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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

But then his waking hours held more terror for him now than his sleeping ones. Sam was tired but was fully awake now, aching for the touch and the smell of Katie, the sight of her streaky blonde hair mussed up over her face and those dreamy, half-awake eyes full of love and desire. She was at work. She hadn’t woken him. He suddenly felt deeply lonely.

He sighed and put his arm behind his head and tried to take comfort from the warmth of the bed. His face was still scratched from the fall yesterday, and he fingered those scabs too. Seemed like everything hurt him these days, cut him and left its mark. But he knew he’d been lucky. He’d been skiing faster than he’d ever skied in his life, pointing his skis straight down the fall-line like a downhill racer, schussing rather than skiing, blind with panic and fear.

He’d caught an edge at the base of the Wildwood trail and the fall had catapulted him across the hard snow and whipped him into the branches of a low spruce. It could have been worse. After all, he was fleeing for his life. Running like a frightened rabbit before a hound. Even if the hound was only in his head.

The tourists on Toby’s ski bus had looked at him like he was a monster as he’d climbed aboard in his mission to get home. Wild-eyed, scratched and bleeding, his face running with sweat and melted snow. Toby, ever the half-wit you prayed you wouldn’t have to sit beside on the staff bus, had watched Sam get on with a cackle.

‘Nope. They surely don’t pay us enough.’

Sam had glowered at him and sat down on the jump seat behind Toby, watching through the window as the brown car by the lodge entrance turned on its lights. Had they been waiting here, looking for him among the crowds? Or had they followed him up the hill, maybe even skied down behind him? He caught a glimpse of the fat cop with a couple of chins in the driver’s seat and realized that was unlikely. What a tale they’d have to give back at base, he thought. The suspect all cut up and scared.

Now he lay in his warm bed in the darkened room, looking at the irregular patch of grey daylight on the ceiling that was filtering through the curtains, and knowing that outside would be two cops looking up at the bedroom window, wondering why those curtains were still drawn.

Warning! Warning! Danger!

The voice of the TV robot.