Dark Origins

By AJ Parnell

To survive his circumstances-and a serial killer-Vander must make a monster of himself.
Growing up in abject poverty, Vander Masozi faces dangers from all sides: his abusive father, roaming street gangs, predatory police officers, and the premonitions that are becoming more horrifying by the day. He is destined for a short, brutal life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: 4 Horsemen Publications
• Release date: May 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9781644507414

AJ Parnell

AJ Parnell is an American author born in the beautiful state of Oregon. Parnell's novels tackle the darker side of the human psyche. The various novels incorporate elements of thriller, fantasy, and horror with a touch of irony that traverse the dark corridors of the human experience.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Better Left Unknown

Though strange and eerie, the world around him was familiar, thus calming, and put Vander’s nerves at ease. Nine-year-old Vander’s small, painfully thin frame stood motionless and serene against the ever-growing backdrop of the swirling mist. The phenomenon encased the disembodied souls who found themselves trapped within this place. Their twisted and tormented spirits clung to one another within the aether to form massive, churning towers of lost hope that rose in every d irection. 

This was not the first time Vander had had to acknowledge that he was not normal; deep down, he knew anyone else standing in his place would have been terrified. Others would have fled the sea of dead, filled with haunted faces that, even now, tracked his every move. Vander straightened, his eyes narrowed as he glared up at the interwoven forms, and then started forward. Recoiling, the disembodied souls moved away, creating a clear path for Vander as he moved deeper into the muted, dimly lit world. 

With his head held high, Vander knew he was safe here, far more so than he was back in that nightmarish realm he called home. He smiled and made his way through the mist, mind alert, ears listening, as he searched.

It was hard to remember when his visits to the other side had begun. His early memories brought back visions of icy stares and the harsh whispers of the restless spirits that trailed after him, issuing warnings as he searched for a safe place to rest his troubled mind and weary heart. Vander couldn’t be sure whether it had been his despair or his desperation that first led him to astral project into this forbidden realm. Maybe it had been nothing more than dumb luck.

Whatever the reason, Vander was grateful he had found this place of shelter for his soul while his body slept, because here, the dead couldn’t harm him, even if they wished to. As a matter of fact, though many spirits objected, there was one who had been quick to welcome him and offer him insights. Nonetheless, Vander had to admit, many of the things his new friend showed him were not easy to look at. 

Vander searched the void for Jack, ignoring the angry stares of a particularly nasty ghost that was making a wide arch around him. Knowing the awful things his friend had done in his long-ago lifetime, Vander was pretty sure Jack was not destined for the light. Although this place was supposed to help souls finish their journey to the other side, Jack’s destination was more than likely a fiery pit in hell.

Despite the horrible things he had done in his previous life, Jack had been a good friend to him here in this lonely world. As a child, lost and alone, Vander had wandered this realm searching, when, out of the hissing and disapproving glares, Jack had emerged. Unlike most of the others in this tormented place, Jack had greeted Vander with a bright smile against his dark, weathered skin. To Vander’s delight, a strange and unlikely friendship began, one that Vander was hard-pressed to explain.

Alone no longer among this disapproving lot, Vander was especially pleased that Jack appeared to be willing to help him see into the chaotic mess that was his own life. In a netherworld, as this one was, it was hard to tell exactly how old Jack would be from one moment to the next. Here, time was intangible. Anyone could appear as they wished. They could look to be a child of seven or an aging elder, ravished by time. One’s image could be angelic or fixed in a horrific pose, such as at the time of one’s gruesome demise. Tragically, for the particular unfortunates who inhabited this particular realm, it would seem that they had all met a somewhat gruesome end. 

If there were guidebooks to the afterlife, Vander knew he had no way to access them, so the best he could do was just take this world as it came and, on those rare occasions when information from the dead was given, take it. Often enough, these insights helped him make decisions to navigate the consequences of his daily life. 

With a heavy heart, Vander turned to go. He really wanted to see Jack, but maybe, just maybe, it was better this way. His life was already such a mess; did he really want to know the horrors that might be waiting around the next corner?

You’re not leaving, are you? The familiar voice emanated from the blackness.

Agitated souls shifted away, parting like the red sea, as Jack confidently pushed through them, making his way to Vander.

Jack! I was afraid you’d gone. The delight in Vander’s voice was tinged with incipient trepidation.

Oh, heavens no, and miss the adventures that await you? Not on your life, dear boy!

Excited, Vander looked up at Jack. Really, adventures? Like what?

Jack raised an eyebrow in amusement and motioned for Vander to follow. 

Jack moved into the abyss, then swept his hand before him as if he were drawing back a curtain hidden in the darkness. Why don’t I show you?

Vander took an involuntary step back. His fear of the horrible things Jack liked to show him fueled his flight response. This always made Jack laugh. 

Jack, I know you are trying to help, but…

I know, I know, these things can be hard to look at, but you need to see them.

Vander took in a deep breath and made a tentative step forward. I don’t know…

Jack frowned. Come now; we can do this together. 

Vander nodded, straightening. It’s just images, right? Nothing to be afraid of?

Correct! Jack was enthusiastic at Vander’s revelation. These things I show you are simply possible outcomes of a future you might one day live. You should never be frightened of the ‘what ifs’ in life because if you know what’s coming, you can alter course; choose another road. But, if you’re not sure… Jack feigned closing the curtain, giving his young friend a chance to change his mind.

Vander shook his head firmly. No, I wanna see.

Low hisses erupted from numerous spirits lurking beyond the fringe of Vander’s sight, vehemently disagreeing with his decision.

Vander inched closer to Jack, eyes wide, committed. They hate me, don’t they?

Waves of dark shadows began to flow from Vander’s spirit like wisps of smoke. The phenomenon amazed Vander as he watched them stream into Jack’s being. Somehow, he understood.

A twisted smile spread across Jack’s thin lips. Not as much as they’re going to. 

Vander looked back at Jack, startled. What?!

Jack spread his arms and quickly opened the imagined curtain, then smiled brightly as he bowed low and ushered Vander forward. You are either the hunter or the prey, my young friend … life’s cruelties will most assuredly reinforce that truth often enough for you.

Hesitantly, Vander looked at the swirling mass of restless spirits; they were somehow far more troubled than usual. Maybe I shouldn’t?

Looking over Vander’s head, Jack snarled at the ghosts, sending them fleeing back into the mist, leaving the two of them in peace. Ignore them. They’re not here for you. Now come, I don’t want anything to ruin my surprise.

Unsure, Vander looked up at Jack. I don’t—

Just take a quick peek … see what wonders your future may hold. Jack motioned Vander forward.

Vander stepped tentatively, putting his feet one in front of the other. A sudden silence caused him to look back. A cold shiver ran through him as he saw that his only friend in this lost world was gone. Jack … Jack!

Now absent were the mist and the agitated spirits. Vander spun in a wide circle, then froze as he spotted a pretty young woman bound to a lone wooden chair, her back to him. Her arms tied behind, with blonde, sun-streaked hair disheveled, she struggled against her restraints beneath the glare of bright overhead lights. Soft whimpers escaped her trembling lips. Sensing his presence, the woman turned, her body shaking with terror until her wide brown eyes met his as hot tears streamed down her pretty face. Relief washed over her face, and she offered Vander a pained smile. Please, you’ve got to go for help. He tried to step forward, ready to do anything to save her, but he found himself held in place by an unseen force that seemed to curl about him.

Looking back at the woman, Vander caught a flash of surgical steel as it sliced down and hit an artery in the woman’s neck, and blood spewed. The red sticky mess arched and splashed against Vander’s pale skin. He gasped as the stream pulsed repeatedly before decreasing to a mere trickle as the woman’s heartbeat was lost. Vander desperately wiped at his eyes; the sting of the woman’s blood caused him to wince. He retched as he realized that his mouth was dripping with her life’s essence. A disembodied scream pierced his brain as the tortured woman’s soul departed from her once-beautiful body.

Vander turned to run, but finding no purchase on the slippery floor, his body crashed into a wall and slid down the hard surface. His impressionable, nine-year-old mind reeled as he sat desperately trying to un-live this horror. Why would Jack orchestrate a moment like this? It infuriated him. Tears flowed down his grimy face as he slowly shook his head back and forth. This is wrong … I shouldn’t be here.

Vander wiped at his eyes, ran his shirt sleeve across his bloodied mouth, then forced himself to stand. Escape from this living hell was now his only focus. As he stood, a bright light appeared under a doorway, illuminating a path away from this nightmare. He began to run, then stopped abruptly as the light died. His heart sank. Then another door opened.

Damn you, Jack! Vander screamed as he shielded his eyes. 

Jack’s voice echoed from far away. You’ll like this room far better.

Shaken, Vander lowered his hands. I’m done with your stupid surprises; I want out, now!

Voice bright, Jack encouraged Vander to enter. You needn’t be afraid; up ahead are only bright, promising possibilities.

Stepping into the light, a tall, elegantly dressed figure emerged from the shadows within, his face partially hidden by a low-dipped hat. I’ve been waiting for you.

Unsure of what Jack had in store for him, Vander struggled for words. I wanna go home.

Most of his face still cast in darkness, the man smiled and said, Home? Dear boy, whatever do you mean? He reached for Vander, but Vander instinctively backed away. Perplexed, the man calmly assured him, Young lad, you are home.

Vander struggled to comprehend what the man had just told him. It made no sense. But exhausted and now beyond the ability to think clearly, he watched as the man once again reached out. Resigned and knowing this would not end until he saw it through, Vander placed his trembling hand within the stranger’s open palm. 

Vander allowed himself to be led further down the hall; he looked up at the man as they walked for a short period of time, then stopped. Your future is right here, young man. Don’t you see?

An entryway suddenly appeared before Vander.

The tall man opened the door with great flare to expose a pristine dining room adorned with ornate paintings and sparkling chandeliers that reflected the morning sun. Vander looked up and above the toothy, white smile to see the man’s sympathetic and understanding eyes. A warmth enveloped Vander as he felt something he had never thought he would feel: acceptance, safety, and home. An unfamiliar feeling rose within Vander’s chest, a glimmer of hope, right before he was yanked backward with a violent jerk and the world went black.

Chapter 2

New Lead

Erin Reese cradled the phone to her ear as she scribbled across the messy pages of her notebook. At thirty-two years of age, she was a slender, five-foot-ten-inch-tall blonde with captivating brown eyes. Erin looked over at her partner, Peter O’Reily. Thirty-three years of age, he sported a trim, yet muscular, six-foot-tall frame. A prematurely receding hairline aged him, though he was still considered handsome by mo st women.

Erin spoke into the phone with the eloquent rhythm of the educated class in Britain. Yes, of course, we’ll have wheels down in twelve hours … thank you. Erin hung up the phone and gave Peter a wicked grin. Get your go-bag.

Swinging around in her chair, Erin began gathering her things.

Peter shook his head, then cautioned her, You heard what the commander said; we don’t have enough—

Erin swiveled back to face Peter. That was before the last call; they have another body. This makes four … four matching the same MO as our guy … which makes this a…? She looked at her partner, shrugged her shoulders, and waited for the answer she knew would come.

Peter ran a hand down his face. A Purple Notice.

Slapping her desk, Erin smiled widely. Correct, and you know what that means; it means that this is now an international alert for Interpol, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let someone else take my case. I just need the green light from Schober… She pulled several manila envelopes from her desk and waved them at Peter. And these files.

Falling into step behind her, Peter half-pleaded, Are you entirely sure about this? I mean, it seems like quite the stretch jumping from England to Africa.

Erin turned toward her partner, eyes narrowed, finger pointing into his chest. We’ve had this killer make leaps before and never hesitated to track him down. Why are you now so reluctant to give chase?

Peter sighed as he calmly pushed her hand down from his breast. Because frankly, you take risks that are often unnecessary.

Erin started to speak before Peter put a finger up. Let me continue. He drew his finger back an inch, then waited until he was certain that she was ready to hear him out. Alright then. Normally, I’m okay with that, but this is Africa we’re talking about … we won’t have the backup that we’re accustomed to. No one will come riding to the rescue if we meet with trouble. In fact, it’s likely that the people we would expect to come to save us will indeed be the ones we need to be saved from.

So? Erin growled.

Peter’s lips thinned into a fine line.

Really? That’s your argument? We take calculated risks all the time. That this might be a slightly, or even a considerably higher risk than usual is irrelevant.

Irrelevant?! Peter was astonished at the suggestion.

Yes, irrelevant. We have a job to do, and if we don’t do it, then who will?

Erin turned and continued her march to the commander’s office.

Peter hurried his pace to keep up with her. Resigned, he offered one last rebuke. I want it on the record that when they find your body dumped next to some goat path, I tried to bring reason into this discussion.

Noted. Erin entered the commander’s office with Peter on her heels.

Chapter 3

Cold Reality

Dread swept through Vander as he awoke to the steady drip of water that leaked through the rusted and battered tin roof, then splattered onto his face. He found himself wanting to go back into the blood-soaked room he had just left, freely exchanging that nightmare for this reality. Fully awake, he accepted that he was no longer in the kill room nor in the elegant mansion he longed so desperately for; rather, he was again in the dank, stench-filled shanty he sadly kne w as home.

He drew in a shallow breath, and a familiar despair engulfed him. Vander’s body instinctively coiled into a tight, protective ball on the dirt floor. Gone were the white walls and pretty, tiled floors of the beautiful mansion from his vision. Here in South Africa, his existence in this condemnable shack was one of alternating desperation and terror. He had come to accept this as his fate, but he lamented the fact constantly.

He looked over to the opening of the small room he was in. There were no gentle, accepting eyes of the man in his dream. Instead, the cold, pale-green eyes of his father looked down at him in disgust. Those rage-filled eyes narrowed as his large, well-worn boot struck a painful blow to Vander’s stomach. He was sent reeling back into a makeshift table, hitting his face on the only furnishing in the room, save for the three dilapidated chairs. The air in his lungs rushed out, leaving his frail, four-foot-four frame writhing in pain and gasping for breath. Vander was no match for his two-hundred-pound father, who towered over him at six feet two inches.

Struggling, Vander fought to unravel himself from beneath the threadbare blanket he had been sleeping under. He reached for the toppled table before him, trying to right himself and get to his feet. He tasted the blood that flowed from his lip and wiped it away with his unwashed hand. His pale, white skin hardly showed through his filth, and the tattered clothes he wore hung like rags, barely covering his slight body. His numerous bruises remained well hidden, as he had had no opportunity to bathe in weeks.

Growling, Lenka Masozi, a man in his early thirties who women had once found handsome, stepped toward his son. I don’t see any money on that table.

Knowing his father’s rules only too well, Vander steeled his body for the pain he knew would follow. I tried yesterday, but there was no one I could get it from.

Lenka’s hand snaked out and yanked Vander to his feet. With disgust in his eyes, hate in his heart, and cheap alcohol on his breath, he shook the boy. So why are you sleeping in my house? Pointing to the toppled table, he continued, I don’t even see a morsel of food. How do you expect me to live with no money and no food?

Anger raged within Vander. His eyes flashed to his father, but he held his tongue, thinking to himself that most kids were allowed to sleep in their own homes without having to steal money and food. He prayed that he would live long enough to see the day that he would be big enough to take on his father. As he hung there like a limp rag dangling from his father’s clinched fist, Vander knew today was not that day.

Forcing his anger down like old, crusty bread, Vander bowed his head and cast his eyes to the floor. I got food. Vander’s voice quivered. It made him sick to be so weak, to be so afraid, but what choice did he have?

His father’s smile twisted into a cruel grin as he released Vander, letting the boy fall to the floor with a thud. Where? Lenka surveyed the small confines of the room.

Keeping his gaze cast down, Vander pointed toward the lone cabinet that hung by two haphazardly pounded nails in what could be described as the kitchen. With the toe of his boot, Lenka shoved Vander aside and began his search for the food.

Angrily, Vander watched as his father rummaged through the few contents he had been able to steal the day before.

What the hell is this? His father grabbed the small bag of beans, offended, and threw them onto the floor, scattering the contents. Useless … you think we have clean water or propane to cook those things with?

Starving, Vander would have been more than happy to eat those raw beans just to stop his empty stomach from gnawing on itself.

His father discovered the precious half loaf of bread Vander had scrounged the night before. This is more like it. A greedy smile crossed the man’s face.

There’s some canned chicken next to the bread. Vander pointed.

Hmmm, nice. Vander’s father nodded in approval.

Vander had nearly gotten his hand chopped off stealing those items. Resentfully, he chose not to tell his father about the bag of chips he stole from a tourist, nor the soda he managed to pry from a vending machine.

His father cast a look at him, suspicion in his eyes. This is all you got?

Wiping any sign of disgust from his dirty face, Vander let his eyes settle back onto the floor and let his face go blank. Yes.

Lenka tossed the items to Vander. Make me a sandwich.

Without hesitation, Vander hurried over to the only shelf, picked up a dull and rusted knife, and began slicing the bread. He felt lucky today; his father could beat him for hours on end when the mood struck him.

A soft, rustling sound caused Vander to pause in his task. His heart sank as his mother, Amahle Masozi, staggered out of the only other room in their makeshift house. Her once-beautiful face was bruised, her eyes sunken, and none of her features revealed her young age of twenty-nine. Her once-glowing skin stretched over her skeletal-thin frame and sagged as though she were an old woman. Dark, sad, and shrunken eyes looked toward her son with shame.

Vander sliced two generous pieces of bread for his mother as he watched her weave her way to the small three-legged table, where she sat. He smiled at her, his eyes betraying his thoughts.

She returned the gesture. Then, in fear, her eyes flashed to the man she called husband, afraid of the repercussions for that moment of tenderness in this horrid life Lenka had manufactured for them all.

Ignoring the woman’s attempt at humanity, Lenka ripped a chair out from under the table and sat heavily. He cast an angry look toward the boy. You done?

Hurrying, Vander placed two pieces of bread onto a worn cloth, then piled all of the chicken onto it and served it to his father. Here, I wish there was more, Vander said as he stole a glance toward his mother.

You better start doing a hell of a lot better than this boy, or you will find yourself looking for a new home. Lenka stuffed the food into his mouth ravenously.

Rushing back, Vander gathered the larger pieces of bread he had cut for his mother and secured them into another cloth and laid it before his mom so that his father could not see how much he had given her. Returning one more time to the shelf, he scooped up the crumbs that remained and ate them quickly as he moved toward the table.

Vander watched as Lenka finished his sandwich, then looked toward his mom’s food.

No, she needs to eat! Vander spoke instinctively in defense of his mother, consequences be damned.

That familiar look in his father’s eyes was unmistakable. You dare speak to me like that? The slap was swift, and it knocked Vander from his chair.

Here, take it. I don’t need any more. The woman’s voice was panicked as she pushed the bread toward her husband.

Lenka considered finishing the boy for good, but his hunger and other desires got the better of him. He grabbed his wife’s hand and held it as he finished off her bread, then rose from the table and dragged her toward the bedroom.

She looked back at her son, eyes pleading. She mouthed the words, It’s okay, baby.

Lenka looked back to his son as he pulled back the frayed tarp that served as a door. You better get out there and score me some cash, you little shit, or you can find somewhere else to sleep tonight.

Chapter 4

Where is Carolyn

With nerves frayed, Rex Helmsworth set about tidying the disheveled office he found himself standing in the middle of. His sketches, calculations, and notes were strewn everywhere as he searched in vain for the one print he needed. Mr. Dayton, his boss, would be here before noon and he understood that he damned well better be ready to make his presentation about where they currently were regarding work on the site.

Laughing, Jordan Thompson, the civil engineer hired to oversee the main construction of the school/hospital, stood in the doorway. Did you go on a binger last night and mistake your office for a recycling bin?

Very funny.

Joining Jordan, Tabatha Navarro, a brilliant but plain electrical engineer, stood slack-mouthed, staring at the messy floor. You do know that Mr. Dayton is scheduled to—

I’m well aware of the meeting time. Thank you very much. Rex cut her off before she could launch into her usual lengthy, logical explanation of the obvious.

Hands held up before her, Tabatha smiled. Sorry.

No worries, I’ll be ready. I just have to find the latest draft and get it set up.

Can we help? Jordan offered.

With his hands on his hips and a frown on his face, Rex shook his head no. I appreciate the offer, but I think it best not to have too many hands, or in this case, feet, on the problem.

Giving the entryway a few quick taps, Jordan stepped back. All right, then we’ll let you get back to your search.

Wait up, Tabatha piped in. Before you go, I was wondering if either one of you had heard from Carolyn? I’ve been looking for her all morning, and no one seems to have seen her.

With fear rising up in his chest, Rex gave her his full attention. What do you mean, ‘no one has seen her?’

I mean, she’s not here or at the site. We had a meeting set up for ten today, and she was a no-show.

Yanking the phone receiver from his desk, Rex began to dial her number.

I’m sure she’s fine, Jordan said. Probably forgot to set her alarm again.

Tuning his co-workers out, Rex listened to the second, then third, ring before the call went to Carolyn’s hotel room voicemail. Looking up at Jordan, Rex left a reply, Hey Carolyn, this is Rex. Please call me when you get this; the team is worried about you.

Calm down, amigo. I’m sure she’s fine, Tabatha assured him.

Looking at his watch, Rex pressed his lips into a thin line. It’s near eleven; she should be here by now.

Jordan motioned to the mess at Rex’s feet. And you should get your ass in gear and find that print before Mr. Dayton shows up … you don’t want to be hanging in the wind at the presentation.

Right, right. Turning his attention back to the task at hand, Rex motioned for the two to head out. I’ll get back to finding that print; let me know if you hear from Carolyn.

You got it, Jordan said as he turned to go.

Tabatha gave him one more once over and waved. And you let us know if you hear from her, all right?

Absolutely. See you guys at one.

Don’t be late! Tabatha called over her shoulder.

Gathering up the nearest pile, Rex set it on his drafting table and began going through it. This job was a career changer, a chance for him to break out of the pack. He couldn’t let anything or anyone distract him from the prize set before him. Mr. Dayton was known for finding diamonds in the rough and fast-tracking a person’s occupation, and Rex was not one to let an opportunity like this pass him by. Rex was not afraid of hard work, sleepless nights, or competition, but what he was afraid of was getting in his own way. So, it was time to take a breath, get organized, and not screw up this chance of a lifetime.

Chapter 5

Follow My Lead

Tossing the large file folder onto her chief’s desk, Erin grumbled, How many people have to die before you let us catch this guy?

Face stern, emotions held in check, Commander Nigel Prescott looked over the rim of his wire-framed glasses at Erin. I told you, there is not enough evidence to suggest that the killer in Africa is the same one you were pursuing.

Spinning around, Erin began pacing. The kills, all victims, extraordinary in some way or another … a handsome and brilliant man of science, a stunning fashion model, a brilliant architect with heterochromia … they all had exceptional beauty and excelled in their respective fields. How much more do you need?

Prescott motioned for Peter and Erin to take a seat. More than you’ve got. I can’t just have our Interpol officers racing off to parts unknown when the killer is likely right here, waiting to catch us off guard.

Peter took his seat, his eyes urging Erin to follow suit. Erin plopped down into her chair and cast Peter a glare. Commander, I understand your position. However, you must know that sophisticated killers like our perp sometime change their MO, their location, their appearance, and their techniques all in order to stay under the radar.

Pushing his glasses up a little further along the bridge of his nose, the commander gathered the strewn contents of the folder and stuffed them back into the tan packet without so much as giving them a glance. I do.

Scooting to the edge of her chair, Erin pleaded, Then you must acknowledge that the murders are similar in pattern and that their killer in Africa can very well be the same man that we have been chasing for over two decades!

Dropping the dossier onto his desk, the commander began to speak, but was interrupted by a knock at the door. Erin held her stare before the frustrated commander sat back and called out, Come in.

Erin flopped back in her chair.

Trying to calm his partner, Peter laid a quieting hand upon Erin’s. Angrily, she snatched it away and fixed her simmering glare out the window.

Efficient to a fault, the commander’s male secretary entered, message in hand and started for the desk. Sir, I’m sorry to intrude, but I just confirmed the four deaths in Africa for you.

With a heavy sigh, the commander took the note, cast a weary glance toward a hopeful Erin, and began scanning over the lines of text silently. Taking a moment to digest the obviously upsetting information, he hesitated, then turned to Erin, who perked up and offered a knowing smirk to Peter.

Unsure of his next course of action, the secretary stood motionless as he watched the commander digest the news. Is there anyone else you’d like me to call in regard to this case, Sir?

Waving him off, the commander said, No, that will be all; thank you.

Yes, sir. The secretary acknowledged Erin and Peter with a polite nod, then left the room, closing the