The Prisoner

By Robert S Malan and John Cockshaw

Downriver to the sea (the black sea) the blood stream flows. The sun gone cold. No dawn beyond the void. In all this I see, a darkness in mind.

‘I never did buy the whole angels and demons thing,’ I say. ‘No way it’s as simple as that.’

‘It never is. But …’ He lea

• Language: English
• Publisher: Luna Press Publishing
• Release date: Mar 9, 2018
• ISBN: 9781911143482

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a darkness in mind series

Praise for Quest & The Sign of the Shining Beast

A breathless ride into the realms of spirit, wonder, and terror. The words are sharp, the images sublime, the experience unique ... not to be missed.

Ian Whates - Author of Pelquin’s Comet

I haven’t encountered anything quite like it before ... a darkly epic and nightmare voyage. A quite extraordinary feat of the imagination.

Jim Burns - SF & Fantasy Artist

Epic and haunting. Viscerally realised ...

Ricardo Pinto - Author of The Stone Dance of the

Chameleon trilogy

Cockshaw’s visually haunting images perfectly suit Malan’s enthralling storytelling.

Jay Johnstone - Tolkien Artist

A DARKNESS IN MIND series

By Robert S Malan & John Cockshaw

Quest & The Sign of the Shining Beast

The Prisoner

A DARKNESS IN MIND

The

PrisoneR

wRITTEN BY

robert s malan

iLLUSTRATED BY

john cockshaw

First Published 2018 by Luna Press Publishing, Edinburgh

‘A Darkness In Mind’ Concept, The Prisoner and Text Copyright © Robert S Malan 2018

‘The Prisoner’ Images Copyright © John Cockshaw 2018

‘A Darkness In Mind’ Logo Design John Cockshaw

ISBN: 978-1-911143-48-2

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the copyright owners. Nor can it be circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on a subsequent purchaser.

WWW.LUNAPRESSPUBLISHING.COM

To Rob and Francesca, for sharing

the Luna journey with me.

John

To Mom, gone before to light the way.

Always in heart and mind.

Francesca, who shines brightest.

Dave and Sharon - strength and hope.

And Abi, for caring beyond the call.

Rob

It’s just there, at the edge of my vision: a face, features blurred; eyes searing. I can feel them staring not at, but through me.

Was this how it had always been in the time …

… before …

… after?

I fear to set my gaze to it – I know there will be nothing looking back at me.

Ray Parks

This day is like any other. It’s raining outside. No change there. Here at Morningstar prison, day and night are almost indistinguishable. I wonder sometimes how I ended up as a guard. Can’t rightly say – it just happened. It’s not the kind of job you aspire to if everything’s rattling around the right way upstairs.

Still, there’s a weird sensation that I can’t shake. You know, that prickling you get on the back of your neck; the irrational fear that something’s watching, stirring. That the world is shifting in tiny imperceptible ways, beyond the naked eye. And you wish you could see what was heading your way, but you can’t. Because the rational part of your brain is making you blind, telling you everything’s fine. Everything’s just fine.

Still, I can’t shake it. Maybe it’s to do with the dream I had last night:

I’m standing in a cave. It’s dark but somehow I can still see clearly. Facing me, teeth bared, snarling lips pulled back, is a large wolf – the alpha of the pack, for sure. It’s nothing like the majestic creatures you see in those New Age postcards, though; it’s properly wild, and hungry – just begging for an excuse to rip my throat out.

And yet, I’m not afraid of it. I know I should be, that I should be turning tail and running. But I don’t. Instead, I hold my left hand out, palm pointed at it. And I whisper something, in a language I don’t understand, but somehow …

… Do I? …

… Understand? …

… Wakanda …

Then it’s calm. In that moment, we understand each other.

I’m the wolf.

The killer.

Funny how every now and then a dream sticks with you like that. Most of them are gone (water down a drain) before you’ve even opened your eyes. Now, there’s that nagging sensation that won’t let go; and something else – a small voice in my head …

Go to him. You must go.

I think of the main holding area of the prison. I have no good reason to pass by there again – it’s near the end of my shift, just after midnight. I should be looking forward to heading home and turning in for the night.

No use fighting it. What the hell – I can always say goodnight to Freddie on my way past, I figure. Freddie Daniels is head of security here, and also one of the few people I’d consider a friend. Every now and then, we grab a drink after our shift, though that’s less frequent these days. Freddie’s a fully-fledged family man now, since his daughter Abigail arrived. I have to respect his commitment. There are a lot of godawful parents in this world.

Besides, I like to think our friendship isn’t about the occasional beer accompanied by meaningless chat. The thing I like most about him is that he doesn’t walk or talk like most of the other guards here. Me and him are a couple of the rare ones who’ve realised that our jobs aren’t some glorified excuse for wailing on the inmates. We know there’s enough chaos in the world without us stirring up any more by poking the caged bears in here.

When I get to the main security booth, Freddie’s sitting in front of the bank of monitors. I’m just about to holler to him when it all kicks off. There’s a sudden burst of shouting voices – sounds like every last inmate has sprung up from the dead all at the same time. Someone’s on the estate – the dogs are barking.

Freddie leaps from his chair and flicks the switch for the main lights, then turns and spots me. He’s out the booth in a flash. ‘Somehow I knew you wouldn’t be away yet, John,’ he says.

‘Yeah, just my luck,’ I reply. ‘Any idea what’s happening?’

‘God knows. Stenson and the ugly sisters went in to do the rounds a few minutes ago.’

‘Figures.’ On one of the monitors, I can just about make out an open cell door, at the foot of the stairs leading up to the second floor, but the angle of the camera doesn’t show inside.

Ray Parks. Hard to say why his name jumps out at me so quickly. Again, it’s like a little voice in my head, whispering.

‘Hang on,’ Freddie says. ‘I’ll buzz you through.’ He goes back into the booth and opens the first door. When I’m through, he buzzes open the second one.

I hurry into the main holding area. In the other cells, the occupants are dangling their arms out between the bars and whooping. The cells are all single-bed. No sharing here.

‘Fucking screws … Kill you … Lemme out … Gonna gut you …’

Off to my right, on the bottom floor, cell 1030L. I hear a jumble of voices as I approach:

‘Quit your yapping!’

‘Come on – hold the slippery fucker!’

‘Gonna beat you till you see angels, you sonofabitch!’

‘I didn’t mean to! I didn’t want to!’

Three guards are grappling with Parks. One on each arm and another beating him with a nightstick, while all the while the poor bastard cries over and over, ‘I did it! I did what they asked!’ He clonks his head off the small toilet in his cell, just to add insult to injury.

It’s the strangest thing – right now, all I feel is calm, like someone who’s watched this play out before and suddenly remembers his cue.

The same old game, over and over again.

I ease over to Victor Stenson, the guard who’s beating him. He’s a lieutenant, like me. Proof that there’s plenty of shit that floats in this place. It’s rumoured that he beats his wife, though that’s probably with a belt.

Daddy is old school – he always uses a belt.

I can sense things about people, especially ones who are as thinly veiled as Stenson. I try to ignore that sense most of the time – there’s a lot in this world it hurts to see. The nightstick is special to him. He saves that for the prison. I don’t know how I’m so sure of that, but I am.

‘Stenson, let me in.’ My voice, almost unrecognisable to me. I’ve got my hand on his left shoulder. He stops and turns to me and, for one second, I catch a glimpse of the fevered glee in his eyes; the thrill of the violence he’s inflicting; then it’s gone. Just like that, he relaxes, as if he’s woken from a dream, and steps back, clearing a path for me.

Parks is still thrashing, a fish on a hook; only this fish doesn’t seem to notice the one in his mouth because he has another one, a bigger one, buried deep inside him.

‘Ray,’ I say, calmer than water on a windless day, ‘what is it? What did you do?’

He goes quiet, a bald, brute of a man, all sinew and bulging muscles; yet, here he is, tears streaming down his cheeks, his eyes wide and tormented. He stares at me and quits struggling. The guards holding him – Caleb Lee