Chameleon Games

By June V. Bourgo

After being incarcerated for countless years, Chelsea Grey is reunited with her mother and daughter, and begins her search of self. Finding reconnection with the world difficult, Chelsea seeks the freedom and finds it while working at the Wildlife Center.

But soon, a burglary, a gun-wielding thug - and her own insecurities - threaten to destroy what she's gained. As Chelsea seeks confidence and a new lease on life, an unwanted conspiracy winds its way into her world.

Can Chelsea uncover the truth - and find the strength to trust again?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Next Chapter
• Release date: Jan 16, 2022
• ISBN: 4867503827

Book preview

1

KELOWNA

Chelsea Grey pushed her pounding head upwards, bending her neck back so her face caught the full force of the hot, steamy water. Still a little inebriated, her legs wobbled, knocking her off balance. Oops! She locked her knees and threw her hands forward to steady herself firmly against the shower stall wall. She would have giggled if the facial images of her mother and daughter weren’t still fresh in her mind.

The night before, she’d gone to a night club and danced until closing. What’s wrong with that? It made me feel free. She’d left with some joker and his friends and partied all night at his house. She frowned. Okay, so things got a little out of hand. She couldn’t recall everything…too much booze and pills. Her stomach rolled over, and she took in deep breaths of moist steam until the nausea passed.

Chelsea had returned home moments ago and immediately headed to the shower. Faces of people she didn’t know flashed through her mind. Chelsea winced. For the life of her, she couldn’t put names to them…mostly she envisioned bodies intertwined around a room. Shame overwhelmed her. She placed her face against the marble wall and let the water pound down her back. What was I thinking? The problem isn’t my lack of thinking, that’s just the cause and effect of the real problem—booze and pills.

Chelsea stepped out of the shower stall. She wiped the mirror with a towel and stared at her image. The face that reflected back shocked her. Her blue eyes were red and glassy, her cheeks blotchy. Her long, blond hair hung wet and stringy down the sides of her face. Not a pretty sight. She watched water droplets find their way down her forehead and follow the length of her nose to the tip. Her eyes focused on the drip, drip, drip as they left her face and fell to the counter. In that moment, Chelsea saw the face of her future; all that it could mean and what it could cost her.

You just turned forty years old. Keep up this lifestyle and the looks you still have won’t last long.

She made her way to the bed, dropped the towel from her body and climbed under the covers. Her thoughts returned to her mother and daughter eating breakfast when she’d arrived home. Her heart felt heavy. It wasn’t that they said anything. Not a word from either one. It was their expressions. That said it all—the pain and worry on her mother’s face; the anger and disappointment in the eyes of her daughter. Chelsea felt pained. One thought came to mind just before she passed out.

I’m so messed up.

The motor sound got louder and louder. What the hell? Chelsea tried to ignore it and pulled the pillow next to her over her head to drown out the annoying noise. It didn’t work. She tossed the pillow off the bed in a fit of temper.

Aargh…trying to sleep here! she shouted.

Forcing her eyes open, she focused on the alarm clock on the side table. Omigod… The digital numbers read three in the afternoon. She’d slept through most of the day. Chelsea pushed the covers back and sat on the edge of the bed. The pounding in her head, worsened by the constant drone of the neighbour’s chainsaw, brought back the memory of her exploits the night before. A groan escaped her lips and she crossed the room to close the window and at least muffle the grating racket.

Chelsea padded to the bathroom to relieve herself. She filled the sink with water and used her hands to splash it on her face and neck. The sting of the cold water jolted her back into the land of the living, however painful. She grabbed the bottle of mouthwash to gargle and rinse away the horrid taste and rancid breath exuding from her mouth. Only then did she look at herself in the mirror. Her face mirrored the pain she was feeling inside; physical effects of course, to be expected after her indulgences the night before—but there was something else looking back at her from the reflection. It was something that had been well hidden in the past but now stared back at her from deep in her eyes. An awareness of mental and emotional pain slapped her so hard across the face, like the sting of the cold water moments before, that she reeled backwards. The words she’d thought this morning before passing out came back to her: I’m so messed up.

A brushing of her long, blonde hair, some blush and pink lip gloss helped to normalize her otherwise stressed face. She added some concealer under her eyes and eyeliner. Much better. Skinny jeans and an oversized sweatshirt suited her mood, and Chelsea dressed, adding a pair of rainbow-striped woolly socks. She went to the kitchen. Thank God, it seems no one’s home.

A thermos of hot coffee sat on the counter with a clean cup beside it. A daily gesture of her mother’s that evoked a feeling of guilt. Chelsea poured herself a cup. The neighbour had finished his wood cutting chore, and assured of peace and quiet, she slipped through an all-glass door to the enclosed sun room and curled up on the loveseat.

The sun shone through the large panels of glass. It was a beautiful April day. Chelsea found it hard to believe she was living in her mother’s bungalow in Kelowna. Where did the time go?

She’d been held captive by Arne Jensen for twenty years. He’d abducted her at the age of nineteen and locked her up on his farm, across the road from her parents’ place. Her daughter, Sydney, was a year old at the time. Four years later, Chelsea’s father died of a sudden heart attack and her mother, Elizabeth, had left the farm with Sydney and moved to Kelowna. They returned years later when Sydney was twenty-one. Sydney found her mother’s journals, and through a series of events, dream sequences, and visitations from spirits, and a set of lost keys, Sydney and Elizabeth discovered her existence at Arne’s and rescued her.

She shuddered at the thought of Arne. He’d died that fateful day that Chelsea found her freedom. One swift blow to his skull with a cast-iron fry pan delivered by her mother, and all of their lives changed forever. Chelsea sighed and put her head back against the back of the loveseat. She closed her eyes and felt the hot rays of the sun reflecting off the glass panes onto her face. There had been times that she’d missed him. After all, he’d been her only companion and provider for all that time. And she’d learned how to be what he wanted and bend to his rules to avoid punishment. Not that it worked all the time. He could be unpredictable and unreadable. Sometimes his demons surfaced for no apparent reason, and Chelsea bore the brunt of it. But still, he was my only connection to the outside world and within the confines of my prison; the only one who could take care of my needs.

Nine months of freedom. Why don’t I feel free?

A broken ankle had brought Sydney’s grandmother back to the farm to recuperate, and Sydney had renovated the farmhouse and started a home-based business. When Chelsea was freed, the three of them lived at the farm for two months. Her mother, Elizabeth Grey, returned to her home in Kelowna once her ankle was on the mend to her hairdressing business. Chelsea came with her. Living across from Arne’s property wasn’t an option. She needed to find a life for herself and heal. For six months she’d attended counselling and tried to fit into a world she didn’t know or understand. Then at New Year’s she discovered night clubs and dancing, reconnected to music which she’d always loved…and found alcohol. The pills were a new addition. And Chelsea was forced to face the fact that she was on a reckless course that spelled disaster.

The door to the sunroom opened. Chelsea turned her head and watched Sydney cross the room and pick up a sweater from a chair. A pretty girl, she had her mother’s blue eyes and blond hair, only she wore hers in a razor-cut shag that fell around her face. Chelsea watched her daughter hold the sweater against her chest and stare out the windows, oblivious of her presence. Hey.

Sydney jumped. Uhh… She turned towards her. Chelsea…I didn’t see you sitting there.

A pang of disappointment passed through her. Chelsea…not Mom. Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.

No problem. Sydney started towards the door.

Please…sit with me for a minute. I haven’t seen much of you since we went out with Mom to celebrate our birthdays.

Sydney stiffened. I’m packing. I have to be back in Stoney Creek for a yoga group session. The residence is full this weekend.

Chelsea felt awkward. She knew Sydney was angry with her. Just for a few minutes. Talk to me.

Sydney sat rigidly in one of the wicker chairs facing her.

I know you’re upset with me. Chelsea paused to gauge her daughter. We need to discuss it.

The girl stared at the floor. I don’t know if this is the right time.

Somehow I think if I left it up to you, the time would never be right. You’re angry with me, I know.

Sydney raised her eyes and looked at her mother. Yes…I’m angry. About a lot of things.

Well then, let’s start with the first thing.

Sydney’s eye’s narrowed. If you insist. I’m angry that you came on to Jax. What mother does that? Comes on to her daughter’s boyfriend?

Chelsea’s face reddened. I did, and I’m sorry. But I was drunk at the time.

Her daughter leaned forward towards her. Nuh-uh…you don’t get to write it off like being drunk is the excuse and that makes it okay.

That wasn’t my intent, just an explanation. He had flattered me, and I needed that. As lame as it sounds, I forgot for the moment that he was with you. Of course, it was totally wrong, and I feel terrible about it. It won’t happen again.

The young woman sat back in her chair. Until the next time you’re drunk. It hurts for me to say this, but how can I trust you? And I don’t mean just about Jax.

It was Chelsea’s turn to stare at the floor as she weighed her next words. Today, I realized how messed up I am, and I…

Sydney interjected. Yes, you are. It saddens me, disappoints me, and completely disgusts me. She stood and paced the room. "I thought I’d found a mother…my mother. But you don’t act like a mother. You dress like me, you listen to the same music as me, and you act like we’re best friends or something. Chelsea, you’re forty years old; I’m twenty-two. I just don’t know how to absorb that."

Tears filled Chelsea’s eyes. I was a good mother to you when you were a baby. Ask your Nan, she’ll tell you. But you’ve come back to me two years older than I was when I was abducted. I just…I just don’t know how to be a mother to an adult because I don’t even know how to be an adult myself.

Sydney sat back down. And do you think you’ll find that out in the bottom of a bottle? Oh…and that’s number two on my angry list. Yes, you were victimized for twenty years. I can’t even begin to imagine how that affected you and what it cost you. God knows I’ve tried. I’ve been patient, tried to understand the stages, and I’ve gone to counselling. But you…you’ve given up.

Chelsea eyes flashed with anger. I have not.

Her daughter leaned her arms across her knees and stared across at her mother. Oh, really? You moved to Kelowna for a new start six months ago. You were going to go back to school. Instead you’ve become a drinker and partier and stopped going to therapy. Sydney stood and grabbed her sweater. And that brings me to the thing I’m angry about the most.

Staring up at her daughter, Chelsea said nothing. There was so much she wanted to say but knew it was best to let Sydney get out all the anger she’d been holding back. Tell me.

My Nan. She spent twenty years in silent pain, wondering if you were dead or alive. Sydney paused. It was easier for her to handle your disappearance by believing that maybe you ran off and were alive somewhere living a happy life, even if you didn’t want her in it. When we found you, do know how guilty she felt carrying that anger towards you for all those years, when you were right across the road the whole time locked up by her neighbour?

There was no way she could know that, Chelsea whispered.

No, there wasn’t. And then she got you back and instead of building on the time the two of you could spend together, you’re throwing it all away. Sydney was worked up now, and her voice had risen to a fever pitch. It’s one thing to deal with all of this, but watching Nan suffer—it sets my blood boiling. You lost twenty years of your life. There’s nothing you can do to change that. But you could have three times those years in your future to make up for them. But if you choose to remain a victim and follow the path you’re on, you’re going to self-destruct, and you’ll take Nan along with you. And if that happens, then I wish we’d never found you.

Sydney turned and ran out of the room.

Chelsea was blinded by her tears. She wanted to chase after Sydney, but she couldn’t move. She stared ahead through the windows into the garden. Everything her daughter had said was true. This morning she’d faced her inner demons, seen herself as the person she’d become. She’d wanted to explain it to her daughter but knew in Sydney’s current emotional state she wouldn’t have believed her. It was better to say nothing.

The front door opened and closed. A few minutes later a car engine could be heard, and Chelsea knew her daughter had left. I wish we’d never found you. The words hurt. They cut deep into Chelsea’s psyche. She let the tears flow, buried her face in her hands and cried. She cried for the pain she was causing her mother and daughter; she cried for all that she’d lost; but most of all she cried for her own weakness.

2

Elizabeth Grey studied her granddaughter. She knew her facial expressions and body language well. Something’s wrong, she thought.

The two had met for an early dinner at their favourite Greek restaurant before Sydney was to head home to Stoney Creek. All through their meal, her granddaughter was distracted, and her conversation was vague. Sydney was picking at her gluten-free lemon tart, while Elizabeth sipped her coffee. Okay…what’s going on?

What? What do you mean?

You’ve been distant throughout the whole meal.

Sydney smiled. You know me too well.

Yes, I do. And I know you’re upset about something. Elizabeth reached across the table and squeezed her hand.

Oh, Nan. I had words with Chelsea before I left the house. I said some horrible things to her. I didn’t mean to, but once I started I couldn’t shut up.

The thought of her daughter brought a look of pain across Elizabeth’s face. I can’t say that I’m surprised. It’s been a long time coming. The two of you have been at odds for months. Even our dinner out the other day to celebrate you and your mother’s birthday was obviously tense.

Sydney’s brow went up. I was hoping you hadn’t noticed. Do you know why?

Elizabeth shrugged. I assumed because, like me, you’re disappointed in how she’s handling her problems.

That’s part of it, yes. But it’s more complicated than that. I’ve been really angry at her. She wanted to talk about it, and I let loose. Remember when Jax and I came up to celebrate your birthday?

Yes, it was a fun night.

Most of it. You went home ahead of us with your friends and Chelsea got drunk…per usual. I went to the ladies’ room, and when I got back, she was all over Jax. He was embarrassed, and I was disgusted.

Elizabeth shook her head. I’m so sorry. But perhaps it’s for the best that you talked it out with her.

"Nan, I was really mean. I said her lifestyle was hurting everyone, especially you. And if it continues, I wish we’d never found her.

Her grandmother cringed. Her chest hurt. Oh, Sydney.

I’m sorry. I feel terrible, but sometimes that’s how I feel. I understand why she’s struggling, but it’s hard when she acts out and does things like coming on to my boyfriend.

I’m not condoning her actions of late, but it’s only been nine months. Chelsea has a lot to overcome.

I know. But this sudden drinking and partying path she’s on can only hurt her. I want to understand her battle, but to me it’s like she’s given up.

Elizabeth put her cup down. She absent-mindedly wrung her hands together. She’s definitely in a self-destruct mode. I talked to Dr. Sauvé about it. I was hoping she could do something in this type of situation, but her hands are tied.

Sydney gave up on her lemon tart and covered it with her napkin. Do something like what?

I don’t know…maybe put her in a hospital for thirty days observation where she’d get counselling more intensively, send her to rehab…something. Dr. Sauvé says she’s an adult and unless she tries to harm herself or others, she doesn’t have the authority under the law to do anything about it. And Chelsea hasn’t returned her calls since she stopped going to her sessions, so she doesn’t really know what’s going on with her.

Sydney reached over and placed her hand over her Nan’s to stop her from rubbing her fingers raw. It’s a worry, Nan. But I don’t know what we can do. Chelsea has to figure this out on her own. My main concern is really the effect it’s having on you.

It is hard, but I’m hopeful she’ll heal. We’ve both given her lots of space, even when we haven’t agreed with her behavior. It’s time I try to talk to her. I’m sorry your talk went badly, but give her some space and time.

The waiter brought their bill and Elizabeth insisted on paying. The two women left the restaurant and walked towards their cars.

Sydney linked her arm through her Nan’s. You know, I suggested she read her journals months ago because I thought she might reconnect with that strong, independent person she was before all this happened to her.

Elizabeth stopped beside her car. I get why she didn’t want to go there. It would have made her feel like a failure now. I’m hoping that the free spirit she has hidden somewhere inside her will fight its way to the surface.

Let’s hope so. I’d best get going, Nan. Give me a hug. The two embraced.

Drive safe and text me when you get home, Elizabeth said.

I will.

Not ready to return home, Elizabeth called a friend and arranged a visit with her for coffee. Three hours later she drove into her driveway. There were no lights on in the house as she unlocked the door and let herself in. She knocked on Chelsea’s bedroom door. With no answer, she opened it, confirming that she was home alone. Out again. She walked over to her daughter’s unmade bed and straightened it out, an unconscious effort that gave her little comfort. Not wanting to imagine where her daughter was or with whom, she retired to her own bed early. A favourite series on Netflix with new episodes caught her attention. When she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer, she turned it off and fell asleep.

A short time later, she awoke to hear the front door open and close. Chelsea passed her door and entered her own bedroom. The clock read 10:30 p.m. Elizabeth was surprised.

An early night for once. At least I know she’s home and safe.

3

SEVEN HOURS EARLIER…

Chelsea used the sleeves of her sweatshirt to wipe the tears on her face. A calmness enveloped her as she stared through the window pane, focusing on the antics of a black squirrel running up the bark of a tree. The sun disappeared around the corner of the house and the room chilled. Goose bumps rose on her skin. She ran her hands up and down her arms over her sweatshirt to warm them while reliving the confrontation with her daughter. Sydney’s hurtful words forced Chelsea to assess the past nine months, to re-evaluate her actions and face her failures. She tried to imagine it all from her mother and daughter’s perspective.

A burst of jumbled ideas assaulted her mind. One word rose to the surface above the quick succession of thoughts that opened her to an awareness—victim. Sydney had used the word in her anger towards her.

I was a victim; I AM a victim…because I still think of myself as one.

Chelsea gave this a lot of thought. She’d talked through all the stages of her recovery with Dr. Sauvé and experienced all of them; shock, anxiety, guilt, depression, anger, loss, and loneliness. But understanding them didn’t seem to be helping her. Why? I want to feel normal—be normal.

In that moment, Chelsea knew what she had to do. She returned to the kitchen with her empty coffee cup. A glance at the clock told her it was 4:00 p.m. Hmm…better get a move on. It’s getting late in the day. She retrieved the telephone book and searched until she found the number she wanted. She punched in the number and waited.

A voice answered. Rhyder Developments, Mr. Rhyder’s office.

Hello. Is Mr. Rhyder available? Chelsea asked.

He is in, but I’m not sure he’s taking calls at the moment. Can I ask who’s calling?

Yes, please tell him Chelsea Grey would like to talk to him. It’s important.

One moment, please, the voice said.

Chelsea paced the kitchen, tapping her fingers nervously on the cell phone to the beat of the music playing in her ear. She didn’t have to wait long.

Chelsea? Wes here. I’m so glad you called. How are you?

Wow, he sounds the same as he did at eighteen. A nervous laugh escaped her lips. Well…that’s a loaded question. Let’s just say I’m getting there, or trying to. Listen, Chaz… The nickname she’d always called him slipped out. Another snicker. "…or should I call you Wes?

It was Wes’s turn to laugh. No one’s called me that in years. You can call me Chaz if you like, either way is fine. It’s good to hear your voice.

He sounds as nervous as me. I’d like to thank you for the flowers and card. I should have called months ago, but I wasn’t… Chelsea faltered, searching for the right words. I wasn’t ready to talk to people from my past.

Hey, I get that. I really do. And now…here you are.

Chelsea decided to get to the point. Listen, there’s something I’d like to run by you, but I’d rather not do it over the phone. Do you think we could meet for coffee?

Sure. When did you want to get together?

As soon as possible. I need to make a decision, and our meeting might have an effect on that.

Wow, intriguing. Look, I’m finishing up here for the day. If you’re available now, why don’t you come to my office? Everyone will be gone in thirty minutes and we’ll be free to talk.

She let out a sigh. Step one. I’ll be there.

Third floor, turn left when you leave the elevator. How do you like your coffee? I’ll order some in from downstairs.

Black, thanks.

Easy. Okay, see you soon.

Chelsea raced to her room and pulled off her sweatshirt and replaced it with a black silk blouse with a cowl neckline. She redid her make-up and pulled her hair up and tucked it into a wool cap, leaving a partial bang and wisps of hair soft around her face. Black leather knee-high boots over her skinny jeans and a black leather bomber jacket finished her apparel. A glance in a full-length mirror revealed a haggard face with tired eyes. That’s as good as it gets, girl.

As she drove to meet him, she thought about their teenage relationship and all that had happened over the past twenty years. She had grown up and gone to school with Chaz in Stoney Creek. Wes ‘Chaz’ Rhyder had been her only teenage boyfriend. They’d been in love. But after he’d left Stoney Creek to go to university, she never heard from him again. At least that’s what she thought. Chaz had written letters and called, all intercepted by her father, who didn’t like his family. After her father had passed, her mother found the letters and put them away. Chelsea had