Plot

By Ron Knight

When author Nicholas Shay wrote his twenty-sixth novel he couldn’t have imagined what would take place after it was published. It wasn’t just the characters in the story being killed, but also people with the same name as the characters. Millions became fascinated by the murders and the popularity earned Nicholas Shay over two hundred million dollars...His plot worked to perfection.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ron Knight
• Release date: Jan 13, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311083036

Ron Knight

Ron Knight is the author of over 100 books and the founder of Ron Knight Entertainment which includes 81 Minute Books, Vortex 9 Films, Rose Water Games and Middle Room Haunted Store. Knight has worked as a marketing executive at Brand Eleven Eleven and SJT Enterprises.

Book preview

Plot

By Ron Knight

Published by Brand Eleven Eleven,

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2014 Ron Knight

I dedicate this novel to fiction stories that come true.

Plot: A secret plan to accomplish hostile or illegal schemes.

1

Routine.

The correctional officers at Mecklenburg had a detailed schedule, instructing the prisoners to do the same thing each day. A specific procedure to be followed. Nothing should change.

A daily routine assisted death row inmate, RJ Colby, to develop an escape plan. He would also need the assistance of an outside source in order to avoid the electric chair, but today, RJ’s plan would come to fruition.

RJ craved the Virginia sky. The free air that so many people take for granted.

His brother Morris two cells down, also on death row. Five other inmates were kept in this constricted area, away from the other prisoners. RJ never wanted to be grouped in with those cockroaches anyway, but the prisoners will be useful in his escape.

Death row inmates were permitted one hour of recreational time a day. They had three choices: Watch a G rated movie, ping pong, or hit the punching bag. This was also the only time the seven of them were in contact with each other. All meals eaten in their cells. Showers three times a week on a staggered schedule.

It took forty-two days for RJ to whisper the details of the escape plan to his fellow death row inmates under the watchful eye of four guards. The CO’s (Correctional Officers) each carried a PR 24 Baton, pepper spray, handcuffs, and a radio. The four officers well qualified to guard six prisoners.

With the exception of one minor flaw…Routine.

Prisoner Ike Rufus, a black man built like a mountain, started phase one. I have to take piss, he announced to the guards.

Just as RJ calculated, Harold Bagneli, the guard who liked to beat on prisoners volunteered to escort Ike. He pointed to the door. Get moving convict. Harold slid the baton from his belt and used it to scratch his short red hair. I’m just wondering how many pisses do you have left before you’re executed?

Ike didn’t answer. He lowered his head, pretended to be intimidated, and opened the unlocked door. Once you went through the door a corridor led to a guard behind six inches of glass who would have to buzz them into the death row cellblock.

They walked down the short hallway to the one-toilet-restroom. Once inside, Harold closed the door. Get your pants down and take your piss, he said with a greasy smile.

Ike unzipped.

Harold moved closer, dragging the baton along the wall. He leaned close, peeking over the Ike’s shoulder. Come on boy. Get it done. Ike slid his boxers down. Harold positioned the baton on Ike’s lower back. I wonder if you can piss with this baton shoved up your ass?

In one quick motion Ike grappled Harold around the neck and squeezed. Harold chocked out a plea for help while attempting to reach for his radio. Ike snatched the baton and placed it by Harold’s mouth. Ike whispered, Let’s see how far I can shove this down your fucking throat.

Harold struggled, but to no avail. Ike forced the baton into Harold’s mouth, breaking several teeth in the process while continuing with the chokehold. Harold’s eyes became wide as the life compressed from his body.

Ike twisted the puny neck of the guard, pleased at the sound of Harold’s spine snapping into pieces.

As he dropped Harold’s dead body to the floor, Ike waited patiently for phase two.

2

Where the hell are they? one of the CO’s asked. I can’t get a hold of Harold on the radio.

This wouldn’t be the first time Ike and Harold didn’t return from a bathroom trip in a timely fashion. The guards knew what was happening.

Unfortunately for Ike, he had to sacrifice what was left of his dignity over the last month to please that red headed guard, so that the routine would not be disrupted.

RJ’s eyes were on the television as Shrek attempted to chase the villagers away from his swamp. RJ didn’t care about Shrek’s problems. He just wanted to fill his lungs with the air of freedom.

But for now, it’s time for the prisoners to return to the swamp.

Let’s get moving, another CO yelled. Play time is over. Back to your cells.

The six prisoners lined up, escorted out the door and into the hallway.

Keep moving, RJ thought to himself. He didn’t want any of the CO’s to check the bathroom. If so, their plan would turn from difficult to impossible.

As they marched past the restroom a CO used his baton to rap on the restroom door. Harold, finish up and let’s go. Perhaps the CO didn’t want to open the door and witness the obscenities of Harold’s sick behavior.

RJ formed a grin as the door to death row buzzed opened. His brother Morris went through first, followed by prisoners LaShawn Sutton and Curtis Finch.

RJ, along with Mason McCoy and Norman Pitts slowed their steps.

Ike burst out of the restroom with blazing speed. He crashed into the nearest CO like a three hundred pound defensive lineman crushing the quarterback. RJ and Mason grappled another CO; same with LaShawn and Curtis. They were able to snatch the baton and pepper spray, using them as weapons against the guards.

The remaining CO attempted to help his friends, but tackled from behind by Norman.

In seconds the convicts had taken control of the corridor.

Morris ran into the control room before the CO realized what had happened. He tackled the CO, sending them both crashing to the floor. He then wailed on the CO, took his baton, and wailed on him some more.

That’s enough, Ike said, grabbing Morris by the arm.

Morris stood, glaring at the bigger man. RJ and I are in charge. Don’t tell me what to- Morris noticed someone on the monitor, heading for the cellblock.

A woman dressed in white scrubs approached the control room from the east hallway. She pushed a cart filled with prescriptions and medicine. Her eyes met with Morris, oblivious to the scene.

Nurse Megan, Morris said. Glad to see you.

She screamed and ran in the direction she had come from. Morris easily caught up with Megan and dragged her to the floor. He yanked down her white pants and underwear, gazing at her dark skin. Morris then pinned her arms back.

Megan twisted her body. Help me! Help me!

Morris leaned close, licking her thick lips. I think about this every time you walk by my cell, he whispered. I’m gonna do you good.

Morris was hoisted in the air by RJ. We don’t have time for this. He leaned down with a roll of duct tape, then wrapped it around Megan’s head and mouth. She instinctively pulled up her underwear and pants. RJ then bound her wrists and ankles. He glared at Morris. Get her in the control room. Morris reluctantly complied.

The other four CO’s were already bound in the same fashion. Ike dragged Harold’s bloody and lifeless body from the bathroom while saying, If any of you asshole guards think of trying something, just look at your buddy. I’ll be happy to give you the same treatment.

RJ snatched the keys off a CO and unlocked the gun cabinet. The rest of the prisoners collected the remaining baton’s, along with the pepper spray and radio’s. RJ grabbed the shotgun and pointed it at one of the CO’s. Goodbye motherfucker! He squeezed the trigger and fired. The skull of the CO splintered, knocked him out, but did not kill him. RJ stared at the weapon. Damn. There’re rubber bullets in this thing.

Ike looked down the east end of the hallway. That’s fine by me. We don’t need to kill them anyway.

RJ glared at the CO’s, along with the nurse who quivered on the floor. You’re lucky son’s of bitches, he said with a grin. Alright, let’s keep moving.

Together they made their way to the next room with lockers, fridge, old television, table, and chairs. The convicts opened the lockers and changed into riot gear.

Except for Norman Pitts.

RJ gawked at him. What the fuck are you doing?

I’m not going, Norman said with a shaken voice. I have another appeal in two months. There’s no need for me to escape.

RJ smiled. You’re on death row. No judge is going to let you off.

I’ll take my chances.

RJ blew out a sigh. Very well. Stay here and rot. He slid a baton from his belt and swung it at Norman’s face. The cheekbone cracked like an eggshell, spilling a glob of bright crimson blood. Norman’s eyes rolled in the back of his head, falling hard to the floor. RJ continued swinging until the brains in Norman’s skull dumped on the linoleum. He stood tall and addressed the group. Grab the TV, a bed sheet from one of the cells, and put it on the cart that Nurse Megan was pushing. Also, get every fire extinguisher you can find.

Mason asked, What the hell for? Let’s go!

RJ stood in front of Mason holding the bloody baton. Just do what I say and you’ll get out of here. If you don’t, RJ glanced at Norman. You will end up like him.

3

We have a bomb! RJ yelled.

They closed their riot gear masks, then RJ and his brother Morris pushed the cart with the old television covered by a blanket. Next to the cart LaShawn and Curtis sprayed the blanket with fire extinguishers. Mason and Ike led the way, commanding the other guards to buzz open the doors.

Their radios chirped. "Harold, what the hell is going on?"

RJ recognized the voice of the Warden, Donald Bass. RJ continued pushing the cart while talking on the radio. We found a bomb in D-Unit. (Death row.) We’re taking it out of the building.

"What about the prisoners in D-Unit?"

RJ clicked the radio. They’re still in their cells. There’s a timer on the bomb. We only have six minutes and thirty-one seconds.

"Where’re you going to take it?"

In a van and drive it away from the prison.

"Negative. Take it to the field outside then return!"

RJ almost lost his balance as he and Morris turned down the hallway. He yelled at the guards in the main control room. Get out of the building! There’s a bomb! RJ stopped and clicked the radio. Sir, I believe it would be better to get this bomb off the property. Also, you need to evacuate the staff and CO’s.

Ike went inside the control room and pressed the four different red buttons.

All the prisoners’ cells would now open. Warden Bass screamed on the radio, trying to get his crew into riot gear and figure out why the cells had been opened.

In moments, he would lose control of the prison.

Morris began pushing the cart again. Come on!

The six of them made it out of the building and into the rear parking lot. There were about fifty cars, all belonging to the staff, including four vans used for transporting prisoners.

A helicopter swooped down from above and hovered over them. RJ opened the back door to a van marked with a large number two. He and Morris lifted the TV, making sure the blanket stayed on, and hoisted it into the back of the van. Ike climbed in the front seat and LaShawn in the passenger’s seat. RJ, Morris, Curtis, and Mason all climbed in the back.

The van roared to life.

RJ smiled. You hotwired that pretty fast, he said to Ike. I see you haven’t lost your touch.

Ike shifted the gear and pressed down on the gas peddle. You shouldn’t give me too much credit. The keys were inside.

RJ chuckled. He lifted his radio and clicked. Get that fucking helicopter away from us! This bomb will go off in less than a minute!

The radio chirped, "Heli Four, head to the north side of building. We have a code red prison escape."

Curtis gazed out the window. Is the warden talking about us?

RJ leaned back. No. He’s talking about the other six hundred prisoners.

The radio chirped again. "Open south gate and let van through. CO’s extricating a bomb. Repeat, open south gate."

Ike drove through as the gate opened. He shouted, We’re free boys! We’re free!

RJ couldn’t let them enjoy the moment. Not yet, he said. We still have some work to do. He cocked his head, looking up at the blue sky. Roll the windows down…I want to smell the Virginia air.

4

Ike, pull over, RJ said.

Ike glanced in the review mirror. I know this is your show, but we need to keep moving. I don’t want to stop until we’re in North Carolina.

RJ crawled through the van to the gate that guarded the front cab. Listen to me, RJ said through his teeth. When I speak, you respond. Now pull the fuck over.

Ike did as he was told.

LaShawn looked back. Now what?

Get out, RJ said.

No one complained. The six of them exited the van. A few seconds later an RV came barreling down the road and stopped right in front of them. The side door opened.

They were greeted by a man with thin blond hair and a lanky body. Come on in, he said with a pleasant voice. RJ led the way and the rest of them followed. Whoever it was in the driver’s seat did not look back. He waited for the door to close and then sped off. The blond hair man said, I’m Felix. Take a seat.

They sat on a small couch with a table in the middle.

Ike: What the fuck is this?

RJ: Shut your mouth and listen. Felix works for the man who set this whole thing up.

Felix gave them a goofy smile. That’s right. You’ll be given a place to stay, clothes, food, and $100,000 in cash.

Mason raised one of his bushy eyebrows. $100,000 each?

Yep, Felix said. And $250,000 more when your work is done.

Curtis: What work?

Felix stood up and retrieved seven folders from the top compartment. Each folder had a name. Felix handed them out, except for one. Where’s Norman Pitts?

RJ looked inside his folder while saying, Norman changed his mind.

Felix handed RJ the folder. Then you’ll have to find someone to replace him.

RJ took the folder. Why don’t you explain to everyone what we need to do, just like you told me.

Felix studied the group. Each folder has detailed plans on how my employer wants you to kill a woman.

Morris: Who’s your employer?

Nicholas Shay.

Curtis: Who the fuck is Nicholas Shay?

Felix shook his head. I guess you didn’t spend your time reading in prison. Nicholas Shay is an author. He wants you to murder a particular woman. The details are in your folder.

Everyone took a moment to look inside their folder and read. LaShawn glanced at RJ’s notes, then over at Ike’s. They’re all different. I don’t get it?

There’s a number at the top of your first sheet, Felix said. That’s the order you will go in. If the first person doesn’t succeed in killing the woman, then the next will go and so forth. Once she’s dead, all of you will receive $250,000.

Ike: I don’t understand. What if the first person kills that bitch?

Felix gave him a grin. Then it will be the easiest $250,000 you ever earned.

LaShawn: Wait. Why do I have to go first? Who picked this order?

Nicholas picked the order. It’s based on how brutal your crime was to put you on death row. Felix’s eyes met with LaShawn. You’re the least feared of your peers.

RJ looked down on his sheet. He was number seven. RJ then glanced at Norman’s folder and saw that he would have been going fifth.

Mason: Where are we staying?

In Bloomington, Indiana, Felix replied. All of you will be in the same house until the woman is dead. After, you will each receive your $250,000 and can go wherever you want.

Curtis smiled. Well, we each have a hundred grand right now. That buys a lot of whiskey and whores.

Felix’s expression became hard. No one else is permitted at the house. We will send you food. You’re not to leave. No outside contact with the world, not even a television.

Mason: We might as well go back to prison!

Felix softened his gaze. Well, that can be arranged.

Mason put his hands up. No thank you.

RJ looked at the picture of the woman. She had thin, long black hair with a few braids. Her cheekbones high, which complimented her eyes and smile as if her face was in perfected symmetry. In this photo she wore a white gown that exposed her narrow shoulders.

RJ decided that if given the chance he would have some fun with her.

Felix: Anyone more questions?

Morris: I have a question. What’s the name of the woman we’re going to kill?

Felix formed a slight grin. Her name is Helen Miller.

Plot: Placing a marker on a map.

5

Helen Miller was handed a set of keys by realtor, Donna Harris. They walked inside the small farmhouse with two bedrooms, dining room, bathroom, kitchen, and living room area with a stone fireplace. Hardwood floors throughout the home. A door at the rear, across from the spare bedroom led downstairs to a cold cellar.

They sat down at the dinning room table as Donna unfolded a map of the area. Okay, Donna said, pointing to several spots on the map. Here’s your hundred and forty-nine acres. The acreage consists of two-thirds pastures and one-third hardwood forest. City water from Bloomington runs through the center of the property all the way to your house. There’re two fences. One on the perimeter of the property and a second interior fence that surrounds 1.5 acres of your home.

Donna continued pointing to different sections on the map. You have four spring fed ponds, along with additional springs throughout the property. At the south end over here is where Timmons Cattle leases a portion of your property. They have farmhouse and a barn, which you own. Rex Timmons is the ranch manger. Donna pulled a file from her briefcase and handed it to Helen. The lease agreement is in there. Rex pays you three thousand a month for the next five years. You won’t ever see him unless you go down and visit with him. Just be careful, because I heard he raises bush hogs along with cows.

Helen glanced at the agreement, but really wasn’t reading the words. She just wanted Donna to leave. Is there anything else?

Donna’s fake lashes fluttered up and down. How do you look so young? she asked. I can’t believe you will be forty next week.

Helen didn’t appreciate the half-witted compliment. I also have the misfortune of a birthday that’s on September 11th.

Well, at least you won’t forget it, Donna said, her cheeks blushing. Let me see, what else do I need to go over?

Helen saw an opening to get rid of Donna. I think that’s-

Oh yeah, there’s more. Helen heaved a sigh while Donna once again pointed at the map. This portion of the land is suitable for corn and soybeans. Over here, you have a septic permit where you can build another three-bedroom home in the future. In fact, there’re ten separate parcels for more homes if you choose to build and rent them out. And of course your land is perfect for horses.

Helen stood up. Well, I spent all my money on this house and won’t be able to build anytime soon. Also, I don’t ride horses or know how to plant corn.

Donna slid up from her chair. May I ask why you bought this property if you don’t plan to use it?

Helen walked toward the front door hoping Donna would follow. I like the peacefulness of the place.

Donna gathered her briefcase and hustled to catch up with Helen. "You work as a reader, correct?"

Yep. I read books and tell reviewers and publishers what I like.

Sounds like a great job.

It is, Helen said. She shook Donna’s hand. Well, thanks for everything.

Just remember that there’re few places in the house that need fixed.

I’ll manage.

Donna raised one of her fake eyebrows. Will you be okay here all by yourself?

Helen smiled. Sure. What could possibly happen?

6

Borders in Bloomington became packed with mostly college students. A line stretched to the door as bestselling author, Nicholas Shay, autographed his new book, Murder System. Helen stood in line and waited forty-five minutes to get her book signed.

As she approached Nicholas Shay, Helen noticed that his black hair had speckles of white appearing. A few lines had formed on his face and a little weight began to overtake his once fit appearance. This was much different than his photo that he used on book covers, probably taken at least five years ago.

Hello, he said, taking a sip from his bottle water. I’m Nicholas Shay.

Helen smiled. Yes, I know who you are. I’ve read all your novels.

Wonderful, he said, opening the cover to his latest book. It’s nice meeting my fans.

Well, I’m not just a fan. It’s my job. I’m a reader for several publishers and book reviewers.

Nick held the pen between his fingers and thumb, eyes right on Helen. I hope you suggest my book as an example of greatness.

I usually do, she said, feeling her cheeks heat a bit. If your novel is just as good as the previous ones, you should be okay.

He cocked his head. This one’s different. I took a risk, trying to catapult myself to the upper tier of authors. He squeezed the pen and lowered his eyes. Who should I make this out too?

Helen Miller.

Nick froze, as if time had stopped. The tip of the pen sunk into the page. Your name is Helen Miller?

Yes, she said, glancing back at the rest of the remaining people waiting to get their book signed. Is that a problem?

Not at all, he said, then wrote an autograph:

To Helen Miller:

Keep reading, keep living.

All the best,

Nicholas Shay

Thank you, Helen said as he handed her the book.

Nicholas diverted his eyes away from her. Okay, next in line.

Helen walked outside and opened the book, gazing at the inscription. Keep reading…keep living.

7

The cool night produced a slight wind that rustled the leaves. Helen placed extra wood in the fireplace until a blazing flame lit the room, placed a hot cup of tea with a splash of rum on the table next to her, then curled up in her soft recliner. She flicked on the small lamp and opened the book to the cover page.

Murder System, by Nicholas Shay. Helen flipped the page, always excited about the first line of a new book. This is how authors set the tone. The first line should grab the reader while hanging on for the next 350 pages.

Helen read Nick’s first line aloud. You’re going to die soon. She smiled and took a sip from her mug. Well, that certainly is an interesting start to a novel.

She read on.

Chapter One

Murder System

You’re going to die soon.

It’s not easy when someone is that direct. What do you mean by soon? Many possibilities begin to wander in your mind. How will I die? When? Will I be murdered or will I be hit by a truck?

Certainly there’s no good way to die. On the other hand, we all want to leave this world peacefully. If you could choose a death right now, what would it be? I suppose that most of you would beg to die in your sleep. There seems to be a certain amount of perception that makes death a little easier to handle if you were in a deep dream at the time.

I think not.

So let me say this again. You’re going to die soon.

Given the choice, would you want to know how? You’d better decide before reading more of this book, because when your time comes you will not be in the tranquil safety of a deep slumber.

In fact, I’m the one that will murder you.

Authors have that kind of power. I can murder anyone just by typing the words. Watch this:

Behind the reader stood a killer. He pointed a gun at the reader’s skull and squeezed the trigger. Fragments of bone, hair, and blood splattered the page of their new book. The killer then walked away as the reader slumped over, face buried in the blood soaked words.

Did you see how easy that was? I suppose it’s not fair. I can shoot you, stab you, even take advantage of what’s between your legs and you cannot do anything about it.

But why are you still reading? I’m assuming that you don’t want to be murdered and certainly do not want to be fondled by a stranger. Yet, here you are reading my book.

I’ll give you one more chance. Leave now. Do not move onto the next chapter.

Oh, and you should know…my imagination is much more vivid than yours is.

8

Chapter Two

Murder System

Welcome!

I see that you are still with me. At least, for now. I’m a suspense writer, but I will not drag the suspense.

First, I want to murder one of my characters named Helen Miller. I ask for your patients why I have a direct conversation with Helen.

Okay, here I go.

Helen, I am going to enter your home while you’re in bed. You won’t be sleeping, because it will be impossible to sleep knowing that death is stopping by for a gruesome visit.

By the way, you look amazing. Most women should follow your example and wear cotton pajamas to bed. I think that’s sexy as hell. Or in your case, sexy as Helen.

I know, bad joke. Bestselling authors can get away with crappy writing from time-to-time.

Your eyes gaze through the darkness. There are two windows in your room. Is someone staring at you through one of the windows? No. Haven’t you been paying attention? I’m in your house!

The hardwood floors look amazing. I hope they don’t squeak as I walk closer to your bedroom. The fire is still cracking, although diminishing quickly. The heat pours from the vents to fight the cold chill with a slight whistle.

Your eyes have not blinked. You look at each window, then to the door. Is it open or closed?

Open.

Even if someone were in the house, would you be able to see them?

You have two choices. Lie in bed, listening to every sound. Or stand up and look for me. Neither option sounds appealing. Let me see…what will you do?

My guess, Helen Miller, is that you will crawl out of bed, shivering from both cold and fear. You’ll take several careful steps, praying that the killer does not exist. It’s just a story. You will walk out of the bedroom and turn on the lights.

Nothing so far.

You’ll take a cautious step, then another. Your head shifts from side-to-side, eyes darting in every direction. Your chest rises and falls; heart knocking so hard that it’s difficult to take a breath.

I’m here Helen Miller. Turn around.

9

Helen closed the book. Never in her life did two chapters scare the living crap out of her like this. She threw the last log on the fire, then hustled around the house and turned on the lights, even in the spare bedroom.

As she made it back to the living room, Helen smiled, then started to laugh. She knew all about Nick’s writing, but this book had really gotten to her. No matter how the rest of the novel reads, she would definitely refer it to all her book reviewers. Any novel that can terrify her in the first ten minutes deserves to be a bestseller.

The door to the cold cellar flew open and smacked against the wall. Helen let out a deafening scream and ran toward the front door. She fumbled with the lock, still screaming, and flung the door open. The cold night air struck her with a hard blow. She pressed forward, running off the porch with only her socks and cotton pajamas.

Rocks dug into her foot as she made it to the fence. The wind took away her breath. She sucked in pockets of air, but could not seem to breathe. Her heart squeezed, then banged against her chest.

Bent over, hands on her knees, Helen looked back at the house. Lights still on. No shadows floating in her direction. The front door smacked against the wall. Her eyes narrowed, body shivering uncontrollably. She stood tall, gazing at the home.

No one came after her. No one in the doorway.

Her eyes wandered around the property. She could not see that far, but felt ashamed. This is my home, she said aloud. In the distance an owl responded.

Helen walked back toward the house, eyes locked on the front door. It continued banging in the wind. She took each step up the stairs with caution, trying to use all her senses.

She did not see anyone.

She did not