Sole Survivor Matthew Scrivens.pdf

Sole Survivor

By Matthew Scrivens

Published by JMS Books LLC

Visit jms-books.com for more information.

ISBN 9781611522662

Cover Photo Credit: Yuri Arcurs

Used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

Cover Design: Written Ink Designs

WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your

own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an

infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be

prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced

in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from

the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the

purposes of review.

This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains

substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which

may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your

files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and

incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination

and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to

actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to

actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published in the United States of America.

* * * *

Sole Survivor

By Matthew Scrivens

Prologue

The sand felt soft beneath his bare feet, and the water licked

his toes. The rays of the sun danced on the ocean, almost causing

him to sneeze. His skin was deliciously hot and a little achy.

Probably have a little bit of sunburn, Adam Huntington

thought as he kicked at the water. The briny smell of the sea

tickled his nose, and the screeching of seagulls filled the air. He

smiled as he looked around at the amazing sight, a picture-

perfect day: the blazing sun, the brilliant blue sky, the crashing

waves causing a fine mist to cool him down. There was nothing

better than a lazy day at the beach. Yes, a picture-perfect day.

Then in walked George Gary Smith.

This can’t be! He’s dead. THIS CAN’T BE! He doesn’t

belong here! Adam stood frozen, his heart hammering. Fear

clawed at him. Sweat poured down his face. His brain felt ready

to explode. His vision narrowed to a tunnel. All he could see was

George Gary Smith. All he could hear were the screams—the

blood-curdling screams of people being tortured, being

tormented, being killed. They always came with this monster.

Adam struggled to speak. His lips wouldn’t move. His voice

strained to come out, but only a whisper emerged. “GGGet the

ffffuck awwway fffrom meeeee!”

The creature smiled: his maw a cavernous grin, his dead

eyes staring, his skin shifting like it didn’t fit right.

Adam couldn’t move. He knew he had to—his life

depended on it. He couldn’t move! His mind screamed at him to

run, to fight, to yell and draw someone’s attention. HE

COULDN’T MOVE! Helpless! Help!

“Time’s up, boy!” George Gary Smith hissed and reached

for him.

Chapter 1

Adam leapt from his bed screaming, his heart still

pounding, his arms flailing. It took a few moments for his eyes to

adjust to the shadowy darkness and for him to realize where he

was. There was no cage, no bars, no shackles; he was in his

own bedroom—not that other room . He knew the door and

windows were locked. He didn’t need to check this time.

Adam sat on the edge of his bed, breathing hard, his throat

sore, instinctively rubbing his wrists where shackles had once

been. He turned on his bedside lamp, illuminating his bedroom

and scattering the shadows. This was the second time that week

George Gary Smith had shown up in his dreams. The doctors had

assured Adam it would happen less and less over time, which

seemed to be accurate, but it still scared the hell out of him. He

looked down at his bed: sheets twisted up, pillows tossed around,

and a big sweat spot the size of his body in the center.

George Gary Smith was dead and buried, rotting in hell

where he belonged. And, yes, “George-Gary-Smith,” not

“George” or “Smith” or any other variation. Adam didn’t know

why, but he always referred to the monster by his full name.

Adam looked over at the clock on the bedside table; it was

a little after four. He yawned but knew he’d probably not be

getting anymore sleep that night. He stood and bundled up his

damp sheets. Grabbing fresh linens, he remade the bed. This

ritual was empowering because it felt like he was taking the

nightmare and throwing it away. Fresh sheets, fresh start.

He wasn’t due at the center until 10 A.M., but he took a

shower anyway. He decided to perform his morning spiritual

practice early. Adam wasn’t religious, but he was definitely

spiritual. Having looked death brutally in the face, he’d

discovered there was more to life. So each morning, before

getting out of bed, Adam spent twenty minutes meditating,

twenty minutes reading something uplifting, and twenty minutes

journaling. He’d only committed to five minutes of each but found

he enjoyed the time so much he put aside an hour for himself

each morning instead. This spiritual practice had been a definite

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