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Back The Trickster
Chapters (74)
  1. The Trickster
  2. Copyright
  3. Dedication
  4. Contents
  5. Preface to the 20th anniversary edition
  6. Introduction
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. 61
  68. 62
  69. Keep Reading
  70. FURNACE
  71. Acknowledgements
  72. About the Author
  73. ALSO BY THE AUTHOR
  74. About the Publisher

What did she think his childhood had been like? Sometimes a glimpse of herself as she really was hit her and she realized that maybe part of her was exactly the type of girl who should have married Tom and given endless fondue evenings for BC lawyers and their stupid big-haired wives. Because the pathetic truth was she had harboured a Hollywood fantasy that Sam had ridden about on a horse on some grassy prairie, had lived a life outdoors and grown up tall and straight and handsome with the simplicity of humble but decent native life. The middle-class fool in her thought that he had left it behind because it wasn’t good enough, not ambitious enough for a man like Sam. But Sam was not ambitious. Sam was always happy with whatever they had. A tiny room, a big house, a crap job, no job, it made no difference. As long as he was surrounded by his family, and they were well and fed. Not ambitious at all. She had just made it up to satisfy herself and get on with her own little selfish life.

How could a man like Sam love someone as shallow as she was? Sam? Sam who? After her horror in their bed, how could she love a man like that? She writhed in her torment. A man like what? Who was he?

The abused always becomes the abuser. No. No, no, no, NO!

She made herself think the unthinkable. This crazy stuff had all just happened. Abused children were abused for years. Slowly. Gradually. Agonizingly. Billy had only reacted to his father like he was the devil since yesterday. It was nothing.

Was one incident nothing? What if this was just the beginning?

But why? Why would a man like Sam Hunt hurt one of the things he loved most? You mean like just there, like how he just hurt you, her dark side thought. She pushed the darkness away.

Maybe he wouldn’t. But maybe Sam Hunting Wolf would. The blackouts. And the murders. Her father-in-law was a murderer. Sam had said so. Like father like son.

Dear God, no. That was going too far. She heard his breathing, steady and rhythmic. No. It was all wrong and wicked to even think it. Billy would be fine. The police would catch and incarcerate the psycho and Sam would be better soon. She loved him and she trusted him. Her eyes moistened afresh. Trusted him enough to want to kill him when he penetrated her? She screwed her eyes shut and groaned, concentrating on shutting it all out. But before she could stop herself the dark machine that was running the programme marked the end of everything started to run through every detail, every betrayal and sniff of duplicity all over again.

The second person still awake was Billy.