by Ryan Casey
Dark Days
Days of Darkness, Book 1
Ryan Casey
ryancaseybooks.com
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
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Chapter One
Charlie gripped the arms of his seat and prayed the plane would just land already.
He stared into the back of the plane seat in front of him. Artificial light lit this flying hunk of metal and made him feel sick. It reminded him of a hospital corridor. In a way, it was just as filthy what with the amount of people sardined into such a small, cramped space against their will. The air conditioning unit above spluttered cold, recycled air, circulating all the germs on to him. He’d tried switching it off a few times, but it was no good. It didn’t exactly fill him with confidence about this plane. If the air con units weren’t working properly, what else wasn’t working on here?
No. He couldn’t think like that. The chances of dying in a plane crash were slim to none.
He had to keep telling himself that.
He lifted a hand and grabbed the glass of cheap whisky in front of him. Swilled it around his mouth, cringing at its rancid, abrasive taste, like paint thinner. He hadn’t bought it to have a luxury experience, though. He’d bought it so he could get pissed. It was the only thing that really helped with the nerves. And even then it didn’t always have a hundred per cent success rate.
He glanced over at the aisle. It was a small plane, two rows of three all the way down. He was wedged into a window seat, something he found even more unsettling. He didn’t like being trapped into small talk, and always found it awkward pushing past people when he needed a piss.
But more than that, he didn’t like looking out the window. Didn’t like being reminded that he was hovering thirty thousand feet above ground.
At least it was dark. At least he couldn’t see just how far he had to fall.
He was forty-five minutes into an hour and a half flight from London Heathrow to Edinburgh. He glanced at the window, as much as he kept telling himself not to. He could see little water droplets on there. Other than that, total darkness. Every now and then, he rocked in his seat or heard a creaking of the metal of this plane’s foundations. He gripped his chair arms tighter whenever that happened. Closed his eyes. Took a few deep breaths, right into his belly.
He just wanted to get off this damned plane.
He should never even be on it in the first place.
He remembered the call he’d had from work. He worked in sales for a big software development company. Their speciality was creating defence systems and firewalls for businesses. These were paranoid times, and selling the illusion of safety was certainly all the rage these days.
In all truth, he was better at the engineering side of things. But when his boss, Graham, ordered him up to Edinburgh to talk with a major potential new client, he wasn’t exactly in a position to refuse. Especially not with his job on the line as it was.
He thought about his meeting with Graham last week, and his stomach turned. He’d told Graham he wanted to start taking more responsibility for the engineering side of things and less on sales. That’s why he’d joined in the first place, after all. Graham told him he was underperforming at sales as it was, so he wasn’t exactly in a position to start bargaining.
It’d stung when Graham said that. He always thought he was a valued employee. But right then, when Graham questioned his ability, he started to wonder just how valued he was. He started to see himself as less of an essential part of things and more a cog in the machine.
And then there was his wife, Priya.
Priya was a bitch. He hated to say it, but she was. He married her seven years ago. What was he supposed to do? A hot young Asian girl flirting with him and showing more interest in him than any damned girl in his life. Yeah, he’d been quick to marry the hell out of her.
The first year was good. The sex was great.
But then they’d had two kids, and it felt like everything had gone downhill since then.
Priya left her job as a receptionist at a school. She put pressure on Charlie to step up. To seek promotions. To do whatever he could—whatever hours he had to—in order to bring more money home. Always for the sake of Pritesh and Anita.
At first, he saw it as a good opportunity to pursue his ambitions. But then he started to suspect Priya didn’t even like him so much anymore. He was in his late forties; she was thirty. He could understand her going off him.
But it was the way she was so blatantly going about her business.
It started with the texts to other blokes. A few too many kisses for him to feel comfortable about.
And then finding weird shit back at the house in Oxford. Boxer shorts he didn’t know he had stuffed down the side of the bed. The sickly sour smell of unfamiliar cologne hanging in the air.
Every time he confronted Priya about it, she just turned her nose up and rolled her eyes. Told him he was paranoid.
And maybe he was paranoid.
But she never denied it. She never outright said, “I’m not screwing anyone behind your back.”
And that just made the anger stew inside Charlie, more and more...
“What’s got you so tense?”
Charlie glanced around. He wasn’t sure the woman was even speaking to him at first.
He looked and saw her smiling at him.
She had ginger hair, fiery red. Freckles covered her cheeks. There was a little gap between her two front teeth, which her tongue poked through. She looked right at him with those bright blue eyes.
“You grip those seat arms any harder you might just crack them.”
Charlie smiled and turned away. He felt his cheeks flushing. Truth be told, he hadn’t even registered the woman sitting next to him. She had to be late thirties. He didn’t clock any wedding ring, something he always looked for out of habit.
He glanced back at her and smiled. “It’s the crap whisky. Tends to have that effect on me.”
She giggled. Rolled her gorgeous eyes. “You men. Why can’t you just admit when you’re afraid about something? Vulnerability is attractive, you know?”
Charlie felt a warmth inside then. He knew it was ridiculous. He knew he was living a fantasy. But th
ere was no denying the way he felt about this younger, attractive woman beside him.
He liked her.
He wasn’t ashamed to admit it.
“What’s taking you to sunny Edinburgh, anyway?” the woman asked.
“Work,” Charlie said, eager not to get too involved in conversation out of some ill-placed duty to Priya. “You?”
She twirled a long strand of her bright hair around her index finger. “I don’t know. I just heard it was nice. Fancied a trip. Could do with an experienced tour guide, though.”
Charlie saw the way she looked at him, the spark in her eyes, and he knew right then she was flirting with him, without a doubt.
His heart raced. He wanted to flirt back. Because why not? What was so wrong with enjoying himself? Priya enjoyed herself, so why couldn’t he?
He swallowed a lump in his throat, and he smiled. “Just three days. My wife wouldn’t let me stay much longer than that.”
He saw the shift in the woman’s eyes, then. Saw the way she lowered her fingers from her hair, scratched her freckly face. “That’s a shame. You look like the kind of guy who knows a thing or two about exploring. What’s your name?”
Charlie felt caught in a battle between telling this woman she was being inappropriate and joining her for the ride.
In the end, he figured he’d never see her again, so what the hell?
“Charlie,” he said, holding out a hand. “You?”
The woman took his hand. He felt it, soft in his palm. “Gemma. Pleasure to meet you. What’s—”
A bang. The seats all around rattled. Charlie’s whisky tumbled off the table in front and rolled onto the floor.
“Damn it,” Charlie said, letting go of Gemma’s hand and grabbing his empty whisky glass. He could smell the cheap liquor strong in his nostrils. Up the length of the plane, he heard shouts and squeals. A few laughs. Idiots.
He put the glass back on the table. His heart raced. He tried to take a few breaths. Tried to stop his hands from shaking.
“You really are a scaredy cat, aren’t you?” Gemma said.
Charlie’s cheeks flushed. He didn’t like people mocking him about his inferiorities. Priya did it enough. “We’ve all got our flaws, huh?”
Gemma really studied him, like she was getting a good look at him. In a way, Charlie kind of liked it. It was the most interest anyone as good looking as her had shown him in a long time. He thought he was over the hill. Certainly wasn’t a spring chicken anymore. But he wasn’t a bad looking guy. Priya had just worn him down to the point he’d lost all of his confidence.
But he couldn’t deny it. Gemma made him feel better about all this right now. She had a carefree attitude that he enjoyed. He found it infectious.
“I’m looking forward to learning a few more of them,” Gemma said.
He looked into her sparkling eyes, and he felt it, then. The urge. The desire. Stronger and more infectious than he’d felt it in a long time.
He felt it, and he felt Gemma’s hand touch his again.
“You sure you don’t have a little time to show me round Edinburgh?” she asked.
Charlie gulped away his nerves.
Then, he smiled.
“I’m sure I can—”
It all happened so fast.
The bright lights of the plane flickered out.
The plane jolted down, dragging Charlie up in his seat, only holding on by his seatbelt, which he never unclipped.
Gemma went flying up towards the roof of the plane.
All around, he heard glasses smashing. He heard screams. Shouts. He sat there, frozen, heart racing, unable to move. He could hear cabin crew trying to reassure people. He could hear people crying. He could smell something in the air. Something like urine.
He felt warmth around his crotch and realised it was him.
There was something else he realised, though.
The sounds. All of these sounds.
He could hear them clearly.
Because he couldn’t hear the sound of the engine.
His stomach turned. This had to be a nightmare. It couldn’t be real. He turned. Looked out of the window. Nothing. Nothing but darkness.
He looked over to his left, and in the jet black of night, he saw a figure sitting there, slumped.
“Gemma?”
He went to reach out, to touch her hand again.
But then he saw something in the light of the moon; light that wasn’t there a moment ago.
Gemma’s bright eyes were wide, but she stared into nothingness.
Blood pooled down her face.
He couldn’t feel a heartbeat.
Charlie turned around and looked into the back of the seat in front of him. He wanted to do so much. He wanted to get out of his seat. He wanted to survive.
But he couldn’t move.
He just couldn’t.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
Tightened his grip on the chair arms.
This is a nightmare. You’ve had nightmares about this before. It’s a nightmare. It has to be.
He tensed his jaw.
Felt a tear roll down his cheek as more people cried out; as more glasses smashed; as people raced down the aisle towards the emergency doors.
He thought of Priya, and how much he used to love her, and he cried some more.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so—”
He felt a sudden shift.
Went flying forward.
And then he heard nothing, and the blackness went even blacker.
Chapter Two
Eighteen hours earlier...
Martin turned the engine off and cleared his throat.
“We’re here,” he said.
He looked out of the window at the isolated log cabin he was renting from a woman called Cynthia for the weekend. It was strange, seeing it again after so many years. It looked exactly the same as he remembered. Dark wood with a triangular roof. A balcony with a few chairs and a table, covered with clear tarpaulin. Cynthia rented five of these places out around the area, all of them priding themselves on their relative isolation compared to the bulk of the tourist trap Lake District. Dubbed them “The Cabins”, very creatively.
If Martin squinted enough, he could tell himself he was back here, all those years ago. Back when things were better. When life was good.
“Is this it?”
Martin heard Ella’s voice, and he jolted back into the moment. He looked around into the back of his Land Rover. Saw her sitting there, so slight in the cream leather seat. His daughter had long, dark hair. Her nose and ears were full of piercings. She even had a tattoo of a skull on her slim arm, something that Martin found hard to believe, considering she was only fifteen. Her mother should never have bloody allowed it. It was supposed to be illegal for kids her age.
But then he couldn’t exactly grill her mum for it. Not anymore.
She sat with her arms around her body. She didn’t look into Martin’s eyes for long. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that ’cause he struggled holding eye contact with her, too. He glanced away from her, out towards the grey skies. “Come on. Let’s get inside.”
He caught a glance of Ella rolling her eyes in the rear-view mirror. He bit his tongue. Resisted the urge to tell her to sort her attitude out. Wasn’t exactly going to be a healthy start to this trip.
He climbed out of the car and slammed the door shut. He stood on the slushy ground at the top of this hill and studied the scenery. They were in the middle of nowhere. The open landscape of the Lake District stretched out in the distance. He could see Scafell Pike towering up ahead, clouds gathered around it. The little white specks of sheep dotted around the landscape. The orange autumn colours contrasting the dark grey skies.
He closed his eyes. Took a deep breath of the cool air. Smelled a freshness that took him right back to the last time he’d visited the Lakes, far too long ago. A reminder of the walks he’d been on through these vast, open valleys. Eskdale, a region of the Lake Distric
t that was relatively untouched compared to the tourist traps of Windermere and Bowness.
He opened his eyes again and smiled when he saw the landscape staring back at him. Hills stretching on for miles.
He turned around and walked over to the back of the Land Rover. Grabbed his and Ella’s rucksacks from the boot. Ella stood by the side of the car looking at their surroundings, hands around her body. Her nose turned up. A forced slant to her face.
“Well?” Martin said, holding out her black rucksack, which was embroidered with album cover prints by the likes of Danny Brown, Death Grips, JPEGMAFIA. Names Martin didn’t recognise, and didn’t care to in all truth. “You’re a young woman. You can do your own unpacking and carry your own rucksack.”
Ella sighed. She grabbed her rucksack and turned away from Martin before he could say anything else to her. He watched her skulk towards the front of the cabin. There was something about her actions that irritated him. It was like everything she did was just an attempt to try and push his buttons more and more.
He couldn’t let her get to him. He had to keep his cool.
It was a weekend away with her. That’s all it was.
If he couldn’t cope with that, what good was he at all?
Martin walked around the front of the car and stared up at the cabin. Moss crept down the dark wood. The windows were dirty and covered in cobwebs. He swore he saw a crack in the glass, too. It wasn’t as luxurious as he remembered it being. Not when he and Sarah used to visit.
