Authors: Rick Soper
The man behind him, and everyone behind him, went into their skidding stops again. The man held up his hands in a what-the-hell gesture.
Trollingham just laughed.
He was able to do the same thing four more times before getting all the way down the hill.
The fury in the eyes of the man behind him was a delight for Trollingham to see. He had great hopes as the small fatherly looking man jerked his little red SUV into the lane next to Trollingham and looked like he was about to start screaming.
But that anger was crushed into nothingness with a single look up into Trollingham’s face. He’d seen that expression before and he knew that no matter how furious the fatherly looking man thought he was, that was a confrontation he wasn’t going to attempt.
It was hysterical to Trollingham. More than a little disappointing, but still funny.
The humor continued as more of the pissed off people who’d been behind the little red SUV swerved into the other lane around him with fury in their eyes, only to follow in backing off when they saw him glaring back at them.
Every set of angry eyes was still more points in Trollingham’s game, which brought him joy, even though the confrontation he so wanted continued to elude him.
By the time he’d turned into the underground parking structure of his apartment building, his joy in the game had evaporated into the anticipation of getting up to his computer for a night of causing trouble.
There was plenty of parking outside, but with the rain, people fought to get to the indoor parking. Trollingham’s truck had only a few inches of clearance to get inside. Combined with the brush bars in front and the wraparound iron bumpers in back, the truck was too long to fit into the spaces inside. But he always forced it in anyway with the direct intention of upsetting his neighbors. He was still waiting for someone to say something to him.
Inside, an older woman was waiting patiently for another woman to pull out of one space that was next to another empty space. Trollingham could see they were the last two spaces inside. It would have been easy for him to just go back outside.
But he didn’t.
He waited for the one woman to get back far enough for him to shoot into the middle of the two spots. Purposely, he didn’t pull all the way up, so the tail end of his truck blocked the aisle, effectively forcing both women to have to back around the entire indoor lot in reverse to get out.
Both women looked very upset, especially the older one who would have to go that much farther with the walker he’d seen her using.
But when Trollingham got out of the truck and glared at them, both of them looked quickly down, which made him grin all the way to the elevator.
The doors opened to reveal the girl who lived down the hall from him. She was adjusting her lipstick with a hand mirror.
“You need a lot more help than that.”
The girl looked up in anger. But that quickly turned to fear, which he soaked up as he blocked the door, and she was forced to squeeze around him. Her trembling arm brushed up against his leg as she passed.
“Boo!” He barked down at her.
She ran, but only made it a few feet away before she tripped, her ankle buckling as one heel of the pretty little shoes she was wearing caught the edge of the pavement into the parking garage and she went down hard.
It was one of the funniest things that Trollingham had seen in a long time, and it actually made him laugh out loud.
Reaching the door to his apartment, he found a lot of the stress of his job was gone. A little aggression towards everyone and everything on the way home went a long way to making the world that much better for him.
Then he saw the Post-it note.
And it all came welling back up.
A switch was thrown back into the “on” position.
The note read simply, “The wheel will turn” in a neat, womanly script.
A part of him enjoyed the fact that he’d pushed someone to the point that they’d leave a note, even if he had no idea what the hell it meant. He didn’t care. The fact that someone had dared to touch his door infuriated him.
“I don’t know which one of you did this, but I’m going to find out!” he screamed loud enough for the walls to reverberate. Then he started walking up and down the hallway. “And when I do—” he slammed the side of his fist into doors “—there will be hell to pay.”
He continued hitting doors, screaming, and fuming until he felt a little release, mostly at the thought of his neighbors cowering behind their doors.
Walking past his door, he ripped off the note and threw it down in the hallway. Inside, he turned on his stereo, dropped Judas Priest’s
Hell Bent For Leather
into the CD player, knowing that it would aggravate everyone around him, and blasted the volume up as high as it would go. His apartment was on the third floor, so he took great satisfaction in the fact that he would be irritating people on at least three floors.
He tossed off his clothes with the rest of them that covered the floor of his bedroom as the music continued to blast away and took a shower, trying to use as much of the building’s hot water as possible. Finally feeling the water turn cold, he got out, grinning, looking past the hole on the wall where the mirror should have been.
He’d taken that down long ago. He didn’t need to be reminded of what he looked like.
Clenching his fists, he pushed out those thoughts, turning them instead to the computer on his kitchen table. A little more aggression aimed in enough directions would do an awful lot to calm him down.
A took a deep anticipatory breath as he thought about all the havoc he could inflict in an evening. A smile spread across his face, as he put on his sweats, threw a Trader Joe’s something or another in the microwave, cracked open a beer, stretched out his fingers, and changed the CD to Pantera,
Vulgar Display of Power
to continue abusing his neighbors ears.
After turning on his computer, he was met with a screen that said, “The wheel is turning.”
Pfft.
“What the he—” he started to say before he felt the dart hit his neck.
Trollingham shot up, his chair flying out behind him across the room, one hand grabbing the dart, the other clenching up in a fist that was ready to strike as he turned towards the dark corner he’d heard the noise come from. But he only made it two steps before his legs gave out from under him. His head crashed down hard on the wooden floors before the world went black.
End Chapter 1
Acknowledgments
The King is my fourth book. The cast of characters throughout those four books is the same. Steve Long is my editor. April Heath Pastis from H & P Publications is the one who formats my books for publication. My mother is my proofreader. Fellow author Sharon Stevenson is my beta reader, a job she shares with Mom, and Steve. I thank them all. That tight knit group helps take my stories from the miscellaneous ramblings I originally give them to the well crafted final book you’ve just read, and for that I will be eternally grateful. If you’re an author I would suggest using Steve or April to help you finish your novels. If you like to read I would suggest checking out Sharon Stevenson’s great Gallows Twins books, which are great fun.
If you’ve read to this point, I thank you. It is absolutely amazing to me that people from all over this country, and this world are picking up my books and reading them. Yes, it is the reason I wrote them in the first place, but it’s completely different to see that vision within your head, actually come to fruition. I really like selling books on Amazon because their reporting allows you to see exactly where in the world people are buying my books. I’ve sold books in the UK, Germany, Italy, Japan, and Canada in addition to the US. I cannot thank you as a reader enough.
Speaking of endless gratitude I really want to thank my parents for always being there for me, and raising me to be the person I am today, for which I can never thank them enough.
I also need to thank my lovely girlfriend Beverly Burchnell. I constantly think of my life being broken into two parts, BB and AB, which stands for Before Beverly and After Beverly. Before Beverly I was a wild man who drank too much, gambled too much, and just generally did everything too much, to the extent that it took me forever to finish my first novel because I was always doing too many other things. After Beverly I calmed down and quit a lot of my excessive behavior and in the process ended up writing the four novels I’ve finished so far. Without that rock of support and encouragement I would probably still be floundering in my own stupidity, instead of writing the books you’re reading.
Thanks for reading, as always, I really hope you enjoyed it.
About The Author
Rick Soper lives in the wild green forests of Poulsbo, Washington. A lifelong California resident, Rick made the move to Washington to get away from it all and continue to write horror and thriller novels. He lives with his girlfriend Beverly and their three rescued terriers, who all like to go on long walks through the many parks surrounding his forest hideaway. As always, he’s currently hard at work on his next novel.
Please feel free to contact Rick at:
Website:
ricksoper.com
Email List:
[email protected]
Twitter: @rockhardpress
Books by Rick Soper
The Rock Series: