City of Darkness

P Wright D

Description

Detective Sebastian Kessler lives and works within the towering metropolis of Dis, a toxic urban sprawl where every day is a battle for light, a fight for better air and a struggle to live. Within this urban tomb, Kessler tries to escape the daily grind through a drink and drug habit that has spiralled out of control, an addiction that gets him into serious trouble with local crime boss 'Little Chi'. With work hard to come by and credits running low, Kessler is on the brink of despair when he is hired by Bethany Turner to investigate her uncle's mysterious death. Soon the Council, the tyrannical rulers of Dis, are after him, citizens are mysteriously disappearing and a new, powerful drug is doing the rounds, all of which are connected to the Turner case. With the bodies of addicts piling up in skin labs and strange creatures emerging from the depths of the city, Kessler tracks down Doc Galloway, an old acquaintance, and forces him to help. Together they embark on an epic journey into the heart of the city where the detective not only has to deal with his own personal demons, but those that lurk within the darkness of Dis... Set in a bleak, distant future, City of Darkness combines the flawed hero of the 1950s film noir detective with a broken society where the remnants of humanity struggle to survive. The book touches on issues such as class, addiction and escaping reality as readers are taken on a journey down into the depths of a troubled city, with the age old appeal of science fiction and a crime and mystery story never far away.

Sujets

• Science fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Date de parution: 28 mai 2017
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781784628956
• Langue: English

Extrait

City of Darkness
What would you take to avoid the dark?
D. P. Wright

Copyright © 2015 D. P. Wright
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study,
or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents
Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in
any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the
publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with
the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries
concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.
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ISBN 978 1784628 956
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Matador ® is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

Converted to eBook by EasyEPUB

To Mum, Dad and Lilly –
my anchor when the clouds set in.
Contents

Cover


CONTACT THE AUTHOR


PROLOGUE


THE BEGINNING


A RUDE AWAKENING


DOMESTIC BLISS


AN UNWELCOME DISTURBANCE


THE SKIN LAB


ST. JOHN’S


OFFICE TIMES


EDEN INCORPORATED


SUNSET IN DOWNTOWN


NIMROD HEIGHTS


THE MORAL COMPASS


PROVISIONS FOR THE DEEP


JOURNEY TO THE FRINGE


THE CROW’S NEST


A SURPRISE IN THE NIGHT


MERRYLL INC·


THE DESCENT


A LOYAL CITIZEN


RACE FOR ACHERON


ACROSS THE FIRE


AN ENGINE OF DIS


TECH OPEK


THE PLAN


FALTERING LIGHT


DANCE OF THE MACABRE


FIGHT ABOVE THE FIRE


THE DARKNESS OF LIGHT
CONTACT THE AUTHOR

Twitter
@DPWright79

Website
www.dpwrightauthor.co.uk

Email
[e-mail]

Facebook
www.facebook.com/DPWright79
PROLOGUE
He knew the shame would end within minutes. Deal with it. The sight of the needle, preparing its seductive payload over the flickering flame of his near empty lighter, holding it in place with a crumpled scrap of foil, the image had not lost its bite over the years.
He tried not to look at his surroundings and think about what he was doing, what he had become, but despite years of practice he still had not mastered that art. His sparse environment made haunting shapes as it danced in the flickering candlelight. The shadow’s menacing macabre jig daring him, mocking him, laughing at him. Trying to force the decaying images of his current state out of his mind, the lonesome figure just tried to focus on what was soon to come. Escape.
The rec vent gave out a constant, deep monotonous hum in the background as it battled unsuccessfully to purify the stagnant air. However, for once, the thick pollution that ate away at his lungs, laden with its heavy acidic, metallic taste that always stuck at the back of the throat, was not on his mind.
The liquid bubbled. The sweet aroma crept through the room seeming to cling onto every surface. Watching the seductive smoke skip elegantly through the air, dipping under a chair and prancing over the couch, everything in slow motion, proved extremely hypnotic. Time had left this place, leaving the nervous man in the presence of this beautiful and deadly dance, caught completely in its graceful raptures.
The colour of the murky-brown sludge began to take on a reddish hue. Finally ready. Feeding it into the syringe he waved the needle over the candle. His hands were clammy and felt heavy, encumbered with fevered expectation, so he had to take extra care not to lose a drop of the precious liquid in his fumbling grasp. It was cold, although that was not why he was shaking. He could feel the hairs standing up on the exposed skin of his left arm. A sharp draft blew into the room from an old window behind him that had been cracked for as long as he could remember. He had gotten used to its methodical clatter as it rocked in its crumbling frame, the constant clank was reassuringly always there, reliable. It never went away. Someone was shouting something inaudible in the street outside and he could hear the intermittent frazzled buzzing of Hector’s neon sign. Through the rush of the rain the sound of a girl crying crept into the room, although he could not be certain, his mind had been playing tricks on him of late and he had learnt not to trust his senses.
The slight prick of pain as the needle pierced his skin shocked him from his thoughts. Blood began to well out of the wound and a small streak of red formed down the length of his arm. With a discarded towel this was soon mopped up. The needle’s bite was a reminder of what was to come. Forgetfulness. Happiness.
There it was…
‘…missed you…’
The electric rush of numbness.
White light drenched his drab surroundings and waves of joy shot through his being, exploding from every pore, all
THE BEGINNING
The low, dim murmurings from whispered prayers were almost hypnotic. The few lonely souls that remained inside the chapel were knelt sparsely throughout the nave lost in their own prayers. Looking at their faces in the dim light, Father Jacob found the usual assortment of expressions. You could tell a lot about a person from looking at their face while they prayed. Some looked relaxed, with a slight smile breaking out in the corner of their mouths lost in the warm protection of the Lord, far away from the many troubles waiting outside these walls. Others had faces that twitched full of nervous energy unable, or not wanting to, leave their worries outside. Instead they carried their burdens with them and prayed to God to rid them of their misery. Finally, there were those that had faces which were easy to read, those whose souls were naked and vulnerable to the dangers that lurked in the dark. Weeping throughout their communion, sadness and agony etched across their faces, these poor souls looked to the heavens for some sort of relief from the agony of life, an agony that was quickly consuming them. Unfortunately these most agonised faces were the souls that most often graced St John’s these days. It seemed happiness and joy were in short supply in these troubled times. Although he did feel pangs of guilt watching his parishioners so closely, intimately invading these peoples’ lives during what was such a personal moment, this brief incursion afforded him some company in his otherwise very lonely existence.
The tired Father enjoyed the peacefulness of the church at night but he so despised the moment before the chapel doors had to be closed to the public. Those who remained at this late hour, lost in their thoughts for whatever reason, never wanted to leave. Having to cast them out, back into the world they feared where so many dangers and temptations lurked, brought a sadness to him that he found difficult to bear at times. God’s protection had its limits it seemed. The diocese had now ordered the closing of all church property during the hours of night. The streets of Downtown were alive with sin of every kind but at night the Devil seemed more determined to make his mark. The darkness of the later hours, when the pitiful amount of light was switched off, when what meagre power the Council drip fed the lower districts ceased, seemed to bring about the worst in humanity. Father Jacob despaired. He had often petitioned the local governor asking why this was happening and he had always received the same response, ‘saving energy for the good of the city’. Much more important than saving souls the priest thought bleakly. He very much doubted the likes of Hightown had such restrictions imposed on them.
It was a sign of the times. Dis, this city, was not what it once was, so hostile and resistant to anything good, like a ravaged body, disease ridden, rejecting the medicine, the hope, needed to cure it. With eyes closed and a sullen shake of the head, dark thoughts, which seemed to cling and infest every memory during these sombre times, plagued the priest. Father Jacob, as he often did at this time, thought of the many good souls amongst his congregation who had disappeared lately never to be seen again. Men, women and children just seemingly lifted off the street, ripping the heart and soul out of the community. The church’s clergy were not immune to the tragedy either. Sister Davies, a relatively new recruit at the time, could not bear to watch the suffering of those around her while she was safely housed within these holy grounds. Straying out into the darkness, what did she think was going to happen to her? She was such a beautiful child. Another good soul gone and with it the loss of hope for the future. The priest’s thoughts darkened further. In a place so in need of the love of God and the hope His grace brings, the church was hated by so many. The diocese does not now look favourably on her clergy venturing outside the church walls at night, the sickness of the city limiting God’s work to a strict timetable.
The last of the lost souls were now being ushered out the door. Peering into the darkness, Father Jacob could not resist flinching at the wretched tempest beyond the church doors. He looked up despairingly towards the heavens which, of course, he could not see. God’s blue sky and bright warming sun which he had read about in his ancient books had not bathed this part of the city in its light in many centuries. Eternal darkness prevailed. The heavens were left to his dreams and now, awake to this city, he could only look upon the dreary metallic chaos of the sprawl as it twisted its way upwards.
He coughed, his tired old lungs struggling to take in the wretched Downtown air. Not having a respirator with him, he could only shield his mouth from the elements, he could never stand long outside without it before collapsing with a hacking co