The Dream Protocol: Descent (Book I)
Page 15
He started the recording again, this time from the moment Flynn was brought into the clinic. There was something strange about the boy’s behavior, the way he hid his face when resting. He brought up the records for all holo calls logged by Flynn Brennan in the last month. Seeing the info stamps, his face turned red. He hissed, “Deirdre Callaghan. You are going to be sorry. Not this day…but soon. I swear it.”
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
First I would like to thank my husband Patrick for all of his support, in big ways and small. You inspired me to write, even when all I had going for me was one tiny idea.
I would also like to think my Dad, F.T. Flynn, who was always excited about my story and just kept asking, “When is it coming out?”
Also I would like to thank my niece Deirdre for being my favorite beta dreamer.
Lastly I would like to thank other authors who have gone before me and who gave me wonderful worlds to explore in their writing.
ADARA FLYNN QUICK
has been an artist, psychotherapist, college professor, hair salon receptionist, house painter, and a dreadful waitress. Early in her career, Adara was fascinated by dreams, the unconscious, and the healing stories of many cultures. She now uses her background as a psychotherapist to create stories of triumph and transformation.
Her stories bring ancient myths and legends into futuristic worlds. Driven to distraction by her computer, Adara writes all of her stories longhand. Pen and paper are two of her favorite things. She resides in the Washington, D.C. area with her husband.
Visit her online at:
www.adaraquick.com
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DEIRDRE CALLAGHAN BELIEVED THAT THE MINISTER OF
DREAM JUSTICE WAS HER GREATEST ENEMY.
SHE WAS WRONG.
Coming Winter 2016
The Dream Protocol: Selection
Copyright © 2016 Adara Flynn Quick
I open my eyes to find myself lying on a medical exam table. I look around and see the Selection Room empty of everyone, even Drones and medical personnel. I must have nodded off. I wonder where everyone is. I swing my legs over the side of the table and land lightly on the floor. That wasn’t so bad; I didn’t even feel the arachnoid. Maybe I can sneak out of here before anyone notices.
Stealing out of the exam room, I make my way down the long hallway, looking for an exit or someone to show the way out. I finally come to a door with the letters EXIT over the top. Almost to freedom. I throw my weight on the latch, but it won’t give. Another hard push, and it finally pops open. I stumble through, slightly off balance.
Righting myself, my eyes are drawn to the only spot of light in the dark room. What I see there makes me freeze. All the moisture dries up in my throat. Deirdre and Antrim are strapped down to two chairs in the center of the room. Both of them are slumped over, their bodies held tight by straps on their neck, arms, and ankles. Why aren’t they moving? The spotlight overhead casts a ghostly light that multiplies into contorted human shadows on the floor. It is as silent as midnight in winter.
I rush forward to unbind them, but I run straight into a force field and it holds me a few feet away. I travel in a circle around the barrier feeling along the edge of the field with my fingers, looking for any weaknesses. But I find nothing, and end up back where I started. Desperate, I call out, “Dee! Antrim!”
“They can’t hear you,” booms a voice that seems to come from everywhere at once.
I jump at the sound and whirl around. “Who’s there?” I call, looking frantically into the darkness.
“Why Flynn, I am Skellig City,” the voice hisses.
COOKS AND CROOKS TRADE BLOWS IN A DECAYING METROPOLIS,
RAVAGED BY HARD TIMES AND CONNIVING POLITICIANS.
Coming Summer 2016
The Fell Hound of Adversity
Copyright © 2016 Parker T. Geissel
It was a typical run-down hard-luck town, common in its own way. People called it the Charmed City, or simply Adversity, depending on their prospects. Like all places where men congregate for generations, it had built a history of itself that was both rich and twisted by the weight of years. It had seen tales of crafty kings of commerce and elegant matrons of culture, as well as the more entertaining and scandalous escapades of depraved, infamous villains, of whom there were many.
The promise of prosperity brought all manner of men, with all their passions and failings. It is said that the riches of Adversity also attracted another sort of beast, a fell creature of avenging conscience drawn to the city by the evil that took root there. It was a fanciful story, but strangely the residents gave it much heed in later days as the city crumbled around them.
The Charmed City was like so many others in this modern age, struggling against the fetters of its past. It had blossomed during the advent of industry with a glut of factories and railroads and feats of mechanical ingenuity. The period of plenty produced a sense of grandeur and complacency that ultimately proved disastrous. The city was not prepared for the lean times that followed. The world changed. Markets tumbled as debts came due and the extravagant promise of boundless economic growth proved false. The city’s prosperity faded, unable to keep pace with the times, its wealth draining away into the pockets of crooked politicians and cutthroat capitalists while the citizens watched their waning glory with weary eyes.
In the midst of this chaos, Colonel Dashenka Ivanovna Stavrogin and her men came to town on assignment from the Internal Revenue Service. The country’s capital was in dire financial straits, scouring every avenue to avoid utter economic collapse. As such, the collection of the tithe in a fastidious manner became a matter of desperate importance. The Chief Auditor of Adversity was well known for a whimsical sense of arithmetic when it came to balancing the books, so the federal officials had deemed it time for the decennial city audit. Colonel Stavrogin was sent by the Capital with special dispensation to mete out fiscal justice upon the local government with extreme prejudice.
Dashenka was an orderly woman, of definite opinions and a discerning nature. She despised the weakness and depravity of Adversity, but her family had served the I.R.S. for three generations and she was faithful to that legacy. Her lieutenants, Injal Skube and Killer Hrapp, were newly minted immigrants from the north, raised to respect authority and revel in violence. They were loyal as kin to their Colonel, impressed with her fine words and fearful of her ardent will. The three of them burst into town like a cleansing deluge, cracking down on the grifters and penny pinchers and tax fraud gangs.
Their arrival harkened ill days ahead, for there were few in the crumbling metropolis that didn't have some hand in the illicit business of dodging the taxman. The city was generally resistant to the demands of the Capital, caught up in nostalgic longing for its glorious past when it had been a center of culture and the Capital little more than a backwater borough of no standing. The mood had always been one of rakish abandon, but desperation had set in of late. The newcomers suffered interludes of violence to be certain, knives in the night, but the Colonel kept these attacks as quiet as she could out of a sense of propriety – and more importantly, to avoid fomenting more ill will among the disaffected and dissolute populace.
There was another cause for concern in the Charmed City in those final days. Coincident with Colonel Stavrogin’s arrival, strange deaths were being reported: bodies found in a horrific state, victims of abominable inhuman violence. Some at first blamed the local crime lord, referred to fancifully as the Princess of Darkness. Others eyed the new arrivals from the Capital with their brutal demeanor. But all soon reached an unspoken consensus the deaths were the work of a creature far older and more foul.
Rumors spoke of roving bands of wild dogs posse
ssed, for tradition held the animals had always been thrall to the city's fell beast. The stories described gruesome gatherings on the West Side of the city where the creature was said to keep its lair, a slum left abandoned save by the most desperate or destitute. Such portents of catastrophe became common talk as the days grew dim.
The storm stirred up by Colonel Stavrogin’s arrival was soon to break mercilessly upon the Charmed City. All were hard pressed to withstand the bleak days that followed. Some unwary few found themselves caught directly in the epicenter of events, either by design or unfortunate circumstance. By their frantic efforts, these hapless folk proved pivotal in the tragedy that followed.