Redemption (Enigma Black Book #3) Prologue

Can't wait until summer?  Read the Prologue below (subject to further editing and revisions):

Prologue

            I could hear the beat of the drums. They reverberated in my head, a war cry only audible to me. Their disembodied rhythm tore its way through my veins, energizing my soul, reviving my battered body. Ignoring the pain, the holes in my tattered suit, the screams from the dying city I once called home, I charged on to the sound of their deafening chorus.

            With each footfall, images crept into my mind, playing in a continuous loop. Images of my father and mother, of Jake, Lucy, and Blake, whose lives had been lost in this decade of chaos we’d come to know as life.

            It would all end tonight.

            No more would a child know the meaning of the word death.  No more would our cities remain abandoned, hollow shells of the hubs of prosperity they once were. Fear would loosen its grip on society.  The deaths of those we loved and of those who loved us would not have been in vain.  Tonight would be the end, and we were willing to die to ensure its demise. 

            We would die to ensure his demise.

            Next to me, Ian ran, keeping up with my fevered pace, his body just as bloodied and bruised as my own. We were both numb.  Too numb to notice the agony we should have felt, too numb to care what happened to us anymore; for we had been deceived in the worst possible way, and deception had a way of turning suffering into fuel, igniting unbridled rage.  Ian lunged forward, overtaking me, a flap from his torn suit bounced with each step he took, exposing his left shoulder blade.  Blood, caked with dirt, dotted his exposed flesh, revealing a hint of an injury kept hidden by the remaining material. I wondered whether he could hear the drums, too, or whether he heard anything at all.

            I sped up to catch him, jumping over a pillar that had been toppled over, presumably by one of the many explosions that had rocked the city over the past couple hours. Had I not grown up here, I wouldn’t even have recognized some of the buildings for what they once were.  My former high school, the bank where’d I’d spent my final days of normalcy, and the diner where Blake offered me the chance to rid myself of my nightmares, were now nothing more than indiscernible piles of concrete.

In the streets, dodging debris, escaping smoke and flame, survivors of the attacks ran haphazardly, seeking refuge where none existed.  Above us, the late evening sky, reddened by the flames that hugged nearly every block, took on the appearance of fresh blood flowing from a gaping wound. If someone had asked me before that moment what I thought the end of the world would look like, my description would have paled in comparison to the scene that was splayed out before us now.  We were no longer on Earth, but in the very bowels of Hell itself.

This attack had been personal, but then again, they all had been personal in a way. The crazed vendetta, the evil that resided in the entity the people had come to know as The Man in Black had unleashed itself to the nth degree. Perhaps sensing his reign of terror drawing to an end, he was determined – no, desperate – to go out with a bang…and take out the last of those I had known and loved in my former life in the process.

“Turn left down the next block,” I instructed Ian, hoping he could hear me through the insanity surrounding us.

“There’s a next block?” he responded, his pace slowing a notch. “How do you tell where one ends and the other begins?”

“Follow me.” I passed Ian, picking up my pace. Whatever happened tonight, whatever happened to me, I couldn’t – no, I wouldn’t – let them suffer for the choices I had made. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Ian, matching me stride for stride, unwilling to let me dive  headfirst alone into the imminent confrontation that awaited us. Swiftly, I rounded a corner next to a small café near my old apartment building and bolted down an adjacent alleyway.

“How much further?” There was a touch of apprehension in his voice.  I had noticed it building with each step we made, with each breath he took. 

“Five blocks,” I answered him in an unaffected tone, trying to keep my own fears from betraying me. “The lodge is five blocks ahead.” My voice shook more than I would have liked.

“Are you okay,” he asked, concerned.

So much for being the strong one. Ian gazed at me between periodic glances back at the street ahead of us; his green eyes pierced through my helmet as though he was trying to see inside my soul for the answer. “No,” I finally answered him truthfully. “There’s nothing okay about me right now.”

“We’ll find him, Celaine.  We’ll find Chase and the rest of them, and we’ll get them out safely.  It’s not them he wants…”

“Exactly, Ian. It’s me he wants. I’m the reason for this.  If they die tonight, it’s because of their association with me.” I paused, the tears welling in my eyes, momentarily blinding me.  “If you die tonight…”  Suddenly, my body was forced to a halt as though I’d been strapped to a tether that had run out of slack. Looking down at my arm, I saw Ian’s hand and the firm grip his fingers had around my wrist.

“Listen to me.” He pulled my mask up, forcing us to stand face to face, green eyes to brown eyes. “I’m not even going to pretend to know what’s going to happen tonight, or what the final outcome will be. Whether we survive this nightmare, or whether we don’t, I just want you to know that there’s no place I’d rather be than fighting alongside you right now, no matter what the consequences. Leaving Norfolk with you was the best decision I ever made, and nothing, nothing, will make me regret the chain of events that brought me to this place at this very moment.”

            I felt a tear escape from the corner of my eye, and Ian’s gloved hand swiftly wiping it away before it had a chance to fall down my cheek. “Ian, I…”

            “I know you don’t feel the same way about me…”

            “Ian, stop. I…”

            “Let me finish my thought,” he interrupted me again, gently touching his fingers to my lips. “Please, Celaine, just let me just get it out. Then after I do, you can tell me how wrong I am.” The tiniest hint of a smile crept across his face, the rest of which was betraying the coolness he was trying so hard to project.  I nodded without taking my eyes away from his, and the new creases that had developed in the corners of them over the past few weeks. Worry.  We’d both experienced enough of it to last us a lifetime. “I know you don’t love me the same way you loved him, or, perhaps, the way you still love him now,” he began again.  “And although that’s frustrating as hell, I also know that I can make you happy again, and I think you know that, too.  You’re just too afraid to admit it to yourself.” He caressed my cheek, pausing to let me absorb everything he had just said, not expecting a response in return.  “All I ask is that you promise me one thing.”

            “Anything,” I answered him automatically, knowing that I meant my response wholeheartedly, even though I hadn’t fully processed the weight of his words.

            “Promise me that if we both make it out of this alive, you’ll give me a chance to make you whole again."

            The tears fell down my face unhindered in their descent. “I promise.”

            Ian leaned in closer to me, pressing his lips to my forehead.  “Thank you,” he whispered.

            We stood there together in an embrace that no amount of force could separate – an island in the sea of chaos that crashed around us – before finally allowing reality to set in again.  Together, we resumed our journey into the unknown, to whatever fate had in store for us.

            I could hear the beat of the drums. Their echo haunted me with every step I took, with every beat of my own heart.  They beat for Ian, whose love I didn’t deserve; they beat for Chase, whose life was now in our hands. 

The Daily Inspirational Quotational

Today's Inspirational Quotational is brought to you by George Orwell, a brilliant novelist and revolutionary thinker with ideas that trascended his time. I've incorporated some of the elements of 1984 into Enigma Black:

"For a creative writer possession of the "truth" is less important than emotional sincerity."--George Orwell

Enigma Black Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The Aftermath-Ten Years Later

Through the windows of our SUV, I could see their faces staring at me, pleading for me to free them.  I had exactly ten seconds to save them….9…8. The department store door jammed, forcing me to scan the rubble for the familiar metal pole. Success. I grabbed the pole from the severed hand’s grasp releasing each finger from their death grip around it. Time was running out…7…6…5.

Giving up on prying the door open, I threw my body against it, shattering it into a thousand pieces.  The clock ticked away…4…3…2…I took off running towards them. I was going to make it this time. Finally, I was going to be able to save them.  But, as this scenario always unfolded, when the final second ticked away a dark figure appeared in front of me. It threw its arms up into the air summoning an enormous explosion, throwing me back into the store. My family was gone.

I shot up in bed, a cold sweat trickling down my face.  Ten years had gone by and still the vivid nightmares of that horrible day continued to plague me unrelentingly.  Sitting up, I allowed my eyes to adjust to the darkness. My heart was pounding hard within my chest making breathing difficult.  Taking in a deep breath, I guided my fingers along the contents atop my nightstand stopping when they hit my cell phone. It was three o’clock in the morning, but I knew he wouldn’t mind.  He never minded.  In the two years I had known him, I’d only seen him upset a handful of times all of which were work-related.

He picked up on the fourth ring. "Hey you," he answered groggily further intensifying my guilt.

"How did you know it was me?"
　　　　　　　　　　　
 "My other girlfriend already called me hours ago."

I could almost see the smirk forming on his face. "Very funny," I retorted.

"Did you have another nightmare?"

"Yeah, that makes four now in one week."　

Tears started forming with a single one running down my cheek.  "Will this ever stop? Haven’t I been tortured enough already?" My quivering voice was bordering on a sob now.

"Shh…shh…it’s going to be alright, Celaine. I’m here for you. In time, the nightmares will fade away leaving you and I and our life together and…"

"Stay with me tomorrow night," I interrupted, more of a plea than a request.

"Hmmm…getting to hold an incredibly beautiful woman for a whole night…I don’t know. I’m really going to have to think about that. I mean, I do have a pretty busy schedule and all…but I’ll see if I can rearrange some appointments around and pencil you in."

"Other than me, you’re the only person capable of mustering sarcasm this early in the morning," my sobbing subsided as a half-smile returned to my face.

"That’s why we’re perfect for each other.  We’re the soul mates of smart ass."

"I love you."

"I love you too. Now get some sleep. You’ve got a busy day ahead of you tomorrow. Loans to decline, lives to shatter, you know, fun stuff."

"Thank you. I’m not sure what I would do without you."

"Well, fortunately, that’s something you’ll never have to worry about. See you tomorrow, beautiful."

I hung up the phone, getting out of bed to stretch my long, tired legs.  It would be at least another hour before I’d be able to fall back asleep again.  Switching on the lamp atop my nightstand, I walked down the hall of my apartment to my cold, uninviting bathroom. Its tile floor was like sheer ice underneath my feet making me shudder. I reached for one of the disposable plastic cups on the basin to fill with water.  Not only did the nightmares affect me emotionally, but they also took a toll on me physically.  My throat was dry and the same knee I smacked on the floor in the minutes before the explosion throbbed in eerie phantom-like pain.  Some nights I swore there was still glass imbedded in my skin. Some nights it felt as though I’d lived through the devastation all over again.　 As I so often did after my nightmares, I opened the drawer of my bedroom nightstand taking out the worn photo album. The photo album had been one of few possessions I’d salvaged from my parents’ home before my move to Iowa.  Its cloth cover was somewhat faded from years of wear with the pages beginning to yellow.  Turning them with care, I soon found what I was looking for: the last family photograph ever taken of us.

There I was in all my awkward teenaged glory, smack dab in the middle. We were all wearing our standard, identical photograph attire: matching blue sweaters and khaki pants. It’d been Carol’s idea, of course. Oh how I missed Carol. She was so gorgeous in this photograph with her hair, the color of toffee, pinned back.　 George looked so regal, so professional, and so proud.  Then there was Jake. I’d often wondered what he would look like now as a young man.  Would he be in medical school following in George’s footsteps or married with children of his own? Anger overtook the sorrow in me while the feelings of the injustice of it all came flooding back.

"There will be a day," I spoke to them as they if they could hear me. "I promise you, one way or another, there will be a day of retribution."

I tucked the loose photograph back into the photo album, turned off the light and laid back down in bed.　 While laying there my thoughts drifted to the aftermath of the explosion.  My Aunt Tasha had done everything she could think of to make my life as normal as possible and, considering the circumstances, she’d done a wonderful job.  Of course, she was nothing like the hawk Carol had been. Under Tasha’s supervision, I‘d been allotted way more freedom than any teenager should possess. At times, she’d seemed more interested in playing the role of big sister to me rather than acting as my maternal role model but, when push came to shove, she managed to step up to the plate. This ensured my grades were always up to par and that I kept relatively out of trouble. Not that there was a whole heck of a lot of trouble I could have gotten into. After all, there really wasn’t much to do in Iowa besides outhouse tipping.

Much to Tasha’s chagrin, after graduation I decided to come back home to Maryland.  Some would argue I was a sadist or a glutton for punishment.  Regardless, I still felt at home here. Plus, a part of me needed the closure in seeing the Memorial site that was erected two years after the explosion at The Lakes. In a strange way, seeing the Memorial gave me a sense of peace.  It was something tangible.  Of course, Lucy had been beyond thrilled with my decision to move back.  We’d ended up attending college together; she studying psychology and I, finance.

My decision to move home inadvertently became the best decision of my life the day I met Chase Matthews. Shortly after my father’s death, Hope Memorial Hospital created a scholarship in honor of him for those young medical students interested in studying pediatrics. Catching wind of my return, the hospital contacted me requesting that I present the scholarship to that year’s winner.  At first I was a little hesitant. I wasn’t sure how I would react to all the stares and inevitable awkward conversations, but I knew that my father would have wanted me to do it.

Every presentation ceremony started off with a memorial to my father.  Doctor Taylor, the pediatric surgeon who’d served as a resident under him, gave the speech every year.  Sitting on the stage, I could see the admiration in his eyes as he spoke of him. During Dr. Taylor’s speech that day, I sat on the stage scanning the audience, looking for any familiar faces. That’s when I saw him.  He was boyishly cute with shimmering, sky-blue eyes and the smirk of a hardcore smart ass.  He was resident Chase Matthews.  A fan of my father’s work with the pediatric unit, he was as close to perfection as I had seen, and he was staring at me.　

A rush of heat poured into my cheeks alerting me to the fact that I’d probably turned twelve shades of red.  As much as I tried to, I couldn’t divert my attention from him. I was so entranced that, when it came to be my turn at the podium, my name had to be called twice to snap me out of it. Two years later, I was still under that same trance.

With memories of my initial encounter with Chase Matthews flashing through my head, I managed to fall peacefully back to sleep.

The sun beamed into my fourth floor apartment creating a makeshift heating pad on my back.  It was another fabulous workday morning.  Another day of fun and finance awaited me at the First American Bank & Trust.  Don’t get me wrong, FAB was just fabulous.  Unfortunately, many careers it had just grown too mundane for me.　

It was a perfect summer day and, if not for the presence of armed soldiers on every block, it would have also seemed like a normal summer day.  Their presence was an omnipresent reminder that things were still far from normal here. We were still living in the nightmare of unwavering paranoia with every person, parked car and building being a potential target for lethal destruction.  Pure anxiety served to reduce a once bustling, crowded city street to just a few brave souls using it to commute warily back and forth to work.　

The attack on The Lakes created a fork in the road for more than just those whose lives it’d directly impacted. A Pandora’s Box had been opened in its wake, unleashing a chain of events overseen by the Brooks’ Administration.  Military enforcement of Brooks’ new order swept through the nation generating a false sense of security. The fall of democracy had been met with praise by Congress and the highest approval ratings of any President in history.  President Brooks was keeping us safe; President Brooks cared about society.  Bullshit.  At least, that was my opinion.　

After the revocation of the Twenty-Second Amendment allowing Brooks at least one more term in office, suspicion rose amongst us more cynical members of society.  The more vocal members of this opposition--radicals they were called--were said to be launching a rebellion against President Brooks as they considered him just as dangerous as The Man in Black.  The Man in Black or any other responsible party still hadn’t been apprehended and, although conditions had become markedly more calm the last couple of years, there were still random attacks occurring.

This decline in instability was due, in part, to the appearance of an inexplicable duo who’d mysteriously appeared on the scene in the last couple of years.  Many thought they were subhuman, robotically engineered by the Department of Defense to counteract The Man in Black finally putting an end to the insanity.   There was something different about this duo.  Their abilities were not of this world.  Normal humans simply couldn’t make the graceful yet deadly movements that they could.  Normal humans couldn’t leap into the air at the staggering heights nor did they possess the speed they did. Normal people could not take on The Man in Black.  They were our nation’s very own "superheroes", sent to destroy The Man in Black and make our world safe again.

In some ways, I loathed the necessity for their existence, but mostly I longed to have the abilities they mastered. To be able to deliver the fatal blow and watch the life leave the eyes of the person responsible for the attack on The Lakes just as they must have watched my family die would be the best form of justice.  I was a block away from work when I heard the commotion coming from the corner behind me.  The newspaper had just hit the newsstands and, from the sounds of it, it appeared as though there had been another attack.  Curious, I did an about-face heading back in the direction of the commotion.　　　　　　　　

"Can you believe it," one red headed, freckled woman cried out.  "It’s terrible, just
terrible."

Another woman chirped in, "It just proves that this madness will never end."

I stood on my tip toes peering over the crowd to catch a glimpse of the headline:

Hero killed after confrontation with The Man in Black

A wave of nauseated shock ran over me.  How could this be?  These super humans, they were mortal? I guess I shouldn’t have been too surprised.  The duo had to have been at least partly human and there wasn’t exactly anything manmade out there that wasn’t entirely indestructible.  Nonetheless, it was shocking and I’d grown almost immune to shocking the last ten years.  In disbelief, I headed back down the sidewalk to my job as the lowly loan officer.　

The mayhem didn’t recede when I entered the usually quiet, mundane atmosphere of the bank.  Everyone was abuzz with the news of our hero’s demise.

"How could this have happened?" Travis one of the other loan officers and a constant thorn in my side with his by-the-book attitude inquired.

Veronica, a teller and my closest friend outside of Lucy, piped in, "Geez Travis nothing is impossible nor is there anything that is indestructible. Besides this would be a great career opportunity for you now that there’s an opening."

"Oh really, how do you figure?"　

"With that hard head and that thick hide of yours, it would be almost impossible for a bullet to wound you."

A snicker erupted through the crowd.  Travis was not exactly a favorite amongst our usually tight-knit group.

"Hi Celaine," Veronica greeted me with her all-too-cheery-for-this-time-in-the-morning voice.

"Hey," I replied.  "I see we’re starting in early on Travis today."   Travis let out a disgusted groan and headed to his office.

Veronica was one of the first people I’d met when I came back to Maryland.  Leaning on each other in hard times like an emotional crutch, we’d had the unfortunate coincidence of having had family members killed in an attack. Veronica flipped back her long raven hair, the envy of every woman at the bank, following me into my office.

"So, do you have any big plans tonight?" she asked.

"Actually yeah, Chase is coming over tonight and we plan on going out to dinner. Last night was another bad one and I think he feels sorry for me," I replied with a stifled laugh. Veronica looked at me with concern growing in her eyes.　

"You had another nightmare? Celaine, this is really getting ridiculous…maybe you should get some help.

"Are you saying I’m not right in the head?"

"We already knew that."

"Thanks."

"What I mean is that maybe there’s something more behind your dreams. You know, like…like psychological or something. Maybe you need to work your inner demons out with a licensed professional. Doesn’t one of your friends work in that field?"

"Lucy? Believe me, she’s given me more than my fair share of free counseling throughout the years. Actually, I’m pretty sure she uses me as an exemplar for the mentally ill when she’s in session with patients."

Veronica laughed.　 "I just worry about you Celaine."

"I really appreciate that Veronica, but Chase takes really great care of me."

"I’m sure the boy wonder does," she said with a wink.  "I don’t know how, for the life of me, you can be around that human encyclopedia all day. He would give my brain a knowledge overload."

"What can I say, I like em’ nerdy."

"That you do…that you do."

With that, she leapt from her perch on my desk nearly spilling coffee in my lap in the process. As she proceeded to her booth in the front of the building she offered up another jab in Travis’ direction for good measure. A quick retort of "Bite me" rang from his office to which she replied, "Is that all you got, I’m sorely disappointed, Weiner."

"It’s pronounced Wine-ner."

"That’s not how it’s spelled Weiner"

Besides the obvious monetary gain, there were definite advantages to coming to work.

Enigma Black-Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The Dawn of Totalitarianism

Democracy is a very fragile thing.  You have to take care of democracy.  As soon as you stop being responsible to it and allow it to turn into scare tactics, it’s no longer democracy, is it?  It’s something else.  It may be an inch away from totalitarianism.
~Sam Shepard

President Brooks was many things. He was vivacious, outspoken, and, at the age of thirty-eight, he was also the youngest President ever to have been elected into office. While many had been put off by his youth, most were enthusiastic about the handsome, young senator and his uncanny ability at bringing unity to the Senate. Public outpouring of support for him was so momentous that, on the dawn of Election Day, the Presidency was all but handed to him. Consensus was that we were approaching the dawning of a new era and President Brooks was seen as the visionary who’d carry our country over the threshold.

Unfortunately, that’s exactly what happened.

Our country’s new era dawned two years after the bombings at the The Lakes, as the fear of the unknown continued to encapsulate the nation. Several more attacks had taken place; some were work of deranged copycats, but most were confirmed to have been perpetrated by The Man in Black.  After early opposition initially derailed President Brooks’ proposed curfew, another attack prompted him to again address the subject. Propelled by fear and the reassurance of the eventual return to safety and security, it was soon decided that a curfew should be enacted temporarily barring anyone from being out on the streets past ten at night other than for employment or emergency related purposes. With minimal opposition, the Bill was passed by Congress and would remain in effect until those responsible for the attacks were brought to justice.

However, when society allows one liberty to fall, the rest of the dominoes follow suit.

Billed as another means of ensuring safety, travel restrictions were imposed soon after the institution of the curfew. Patrols were dispatched to all state lines making interstate travel too much of a hassle for most families to attempt. Those who chose to travel by air were subjected to strip searches, body scans and the issuing of a Federal Aviation Administration-approved flight suit.　 Their clothes were bagged, tagged and given back to them at their final destination.

President Brooks ushered in the dawning of a new era; the era of totalitarianism.