Autopsy II - Darkness Burning

By Steve Gerlach

"Things are always taken from us, all of us... from me."

Blood runs through the streets of Matheson. Along the gutters and seeping into the dark, musty tunnels below.

With more murders on their hands, the local police have no answers, fighting both the viscous predator and the vitriolic press.

Autopsy’s reign co

• Language: English
• Publisher: Probable Cause Productions
• Release date: Dec 25, 2017
• ISBN: 9780648490913

Steve Gerlach

Steve Gerlach is one of Australia's few thriller writers. Born and bred in Australia, Gerlach's fast-paced, cut-to-the-bone style is a refreshing voice in the dry, barren Australian literary scene. Steve's background includes many varied roles. He has worked as an editor for a book publisher; as the editor-in-chief of an Australian motorcycle magazine; editor and publisher of an international crime magazine, Probable Cause; a researcher and columnist for a major Australian daily newspaper; a Technical Publications Officer in the security industry; marketing executive for an international telecommunications software company; a writer for Australian Defence training and software producers; and currently works in the Integrated Facilities Management sector. He was also the Historical Advisor on the Australian film, Let's Get Skase. Steve Gerlach lives in Melbourne, where he is currently working on a new novel or two.

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Probable Cause Publishing

Published in Australia by Probable Cause Publishing

[e-mail]

stevegerlach.com

Copyright © Steve Gerlach 2017

The moral right of this author has been asserted

Art copyright © Matthew Revert

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the publisher and author, except where permitted by law.

Typeset in Dustismo Roman Copyright © 2002 Dustin Norlander http://www.cheapskatefonts.com

All characters in the publication are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-0-9578641-7-7

ISBN: 978-0-6484909-1-3 (e-book)

To:

Agents Hulme and Jones.

Ever vigilant and never tiring in their search for truth, justice… and the Dallas way.

Contents

Prologue

February 20

February 21

February 22

March 4

Epilogue

About the Author

PROLOGUE

She stood staring into the mirror, perfecting her mascara with a few delicate last strokes. Slowly, she ran her hand through her long red hair and let it fall naturally across her shoulders and breasts. She smiled at herself, licking her lips and making sure the glossy lipstick was even and smooth.

Perfect.

She’d chosen her favourite loose-fitting t-shirt with the stretched neckline. The words WHAT THE HELL were in large bold red letters, standing out against the dark material, her breasts causing the letters to bulge in just the right places. She smiled as she read the words, displayed backwards in the mirror before her.

She enjoyed the peace she found here; looking at her reflection and the reflected world, contemplating what had been done... and what still needed to be done.

The time she spent there seemed to grow with each visit. Staring at the reflection calmed her, centred her, and gave her the strength she needed. She looked at the girl and studied her; the hair, the face, the fingernails, the chin and neck and breasts. She raised her hand and softly touched her cheek, running her fingers down to her lips, imagining the touch of the cold, harsh mask, the feeling of being imprisoned inside it.

Trapped.

Aren’t we all?

The girl in the mirror looked back at her, copying her moves, thinking as she did, smiling as she did.

And crying when she did.

Everything in the mirror was so slightly different, reversed and backwards… just like the lettering on her t-shirt.

She pulled at the neckline of the shirt, sliding the left side down her shoulder and onto her arm. The girl in the mirror did the same, but to her right side.

Her skin looked warm and inviting in the candlelight, her eyes reflecting the dancing light in the darkened room.

She adjusted the bra, making sure her breasts would sit high and were pushed forward, and then pulled down on her jeans, sitting them as low on her hips as possible.

She gazed at her body, her hair washing across her breasts, her belly button on display below her shirt, the tight curve of her stomach as it dipped lower, promising more delights covered by the jeans.

She surveyed the offering, and liked what she saw.

I’m ready, she thought.

Her eyes dropped down to the photos on the wall in front of her. A young blonde sat straddled over a man, her legs wide, his large hard cock disappearing deep inside her. The blonde had a look of ecstasy on her face, using her right hand to play with her hard erect nipples.

Reaching out to touch the cock in the photo, she stroked it, letting her feelings wash over her. Then her fingers travelled across to the blonde, tracing around her breasts and stopping momentarily on her nipples, before tracking the line of her stomach down lower and across the stretched opening of her filled pussy.

She lifted her head and looked at the girl in the mirror once more and smiled. But the smile slipped quickly from the reflection and she felt a sudden wave of sadness.

Trapped.

I’m so sorry, she whispered to the girl, before turning away and stepping into the darkness.

The lights were blinding as the room vibrated with the loud thud thud thud of the music. The large open space was filled to capacity with the young, dancing the night away, losing themselves in an alcohol and drug miasma that would see them through until dawn.

DJ Death was playing on the main stage; a jarring mix of dubstep and reggae that sounded odd but suitably fitting for the Slaughterhouse clientele. The screeching set vibrated the walls and floor, reaching up through the high vaulted ceiling and echoing through the chamber. The building had once been an Army training facility during World War II, before falling into disrepair for some years, along with the rest of the Warehouse district.

Its rebirth as the Slaughterhouse ensured the venue received enough bad publicity to make it the number one destination for those who wanted to party all night. The music was played loud and long, the DJs were the best in the business, and the drugs were easily accessible if you knew who to ask.

DJ Death’s set would be followed by Barbarella and the Mysterions, who had gained some bad publicity just after the club opened by suggesting in a press interview that they would kill a kitten on stage every Friday night. They never followed through with the threat, but it was enough to give the owners of the Slaughterhouse exactly the kind of publicity they longed for.

Warehouse District Sinks Further Into Depravity, ran one news headline.

The last thing we need in this fair city, and in that part of town, is another foul and obnoxious stain that will place our young in peril night after night after night, one of the city councillors was quoted in the article.

Still, the city hadn’t moved to shut the business down, and were happy to take the rent and taxes generated by having the Slaughterhouse open four nights a week. The bad press and warnings to stay away had done little to hurt the club’s turnover, as it was filled to capacity Thursday through to Sunday every week.

The music stopped momentarily and the lights dimmed as DJ Death prepared for his final track of the evening.

Through the cover of darkness, she stepped into the room.

Death walks amongst us! the DJ shouted into his microphone as the lights rose, the crowd cheered and the music began thumping again.

As a pack, the crowd jumped to the beat, swinging their arms and singing along. The room was uncomfortably sticky, hot and humid with the sweat and smell of body heat trapped within the walls.

She skirted along the crowd, trying to keep out of the way, pushing back into the shadows if anyone got too close to her or tried to pull her into the throng.

It had happened before.

The first night.

They had grabbed her and dragged her towards them. She hadn’t expected it and didn’t know how to react. The two guys were young and drunk and off their heads, but together they were strong and forceful and she couldn’t resist.

Dance with us! the one with the oily hair and bad breath had yelled at her. It wasn’t a question, but an order.

She shook her head, but they didn’t notice. They led her into the crowd and held her there, jumping and writhing and forcing her to do the same. She tried to pull away, to escape them, but their hands were all over her, touching, feeling, pushing across her breasts, and grabbing at her ass, then between her legs.

She’d broken their grip and almost got away, but they’d pulled her back. She could still feel their forceful grip on her shoulders, their fingers digging in, grabbing her and swinging her around.

No way, bitch, the shorter one had yelled at her.

Fuckin’ dance already!

No! she yelled at them as she struggled, but they held tight, locking her into the crowd.

She’d never been so scared.

Ever.

The lights and noise and people and sweat and heat and motion were disorientating her.

And then she’d felt the arm around her waist.

Strong, firm, comforting.

It held her, stopped her from being dragged further. Controlled her and saved her.

There a problem? his voice was loud in her ear, cutting through the music.

The two guys let her go, lifted their hands and backed away, shaking their heads, disappearing into the crowd as quickly as possible.

You okay? he asked as he guided her to the side wall.

She turned to look up at him, the coloured lights catching his fair hair, her own face reflected in his blue eyes. His head was tilted to one side, a look of concern on