Utopia: A Dark Thriller: Complete Edition

by Adam Steel

  Kristoff lunged forward and grabbed the guard in front of him by his left shoulder. With his right arm he punched the man square in the neck. The others turned in surprise in time to see Kristoff’s arm wind back, and a jet of dark blood gush from the guard’s neck. It sprayed across them.

  The guard gasped in shock as he tried to draw air through the small deep rent in his neck.

  Ellie screamed so loudly, that an electric bolt that was making its way up the walls, seemed to make a hasty retreat back to where it had come from.

  Kristoff pulled the large man back-wards, leaving him slumped against the security door. The guard grasped at his neck, to try and stop the gush of blood that was squirting out of his open neck wound. He tried to scream, but it came out as a horrible ‘gurgle’.

  Victor stood at the railings: his mouth opening, and closing. He looked dumbstruck. His spectacles were splattered with blood.

  The second guard fumbled desperately for his weapon in the dim light.

  Behind them someone hammered on the door.

  ‘Hey! What’s going on in there?’

  Kristoff ignored the second guard and stepped forward to grab Henson roughly by the shoulder. His arm was raised and something sharp glinted from his wristwatch. This time his aim was directed on Henson’s neck. His bright blue eyes burned into her as he drew his arm back to strike. He was close enough to see his own reflection in her key. The cold air had caused parts of his face to peel. He wore a mask of pure hate. He drew his arm back to strike.

  A pair of suited arms threw themselves around his arm as it came forward. His punch missed Henson’s neck by inches.

  Kristoff turned and snarled at Jon Li, who was hanging off his right arm. Jon Li was yelling something incomprehensible in a strange language. Kristoff shoved him backwards; sending him sprawling up against the blood splattered Ellie who was frozen in a ghastly scream.

  Part of her hair had turned white.

  Kristoff’s wristwatch (now a razor sharp blade) cut into the sleeve on Jon Li’s jacket, as he turned on Henson again.

  She had disappeared.

  Kristoff jerked once, then twice. The bullets from the second guard’s weapon thundered into him, leaving smoking tunnels as they went. He “grunted” as they slammed into him.

  The gunshots were deafening in the chamber as they reverberated around the walls.

  Above them a red siren started to blare.

  Kristoff went rigid and then limp. He fell to the freezing platform, landing against the railings and facing the terrified group.

  Jon Li turned away and shook the ghostly apparition next to him. It wailed like a Banshee.

  ‘Dr Rushf…Ellie. It’s okay. It’s all over. Look at me. It’s okay. It’s over,’ he kept repeating breathlessly.

  He was panting so hard that his breath was coming out in small wisps of freezing fog.

  Ellie stared at Kristoff, who was slowly raising his arm again. A red light glinted off the shiny blade that had been concealed in his watch. His eyes were glazing over. He glared at the guard who was approaching him with his weapon drawn. Grunting with effort, he brought his watch wrist up towards his neck. His face looked unreal. His cheeks had peeled away to reveal a thinner looking face beneath. There was no expression of fear, or anger, or anything.

  The guard lunged forwards to stop him.

  ‘No! Don’t let him…’

  The man (who had been impersonating Kristoff) plunged the blade into his neck as the guard reached him. He smiled before his expression went slack.

  Behind them, Nathan pounded on the door, shouting that he had alerted security and demanding to know what was happening. Armed guards were rushing up towards them from gantry below. Their steel boots rained down on the metal gantry. Ellie could feel the vibration through the floor as they approached.

  The first of Henson’s guards lay at the foot of the door. His eyes were open, but he was clearly dead. A dark pool had spread underneath him. It dripped off the end of the balcony down onto the generator below.

  Ellie held her hands to her face to hide the awful image.

  The remaining platform guard knelt down to the man against the railings and tore off his wrist watch. It clattered to the flooring. A single, two inch blade, protruded out from the side of it.

  ‘You two. Doctors, Help me! He might still be alive!’ he ordered, as he tried to stem the flow of blood from the man’s neck.

  He was not moving.

  Victor shrank back.

  ‘No-No. I’m a psychiatrist…Not me. I’m not that kind of doctor!’

  He scrambled back towards a stairway that led onto a lower gantry.

  Ellie lowered her hands from her face and approached the man. Her medical instincts took over and she went to replace the guard. His warm blood flowed out over her freezing cold hands and started to congeal in the sub-zero temperatures. It stuck to her like glue.

  The flow of blood slowed, one or two pumps more of the heart and it stopped altogether. His hand slumped and his eyes (which once had been pale-green now looked blue) stared straight ahead. Tiny sparks of light reflected in them the blue electric bolts coming up the cavernous walls. She grasped his hand and checked for a pulse, knowing there would be none.

  The soldiers below had almost reached them.

  She shook her head.

  ‘No…He’s dead. There’s nothing we can do.’

  She rose to her feet: her hammering heart starting to slow. Absently she picked something off her forehead. She squinted at it in the strobe lighting. It was a piece of Synth-Skin. In the cold air it had come off her own cut finger when she had clasped her hands to her face. She looked down at her palm where she had grasped the dying man’s hand. Imprinted in the blood were three false Synth-Skin fingerprints.

  Chapter 9: Blue Monday

  Max’s Pad: Sector Six

  Saturday 2nd June

  Aya was alone in Max’s apartment. She was thinking about the night before and his promise. Max had agreed to marry her! The relief had been overwhelming. No more Mada and her suffocating plans. No more Aarif and arranged marriages. Not Today! Bye bye. Ciao. The drabness (and state of Max’s apartment) didn’t bother her. Not as long as she could be there with him. She would live in a box as long as it could be with Max. That idea aside, she had started mentally re-designing his apartment. Aya had gathered his clothes from the floor while searching for her own. How someone can keep all their clothes on the floor, she thought. Won’t they get creased? I wonder where he keeps his iron.

  Aya didn’t find Max’s iron, or his washing machine.

  She walked through the apartment making notes. That yellow peeling wallpaper will have to go of course. That stained furniture too. I could get a few nice cushions and throws in here. A few nice smelling candles! I wonder if he has any Potpourri? I’ll make it look so nice for us. The ‘Brand New’ happy couple in their ‘Brand New’ home. Soon we could move. Get a Nice ‘New’ apartment. One to go with my Nice ‘New’ man and my Nice ‘New’ life. Of course some Nice ‘New’ clothes and some Nice ‘New’ shoes too. Those thoughts had faded as the day had worn on. The ‘Nice New thoughts’ were slowly, insidiously, replaced with small nagging doubts that grew in size until they were huge, overwhelming, panics.

  By Saturday evening Max had not returned. His phone refused to answer her increasingly desperate calls; stubbornly retuning the same response of ‘not available’. As the evening wore on, ‘not available’ was replaced with the dull tone, meaning Max’s phone was turned off. Aya longed to hear the hated ‘not available’ tone then. ‘Not available’ was better than ‘gone.’ The intimidating, monotone silence from the call disconnect was worse than a flat-lining heart monitor.

  Aya had paced Max’s apartment late into the night; its walls had closed in around her. For the first time she noticed the scuttle of rats or things moving behind the walls. The thoughts of designing a comfortable new home had long been forgotten with Max’s absence and the wretchedness of the apa
rtment clung to her. Without him there, the place took on its true guise. She saw for the first time what a dump it really was. Creeping doubts infiltrated her mind. How well do you really know him? If he loves you so much where is he?

  The thoughts had begun to sound like Mada.

  “You must not trust those soldiers. They are bad. They killed our neighbours. They are bad people.”

  Doubts in Aya’s mind began to agree with Mada’s echoing words.

  Max’s bed was cold without his presence there. The sheets were hard and bitty. She hadn’t noticed that before. When Max was in them they had felt like the finest silk.

  Sunday morning came. It didn’t bring Max with it. She had phoned the hospitals. Max was nowhere to be found. Because he doesn’t want to be a taunting voice told her. Max’s apartment was barren without him. She finally admitted to herself that he might not be coming back. She felt guilty and foolish as she left Max’s apartment. There was only one place left to go. She didn’t want to be alone in Max’s apartment anymore, time to go home. Resigned to defeat, she had walked back to the life she had tried so hard to escape from.

  Residential District: Sector Four

  Sunday 3rd June

  Aya’s shoes scuffed against the metal stairs as she wearily mounted the last step that led back to Mada’s apartment. Aya took the house keys from her pocket, pausing only briefly to adjust her hair before she returned to face the music. She suspected it would be anything but a sweet harmony. Mada would be furious at her deception and her absence during Aarif’s arrival. She was wearing the same clothes that she had left in. She didn’t keep any spares at Max’s apartment, because to do so would have been too suspicious for Mada. Mentally she prepared the lies she would have to tell about the weekend. She had a huge repertoire, although on this occasion, she doubted even the best of them would be enough.

  Aya unlocked the door and stepped inside. She cringed instinctively, expecting a barrage of abuse from a rapidly approaching Mada. It did not come. The apartment was suspiciously quiet. She heard the unmistakeable nervous rattle of a porcelain cup on a saucer as she stepped inside. It came from the front room.

  ‘Mum?’ she called hesitantly, ‘I’m home.’

  There was an agonising pause.

  ‘In here girl,’ came the unreadable response from the front room door.

  Aya slipped off her coat and made her way to the front room. Something didn’t feel right. The atmosphere inside the apartment was charged, tense. She stopped dead in the front room door as she took in the scene before her.

  Mada was stood at the back of the room, slightly behind the sofa and next to her stood a broad man with his arms folded. His expression was grim, his clothing spectacular. Glistening jewels adorned his headscarf, and around his chest, he wore a sparkling, deep purple velvet sash. He bowed deeply to her. A man, who had been sitting on the sofa, got up to greet her. His attire was immaculate. His glistening white suit far outstripped even Mada’s spotless sofa material. The white of the man’s suit made all other shades seem dull in comparison. It was as if a hundred watt light bulb had been installed in the lining.

  Aya’s insides went cool and loose.

  Mada had the expression of a woman who was desperately trying to look nice, whilst seething underneath.

  Aarif rose from his seat on the sofa and lowered himself to one knee before her.

  She was speechless. Her heart did somersaults in her chest. She looked a mess and she suspected that she probably smelled too. She hadn’t expected Aarif to actually BE here. She’d expected him to have come and left in disgust when she had been absent to receive him.

  He regarded her with a hard wariness in his eyes.

  It unnerved her.

  Mada’s eyes locked with hers from across the room. They screamed at her and she caught the message perfectly.

  “You selfish, wretched Girl! How dare you make me look so stupid! Where were you when Aarif came? You shame me! You shame your father! Don’t you dare say anything. Don't you dare. Smile. Smile for Aarif or so help me I will disown you!”

  Aarif took her hand in his and kissed it gently.

  His man-servant Ajit remained bowed.

  Aya almost withdrew her hand as if she had been burned, but Mada’s stare kept her as still as if she had been locked in irons.

  ‘My beautiful betrothed…I’ve waited so long to meet you,’ Aarif’s, perfectly practised voice, purred at her.

  She had a horrible feeling, like her insides had turned to pale, cold glass. She stammered as Aarif finally raised her head to look at her. He had perfectly groomed dark hair and piercing eyes. A small mole on his cheek failed to ruin his perfect image. His smile was well practised, cool and casual. His gaze betrayed his thoughts. Aya could see the man was no fool. Inside she could feel his burning anger at being made to wait: at the condition of his future wife: at what she might have been doing instead of being here waiting for him. The rehearsed (honeyed words that he spoke) couldn’t mask the well-contained fury in his eyes. It bubbled under his surface. Her heart quivered at the thought of what he might do when they were married and alone.

  Aya looked at the floor and bowed before him. Her heart clamoured.

  Putting on her best voice, she said. ‘My future husband. It is a great honour to meet you.’

  She almost choked on the words.

  Mada visibly relaxed in the background.

  Aarif ignored the choke in her voice.

  Ajit straightened up and went back into his statue position, overseeing events with an unchanging expression.

  ‘I’m sure you would like to freshen up - my betrothed?’ came the purring voice again.

  Aya simply nodded. Her eyes were fixated on the floor. She didn’t want to look into his suspicious eyes. Inside she felt dismal and trapped.

  ‘Yes…Of course! I will help her,’ Mada said from across the room. Her voice was strained.

  Mada ushered Aya out the door as quickly as possible. Aarif took another short bow and stepped backwards. Mada, all but shoved Aya out the front room door, closing it as fast as possible behind her. She was trying hard not to look flustered. In the passage, the fury in Mada’s eyes was evident. Aya recoiled under their gaze.

  Her mother leaned in and hissed in her ear, out of earshot of Aarif.

  ‘I don’t want to hear it girl. I don’t care where you’ve been, but this ends today. Aarif is your future now and you’re going to accept that.’

  Aya said nothing. She trembled at the thought. There was nowhere else to go and nothing else to do. She slumped her shoulders in defeat.

  ‘Get upstairs and get washed and changed,’ Mada ordered. ‘You’re going to be a dutiful wife and when you come back down, you’re going to look appropriate. Your dress is upstairs. Keep your mouth shut and don’t dishonour your father and sister any longer.’

  Mada pushed Aya up the stairs to her bedroom where the dress was waiting for her. Mada fixed her with a final stare before her face changed back into the perfect hostess ready to face Aarif again.

  ‘Now do it. Then join us downstairs,’ she finished and shut the door.

  The pelting water in Aya’s shower washed away her tears as she prepared herself.

  The rest of Sunday was spent sitting on the sofa next to Aarif, her head bowed in silence as Aarif and Mada discussed the wedding plans. Aya’s input was neither wanted nor needed.

  Aarif had taken the opportunity to present her with his engagement ring. It was a stunning white gold engagement ring, with a huge, blue sapphire at its centre. When he slipped it on her finger, her mother had fawned over its beauty and extravagance. Aya had pretended to be grateful, but inside she was crying. She thought that it should have Max’s ring on her finger, not the manacle that now tied her to this stranger. She hated even the feel of it intruding upon her body.

  Their wedding was to be an extravagant affair at the newly built Phoenix Palace. The bookings for extravagant events (such as her wedding to Aarif) were already fi
lling up long before it was finished. It would be at least six weeks before they could get in. The delay was ‘unfortunate,’ as Aarif put it, but there would be no way the wedding could take place anywhere else. It was, after all, to be spectacular. Aya had nodded her thanks, but inside all she could think of was Max.

  Aarif had already made it very clear that she was to give her notice in at work immediately and leave as soon as possible. He had started with ‘the control’ even before they were married, and now without Max, escape was impossible.

  Aarif finally took his leave later that evening.

  He had said. “It was traditional that they could not spend the night together until they were married.”

  Mada had agreed with Aarif, who she was glad to say was a strong believer in the value of tradition.

  Aya was simply relieved in this case.

  Aarif and Ajit were staying at a lavish hotel in Sector One called The Jewel, where his massive amount of personal belongings had been shipped. They would remain there until the wedding. After which time Aya and Mada would be moved into a new housing complex in Eden City.

  Aya’s ears still rang that night with the torrent of ‘advice’ Mada had given her the second Aarif had departed. She had lectured long and hard about the Kaleem family honour and her late father’s wishes.

  Memories of her beloved father and sister stayed with her as she cried herself to sleep and into a desperate nightmare.

  “The sun blazed down onto the street as Aya’s father, Kaleem, led them through the milling crowds and market stalls. His rough hands linked with his two daughters, Sara and Aya.

  Aya loved her father. He was not as strict as most of the other men in her life and today’s trip to the cinema complex in the city was a rare treat.

  The two little sisters chattered happily as they walked. They were unaware that Kaleem’s grip had tightened and his pace quickened as they passed a building with darkened windows in which shadowy figures looked out over the street.