The Darkest Part: Strange Tales From The City Of Dust, #2

By Vaz Anzai

Laila, a mysterious Saudi Arabian woman has escaped an event known as "The Opaque", a consuming void that destroyed her former city. Now in Dust, she must face the darkest part of herself before she unleashes a new cataclysmic incident.

 

Strange Tales From The City Of Dust is a serial story done in episodic "short reads". Each story is a tale of action, adventure, and horror within the city of Dust. Set in futuristic Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, it incorporates themes of cyberpunk, artificial intelligence, synthetic beings, sexual themes, horror, occultism, demonology, medical monstrosities, innate abilities, future tech, and LGBTQ storylines.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Vaz Anzai
• Release date: Aug 24, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393839071

Vaz Anzai

I grew up reading horror, consuming books by Dean Koontz and John Saul. Cerebral horror has always been my preferred subgenre. Cyberpunk themes have intrigued me throughout the years, ever since I first saw Blade Runner and The Running Man. "Strange Tales From The City of Dust" is my cyberpunk look at future Pittsburgh. It involves themes of LGBTQ relationships, medical monstrosities, occultism, mental health, artificial intelligence, and more.

Book preview

/The Witness

1.

Watching someone die, whether by natural causes, their own hand, or by someone else’s, is something I would never wish upon my worst enemy. Statistics say that nearly everyone will witness death first-hand. You could take that multiple ways, I suppose. Even if you never encountered it in your lifetime, you may see yourself die instead of dying quietly in your sleep. I’m not sure where they get these numbers from. I’m just telling you what I know because I’ve come to believe what I’m told. I had a wonderful upbringing, despite my shortcomings. A father who loved me and was attentive and present. My mother, disconnected in several ways yet on a daily basis made sure I had everything I needed to make my way. I always ate well, slept in a comfortable bed, and never felt like I was lacking a single thing I actually needed.

The woman leaned back against the wall behind her, feeling the vertebrae of her spine adjust under the movement. Taking a long drag from the cigarette that had been burning between her fingers, she crushed the filter under her shoe, exhaling the smoke into the room in front of her. The white mist swirled malevolently, parting to either side before it dissipated into the half light of the dark.

I’m explaining this for a reason. For one, you’re here and have no choice in the matter. Sure, you could attempt to close your mind off. Pretend I’m not here. You haven’t though. You’re here. Your eyes are on me and you’re focused. I can see it. For this moment in time, this is all I care about. So listen.

Spinning a swivel chair around in front of her as if it were a swing dancing partner, she planted herself and leaned forward against the backrest.

"Jonathan was the perfect father. Sure, his brain was in a million places at once. His work was his life, and no one I knew would have asked him to abandon it. He was a druid, as some called it. Eidetic memory that wouldn’t shut off and let him just be. He absorbed information. I’m not explaining this like you’re unaware. You know these things. I’m still going to tell you though. You can’t tell me no, for obvious reasons. Anyways, he was raised normally. Gifted, they called him in school. He was like a human sponge when it came to learning, except he never felt full. After several doctorates, he decided learning from a book would not be enough. He would need to get out there, talk to people, acquire through observation of life directly. This was where you met him, and where his story gets to the darkest part."

/The Daughter

2.

Eva ran from her bedroom into her father’s home office down the carpeted hallway, her feet softly pattering as she slowly crept the last few inches to the door. Sliding her back against the wall, careful not to tap the stand with her mother’s various figurines shaped as birds, she poked her head in as a cautious meerkat would from its underground burrow.

Her father sat hunched over something on his desk, his elbow slowly moving away from his body before oscillating back in order to move outward again. She knew this meant he was writing something important, his focus not down on the notepad, but instead up on the screen connected to his laptop. Over his shoulder, she could see a grainy picture someone had taken of a young woman, her head tilted down as if to watch her own feet as she walked. The woman was wearing a dark hood emblazoned with some shiny blue-green runes that reminded her of the liquid inside of the glow sticks her mother would get for her every Halloween.

Eva took small steps into the room, patiently allowing each of her toes to connect with the floor before she put her weight on a leg and leaned in for the next movement. With the grace of a hummingbird, she danced her way across the back of the room to an overstuffed easy chair her father would use to sit and contemplate the things he accomplished that day. Positive that he didn’t hear her over his pencil scratching away at his notepad, she smiled at her furtive performance and waited calmly for him to notice her.

Did you think that I don’t have eyes in the back of my head, my little clover? her dad said abruptly without turning his head away from his work, startling her. He had been calling her his clover since she was born, signifying how lucky he was she was in his life. You know, the eyes opened the day you came into this world. They allow me to be forever watchful of you. A father needs them to protect his child, even when he isn’t there. They also make it so you can never sneak up on me, no matter how much you try. Daddy will get you breakfast as soon as he finishes writing this down.

From the kitchen, Eva could hear the sound of a bowl being removed from the cupboard, followed by a spoon sliding against the other silverware as her cereal was being prepared. Clapping her hands quickly together to signal her elation, she leapt from the chair and scurried into the kitchen to hop into a seat at the table where her mother was already pouring her favorite morning meal, Unicorn Sparkle Pops.

Spoon in hand before the milk could even pour from the carton, Eva wiggled in her seat, excitement radiating from her without words.

Are you this happy about the cereal, or that today is your sixth birthday, missy?

Eva bunched up her shoulders, her mouth full of sugary cereal. While unable to explain her emotions in words, her glittering green eyes conveyed whole paragraphs that her mother understood instantly. At four years old, she had her first episode that caused her eyes to completely whiten while they were sitting together at her first day of preschool. Her zombie-like stare disappeared when she ripped a crayon free of its casing and began masterfully drawing the image in her mind on the alabaster wall beside her. The face they would later discover was that of the school principal, whom Eva had yet to meet. That evening after school was over, the principal was sideswiped by a drunk driver while driving home and died instantly.

Eva’s father knew what her ability was. He had read about a young woman in Brazil who first manifested the ability in her twenties. The information that was recorded said that she was a college student at a university and in front of her classmates, interrupted her professor by walking down towards him at the front of the lecture hall with her bag of oil paints and began what would later be documented as the cara del futuro, or face of the future. When she was done, she was mortified at her own actions and locked herself away for weeks from the outside world. A day after the image was created, the elderly woman in the artwork was found to be living in a village outside of Rio De Janeiro. After watching a feed of the incident at the university, she called into the station and explained that she was indeed the woman in the highly detailed painting. They offered to fly her out on a private jet in order to interview her. Upon leaving for the airport, she was robbed by a group of men outside her home and stabbed to death.

After the incident at her preschool, Eva refused to talk. Both of her parents tried different ways of getting her to make any sounds, hoping to slowly work her back into speaking. It was as if the voice had been stolen from her and forcefully traded for an ability she never wanted in the first place.

Is your father working in his study? her mother asked, knowing the answer.

Eva turned to look over her shoulder at the hallway.

Jonathan, come eat something please, her mother called out.

One minute Marie, he hollered back.

And what would you like to do for your birthday?

Eva pursed her lips in thought, still chewing away at her breakfast.

Well, I think we should do something as a family, her mother decided. Your father needs to peel himself away from his work today. This is a very special day.

Eva swallowed and smiled, nodding in agreement.

The Botanical Garden has a nice indoor area where we could-

Marie Halloway stopped as she turned around, her daughter’s eyes white and her skin drained of its color. If she didn’t already recognize what it was, she would have thought her Eva was looking at a ghost over her mother’s shoulder.

Jonathan! Now! Hurry!

At the table, Eva dropped from her chair and walked slowly up to the drawers where the silverware was kept. Marie raced to catch her daughter’s hand, but found that she had retrieved instead a ball-point pen kept there for when something needed to be added to the grocery list hanging on the refrigerator. Sitting cross-legged in front of the white-painted cabinets, she began to draw a face.

Unable to see the little girl when he burst from the doorway, Jonathan Halloway’s eyes widened in fright. Marie pointed down at their daughter on the floor, who was beginning to round out the person’s hooded face. Without touching her, he sat on the floor beside her and studied the image as it gradually came into view.

The figure had no specific features that they could discern, instead hiding themselves within the darkness of the cowl. A small, yet pointy, chin poked out, along with eyes that displayed a heavy burden in their form, a line of tears pouring down the portion of cheek that could be seen from its current state of weeping. It was unclear if the figure was male or female. Although as the artwork neared completion, Jonathan sighed and looked up at his wife.

I know who this is.

You do? From this? How can you tell?

"I’ve been researching a young woman who just arrived here from Saudi Arabia. My connections