#1 Shades of Gray Noir, City Shrouded By Darkness- Sci-Fi Horror Suspense Serial

by Kristie Lynn Higgins

  About one year later...

  32 A.D.C...

  October 12...

  Tuesday...

  7:59 P.M...

  The Sphinx Corporation Third Branch Office towered over the streets of the Hellenistic Sector, Business Vicinage. When the city was created, the Corporate Senate which was made up of corporations from all over the world, divided Noir into hundreds of sectors, and each sector was owned and governed by one of the corporations. The sectors were then divided by each corporation into smaller areas called vicinages. Sphinx owned and ruled the Hellenistic Sector. Each corporation policed its sector with its own corporate military. The world had its own civil police force which dealt in non-corporate issues like assaults, murders by non-Closers, and anything else the corporate military kicked to them. Authority always belonged to the corporations.

  The Sphinx Corporation Third Branch Office was one of many massive buildings in Noir; it was a mile high and half mile across and back, and it stood as a giant in the city and dominated as a Titan before the age of Zeus. A woman in her late thirties sat alone within a waiting room on Level 150, and in her left hand she held a key chain of a pink bunny rabbit. She rubbed her thumb over a worn spot on the rabbit’s cheery face. Kimberly Griffin raked her long blonde hair behind her ear and rubbed her eye. She looked at a man’s picture on the cover of the Conglomerate World magazine lying on a coffee table, and the headline read, Topa, Climbing the Ladder of Success?

  She shifted position on the light brown couch and glanced at the secretary. The older woman typed on a keyboard. Kim sighed, impatient, and turned her gaze to a few landscape paintings decorating the open room’s white walls. Their purpose was to soothe those who waited, and they were supposed to take one’s mind away from the stresses of the day. The paintings incited no such solace in her, and she sighed again and turned to the secretary as the woman answered the phone on her desk.

  The secretary hung up, cleared her throat, and said, “Ms. Griffin, your father...” The secretary caught her own slip and then corrected herself by saying, “I’m sorry, I mean the Chairman will see you now.”

  Kim nodded, too tired to be irritated, straightened her aqua pant suit, and headed for the huge corner office. The Chairman’s position ranked third under the President and Vice President and since Sphinx was one of the more powerful corporations in the world, that made her father a very influential man with vast resources and global connections. Kim paused outside his office, vexed to have been called in. She had just returned from the Light Side of the planet and wanted to go home and sleep. She took a deep breath, silencing her anger, then opened the door, and walked in.

  Two of the walls within the office consisted of ten-foot-high windows, and the office’s bright lights reflected off the windows like mirrors. The Chairman’s desk sat off from the corner, giving him even more presence of authority like a king on a throne. Kim closed the door. He glanced up from a computer and stared at her with his light blue eyes as she entered. He was in his late sixties but looked much younger around fifty, and he wore a dark gray suit.

  “Kimberly, good to see you,” Mr. Griffin said, stood, walked to her, and kissed her on the cheek. She didn’t return his affection and almost turned from him like she was repulsed. Mr. Griffin tried not to show his disappointment as he motioned to one of the chairs in front of his desk, and she sat as he returned to his seat and then he questioned, “Are you still living in the apartment off of West 1000 Avenue?”

  Kim felt uneasy being in his office but bore the discomfort as she noticed his graying black hair. “Yes.”

  He waited a moment before continuing, hoping she would say something more and when she only stared at him, Mr. Griffin asked, “Are you seeing anyone?”

  She didn’t answer him and muttered to herself, “As if I have time for a boyfriend, but that’s none of his business.”

  He quickly moved to the next question, feeling awkward in front of his daughter. “How’s work?”

  Still showing a bit of fatigue, she answered, “Fine. I finished a Closing in Moscow three days ago.” Her face softened as she glanced at the bunny rabbit keychain.

  Mr. Griffin thought he saw a glimmer of sadness. “Are you all..?”

  Kim glared at him, stifling his question as her vexation returned. She knew she was getting too upset and let her training take over. Kim calmed herself and tried to treat him as if he was her employer; it worked for a few seconds. She glanced at the back of a picture frame sitting on his desk, and her anger returned. “You didn’t call me in here because you suddenly have an interest in my life.”

  He said, “Right, to business then.”

  Mr. Griffin handed her an envelope, and Kim opened it and saw a brass key inside.

  “It’s to your mother’s hope chest.” He picked up the picture frame and spoke, “How you look like her.” Mr. Griffin set it back down as happy memories flooded his mind. “I know she would have wanted you to have the chest. I’ve set up delivery.”

  “Why are you giving me the hope chest? Is it because it's close to the anniversary of when mom left?”

  “No.”

  “So why now?”

  He didn't understand her meaning and questioned, “Why now?”

  “All these years since mom...” She paused, trying not to cry. “Since mom abandoned us, you've never wanted to talk about her, and her name became taboo around you, so why now after two decades? Why give me her hope chest? What has changed?” She narrowed her eyes as she grew suspicious of his actions. “I know it isn’t our relationship, so what is it? Are you going to talk about why she left us?”

  He replied, “I know I was wrong. When she left me... When she left us I was devastated. It hurt me so much I wanted to forget her. I never thought how it might affect you or that you needed me and for that I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry,” she repeated and then laughed. “Perfect, now everything’s fine.” Kim stood and added sarcastically, “I’m glad I came.” She started for the door.

  “Do you have to leave? I thought we might have a late dinner and talk.”

  She walked half way to the door, turned, and answered him, “I can’t. I have a Closing tomorrow and need to get some rest.”

  “A Closing? Who?”

  “Topa.”

  Mr. Griffin stated, “Yes, I know him.”

  “Thought you did.” She started to turn toward the door, paused, and said, “It’s kind of sad.”

  “What is?”

  “Our relationship, my life, you name it, but most of all that you were the one who got me into–” the words slithered from her mouth, “–my profession.” Kim fisted her hands as she questioned him, “What kind of father has his daughter trained to be an...”

  She glared at him too angry to finish and this time, he had nothing to say. Kim continued to the door.

  Mr. Griffin stood and spoke after her, “You should take some time off. You’re looking a little tired. Maybe buy yourself a pet to keep you company. You can’t be happy living all alone.”

  “You have been spying on me!” Kim accused him after she paused at the door, then she acted as though she would say something more, but Kim decided against it, and walked through the door.

  He sat down after his daughter left, then faced the picture, and repeated his earlier phrase, “How you look like your mother.” He pushed his chair back and commanded, “Lights dim.”

  The room darkened and Mr. Griffin turned in his seat, staring out a window at Noir’s skyline. He gazed at the Dry Clouds as they loomed over the dark city and he spoke in nearly a whisper, “I wish you were here, Theresa. Our daughter needs you.”

  * * *

  Kimberly's view...

  I drive my red VX Corvette into the parking garage of the Nexus Apartments. The small forty story building sits on the corner of West 1000 Avenue and Knot Street in the Hellenistic Sector, Residential Vicinage. I exit the vehicle and grab a bag of gr
oceries from my trunk, then I take an empty elevator to the thirty-first floor, and walk down a deserted hall to Apartment H.

  Sometimes I...

  I command in a clear voice, “Door, unlock.”

  “Voice recognized as Kimberly Griffin,” the Apartment Computer System states. “Opening door.”

  The apartment door slides sideways, then I walk into the small entry, and command, “Door lock.”

  The door slides shut and locks as I go into the kitchen. The lights automatically flicker on in each room I enter as the Apartment Computer System or A.C.S. detects my presence.

  “Welcome back, Ms. Griffin,” A.C.S. states in a female computer voice. “The apartment's temperature is set at seventy-eight degrees Fahrenheit. Lights are set at eighty-five percent brightness. Would you like to make any adjustments at this time?”

  “Yes, A.C.S. It’s a bit warm. Drop the temperature to seventy-six, and I could use more lighting so change the brightness to ninety-five percent.”

  “Making changes now.”

  The air conditioner kicks on, and the lights brighten as I set down the bag and lay the key chain beside it on the kitchen counter. I put both of my hands on the inky-black surface, lean against it, and tilt my head down.

  Sometimes I wish...

  My blonde hair falls forward, covering the side of my face as I peer at my reflection in the marble. For Ares’ sake! My life's so tedious! I lean back. All I have is routine. I start to unpack the bag and glance around the dark lifeless room, and it's quiet in a gloomy way. I look to one of three windows in the apartment and notice a dead Transgenic Vine sitting on the kitchen window sill.

  Great, just great! I forgot to ask the manager to water it while I was gone; it's too bad A.C.S. doesn't have a watering system for plants. I walk over to the vine, pick up the pot, and several brown leaves float to the floor. I move to the trash can, press the step, and it flips up a stainless steel lid. The brittle brown plant falls out of its container as I drop the pot in the waste, and dirt spills, exposing the vine’s roots. I stare at the dead plant. Can't I keep one thing alive? I release the lid and walk away from the trash. Or are Closings all I'm good at?

  I return to my groceries. I put the eggs and milk in the refrigerator, put the dry goods in the pantry, then I place a stainless steel kettle full of water on the burner, and turn it on high. I reach up into the cupboard, remove a white cup and saucer, and place them on the counter. I walk to a drawer, open it, and grab a spoon. Is this really my life? I notice my reflection in the spoon’s curved surface. My life's mundane and lonely.

  Sometimes I wish...

  I place a single tea bag in the solitary cup and a slice of lemon on the saucer.

  Sometimes I wish...

  I glance at the answering machine as the water starts to boil. The number on the machine reads zero messages; it's the number of my friends and the same number of my acquaintances. The kettle whistles, I remove it from the burner, pour hot water into the cup, and steam rolls up from the liquid. Shouldn’t my life be different? Wasn’t I meant for more than this... this wretched life as a Closer? I wish... I dare not think it, and I dare not hope it.

  I grab a remote from the counter and aim the device at the wall. I click on a fifty-inch TV that hangs over a fireplace and gaze at the picture from the open kitchen. The evening news is on, showing footage of a small office building on fire. I move behind a black leather couch and watch the blaze, and out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of the first door in the hallway, walk to the room, start to command it to unlock, but stop myself. Sometimes... I pull on my left earlobe. I wish...

  The spare bedroom has remained lock since I first closed it. I store my mom's belongings in it. My bedroom the master bedroom is down the hall. I return to the kitchen, grab the remote, and look to the TV, and an anchorwoman, Linda Harvey with NBS (Noir Broadcasting Station) reads a report.

  “The Corporate Senate will be meeting later this week to vote on the proposed bill for a sales tax increase. The quarter cent raise will bring in much needed money for the planet’s civil defense and continue funding Research Project Clean Air. Analysts are predicting the bill will be voted in.” Linda Harvey pauses. “In other news, Dr. Robert Seeker the foremost expert on the Dry Clouds problem will be heading out to Antarctica to...”

  I turn off the TV, plunging the room back into silence. Enough with the news; my life is miserable enough without having to hear about someone else's. I pick up the saucer and cup, walk to a small round table, sit, and stare out the window. The Dry Clouds entomb the starry sky, leaving the night dismal and bleak just like my life. I pick up a clear plastic container of honey that's in the shape of a bear, pop open the yellow lid, and squirt a smiley face on the spoon with the golden sugar.

  I whisper a phrase my mom used to say, “Fly... fly away, sad, sad day.”

  I stir the honey in my Orange Pekoe, remove the tea bag, place it on the saucer, and stare at the now warm brown liquid. The phrase used to cheer me up, but not anymore. I arch my head back, looking at the ceiling. Hades... What a life I have?

  I open my hand and gaze at a star burned into my right palm. The only constant in my life seems to be it; it has been with me for nearly two decades, and I can't remember where I got the burn. I make a fist and open my hand again. Oh for Ares' sake! Look at me! The only thing I have to look forward to is maybe someday discovering where I received the burn. Hades! I slam a fist on the table, and the tea cup rattles. Sometimes I wish... I wish I wasn’t so alone! I wish I had more in this life and that there would be someone there for me!

  * * *

  October 13...

  Wednesday...

  5:49 A.M...

  A laptop sitting on a desk in Kim's bedroom screeched like a bird and alerted her to an incoming message.

  “No,” she whined, placed a pillow on her face, and rolled over. “It can’t be morning.”

  A screen saver of a flaming bird flew across the laptop, and the fiery glow lit up the dark room and after a few minutes, she dragged herself out of bed. She put on a white housecoat and slippers, fixed a cup of hot chocolate, and sat down at the desk. She hit the space bar, woke up the computer, and clicked on the message.

  It read, “Have you accepted the Closing?”

  “Voice is up early this morning,” Kim mumbled and took a sip of the hot chocolate. “Or maybe up late, depending on where in the world Voice is sending the message from.” She typed a reply, “Yes.”

  “I’ll send an encrypted e-mail with directions,” Voice typed back. “He should be in his office for most of the morning.”

  “Standard operation?”

  “Yes.”

  “Understood.” Kim pushed her chair back, but the computer’s beep grabbed her attention.

  “You should take a break after this Closing,” Voice wrote. “You have been working rather hard, and the Moscow Closing was rather difficult.”

  “You sound like my father. Are you sure you don’t have children?”

  “Yes, in our line of business it isn’t wise to have them,” Voice typed. “As for your father, you should listen to us, we are your elders.”

  “Since we’re getting a little personal, I was wondering why you’re called Voice? All these years I’ve worked for you, I’ve never heard you speak.”

  “Long before you joined us, I made contact over the phone and received the tag.”

  She wondered how long ago it was and typed, “I'm also curious as to why you wanted me to join the Assassins League. I do live on the planet’s Dark Half. I should be a part of the Assassins Union.”

  “And let Thanatos have one of the best Closers. I think not. He would only waste your talents; anyway, those of us on the Light Side still have work that must be done on the Dark Half. You aren't the only Closer there that belongs to the League.”

  She stretched, yawned, and typed, “Will contact you this evening. Signing
off.”

  Kim went into the kitchen. Maybe she did need a break. She noticed the key chain on the counter, thought back to the Moscow assignment, and brooded; the last Closing got to her. Kim grabbed the key chain, walked to the living room, and moved to a bookcase beside the fireplace. She placed the key chain in a wooden box sitting on a shelf and glanced at a picture frame with a photo of Theresa Griffin. Kim and her mother could have been twins.

  She whispered, “Mom, if you were here, what would you think of me? I wish you had never left. I wish you were here for me...” Kim paused and then questioned, “What would you think of my pathetic life?”

  Chapter Four

  Topa’s Estate

  8:48 A.M...

  On the outskirts of the Hellenistic Sector...

  Topa’s estate stood in the midst of an apple orchard, and sunlamps lit up the imported trees as a gentle wind swept through the orchard’s green leaves. The lamps were on sixteen hours and off eight; the non-Transgenic trees would starve in the endless night without them.

  Katharine's view...

  He will pay... I walk up a winding path from the darkness of the day; the path leads to the square mile estate. I swear to myself that he'll pay for killing Preacher. The past year’s nonstop hunts, what the Council calls tests, take their toll on me mentally and physically.

  End Katharine's view...

  Her pants and shoes, those she had on when she awoke in Etna Toys Plant and Warehouse, were worn and dirty. She removed a single strap backpack as grief wrapped its arms around her and wouldn't let her go; she unzipped her gray-black athletic jacket, and her chest hurt as anguish pressed against it like a heavy boulder. The jacket covered her dingy white t-shirt and protected her from the cool breezy air, but it did little against her sorrow that chilled Kat to her soul. She took off the jacket, removed a black Ravlek Vest she had on the outside of the backpack, and put the vest on. Ravlek was an experimental material like Kevlar but generations ahead.

  Katharine's view...

  So much has happened since I woke in Etna Toys Plant and Warehouse. In the year that I've created memories, I've learned what it means to care for another. I've learned what love and devotion are... but now all of that is gone along with Preacher.

  I glance at the Ravlek I'm wearing as if it will console me. Months ago, I acquired the body armor from an assassin who died from a fall when he attempted to take my life. I set the backpack and the jacket beside a dead gnarled oak; the tree's a remnant from the sun era just as Preacher's a remnant of a future I'll never have, not since Topa killed him. At the moment, I have no sense of my own actions, engulfed by an overpowering heartache, and I move as if I'm a robot fulfilling a programmer's command. The shock of seeing someone I deeply care for die in my arms numbs me to the bone; this is a nightmare... It has to be a bad dream. Preacher can't be dead.