The Dark Expanse - Astral Clash Series - Book 1

by Jack Hammond

  Max needed to wait. The only question was how long. He opened his eyes and delved into the bag, he removed the brown envelope in anticipation of the boy’s arrival. Max raised his eyes as the bedroom light came on, here we go, he thought. The boy appeared at the window, he seemed less scared this time, was he expecting him? Max stared at him, not smiling, not grimacing, just staring. Max waved the manila envelope, to draw his attention to it. Then he crossed the road, not breaking eye contact for a moment. Max slid the package underneath the edge of the green bin and then made his way out of sight.

  Ducking into an ally, Max waited to confirm the boy received the pictures. Sure enough, a few moments later the lad appeared and collected up his delivery. The boy looked down the street and Max shifted back, he didn’t want to spook him any more than he would be already. He gave it a few seconds and took another peek, the boy was gone. Now Max was free to do the unsavoury task of dealing with Mr Ruben.

  Moonlight shone through the second floor window. The silver rays of light failing to illuminate the dark recesses of the room. Paul made his way to bed, following the outline of his furniture, refusing to turn on the light. He removed his clothes and left them crumpled on the floor. The crisp sheets were welcoming and as he folding a pillow up under his head he settled for the night. After the day he had, Paul Ruben didn’t take long to fall asleep.

  It’s in the darkness they come for you, knowing what you do, you should have stayed in the light Max warned the sleeping victim. That was after all what he was. He was a victim. Max stepped out of the shadows and stood over the bed, holding the scalpel timidly in one hand, the cloth soaked in chloroform in the other. Max was still debating, tussling with his conscience whether he could actually do the deed. He had hoped by now he would have decided, it was all he thought of while he prepared the scalpels. As he'd treated them with boiling water and alcohol, it was all that went through his head. It wasn’t like Max really had a choice, so why was he still trying to convince himself differently?

  Max pressed the cloth lightly over his face at first and then applied a little pressure. There was a moment when Paul struggled, but it was short lived, having already breathed in too much of the vapour. He placed the scalpel down and took out a roll of brown tape. Max was in no mood to take chances, binding the man’s feet and wrists and then finished by taping up his mouth.

  Twenty minutes had past and Max still had not moved. He sat on the corner of the bed; Paul Ruben tied up with tape behind him. He felt peculiar; it was like a sickness building up in his throat. As if he could feel the start of a virus attacking his immune system. Max looked over his shoulder and winced. This was more difficult than he had anticipated; he thought as he stood up and faced him.

  “Come on Max, you've got to do this.” He said to himself, the encouragement not helping.

  He clutched the scalpel tightly and leaned over Paul. His hand was shaking, Max couldn't control it. There was something strangely intimate about this act of violence. This was unlike when he attacked Martin. On those occasions he could justify it, the first time he was protecting the boy, the second he was defending himself. But this, this was so very different. He moved the blade closer and apprehensively touched the skin. Deeper Max, you have to cut him deeper. The voice was clear in his head, and he wished it would just take over.

  Max gritted his teeth and turned his head away, the first trickles of blood seeped from his incision. Paul remained still, the chloroform keeping him completely under. The tattoo was only the size of a credit card, but as his shaking hand navigated its way around his skin, it may have well been a football field.

  “Jesus!” Max spluttered. He had not anticipated so much blood, did he go to deep? Had he cut an artery? He didn’t even bring any bandages he suddenly realised. Max dabbed frantically with the bed sheet at the half finished job. He'd taken such care with disinfecting the instruments, now as he soaked up the plasma with the bedcover, it had been pointless.

  It wasn’t stopping, it just kept coming. He looked around the room, he didn’t know why. What was he expecting to find, a nurse, a doctor? Max suddenly felt a calm come over him, had the voice in his head taken control? He sliced into Paul’s chest again and completed the rectangular cut, and then beyond his belief he dug his fingers into the wound and tore the skin away. It reminded him of peeling a sticker from a Panini football album as a child, except with blood and an urge to vomit. Max dropped the skin, and it fell next to Paul on the blood-stained bed. He pressed the bed sheet onto the wound with real pressure and laid the symbol of his master upon Paul’s head. All Max hoped was after he woke, he wouldn’t bleed to death from an amateur surgical mishap.

  Max stumbled into the bathroom, his legs not keeping up with the rest of his body. He heaved the instant he dropped to his knees, the sight of the blood, the sensation when he tore the skin. He heaved again, it was over he told himself. Max lifted his head and saw his blood smeared finger prints over the toilet bowl. He turned the cold tap on and took a mouthful of water, swallowing it hard. Max poured some fancy designer lotion into his hands and scrubbed the red away with a nail brush. The blood mixed with the water creating a pink swirl as it went down the plughole.

  Paul Ruben entered the expanse, his eyes searching the endless darkness like a child looking for his parents in a crowd of strangers. The wind whispered to him, calling softly in his ear.

  “Paul, Paul…”

  “Where am I?” he asked. “What do you want?”

  “All good questions, Paul Ruben,” the voice replied. From outside the expanse the shadowed figure appeared to the detective.

  Paul froze at the sight of the creature, his eyes wide and focused.

  “Who do you work for Mr Ruben?”

  “I’m, a, a detective.” He stammered.

  “Who do you really work for Mr Ruben?”

  “What do you mean?” he replied.

  “You lie poorly Mr Ruben.” The figure shifted forward. “You know why you’re here?”

  “No.”

  “I have chosen you Mr Ruben, to join me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “That’s the first honest thing you've said.” The voice seemed to laugh. “You currently work alongside Sarah Mather. You are one of her people, are you not?”

  “No.” He quickly replied.

  “If you continue to lie, I will be forced to end this conversation.” He informed him. “Then I will have to talk to your son, Holby.”

  “What! No, you can’t,” pleading instantly.

  “Is your mother still in the nursing home? Should I have my people visit her?”

  “Stop it! Please, I don’t know what I can do,” he shouted. “I’m nobody. They don’t even treat me like a person. I’m more a pet.” Paul honestly admitted.

  “Mr Ruben, you are vital and I will go to lengths beyond your comprehension to have you.”

  Paul’s head dropped, the thought of his poor mother, the son he hardly saw were all too much for him to bear. He wasn’t a strong man, he knew that. That was how he had been drawn in so easily with Sarah Mather’s operation. “What do I have to do?”

  “Just do as you are instructed by Sarah Mather, except every day you will contact one of my people and fill him in on exactly what you have been asked to do.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yes Paul Ruben, but be warned. If my man even senses the slightest attempt of subterfuge, your family will pay a steep price.”

  “I guess I have no choice, do I?”

  “Of course you do, it’s your family who doesn’t.” The voice replied.

  Patrick squeezed his eyes shut, the kicks kept coming. He curled up into a ball as another strike was followed by another. Somewhere he’d lost his glasses, Patrick knew at this moment it wasn’t the most important thing. But it took his mind off of the bully’s ritualistic beating. This wasn’t the first time or the last. The attacks had been happening since the first day of secondary school, he wasn’t big, strong, fun
ny or good looking. The only purpose Patrick seemed to serve was being a target.

  “Joey, kick him in the head!” one lad said.

  “Is he crying yet?” another sneered.

  Patrick could just make out the shape of his glasses as he tried to crawl towards them.

  “Where are you going?” he heard one of them ask.

  The crunching sound actually brought tears to young Patrick’s eyes as one of the kids stood on his outstretched hand. But he refused to scream, they liked it when he cried. Once he realised that, he stopped giving them what they wanted. It was all he could do. He couldn’t fight back, so he did what little he could. Don’t give them the satisfaction, he thought.

  “Get off him!” a voice yelled from in the distance. “I said get!” this time it was a little closer. The sound of scurrying feet as the young boys fled from the stranger came as great relief. Patrick clutched his hand and sat up against the shop’s front shutters. He wasn’t sure if it was safe to cry yet, he really wanted to.

  “Hey, are you okay?” the man asked.

  Patrick just nodded his head.

  “Little shits, here let me help you.”

  “I’m okay.” Patrick replied. “Thanks.”

  “Here.” The man picked up his glasses.

  He slipped them on his face and clutched his aching hand again. Patrick saw his saviour, a tall, friendly looking man in a business suit. He crouched in front of him. “Why were they beating you up?”

  “Because they can,” he replied dejectedly.

  “That isn’t right.”

  “One of many things in life,” Patrick said philosophically.

  “It’s not always going to be like this.”

  “It is, as long as I’m me, it’s always going to be like this.”

  “You shouldn’t believe that.”

  “I’m sorry, but you couldn’t understand. You’re one of the lucky ones.”

  “I’m a lucky one?” he laughed.

  “Yes, I get beat up because I’m not the same as everyone else. If I’d been lucky, I might have been funnier, stronger. I could've been a bully, but luck wasn’t in my favour.”

  The man shook his head at him, a disapproving look. Patrick had seen a similar one on his dad’s face many times, before he left him and his mother.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Patrick.”

  “Patrick, what?”

  “Patrick Pullman,” he replied, before adding, “why?”

  “I’m going to offer you a deal Patrick,” he began. “I’m going to change your life.”

  He felt uneasy and didn’t know what to say. Patrick wondered if he'd jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire. “What do you mean?”

  “I want to help you. You remind me of myself when I was your age.”

  Patrick looked at him, his sharp expensive looking suit. “If I end up like you, the kicking’s won’t seem that bad.”

  “What if I could stop them? What if I could show you something that would change your life?”

  “You’re not a paedophile are you?”

  The man laughed out loud. “From what you’ve just been saying, if I was, couldn’t I do better than you?”

  Patrick smiled, admitting he was right. “I don’t have much longer at school, and then it stops.”

  “Does it? What about college, university, work? Bullying goes on there too you know.” The man said. “What I offer you will change your life.”

  “Okay, you got me hooked, what is this offer?” Patrick said adjusting his glasses.

  The man reached into his pocket, holding out his hand he showed Patrick a solid gold pendant, a symbol etched perfectly into the face. His eyes widened as he felt an urge to pick it up.

  “Take it,” the man said. “It’s yours.”

  Patrick’s gaze shifted from the pendant to man and back again as he snatched it from him. “What is it?”

  “Your future, Patrick, I had that when I was a child, I left it under my pillow and it changed my life.”

  “How did it change your life?”

  “Every night tuck that under your pillow. If after a week you don’t believe me, sell it.”

  Patrick frowned at the mention of selling it. “Sell it?!”

  “Yes, it is solid gold and prices are at an all-time high, but I know you won’t. Within a week you will know exactly what I mean.”

  “I seriously put this under my pillow every night?”

  “Yes, that’s it. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  The man helped Patrick to his feet, watching as the young lad tucked the pendant into his pocket. “Let me walk you home, last thing we need is them nicking it before you get back.”

  “I don’t know what to make of this,” Patrick confessed.

  “I didn’t when I was your age, but in time you’ll understand.”

  They walked along the badly lit street, the housing estate properties run down. The front doors of the houses were damaged from years of harsh weather. The gardens were a mess of unruly weeds and dog excrement. Patrick stopped outside one of the worst ones and turned to the man. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “What’s your name? Sorry I never asked.”

  The man just smiled and walked away.

  He reached his car and took out his keys. A group of boys cornered the road in front of him, all their faces covered by hoods. The ring leader walked toward the car, his red hooded top brandishing a sports logo. “Hey, mister,” he said.

  “Yes?”

  “Was it good enough?” he asked.

  “It was satisfactory.”

  The boy looked back at his friends, still standing on the corner.

  “Do you want the rest of the money?”

  “Yeah if we did it right.” He replied anxiously.

  “Fifty before and fifty after wasn’t it?”

  The lad nodded.

  “Then here you go.” He said holding out the notes.

  The boy moved around the car and reached out for the money. The man grasped his wrist tightly, pulling him in close. “From now on, he’s off limits. Unless I tell you otherwise,” he rasped, the venomous tone scaring the young hoodlum.

  “Yeah, yeah, okay!” he insisted.

  “Good.” The man smiled, letting him go. The boy scurried quickly to his friends before they all vanished around the corner.

  Edward sat forward on the sofa, his eyes still closed, but his conscious thoughts making the transition from there to here. He felt a gentle hand on his knee, opening his eyes he looked at her.

  “Did we do the right thing?” Sarah said. Showing more than a hint of concern about their actions.

  “It was the only way, Sarah.” He replied placing his hand firmly on hers and with a gently squeeze he added. “Sometimes we have to do the wrong things for the right reasons.”

  “I just feel like I should have told someone, at least my superiors.”

  Edward shook his head. “If the informant is as high up as you say and we are wrong about it being a member of the board, this plan will mostly likely draw them out anyway.”

  Sarah knew he was right, he always was. She was fascinated how he could break things down into their most basic of parts and have no emotional connection to any of it. “You’re right, I know you’re right.”

  Edward stood up and made his way into the kitchen, Sarah joining him a moment later. “I keep telling myself it could easily be outside of the Associate board.” She said as Edward prepared two glasses of fresh orange juice. “But I know I’m lying to myself.”

  “It’s an understandable reaction.” He passed her the glass of cold juice. “You’ve grown up within the organisation and you have developed loyalties over the years. To have those loyalties tested is the hardest thing that any type of relationship can have.”

  “How do you mean relationship?” Sarah queried.

  “Yes, if you have a husband, a wife, a close friend, during your time together you crea
te bonds. A trust is formed, when you think that trust has been broken or misused, you automatically feel hurt, angry and you need to do something about it.”

  “You see the Associates as a relationship?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’d never thought of it that way before,” she admitted.

  “I’ve been with them a long time, I have sacrificed many things. If there is someone trying to destroy what we help build, we must do everything we can to stop it.”

  Sarah gulped down the orange juice: Edward’s words were so strong and defiant. As he spoke he filled her with the belief that what she was doing was the right thing, keeping everyone in the dark was the only course of action. “Yes, I absolutely agree.”

  “I am so pleased they saw fit to pass this assignment onto you.” He reached out his hand and brushed her hair, “You are the best student I ever had, having helped shape you in some little way, into the woman you are now is priceless to me.”

  “Edward,” she was overwhelmed by his emotion. “I’ve never seen you like this.”

  “I need you to know that, it’s important you know how much our time together has meant.”

  Sarah was worried, he was acting all wrong. “What have I missed?”

  “If we are found out. If we fail in our mission and the person or persons take over. We will have nowhere to go, no place to hide. This is that important.”

  “I understand. We won’t fail, we will find them and we will punish them.”

  Edward and Sarah continued talking for a while, mostly reminiscing about the days when she was learning her craft under his guidance. He had shown Sarah a more human side of himself today, at first she thought it would diminish the reverence she had for him. But it didn’t, she actually saw where his purpose came from. Edward walked her to the sports car outside.

  “Drive carefully, Sarah.”

  “I will.” The door clunked shut. Sarah rolled down the window and added. “Thank you for the chat, you have settled my nerves. I know we’re doing the right thing.”