Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - [Part 3] Slashers vs. Mafias: PRISON BREAK - Jasper's Story

Episode Date: September 12, 2025

Listen to the story from Yara's perspective on After Dark here: https://open.spotify.com/show/3gZikZZldwY6J7vFCLV7ox?si=087728ed029d4c6b Join Premium today and binge hours of bonus horror stories you can’t hear anywhere else: ⁠patreon.com/drnosleep Author: Dave Kavanaugh * * * CONTENT DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content not limited to intense themes, strong language, and depictions of violence intended for adults. Parental guidance is strongly advised for children under the age of 17. Listener discretion is advised.  #drnosleep #scarystories #horrorstories #doctornosleep #horrorpodcast #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The grand battle of what would go down in mobster history as the All Saints Civil War was fought amongst the long dining tables on the ground floor mess hall of the St. Matthew's wing of the prison complex. As snow swirled above the skylights high above, casting a dim and ghostly glow upon the fray, hundreds of prisoners, belonging to a dozen different criminal fraternities, were engaged in bloody combat, wielding clubs and shanks of every sort, and spilling so much blood that the white tile floor would forever after be stained a shocking shade of vibrant pink. And on the balconies of the levels above, watching the battle-like spectators in a stadium, stood many of the older and more mellow inmates.

Some of these men were cheering, others attempting to shout instructions to those combatants that represented their own criminal interest. One particular old prisoner leaned forward over the railing, peering beyond the battle, to the northern entrance of the Mess Hall, and the strange figures who had just emerged there. The elderly mobster's name was Romulus Scarpanado. He had spent the last 50 years behind bars, and had been over 50 years old when first arrested. In other words, he was old, very, very old. And though his sallow skin hung in vainy curtains from his jowls and arms,

his eyes were still keen as an eagle's eyes, and his mind was as sharp as an eagle's. talons. Well, well, hissed the old mafioso, watching the four shadowy figures moving cautiously into the mess hall, trying to avoid attention. Romulus grinned and straightened up. The orange jumpsuit he wore had been altered, the right sleeve, and a section of the shirt removed at an angle, and so made to resemble a sort of toga. He now raised his bare right arm above his head, placed his left hand over his heart, and called out, like some wicked and Emperor of old. Silence, everyone!

Hundreds of sweaty, blood-splattered faces turned to look up at the centenarian mobster on the balcony. I know we all have our grievances with one another, and like you, I am grateful for this opportunity to air them. But I believe a temporary ceasefire is now in order. Turn and behold, these late, these late, It seems the so-called twisted Trinity has joined our party. The sea of furious faces turned to stare at the newcomers.

Yara, Jasper, Nicky, and Smasher with Carrille in his arms, all froze in place. Look upon them, my brothers in crime. Look at these men who slaughtered many a fine gangster in their turn, and caused our noble empires to crumble. And not for family. Or the righteous cause of golden power, no. But out of... Of meaningless rage. Like, wraith there, the sundown slasher.

His actions have brought chaos to the streets of our city. And there, the child eater, the curse of Yuletide. Buenos Aires, Nicolai. Bet you didn't think you'd ever see me again, hey, cousin? The beady eyes of old Nikki. up at the mobster overhead, and the cannibal licked his lips. And then there is the Celtic giant here, the infamous architect of the devil's Donnybrook. And is this? Cradled in the giant's misshapen arms? Tis the Volkov boy.

Who among you, I wonder, will have the luck to skin the last wolf, eh? Oh, what happy chance that they should all gather those, before us and meet our unified retribution. Set aside your differences, my brothers. Lift up your hands, your shivs and shanks and mighty clubs. And let's send these bastards straight up. Yara's bullet hit the old man between the eyes. He rocked backward once, hands seizing on the railing,

and then went forward, toppling over the edge, and crashing to the tables below. and crashing to the tables below. The army of startled faces all turned from his broken body to the silhouettes of the twisted Trinity and the unknown woman that was with them. Yara lowered her smoking rifle and looked to Jasper. Well, the moment's arrived, Jasper.

Think you're ready to... Jasper roared, charging forward in a dark orange blur as the wall of gangsters rushed to meet him. Jasper ducked below a swinging club, slashing open the assailant's guts with his... cleaver, then stabbing his knife into another's neck. Behind him, Yara opened fire, her rifle lighting up the room in brilliant flashes, as Jasper threw himself further into the fray. His arms a hurricane of furious motion. You are all made, Jasper grunted, cleaving in a muscular arm in two.

Of meat! Someone threw a chair. Jasper punched it mid-air, smashing it to splinters. And I! Spinning as a Shiv stabbed at his chest, Jasper swung his cleaver into his. at attacker's rib cage. And the butcher! He slashed the cleaver downward, carving open the belly and spilling organs to the floor. Prisoners came at him from every side. Jasper turned in place, meeting them two by two,

stabbing, dodging, slicing, kicking, killing. He heard the distinct grunt of smasher somewhere behind him and saw, in a flash of Yara's gunfire, a gangster's body flying through the air. Turning to check on his compatriots, Jasper found his view blocked by the bodies all around him. and he cleaved off someone's head to get a better view. He glimpsed Yara, turning to fire at two inmates rushing toward her.

But nothing happened when she pulled the trigger. She was out. Jasper bolted forward, knocking aside bodies as he pushed through the enemy's ranks toward her. Throwing the knife from his left hand, he watched it spin into the skull of Yara's first attacker. But the second was already on her. She swung her rifle like a club into the foe's face, flipping him backward in a spray of blood and broken teeth. My yara, he whispered, eyes locked on her shapely silhouette. His ears picked up the whistle of a blade, swinging at him from behind.

He ducked and turned as the Shiv cut the air. Then, pulling out one of the iron nails in his prison arsenal, he gripped it in a fist, the nail extending out between his middle and ring fingers like a claw, and delivered a bloody uppercut into the attacker's chin. A club struck Jasper in the lower back. He stumbled into a table with a groan, turned, and swung his cleaver, but the club swung to meet it. The weapons met with a clang of sparks,

and the cleaver was sent spinning out of Jasper's grasp. No! Jasper screamed, as his weapon of choice disappeared into the chaos of bodies. Refueled with glorious rage. He grabbed the second iron nail in his other hand and crouching into a boxer's stance. He marched forward, jabbing out with his spiked fists, hammering man after man after man as he wove through their ranks.

Chest, skull, chest, chest, belly. Skull, face, face, face, face! Blood missed the air around him, squirreling like the snow outside the skylights, and time seemed slow, almost to stand still in Jasper's mind. His breath came deep and rhythmic. This was his meditation, his nirvana. He had almost forgotten the bliss of it, the power of sharpened metal in his hands, the joyous ache in his muscles and tension in his brain as he called upon the full measure of his predatory instincts. The sound of Yara's scream broken from his musing, and he ran in her direction, weaving left and right, and throwing out a few final

punches before he broke from the ranks, skidding back into the open north end of the mess hall. While most of the inmates had focused their attack on him, and some groups had returned to fighting each other, Yara and the others had seen their fair share of action. Bodies were everywhere. Smasher was still holding Carrille against his chest, and swaying in place like a tree in the wind, sweeping his great legs and his free arm to swat attackers aside with ease. He couldn't see Nicky, but no doubt that little maniac was enjoying himself somewhere in the shadows. Yarra was on her feet, with some sort of spiked club in her hands. She was swinging it in the air as two men advanced on her, one with a knife and the other with

"'Hey!' Jasper barked, stomping toward them. That's mine!' The inmate holding his cleaver looked back at Jasper, his mouth hanging open, just as Jasper flicked his right wrist and shot the nail in that hand, expertly into the bastards, gaped mouth. The man dropped, convulsing and vomiting blood, and the cleaver flew from his hands. Jasper caught it, and moving toward Yarra's second attacker, swan, slicing the face right off the dude's head. Having fun? Yara asked him, breathless and blood splattered. Yes, because you're supposed to be getting us out of here. Jasper's mouth tightened into a straight line. Well, yeah, that's what I'm due. A pair of feet crashed into Jasper's back and sent him sprawling into Yara.

He instinctively threw his arms around her as they fell. Their bodies pressed together. The wind was knocked from Yarr's lungs, hot breath against Jasper's face as he landed on top of her. Their eyes met in the semi-darkness, two to one, and so close. Faces pressed together. Jasper felt her presence like fire on his skin. Exilaration, over-stimulation, lust, and hatred all swirled together like a storm.

Look out! Yara gasped, and he felt her grab his hand, by their side, pull the iron nail free from his grasp, and swing her fist above his head. Someone landed on Jasper's back, grunting as Yara stabbed them. Jasper felt blood stream onto the back of his head. The warm liquid soaked his hair and dripped off his ears, trickling onto Yara's face beneath him, across her cheeks, into her left eye socket, into her open mouth. He stared down at her in the darkness, the fresh corpse on his back, pinning him against her body.

Yara looked back at him. Then her bloody face started up. Her slippery lips sealed themselves onto his. Her breath was cool in his mouth, and her tongue was warm. He tightened one arm behind her, pulling her closer, as his other hand pushed against the floor, lifting them so that the corpse rolled off his back. Jasper rose to his feet, one hand clutching Yara against him,

while her tongue moved in his mouth, the other tied upon his cleaver. He heard the next attack half a second before it came, and dropping Yara onto her feet, he spun. His left hand snatched up to catch a club mid-swing. Then he swept the cleaver in his right-hand down with such ferocity that it sank through the attacker's collarbone and cleaned through the man's torso, slicing out beneath the opposite armpit. The prisoner's body fell to the ground in two bloody halves

as more gangsters sprinted from the darkness. Stay behind me! He commanded Yara, throwing the cleaver. It sank into the face of the next attacker. And as that body went limp and toppled toward them, Jasper felt Yara's arms slip around him. and hold fast against his chest. As she squeezed her body against him from behind,

Jasper reached out to grab the handle of the cleaver and wrench it free from the falling corpse. The next man leaped at them, wielding a steel shiv so long it might as well be called a sword. Jasper dodged to the side, but his feet collided with Yaris and they stumbled, barely avoiding the opponent's swing. The attacker grinned,

showing a full set of golden teeth, and brought back his blade for the next blow. Damn it, thought Jasper, clutching Yara's wrists against his chest with his left hand as he parried the next attacker with his cleaver. Find my rhythm, Yara. The attacker stabbed, and Jasper swept his left foot back as he turned his body out of range. He felt Yara's foot moving beside his,

and felt her cheek press against his back as she held him closer. That's right. He bashed the opponent's blade with his own, a fury of sparks, then lunged with his own attack. Yara lunged with him. Their body's beginning to move in unison. Feel my motion. He swung left, right, down, blades clashing, driving the foe back.

Be one with me. And when Jasper kicked out with his right leg, smashing in the inmate's shin, Yara's leg kicked out in sync. Jasper grinned as he delivered the killing blow, a sweeping cut that severed both the enemy's hands. Good girl. Jasper released his grip on Yara's clutching arms, freeing his left hand to punch faces, to catch clubs, to break bones, while his right wove the cleaver through the air. And all the time, while his feet darted side to side, forward and back, Yara stayed with him.

Her arms around his chest, her cheek against his back, her body pressed against his, as he blocked, swung, stabbed, and thrust again and again. It was almost too much. The intoxication of this feeling. Jasper had always seemed to absorb a sort of dark energy through the act of killing. But this was something new. A new color of energy. Vibrant, blinding, dangerous.

The herd of enemies was thinning fast. and Jasper took a moment to reach up and feel at Yarra's soft hands again. But he instantly regretted this moment of distraction, as it allowed a particularly large and angry inmate to get in close, duck beneath the cleaver and dive at them. Jasper caught a quick glimpse of a swastika tattoo atop the attacker's bald head before that head slammed into his chest. Jasper grunted as he and Yara were thrown backward and knocked apart,

falling and rolling over bodies and broken tables. Jasper shook himself, trying to clear his head. clear his head, to fight off the sensations of pain and dizziness as he clambered to his feet. From the darkness, the tattooed skinhead marched forward, grinning. Nazis! I hate these guys! In truth, Jasper wasn't very political, but he always thought it was cool when Indiana Jones said that, and he had never had a fitting chance to quote it before.

Jasper leaped forward and swung the cleaver as the burly foe through a vicious right hook. The blade met the fist, and slicing between his meaty knuckles, lodged itself in the man hand. But this did nothing to perturb the attacker, who, if anything, seemed delighted by the rage the pain brought him. Gringing madly, he punched Jasper with his left fist, sending the sundown slasher to the floor for a second time. Jasper saw one of his own teeth land in a puddle of blood next to him, then looked up to see the crazed gangster looming over him. Both fists raised for a double blow. Out of nowhere, a demented little Santa Claus with a blood-stained beard pounced from the darkness, landing on the Nazi shoulders, sinking his teeth into the man's

meaty left ear. The skin hen howled and stumbled in a circle, clawing with both hands at Nicky's much smaller body. As he pulled the cannibal off him, his ear came off too, spurting blood. Gah! The fuck? What the hell even are you? You little fucking freak show! screamed the injured skinhead, throwing Nicky through the air. No. Jasper watched as, from the north end of the room, the huge shape of Dermit, Smasher MacMurrow, rushed into furious action, dropping Carrille onto his feet, launching himself forward in a run, and while catching Nicky in one giant hand, reached out with the other to press his palm against the Nazi's face, wrap his huge fingers around the bald head, and lift the bastard right off the ground.

For one second, the man hung there, legs kicking in arms flailing, then the giant flexed his massive fingers against the skull, and squeezed his hand into a tight fist. Jasper gasped. The gangster's body, that is, everything from the neck down, dropped limply to the floor. Opening his hand, smasher flicked it in the air, flinging off gooey strands of blood and brain, shattered bits of skull and tatters of tattooed skin. In that moment, Jasper David Wath wished he had been wearing a hat so that he might now take it off and press it against his chest in reverence.

That was one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. Jasper said under his breath, getting shakily to his feet again. Another inmate had been rushing to attack Jasper, club in hand, but now slid to a stop, looking from the slasher, to the smasher standing next to him, to the bloody-mouthed Christmas cannibal sitting in the crook of the giant's arm, chewing on an ear. Then the would-be attacker turned and ran screaming in the opposite direction. Jasper didn't blame the guy. Leaning down to the headless corpse, he pulled his cleaver free from the Nazi's hand,

then looked around. He could see the double doors they needed to get to on the south end of the room. Judging by the piled furniture just visible through the door's windows, the guards had barricaded them shut. That was annoying. And there were still about 100 inmates between them and the doors, but that was a lot less than there had been. The enemy seemed to be regrouping, gathering together, and overturning tables to make layered barricades. Hey, Jasper said to Smasher. Think you can clear a path for us now? How? Smasher turned his great, misshapen face to look down at Jasper, and one ginger eyebrow arched on his jutting forehead. What?

Smasher tilted his head, eyes squinted. Jasper sighed. Fine, he cleared his throat and added. Please? Smasher grinned and turning, stomped back over to Carrille and lifted him in his free arm. Then, cradling both men protectively against his chest, the huge man moved to the center of the room and crouched into a runner's start. Jasper looked up to catch Yara's eye and nodded. A rumble issued from Smashers' throat, growing in volume until it was a roar, and sprinting forward, head bowed and swinging.

The giant charged. Jasper started running. So did Yara. Meeting in the middle of the room, they turned his one and ran after Smasher. Jasper felt Yara take his hand in hers and squeeze. And in hand, they sprinted, following the one-man stampede. Smasher did not slow down as he collided with the barriers, but plowed. Through them, wreckage embodies flying off to either side in great waves.

Reaching the sealed doors, Smasher bucked, driving his full weight forward with a beastly grunt and they crashed open. As Smasher stumbled into the hall beyond, groaning and slowing, Jasper saw, in a flash, an armed guard who had been hiding behind the doors get flattened by the tumbling debris. Jasper clambered over the wreckage, looking for the guard's assault rifle. But Yara found it first, and spinning fired a volley behind them. The survivors of Smashers' charge had come storming after them, but scattered and fell back as Yara's bullets flew. Jasper slammed the double door shut, grabbed a twisted bar of metal off the floor, and jammed it through the handles.

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We made it. Panted Yara, running down the hall toward the atrium. Smash her close behind her, now winded and swaying under the weight of both Carilla Nicky. Wait! Jasper called running after them. Yara obeyed, sliding to a stop, just before the metal detectors at the corner. Jasper came up beside her, scowling. Use your eyes!

He hissed. Or, uh, your eye. He pointed. The orange-clad legs of several bodies were lying around the corner in the atrium. See? Other prisoners had the idea to make a run for the front doors. So, there's a guard in there, shooting them as they come. Yara nodded.

Oh, shit. Right. Well, how about it? you distract them. She held up the rifle. While I take them out, Jasper cocked his head. What's the matter? She said. Don't you trust me? She had meant this as a joke, Jasper concluded. And yet, those four little words changed

something in him. The fiery excitement of the battle diminished inside of him, leaving him cold and numb. Something itched at the back of his mind, an animal instinct, a seat of doubt. Yara had gotten sloppy a few seconds ago, running toward the atrium like that. Getting close to the end had made a reckless. Jasper couldn't let the same thing happened to him. Banging issued from the hall behind him. The gangsters in the mess hall were trying to break through. Jasper grimaced, trying to think. They were running out of time. He had to act. Jasper bent to the ground, reached around the corner, and grabbed the ankle of the nearest corpse, pulling the body of the prisoner toward him. He lifted it up like a shield onto his shoulder.

Don't miss, he said to Yara. And he ran. sprinting into the atrium, into the line of fire, half expecting to feel the heat of Yara's bullet in his back. Gunfire did ring out, but from high above the front doors. The wall beside Jasper sparked as bullets struck it and the body on his shoulder wriggled and splattered blood. But then, another pop of gunfire, followed by silence. Exhaling, Jasper dropped the corpse and turned. Yara was standing in the atrium behind him. Her smoking rifle raised toward the dark shape of a guard hiding in the rafters. The guard tipped forward, landing with a thud on the tiled floor, just in front of the front doors, of All Saints' prison. They moved and gathered in the

center of the dim, corpse-strewn room. Smashel was panting. He set Nicky on his feet, and winced as he adjusted the frail body of Carrille, still in his arms. Yara was a mess, bloodied and bruised, Her short hair matted and wild, her clothes stained and torn. And yet, motherfucker, she had never looked so beautiful in Jasper's eyes. Nothing had. The group moved forward, marching toward freedom. The double doors had been sealed shut, though only with their usual locks and one loop of chain.

Smash her took a deep breath, preparing to deliver that final blow with his tired body. When, to their right, someone released a squeaky gasp of fear. They froze. their faces turning and saw, peering around the edge of a security door, the pale faces of several armed correctional officers. For a long moment, the two groups stared at each other in silence, and Jasper held his breath, thinking that their escape had failed after all, and that he'd met his end here and now. But then, he remembered what they must look like to these guards.

Smasher held up one giant hand and gave them a friendly wave. Nope! Proclaimed the foremost guard, shutting the security. security door and locking it with a click. Jasper exhaled and turned back to the front doors in time to see Smasher kicked them open with a grunt. A wall of icy air rushed into the atrium. Wind held around them. The first storm of winter was raging, and Jasper squinted as snowflakes whipped against his cheeks. He watched as Smasher crouched and moved out into the free air, then Nicky. They started down the steep stairs outside, quickly becoming invisible in the swirling snow.

Jasper took one step forward, his skin prickling with anxious energy, his animal instincts, causing his fist to tighten on the cleaver's handle. Beside him, Yara started forward too. Her hands firm on the assault rifle, her breath held. He locked his gaze on the back of her head and saw her start to turn, saw her one eye swiveling to face him, and he knew. Time stopped. The snowflakes seemed to freeze mid-air.

His heart halted mid-beat. Jasper stared at Yara, the one-eyed wolf, Captain Mesty. She who had come into his life, made him feel special, made him feel seen, and then betrayed him. And it was happening again, wasn't it? She was about to shoot him, to leave him dead and bleeding on the floor while she went off to live some happily life with her twin brother, with the family member to whom she felt eternally bonded.

That bitch, that selfish, seductive, life-wrecking, beautiful, beautiful bitch! Time resumed. His heart pounding, the snowflakes biting at his skin. Yara turned toward him. In a flash, Jasper raised the cleaver, twisting himself away from the barrel as she raised her gun, and slashed, just as she tried to lurch out of his weapon's reach and fired. They both tumbled backward, grunting,

slipping in the fresh, icy snow, and dripping blood from their wounds as their weapons clattered across the floor. You bastard! Yara screamed, clutching at the right side of her head and the horizontal gash he had just given her. Half her right ear had been cut clean off. Bitch! Jasper shouted, looking down at his left arm, where her bullet had punched a hole through flesh and bone, just above the elbow. You were going to betray me!

What? You were going to betray me! Weren't you? Jasper ground his teeth. I don't know. Were you? I don't know. I don't know, okay?

Fuck! Fuck! They stared at each other across the floor, breathing hard. Then a crash sounded from the hall. They heard a host of men running and screaming toward the atrium. Greeting in pain, Jasper scrambled to stand up, slipping in the bloody snow, and stumbled toward the open doors. Yara got there at the same time, slipping and grabbing at the doorframe.

Their bodies collided. Yara shoved against him, but he twisted and brought his open right hand down in a thunderous slap. She was knocked backward and lay sprawled on the atrium floor. even as a swarm of gangsters appeared around the corner of the hall behind her. Jasper turned and rushed outside. The bitter wind almost knocked him over, and the snow swirled thick and silver in the night.

He started down the stairs but slipped, landing hard on his back and sliding all the way down the jagged steps. Clambering to his feet at the bottom, he rose and lumbered forward into the storm. Someone was standing, alone, a few yards ahead of him, someone in an orange jumpsuit. Jasper hurried past Kareel Volkov, casting that waking skeleton a final little grin. Let the scrawny bastard freeze. Jasper held up an arm against the wind as he trudged on, trying to make sense of where he was.

He could catch, through the swirling snow, brief glimpses of the guard towers atop the walls, and then, to his right, he heard police sirens approaching through the wind. He squinted, seeing the closed gate there and the shape of guards outside. They'd be letting in police cars any second. He had to hurry. From the prison behind him, Jasper heard the roar of gunfire. He didn't care what it meant. Shivering in pain and fury, Jasper moved through the snow,

then bumped against a parked car. He peered in through the car's frosty windows. It was empty. He hurried to the car behind it and stopped, sighing in relief. The light was on inside the car, and he could see behind the wheel, an older black man in a suit, arguing with two very strange-looking passengers in the backseat. One was very small, the other large, so large that he barely fit, and the car tilted under his weight. Jasper approached the passenger side door, smashed the window with an elbow, and unlocking it, climbed inside the car.

All three men looked at him. Hi there, said Jasper, and reaching over, he seized his right hand around the driver's throat. You must be Charlie. The high gates of the prison complex had only just been opened, allowing in the first of what would be many police cars. when another vehicle came barreling out of the prison grounds, driven with expert precision over the snowy pavement. In the passenger seat, Jasper clenched his teeth in a grimace. He would have preferred to drive himself,

but his injury would make it difficult, and he didn't know where to go. But this Charlie guy was no slouch behind the wheel. Swerving left onto the icy road, the car drifted in a tight 360, missing another police car by inches. Then Charlie jerked the wheel to the right, swerving them off the embankment there,

and down a steep slope toward a looming forest up ahead. What the hell are you doing? Screamed Jasper, grabbing the dashboard with his right hand to brace himself. Sure that Charlie was about to crash them into a tree. You kill, said Charlie, maneuvering the car toward a specific spot in the snowy tree line. I drive. The car bounced as it sped into the woods. They drove on blindly, speeding through thick brambles,

branches scraping the sides and roof of the car, missing every tree. I know every road and path in this county, big and small. this is our getaway path. Jasper exhaled, trying to get his aching muscles to relax. Charlie did seem to know what he was doing. Yara's long-term, suspiciously devoted driver had surprised Jasper with his initial insistence not to take the fugitives anywhere. Charlie had been completely unfazed by Jasper's threat of gruesome murder,

but in that moment, Jasper had known just what to say. You've got a family, right? Would they really want you to die here like this? Besides, she's still alive, Charlie, back in there. She won't make her pick up tonight, but think about this. The last thing you can do for Yara before you die is to get me as far away from her as possible. And now here they were, speeding through the woods on a path only Charlie could find.

It hadn't really caught up to Jasper yet. The insanity of what they had just pulled off or the fact that he was now free. And holy shit did he have a lot to process. There was that thing, Dr. after Sunday had said about his birth mother. That was only an hour ago, but it felt like a distant memory. And there was the question of what exactly he would do with the two killers in the back seat. He had never planned on having his cellmates with him on the outside, but he knew he couldn't

take out smash or without a proper weapon. But who knows, those two might already be planning to take him out. And on top of everything else, there was the little matter of not getting caught again. Boy, these things were easier when Yara was making the plans for him. Jasper frowned, coming back to the moment. What is that? My phone, Charlie told him. It's in my right pocket. Jasper reached down and retrieved the phone.

The call was coming from an unknown number, but Jasper knew, somehow, it would be on the other line. He hit Answer and held it up to his ear, called Yara's voice from the phone. Impressive. There was a long pause. Snowy branches swiped by the windows and icicles clattered onto the windshield. Yara finally said.

He's right here with me. He's a really good driver. I can see why you hired him. Asper said nothing. He took a sharp breath in and let it out slowly. Be careful driving tonight, Yara. The roads are slick. T-TYL.

He hung up the phone, tossed the phone out his broken window, then leaned back in the seat, wensing as his arm settled. The car bounced out of the forest path, swarving over a stretch of snowy field beside the highway. Then Charlie turned and managed to drive the car up the embankment and onto the mostly empty road. So, where am I taking you? Charlie asked. Jasper looked at the driver. There was sweat on the man's face, and he was clutching one hand against his chest. Jasper was about to admit that he had no idea where they should go.

When a big hand reached from the back seat, tapped the driver's shoulder, and pointed at an exit sign ahead. Charlie squinted through the snow at the sign. Little Dublin? You sure? That neighborhood has changed a lot. You might not have any associates there now. From the shadows in the backseat, Smasher shook his giant head, but held up one huge finger. One? Said Jasper, looking back at him. One what? answered Smasher in a booming whisper. Jasper shrugged.

Okay, then. Little Dublin it is. Charlie pulled carefully onto the exit ramp. His face was beginning to. twitch. He looked miserable. Cheer up, Charlie. You have the honor of driving the twisted Trinity tonight. Charlie coughed a humorless laugh. Careful there, Wraith. Once a man starts believing in his own legend, it's usually a sign that his time is up. Jasper David Wraith turned and stared out the windshield, at the lines of snow whizzing by in the headlights, like stars in hyperspace. I wouldn't bet on that, he said, his dark eyes glinting like black diamonds. My legend. is only just getting started.