy I know;
that’s what we did.

Break In

One day,
about six months after we were married:
four masked-men break into our house.
It’s late night;
I’m downstairs in the kitchen;
your dad’s upstairs sleeping.
They’re armed.
They put a gun to my head;
ask me where your father is.
I say nothing.
One of them hits me in the face,
hard.
I can still taste the blood in my mouth.
I’d never been hit in the face before.
I still say nothing.

They force me up the stairs;
me leading the way;
gun on my temple;
mouth gagged.
They make me open the bedroom door;
lights are out.
Looks like Richie’s in the bed,
sleeping.

They empty their clips into the bed.
I never heard a gun shot before.
So loud;
ears are ringing.
Smell smoke,
from gun fire.

They pause,
reloading;
your father emerges from the closet:
starts shooting.
Three of them get dropped in the room.
Two of the four are shot in the head,
fatally.
One,
of their heads,
explodes onto me.
My face sprayed with blood,
and,
I assume:
brain matter.
Another goes down too,
but,
I don’t see where he is hit.

I’m dragged out of the room,
down the hall.
Pistol,
still at my head;
hot against my temple.
My captor,
behind me.
I’m his shield.

My captor: ‘We’re here for you Richie Rich!
Give up!
I’ll let this woman go!’

My captor’s cell-phone starts vibrating.
A man yells from the bedroom:
‘Answer that!’

My captor to me:
‘Don’t fuckin’ move!’

I hear your father’s voice,
loud,
brazen,
confident,
from the cell-phone’s speaker.
Your father to my captor:
‘I have your brother,
Marcus,
with me.
He’d like to say something to you.’

Marcus,
on the phone,
says to my captor:
He has me.
There’s nothing I can do.’

My captor asks Marcus:
‘You OK?’

Marcus: ‘I’ve been shot in the leg,
and shoulder,
but,
I’ll make it.
Billie and Mark are dead.’

Your father gets on the phone:
‘Put your gun down;
get on your knees;
put your hands on your head.’

My captor yells: ‘Fuck you!’

Your father: ‘No.
Fuck your brother,
Marcus!

The phone call ends.

My captor,
mutters to himself with emotion,
Fuck!

My captor yells: ’I have the woman!’
towards the bedroom.
His gun still jammed against my head.

BANG!
Another gunshot from the bedroom,
the report deafening.

Marcus screams:He shot my finger off!
It fuckin’ hurts!
I can’t believe my finger’s gone!’

Your father yells: ‘Shut up Marcus!’

My captor pleads:Let my brother go!
We’ll walk out of here in peace!
I swear on my mother!’

Your father yells back: ’It’s too-late for that!’

My captor,
muttering with emotion to himself:
Fuck! Fuck!
My captor yells: What do you want!?
towards the bedroom.

My captor’s cell-phone starts vibrating;
he answers.
I hear the whole conversation,
my captor’s so close.

Your father: ‘OK motherfucker.
You don’t know what you’re dealing with.
Ever hear of the game,
cell-phone?’

My captor: ’No.’

Cell-Phone Game

Your father: ’The cell-phone game is comprised of two teams:
ten or more men.
Here’s how I play.
Assign each team a man.
For example:
I assign one team to you;
one team to your brother,
Marcus.
The two teams start making calls on your cell-phones,
contacting all on your cell contact-list,
and his.
The phone calls go like this:
‘Hello,
I’m Doctor Abraham at the Northwest Medical Center.
Marcus has been in a terrible accident.
He’s not expected to live long.
I’m trying to notify all close-friends of Marcus,
so,
they can come and say goodbye to him.
Are you a close friend?’

The goal of the game:
get as many of your friends and relatives,
as possible,
to come and visit.
When they come:
we kill them;
over a period of about a week,
slowly in front of the two of you.

The winner:
the team accumulating,
the most dead-bodies,
in the fixed time-period.
Sound like a fun game?
Ready to play?

Get on your knees;
put the fucking gun down,
now!
Or,
I’ll kill everyone you know,
everyone your brother knows,
every:
relative,
friend,
child,
slowly,
in front of you,
men,
women,
children-
I’ll bring twenty men here to play the cell-phone game,
with both of you;
until,
this whole goddamn house is filled,
from floor to fucking-ceiling with bodies.
Get me?’

I can’t believe,
the way your father’s talking to my captor.
Keep in mind,
your father’s so sweet to me:
so kind,
so loving,
so perfect.
I’ve never met a man as compassionate:
loves kids;
loves animals;
gives money to charity;
goes to church every Sunday;
is of mild temperament;
never raised his voice-
Yet here he is.
He kills two killers,
is torturing a man in our bedroom,
and,
is telling another man to let me go;
or,
he’ll kill his whole family.
I know he means it too.

Who is this man I married?
I have no idea.

My captor,
pacing back and forth,
to himself again: ‘Fuck! Fuck!’

BANG!
Another gunshot.

Marcus: ’He shot another finger off!’

Your father: ’Shut up!
Don’t be such a pussy!
You’ve got 8 more digits!’

-Pause-

Your father: ‘This is a one time offer!
Drop your gun now!
Get on your fucking knees!’

My captor throws his gun down;
gets on his knees.

Your father yells to me: ‘Honey,
come to the bedroom!
Open the door slowly!
Come inside!’

I walk to the bedroom.
I see the man,
Marcus,
on his knees.
He’s tatted up.
Huge;
big as your father,
even on his knees.

Your father asks me: ’Are you OK?’

I reply: ‘Yes.’

Your father stands Marcus up;
goes to the door.

Your father: ‘Marcus,
what’s your brother’s name?’

Marcus: ‘Charles.’

Your father: ‘Charles!
I’m bringing your brother out!
No sudden moves!’

Charles: ’OK!’

Your father marches the two of them down the stairs:
hands over their heads.

Your father orders them:
‘Strip down to your underwear,
slowly.
No sudden moves;
I’m twitchy.’

After they strip,
your father orders: ‘On your knees.’
Marcus and Charles comply.

Your father:I’m going to ask you a series of questions.
If you hesitate;
or,
lie to me,
and I will know you’re lying:
you’ll lose a finger,
or worse.
We clear?

Both: ‘Yes.’

Your father: ‘Who hired you?’

Both: ‘Seraphini.’

Your father: ‘That’s what I thought.’
Your father gets on his cell-phone.

Clean

Your father’s phone call:
‘Antwon?’

-Pause-

‘Got a mess to clean up;
get Chris and a crew here in twenty minutes.’

-Pause-

‘Ya,
I’m OK.’

Antwon arrives:
zip-ties Charles and Marcus.

Your father: ‘Chris bringing a van?’

Antwon: ‘Yes.’

Chris walks in.
Chris: ‘What the fuck happened Richie Rich?’

They call your dad Richie Rich.
The first time,
I heard him being called that,
by anyone.

Richie Rich: ‘Got a mess,
most of it’s in the upstairs bedroom;
clean it.’

Chris: ‘No problem.’

Richie Rich: ‘Antwon,
take these men to Seraphini’s house;
time to play cell-phone.
I want everyone involved.
Clean it all:
down to their records at DMV,
and,
social security.
None of these people ever lived.
Got me?’

Antwon: ‘That’ll take some time.’

Richie Rich: ‘I know;
take care of it.
Oh,
I almost forgot,
the bodies upstairs want to play cell-phone too;
get it done.

When you’re done cleaning,
Chris:
Pack and store all files,
both computer and paper.
Empty the safe;
pack the jewelry;
torch the house.
We can’t live here anymore,
too-much bad chi.’

Chris: ‘Got it.’

Richie Rich: ‘Honey,
get cleaned up;
let’s go on a vacation.’

Your father and I fly down to Florida.
I can’t stop thinking about what happened.
I’m also upset your father never told me,
about this part of his life.

All your father says to me:
’Some things are better brought up,
slowly.’

I ask him: ‘Why didn’t you let those men go?’

Richie Rich: ‘Because I needed them,
captured and alive.’

I ask:Why’d you kill their innocent families?

Richie Rich: To send a message.
I work in a dangerous business.
If I show weakness or mercy;
if my enemies believe knocking-me-off is possible or desirable;
It will lead to other attempts on our lives.
They saw my marriage as an opportunity to strike;
they were wrong.’

I say: ‘My parents were right;
you’re way too-dark for me.
You’re a monster!’

Stack

Richie Rich: ‘It’s who I am.
Can’t change who I am,
or,
what I do.
All I can do is try:
to do the right thing;
to live the right way;
to be good to people.
But,
my first priority is my family.’

I say: ‘You’re a ruthless killer!’

Richie Rich: ‘I love you more than anything in this world!
I’d stack bodies from here to Los Angeles to protect you!
I know that’s not how you were raised;
it is how I live.’

I say: ‘I love you,
but,
I can’t live like this.
I need to go home.
take me home.’

Your father takes me home to my parents.

Choices

The next day I discover:
I’m pregnant with you.
I tell your father.

He tells me,
you and I,
Ray,
can live with him:
he can put us up in private quarters,
within his soon-to-be-built mansion,
and we’ll raise you together.
Or,
I can raise you without him,
but,
I’d be on my own.”

Ray stares at his mom for a moment,
shocked.

Ray’s the first to speak.
Ray: “Why did he abandon us?”

Ray’s mom: “He said it would be too-dangerous,
for us to live outside his protection.
If anyone found out you were his kid,
your life would be in danger.
Your dad’s a powerful man;
powerful,
ruthless enemies.

My choice was to let him raise you,
or share custody in his home,
or raise you without him.
I chose to raise you on my own;
he was not happy about this.”

Ray mumbles,
jaw wired shut:
“Why has he never visited me?
No Christmas,
no birthday,
nothing!
You told me he was dead!”

Ray’s mom: It was my wish.
I didn’t want you near him,
ever.
I thought I could raise you better alone,
even as a financially-poor single-mom,
than with him.

I’ve done my best to raise you,
but:
I can’t protect you anymore.
I can’t give you the education you need.

Your father was right,
A sheep can’t raise a lion.
is what he told me.
At the time,
it made no sense.
Looking at you in your crib;
you were so innocent.

Now it makes perfect sense.
You’re a lion raised by sheep:
the sheep hate you;
the wolves hate you.
It’s time you were raised by a lion;
I can’t give you that;
your dad can.

I love you honey,
so very much,
but:
you’re a lion.
You need to be among your own kind now,
or,
I fear I’ll lose you.
Whoever beat you up,
must fear you to have done this.
I have no idea who it was,
but,
this I know:
I can’t protect you from the wolves;
the wolves will not leave you alone.
It’ll get worse the older you get.”

Ray tries yelling: “I don’t want to go!”
Even though:
he can’t move his wired-shut mouth.
Ray’s crying,
uncontrollably,
like a little girl.

Ray’s chip: “Fuck off!”

I say: “It’s true!
Crying like a little bitch.
I want my mommy!
Boo fucking hoo!” I say back,
taunting Ray’s chip.

Horn honks;
taxi outside.
Ray recognizes the driver:
Drew.
Ray’s seen Drew many times before.

Drew: “You ready Ray?”

Ray yells: “I don’t wanna go!”

Ray runs to his mom;
hugs her tight.

Ray yells:  “I won’t go!”

Drew says to Ray’s hot-mom:
“Got this.”

Ray’s hot-mom nods.

Drew: “Look kid;
my instructions are very clear;
I will follow them.
You’re coming with me.
Two choices:
get in the backseat;
listen to music;
watch a movie;
or,
ride in the fuckin’ trunk.
Personally,
I don’t care which.”

That’s all for today. I’ll be releasing all three books – in their current form: CONCUSSION MAJIK LEVEL 1, GRIMOIRE 1, GRIMOIRE 2, GRIMOIRE 3 on my blog – unedited – a chapter at a time. I will give you my thoughts on each chapter, clues for future books, and answer any questions you might have. A new raw unedited chapter will be released every day at around  4 PM.

Tomorrow, I’ll begin chopping this chapter up, adding notes and other thoughts. I would really appreciate your feedback in this process.

Please question, comment, and share, thank you.

Richard Skeet

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