City of Darkness

by D P Wright

  Kessler was determined to get some answers. If the DPD or Corps Boys did not kill the priest then who did? He did not have much to go on and felt the steely, clammy grip of desperation begin to tense his body. His life began to close in around him. Little Chi and the Le Morte twins, the Council pulling him from the streets never to be seen again and then this danger from below that had got even the Council spooked, all these thoughts swirled around in his head. A sense of foreboding took hold of him and all he wanted to do was curl up into a ball. His mind again strayed onto thoughts of taking a hit and allow all his problems to leave him in an instant, allow him to escape. He realised, as his thoughts played out in his head, that he had stopped the junker by the side of the road and his left hand was fingering his coat pocket where the last of Stacey’s sim lay waiting. Sweat poured down his face and he shivered as a chill took him. Shaking, he pulled his glove off his right hand and reached around to take the vial of chem. He looked out of the canopy into the gloom and the rain and then back to the sim which he held between his thumb and forefinger.

  A quick, well practised, flash of movement and the chem powered its way through his system. Immediately all was better, immediately the darkness surrounding Kessler did not seem quite so dark. The junker’s engine came alive and he continued on his way.

  It was not long before Nimrod Heights came into view. Pulling his hood over his head, Kessler got out of his vehicle and looked up at the tower block which soared up into the gloom above him. A sign hung precariously above the slum’s entrance and sporadically flashed red neon through the relentless downpour. He recognised the building from the newsreels. A few weeks back it had been a chaotic scene as a couple of Dreg gangs had come to blows. Many district governors had little or no control over some of the more powerful groups of Dregs and without the DPD breathing down everyone’s necks, the gangs were left to their own violent devices. The only reason Kessler remembered this scuffle in particular was because the reporter, an attractive midcity girl with purple hair and large augmented breasts, famous on the infogrammes around M5, was killed by some Mute live on air. Her head came clean off. Kessler chuckled, not even the Council could censor that one. It was the talk of the district for months.

  Kessler turned on his torch, adjusted his optics, and made for the entrance. Moving was difficult because of the heavy bandaging across his chest and his sodden plastichem coat felt heavy in the bad air. However, with the chem firing through his veins he did not care about the pain.

  The door to the tower block was buckled and wedged against its frame between crumbling brick walls. Pushing it to the side, Kessler was immediately hit with the pungent smell of human waste. Ahead of him, through the faint frazzled buzz of the strip lighting he could just make out a stairwell.

  Standing within the half-light of the lobby, out of the driving rain, an eerie silence greeted the detective, broken only by a low skittering sound coming from whatever infested this ancient, dilapidated building. He adjusted his hood, tightened his medivent and pulled the collars up on his coat in an attempt to keep out the filth and depravity that he was sure lurked in every corner. He knew that all manner of diseases were rife within the slums and the thought of having any one of them creeping inside his already battered body made him retch. He felt light-headed and had to steady himself, taking long slow breaths through his vent.

  Looking around, Kessler could just make out the remnants of what used to be the lift. Splattered in graffiti, the door was open and revealed creaking cables and chains which descended down below to the darkness of the basement. The whistle and high pitch howl of a haunting wind echoed down the shaft from far above. With a sigh, he turned his attention to the stairs and readied himself for the climb.

  The metal grating let out a resounding ‘clunk’ as Kessler stomped his way up towards the twelfth floor where, according to the faded display on the lobby wall, apartment 407 awaited him. He could not believe the priest would have anything to do with a place such as this and journey so far from the safety of his church. From his writing and from what Bethany had told him he knew of the dangers the slums contained.

  Every few steps his boot made contact with something soft underfoot and Kessler reminded himself to scrub down his clothes next time he was back at the office. As he rose up through the floors he came across a couple of Dregs kissing and groping each other across the stairs blocking his way. The man was a typical low dweller, pale skin and large bulbous yellow eyes, from years of too much bad air and low light. He wore a sleeveless black top, revealing chalky white skinny tattooed arms which were currently making their way over the curves of the girl who, wearing nothing but grubby pink boots and tight, worn plastichem shorts, glared at the detective. Her unblinking, unrelenting stare revealed the severely bloodshot eyes of someone completely burned on sim.

  Kessler tried to get his large frame past them, “Move,” he said with disgust. The girl’s vacant eyes followed him, open mouthed, lipstick smeared across her greasy face, as the man continued to grope and fondle her small, ghostly white breasts. Kessler shoved them to the side and continued his climb. “Dregs…” He sighed to himself.

  As he continued upwards, more haunting noises began to greet Kessler from somewhere in the floors above. Hysterical laughter, manic cries, animal-like grunting and howling, all brief snatches of sound, whispered out from the darkness around him. The climb left him gasping for air as the stagnant heat within the tower weighed down on him. He paused unable to breathe, his chest ached and his lungs, still scorched from the fire, begged for good air. Finally, his rapid gasps of air were quickly followed by the rattle of the empty medivent. “For light’s sake!” He snatched it from his face, gave it a shake before throwing it down the stairs. He reached into his pocket for his Ox inhaler and took a long, deep breath and steadied his breathing. Resting himself against the wall for a moment, he tightly fastened his cloth mask across his face and climbed to the twelfth floor.

  Opening the heavy metal door from the stairwell into a long corridor, the thick smell of waste became suddenly stronger. Doors leading to apartments lay either side of the hallway, some open and others closed shut, all caked in the same grime and graffiti found throughout the sector. In amongst the rubbish and human waste which littered the floor were Dregs, some lying prone, others standing with their back to the wall with their heads rolling back and forth and some hunched over their gear, burning up chem or sniffing some kreg. Loud, heavy electro music drowned out the senses. Two Dregs were sluggishly swaying from side to side, seemingly trying to dance to the barrage of grinding sound. Kessler retightened his cloth mask in a vain attempt to prevent him breathing in this decay.

  Stepping over a prone body, Kessler finally found apartment 407. Like everything in this monstrous place the door was caked in the phrases and symbols of the local gangs but in amongst the garish pink and yellow graffiti the words ‘Lux Ferre’ were carved, again as if by some feral beast, into the cracked metal panelling. He scratched his head and his thoughts went back to the priest’s study in St John’s and the chilling message on his desk. “Light Bringer,” Kessler whispered to himself as his gloved hand traced the shape of the letters.

  A Dreg lay by the door looking up at him, his bald head half pale, sallow skin, the other half completely covered in tattoos. He ginned at the detective as the same question reverberated around Kessler’s head again and again. What would a priest, especially one as devout as Father Jacob supposedly was, have anything to do with this cess pit? He shook his head in exasperation before knocking loudly on the door.

  After a few minutes of waiting the door to number 407 edged open an inch and a single, black veined eye, peered out of the darkness. “What do you want?” A low, gravelled voice hissed from beyond the doorway. The old Dreg on the floor started laughing until a hacking cough made him double over in pain.

  “I have some questions that need answering. I can pay.”

  “Who’s asking?” The voice was low and Kessler struggled
to hear it. The eye darted erratically about, trying to see everything at once.

  “I’m asking. Just want the answer to a couple of questions, no trouble.”

  “Go away.”

  Kessler’s boot prevented the door from slamming shut, “Mind if I come inside?” The clock was ticking, clues as to why the priest died were few and far between and this was his final throw of the dice. Kessler did not have time to mess around. He pushed open the door, easily overcoming the strength of the Dreg and walked inside as the creature scurried to the far corner.

  “What do you want of me?” It spoke in a panic, the low hiss of speech now becoming a squeal.

  The room was in complete darkness bar a small red light that glowed from the com system on a nearby desk and, adding to the thick, filthy air, the room was filled with a sickly sweet stench. Kessler raised his hand across his masked face and tried to resist the urge to gag.

  He threw light onto the cowering creature who immediately turned its face away from the glare. It wore a black hood and from it emerged a skeletal, emaciated fetid grey face. White reflected torch light shone back at Kessler from black, deeply sunken eyes. Its skin had a clammy sheen and was covered in putrid, red bulbous sores. Kessler staggered back at the sight and again covered his face with his good arm. “For light’s sake, what sickness is this?”

  “Stay away!” The creature pleaded.

  Kessler dimmed his torch but kept it trained on the creature. With the glow of the light dulled, it raised itself, stopped shaking and seemed to grow in confidence, “You will not take them. They are mine!”

  Kessler ignored it, “The priest, Father Jacob,” the creature let out a howl and visibly winced at the name, “he came here, often, in the weeks and days leading up to his death. Why would such a citizen visit this,” Kessler looked around the apartment, “nightmare?”

  It stood up straight, its full height making it nearly as tall as Kessler, and took a step towards the detective. Bending forward, the creature tried to get a look at his face, “Who are you? What do you want?” The words hissed from the gloom.

  The detective took another step back and immediately reached for his Luther, “Get back, sit down.” Something crunched beneath his boot. Lowering his light to the floor revealed hundreds of cockroaches that skittered over a grey sludge of festering waste on the apartment’s floor. In amongst the foul-smelling decay was the now familiar image of the burning sun which stared up at Kessler from the many empty caps littering the ground. He felt light-headed and with his free hand took a hit of Ox before repeating, “Why would a priest visit this place?”

  “Yess, yess. Ok, ok.” The Dreg’s words were now measured and he took his time to pronounce each syllable. Walking back slowly, it bowed its head close to the ground, before sitting down on a chair. Spindly arms emerged from the flowing black robes to play with a long chained necklace which hung low from its neck. Its eyes rested on Kessler’s Luther which remained pointed straight at it, “No, no, no. I cannot do that. We agreed. I am finished with that nasty business.” It shook its head and spoke in pleading tones, appearing to be having a conversation with itself, “I am so close, so near. I can see the light, almost touch it. Leave me be. We had a deal.” It raised a pointed finger to thin lips in thought, “Yes. I know he wants it. Ok. Ok.” It suddenly finished speaking with an angry growl and turned back to smile at Kessler. With its constant, nervous mumbling now ceased, only the skittering sound of the critters crawling underfoot and the low, muffled beat of the music out in the hall, filled the room.

  Moments passed without a word before Kessler spoke, “Enough of this.” He powered up the cells of his carbine, “You have one more chance, nut job, before I end you. Tell me why was Father Jacob visiting you?”

  Looking away from Kessler to the other side of the room the Dreg chuckled, its laughter bubbling up through its throat in a painful wheeze. “He thought he had all the answers. Don’t do this. Do that. Then you will hear him. His light, his warmth is everywhere, you just have to look. That is all he would ever say.”

  “Father Jacob told you this?”

  The creature continued, ignoring Kessler’s interruption, “All this to hear God’s words, to feel his light, to know that something, someone, is looking over us. I just wanted to be told that everything was going to be ok.” It wiped its teary eyes with its sleeve before creasing up its face and speaking through gritted teeth in fury, “He lied! All lies!”

  The Dreg held its necklace in a tight grip and shook it, catching the light from Kessler’s torch and drawing the detective’s attention. Kessler had seen that symbol before. A cross shone back at him, similar to that seen at the church and up in Eden Inc. “You know, that necklace you’re wearing looks expensive. What is it? Silver? Pretty hard for a Dreg of your means to come by.” The creature seemed not to hear Kessler, its stare still focused away from him. “You Dregs disgust me. What did you do? Steal it from the priest’s corpse?”

  “What if I told you that there was another answer? That the Ox, and the warmth of light that we all seek, can be got. We just need to grab it.”

  “The Council are…”

  “No!” It interrupted, “No. Not the Council. Just take a hit and you will be given what you want. That’s what they said.”

  “Who said?” Kessler struggled to understand.

  The Dreg continued, “He wouldn’t listen, wanted to take the voices away from me. I told him, I hear the words now but old Jacob would not understand. Told poor Judecca to pray more, stay locked up in that old church and never go out, stay and listen to everyone’s sob stories like a good priest. He was jealous that I could speak to the Light Bringer and he could not hear his voice!”

  Kessler took a step forward as he heard the familiar phrase, “Light Bringer. I have heard those words before.” He focused on the creature, “Those words are on your door, were on Father Jacob’s desk.” The detective’s hand shook as he kept his weapon trained on the creature. At last shattered images, unanswered questions all came crashing together and he began to feel he was close to getting the answers he needed. The creature’s name sparked a memory. Bethany mentioned a Judecca working with her uncle back at St John’s. “Did you kill Father Jacob?”

  “They told me the only way I could hear his voice, feel his light and breathe his air, was to help them talk to Jacob. So I did.”

  “You mean take more sim. That is how you hear the voices? I see empty caps of Lux all over this place, you have certainly been busy.”

  Judecca jolted upright with a start, “I knew it,” anger returning to his voice. “He told me you came to steal my beautifuls. I said no, no but he said yes.”

  Kessler, still keeping his Luther pointed at Judecca, moved to the other side of the room where he had been staring so intently. Waving his torch across the area revealed a sink covered in a dark substance that had congealed over piles of dirty plates and rotting rations. “Quite a lot of blood around here, you must have cut yourself badly, eh?”

  “Poor Judecca just wants to be left alone!” He sobbed into his cloak.

  Kneeling down, the detective opened the drawer beneath the sink to reveal a large box bearing the image of the burning sun. “And what’s this Judecca, have you been a naughty boy?”

  “No. Leave my beautifuls!” He lunged forward, squealing but his sickly, feeble body moved slow enough for Kessler, despite the pain in his arm, to adjust his weight from his crouched position and bring down the butt of his Luther hard onto the back of Judecca’s head. He hit the floor with a thud.

  Inside the box was a large stash of Lux. He whistled and shook his head, he had never seen so much sim in one place before. He grabbed a fistful. Pain returned to him and he struggled to breathe as the thought of sim entered his mind and he shuddered at the possibility of its gentle, warm wave taking hold of him. His grip tightened on the vials and he threw some into his pocket.

  Kneeling over Judecca’s body, Kessler slapped him across the face. “Come on, wa
ke up, I don’t have all day.” Something wasn’t quite right. Judecca’s insanity was obvious but somebody had brought him all this chem and that did not come cheap.

  Judecca opened his eyes and groaned. Kessler held one of the many caps of Lux up to his eyes with one hand, the other had his Luther at the ready. “Who brought you this chem? This much sim could fetch a lot of cred.”

  “I earned it. It’s mine.” His eyes remained closed as he spoke, “He wanted to stop my beauties. Take them away from me.” Judecca’s voice was almost a whisper. Kessler had to kneel close to hear him.

  “You mean Father Jacob wanted to help you ditch the sim?”

  “I told you, he wanted to stop me from hearing, wanted to stop others from hearing. I tried to tell him prayers don’t hear, the church hears nothing from Him anymore. Now I hear everything. I see the light.”

  “Who gave you all this chem?” Kessler repeated.

  “You know. You’ve seen it.”

  “I’ve seen nothing, Mute.”

  “Acheron. They came from Acheron, deep down below to answer our prayers.” He laughed, a sharp gurgle frothed around in the back of his throat. “They opened my eyes and now I know what awaits us. Soon everyone will see, everyone will bathe in the light, have their prayers answered.”

  Kessler stared at the whimpering mess as it lay crouched in the shadows before him. He had seen many times before the creatures that dwelt in the lower parts of the city. Years drenched in the polluted rain, living off the tainted Downtown land and grinding what was left of their brains through the chem blender. He remembered back to the picture of the three priests at the church, the old, stern looking face of Father Jacob and the youthful, smiling faces of the youngsters, arm in arm. That happy image was a far cry from the chem-addled wreck who lay quivering on the filthy floor of this Downtown slum. Judecca’s mind was clearly broken and his addiction had consumed him quickly. Kessler understood now the fear in Stacey Steckles’s eyes when she spoke of the dangers of this new chem. He paused for a minute, again thinking of the photo of the three priests. Judecca spoke in low soft whimpers, “He was my friend. I would never hurt him, never. He wanted to help poor Judecca. But he didn’t understand. They just wanted to give him their warmth, show him their light. Go on they said, leave the window open at night, after service. We only want to talk to him, tell him to stop being so mean to poor Judecca. Tell him to stop telling people not to listen. They wanted to make him understand.”