Dark Rain: Book 1 of The Aetherium Saga

by Jilly MacKenzie

  Lenore scrutinised the windows, peering into their darkened panes. But beyond them only revealed a long unlit brick corridor inside. It almost matched the darkness beginning to spread across the sky.

  I am sure I saw something move in there before… Maybe an orderly hurrying down the hallway?

  Lenore stood there in the cold nightfall, and the crash of distant thunder made her jump. She chuckled to herself, gazing over the line of windows once more, and her eyes identified a figure within the darkness, watching her. She jolted again in sudden fright and realisation. How long has that person been staring at me!

  She assessed the figure uneasily, for a short moment, then turned and walked briskly back through the courtyard and out of sight of the windows, and her mysterious observer.

  I know who you are. And you DO have the head of jackal.

  Chapter 3

  Tears And Thunder

  A new resident, she thought as the red-haired newcomer studied her for a long while, then quickly left.

  Anubis’ watchful blue eyes bore through the large, full-length window.

  They’re always afraid, she thought cynically as her hand reached up and touched the smooth, hard surface which covered the upper portion of her face.

  Another rumble sounded in the distance, and she instinctively touched the glass with a delicate tap of her nails. Elation filled her heart, and a knowing smile crept out from under her mask.

  Come closer, storm. Please come closer tonight.

  Anubis had been waiting months for news of a thunderstorm. She did not expect one while there was still snowfall, but according to her orderlies, one was on its way. And that was enough for her to stand patiently for hours, at the hallway windows in order to see him. The shadow man.

  ‘You don’t want any lights on, Madame?’ a young female orderly enquired into the darkness from the end of the hallway. Anubis, unmoving from her watchful position by the window, replied merely with a slow shake of her head.

  ‘Very well, Madame,’ the orderly sighed with resignation, and left with the soft close of a door. She, and only a few other members of staff, work closely with the mysterious masked patient. They allowed Anubis a good degree of freedom, including unhindered roaming of the entirety of the isolated section. After all, she was the sole habitant of that part of the chateau.

  The Drakestoke staff felt sorry for her. For what she had been through, and the silent life she now lead in seclusion. The only time she ever joined the other residents, was during the Christmas masquerade. One night a year.

  Her personal orderlies wished she would break her silence, embrace rehabilitation, and be moved to the main part of the chateau. But even monthly electrotherapy did nothing. Instead, the mute masked patient in unfazed by the treatment, in complete acceptance, seemingly unfeeling to the biting energy that coursed through her body.

  Anubis was one of a kind. Like nothing the institution had ever seen before. Two years and counting of muteness, and no improvement. A soul so broken, it seemed to have vacated the body entirely. Leaving a walking shell of a woman.

  Will she ever improve? The young orderly looked once more upon a surveillance screen. Anubis was motionless, gazing out of the window in the dark hallway. Poor lonely soul, I don’t agree with her being kept here. But Madame Cavere insists. She sighed, then engaged the energy barriers, closing off the isolated section securely for the night.

  Anubis turned from the window to face the wall behind her. The dim bluish haze of moonlight reflecting off the courtyard snow, cast a solid black shadow of her form against the brick wall. My shadow. Not his.

  She could see the outline of her feminine body in the form-fitting Drakestoke attire. She was slender, and shapely with a small waist. Her untamed brunette locks created a mane-like appearance upon her shoulders. And the two unmistakable jackal ears of her mask, pointed proudly up from her head. Just my shadow.

  Her disappointment was short-lived however, as a bright white flash penetrated the entire hallway, lighting up every dark crevice between the brick walls. And him.

  Anubis stared in joy at the figure before her, in place of where her shadow was only seconds before. For the briefest of moments her eyes drank in the details of his solid black silhouette, illuminated starkly in the lightning flash.

  He stood at a height greater than her own. His form was undoubtedly masculine, with a muscled figure clearly outlined. Strong neck. And a mass of jagged, undulating hair, atop his perfectly chiselled head. His shadow, at last, Anubis thought with relief as she watched the shadow slowly fade and morph back into her own shape.

  She waited patiently in the rumbling dark for another lightning discharge to show him to her.

  A white flash again. The shadow imitated Anubis’ own movements as she bolted over and caressed the brick wall he was displayed against.

  It moved like her shadow, but it wasn’t her shadow. I’m not crazy. Seven times in two years I have seen him, she recalled as she stroked the rough, cold place where his face was.

  The storm passed overhead, gracing Anubis with several more blinding images of her shadowy companion. She sat in awe, gently tracing his form upon the wall with her fingers, wishing him to never leave.

  The only sound among the strange pair was the deep rumbling of thunder vibrating through the sky. And just like every time before, when lightning no longer illuminated her, he was gone. Replaced by her own shadow once again.

  Anubis was left on the floor of the dark hallway, slumped against her own shadow, sobbing quietly into the silence as the last remnants of thunder moved away into the distance.

  Chapter 4

  Secrets

  A week had passed since Lenore’s induction into Drakestoke Psychiatric Institution, and it had taken her that long to determine the routine of the psychiatrist. She had studied the psychiatrists office times, the times she took her breaks, and her sleeping pattern. Lenore was determined to gain access the resident files one way or another.

  A detail that Lenore found interesting, was that the staff quarters were devoid of obstacles. The energy barriers were never engaged as they slept, and a few room doors were even left unlocked. Probably because they know that the residents here are barred into their rooms by automated locks throughout the night, Lenore assumed bitterly. The only people wandering the chateau freely, would be staff, or low-risk residents, like me.

  The psychiatrists bedchamber door was thankfully one of the few that were unlocked at night, and Lenore had taken the opportunity to creep into the darkened room, the night before. Taking with her, a super-sensitive, highly-malleable putty.

  She had crouched, barely breathing from nerves, beside the snoring psychiatrist. The form of the right arm was slightly visible under the bedsheets, and Lenore gently moved the sheets, revealing it.

  She had then made the putty warm and soft in her own hands, and gingerly singled out the psychiatrists pointer finger.

  Lenore’s heart was racing, her throat was constricted and dry, as her senses became attuned to the risky situation. God, if I’m caught now, I’m done for. Mission over, she dreaded.

  Trying to be as light as air, Lenore pressed the psychiatrists pointer finger into the putty, and held it there a few moments. She froze in fear as the psychiatrists head flipped over to the other side and resumed snoring.

  Removing the finger from the putty, revealed a perfectly detailed imprint of the finger. Yes, perfect, and she swiftly left the room.

  Back in the safety of her own room, Lenore unearthed an ECIT tool from her pack, a sachet of artificial gelatine-based powder. She opened it and mixed it with water, producing a viscous liquid which was easily poured into the hardened mould.

  After some time, the liquid had set, and became a silicone-like layer which Lenore peeled from the mould, revealing the perfectly replicated fingerprint of the Drakestoke psychiatrist. This material was bio-mimicking, and super-conductive, which meant it felt like human skin, both tactilely, and thermally.

  N
ow, one night on, Lenore waited for the shadows cast through the windows by the moon, to cover the hall entrance to the staff offices.

  After an hour or two of waiting, the hallway entrance was eventually consumed by darkness, and Lenore began to move.

  She stuck to the blackened wall, obscured within the darkness, as the automatic surveillance cameras continued their repetitive side to side sweep of the foyer.

  The cameras did not follow her movement as she slid down through the shadows, and she waited for the brief blind spot, made by the slightly out-of-sync movements of the cameras.

  Now’s my chance! And she ducked from the darkness and into the medical section hallway to the psychiatrist office door.

  Lenore unpocketed the copied fingertip, and she placed it firmly over her own pointer finger, allowing the rubbery, skin-like material to warm up. Then placed it firmly on the print-reader beside the door.

  A green line swept up and down her finger, scanning the print, then a soft beep sounded, followed by a satisfying series of clicks as the steel locking bars on the door were pulled back. The door had unlocked.

  Upon entering, Lenore made straight for the computer terminal and punched in the login code. DIGS4232. Lenore had previously memorised the pattern while watching the psychiatrist login in during her obligatory psyche check-up.

  She opened up the resident records, and almost quivered with excitement and anticipation for what she may find. After a few seconds of browsing, she came across Cats records. Identifying her as Catherine Sowerby, currently 18 years old, and daughter of a wealthy family from the UK megatropolis, Liverpool.

  They left her here at Drakestoke at 13 years of age after a year of ‘embarrassment from her feline disposition, and incessant seeking of attention of any kind.’

  The Drakestoke Psychiatrist had concluded that Catherine was only young and very fond of cats at the time, and acting out animal behaviours is normal for children. However, the trauma of abandonment at Drakestoke had made the behaviour stick, and the attention seeking vanished with the befriending of Subject CLXY12. A small daily dose of stimulant is recommended to keep her content, energised, and happy. That explains her energy, Lenore mused. Subject CLXY12...That must be Axel! His IGS creators didn’t even give him a name…

  Lenore immediately began scanning through the records in search of him. Unsure of whether Drakestoke had stored Axel under A, S, or C, she quickly browsed them all, eventually finding him under ‘C’ for CLXY12.

  It stood for Canis Lupus, Male, Result 12.

  Axel was a ‘successful’ result of IGS’s sickening genetic splicing of human and grey wolf DNA. So that’s why Cat calls him ‘wolfie’.

  His ‘origin year’ was 2067, and in 2082, at the age of 15, he escaped from his laboratory facility in Stockholm, Sweden by hanging underneath an IGS delivery vehicle by its wheel axles. His new name is obviously derived from that daring feat, Lenore smiled to herself. He’s been here for 10 years… he’s adapted very well to life here considering his unfortunate beginning in this world.

  Subject CLXY12 was captured just northeast of Stockholm after 2 hours of running and swimming, presumably trying to reach the densely reforested northern area of Sweden. He was brought to Drakestoke the next day for lifetime captivity, under order of the IGS, until ‘such a time he is needed for further genetic usage or destruction.’

  Anger and a sickening helplessness rose in Lenore. With one word, IGS can take Axel away for experimentation, or should they decide, even kill him. This is so wrong!

  Her heart quickened with purpose as she realised the importance of the records she was viewing.

  I now have proof that the IGS is even more darker than it seems, and its splicing schemes are indeed real and even more sick and twisted than we thought.

  The psychiatrist stated that without his daily medication of depressants and sedatives, Axel can become ‘volatile and animalistic in nature, unable to respond to reason.’ Yet, even while medicated, he can display unacceptable behaviour, such as on 14/03/2090 - Deryk Lloyd’s attempted sexual attack on Catherine Sowerby.

  So Deryk did indeed try to harm Cat, and Axel protected her. No wonder Deryk is under close supervision by orderlies at all times.

  Lenore continued reading Axel's records and learned that while the Drakestoke psychiatrist acknowledges the heroic intent behind Subject CLXY12’s actions to defend Catherine Sowerby, they could not condone acts of violence within its walls and he was punished with 24 hours in an isolation cell. Yet additional days were added to the duration of punishment due to his disturbing howling during the nights. He was eventually released after a total of one week in isolation.

  Poor Axel... I wonder what he knows about Anubis? He was housed in her section for a week.

  Lenore tapped the print option, and a bright light began silently moving horizontally, beside the terminal. Perfect copies of Axels records were ejected on beige corn-paper.

  She folded and slid the copies under her top, making sure to smooth them down and make the shape of papers under her top as unnoticeable as possible.

  Quickly skimming down through the ‘L’ section, she opened up the folder for Deryk Lloyd. The file was marked red with an asterisk. A mark for danger, most likely… Lenore thought bitterly, and she became instantly uneasy about her previous meetings and close contact with him, given also his previous attempted crime against Cat. What else could he have done to warrant a ‘danger’ stamp? And why is his name so familiar?

  Deryk' records revealed he was 33 years of age and a former IGS Enforcer, incarcerated here on 07/02/2090, a week after he had violently murdered his 6 year old son.

  Lenore couldn't believe what she was reading, he murdered his own son! And he's an ex-IGS Enforcer. That's why his surname sounds familiar. I know of an IGS boss called Richard Lloyd. Are they any relation to one another?

  She opened up a photograph of the crime scene, complete with the mutilated body of a child. Lay on his back, his arms and hands were splayed out in a position which evoked a sense of surrender and helplessness, and pyjamas flecked with dark red. The head was no longer a head, but a mangled pulp of red, black, and grey. Bright white shards of skull were sticking out of the messy heap.

  Lenore's vision blurred as tears welled up in her green eyes, and her hands flew to her mouth in shock. She tried to compose herself and waited a few moments for her obscured vision to recover, to view the next picture.

  It showed Deryk, unconscious in a hospital bed. His face was cut and swollen into a black and blue mass, with tubes in his mouth and nostrils. The image caption revealed that Deryk was hospitalised soon after his crime, from sustaining a frenzied attack by his wife, Lady Victoria Vesper Morwenstow.

  The IGS usually euthanise criminals so swiftly, eliminating such criminal dispositions and genes from the human gene-pool. But why have they left Deryk alive? What makes him more important than the thousands that are killed for lesser crimes.

  Though, as much as she fought the doubt, Lenore already knew the answer, and she forced herself to continue, revealing what she already suspected.

  “Dr Richard Lloyd, Director of the European Sector of the IGS, insists that his son is to be confidentially incarcerated here at Drakestoke for the remainder of his life.”

  His son… Deryk is the son of an IGS Overseer. That explains why he is still alive. It also explains why his name seemed so familiar. I remember Richard Lloyd making a televised announcement a couple of years ago. He mournfully announced the death of his son, daughter-in-law, and grandson in an ‘unfortunate skycraft accident’ supposedly killing all three members of the prestigious family.

  Lenore became suddenly aware of where she was and how liberally she was spending her time in such off-limits surroundings.

  She manually cleared her browsing history and deleted her cyber movements, then exited the office, leaving the room exactly as she has entered.

  Once again in the safety of her room, Lenore couldn't help but feel the weight
of what she'd learned. What happened to Deryk's wife? She had attacked Deryk, the protected son of the IGS Director. Did that warrant her destruction? And the IGS… I've now got proof they are creating spliced humans, and spinning cover stories to protect the criminals in their ranks. That organisation needs to go down burning.

  Chapter 5

  Cosmic Coincidence

  ‘How are you finding your stay here at our institution, Miss Blake?’ asked the reassuringly gentle voice and kindly old face of Madame Cavere.

  ‘Very pleasant, thank you Madame,’ Lenore replied with a genuine smile.

  I have to admit, Drakestoke is a haven for its residents. They have everything they could ever need. I've seen comfort, luxury, friendships, and even love here. But there is a real threat lurking within its walls. Two actually… the rogue Anuna, and Deryk Lloyd.

  The sight of the Madame around Drakestoke was common one, and during Lenore’s first week the overseer was usually seen conversing happily with staff and residents alike. Yet, this week she had seemed preoccupied, and was seen walking hurriedly about the hallways, and talking with the isolation staff in hushed voices. Rarely seen conducting her weekly chats with residents, and only now speaking to Lenore for the first time since her arrival. She seemed worried. Or nervous maybe. Why?

  The overseer nodded in approval of Lenore’s contentment and gathered up her papers from the small table beside her.

  ‘Please enjoy our hospitality for as long as you desire it,’ Cavere insisted as she rose to her feet.

  That same hospitality is also dished out to that murderous bastard Deryk Lloyd… No matter what kindly façade you wear, Madame Cavere, you are an IGS employee, and therefore impossible to trust. Lenore thought of the copy of Axels records she had hidden under a portion of loose wallpapering in her room and smiled.