Parisa II: Family Ties

By Conrad Trump

The exciting sequel to Conrad Trump's first book, PARISA, with all the characters readers loved in the first book. Not to be missed!

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Sep 20, 2016
• ISBN: 9780976159780

Book preview

Author

Prologue

And So It Shall Ever Be

Before the written word. Before the counting of days. Before a garden, an apple, and a serpent, there was a great spiral, a smokeless fire.

She was a spirit so radiant and perfect in form, life, and duty that she was revered among her kind. She was not an angel but a Djinn, one of the many that lived between the hard, violent world of the earth and the empyrean heaven. She was lovely and very powerful, and with the exception of her father, whose ornate seat was positioned at the right hand of God Himself, she was revered on high and adored by the angels and the Djinn alike.

Since this was the time before man, the color purple had yet to be named. But she was purple in form and spirit and regal, warm, and soft. Her great light shone upon Earth’s sky at dusk, calming the violent world’s turbulent quakes, furious storms, and spewed molten lava. She was the daughter of God’s most beloved servant and the treasure of the smokeless fire.

The great spiral fire, the epicenter of all things and the origin of the Djinn, fluctuated and spun, ever continuing to cast life and light and to mark the one true path to God. From this smokeless fire, all Djinn had been born to serve God. Unlike the angels, the Djinn had free will with which they could best choose their service path to God. She was no different. She chose to serve God by serving her father. And why shouldn’t she?

God was good. Life was good, and her father was God’s favored creation.

The purple grew stronger over time. She became more self-aware, more magnificent, and more understanding as her connection to the smokeless fire strengthened. The fire’s outer rim would often glow lavender in her presence, a fine tribute to the perfect spirit it had borne.

She found herself so powerful that she was able to reach beyond the fire’s veil, something no other djinni could do, to save her father, the Shaytaan.

To prove herself worthy to both her God and her Father, the lovely spirit took a piece of her essence and placed it back into the spiral of flames. The circular motion of the flames stopped only briefly. A great lavender light exploded in the fiery vortex, cascading up into the heavens and causing all the stars to wink violet.

The smokeless fire drew back its purple light, flashing instead all of the colors of the rainbow. A prism bathed the night sky, painting it with lights so brilliant that all things old and new stopped and stared in wonder. As each color was pulled out of the night’s composition one by one, the intensity of the fire grew stronger. Colors were withdrawn from the sky until there remained only one: red.

Scarlet was the night, and crimson was the moon. The blaze spewing from the smokeless fire flickered in a deep, blood-like burgundy-red hue. It was glorious! It was magical! And it was real.

The sound of a baby’s crying pierced the quiet.

The lovely purple spirit reached back once more into the smokeless fire and took the baby from its crib of flames. She drew the child to her chest and nestled it against her cheek. She had brought a new life into the world, and she rejoiced, for there was a new being to walk in grace and to praise the glory of God.

The new scarlet spirit grew in beauty and love. She served the mother, swearing that and so it shall ever be.

The mother served her father, swearing that and so it shall ever be.

And the father served God in heaven, swearing that and so it shall ever be.

And thus the vow they took served as an example to all Djinn of free will. For thousands and thousands of years, they served one another and God faithfully, dutifully, and righteously.

Until the coming of man.

Part 1

Dead Locke

Chapter 1

Jena Colby trembled. She was standing behind the heavy blue curtain listening to the band’s alto-sax player milk a solo during Bruce Springsteen’s Born to Run, which was just extended noise during the commercial break. He was good. He wasn’t Clarence, but he was good.

The back of the curtain was lined with a silky material that matched its front. Jena looked up and was surprised that she couldn’t see the top. The curtain seemed to extend ever upward, far beyond what she could see from her angle just beneath it.

Fuck! she whispered.

Davey, the stage boy standing just to her left, smiled. He was wearing a Clippers hat and a set of headphones with a microphone tilting below his chin. He smiled knowingly. It’s something, ain’t it? he said.

Jena nodded absently, her jaw slightly open as she stared up. She was transfixed by the height of the curtain, only some of which she could see.

Just think of all the celebrities who’ve stood right where you’re standing now, Davey whispered. Bob Hope, Marilyn, Bogie, Reagan, Elvis, Neil Armstrong, and even Louie Armstrong!

Jena brought her head back down and glanced at the young stagehand holding the edge of the curtain. Her eyes held a touch of fear in them, yet they remained soft, dark, and vulnerable. Her lips were glossed, puffy, and luscious, and her long red hair lay over the shoulder left bare by her shimmering white-sequined dress.

Stretch? she asked.

Excuse me? Davey answered. His brow creased in confusion, pulling the bill of his hat down lower over his eyes.

Stretch Armstrong? Jena said. Was he here too?

Davey stood for a moment in silence, uncertain whether Ms. Colby, the featured guest of The Night Drop, was teasing him. She gave the boy a winning smile and cocked her head slightly to one side as if she were waiting for an answer.

The Night Drop, an after-hours program that had spanned six decades on network television, was still the most watched television show after eleven at night, even though there was much more competition than there had been at first. There were syndicated talk shows, all-night news channels, twenty-four-hour sports channels, and original programming on alternate TV and Internet broadcasts. Even so, The Night Drop was rated the number-one program year after year.

As the boy waited for the signal through his headphones to pull back the famous blue curtain and send Jena out to greet the audience, he pondered the obvious: had she been serious?

Asking her would have been insulting. Ignoring her question would have been insulting. The wrong answer might cost him his job. He had seen stagehands fired from The Drop for less because of temperamental stars.

Ah…I’m not sure, Davey answered as politely and as diplomatically as he could.

Jena seemed pleased by his response, and her smile deepened. She took a deep breath, testing the tight fabric of her dress and pushing the tops of her breasts into Davey’s forearm as he held the curtain’s edge. The boy’s career worries instantly faded as he listened to Jena sigh and felt the soft flesh of her skin gently graze his own.

Fifteen seconds, Ms. Colby, Davey whispered, taking the cue from his headset.

Jena didn’t need to be told that it was almost time. She could hear the amplified stage speakers booming as Jamie King, the host of The Night Drop, offered a somewhat lewd and silly introduction to welcome Jena to the show. The lead guitarist of The Night Drop’s band, Dane Fowler, began cranking out the saucy, slow stripper ditty that’s often played briefly at weddings when the new groom removes the bride’s garter and flicks it to the single men. Davey pulled back the curtain, remaining hidden behind the blue wall of fabric and offering the audience its first look at Jena.

Waving at the fifteen hundred people seated in the theater by wiggling her fingers, Jena walked through the opening, smiling brilliantly. She took six steps to make her way to the blue star painted on the floor. There she twirled once, causing her knee-length white dress to rise at the hem.

The flashing signs suspended above the stage blinking in bright-green letters and telling the audience to applaud were not necessary at all. Wolf whistles abounded. The young male portion of the audience cheered and clapped enthusiastically, needing no encouragement at all.

By the time Jena had finished her three-sixty pivot in her five-inch stilettos, Jamie King was there to grab her hand, kiss her cheek, and lead her to the guest chair just to the right of his desk. He was smooth and graceful, gliding across the stage like a tap dancer finishing his routine. Jamie had a deep dimple in his left cheek and piercing blue eyes that were enhanced by color contact lenses.

Wow! Jamie said, eyeing his guest up and down. Wow!

Jena turned her head modestly. She batted her long eyelashes and giggled.

Am I right? Jamie asked the audience.

The diminishing applause suddenly exploded with new life and vigor. An unseen voice shouted, I love you, Jena! which only added more laughter and thunderous shouting.

Jena blushed and flipped her left hand toward the audience. When the noise quieted again, she leaned into Jamie’s body as if she wanted to talk to him privately.

I think that some of your audience just might be a little drunk.

Of course, the hidden wireless microphone picked up every word, amplifying her observation throughout the studio. And as soon as the clapping had dwindled, another roar ripped through the room, reaching a brand new crescendo that indicated that she just might’ve been right.

Never one to miss a punch-line setup, Jamie King picked up the blue ceramic cup on his desk, held it out to the audience, and said, Thank God! It’s really bad form for the host to drink alone. With that, he took a large swallow from the mug and grimaced as if the liquid from the cup was burning his throat.

Jena flopped down into her seat, laughing. I want to join the party!

You want something to drink? Jamie asked.

Can I? Jena responded. I mean, is that allowed?

In that dress, honey, you can have whatever you want, Jamie answered, leering across his desk at her cleavage, which made Jena laugh. Wine? Cocktail? Name it!

Jena considered it for a moment and then turned back to the audience. I’d better not. I lose all of my inhibitions when I drink, she said, following a prearranged script that she and Jamie had worked out backstage.

The host was immediately standing behind his desk once more. He clapped his hands to get the director’s attention and waved urgently as if the situation had just become life or death. Fewer than fifteen seconds later, a crew member in a dark-blue The Night Drop T-shirt was rolling a keg of beer across the stage on a dolly. He parked it between Jamie and Jena and then quietly disappeared off stage right after setting a sleeve of red Solo cups on the corner of Jamie’s desk.

Jamie pulled the plastic handle atop the keg, and foam exploded out of the tap’s mouth. It splattered on his suit and on Jena’s leg. Now it’s a party! he shouted to the audience, and again, the room went crazy. Dane Fowler and the band immediately launched into a high-energy rendition of Kool & the Gang’s Celebration. The stage floor shook as everybody in the audience stomped their feet and pounded on their armrests just to be a part of the mayhem.

After receiving one of the red plastic cups from The Night Drop’s host, Jena sniffed it. The drink had been sloppily poured, and white foam dripped down the cup’s side. Sticking her tongue out to taste the bubbles (again, much to the delight of the audience), Jena found that the cup wasn’t filled with beer after all but a salty, flat concoction made to only look the part. That didn’t deter her. She put the cup to her mouth and took a tiny sip. When she lowered her hand, there was a foamy white mustache above her upper lip, which she wiped away in a not-so-ladylike fashion, with the crook of her arm.

The audience howled, and Dane Fowler strummed some showy licks on his yellow Fender. Even Jamie’s showmanship seemed to turn off as he genuinely laughed at Jena’s gesture. There they go—those pesky inhibitions. God help me! Jena said.

God help us all! Jamie said, echoing.

Jena took another sip of her fake beer and set it down on the edge of Jamie’s desk. She folded her hands across her lap and smiled. She looked at her host and waited patiently. He continued to ham it up with the audience, pulling a funnel beer bong out from beneath his desk and splashing his beer-like beverage all around his chair. Finally he took his seat, took a deep breath, and settled back into his chair.

Speaking of inhibitions, Jamie said as he caught his breath.

Yes? Jena answered.

Let’s talk about this, Jamie said. From behind his desk, Jamie lifted an eleven-by-fourteen printed picture of Jena. She recognized it instantly. It had been taken from the April issue of Playboy Magazine. Jena was sitting on the edge of a tub testing the temperature of the water with her fingers. Water was flowing out of the spigot, and steam was rising off of the tub. She was completely naked, though her legs were turned to the side so that only her hip was facing the camera. Jena’s chest was covered by a superimposed red block with large, bold black letters that read CENSORED.

The audience howled and whooped as Jena turned away, pretending to blush. The same voice in the crowd again shouted, I love you, Jena!

Jena smiled coyly and blew a kiss in the man’s direction. Back at ya, baby, she said.

Seriously, the response to this layout has just been incredible. Right? Jamie said, stealing back Jena’s attention. As she turned again to face her host, Jena found that he was holding an actual copy of the April issue. Jena Colby’s face was the cover. "This issue has become one of the best-selling editions of Playboy of all time after only a few weeks, Jamie announced. They can’t keep them on the shelves."

Jena nodded and shrugged her shoulders. Her hair fell back across her cheek as she did. Must be some good articles.

Do they have articles in here? Jamie asked, flipping through the pages. Well, I’ll be damned! They do! Who knew?

The audience laughed, and so did Jena.

And you, Jamie said as he laid the magazine down on the desk and pointed his finger at his guest. "You have blossomed into an instant cultural icon—into one of the most recognizable faces in America. People magazine’s Sexiest Woman of the Year. Seventeen magazine’s Woman to Be. Cover of Vogue. Cover of Glamour, Redbook, Elle, and, of course, Playboy. You are everywhere!"

I know. It’s been crazy, Jena agreed. Right?

Has it put a strain on your relationship with your boyfriend?

Scott? Oh, heaven, no. Scott is the most supportive man in the world, Jena quickly answered. He’s very proud of me!

But in the last six months, things have certainly flipped. He’s retired, and just like you were known as ‘Scott Locke’s girlfriend,’ now he’s known as ‘Jena Colby’s boyfriend.’ Hasn’t that cast even a tiny shadow on your relationship?

Jena shook her head. Nope, she answered.

"For those of you who don’t know, Jena is dating—has, in fact, been dating—snowboard sensation Scott Locke, Olympian and last year’s gold medalist in the X Games SuperPipe, Jamie told his audience. Scott’s a long-time friend of The Drop. He’s been on the show many times."

He said to tell you ‘hey.’ I used to sit in the green room with him and help your girls do his makeup, Jena said. You know, Jamie, I met you backstage a couple of times, back before all of this. I bet you don’t remember that. Do you?

Jamie rolled his eyes and covered his heart with both his hands as if he were taken aback by her accusation. Even before your face was splattered on billboards across this great land, it would have been impossible to forget, he answered.

Oh, you, Jena said sweetly. Are just so, so full of it.

Hope to die, Jamie said, drawing a tiny cross over his heart as he said it. But let’s get back to it, okay? Seriously, Jena, give us the scoop.

What scoop? Jena asked.

You can tell us—just us, Jamie whispered, waving his hand to include the audience. We really won’t say a word.

What? Jena asked, seemingly confused.

It’s all over the tabloids, Jamie said.

What is? Jena asked.

I’ll show you, Jamie said, pulling an oversized newspaper stock magazine from behind his desk. Reading aloud, he led his finger over the cover headline so that the camera could pan in and follow. ‘Scott Locke Can’t Deal with Supermodel Girlfriend’s Fame!’ And here’s another one: ‘Jena Confesses Broken Heart as Locke Dips with Unknown Beauty!’

The cover photograph was a picture of a handsome man with wild shoulder-length brown hair standing next to a stunningly attractive young brunette. The brunette was wearing a purple belly shirt and a pair of very complementary Casey low-rise designer jeans. The couple was looking at each other and laughing.

Oh, well, then, Jena said, chuckling herself. "If it’s in the Enquirer, then it must be true. Isn’t that what they say?"

That is Scott, right? Jamie pressed.

Jena nodded. That’s him. Isn’t he just so handsome? she said, before adding a tiny grunt.

Well, what’s with the jezebel? Who is she? As the audience scowled in disapproval, Jamie began to play it up further, shaking the newspaper in his fist. "Who does she think she’s trying to steal? The man belonging to People magazine’s Sexiest Woman of the Year? America is outraged!"

Jena flipped her hand easily. That’s just Parisa, she said. She, uh, works for Scott. She’s an assistant.

You know her? Jamie asked.

Very well, Jena said.

No hanky-panky? Jamie asked. His bottom lip puffed out as if he were disappointed.

’Fraid not. Sorry, Jamie, Jena said.

The host of The Night Drop smoothed out the newspaper on his desk, uncrumpling the picture. You know, he said, Parisa is a hottie!

After a commercial break, the broadcast returned to Jamie and Jena for another eight-minute segment. After a few brief conversations about Jena’s Californian upbringing, Jamie King changed the subject to an unrehearsed and unscripted discussion.

You know, Jena. Jamie said with his head resting on his elbow as he looked at his guest adoringly. "The Drop has a little online charity auction. Last year alone we raised eight hundred thousand dollars by selling memorabilia and gifts from our guests."

Oh! Jena said, popping up in her seat. I’m glad you brought that up! She waved her hand to someone offstage. The same crew member who had wheeled the dolly across the floor returned. In his arms was a black Burton snowboard. As he handed the board to Jena, he turned it so that the word COAL, which was written in large gray block letters on the board’s underside, was visible.

Scott wanted me to give you this for the auction!

Wonderful, Jamie said, standing up again to receive the gift.

It’s the board he rode last year in Aspen when he won the gold medal at the X Games! And look, he signed it right here! Jena said, standing up herself. She pointed to a spot at the toe of the board.

This is very generous! A wonderful gift! This is the actual board he used during the X games? Really? Jamie said, repeating what she’d said for the sake of the audience in the studio and for those watching at home.

The very one! Jena said. Pretty cool, huh?

"It’s very cool! You know, every dime we collect from our celebrity auctions goes to help diagnose and treat childhood cancer. We at The Drop don’t take any money, and none of the money we collect goes to charity administrators. Every penny is spent on the children."

A hush fell over the audience as Jamie led the crowd through darker thoughts. The money raised from the sale of this snowboard may very well save the life of a child. Thank you, and thank Scott for me.

I will, Jena told him as she turned to sit back down.

So Scott gave us this wonderful snowboard, this gold-medal-winning, historic piece of athletic equipment. What will you give, Jena?

Jena paused, unprepared for the question. She had seen The Drop too many times not to know that Jamie King was up to something. He was mischievous and slick. Children’s charities were nice, but Jamie’s true passion was ratings.

Would you like me to sign the magazine? Jena asked, pointing to the April issue of Playboy still on Jamie’s desk.

Yes, of course. That would be lovely, but I had something else in mind.

Uh-oh, Jena said, turning to the fifteen hundred people gathered in the room. I have a bad feeling about this, Chewie, she said.

Jamie propped the snowboard up against his desk, careful not to block his image from any of the rolling cameras. For the children, Jamie said again.

What? Jena asked.

Oh, nothing really. Just your underwear, Jamie said.

Jena’s soft and brown eyes popped, and her chin dropped. She slapped the desk and threw her head back, laughing. She wasn’t alone. The audience hooted like savages. You’re joking, right?

Jamie shook his head. His smile was that of a cat with a mouse’s tail pinned under its paw.

Pushing on his shoulder, Jena laughed louder. You want to sell a pair of my panties?

The ones you’re wearing now would do nicely, Jamie told her.

Jena laughed so hard that she snorted, and then she slapped at Jamie’s shoulder again. I don’t know if I can do that, she told him.

For the children! Jamie said again.

You don’t understand. I don’t remember if I’m wearing any.

Always the showman, Jamie smacked himself in the center of his forehead and coughed. If you want, uh…I could check for you, he said.

I got it, Jena said, standing up in front of her chair. Excuse me just a second, she said to the audience then turned her back to the camera. She slipped her right hand up under the white dress and worked her fingers up between her thighs. Yeah, I got a pair, she announced.

Without missing a beat, Jamie opened the Playboy and said, You certainly hid that well in these pictures.

The audience reacted even though Jena had missed his joke. Puzzled by the sudden outburst in the studio, she said, You’re kidding, yes? Aren’t you?

The children, Jena—the children.

Who’s going to pay for my used thong? Jena demanded.

I’ll give you a thousand dollars right now! Dane Fowler shouted from his seat in front of the band on the other side of the stage.

Jamie snickered and pointed at his musical director. Dane, behave yourself. Don’t make me call Mary.

Yes, Boss, Dane said. I’ll just sit here and strum my Fender.

Careful, I heard that makes you go blind, Jamie told him. After the obligatory rim shot from The Night Drop drummer, Jamie turned back to his guest. Now, Jena, we are running out of time.

This is the strangest show I’ve ever been on.

The children, Jamie said again, almost shrieking.

I’ve been perspiring under all these hot lights, Jena said. Are you sure you want them? They’re probably all sweaty and damp.

Jamie banged his head on the top of his desk three times as the audience screamed enthusiastically. Pleeeease!

Shrugging her shoulders, Jena slipped both hands up the sides of her dress, leaving the material dangling down. She hooked her thumbs beneath the waistband of her thong and wiggled her hips as she worked the garment down her legs. She carefully stepped out of it one foot at a time as the hem of her skirt fell back in place. Once she had removed her thong, she twirled the dainty white triangle above her head then tucked it into Jamie King’s suit’s breast pocket. For the kids, she said.

He grabbed her hand as it began to retreat and brought her fingers to his lips. He then raised her arm above their heads. Jena Colby, everybody! The sexiest woman on the planet, and one hell of a good sport! Look for these auction items on our website! I haven’t frightened you away forever, have I? You’ll come back and see us, won’t you? Jamie asked.

Any time, Jena answered. She waved to the camera as the audience cheered, and the TV screens of the home viewers faded to commercial.

Chapter 2

On the east basement wall of Bart and Sandy Locke’s home in Elkins, West Virginia, there were three doors. That was strange, for the east basement wall of the Locke house was up against the dirt and stone on which the foundation of the home had been built. There was no outside access to the doors. Yet there were three doors cut into the basement wall nonetheless.

All the doors looked unremarkable and similar. All three were wooden and polished, and they had the traditional gold-colored doorknobs with hinges to match. There were no windows in the doors, and all three opened inward from right to left. The only thing that distinguished the doors from one another was that before the first door, just to the left of where it would swing open, sat a little white dog. She was part