Day One

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Day Two

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-Two

Thirty-Three

Thirty-Four

Thirty-Five

Thirty-Six

Thirty-Seven

Thirty-Eight

Thirty-Nine

Forty

Forty-One

Forty-Two

Forty-Three

Forty-Four

Forty-Five

Forty-Six

Forty-Seven

Forty-Eight

Forty-Nine

Fifty

Fifty-One

Fifty-Two

Fifty-Three

Fifty-Four

Fifty-Five

Fifty-Six

Fifty-Seven

Fifty-Eight

Fifty-Nine

Sixty

Sixty-One

Sixty-Two

Sixty-Three

Sixty-Four

Sixty-Five

Sixty-Six

Sixty-Seven

Sixty-Eight

Sixty-Nine

Seventy

Seventy-One

Seventy-Two

Seventy-Three

Seventy-Four

Seventy-Five

Seventy-Six

Seventy-Seven

Day Three

Seventy-Eight

Seventy-Nine

Eighty

Eighty-One

Eighty-Two

Eighty-Three

Eighty-Four

Eighty-Five

Eighty-Six

Eighty-Seven

Eighty-Eight

Eighty-Nine

Ninety

Ninety-One

Ninety-Two

Ninety-Three

Ninety-Four

Ninety-Five

Ninety-Six

Ninety-Seven

Ninety-Eight

Ninety-Nine

One Hundred

One Hundred and One

One Hundred and Two

One Hundred and Three

One Hundred and Four

One Hundred and Five

EPILOGUE

One Hundred and Six

One Hundred and Seven

One Hundred and Eight

One Hundred and Nine

Day One

One

The black mask was made entirely from leather. Rectangular slits were cut out over the eyes and mouth areas, and running down the back, interlacing through the eyelets, were a pair of long, thin straps.

The Adder tightened these straps, firming the mask to the back of his head as he stared at the young woman before him. Her name was Mandilla Gill. Mandy. And he knew her well.

She was pretty and young – nineteen to be exact – and bound to the chair not by any physical restraints but by the medications he had given her. More important than all of that, she was about to be freed from the cold darkness of this world. It was time for her salvation.

The Beautiful Escape.

‘Please,’ she said. Her voice was soft, distant, barely a whisper.

‘Everything is all right,’ he told her. ‘Do not be afraid.’

The girl looked like she wanted to respond, but said nothing back.

The Adder scanned the room. It was dark and cold, and the walls reeked of old, set-in dampness. All across the floor was litter – old newspapers, dirty clothes, garbage of all kinds. The Adder walked across the trash to the other side of the room and stared at the camera he had placed just outside the window.

The angle was perfect. And it had to be.

Satisfied, he turned around and knelt before the girl. Already her breathing had slowed to a critical level and her eyes were taking on a lost, distant look. Even in the pale dimness of this room, the Adder could see that.

There wasn’t much time left.

‘Please,’ she said, and this time her voice was far away from him. So very, very far.

‘Do not be afraid,’ he said again. ‘I’m freeing you.’

The Adder smiled at her. He held her head in both hands. Stared deep into her eyes. And made sure that she saw he was there for her.

‘Fly away, Little Bird,’ he told her. ‘Fly away.’

And Mandy Gill did.

She was soaring.

Two

Snake Eyes.

Mandy Gill’s life crapped out on a cold and grey winter day. The dice of life were loaded against her. They always had been, ever since the day she’d been born. She died isolated, in a sad and lonely place. And the worst part about her death was that it could have been prevented.

If anyone had cared.

The thought of this filtered through Jacob Striker’s mind as the homicide detective pulled his cruiser up to the old hotel. The place was a shithole. Old boards covered the broken windows; gang graffiti painted the walls, and crabgrass mixed with dirt made for a front lawn. This was the Lucky Lodge Rooming House, and anyone who lived here wasn’t so lucky.

Mandy Gill was the perfect example of this. Her last trip out of here would be under the stiff white plastic of a coroner’s body bag – an undignified end to an unfair life.

Game over. You lose.

Striker’s fingers clenched into fists as he climbed out of the unmarked patrol car. He hated this place. Always had. This entire area, too. It was Strathcona, a one-way ticket to nowhere for the mentally ill and drug-addicted. Too many checked in, so few checked out.

Such was life at the Lucky Lodge Rooming House.

Over the years, during his stints in Patrol and Homicide, Striker had been here too many times to count. Overdoses. Suicides. Forcible Confinements and Murders. All bad, no good. But being here today was especially terrible.

For personal reasons.

Striker killed the thought and walked down the cracked-cement walkway, which was covered in rotting leaves and half hidden in the four o’clock dimness. The cold January air was crisp with the hint of coming snow, and blowing in angry gusts. It ruffled his hair and stung his skin.

Striker reached the door, shouldered it open and went inside.

The foyer was dark, and the walls held the smell of old dampness. Striker avoided touching them. Everything was quiet and calm. The nearest hall light was burned out, and the only other light that existed was down at the far end of the corridor.

It flickered strangely.

Striker walked down the hall and took a closer look. What he saw was not surprising for this area – the light wasn’t coming from a bulb, but from the flame of a candle, flickering in the draught. He reached out, pawed the wall, and hit the light switch.

Nothing.

The building had no power.

In his coat pocket was a flashlight. Striker fished it out and turned it on, then made his way up to the third floor on steps that sounded weak and hollow. At the top, he turned left and surveyed the hall. Through the yellow gloom, he spotted a man in a blue uniform.

Patrol cop.

Striker shone the beam on him. The cop was young. Asian. Looked no more than twenty years old and fresh out of the academy. Definitely out of his element. He had his own flashlight out and was shining it nervously around the hall. When he spotted Striker, he let out a heavy breath.

‘Hey,’ he got out.

Striker stepped up to the doorway. ‘You got a name?’

‘Yeah, Wong. I’m on Charlie shift. Team Two-Ten.’

Striker looked at the man’s badge number and saw that it was 2864 – over a thousand numbers higher than his own badge number. It made him feel old. He nodded at the young constable. ‘I’m Detective Striker from Homicide. Where is she?’

‘Just . . . just over here.’ The kid shone his flashlight into the nearest room. Unit 303.