The DARK Trilogy: Titan's Song Chronicles Volume 1 (Books 1 - 3)

by Jacob Stanley

  She went to the fridge to see if she could find something to eat—clearly the hunger was really fucking with her mind if she was letting a stupid cat make her this pissed off.

  There was an old block of cheddar cheese in there, several two-liter soft-drink bottles—two of which were nearly empty—a six-pack of assorted fruity yogurts…

  And that was about it.

  There were a couple of Tupperware containers left from before her mom took off for Florida a month ago. Obviously nothing edible in those. Not anymore.

  And that’s what happens when you don’t buy any goddamn groceries.

  It was something she still wasn’t accustomed to thinking about. Her apartment in Richmond had been within practical walking distance of several fast food joints and a convenience store. She’d never needed to stock up on food to any significant degree.

  When she moved back to Goldbrook, her intention had been to live at home for a while, let her mother take care of her, and allow herself a short vacation from all the stressful things in life. But that plan fell through almost immediately when her mom decided Simone would make a great house sitter, and took off to spend a few months on the beach in Florida with her rich sister, Claudia.

  Her mother had wanted to pay her 300 bucks a week for watching the place, but Simone didn’t feel right about taking that much, mostly because she still had more than thirty-thousand dollars left in her savings account from her old job in Richmond.

  Her mother wasn’t aware of that money, or the job that had allowed her to earn it, and Simone sure as hell wasn’t ready to have that particular heart-to-heart conversation.

  In the end, she couldn’t see a way to reject her mother’s offer outright without causing suspicion, but she managed to talk her down to 200 bucks.

  By then Simone had already nabbed a part-time job at the local video rental store. She figured the two income streams combined would be enough to take care of herself and keep the house going without having to dig into her nest egg.

  And they had. But just barely.

  The size of the first month’s power bill had blown her mind, and with gas prices so high, living out here in the country, driving more than 20 miles to get to work everyday had cost way more than she expected.

  And now there was a plumbing problem in the upstairs bathroom that could only be explained—as far as she could tell—through the workings of some mysterious supernatural agency. And she was apparently going to have to pay out some amount of money to the lawn mower guy, or—god forbid—mow the yard herself. There was an old push mower out there in the shed that probably still worked, but she couldn’t imagine doing such a thing. It just wasn’t her style.

  With all these concerns in mind, spending more than the minimum on food would obviously be idiotic. She could easily get by on dollar burgers from MacDonald’s and candy-bars if necessary. It was how she operated. Her comfort zone.

  But even so, it was so fucking annoying to wake up hungry, knowing she had a fifteen minute drive to the nearest store or restaurant.

  She closed the fridge, and started out of the room, resolving to go out shortly and pick up a few things—cheap stuff that wouldn’t go bad if she didn’t eat it fast enough.

  As she walked by Melvin’s food bowl she noticed that he had decided to come get his breakfast after all.

  She went over to see if she could make friends with him again, but when she tried to touch him, he hissed and lashed out, leaving five bleeding slashes just above her knuckles.

  The rage that came over Simone then was like falling into a sea of pure red.

  What she wanted, specifically, was to grab the cat, pull his arms and legs off, and then rip him open to get at the stuff in his middle, and pull all that out, and rub it all over herself, and splash the walls with it, and maybe even see how it tasted.

  This seemed like the best course of action that had ever occurred to her in her entire life, and she immediately tried to act on it, leaping towards Melvin with a speed and suddenness that would’ve surprised her if she’d been self-aware enough in that moment to notice it.

  Fast as she was, however, the cat was faster. He moved so quickly in defense of his life that he seemed to almost dematerialize, becoming an undefinable whitish gray blur.

  Yet despite his speed, she managed to stay within a few feet of him, chasing him into the living room where he vanished behind the big leather couch on the far side of the room.

  She could hear him back there, growling.

  “You really think that couch is enough to keep you safe? You worthless little-”

  The phone rang.

  The sound seemed louder than usual. The ringing startled her.

  It rang again.

  She took a breath, blinked.

  What the fuck am I doing? Am I really gonna kill my cat?

  The phone rang again.

  She walked into the kitchen and picked up the receiver on the fourth ring. “Hello.”

  “Simone?” It was Sandy Cole, one of her coworkers at the video store.

  “Yeah, it’s me. What’s up Sandy?”

  “I hate to ask, but I need a favor.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “The school just called. Jonathan’s got the chicken-pox. I have to go pick him up, and I need somebody to come watch the store for about an hour while I drop him off at my mom’s.”

  Simone definitely didn’t want to ruin her off-day with an unplanned trip to the video store, but that wasn’t enough reason to explain the sharp and terribly rude reply that came close to passing her lips.

  Why am I so pissed? The woman’s got a sick kid for god’s sake.

  Simone tried to ignore the obviously unjustified wave of irritation, and said, “I’m having a pretty tough day, Sandy… Do you think Cheryl could do it?”

  “Have you ever tried to get in touch with Cheryl this time of day?”

  “Can you at least give her a call and see if she answers?”

  “I already did.”

  Simone thought this was almost certainly a lie, but she knew from experience that Sandy was probably right—Cheryl was a night owl and most likely wouldn’t even be awake yet. If by chance she was awake, she probably wouldn’t answer the phone.

  I shouldn’t have answered either.

  If she hadn’t been so freaked out about losing her temper and trying to kill her cat (was I really gonna do that? What the fuck is wrong with me?) she probably wouldn’t have.

  “You could call David,” she said.

  “Jesus, Simone, don’t do this to me! I’m already on thin ice with David. He’s itching for a reason to fire me.”

  Simone sighed.

  “Please!” Sandy sounded as if she might be about to cry. “If it was you, and something this important came up, you wouldn’t have to ask me twice.”

  Simone realized then that there was no way she was gonna get out of this without being a full-on bitch.

  It’s too late, actually. I’m already being a bitch. And for no good reason.

  Sandy was a pretty decent lady, and had been good to Simone in their short time of acquaintance. She didn’t deserve to be treated so badly.

  It’s just an hour. You can go up there for an hour. It won’t hurt you.

  “Okay,” she said. “I guess I can rearrange some things if it’s really important.”

  “You’ll come?”

  “Sure.”

  “How long till you get here?”

  “I just got out of the shower. I guess I can be there in about 45 minutes if I hurry.”

  “That long?”

  “I don’t live very close to town.”

  Sandy sighed. “Alright fine, that’ll have to do. Just please hurry… And thanks.”

  “It’s really no problem. Sorry for being a cunt about it.” She placed the phone back onto the cradle, and wondered how this day could possibly get any worse.

  Chapter 5 - Abandon

  Thackery got out of his car, put his hands in his pockets
and looked around.

  Joe’s house was a crummy looking white shack, surrounded on all sides by a patch of pine forest. The area was actually quite beautiful, a nice place to live, very secluded and quiet.

  Joe’s car wasn’t there, and the house felt empty.

  Malcolm sensed that it really was empty, and the thought came to him in that tingly, warm way that told him it was one of his special intuitions, the ones that weren’t entirely natural.

  Unfortunately, his intuition was probably the least reliable of his gifts, and the most likely to lead him astray, so he decided to make sure Joe really was gone before he busted in.

  He went up to the door, gave it a few knocks, put his ear against the wood listening for any sounds. He walked around the side of the house peeking through the windows as he went but found the curtains were all drawn.

  The door at the rear was about four feet off the ground; there had been a porch there years ago, maybe even a deck, but now there was just a stack of concrete blocks serving as a crude and wobbly set of makeshift stair steps. The door had a little diamond shaped window set into it, and Thackery climbed the steps to take a peek in, but the interior was too dim to make out anything much.

  He cupped his hand around his mouth, and yelled as loud as he could, “Joe! Are you there?”

  The only answer was silence.

  The place was either empty, or else Joe was hiding in there pretending to be gone. Either way, Malcolm needed to get inside.

  He tested the back door and found that it was locked, so he went around to the front and gave it a try, but it was locked too.

  So much for that…

  He stepped back from the door and kicked it, twice, stomping down with all his weight, but it didn’t even budge, and he came away feeling a bit foolish.

  Luckily, there were windows everywhere.

  He pulled his .357 magnum revolver from the holster under his left arm, and approached the window nearest the door.

  He shielded his eyes with his arm, and whacked at the pane with the butt of the pistol. Glass exploded everywhere in a satisfying way, leaving a hole about eight inches across. He started to clear away the rest so he could crawl through, and then it occurred to him to try unlocking the window and raising it.

  He reached through the hole, felt around til he found the lock, and discovered that it wasn’t actually engaged at all. Then he grabbed the inner frame, gave it an upward push, and the window raised very easily with no scraping or squeaking, as though the tracks had been recently oiled.

  A bit of decent luck there.

  He leaned forward, pulled the curtain aside, and peered in at Joe’s living room. The interior was fairly dark with all the curtains drawn, but from what he could tell everything seemed to be orderly. Tidy. There was a dark blue couch, and matching chairs, and there were glass tables in the corners. The floor was covered with a simple gray carpet that looked like something you might see in a government building.

  He holstered his pistol, grabbed the inner wall, and hoisted one leg over the edge of the window frame, awkwardly pulling himself inside. His size made it hard to fit, forcing him to tilt his body sideways a bit, and he nearly fell down when he tried to stand up within, wheeling his arms a bit to regain his balance.

  He stood there and listened for a moment. The only sound was a low hum, presumably coming from the refrigerator.

  Malcolm had only been in the house a few times over the years, certainly not enough to make him any kind of expert on its normal condition, but still, it was obvious that something was off.

  It’s just too damn clean.

  And it wasn’t just clean in a normal way, as though Joe had taken the trouble to tidy things up a bit. It was clean like a house that nobody lived in. There wasn’t a speck of anything anywhere. The tables gleamed without the least hint of a smudge. There were no stains on the floor. The ashtrays had been recently emptied, and there wasn’t even any residue in them.

  It was like entering a hotel room right after the cleaning crew finished with it.

  This was even more surprising because during Malcolm’s previous visits, Joe had always come across as a bit of a slob, or at least as much of a slob as Malcolm himself was. There had always been a lingering smell of cigarette smoke in the house, and folders full of papers scattered, and bags half-full of potato chips left on tables beside empty beer cans.

  To put it plainly, it had been pretty obvious you were walking into the house of a bachelor.

  Of course, it was possible Joe might have a woman living with him now. The man was frightfully ugly, but life had taught Thackery that love was blind in many cases. Even miserable weasels like Joe often found someone eventually.

  Perhaps he had a lady-love with a compulsion to clean maniacally.

  Malcolm went over to the light switch near the room entrance, flicked it up, and an overhead bulb flared.

  With the light on, everything looked even cleaner.

  He quickly walked around the house, checking each room.

  The kitchen was immaculate to the point where the metal of the sink actually seemed to glow. The trash was empty with a brand new bag in it. The bedroom was perfectly tidy, no loose clothing anywhere, the bathroom had a wonderful flowery scent, and there was one of those things in the toilet that made the water turn blue.

  He also noticed there were many things missing during his search. Joe’s computer, for instance, was nowhere in sight. The desk in the living room where it had been previously was now just gone. Furthermore, there weren’t any artifacts, books or anything else that had the vaguest whiff of the arcane about it. In fact, there wasn’t a sign of a book anywhere, nor any book shelves.

  It’s like he moved away and left the place to be rented out or something.

  And maybe he had.

  Maybe he’d made a fortune doing something dodgy, and now he had enough money to afford nicer accommodations.

  That made Thackery think of something he hadn’t checked. He walked back into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and saw that it was full of food: cold cuts, milk, eggs, salad dressing, cheese. He checked several cabinets as well, found canned goods, cereals, and bags full of different kinds of chips with little plastic clamps on them to keep them fresh.

  There goes that theory.

  It didn’t seem likely that Joe had moved away with no intention of coming back and left all this food behind.

  Malcolm strolled through the hall back into the living room, and sat down on the couch.

  I wonder if there’s any booze here somewhere…

  He could use a shot or two of something that burned a little. Of course, that wouldn’t be very professional. He could almost hear Enid cursing at him for even considering it.

  He massaged his temples, and let his thoughts wander a little, thinking of what to do next.

  So far he hadn’t turned up anything especially useful, but he had barely begun to really examine the house.

  The next step was probably to employ a few of his investigative gadgets.

  He decided to try the See-All first, and drew it from a pocket hidden on the inside of his coat.

  At first glance, it looked like a very large magnifying glass. The handle and frame were both fairly ornate, made from silvery metal with swirling patterns engraved on them. At the bottom of the handle, serving as a kind of pommel, there were two dials, one above the other. The top one selected between a wide variety of different viewing modes, and the smaller bottom dial adjusted the ranges of each mode: for example, increasing or decreasing intensities, changing wavelengths, zooming in and zooming out.

  His See-All was a family heirloom, passed down all the way from his great grandmother on his father’s side, who had received it as a gift from one of the Traveling People for rendering some important service. There were others in The Order who had similar tools, but his was especially nice because it had been modified specifically for human use. Most others were, of course, set up with the Traveling People in mind, and the vas
t differences in culture resulted in a very odd ordering of the viewing modes and the addition of many archaic functions. His was actually quite simple to use and was the envy of many of his colleagues.

  Now, he stood and raised the device up, looking out at the world through the lens. A slight tingle ran up his arm as the See-All reached inside him, taking advantage of his connection to The Stream, piggybacking onto it. Soon he felt the handle growing warm, and knew it was waking up.

  The See-All could do all kinds of neat things: translate languages, zoom in on far away scenes about as well as a set of binoculars, magnify small objects, highlight organic traces such as blood stains and skin oils even after they were no longer visible to the naked eye, show different spectrums of light such as infrared… Many, many things.

  Today, he adjusted the top dial selecting one of its more arcane functions: the mode that showed traces left behind by psi activity.

  After a short delay the lens shimmered slightly, and then a blue colored mist appeared all over the living room floor, about ankle deep. The blue color was the See-All’s way of showing that the psi traces were of an earthly human variety. Joe’s very meager gifts—photographic memory, and a slight empathic ability—would naturally leave behind a lot of blue residue since they were the kinds of gifts that were almost always active.

  Thackery didn’t even bother to search the rest of the house for blue traces. They were to be expected.

  Instead, he turned the smaller dial on the bottom, like tuning a radio, until the blue clouds gradually disappeared, and were replaced by a couple of faint yellow pools, both in the general vicinity of the couch. The yellow represented the energy signature of psi activity associated with the parallel reality known as Ulfarra—the world of the Travelers. At that very moment Thackery was leaving a new pool of yellow on the ground around his feet from utilizing the See-All, but the other traces were very old.

  He walked through the house, searching for more yellow mist, but only found a few small swathes, all but one of them faint enough that they had to be more than two weeks old. Joe dealt with ancient artifacts on a regular basis as part of his job with The Order, and owned a fair number of Traveler gadgets himself, so it seemed odd to Thackery that there wasn’t more yellow here.