Awakenings: Defective Device Book 1

By D. S. Toles

She knows her name is Raine because the Professor who rescued her has told her so.
She knows she was beaten, bloodied and bruised when he found her, but knows not why.
She knows she has the ability to kill and has used it.
In a world of mechanical devices, weaponry and airships, Raine needs to discover the truth about her past and attempt to regain the life she once lived.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D. S. Toles
• Release date: Jun 9, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476253657

D. S. Toles

D. S. Toles is an eclectic expat Canadian living in the wilds of Ohio. She has been a writer of short stories and fiction for most of her life. Her first foray into novels came about because of National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). When not working or writing, D. enjoys partaking in paranormal investigations and indulging her love of all things steampunk.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

An otherwise typical night in the city of London, the largest municipality in the greater Empire. The cobblestone streets are quiet, with an occasional steam carriage rolling along under the gas lamps. If you happened to look up to the sky at the right time and just the right angle, you would see the large black shadow moving over the city. The airship settles on one of the rooftops of a row of tall, narrow houses on a street barely wide enough for one carriage to pass. Not five minutes later, the shadow rises again and heads out of the city, toward the nearby countryside.

On the rooftop, figures are moving quickly to the small glass enclosure. Two figures, though one seems to be carrying a third. Once inside, steam escapes from the enclosure and it shakes slightly, then the figures are gone. And the night returns to the unimpeded calm it was enjoying just moments earlier.

CHAPTER 1

There is a fog in my head that refuses to lift. I am unable to think clearly and I cannot speak. I do not even know where I am right now, aside from it being a small bedroom. I awoke here not long ago, perhaps three days at the most. My entire body aches and I am bruised as if beaten.

There is a man here. He says he is a friend, a professor. He found me and brought me here, to safety he says. I believe he may have saved my life. I am in debt to him for that. I am not sure why, or even if I am correct, but I think I can trust him. He is calling me Raine so I suppose that must be my name. I do not know how the professor knows this, but I have no reason not to believe him and he seems to know this as a certainty.

He talks to me when he comes to my room. He always knocks before entering and I knock on the bedside table in response to let him know he may enter. He has not yet explained to me exactly how he found me or why he brought me here. Nor do I know where I was before this or what happened to my voice. I know that my neck and throat hurt and my entire body is in pain when I move. I have also suffered an injury to my face, as one side is heavily bandaged. But he says it is too soon to tell me everything. He promises that he will give me all the details soon, but he wants me to keep a calm mind and heal some first. Apparently he possesses some apothecary knowledge and has been providing me with soothing beverages for my throat and unguents for my muscles. He has also dressed my wounds. Again, I know not where or how I suffered them.

I am having great difficulty communicating. Not long after I awoke the professor provided me with metal so I could etch messages. But no matter how I try, there are no words or phrases that I am able to form. The words are in my head, I know what I wish to express, but my hand seems unable to write them down. I am unable to write even random letters. I can draw, barely, and I have tried to convey messages in this way but even that is difficult. The professor says it is likely a temporary condition, that I will recover the ability to write in time. He says that it is not surprising that the severity of my injuries would have affected my motor skills in some way.

The professor tells me that I have been here in his care for going on a month now. He has kept me asleep to quicken my healing. I do not know what to think of losing that much time. Right now I cannot even conceive of being unconscious and unaware for such a prolonged period. I am having such difficulty comprehending what could have brought me to such a state.

CHAPTER 2

It is very dark, but not quiet. There is an air of tension, of anxiety. Strong hands are grabbing me, shoving me, lifting me. I hear voices I do not recognize, male voices, cursing and shouting. One seems to be yelling orders that I cannot decipher. I cannot see anything; something is covering my eyes, my head. I try to scream but my mouth is bound. The hands hold tight, will not let go. I am carried like a sack, bumping into walls and down stairs. Struggling seems to do me no good as the hands around me simply tighten.

Now I am looking at myself in near darkness, crumpled on a stone floor, passed out or knocked out, I know not which. My face is swollen and bruised, virtually unrecognizable. I see blood on my torn clothing, face, arms but cannot tell just where the injuries are or even if the blood is all mine. I am in a cell, perhaps underground. I can make out a large metal door and stone walls, but nothing more. There is no window. There is no bed nor even a sheet to cover myself. Nothing but cold stone.

I hear something outside the door, muffled. Footsteps perhaps, getting louder; someone walking down a hallway toward my cell. No, not just walking; pounding, stomping toward my cell. They belong to someone or something very large. I am glad to see myself still unconscious. I have such a feeling of dread. Something very unpleasant is connected with those footsteps, I know it. The sound stops at the door and then…

* * BAM * *

The door smashes open and bangs into the stone wall behind it, jarring me into consciousness. I am thrown into my now awake but not quite alert body. Everything has a hazy quality and I cannot think clearly. I have difficulty seeing much of anything, my eyes are so swollen. The room, this cell is so dark. I squint to see what or who is standing in the doorway.

Just as I see the massive form blocking the entrance, I also see something coming at me. I am not sure what it is; the dimness of the room makes it difficult to discern. Then a torch lights in the doorway and there is a glint off of metal. It is a claw… a large, menacing metal claw… and I scream…

And wake in the bed, my mouth open, throat aching from attempting to scream in my sleep. It takes me a couple of minutes to calm myself, to breathe at a normal pace. Where exactly was I and what was that thing that was grabbing for me? I do not know what I saw, what I dreamt. Was it merely a dream? It seemed so real. It felt more like a memory. I knew what lying on that cold, hard floor felt like, I knew the detail of that metal claw as it came towards me. I saw my face, the blood.

My face. I have not looked at myself since I first woke in this bed. I need to see my face, to see if what was in my dream was real. I know I must have some kind of injury, there is a gauze plaster on the left side of my face. But I need to know.

I get out of the bed, stumbling slightly; I am still adjusting to standing and walking after spending such a prolonged period in recline. My head is aching, face throbbing, there is a small sharp pain in my side. I do a quick scan of the room, already knowing there is no reflective surface in which to view myself. I approach the door and hesitate. I have not yet been outside this room. Am I permitted to open the door, to leave the room without informing the professor? He has not made me feel like a prisoner, has not said I could not leave. But to this point I have been virtually confined to the bed. He has been kind and I do not wish to upset him or break any rules he may have regarding my presence.

The desire to learn the truth, good or bad, is overwhelming. I grab the door handle and, finding it is not locked, open the door and exit the room for the first time. I step into a short hall; there are closed doors on either side, just a few steps away. I go to the one on the left and upon opening what looked to be an ordinary door, find behind it another door, this one made of metal bars and mesh. I open that one and enter a small cage-like structure with dials and levers on one wall. There is great temptation to touch, to turn, to see what it is these mechanisms are for. But my desire to find a mirror is too great. I leave the small chamber, shutting both doors behind me, and try the other room across the hall.

It is another bedroom, slightly larger than the one I have been using. It is decorated for female sensibilities yet looks like it has not been lived in for some time. There is sparse decoration on the walls and no hanging mirror. The trumpet shaped mechanism near the bed catches my eye. It is connected by flexible tube to a small box on the nightstand with dials and gauges on the surface. This in turn has a tube coming out of the side that goes into the wall. Somehow I recognize that this is a communication device of some type. Avoiding further distraction, I spy a looking glass on top of the bureau and in a couple of steps I am there with it in my hand.

Now that I have it, now that I can take a moment to look at myself, I hesitate. Will I even recognize the person staring back at me? But I must look. I raise the small mirror to my face and cannot believe what I see. I do know it is me, but just barely. The swelling and old bruises hide my familiar features. And the bandage covers a large portion of the left side, down to the chin. Even my eye is covered. Seeing that, I now need to see the size of the wound. I feel for the edge of the gauze and…

Wait, Raine! Stop!

I turn and see that the professor is standing in the doorway, a look of concern on his face. I do not know how long he has been there. He slowly walks in to the room.

I know you want to see what is under there and I am not going to stop you. But before you look, please let me explain what has been happening while you’ve been here, how I’ve been treating your injuries.

I lowered my hand as well as the looking glass, and gave a nod.

Thank you. You see, when you were first brought here you were in very bad shape. It took some time to just get all of the blood off of you to see where your wounds were. And I have a friend, Doctor Voddington, who was able to determine your internal injuries as well using medical devices of his own invention. I’m sure you have felt some of those injuries, maybe aches or some twinges of pain. Some were quite serious at first and have not yet fully healed. Anyway, I have equipment that I built, ionic polarity conduits. They assist in speeding the healing process using ions and electromagnetic energy, not that that’s important. But I have only a couple of pieces and neither is large enough to cover even half a body, let alone a full one. I never considered that I might one day require a piece that large. But I alternated where I used these on you so that overall you would heal quicker. This was all during the month when I kept you asleep.

This was a lot to take in. I knew he kept me asleep so I could heal, but I had not yet heard of these contraptions he and the doctor used on me. I was not sure what to think, though they had obviously helped in some way. I sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at the professor, waiting for him to continue.

Raine, I don’t wish to cause you additional stress while you’re still recuperating, but I think it only fair that I tell you these things. Well, there is only so much my devices can do. The wound on the side of your face was quite severe. Doctor Voddington treated it and I have kept it clean, but it will still leave a significant scar when it is healed completely. I just want you to be prepared that what you see will not be pleasant.

I nod, knowing that I am not fully prepared regardless of how bad it might be. My hand trembles slightly now, when it had not before, as I raise the looking glass once again.

Here, let me help with the plaster. And the professor begins to remove it, starting from the top, gently pulling down until the wound is exposed completely.

And I just look at it. I look at this angry, wide red gash down the side of my face. What will become a scar that will forever be a part of me. My face is now a stranger to me. All the memories and abilities I seem to have forgotten and yet I do recall what I looked like. And I will never again see that face. It is not just the wound that makes this the face of a stranger. It is that I cannot recall how it came to be. I do not know the person I was to have had someone inflict this upon me. Was this done on purpose? Was there some kind of accident involved? I gingerly touch the edge and wince slightly at the tenderness.

It will remain sore for some time; it was quite a deep wound you suffered. The ointments I have been using each time I change the gauze plasters help with the healing and numbs the pain a touch as well. If you wish to begin caring for it yourself, I will give you a supply of the ointments and plasters I have been using. You will just need to cleanse and bandage it twice a day now.

I nod, still looking at my reflection, trying to make sense of it. I look for a few moments but eventually lower the mirror and allow the professor to apply the ointment and a fresh plaster. It takes great effort to prevent my eyes from flooding with tears as he does this for me. He will show me what I need to do tomorrow; I think I have had enough for today.

CHAPTER 3

Seeing her like this is killing me. I knew she