Psycho Hill (JP Warner Book 3) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Part One

  Chapter One

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Part Two

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Part Three

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Part Four

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Part Five

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Epilogue

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Confederate Gold - Preview

  Acknowledgments

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Part One

  Chapter One

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Part Two

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Part Three

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Part Four

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Part Five

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Epilogue

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Confederate Gold - Preview

  Acknowledgments

  Psycho Hill

  Derek Ciccone

  Copyright© 2014 Derek Ciccone

  Published by Derek Ciccone at Derek Ciccone Books

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  email: [email protected]

  Books by Derek Ciccone

  Featuring JP Warner (in order)

  Officer Jones

  Huddled Masses

  Psycho Hill

  Confederate Gold

  Stand Alone

  Painless

  The Trials of Max Q

  The Truant Officer

  The Heritage Paper

  The Jack Hammer

  Kristmas Collins

  This book is a work of fiction. Places, events, and situations in this book are purely fictional and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental

  Part One—

  Truth or Dare

  Chapter One

  Rockfield, Connecticut

  October 4, 1959

  Poca picked out the tall, athletic-looking boy in the green and gold letterman jacket. With his movie-star good looks and wavy blond hair, it seemed that he better belonged in a California beach movie, hanging with Frankie and Annette, than as a senior at Rockfield High.

  Standing out from the crowd was the one thing she and Archie had in common. Her father, Chief Vayo, had instilled in her that she was born into much responsibility. She wasn’t like the others, no matter how hard she tried to fit in. But that’s where the similarities ended.

  She deadened her stare on him, and asked, “Truth or dare?”

  “Dare,” he replied. It was the only answer—choosing “truth” would put him at the mercy of secrets he could never reveal.

  The group buzzed; echoing off the nearby abandoned building. Or maybe it was the ghosts crying for help, as the story went. The October night did feel like it was straight out of a haunted tale, especially in these surroundings, and with the only light coming from the administration building far in the distance.

  All eyes were on her now. The girls, in their poodle skirts with bobby socks, had jealousy in their eyes. Poca had heard their mocks behind her back about her “cheap squaw” clothing, and their Monday morning gossip session would surely center on the body-hugging, suede corseted dress she had on tonight, that she wore with no shoes, despite the dropping temperatures. But she planned on giving them something much bigger to talk about.

  Her stare deepened, and Archie began fidgeting with the leather sl
eeves of his jacket. She held tight until the expectation reached its peak, and then blurted out, “I dare you to kiss me.”

  The request drew a few hoots and hollers from the boys, and icy glares from the girls. But she could sense a letdown—she was known for her daring ways, and a simple kiss seemed rather pedestrian.

  Archie looked like a deer in the headlights. The athletic fields were his comfort zone—he was out of his element here. But he was able to gather himself, and took a step in her direction.

  The tension grew as he moved closer. Poca didn’t move a muscle until he got so close she could smell his aftershave. And when he tilted his head to kiss her lips, she abruptly bolted into the darkness. “You have to catch me first,” she called out.

  Archie stood stunned, perhaps having second thoughts. So she added some more inspiration, “Unless you’re a scaredy-cat!”

  She knew the words would spark his male ego, and she soon heard his powerful footsteps behind her, his long strides making up the distance in short order.

  She was equally swift, and more nimble. Her tight dress worked more as a second skin than a hindrance, as her bare feet flew over the dewy grass. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and her knowledge of the terrain proved invaluable.

  She would allow Archie to get just close enough that he could almost reach out and grab hold of her, and then she would speed up again. She ran into the open entrance of Milford Hall—once a residence for psychotics and addicts, but long since abandoned.

  She heard Archie enter, his powerful gallop giving the impression that he might crash through the dilapidated floorboards. With all the stories told about this place, she could only imagine the horrors that might be hidden beneath the floors.

  She made her way through the dark corridors; her heart feeling like it would leap out of her chest. As she heard him get closer, she slipped into a room, and found herself cornered. She ran back out, bouncing off a confused Archie in the process. He reached for her, but it was like a bear swatting at a fly.

  Once outside, she sucked as much fresh air as she could into her lungs and took off across the 500-acre grounds. She felt the spirits of the past—both of her ancestors and the tortured souls who died here.

  She entered the next building, finding herself in a cavernous room with two-story-high ceilings. A pale moonlight shone through the remains of the Gothic windows. It was the cafeteria, which at one time fed the few thousand residents that made up Farm Ridge Resort.

  She headed into the kitchen, knocking over pots and pans that hadn’t been used in years. The clanging was loud enough to alert Archie. Once she was in his sights again, she ran out the back of the cafeteria, and directly into the neighboring building, shutting the creaking door behind her. It was the auditorium, where the residents had engaged in music therapy, and would often put on performances for the Rockfield community. As if to say—see, it’s not so bad here. There’s music, not torture, you can’t believe those rumors.

  But when she came upon the caved-in stage and the remains of a piano, she thought of the legend she’d heard about the piano teacher who was so abusive to her “students” that they hung her by piano wire in this very room. Supposedly, if you listen closely you can still hear her playing “Camptown Races.”

  She didn’t have time for that tonight, and dashed out a side door. “You still there?” she shouted back at Archie, but the only reply she got was his heavy breaths.

  She continued the race until she came to Bethel Hall—one of three buildings clustered together in a triangle formation. They were once staff quarters, and even in their decaying state it was obvious that the accommodations were much better than the ones the residents were housed in.

  She stood in a living room area and waited until Archie burst through the door, breathing heavily. She doubted the chase had worn out this top athlete—it was his nerves that were getting the best of him tonight.

  “What took you so long?”

  “We could use you on the football team,” he replied, between huffs and puffs.

  “I wouldn’t want to embarrass the boys,” she said with the smile that normally turned male legs into jelly. But she was reminded again that Archie was not like the others.

  She approached him, getting as close as possible—it was imperative that he grasped what she was about to tell him.

  “I let you catch me, Archie. When people are after you, even the slightest slip will give them a chance to catch you. It’s important to never look back, and keep running. Do you understand?”

  He nodded that he did.

  She could feel the ghosts nodding along with him.

  Chapter 2

  With a kick of her bare foot, she broke the old, rotting chair in half. She carried the pieces to the fireplace and with one swipe of a match the room was lit up, and warming.

  “I thought Indians rubbed rocks together to make fire?” Archie said.

  “I hate to break it to you, but we’re just as helpless and reliant on technology as the white man.”

  This is where most boys would see the green light, and drag-race right to her, tires screeching. But Archie looked hesitant, and she detected a tremor.

  “So now that you’ve caught me … are you going to kiss me, or what?”

  He began to walk to her, his steps were timid and measured.

  “You really haven’t been with a girl, have you?”

  He stopped in his tracks. “I thought I told you …”

  “Don’t worry, it’s between us,” she said. “And when I’m done with you, you’ll be a legend in these parts. People will be talking about this night for years to come.”

  She strolled over to him, took his hand, and led him to a blanket she had placed in front of the crackling fire. She put her hands around his waist, and pulled his strong body close to hers. She then took off his jacket, forcing herself not to rush, and set it down beside the blanket. Ready or not, it was show time, and she planted a deep kiss on his mouth. It was mechanical and slightly awkward, but she’d had worse kisses.

  She pushed him down on the blanket, and climbed on top. She was about to go in for the kill, but sensed more nerves. She smiled down at him. “Wow—having me for your first time is like trying to hit a baseball first time off of Sandy Koufax. Straight to the big leagues.”

  “I’m impressed you know who Sandy is—most girls don’t know anything about sports.”

  “My father was a big Dodgers fan. He used to take me to the games in Brooklyn. But he was so mad they moved to California that we’re not even allowed to mention their name in our house anymore.”

  “Then I guess you don’t know that they won their World Series game today against the White Sox—three to one. Don Drysdale got the win.”

  “I said we couldn’t mention it, not that we couldn’t sneak a listen on the radio. And I don’t blame them for moving to California. I would too if I had the chance.”

  They now had two things in common. “Can’t beat sunshine all year and great beaches. And it seems like everyone isn’t hung up on the past like they are here. I’m thinking about going out there to play football at UCLA next year.”

  She held back her surprise. “Word around school is that you’re going to Syracuse and be the next Ernie Davis. Or maybe West Point.”

  “That’s what my parents are telling people. But I’m almost eighteen, and if I’m old enough to go to war, then I’m old enough to decide where I’m going to college.”

  Feeling that she’d calmed his nerves as much as possible, she ran her fingers through his blond hair and moved in to kiss him. She didn’t hear any bells on the second attempt at lip-lock, but she did hear the front door creak open.

  “I know you’re in here, Poca!” echoed the familiar voice of Woodrow Hastings.

  Archie tried to sit up, but she held him down and put her hand over his mouth.

  “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” his voice grew closer. When they didn’t respond, he angered. “I said answer me! I know y
ou came here with him.”

  Archie looked ready to fight, but she pushed him toward another room. “Shut the door and be quiet … I’ll take care of this,” she told him. He seemed hesitant to leave her, but followed her orders.

  Woodrow followed the crackling of the fire right to her. “Where is he!?”

  “Where is who?” she responded with a shrug, intensifying his anger. It didn’t fit with his preppy look of short-sleeved cardigan and cuffed trousers; his hair Brylcreemed into a pompadour like his hero, Elvis. But when it came to Woodrow Hastings, the outward image never really matched what boiled underneath.

  “Archibald! I know you came up here with him. They told me …”

  “It’s none of your business what I do, or who I do it with.”

  “Maybe I’ll tell the police that he took a freshman girl up here to do perverted things to her, and he’ll end up in jail.”

  “And so will you, when I tell them what we did. Or was I not underage when we were together?”

  “I’m a Hastings—the police will slap me on the back and congratulate me.”

  “You are a Hastings—and that’s the problem, isn’t it?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “That in public I was beneath you, but behind closed doors you tell me you love me. If you want me to be your girlfriend, then prove it—take me back to the group and tell them we’re going steady. If not, leave me alone!”

  “You know it’s complicated, Poca.”

  “And it’s about to get more complicated.”

  “The lady said to leave her alone,” Archie shouted as he ran into the room. He’d morphed into a completely different animal from the scared boy she was just kissing.

  A lopsided grin appeared on Woodrow’s face. “Hasn’t your family tried to harm mine enough … now you think you’re going to steal my girl?”

  “I’m not your girl. Archie is proud of me. He doesn’t treat me like a streetwalker and hide me away in a closet.”

  “Yeah, some romantic getaway he brought you to—a deserted loony bin.”

  “I brought him here.”

  “You cheap prostitute!” he shouted out, and slapped her across the face.

  Poca responded with a closed fist to Hastings’ lip, knocking him backwards. His initial surprise changed to rage. He cocked his fist, and was about to launch it into her nose, when Archie grabbed his arm. “You need to leave before someone gets hurt.”

  Woodrow faced him, and pulled out a knife.

  “Oh my God … no,” Poca screamed out.