Lumen The Guise Of Darkness

By Patrick Bain

"Let the wicked flee the approaching darkness. Those who continue to practice injustice will receive no mercy."

The words of Lumen resonate through the billowing mists of darkness that enshroud those who perpetrate evil. All who mock justice and destroy the lost will eventually face a reckoning. For some, the reckoning will be prison. For others, the warnings of the mysterious presence in the dark will go unheeded. Their judgment will be in eternity.

Detective Thornbush of the Caliginos City Police Department tracks down a serial killer with a startling trademark. His victims are bloodless, with two marks on their necks, similar in shape, size, and distance as two canine teeth from a human mouth. He is aided by a school counselor, a local pastor, and a mysterious doppelganger. The pastor is urgent to restore a runaway daughter to her mother before she becomes the next victim. The school counselor is surprisingly detached considering he had close associations with most of the victims. Who is the doppelganger and how will he use his powers to cloak himself in an inky blackness, a darkness that can be felt?

Justice, mercy, and redemption will be explored in this superhero-suspense story about adults and teens living according to their own mores in a world of darkness.

Men tremble,
as the humble stumble
before the proud.

Women quiver,
shudder and shiver,
while evil walks in pride.

Inside, hearts cry out:
For justice, for truth,
for light.

Night falls.
The righteous whisper,
the bellicose shout...
and though fading
like the last rays of day,
hope calls...

Lumen: The Guise of Darkness!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Patrick Bain
• Release date: Nov 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311204486

Book preview

Lumen: The Guise of Darkness

Patrick Bain

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2015 Patrick Bain All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold 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 return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Interactive version available at http://www.gracerockmedia.com/lumen

Table of Contents

Poetry

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

"Let the wicked flee the approaching darkness. Those who continue to practice injustice will receive no mercy."

-- Lumen

Men tremble,

as the humble stumble

before the proud.

Women quiver,

shudder and shiver,

while evil walks in pride.

Inside, hearts cry out:

For justice, for truth,

for light.

Night falls.

The righteous whisper,

the bellicose shout…

and though fading

like the last rays of day,

hope calls…

Lumen: The Guise of Darkness!

Chapter 1

It’s been dark for several hours in Caliginos City. Time crossed midnight two hours ago in the bar district. Most of the crowd had their last call 90 minutes ago, this being the wee hours of a Wednesday. The balmy spring weather made the outdoor seating comfortable and numbing especially for VJ and her boyfriend.

"We better head home, VJ… the boss was pretty mad at me last week when I showed up an hour late. I thought he was going to give my truck to the new guy." The twentyish man grunted to his overly made up girlfriend.

The girlfriend, decked out in a black one-piece that was a little too tight detached herself from her straw and stood up, wobbly. Her too short dress was riding up as she tried to steady herself. OK, I guess I can go shopping if I wake up early enough before my Four PM shift.

The derelict couple paid and left. They were cursing to each other about how far the walk would be. VJ’s shift had ended late, so the couple hadn’t made it to the bar as early as they preferred. That meant all the nearby parking spaces were gone. At Two AM, they had more gripes about their walk to the car than concerns about their daytime responsibilities. The two were far from conscientious.

A few cars passed here and there, this part of town never slumbered. The streetlights were dull, but sufficient. Some other bars were still open, the eating places long closed. Having strolled past the main drinking district, each side of the street was now populated by tattoo parlors, pawn shops, and family businesses that had been in the area 40 years.

VJ tended to overdrink when she was out; in spite of frequent practice, she couldn’t hold her liquor. A very bad feeling came over her. She was trying to decide if she should keep walking and hope it passed… or look for the nearest restroom. Oh, oh. It was too late! Racing into the nearby alley, VJ let it go. Her boyfriend stood there laughing. This wasn’t the first time this had happened.

Every time he heard the ‘retching’ sound VJ made, he guffawed a little louder: Then silence… then some spitting sounds…then cursing… then the sounds of VJ blowing her nose… then a piercing, harrowing scream that rattled old window panes!

Running into the alley, VJ’s boyfriend didn’t know what to expect. Instantly, he was no longer tired, no longer half-drunk, he was ready to punch out a homeless man or kick an alley dog. Though the alley was dimly lit, he saw VJ standing completely erect, with her hands over her mouth. At VJ’s feet was the body of a dead woman. Moving closer to get a better look, a queasy feeling came over him. Now, it was his turn to hurl.

***

Detective CT Thornbush was in a foul mood – nothing unusual – when he’s cleaning up after a murder. Thornbush was a Lieutenant in the Caliginos City Police Department, the top man in homicide. This town has its share of freaks and whackos, when they became murderers it was his job to bring them to justice. He’d been doing this job for 13 years… and he was pretty good at it, but Thornbush had been in a real foul mood, lately. He hated cleaning up after murders.

VJ had immediately sobered and called 9-1-1. The first responders, there within moments, took even less time to declare the victim was dead. The fact that it was a crime scene was obvious, thus homicide and a forensics team were dispatched quickly. By Four AM, the news made it to Detective Thornbush, who had fallen asleep maybe 30 minutes earlier. He had the prerogative to check the reports that afternoon, but once he heard the description of the body, he squashed that idea.

Though it was early, curious thrill-seekers gathered to see beyond the police tape and obstruction barrels. Police cars, lights still flashing, formed another barrier suitable for blocking the view of gawkers and rubberneckers. A half-dozen uniformed police were in the area re-directing traffic and keeping the curious at a distance. The police presence was unusually large for a simple murder.

The cool spring morning chill couldn’t temper the heat of Thornbush’s vexation. I want traffic directed away from here—no rubberneckers! Literally shouting, Thornbush continued his orders, Move the crowd even farther back!

A forensics team including a photographer and a man with an on-location lab kit were already on the scene. They moved into position to do their jobs, but awaited the go-ahead from Thornbush. Other uniformed officers were scurrying around bringing in equipment that the Lieutenant had insisted was needed.

Thornbush, in his drab beige slacks and faded blue short-sleeve shirt, surveyed the scene. His officers were in place, the forensic team was in place, there was just one thing still bugging him.

Did the screens I asked for arrive? Thornbush interrogated the officers near him. "Look, if this is what I think it is, I don’t want a single photog with a telephoto lens getting a visual on this victim."

The officers looked at him compliantly, comprehending that neither their questions nor comments would be appreciated. Thornbush went on emphatically, "I mean it—no newspaper pictures, no video cameras, no eye in the sky!"

***

A mysterious presence, an eye in the sky, watched the events and investigation unfold. Unseen, it silently glided from location to location throughout the crime scene. The figure noiselessly observed the man in charge and the unfortunate victim, each equally unaware of this presence and its proximity. One moment, he or it, was a shifting shadow, the next, completely gone.

Brazenly, the apparition drew near the sullen detective. The investigator’s keen peripheral vision glimpsed what he thought was a tall slender obsidian character in an inky black trench coat. Turning sharply to confirm his vision, Thornbush shook his head and blinked his eyes when he saw nothing but cops in the distance working crowd control.

The weary detective complained about his sleep deprived eyes then re-focused on his task. Meanwhile the presence, perhaps a doppelganger of the weary detective, continued with its own investigation.

Moving in and among the gawkers loitering across the street, the presence sought onlookers in the diverse crowd hiding malice. The gathering restrained by police tape could have been waiting for a parade or a glimpse of a dignitary’s motorcade. People representing half a dozen races dotted the meandering group. Young and old were jockeying to see the curiosity that is murder—perhaps some had other motives. Eyes hidden in darkness scrutinized each for signs of more than foolish curiosity.

As the inky figure passed, many thought they saw a shadow, like a black sheet waving in the wind momentarily obscuring their view. Others felt a sudden chill, a pang of guilt, as apparently a cloud hid the morning sun creeping over the skyline. Pausing, the apparition carefully studied each of those who shuddered at the weight of their own consciences.

A young girl was standing with her mother. Perhaps she had cheated on her homework, or gossiped about a friend—not likely that she was a murderer. A married man with a woman, possibly not his wife—he may be unfaithful, but not outwardly violent. Others in the crowd trembled as the pitch apparition passed, yet none were apt to be the killer. The presence moved on, unsatisfied.

Two onlookers joined the throng—young ladies walking to the nearby high school. Their conversation about boyfriends and the results of a biology lab was momentarily forgotten.

Hey, what’s going on? the young African American coed asked a pudgy man in a suit and tie.

I just got here, too. But from what I can tell, it sounds like a young girl, maybe about your age, was murdered. This town’s getting crazy. I walk by here to the office every day. The middle aged man with a paunch at his mid-section looked at the two High School girls with concern. He noted that they also appeared to travel this circuit daily.

Oh wow, this really creeps me out! the other girl, Hispanic and pretty, interjected. Let’s go, Shanaya, before we’re late. Urging her to leave, the Hispanic girl grabbed her friend’s arm and dragged her away. Hurrying off, their glib conversation was momentarily suspended.

The apparition observed even these young women, but found no one that appeared directly connected to this crime.

***

Thornbush, finally satisfied that his investigation could continue without media observation, huddled closely to his forensics team. We’ll start with a visual of the body. Then, leaning closer and speaking with the authority only an officer of the law can assert, I want you guys to file every loose hair, every drop of blood, every thread on the ground…, Thornbush was now so close they could feel his breath, "…every smudged footprint—are you getting the picture? If you have to pick it up with a glue stick, I don’t want anything missed!"

Neither officer dared crack a smile at the absurdity of Thornbush’s last statement. The detective was a tall angular man with hawkish features. His sober countenance didn’t present a light easy-going manner that people could feel comfortable chuckling at his offhand statements. Even among the few that knew him well, his droll humor was often lost in his regimented approach to rules and absolutes. His occupation as a homicide detective was a perfect match for his sense of justice and adherence to immutable principles of right and wrong dictated by his own conscience.

Having finished his pep talk, the detective took his first good look at the scene. He muttered with annoyance that the vomit was obscuring his evidence collection, not to mention it stunk something awful. When will bystanders stop throwing up at the scene of a crime?

Even a casual look around at the alley made it clear there was little or no struggle by the victim in this location. It wasn’t yet a certainty to Thornbush if the crime was committed here, or if the body was dumped here later. If she was killed here, she didn’t put up much of a fight.

The victim was a young woman, probably a teenager. She wore a sleeveless dress with a v-neck. The color of the dress was off-white, ivory or bone. It was a short dress with a crimson sash. Her arms and legs were bare enough that a casual observation indicated the girl had no distinguishing tattoos or scars. She had various body piercings, though, multiple holes in her ears, and one in her lip were all outwardly visible. Long wavy brown hair hid part of her face and came down around her shoulders. The glaring thing that stood out about the girl was her pasty white skin tone. It wasn’t a typical loss of color associated with death. She certainly wasn’t an albino. She simply looked completely drained of natural color.

***

Murph and Ernie, the two forensics officers, started to work. It wasn’t unusual for them to pull this shift, still no one liked being up before daylight collecting evidence in the dark. They knew they would still be here after most everyone (and the body) was gone. ‘Every smudged footprint’ was what Thornbush had said.

Thornbush has us hopping like crickets on a hot skillet, what’s his deal anyway? Ernie, a photographer and the younger of the two officers, fumed. While competent and thorough, Ernie didn’t like to be pressured while working his forensics photography. It may have been the artsy side of the short, curly haired man.

Murph, poking his head out from his portable lab, looked at his partner. He noted the photographer had turned his hat around so it wouldn’t interfere with his picture-taking. I was with Detective Thornbush on an unsolved case similar to this a few weeks ago…same ghastly skin color. Then imitating Ernie’s down home style, Murph countered, Don’t take off your dancing shoes, little cricket. You’ll see for yourself in a minute why Thornbush is throwing logs on the fire!

Making it real hot! they chorused in unison.

As Murph and Ernie continued with their collection activities, Thornbush purposefully walked around the scene hoping to surmise what happened. Carefully walking in from different angles, at times taking a knee, the detective didn’t want to overlook anything. Pulling on a couple latex gloves, Thornbush stepped closer, kneeling, he leaned over the girl’s head and neck area. His careful study of the girl’s neck was not lost on Murph. Nor did Murph fail to notice the small bead of sweat forming on Thornbush’s large forehead. He couldn’t remember a time when Thornbush was fazed by a case, let alone having sweat run from the receding hairline of his sandy blonde roots down to his unkempt eyebrows.

Under his breath, Murph said as much to his partner. Wow, this is big. Murph focused on his own job, but he considered how odd it was to see the seasoned detective actually nervous about a murder case. The forensics specialist felt a twinge in his own neck. Any case remarkable enough to rattle Thornbush couldn’t be taken lightly.

Hello…I thought I recognized the pallor of the skin, Thornbush uttered to no one in particular. Pulling the girl’s brown hair away from her neck, Thornbush leaned in close to carefully examine the two puncture wounds prominently located on the vein in her neck. The size of the wounds suggested they were created by two tubes, or perhaps something else of uniform structure about the size of straws. There was surprisingly little blood on the wounds, considering it must have hit an artery. A touch of irony invaded his thoughts. Thornbush was afraid that when the examination took place, the summary conclusion would be ‘there was surprisingly little blood’… anywhere.

An awkward look of surprise expressed itself on Thornbush’s face. He was taken aback, which is surprising since he clearly knew what he was looking for. The normal ability of this investigator to inject dry humor and wit into any situation, even if unappreciated by his audience, seemed to be dulled in the early hours of the morning this day. For better or worse, this crime had left the homicide detective pensive and speechless.

Regaining his composure, Thornbush called the two forensics officers over and spoke in hushed tones, Cover Jane Doe up before the boys come to take her away. He went on, I don’t want anyone but you two, me, and the coroner seeing her!

Murph nodded. Ernie started to say something and thought better of it. Initially, Thornbush looked away from the officers. Have the coroner do a full work up, he ordered. Then, for emphasis he looked at them both directly in the eyes, one after another, "Find out what really killed her…What was in her system? I don’t care how long it takes…" Thornbush clearly wasn’t accepting any mythical explanations for what happened to the victim.

Ernie couldn’t bite his tongue this time. Uhh, won’t the family be crying, you know… bloody murder?

Thornbush didn’t smile. Anyway, he knew the photographer’s pun was unintended. It was a legitimate question, typically people are anxious to have a family member’s body returned for proper burial. Legal red tape preventing a speedy funeral can lead to anger and resentment, but that wasn’t likely to happen in this case.

If the M-O holds, next of kin doesn’t even know where she is. Dollars to disappearing donuts, she’s a runaway! The detective finished with a depressing thought, No, it may be awhile before any family members realize she’s dead.

Thornbush’s sardonic sense of humor returned, By the way, the last thing you would call this is a bloody murder. Then he added a sober aside, "I wish someone would tell me where the blood is."

The humorless statement added to the sober nature of the macabre scene. All murder scenes are grim. The dichotomy of violence without obvious signs of struggle made this scene perplexing.

The officers were ready to complete their duties and get back to the station. This was their job; they dealt with these types of things fifty weeks a year, but this one seemed a little different. Thornbush sensed a little levity was seriously needed. Keep this under your blue lids, Thornbush warned. "The last thing this town needs is an urban legend circulating in the coffee shops... about vampires!"

Ernie appeared to gulp. Ernie might be a gullible man, but the detective hadn’t smiled before, during, or after making that comment. It didn’t sound like a joke to the short photographer. Pulling off his cap, he ran his gloved fingers through his hair. Looking down at his hand, he realized that some of his dark curly hair had come out. He immediately peeled off his latex glove to replace it with a new one. Putting his cap back on, he hesitantly voiced his feelings. "I don’t mind saying, it’s got me a little freaked out."

As Ernie confessed his own queasiness about the affair, a presence seemed to momentarily flicker into view. It came close as if very interested in the dialogue of the police officers. Perhaps an arm’s length away, yet completely unobserved, the invisible participant listened intently as Ernie’s words seemed to echo, "…it’s got me a little freaked out."

Why, Thornbush countered, "do you believe in vampires?" The detective’s accusation only hung in the air for a moment.

Ernie responded unabashedly, It wouldn’t be the strangest thing happening in this town.

Chapter 2

City Central High School was directly in the center of Caliginos City. It was the oldest and largest of the many high schools in the city. Though historic in appearance, the unadorned brick and block buildings made up a meticulously maintained campus. As an urban high school, the students and faculty represented diverse racial, cultural, and social backgrounds.

Two of City Central’s students, part of that diverse panorama, bantered about a favorite topic.

"Ramon, I’m telling you, Dex has been so louse the last few days," the African American girl asserted.

Come on, Shanaya, why do you say that?

Shanaya tried to be patient with her Hispanic friend, Ramon. It wasn’t Ramon’s fault that she was crazy in love. "You know, Ramon. Haven’t you noticed how he’s been acting? He’ll come up and put his arm around me and say something like, ‘Hot chocolate cupcake, Shanaya, you look scrumptious!’" Shanaya’s mock macho voice was an unflattering imitation of Ramon’s boyfriend.

Ramon was unconvinced. "What’s wrong with that, you’re beautiful! Anyway, he’s nice like that to everybody."

More like lame—and racist… Shanaya muttered under her breath.

"Don’t be saying my boyfriend is louse. You’ll be embarrassed at our wedding!"

The two girls’ conversation was interrupted by the intercom system at their school. "Coach Saladon reminds all students that tryouts for the golf team will be held today after school at the Downtown University Golf Course. The student council urges you to practice safety first and use the buddy system when walking to and from school." The intercom shut off with a crackle.

Safety first… what are we, first graders?

Hey Ramon, you were the one in a hurry to leave when that girl was murdered a couple weeks ago.

The bell rang, and both hurried from the high school hallway to their first class.

***

Thornbush sat in his office and stewed. Sitting and waiting for the bad guys to act was never comfortable for a man of such severe rectitude. His thirty dollar office chair was especially disagreeable at the moment. Annoyed, Thornbush puzzled over the dilemma of having not a single credible lead. The perpetrator he sought had dropped a lot of