Death by the River
Alexandrea Weis & Lucas Astor
Published by: Vesuvian Books
Publication date: October 2nd 2018
Genres: Horror, Young Adult
A high school “American Psycho.”
SOME TRUTHS ARE BETTER KEPT SECRET.
SOME SECRETS ARE BETTER OFF DEAD.
Along the banks of the Bogue Falaya River, sits the abandoned St. Francis Seminary. Beneath a canopy of oaks, blocked from prying eyes, the teens of St. Benedict High gather here on Fridays. The rest of the week belongs to school and family—but weekends belong to the river.
And the river belongs to Beau Devereaux.
The only child of a powerful family, Beau can do no wrong. Handsome. Charming. Intelligent. The star quarterback of the football team. The “prince” of St. Benedict is the ultimate catch.
He is also a psychopath.
A dirty family secret buried for years, Beau’s evil grows unchecked. In the shadows of the ruined St. Francis Abbey, he commits unspeakable acts on his victims and ensures their silence with threats and intimidation. Senior year, Beau sets his sights on his girlfriend’s headstrong twin sister, Leslie, who hates him. Everything he wants but cannot have, she will be his ultimate prize.
As the victim toll mounts, it becomes crystal clear that someone has to stop Beau Devereaux.
And that someone will pay with their life.
Leslie clung to him, wishing they were outside. “What is this place?”
“The cells.” Derek kept his voice low.
She squeezed his bicep. “I’ve never been inside The Abbey.” Leslie peered into the dim, cavernous corridor ahead, with only patches of light coming through the thick stone walls. “I wish we hadn’t come.”
“It will be fine, I promise.” He patted her hand. “Nothing will hurt you. I won’t let it.”
They crept along, their feet hitting sticks and fallen pieces of plaster from the crumbling walls around them. Puddles of water dotted the uneven stone floor and dampened Leslie’s tennis shoes. Mounds of dead leaves lay swept to the side. The low ceiling had roots coming through it, and the walls were cold and slimy to the touch. Derek shined his flashlight into the first room on the left. It was a depressingly small space composed of four walls and no windows.
It reminded Leslie of a jail cell rather than a place where a person would choose to live.
Scraps of paper littered the ground of the next cell they came across; another had a rusty metal frame of a bed. Several of the rooms had cracks in their plaster ceilings along with patches of mold. When they stumbled on a few rat skeletons, Leslie turned her head into Derek’s shoulder.
At the end of the passageway, sunlight snuck through a break in the wall. The intrusion of light was a welcome sight and Leslie’s fear abated. The jagged opening allowed green leaves from the plants outside to reach in, and a few creeping vines jutted up toward the ceiling. Along the floor, a thick pile of dead leaves hid the lower part of the opening.
“There was a cave-in along the wall here.” Derek brushed the leaves aside, revealing a fairly large breach able to accommodate one person at a time. “The other cells past this point are too dangerous to explore. We can get out here and avoid going back through The Abbey.”
Derek turned off his flashlight and handed it to her. He pushed the leaves back, pulled the vines down, and kicked the debris at the bottom away, trying to clear the opening.
While he worked, a glimmering light from inside one of the cells farther down the corridor distracted her. She flipped on the flashlight and angled it into the tight quarters beyond the cave-in.
The walls in this portion of the cells had deeper cracks than the rest of the structure. The fissures ran along the entire ceiling and down to the floors. Patches of black mold were everywhere. What struck her as odd was the lack of debris. It appeared as if it had been freshly swept without any leaves or rat skeletons littering the ground.
Derek came up behind her. “What are you doing?”
Leslie headed toward the room where she’d spotted the strange light. “I saw something.”
The smell of rot and mold filled her nose. Her skin brushed against the slimy walls, and she cringed. But something compelled her to keep going into the section Derek had deemed too dangerous to explore.
“Leslie, stop.”
Naturally, she ignored him and pressed on, testing the floor with the toe of her shoe as she carefully progressed. Her heartbeat kicked up a notch, but this time a tingling sensation of excitement went with it. She felt like Indiana Jones exploring a lost tomb and waiting for a booby trap to jump out at her.
Her beam of light filtered into the room, and her heart crept higher in her throat. She rounded the edge of the wall and halted.
The cell was small without any windows, but this room appeared lived in. Along the far wall, below a pair of rusted pipes where a sink had once been, a green cot—army issue—had a pillow and green blanket neatly stacked on top. At the foot of the cot was a blue ice chest; on top of it, an assortment of red and white candles.
Leslie went up to the cot and caressed the blanket and pillows. Her foot tapped something beneath. She bent down and discovered an old CD player.
What’s this?
Footfalls came from behind her. She swerved the flashlight around to Derek, fuming.
“Did you do this?”
“Do what?” He shielded his eyes from the light and stepped inside.
She wanted to believe he had no idea any of this was here, but her suspicions couldn’t be silenced. The whole scenario seemed so well-planned.
“What the hell?” Derek came up to the cot and lifted the pillow.
She stood back, studying his reaction as he browsed the contents of the room. “I thought you said this portion was dangerous.”
“It is.”
Excerpt – Maxon’s Military Briefing
Mom peeps through the doorway leading to Dad’s office. Lincoln and I steal up behind her. Fortunately, the angle of the threshold means that we can easily see Dad, but he can’t see us.
What I witness in his office is so sweet, my eyes start to water.
My father has reorganized the room to have a military briefing. All his mismatched chairs face one wall. And on that wall, Dad has taped up a bunch of images cut from magazines or hand-drawn on sheets of notebook paper.
Maxon sits front and center, his pudgy little legs hanging off the edge of Dad’s favorite suede chair. My son may only be six months old, but he’s as large and smart as a toddler. Right now, Maxon wears nothing but his diaper and a goofy smile. He always reminds me of a cherub, what with his brown hair, huge eyes, and bow shaped mouth. Right now, Maxon looks especially angelic since he’s out of his mind with joy. Why? In his left fist, my boy grips a full and peeled banana.
Uh-oh.
Clearly, my parents have no idea what kind of havoc my child can wreak with nothing but a raw banana. They’re about to find out.
I nibble my thumbnail and consider the options. Sure, I could warn Mom about the impending banana-pocalypse. That said, wasn’t she the one who told me to savor the moment?
Well, I’ll enjoy the Hell out of this.
My father paces a short line before Maxon. Dad wears a classic gray suit, blue tie, and starched white shirt. It sets off his cocoa-colored skin, brown hair, and bright blue eyes. Dad looks impeccable as he gestures to the various drawings on the wall.
Mom glances over her shoulder and winks. “Battle briefing,” she whispers. “Fourth try.”
I smile my face off. Dad is General of the Angelic Army. This is getting waaaaaaay good.
Pausing before Maxon, Xavier clasps his hands behind his back. “Now, soldiers, I mean, baby Maxon. Today’s target is a nap.” Dad turns to the wall of images. “Let’s review our plan of attack. First, we’ll finish our snack. That would be your banana.”
Maxon mushes some of said banana into his ear. “Pop Pops.”
“Second, we’ll read a book.” Turning away from Maxon, Dad points to various hand-dawn book covers taped to the wall. Our choices today are Goodnight Moon or Why We Poop. But our reading selection doesn’t need to be finalized at this time. That can be a field call. Are you still with me, Maxon?”
Dad turns back around. Maxon is now smooshing banana into his hair. And his diaper. And more deeply into the expensive chair.
Guilt finally gets the better of me. I tap Mom on the shoulder. “Sorry about your chair.”
Mom rolls her eyes. “Are you kidding?” she whispers. “I love this.”
Back at the briefing, Dad points to a cutout image of a rocking chair. “After we accomplish book time, you and I will rock while singing a song. This can be The Battle Hymn Of The Republic or Row, Row, Row, Your Boat. I don’t know other tunes. Although…” Dad taps his chin for a moment. “I do know Rock-A-Bye Baby. Maybe that’s been the missing part of our plan.” Pulling a pen from an inner pocket of his suit coat, Dad adds the words Rock-A-Bye Baby onto the sheet with other songs.
While my father’s scribbling away, Maxon slides off the chair yet again. This time, he toddles out a side door. My son hasn’t noticed me, Lincoln, or Mom yet. I figure I’ve got about twenty seconds before Lincoln or I need to chase after Maxon. My son has a gift for destroying things.
Dad finishes his writing. “Fourth and finally, you will go to sleep. Do we all understand the plan?” Dad turns around, but Maxon is long gone.
Lucas Astor is from New York, has resided in Central America and the Middle East, and traveled through Europe. He lives a very private, virtually reclusive lifestyle, preferring to spend time with a close-knit group of friends than be in the spotlight.
He is an author and poet with a penchant for telling stories that delve into the dark side of the human psyche. He likes to explore the evil that exists, not just in the world, but right next door behind a smiling face.
Photography, making wine, and helping endangered species are just some of his interests. Lucas is an expert archer and enjoys jazz, blues, and classical music.
One of his favorite quotes is: “It’s better to be silent than be a fool.” ~Harper Lee (To Kill a Mockingbird)
Alexandrea Weis is an advanced practice registered nurse who was born and raised in New Orleans. Having been brought up in the motion picture industry, she learned to tell stories from a different perspective and began writing at the age of eight. Infusing the rich tapestry of her hometown into her award-winning novels, she believes that creating vivid characters makes a story memorable. A permitted/certified wildlife rehabber with the Louisiana Wildlife and Fisheries, Weis rescues orphaned and injured wildlife. She lives with her husband and pets in New Orleans.
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