Preservation Falls

By LP Connolly

Dr. Theodore Rowland has been on the run for years, alone and afraid. Desperate to stay off the radar of those that want him dead.

His crime? Learning the truth about his former employers. A powerful and faceless conglomerate known only to Rowland by the codeword - Iniquity.

An organisation with immense resources and influence, protected by layers of secrecy and a host of psychotic security operatives, led by the fanatical Konrad Welton.

After all these years, Rowland is still afraid, but he has finally stopped running... and he is no longer alone.

Now leading a small team of conspiracy theorists in a clandestine, off the grid operation, he is determined to expose Iniquity’s true identity, and more importantly, their nefarious manipulation of world events.

While the enemy he faces appears unstoppable, Rowland’s team has one secret weapon. Becky Yeates, a low level, nervous employee, spying on their behalf from within Iniquity’s walls.

Their only protection, Ethan Cole, a mysterious homeless man, with an unknown past, sharp mind and chilling killer instinct.

When Rowland’s team discovers Iniquity is in the process of creating a devastating biological weapon, the race is on to prevent a terrifying New World Order from rising.

Preservation Falls is the first instalment of the gripping “Fade To Chaos” series, by author L.P. Connolly

• Language: English
• Publisher: LP Connolly
• Release date: Jul 5, 2018
• ISBN: 9781999967314

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Ethan strolled along the sidewalk, taking care to appear as relaxed and uninterested as possible, blending with his surroundings. Discreetly heightening his senses to full alert, he calmly absorbed and analysed every sight and sound the bustling mid-morning city street offered.

He was getting closer.

Absently, he wondered if today would be the day they revealed themselves, then dismissed the thought from his mind. They either would, or they wouldn’t. It made no odds to Ethan. Worrying never solved anything. Besides, he had enough faith in his own ability to survive. The others, though? He allowed himself an inward grunt of exasperation. No, he had to admit to himself, the others would be well and truly screwed. The cost of being idiots, he supposed.

Treston City was the kind of place that strove to be a laid-back, east coast version of Portland, but, somehow, it only ever managed to project the brusqueness found in New York City. It had just passed 10 a.m., and most of the morning motorists had managed to free themselves from the usual gridlock, trickling off into their respective parking lots, allowing the streets to breathe a little easier. The remaining traffic now flowing that bit smoother. Most of the commuting horde had already turned themselves in for the day. Prisoners to their contracts of employment. They would toil away at the usual soul nibbling tasks, all the while counting down their sentenced hours until that golden moment arrived, when they were permitted temporary release for the night. To mark the occasion, they would pour back into the streets, content to harass and harry each other for yet another round in the tournament known as modern life. Most simply vying for the quickest way home and whatever respite might be found there.

Those not dedicating themselves to the endurance contest of snailing their vehicles through the laughably titled Rush Hour, would compete for a space in various modes of public transport. Seizing the opportunity to jostle and irritate each other some more, each individual focused on their own temporary quest at the time. Most of them arming themselves with technology and accompanying headphones, to grant them the power to ignore one another. In Ethan’s experience, no matter what the city, the pattern was always the same. So, as he walked, he quietly searched for anything that broke the trend.

Not everyone was in their cell yet, and Ethan evaluated them all as he passed. Thus far, the wide sidewalk he travelled along presented the normal mish-mash of human activity common to all city centre streets at that time of the morning. Here and there, some of the vacant-looking office types still lingered, walking half-heartedly towards their new day of confinement in some penned off workstation or another. One or two hurried by, bearing that slightly disheveled look that suggested they were running late. The ones with the more expensive suits and coats walked their power walks, some speaking into cell phones in brisk, self-important tones as they charged along to whatever place of work they believed defined their reason to exist. Then there were the more casually-garbed, hip types bobbing along with their massive headphones, designer glasses, mismatched clothing and stylishly retro messenger bags. Clearly believing themselves to be cooler than the mainstream corporate plebs. Yet, no doubt, heading to the same sentence, just trendier cells. Also amongst the pedestrian flow were the tired-looking ones, recently released from the nightshift, their various bland uniforms half-heartedly concealed beneath practical-looking jackets.

Some of the passing individuals bore thoughtful expressions, others seemed slightly exasperated. Occasionally, one would display a quiet contentment, but mostly, the blank expressions of what Ethan considered to be the trapped and disillusioned streamed past him. A catalogue of faces, all heading their own way, all moving towards whatever the day had in store for them. So much variance, so many individual styles, yet they were all subconsciously following the horde, while adamantly thinking they were different; each one the star of their own life. Most hoping they portrayed an interesting tale to those around them, while secretly, behind the scenes, being miserable with the production they had found themselves cast in.

Ethan took care to extend his observations to the people in both the parked and passing vehicles, as well as those moving along the opposite sidewalk, who, unbeknown to them, were precisely mimicking the people on his side of the street. He took in the vendors tending the various kiosks. His nose sifted through the various scents around him while his ears dissected the surrounding buzz of humanity: the overlapping hum of vehicles passing by, the various tones of conversation from people speaking into cell phones or to one another, the natural banter between friends and associates. The exasperated words of a young mother struggling to get a toddler to hold her hand as she made her way towards a crosswalk. The staccato of a jackhammer emanating from a nearby construction site as it attacked a defiant, but quickly defeated segment of concrete. The call for a taxi by a man he passed, who looked stressed and possibly late for some form of rendezvous. The profane insult and petulant shout from a cycle courier who believed he had a more justified right of way than the woman in the blue Taurus. The sudden honk from another motorist angrily protesting at the taxi that had abruptly stopped to pick up the stressed-looking man. Ethan strolled on, his body relaxed, his mind sharp, his senses roving, analysing everything. Diligently searching for others like him.

Others intent on blending.

He kept his hands buried deep within the pockets of his faded jeans, adding to his chilled out demeanour. The rest of his clothing was just as casual: a tatty pair of hiking boots and a plain black t-shirt under a jacket of cracked brown leather that had originally been some fashionable take on a modern motorcycle jacket. He liked how current fashion had decided scruffiness was now an acceptable trend. It had always been his style whenever he could help it.

An old and well-used tactical messenger bag hung low by his side, its wide strap slung across his chest. The bag’s contents had been specially selected and adapted for their practicality if the need arose. Equally, the contents had been carefully chosen to ensure they would not raise suspicion in the unlikely event he was stopped and searched by a member of the Treston City Police Department. This kind of work suited him. He had always been a loner and was happiest in his own company.

Over the years, Ethan had unintentionally developed a base instinct to naturally blend into his surroundings whenever he found himself roaming amongst the public. It amused him to no end to overhear urban types yakking on about retreats and the importance of allowing yourself time to find peace through isolation. In Ethan’s experience, there was no place better equipped to make a person feel truly alone than a heavily populated city. Once you kept to yourself, refrained from eccentric behaviour or dressing outlandishly, you could walk uninterrupted all day long in a busy city. The only people who would notice your passing would be those you chose to purchase something from. Even then, if you were careful enough to only transact in places that had a steady footfall and not make a habit of becoming a regular at those locations, you would not be remembered for longer than two or three hours at best. Most people were always too busy or too engrossed in their own lives to notice a quiet one being played out.

A nondescript white van parked across the street caught his attention. Discreetly, Ethan merged into a fast-moving queue at a busy little kiosk, giving him time to assess the vehicle better. There was no obvious movement, nor the slight bounce on the suspension to suggest someone was inside. As he reached the vendor, he quickly purchased a pack of cigarettes and a bag of ribbon candy before rejoining the human flow. He casually stuffed the candy into a pocket on the outer flap of his bag and sauntered over to a trashcan, slowly unwrapping the cigarette packet while keeping one inconspicuous eye on the van. Just then, a burly man emerged from the front reception of a nearby office building, jabbing at buttons on a bulky handheld device from which a stylus belligerently dangled. Hurrying to the side of the van, the man hauled open the side door to reveal precariously stacked packages of varying sizes and bulk. He quickly sorted through a pile of heavy, document boxes, dragging some of them towards him, before scanning their barcoded labels with the chunky device. Ethan performed a tired yawn and scratched at the heavy stubble on his chin as his momentary interest in the van began to wane. The man grabbed the boxes he had just scanned, used his hip to shunt the side door closed, then hurried off towards another office building.

Ethan popped the smokes into his jacket pocket and, under the pretence of stretching his neck muscles, cast a casual glance towards the assorted windows of the buildings facing him. He knew it was unlikely he’d spot anything untoward at that height and distance, but it never hurt to be careful. Re-adjusting his bag, he turned his attention back to his side of the street, his eyes settling on a bookstore two doors down. He headed towards it.

It was one of those trendy bookstores where you could purchase a coffee, sit down on a plush sofa and surf the web, while looking hip. Ethan paused outside and curiously looked through the large window. A young, attractive barista was completing a stock inventory at the quiet coffee station while an intelligent-looking young man with a neatly trimmed goatee sat behind the cash register near the door. He seemed engrossed in a large, hardback book, jotting down occasional notes on a legal pad as he read. He wore a polo shirt with the store’s logo neatly stitched on the breast. A brightly printed sign on the counter suggested that customers should ask him about the store’s latest offers. His demeanour, however, declared that he would much rather not be disturbed.

Other than the staff, there were only two customers idly floating amongst the book aisles, casually perusing the store’s merchandise. One was a wiry, middle-aged lady, who, despite wearing glasses, tended to lean forward to squint at the titles arrayed on the various book spines. The other was a young man wearing a hooded corduroy jacket. He sported a pair of oversized headphones that were hooked around his neck as he leafed through something he’d found in the bestseller section. Ethan positioned his head as though he was taking in the offers exhibited in the window display, while his eyes skimmed the reflected image of the street in the glass, taking the opportunity for a final, cautious scan of the surroundings behind him. Satisfied that nothing stood out as warranting concern, he entered the bookstore.

An old-fashioned bell jangled cheerily as he pushed the door open. As it gently swung shut behind him, the harshest noises of the active street outside were shushed away, leaving a toned-down muffled hum that cast a peaceful vibe about the store. Goatee guy remained focused on his book as Ethan passed. As the avid reader turned a page, a quick glance told Ethan that it was a historical account of the Civil War that had so effectively captured the clerk’s attention. He made his way to the barista and casually ordered a regular coffee. She cheerily greeted him and swiftly supplied the beverage, took his money and nodded her thanks in response to his nod towards the tip jar when she offered his change. Ethan settled himself into one of the plush armchairs, one that put his back to the street but offered a full view of the store. From his messenger bag, he withdrew a small, thin laptop, flipped it open and powered it up. As the screen flared to life, he took a sip of his beverage before entering the required details into the prompt box that had appeared. Various web pages instantly sprang into view. A blog post from someone extolling their tongue-in-cheek opinions on the horrors of reality TV, a social media page with the usual pictures and comments, an email account and one small instant messaging box, positioned dead-centre at the bottom of the screen. A greyed-out cursor patiently pulsed against a white background. Ethan entered a single comma in the instant messaging box. It, too, was greyed-out, making it almost impossible to read against the white background. He clicked send … a signal to base confirming he was in position. Seconds later, a greyed-out asterisk symbol appeared as a confirmation reply from base. The cursor alongside it resumed its indifferent pulsation. He watched it for another beat, graced himself with another sip of coffee and began scrolling through the social media page.

It belonged to someone called Travis Walsh. A lean built, broad-shouldered man in his early thirties. Travis had long, wavy brown hair that fell past his ears and a heavily-stubbled jawline. Ethan had never met him, nor had he any desire to. The only thing they had in common was the fact that Travis Walsh bore an uncanny physical resemblance to Ethan. Granted, deeper examination would show that Travis did not share the old, soft scar that left a puckered line through the stubble on Ethan’s left jawline. Nor did Travis have the occasional grey streaks that ran through Ethan’s hair from his temple. Closer inspection would also show that Travis’s blue eyes lacked the wary coldness that was all too apparent in Ethan’s grey eyes. Travis was also a lot more clean-cut in his shared photos and two years younger than Ethan’s thirty-five. Travis’s broad, cheerful smile was akin to something that rarely passed Ethan’s usually grim, bemused façade. Still, these were all things one would need to take the time to observe closely to establish any differences. Right now, to the casual passer-by, Ethan was just another person updating his online status. He skimmed his would-be doppelgänger’s page to see what he had been doing with himself.

The most recently uploaded picture showed Travis smiling amongst a small group of friends in a forest setting, a neat little cabin in the background. They all wore fashionable hiking gear. One of the group, a very attractive, dark-haired and olive-skinned girl in her twenties, clung onto Travis’s arm. She was looking up at him with a gleam in her eye and a devilish grin.

‘Damn, Travis, please tell me you’re tapping that,’ Ethan muttered.

The old-fashioned bell over the store’s entrance gave another cheery jangle, summoning Ethan from his reverie. He glanced in the direction of the door as a petite brunette entered the store. She was in her late twenties and quite pretty, in a fresh-faced sort of way. Her hair was pulled back into a neat bun, and she wore a casual top, jeans and a tailored, light-coloured jacket. High-heeled boots, dark sunglasses propped atop her head and a large handbag slung across one shoulder topped off the ensemble. She walked with her head down, as though lost in thought, while absently tapping the screen of a smart phone. Civil War buff glanced up just long enough to acknowledge that the newcomer wasn’t making her way to his counter and resumed his study. The girl strolled to the first display unit, finished whatever she was doing on her phone and began browsing along the shelves, scanning the spines as she went. Occasionally, she would stop, select a book and briefly read the blurb on the back of the dust jacket before returning it to the shelf.

Ethan returned his attention to his laptop. A few minutes later, he heard a soft tapping noise. With a subtle glance, he spotted the pretty brunette at a unit about twelve feet away from him, slightly to his right. She had stopped at the end of the section titled Animals & Nature, one hand resting atop a large glossy book. She seemed to be lost in thought as she looked at it, biting her lip and tapping her fingertips against the hard cover. Ethan’s eyes flitted to the other two customers in the store. Neither of them seemed to have noticed the tapping noise. The barista had returned to her stock inventory. Civil War buff was running an index finger under some line in the book he was studying, while his other hand furiously scribbled notes, his forehead creased in concentration. Ethan returned his gaze to the screen before him, keeping the girl in his peripheral view. Her fingers abruptly stopped as she seemed to make her choice. She withdrew the book from the shelf, a large, yellow hardback tome. She looked at it thoughtfully, softly leafing through the pages as she turned and strolled with ease towards the cash desk. Ethan casually busied himself with his laptop. As he pretended to scroll through the content, he heard the brunette speak to Civil War buff, her voice soft and polite.

‘Excuse me, this Animal Encyclopedia, do you know if it’s an updated version?’

‘No, I don’t.’ Civil War guy was clearly irritated. Apparently, customer service was merely an ironic suggestion to him. ‘But, as you can see, it’s published by the National Geographic, so I think we can all be reassured that it’s quite detailed.’

He had one of those smart-assed voices that instantly made him slappable, from Ethan’s point of view.

‘Oh, OK. Thank you,’ the brunette replied brightly, despite the man’s unwarranted rudeness.

Ethan sensed, more than saw, her returning to the shelf she’d taken the book from. He heard pages being leafed through as she passed. Once again, picking her up in his peripheral vision, he noted her returning the book to its original place. She then leisurely made her way to the bargain basket, stopping to have a quick sift through its contents, before continuing to the coffee dock where she briefly perused the magazine rack. Eventually, she selected two fashion magazines and a coffee to go, paid for the items, then casually breezed out of the store. Ethan took another sip of his coffee and skimmed through an email account for a few seconds before clicking on the messaging box at the bottom of the screen. He quickly typed:

ANIMAL ENCYCLOPAEDIA – YELLOW HARDBACK – 1300.

The greyed-out message vanished from the instant messaging box as he clicked send. He returned his attention to the inane correspondence in the email account. A few minutes later, the middle-aged lady made her way to the pay point, unwittingly disturbing Civil War guy, who served her with all the goodwill of a moody child. Collecting her purchases, the lady left the store, the old bells letting loose another jangle to see her off.

The store’s other remaining customer, the young guy with the large headphones, sauntered over to the coffee dock. He gave the attractive young barista an absurd order that involved hints of foam, a liberal dusting of nutmeg and just a pinch of fuck-knew-what. Ethan snorted back a sarcastic laugh and shook his head. While there were many things about modern society that irritated the hell out of him, pretentious coffee orders ranked in the top ten.

He also hated thinking like that. It only made him feel old.

Not that heading towards the dark side of thirty-five meant he was old, not to a rational mind, anyway. It was more to do with how he had traversed the previous years of his life. Ethan was unable to recall the last time he had not felt perpetually jaded.

Oversized headphone guy received his ridiculous coffee and then proceeded to make a laughable attempt at chatting up the barista, who did not seem in the least bit interested. Ethan didn’t blame her. The guy was trying to come across as someone of deep intellect by yakking on about the plight of his fellow citizens being mind-raped by corporate entities. He might have succeeded had it not been for the smart phone sticking out of his back pocket and the ludicrous beverage he had just ordered. Not to mention his hip clothes, designed to be nonconformist, yet no doubt purchased at various high street stores with a huge markup. Ethan tried to tune him out as he returned to his pointless email correspondence.

The bell jangled again, announcing the arrival of a new customer. Ethan faked interest in something on the screen but caught the newcomer out of the corner of his eye. It was another young woman; this one was average height and hefty build. She wore a cheap trouser suit with a simple white top beneath the jacket, and a pair of red-framed, fashionable spectacles, which highlighted her pasty complexion. She had long, fair hair, carelessly pulled back into a loose ponytail. Her large shoulder-strapped handbag was propped behind her by one elbow. She seemed to glance towards Ethan before shifting her gaze to the bookcase to his right. She then walked straight to the back of the shop before making her way across the store, passing the rear side of the units, occasionally straining a glance at the odd section. As far as Ethan could tell, she did not seem interested in anything specific.

He bit his lower lip and tried to quell a flush of vexation flaring within. The newcomer quickly moved down the shelves, coming to a stop at the end of the bookcase to Ethan’s right. It stood between him and the coffee dock. His one o’clock position. The Animals & Nature section.

She paused long enough to feign interest in the spines arrayed there, then grabbed the same yellow tome that the brunette had queried the clerk about earlier. After appearing to read both covers of the Animal Encyclopedia and take in the glossy cover illustrations, she opened the book and purposely began leafing through the pages as though her interest had suddenly piqued.

Not wanting to seem too obvious in his observations, Ethan activated the built-in camera on his laptop and shrank the viewing screen, deftly dragging it to the bottom of the monitor. He watched as she ploughed her way through the book. A few seconds later, she paused on a page, angled the book down towards her left side and raised the pages on the right to obstruct the view of her left hand. After a slight, yet visible fidget, she closed the book and replaced it on the shelf with her right hand. As though by magic, her left hand now held a small envelope. Deftly, she dropped her left hand to her side and darted the envelope into her jacket pocket.

Readjusting her handbag, she wandered over to another shelf, gave it a perfunctory imitation of interest before taking her phone out and feigning attention to that. She then promptly left the store. The jangle of the old bells sounding urgent in the wake of her haste.

Ethan took a couple of slow, deliberate mouthfuls of coffee before dropping the Styrofoam cup and its remaining contents into a nearby trashcan. He closed his laptop, slid it back into his bag and casually slung it over his shoulder. He left the store at a relaxed pace. Outside, he turned in the same direction as the lady who’d just left.

Picking her out was easy. She was one short block ahead of him, amongst the other pedestrians ebbing back and forth along the sidewalk. He followed, scanning his surroundings as he went. This time, slightly less focused as a feeling of irritation prickled across his skin. She was walking purposefully, with no interest in any of the businesses or vendors that flanked the street. It was clear she was heading to a pre-determined location. Her body language screamed out urgent business.

She was clearly an amateur. Ethan despised having to waste time dealing with her kind. Interactions with amateurs always led to the same hassles. Simple things got messy fast, often swiftly spiraling into chaos.

The woman continued for several blocks, then cut through a large park. She followed the main thoroughfare that meandered through the neatly tended grass verges, artfully placed rockeries and large boating lake. Random joggers, cyclists and people, who were out simply for the sheer pleasure, peppered the area. Inconspicuously, Ethan scanned them for signs of suspicious behaviour, dismissing each in turn as unworthy of further in-depth scrutiny. As expected, the target of his new interest was not, so far, aware of his trailing presence. It was probably the only good thing about amateurs. They were easy to tail.

Regardless, Ethan held back, ensuring he kept both a reasonable distance and a relaxed gait. The woman, on the other hand, continued to walk with hurried purpose. Reaching the other side of the park, she exited through an arched gateway and turned right. Ethan grimly watched the top of her head move along the hedged border of the park’s perimeter, finally stopping at a bus stop.

Exiting the park through the arched gateway, Ethan turned left and walked towards a selection of paintings and framed photographs that were hung for display along the park’s railing. The makeshift art gallery was manned by a hungover-looking, hefty male in a tatty blazer and ill-fitting dungarees. Ethan slowed down to a lazy saunter, pausing at the artwork stacked against the lower part of the fencing. Pretending to admire the display, he watched the bus stop from the corner of his eye.

The bleary-looking, would-be art dealer ambled over, his hands plunged deep inside the big pockets of his worn blazer. He greeted his potential customer with a good-natured grin.

‘Hey, man.’ He spoke with the long drawl of someone who was no stranger to smoking pot while probably debating things like existentialism.

‘Hey,’ Ethan returned the greeting.

‘Anythin’ catchin’ the eye this mornin’?’

He came to stand beside Ethan, gazing at the assorted prints and framed images of artfully taken photographs. The dull scent of burnt cannabis gently accompanying his presence. Ethan stepped forward and selected a large, framed picture of the New York skyline captured at night. Holding it between his two hands, he held it out at arm’s length.

‘This is a nice piece,’ he said with an indifferent shrug.

The vendor grinned broadly, squinting his eyes and bobbing his head as though they had just shared a private joke. Ethan absently wondered if the guy was currently high.

‘That it is, man, that it is,’ he drawled. Ethan casually angled the frame so he could pick up the woman and the bus stop behind him in the reflection of the glass.

‘You do this yourself?’ he asked.

‘Aw no, man. I just sell this shit for another guy,’ came the offish response.

Ethan graced the vendor with a bemused sideways glance. The man continued to bob his head, grinning. Even through his squinting eyes, Ethan could detect a certain glassiness. Yep, the guy was definitely baked.

‘So, it’s shit?’ Ethan asked.

The vendor stared back at him, still grinning, but now with a slightly quizzical look. The bobbing of the head slowed momentarily. Then, as though a light came on:

‘Aw this?’ he gestured at the picture. ‘Aw no, man. It’s all like, it’s all awesome shit is what I’m saying.’

The bobbing returned to its high frequency and the grinning continued unabated. Ethan noted that the guy tended to add a sway to his movements when he spoke.

‘Cool,’ he replied, checking the reflection again. The woman was still at the bus stop. ‘Tell me about this picture.’

The man seemed briefly startled, the goofy smile freezing. Ethan guessed it was a rare treat for him to be asked for his artistic opinion on the pictures he sold. Then the grin broadened and he straightened slightly, clearly delighted at the opportunity to demonstrate his professional expertise.

‘Right. OK. Well, man, this is like a picture of New York at night, yeah? All twinkly and shit, and, um … I guess the artist … well, he was like, Fuck! Dude! Look at all those big ass buildings with all the trippy lights and shit, I gotta snap this bitch.’

Ethan nodded, keeping an eye on the reflection while pretending to look interested. The vendor took it as a nod towards his expert salesmanship and continued with his pitch. His smile becoming one of philosophical amazement.

‘I mean, y’know, man, he was probably just chillin’ with some doobie and maybe a hot wench and saw this and thought! BAM! This shit be all nostalgic and shit. And … like … y’know … because he’s like a total art fanatic and shit, he’d be all, "Where’s my camera? Oh, here it is, man, right here. Cause I’m all serious about art and life and shit, so I got my camera with me all the time, so I’m gonna pop this vision, right here, right now, and share it with the masses and shit. Let the people see that, even though the Feds blew the towers away, the city still stands, man, and she still be a hot, bitchin’, hootchie-squaw."’

Ethan nodded, stifling a chuckle.

‘The Fed’s?’ he asked.

The guy shrugged. ‘Yeah, man! I mean … come on, everyone knows that chaos was an inside job. Bush went all YEE-HAH and shit.’

There was just no end to the grinning. A bus hove into view in the reflection, making stately progress towards the stop.

‘Well, brother, that is some insightful shit you got going on in your head,’ Ethan said, passing the frame back to the stoned vendor.

‘But that, my friend, is my bus coming, so I gotta run.’

‘So, you like, wanna buy this then, man?’ the guy asked hopefully, his grin faltering slightly.

‘Maybe another time, buddy. I’ll probably be back this way and you can tell me more about these other pieces.’

‘OK, man. For sure.’

He took one of his hands off the frame, and offered it clenched to Ethan, who nodded and fist bumped it with one of his own before turning and casually making his way towards the now stationary bus.

The woman was boarding as he approached. Her back was to Ethan as she handed the driver some coins. Ethan passed the door as she turned to select a seat near the front of the bus. He hopped through the side door behind her. Whipping a travel card from his wallet, he held it against the scanner. It acknowledged his credit with a beep as the doors hissed closed beside him. Putting the card and wallet away, Ethan walked to the rear of the bus and sat down just as it lurched forward, merging back into the flow of traffic. Ethan had no concern about his target jumping from the bus without warning as the doors closed at some future stop. At this point, he had a good idea of the woman’s destination. He had suspected it as soon as he saw her leave the bookstore. With every step she had taken since, it had become all too painfully obvious to him. His irritation grew.

Sure enough, nine stops later, the woman disembarked in a quiet, leafy part of the city, with well-maintained brownstones and tree-lined residential avenues. She made her way down a quiet street. Ethan held back, allowing new passengers to board before he exited and resumed following her.

The woman turned into a smaller, scruffier park, which she quickly traversed and exited, bringing her into a small, even quieter residential cul-de-sac. Three of the houses there had been boarded up and bore an unkempt look with their overgrown yards and peeling paint. The other residences, however, were impeccably tended, with neat little gardens cared for to an almost obsessive point. Some of them exhibited small, colourful ornaments that were favoured by the elderly. The occasional cars parked here and there were of the sensible and practical variety. One of the more patriotic residents had hung Old Glory from a small garden flag pole, the stars and stripes hanging listlessly for want of a supportive breeze. The open end of the street intersected with a larger one, though this, too, was still fairly quiet. To his distant right, slightly uphill, and earning the small street its cul-de-sac status, the opposite end was blocked off by a set of large iron gates adorned with peeling black paint. The gates were open, one of them hanging slightly askew, hinting at a long period of neglect. The gates were flanked by two low walls crowned with black-spiked railings of similar design. Behind these sat an old, stately-looking, two-storey building, squatting within a simply laid out walled courtyard. It, too, looked in need of freshening up, though its previous architectural charm was still evident from its double pillared portico entrance and domed roof that suggested it had once been some kind of local government administration building. The dome in the centre of the roof was now green, streaked with brown and surrounded by old slate tiles, some of which were missing. The large, top floor windows sat in grimy darkness, but the matching ground floor ones harnessed the dull glow of artificial lighting contained within. It was towards this building that the woman now made her way, with Ethan slowly following.

The woman pushed open the thick wooden door at the main entrance and disappeared inside as Ethan approached the gates. He stepped into the courtyard and calmly lit a cigarette as the heavy wooden door groaned shut behind her. A narrow path from the gates to the main entrance cut through the scrubby grass, which extended on either side of the path and continued around the sides and rear of the building. The walls bordering the sides and rear of the structure were much higher and almost completely covered in climbing ivy. A solitary birch tree stood to one side of the path, surrounded by a small, circular bench, beyond which stood the only remaining feature of the courtyard, an old wrought iron ornamental street light.

Ethan made his way to the birch tree and sat down on the bench with a weary sigh, facing back down the street. He allowed himself a deep drag of the cigarette, then blew a long, slow stream of smoke into the air as he regarded the quiet cul-de-sac. Despite the three boarded up houses, the street was one of the tidiest he had ever seen. A testament to the locals living there.

After a minute of almost eerie silence, an elderly resident appeared from the side of a house a few doors down and made his way on shaky legs to his gate where he retrieved a recently emptied wheeled trash can from the sidewalk. He then slowly trundled it back up the path, disappearing around the same side he had come from. Ethan heard the trundling come to a stop, followed by a grating, shoving sound. After a few seconds came the sound of a small door creaking open, then closing again. Moments later, the calming quietness crept back to reclaim the street.

The cars parked along the sidewalks sat empty and still. Down the far end, a solitary station wagon rolled into view and slowly came to a stop at the junction as the lights turned red. Ethan observed it until the lights turned green and the vehicle continued on its way. He took another drag. His earlier annoyance had begun to wane, but was being replaced with a feeling of disquiet. He finished his cigarette and tossed the butt, crushing it underfoot as he stood. Turning, he faced the old building.

‘Right,’ he muttered with a bitter sigh. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

He walked to the main entrance. A weather-worn flagstone imbedded above the door, declared the building’s name in faded etchings:

BIRCH HILL LIBRARY.

Ethan pushed open the heavy door and stepped through. The musty smell of old stale paper lingered in the air. Like most older-styled libraries, a large, polished reception desk faced the door, flanked by fitted but only moderately stacked bookshelves. Small wood-paneled reading cubbies lined one wall. A large round table, circled with often patched but still usable armchairs, was positioned to his right. A square table surrounded with simple plastic chairs and stools served the study area to his left. Other standalone bookshelves were arrayed in neat rows here and there, wherever the floor space allowed. There were no internet or digital audio points and the books gracing the shelves had not been updated since 1995 when the library had officially closed; the local council relocating the building’s budget elsewhere.

The library had laid dormant until its new tenant had moved in just three years ago. It was he who had decided to put the stockpile of old books he had found in the basement back on the shelves. The library opened its doors again for just a few hours each day, allowing the elderly local residents access to the books that he had made available. The gesture was much appreciated by the locals, but only slightly availed of.

Despite the fact most locals were retirees, modern technology had not escaped them, nor had it been beyond them. So, only a small handful of the nearby residents bothered with the library’s open invitation. The odd diehard, non-conformer still came, while others used it as an opportunity to get out of the house, wandering in to enjoy what little social aspect could be found.

At this moment, it was eerily quiet. The only other person around was sat behind the reception desk with a steaming cup of tea in her hands. She was a small, plump and cheery-looking elderly woman in conservative clothing. Her iron-grey hair was pulled up into a neat bun. She turned in Ethan’s direction as he entered and made his way towards her, his hand reaching into his ever-present satchel.

The woman took the large, framed pair of glasses that hung by a delicate little chain about her neck and popped them onto the bridge of her nose, peering at him as he approached.

‘Oh, Ethan, it’s you,’ she said with a warm smile. ‘And how are you today, sweetheart?’

‘Hi, Mona,’ he greeted. ‘All good with me. What’s happening with you today?’

‘Oh, all quiet here, sweetie. Mrs. Betson has been the only one in so far. She wasn’t much for the talking, you know, since her poor husband passed. Just got herself a few books and dropped in the ones from last week. Other than that, why, I daresay, you could hear a flea’s leap, it’s been so quiet.’

Ethan forced a look of interest, nodding sagely as she spoke.

‘Well,’ he replied, in a good-natured tone, ‘we won’t complain about a nice bit of peace and quiet. Anyway, thought these might help.’ He withdrew his hand from the satchel and placed the bag of ribbon candy in front of the elderly woman.

‘Oh, you little charmer,’ she beamed. ‘I swear you’re on a mission to fatten me.’

Ethan forced himself to return the obligatory smile and made his way to the side of the desk where he lifted a section and stepped through.

‘Enjoy!’ he nodded at Mona, who was already stashing the bag of cellophane wrapped treats in a pigeon hole for later.

Ethan stepped through to the back-office area and went straight to a door marked Storage. Taking a set of keys from his pocket, he unlocked the door and stepped through, quickly relocking it from the gloomy inside. He made his way down a wooden staircase that led to a dark and dank basement. Discarded tables and boxes filled with junk had been shoved haphazardly against the walls that surrounded an old boiler system. Ethan walked across the room to another door that was almost hidden in the gloom, with sections of shelving attached to it, complete with bolted-on junk to partially conceal its presence. Unlocking this door, he stepped through and emerged onto the small landing of a metal staircase that overlooked the neat sub-basement that had been cleverly converted into a compact, but well laid out, open plan work area. Directly beneath him was a small and simply furnished kitchen area that served as a canteen, with two doors at the back: one marked WC, the other marked SHOWER ROOM. A cast iron wood burning stove, currently sitting cold and empty, was embedded into the centre of the grey stone wall that ran the left side of the room. A small leather sofa and large bean bag were positioned nearby. A bank of medium-sized, flat screen TV monitors were fixed to the wall above the stove. Various world news channels played out silently on the screens. The lighting in the room was solely artificial, supplied by small desk lamps dotted here and there.

In the middle of the room, four office desks had been connected to make a single four-way pod. A young, moody-looking slender woman with short, dark hair and an assortment of earrings running along the outline of one ear, sat in tight-fitting black clothes at one of the desks. Opposite her sat a young, intense-looking skinny guy, with rimless glasses and short, neat brown hair. His neatly pressed polo shirt was tucked into expensive chinos. Both seemed fully occupied with their laptops. The girl, chewing her lower lip, looked thoughtful as one hand, displaying a collection of gothic jewellery and black fingernails, instinctively worked the touchpad. The guy was busy typing sporadically with the occasional click of the attached mouse, He paused randomly to nervously tweak the corner of his glasses. The other two desks were unoccupied.

Beyond the pod, a glass partition wall ran from one side of the room to the other, with a single transparent door. Behind this partition were two large servers, a cacophony of blinking lights declaring them active. At a solitary desk within this glassed-off area sat a hefty, unkempt-looking guy with massive headphones firmly clamped to either side of his wild mass of thick, brown curly hair. An equally wild and bushy reddish-brown beard covered the lower half of his face. Baggy faded jeans, scruffy trainers and a crumpled checkered shirt covered his podgy bulk. He seemed to be working