by Poppet
Out of interest, I used this word for a reason: Anoki is the first word the 'god of israel' spoke to the Israelites. It means 'It is I'. The thing is, Anoki is an Egyptian word. Why would the god of 'heaven', where apparently only Hebrew is spoken by the angels - and the Jews adhere to this so they'll understand 'god' when he returns; why would he speak to them in Egyptian? I have my own opinions on that, but in this instance I'll keep them to myself.
The novel Satanarium was written to give you a taste of what it would be like to be face to face with the god glorified in the old testament. He's a bipolar megalomaniac with serious issues. If you have an ounce of compassion or logic, you'd spit on his altar and walk away. And speaking of logic – go and read Ezekiel. You get ten points if you spot the helicopter.
If you enjoyed this novel do pick up the next installment in the Darkroom saga, Over Exposure (by Poppet), and try Redemption, and Temptation, by Troy Lambert. (You know you want to because it continues to show you how the devout damage and destroy 'because they own a book'. You own a book too, feel free to smite them with it.)
Religion is a prison. Choose freedom.
••
Author’s Note: Troy Lambert
Poppet and I do not share exactly the same beliefs. I suspect no two people on the planet do. I lost who said: “If two people agree on everything, then one of them is unnecessary.” However, at the root of it all, here are a few of my core beliefs:
There are two religions in the world that have caused more bloodshed than any other, both in the name of ‘a god.’ They are the Muslim faith and Christianity. There have been many “spinoffs” from these religions that have also killed and made war in the name of God.
The majority of religions are constructed to enslave the “believer” into a single belief system. This belief system is touted to be the only way to heaven, god, and happiness. Typically the following of the belief system leads not toward these things, but away from them.
Organized religion is about money and power. True religion is about kindness, love, equality, and sharing. If you don’t believe me, look at the mega churches across America. With wealth, the drive for numbers, competition, and a vast political agenda, organized religion has become tainted. Like water that could be refreshing, it instead chokes and poisons.
The bible can be used to justify almost any action, good or bad, and over the years mankind has proven that again and again. Just because someone does something in the name of God, doesn’t mean they are right. In fact, it often triggers my suspicions immediately. Blindly following a leader of any sort quickly makes us fools. So as Poppet says, you have your own book.
Read it.
“Now these were more noble-minded than those in Thessalonica, for they received the word with great eagerness, examining the Scriptures daily to see whether these things were so.” Acts 17:11
OVER EXPOSURE
by
Poppet
A Darkroom Novel
#3
Copyright © 2013 Poppet
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters, and incidents, are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales, or any other entity, is entirely coincidental.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
Cover by Southern Stiles Design
For the Twisted Sisters
In loving memory of Victor Ward
He was treated harshly, but endured it humbly;
he never said a word.
Like a lamb about to be slaughtered, like a sheep about to be sheared,
he never said a word.
He was arrested and sentenced, and led off to die,
and no one cared about his fate.
~ Isaiah 53:7
~ Prologue ~
From Darkroom
“Please …” I take her hand and squeeze it as the nurse injects more shit into my body, “Find Victor. I love him. Please …”
She nods and her partner leads her out of the door where I hear him say, “Well that's a classic case of Stockholm syndrome.”
I'm so angry, but I can't focus as the sedative takes control of my faculties.
I thought about that tree, and the wind. I did not bow and I did not break. I became the wind. I was soaring free. I was strong, and happy, and carefree. Nothing can catch the wind. Nothing can hold it, hurt it, break it. I was the wind. But the wind doesn't blow anymore. The world that I lived in has dissolved like tears left in the sun. Evaporated to nothing.
“Oh Victor …” I miss you.
I do not hear when the door opens again. I do not hear the entry of a new man into my life. I do not hear his words as Seth holds my hand.
~ Chapter 1 ~
Serve the Lord with fear
and rejoice with trembling
~ Psalms 2:11
Present Day
Shauna:
My headache is so intense it shrinks my eyeballs.
Rasp.
The impenetrable dark, the rustling sounds, the hideous inhalations … This is a nightmare. Oh god please, it has to be a nightmare. Wake up!
Rasp.
“Shauna,” saws at me, the voice unfamiliar, the touch of leather on my face enough to make me wither. “You have come home.”
Home?
Wracking with convulsions, sandblasted with chills, I rifle through my memories, trying to piece together how I got here … again.
“I was good,” I mumble, the trembling of my lip so severe I sound drunk. “I did everything you ordered …” Why am I here? No more torture, god, pleeeeease! “Just kill me,” I beg, my tone edging closer to hysteria.
Rasp.
A harsh graze hacks out a laugh, leather clad fingers cradling my cheek, the strength in them enough to implode my migraine.
“Kill you? That's not how I reward good servants. You were made to serve me.”
Peter set Victor up to take the fall for Vengeance. Am I here with Peter?
Is he Vengeance?
“I lost my baby because of you!” I manage to shout at the dark, wrangling to get away from his tainted touch, gripping emaciated courage and daring to speak my mind. My heart breaks again and I can't hold onto pride, curling into myself, the tears hot on my rimed skin.
“Shhhh…” Rasp. “I lost my son. We must console one another through this hardship.”
Son?
Oh my fucking god! Victor's dad is Vengeance? He fucked me! He raped me, beat me, and covered me in petrol. He ruined my life!
“You tortured me…” I wail, scrambling backwards until I connect with unyielding concrete.
Laughing, his voice is muffled behind the mask I know he wears, “It was not I, it was my son.”
“Which son?” I scream, gripping my hair, trying so damn hard to keep it together long enough to get answers.
“I have many, they all serve me. And now you, you will serve me.”
Shaking my head vehemently, I refuse! “I won't murder, torture, maim! I won't!”
He sounds truly amused with the bellow of gruff laughter ruining my sanity. “Disobey me, and they will do worse to you.”
Rasp.
The heavy hand reclaims my shoulder, pinching so hard pain burdens my muscles, forcing anguish to squeal through my parched lips. The world distorts, dizzy and darker still, spots circling behind my eyelids, oblivion a gift in my cocoon of suffering.
&
nbsp; •
Alpha / The Watcher:
Leaving her cell I bump into Seth, looking pale, wringing his hands, pacing nervously as if waiting for his wife to fulfil labour.
He's got a long wait. For a doctor he's dumber than chalk.
“Father?” he blurts, halting, staring torment at me.
My own son has no substance. He's never been a man, had a spine, stood in courage with conviction.
Pathetic.
Pulling the full leather mask off, I glare down at him, “Are you spying on my activities?”
“No Alpha. I … just … she hasn't had enough time to recuperate after the miscarriage. She should be in bed –”
“Are you questioning my wisdom, Seth?”
He bows his head, staring at the floor, “No father.”
“Fuck off, boy. When I want you, then I shall have you summoned.” He pauses, doubt and dispute betraying him, displayed openly in his expression, but he keeps his defective mouth shut and his arguments to himself.
I wait until he's gone before locking the door, moving to the viewing room, showing me the woman through night-vision, letting me enjoy the moment she regains consciousness, whimpering, scratching at her naked legs, disoriented and terrified.
Victor did well. She is perfectly conditioned. Put her in the dark and she is consumed with panic, awaiting suffering … expecting it.
The mind is so easy to control. Once you condition a human to pain, all we need do to ensure complete co-operation is to immerse them back into the environment where torment was their daily bread, and subservience is immediate. He has paved the path, now all I need do is walk down it, making the resurrected angel worthy of god.
She trembles, it is a sign of worship. In her darkest moment she praises me, she serves with fear. Shauna hugs herself, wailing, “Oh god … oh god … please …” It disintegrates to sobs. She's calling me. My ears are not deaf, my heart is not stone, she begs me, and I will deliver her.
Laughing, I leave the dungeon of dominion, easing out of leather, freeing cramped muscles, ready to exercise my anger on the dullard.
Seth you have failed me, in every way.
~ Chapter 2 ~
Photography can only represent the present.
Once photographed, the subject becomes part of the past.
~ Berenice Abbott
Alpha:
Stomping to the lift, I take it up, opening on his floor, stepping into the foyer, walking stealthily from room to room, pleased to see everything she owned set up on her side.
He must be in his wing.
Rotating my shoulders, cricking my neck, power surges through me, ready to deliver discipline.
I sneak in, inspecting the weakness that is Eve's infidelity. He's shorter than all of my boys, and two heads my inferior, yet I raised him as Victor's brother. If anyone knows how to find him, this bastard does.
“Well?” I snap, glaring at the boy who hinges guiltily to stare at me, looking away from his view through the dungeon bars which protect every window.
One can never be too careful. We wouldn't want unwelcome intruders sneaking in here.
He visibly wilts against the windowsill, looking like a cornered rat faced with a hungry cobra. “Father?”
“What are you doing here, boy? If you haven't found Victor's missing body then you are unwelcome inside these doors.”
Despair and panic flirt across drawn features, his brown eyes bleak, “I looked everywhere. I don't know where else to–”
“I'm not your floozy, paid to listen to excuses. Get out. Don't return unless you have a corpse with you. I can't bury my son until his fucking body is recovered! Understood?”
He nods, duress inciting the weakling to wrestle his fingers into tight knots. Substandard degenerate that he is, I should have drowned him when Eve squeezed him out. He is the boil that should have been expunged.
“Good,” I snap, riled and aggravated. He's an imbecile, an ongoing insult that walks and breathes when I should have put him in a grave with his mother. He no more deserves Shauna than he deserves a place at my table.
I turn to walk away when he squeaks, “What of Shauna? I haven't made her my wife yet.”
Grief, I'm tempted to laugh at his idiocy. “Don't you worry about her, boy. She's in good hands.”
Every sinew and muscle would like nothing better than to pound the daylights out of the entity that lives to mock me, but I need him to recover Victor. I can't rest until my firstborn is home, where he belongs.
I will make Victor a saint and use his bones in the ossuary.
•
Shauna:
The groan of objecting hinges startles me and I shrink back, pressing flat against the wall. Vengeance has no mercy and I am a wreck at the thought of what hell awaits me next.
“Shauna?” whispers across the dark.
“Seth?” I hiss back. “What are you–?”
“Shhh, I don't have much time.” Warm hands that thaw my frigid bones wrap around my arm, pulling me against him, so close that I can smell the shampoo in his hair. He smells so clean. I want that, I so desperately want to be clean again.
Bending his head, pressing against mine, he engulfs me into a hug, whispering in my ear, “I'm so sorry. If I'd known, I wouldn't have brought you here. Father wanted us safe, and I was stupid to think he'd protect you and give me the time I needed to help you heal. I'm mourning, just like you, but I have to leave. I promise you I'll leave no stone unturned. I won't return until I find him.”
“Him?” I gasp, parched and distraught.
“Victor.”
Just one word injects an eternity of sorrow, his name delivering a harsh pain to my womb, to my chest cavity, bludgeoning my eyes with a fresh assault of tears.
The last happy moment I shared with Victor was when I gave that lady my phone to take a photo of us together. Newly married and deliriously happy, it was the dawn that died before the sun rose. We had a private marriage, a civil ceremony, just the two of us. Inside that perfect bubble I had a man who cherished me, protected me, and prepared me for conflict against Vengeance, I was pregnant and delighted… but before we'd even toasted to our new life as husband and wife, everything I had, I lost. I was married for the perfect half of an hour when Peter murdered Victor in front of me and his father.
I remember now! When he met me Vic's dad said, 'You have come home'. He said that earlier. What does it mean? Why was he dressed like Vengeance? Why does he imply I am returning 'home' when I've never been here?
I ran for help, away from Peter and his gun, but fell, plummeting down the steep incline, landing in oncoming traffic. The pain in my abdomen was excruciating, I was haemorrhaging. I woke up in hospital with Victor's body missing, him accused of murder and falsely accused of being Vengeance, the angel who tortured me, and then … then they found the evidence in his darkroom.
Peter planted proof. I am positive Peter is the source of all my pain and shame. My psychiatrist and the cops finally had hard evidence that I'm not mentally unstable, that what I claimed happened to me truly did. It was a paltry consolation in my despair. A despair that still shrouds me and refuses to dissipate.
Every repulsive act Vengeance performed on me was caught on camera, the photos blown up, videos of him raping me wearing that leather suit, beating me until my eyes were swollen shut and blood and bruises covered every inch of me.
My heart aches.
Why would his best friend do that to me? Why?
“Find him,” I beg Seth. “Please find him. I need him.”
I need him the way I need spinal fluid. I just don't function without him.
He hugs me tight, as if trying to impress comfort and compassion. Victor was his world too. I lost my husband and only friend, but Seth lost his brother; his childhood ally.
“When I get back, we need to talk. Father will look after you while I'm gone.”
Before I can form coherent words through my grieving sobs, he disengages, the door closing, locking m
e back in the lowest level of suffering.
•
A Fortnight Past
Jude:
Through the windscreen I watch him roll into the road from up high, without escape, blood staining his t-shirt, pain contorting his face.
It's a split-second decision. I burst out of the car, hooking my hands in his armpits, shifting under his shoulders while Shauna goes careening between the vehicles up ahead, ignorant of my actions and spurning me into urgent speed.
Balling him into the back, I plunge into the driver's seat, the engine still idling, and casually turn the car around, deliberately pickling slowly down the drive from Signal Hill.
I am late, serendipitously, but for once in my life I will do the right thing. I know Peter's gun had blanks in it. It was a test of his commitment to the cause, of his allegiance to Alpha. John's our best sniper and he ended Vic, planting slugs in him. I need to get the hell off this road to assess how bad the damage is. We can't risk hospitals. They'll find us and kill us both.
We all went to medical school, it's a prerequisite of Alpha's adopted children. I'm adept, and I know if I can get him back to my secret surgery, I can save him.
Alpha thinks he's god, I think otherwise. I'm intelligent enough to keep my opinions to myself. Behind his back I've been building my escape. I have a plane, my pilot's license is thanks to my training at his expense, and I have a small apartment kitted out on the other side of the country.
He'll assume I'd flee the border, because that's how he thinks. This is a game and the time is nigh for me to outwit the kingpin.
