Controller

By B.T. Dawson

Hidden among us, they prepare for war. Each day, the two supernatural forces grow stronger, more unforgiving, and more brutal. Until, one night, the spark is lit.
Dark, merciless, and action-packed, Controller follows Kevin Ripson, a teenage boy forced into a world he never knew existed. Now, he must make a choice, one that will affect the future of humanity... He can run from his new-found power and the terrible responsibilities that come with it, or he can Control it.
Corruption. Deception. Murder. There is no ‘good vs. evil.’ There is only the will of the powerful, and the decisions they make that ripple through time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: B.T. Dawson
• Release date: Dec 6, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301585441

Book preview

Controller

Book One of the Ripson Saga

by B.T. Dawson

Published by B.T. Dawson

Copyright 2012 B.T. Dawson

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

Family.

Your eye is the lamp of your body. When your eyes are good, your whole body also is full of light. But when they are bad, your body also is full of darkness. See to it then, that the light within you is not darkness. Therefore, if your whole body is full of light, and no part of it dark, it will be completely lighted, as when the light of a lamp shines on you.

- Luke 11:34-35

…and the sins of our fathers carry on, rippling through time, washing over the poor and the prominent, a cyclical tragedy, ceasing only when the debt is paid, in one way or another, by the children of the future…

The End…

Another explosion ripped into his ears. Blinding spasms of pain assailed his senses and vibrated down his spine. A black bolt of energy soared over his head.

He was lucky. If not for an involuntary reaction to flinch downward, he would have been crippled. But fortune, he knew, was not likely to repeat.

Still ducked behind the destroyed dresser, and inhaling the revolting aroma of his singed hair, he pawed at his right ear in an inane effort to stop the ringing.

He scooted right and scanned the carnage of the room. Finally he saw her. Ten feet away, curled into the fetal position, splinters of wood and metal strewn over her now unexpectedly vulnerable body, unmoving, either unconscious or…

Black lightning streaked over the dresser, scorching the wall behind him.

Through the ringing in his ears, he heard a low chuckle of amusement. Taunting mirth that both enraged him and terrified him.

He peeked over the dresser again and saw the man who had murdered his father, the man who had taken satisfaction in the destruction of his family, of his life.

The man’s black eyes opened wide with excited anticipation. He raised his palm. For the smallest instant, nothing happened. Then, a bolt of black lightning materialized inches in front of the man’s hand, and tore through the air, straight at him.

Chapter One

Kevin Ripson rested his head against the frame of his second story bedroom window and gazed out at the remnants of the last days of summer. The sky was cloud-covered and red, the sun having already begun its descent behind the neighbor’s house. Leaves of the large oak tree in his front yard swayed lazily in the gentle breeze.

A brown pickup truck rolled past, slowing near to a complete stop as it inched over the speed hump in front of his house. He frowned, remembering the countless times a low-riding car scraped its underside on the hump, waking him in the dead of night.

Kevin?

His younger half-brother stood in the doorway, surreally framed by cardboard boxes stacked three and four high throughout their bedroom.

Hey, Jordan.

Dad says dinner’s ready, Jordan said, squeezing Emry tight against his chest.

Six months earlier, Kevin woke to screaming. The scream – the piercing, agonizing death rattle of a young child – was the most horrific and chilling sound Kevin had ever heard. The doctors call it ‘night terrors.’ But to Kevin, who had developed an affection for his younger half-brother that was more protective and loving than he had previously thought possible, that scream was the embodiment of horror. That next morning, Kevin walked to the mall and bought a stuffed animal. A small, yellow giraffe: Emry.

This is Emry, Kevin had said. As long as he’s with you, you’ll be safe no matter where you go.

Even when I sleep? said Jordan, pulling Emry close to him.

Especially when you sleep.

Since that day, the two half-brothers shared a bond. Kevin was Jordan’s protector. And Jordan was no longer a half-brother, but was, as far as Kevin was concerned, his blood-brother.

Kevin looked at his brother. They were as identical as two non-blood-brothers could be. They had the same brown hair and freckled noses, and had even developed and discarded the habit of biting their right thumbnail.

Kevin was, as always, amazed by the way his brother’s eyes illuminated any room he was in. Kevin’s own eyes were of the same brilliant green tint, though slightly less prominent due to the flecks of gold littered around his irises, a characteristic, he knew from a handful of pictures, inherited from his mother.

Their father, Ted Ripson, had remarried only once. She did not stick around for long after Jordan was born, deciding life was better and less complicated without a child of her own to care for. Jordan’s mother deserted her husband and newborn son, leaving Ted Ripson with another broken heart and another son to care for. Alone.

Kevin glanced once more to the street below, knowing it was the last time he would ever play the watchful observer to this particular neighborhood. His lamentation complete, Kevin turned to face his brother, but as he did, something in his peripherals stopped him short. Kevin panned left, and froze, his body going rigid with fear. A man – a shadow of a man – stared up at him from across the street. There was a subtle movement where the man’s face should be, a twitch, and then the structure of the shadow’s face changed.

The figure, whoever – whatever – it was, was smiling.

The smile was out of place. Unnatural, as if it was the first time that particular expression had ever been worn on the man’s face. It was the look of a satisfied predator after a long, arduous hunt. But worse than the smile were its eyes. Where the subtle white sclera should have been, there was only blackness.

A dented BMW skidded over the speed hump, igniting a shower of sparks. The incident jolted Kevin from his stupor, drawing his gaze away from the man. He twisted back to where the figure stood.

But it was gone.

Kevin? his brother said, a hint of trepidation seeping through.

Kevin searched the area below for another moment, then pried himself away from the window, and pushed the image of the dark figure to the back of his mind. He took Jordan’s hand and guided him through the hallway.

Nails jutted out at seemingly random places along the taupe walls. Photos of the Ripson family that normally littered the sides of the hallway had been packed away several days ago in a few of the many unlabeled boxes spread about the house. Earlier that day, Kevin had spent several frantic minutes rifling through boxes until he found the picture so dear to him: a small three-by-five-inch photo, framed in fake, lacquered wood, in which he and his father stood on either side of Jordan, swinging him high through the air. It was the first time he’d seen his father truly happy since Jordan’s mother left. The three-by-five now sat alone on his end table.

What is six plus three? asked Kevin.

Nine.

Very good, said Kevin, as they moved down the hall. Four plus two?

Jordan’s face contorted in concentration as he worked through the problems, searching for the slippery solutions.

When they reached the edge of the stairs leading down to the kitchen, Kevin noticed one small photo he had never seen before. Devoid of its frame and tacked high on the wall, it was a solitary snapshot of life among the graveyard of nails. He reached up and snatched the photo. Faded, watermarked colors blurred the outlines of two people. The individuals – a man and a woman – stared back at him. Though time had dulled the photo, Kevin was still able to make out their most obvious characteristic: the eyes. And it was the eyes that gave them away. A pair of blurred green orbs hovered to the left and slightly higher than two golden balls of light.

These were his parents.

His father had always been hesitant to the point of secrecy whenever Kevin broached the subject of his mother. Ted Ripson never talked about her and only acquiesced to give Kevin a few old pictures when he reached middle school – pictures that were currently packed away in unmarked boxes. But Kevin had never before seen this photo.

What is it? Jordan asked.

Nothing, Kevin said, sliding the picture into his pocket.

The kitchen, like the rest of the house, was besieged with cardboard boxes. Kevin sat in his usual seat, left of his brother and across the table from his father. A large Tupperware container of macaroni and cheese sat in front of them. Kevin shoveled a spoonful onto his brother’s plate before scooping three onto his own. His father didn’t touch it. Deep lines were etched into Ted Ripson’s brow, and dark circles under his eyes clashed with his dull green irises, which were speckled with grey.

You alright, Dad? asked Kevin.

His father poured himself a glass of water and took a long sip. Jordan, did you wash your hands?

Jordan’s blotched red cheeks grew a deeper shade of crimson.

Go wash your hands, please.

Jordan pouted and ambled out of the kitchen.

Kevin, said his father, when Jordan was out of ear-shot. Do you know why we’re moving?

Kevin shrugged. You got a new job.

Not really, said Ted Ripson.

What do you mean?

His father peered into his eyes for a long second. Promise me you won’t repeat what I say to anybody, especially Jordan.

I promise.

The bathroom faucet splattered on.

His father nodded, distractedly. I can’t tell you everything tonight. You’d have too many questions. But I can tell you some things.

Kevin waited as his father took a sip of water.

Kevin, he began, do you think I am a good person?

The question took Kevin off guard. He had always looked upon his father in the highest regard. That Ted Ripson had ever done anything even remotely dishonest was inconceivable to Kevin. And yet, his father’s expression seemed desperate, pleading, as if willing his eldest son to forgive him.

Of course, said Kevin.

My past, the things I’ve done, some of them I’m not proud of.

Kevin waited for him to continue, his stomach suddenly tight, appetite driven away.

We are moving tomorrow because I’m afraid my past has resurfaced. Despite everything I’ve done to distance you and your brother from my old world, a world I promised myself I would never bring you into…

What world?

We are unique, his father said, watching him closely. You, me, your brother, and, he hesitated, your mother. We are not like everyone else. We’re different. But we aren’t alone. There are others like us.

Others?

The house was silent. The sound of water splashing on the porcelain bathroom sink had ceased. Jordan’s footsteps grew louder as he stomped toward the kitchen.

Promise you’ll be careful, his father whispered. I’ll tell you more later.

When?

Tomorrow.

Jordan entered the kitchen, presumably with clean hands. Tomorrow is Saturday, he said, climbing onto his chair.

That’s right, said Ted Ripson. Are you excited for the weekend?

Jordan shook his head up and down with vigorous movements before scooping a large spoonful of macaroni and cheese into his mouth.

The rest of the evening Kevin spent inside his head, dissecting the cryptic information. An odd serenity weighed heavily on the night. His father’s promise of coming revelations filled Kevin with anxiety, and it was with unsettling thoughts and restless limbs that he rested his head on his pillow, still wearing the day’s outfit, and fell into a tense slumber.

Something exploded.

Through closed eyes, Kevin smiled, finding it oddly sentimental that the last night in his childhood home would be interrupted by a car skidding over the speed hump.

Another explosion. The floor below him rattled.

He jolted upright and stared at the bedroom door, waiting. But waiting for what he could not be sure. Something was wrong. That was not the sound of a car on the street. The detonations were coming from inside the house. Cold, damp sweat held his shirt to his skin like a magnet. The memory of the figure with black eyes sprang back into his consciousness.

Jordan woke, too. What was –?

Kevin held up his hand and his brother went quiet.

Silence.

Seconds ticked by at a fraction of the pace his heart was beating.

…One…

…Two…

…Three…

…Four…

Then, an explosion so loud it seemed to tear open the air around them.

No! His father’s voice echoed from below before another blast drowned it out.

What is it? said Jordan.

Stay here, Jordan, said Kevin, moving to the bedroom door.

Is Dad okay?

Kevin could barely hear him above the sound of the now constant roars of thunder echoing below them.

Stay here. Kevin yelled. He looked at his brother, waiting for a response. Promise?

Jordan nodded, his knuckles growing white as he clutch Emry.

Kevin walked to the door and stepped into the hallway. He moved through the hall. Down the stairs. His fingertips glided over the jagged nails sticking out of the wall.

The bombardment of thunder grew louder.

The kitchen was a scene out of a disaster movie. The table on which they had just eaten dinner tilted awkwardly downward, devoid of two of its legs. A large hole had been blasted through the refrigerator. Cardboard boxes and the remnants of their contents were scattered across the room. Kevin stepped over a pile of broken dishes and continued onward.

He turned the corner into the living room. What he saw, he would never forget.

Nearest Kevin was his father – or at least he thought it was his father.

Ted Ripson raised his arm until it was parallel with the floor, bent his wrist back and emitted what looked like a lightning bolt from his hand. His father’s eyes, while always astonishing, now lit up like green Christmas lights. Smashing detonations rumbled through the house as the bolts coming from his palm collided with objects unlucky enough to be in its path. Another lightning bolt flew from his father’s hand. A second later, a large, green, semi-transparent wall materialized a few feet in front of him. A bolt of black lightning hit the wall and deflected up into the ceiling. The force field quivered. A shower of plaster and paint rained down over the living room.

Opposite Kevin’s father, on the other side of the living room, dodging ricocheting streaks of lightning with speed Kevin thought impossible for a human, was a man dressed in black. He wore a hooded black jacket, partially opened to reveal a black shirt. Black pants fit loosely around his legs and ended just below the laces of his black combat boots. But like his father, the man’s eyes were his most obvious feature.

Black eyes.

The image struck Kevin just as another thunderous bolt sprung into existence.

The figure with black eyes… its smile.

But what was he? What was his father?

…we are not alone. There are others like us. Ted Ripson’s words rang through his head like a warning siren.

A black bolt of lightning whistled over Kevin’s shoulder, missing him by inches, and exploded against the wall behind him. He let out a small grunt and stumbled from the concussion blast of the impact.

Kevin! his father bellowed. Pure unadulterated panic spread over his face. The green barrier in front of him flickered. Get your brother out of here!

Ted Ripson raised his left palm and pointed it at the stranger in black, unleashing a large lightning bolt that flew toward the stranger in black. Not waiting to see if the bolt hit its mark, he pivoted on his heel and sprinted at Kevin, tackling his son out of the room.

Run! his father said, lifting him to his feet.

Kevin didn’t think, couldn’t think. He could not do anything except run. He slipped on the pile of plates and fell to the ground. Something sharp and icy cut into his knee. His father hoisted him up again and shoved him forward. Taking the stairs two at a time, Kevin ran haphazardly to his bedroom, his father following close behind. He jerked open the door. Jordan stood on his bed, tears streamed down his cheeks. Ted Ripson flung the door shut and tipped over an old wooden dresser, barricading the entrance.

Kevin, listen to me, his father said.

Dad? said Jordan.

Take your brother. Tell Zev.

Dad, what’s going on?

Tell him what happened, said his father. Tell him –

He was cut off by the sound of laughter, a terrible, grotesque whine, and it was growing louder.

Jordan, come here. Take care of your brother, Kevin. I love you both. He kissed the top of his sons’ heads. I’m sorry, boys. Ted Ripson’s eyes blurred with tears. I wish I could have seen you grow up.

Dad? said Kevin.

I love you, their father said.

A loud, splintering crack erupted behind them. The dresser tumbled away, and the bedroom door flew open. Jordan screamed and tucked his head into his brother’s shoulder.

Ted Ripson placed his hands on top of his sons’ heads.

His energy drained almost instantly. But during that infinitesimal moment,