Death's Echo (The Complex Book 0)

by Rachel M Raithby

Main City could be seen standing tall and proud in the center of the Complex, made up of skyscrapers, their walls sweeping curves and metallic in color. The rest of it, however, wasn’t as sleek and shiny as the outside. As Aqulla navigated her way around, she met corridor after corridor of matte gray walls. Eventually, the space opened up a little and transportation awaited her. Getting on a zipper—a hover cab fitting up to ten people—with several others heading for the Forest Zone, Aqulla watched out of the window, taking in her new home for the next few years. Thankfully no one around her had killed before, and her ride went by in relative comfort.

  Disembarking, Aqulla entered the Forest Zone and proceeded to follow the map to her apartment. Walking around the curved corridors, she counted off the apartment numbers, coming to a stop at number 107. Waving her chipped wrist over the electronic pad on the wall, the door clicked open and she entered.

  The apartment was small, with only one door on the left-hand side. Aqulla opened it and looked in on the small bathroom containing a shower over a bath, toilet, and sink. Everything was white, at least making the minuscule space seem as big as possible. Closing the door, Aqulla leaned against it and took in the rest of her space. A screen made up of sheer, stretched material blocked off a small section of the opposite end, the shadow of a bed just visible behind it. And in the rest of the space was a kitchenette, the smallest table she’d ever seen, with just two chairs tucked under it, and a sofa. The sofa was against the wall to the exit and facing an averaged-sized Vidscreen.

  Turning on the spot, she exhaled loudly. “Well, it’s a damn sight better than a prison cell.”

  Taking a quick look in the kitchen cupboards, she found a small box with Compliments of Uni printed on it, and looked inside to find a few bare essentials. There was a plain white set of four matching plates, bowls, and cups, as well as cutlery. The wardrobe opposite the bed had seven matching uniforms, all in the dull gray identical to the walls. It was ugly as hell, and she was pleased they’d not made her strip from the clothes she’d arrived in. It turned out prison had better dress sense. At least the white T-shirt she wore was shaped and the blueish gray trousers fitted.

  It took her all of five minutes to unpack her things: a small framed photo of her and her mother when she was little, and few knickknacks she’d picked up along the way. Then she sat down and turned on the vidscreen. Prison hadn’t had one of these, but still, two minutes later she turned it off and paced. She was bored, antsy, and curious to explore. Deciding it may be best to go out while the Intra were still processing the Complex’s inhabitants and there’d be less people, therefore less echoes to run into, Aqulla opened the door and headed back out into the maze of gray corridors.

  As she walked, she thought it would have been nice if Uni at least put up a picture here and there. Even adverts would have broken up the monotonous gray. Tired of walking, she jumped back onto the zipper heading for Main City, scanning her wrist as she was instructed. A few Humans and Metas wandered through the streets exploring too, a few even had their belongings and looked to have come straight from processing to the Main City. Aqulla kept her focus on the buildings and not the people, and when an echo brushed her mind, telling her a killer was nearby, she shut it out as best as she could and moved on quickly.

  Most of the buildings were shut, and she guessed that made sense since most of the employees wouldn’t have arrived yet. Thankfully there was a supermarket open, with two staff members inside, they wore similar uniforms to Jaylon, and had the Uni logo stitched on their right sleeve. They had an air about them that made Aqulla think manning a check out wasn’t their usual jobs. They tracked her movements until she was out of view, their expressions disgruntled. It had been months since she’d shopped for food thanks to being in prison, and though she wasn’t a gifted cook, it was something she enjoyed.

  Taking a basket, Aqulla browsed the shelves, adding items as she went. She didn’t pay much attention to the cost. She’d been paid 50,000 S-Co for entering the Complex, and she’d receive the same again upon leaving. If she managed to complete her stay successfully of course. It would be a nice lump sum to start afresh when she got out. Aqulla avoided the next row to miss a small human woman, she didn’t particularly look like she’d killed someone but Aqulla knew all too well appearances could be deceiving, and she wasn’t in the mood to find out if she had or not. Best to just avoid people altogether. Yeah, ‘cause that’s gonna be possible for the next few years. Biting her lip, Aqulla once again pondered how she’d cope. Her home had been in a small village. Most of its inhabitants she’d known, so she’d been aware of who to avoid. But the Complex and the rest of the world were uncharted territories. The familiar band across her chest tightened as her grandmother’s voice bounced around her head. “How do you expect to function, Aqulla? Every banshee in this coven brings something to the table, but you, you and your gift that you struggle to control, bring nothing but the promise of trouble.”

  Aqulla’s answer had been one of a stubborn teenager, her mouth a sneer, her gaze holding anger. “I’ll show you, Grandmother. You and your freaking coven.”

  The next week she’d gone shopping in the city with a few of the coven members her age. And she’d met her downfall on a busy street, leading to her current situation, proving why those of her kind with gifts as strong as hers didn’t normally live to see adulthood. There had been a few attempts on her life in prison and with each one, she’d wondered if her grandmother was somehow behind it. But in the Complex, far away on an isolated planet, her grandmother couldn’t reach her. She had two and a half years to make up for what she’d done and prove she was worthy of living.

  As the day went on, her new home filled, and with it noise, both of the mind and ear. A quick wander through the Forest’s commerce center proved Aqulla wouldn’t be stepping foot inside again. There was, however, a table with sketch pads and art supplies on it. Walking over, Aqulla picked up a few things and headed back out only to be stopped.

  “Excuse me, I’m sorry, but these aren’t to be taken out.”

  “Why?” Aqulla attempted to keep her expression neutral when in fact she felt like snarling. Already the number of people around her was fraying her defenses.

  “We don’t want to risk anyone being hurt,” the woman answered with a false smile. “Why don’t you take a seat and use them here.”

  “Because it’s too noisy in here,” Aqulla ground out. “What harm can a few paints and pencils do?”

  The Human woman looked at her pointedly. Aqulla felt like contradicting what she’d said and stabbing her with said pencil. “Fine, I’ll put them back.” Walking back to the table, Aqulla slapped them down, but before turning, she discreetly slid a pencil up the sleeve of her arm. “Happy?” she asked, overly cheerful.

  The woman said nothing and Aqulla walked out, not looking back. Once alone, she slid the pencil from her sleeve and into the bag of shopping she’d bought. The trip back to her apartment seemed to take longer than it had coming out here and when she was safely locked inside, Aqulla dumped her shopping in the cupboards and fridge before promptly falling asleep.

  The day she was due to work came and went. Aqulla had decided not to go. Even inside her apartment death’s echo could reach her. It felt like needles in her brain, sharp pricks, and distant screams. Sometimes they grew nearer, so near she’d contemplated heading out and giving in to the call, but every time she’d remember her grandmother's words. You bring nothing but the promise of trouble. Aqulla would show her. She would survive just to spite her, even if it meant staying in her apartment the entire time and living off takeaways. But that didn’t help her when she slept, when her guard was down and her subconscious mind reached out to the echoes around her. That meant her sleep was never quite restful and she often woke up to find herself attempting to leave her apartment while asleep.

  Jaylon paused as he heard a familiar name. “Everything all right?” he asked his colleague.

  “Yeah, just gotta run out to Forest and
see this chick. She’s not been showing up for her job, and you know how the Metas give me the heebie-jeebies.”

  Jaylon laughed. It amazed him how some of his colleagues still feared Metas. “What’s the name?”

  “Aqulla Dayshon. She’s a banshee. They scream and you die or something. Creepy if you ask me.”

  “Give me her file. I’ll go instead, Luke.”

  “Oh… no… I wasn’t moaning to get out of work,” he stammered.

  “It’s all right, Luke. I don’t mind.”

  “It’s a bit below your pay grade, though, Jaylon.”

  “Gotta slum it sometimes.” He smiled and held out his hand.

  “Okay, well, thanks. You need a favor let me know.”

  “Will do.” Jaylon took the file and headed out. For the life of him, he couldn’t work out why he’d done that. Luke had been right; it was below his pay grade, yet there was something about Aqulla Dayshon that he couldn’t shake. He had the feeling she hid many secrets, and why she’d not turned up to her assigned job was just one of the ones he wanted answers to.

  She ignored his first and second knock, opening on the third with a huffed, “What?” It was later than he’d intended it to be. Something had come up shortly after acquiring her file, delaying his arrival.

  “Oh. It’s you,” she said through the small space she’d opened.

  He smiled, then promptly hid it. “Climintra Lieutenant Rowe, but you can call me Jaylon.” I should not have said that. Why did I say that?

  Jaylon’s cheeks warmed, and he shifted uneasily. He wondered briefly if she was more than just a banshee. Maybe she was a witch too, and that was why he felt so on edge.

  She smiled, her eyes lighting up like she knew he was uncomfortable. “Well, Jaylon, Climintra Lieutenant Rowe is quite a mouthful.”

  He forced his face to look serious. “Intra Rowe is fine.”

  “What can I do for you, Intra Rowe?” she asked, her voice a little too sweet.

  His gaze flickered behind her, but she’d only opened the door enough to look out, and he couldn’t see much. “I’m here to inquire why you’ve missed work.”

  “Climintra Lieutenant Rowe, this task seems a little beneath you.” Her tone was full of mirth.

  “I…. This is no laughing matter.” Why did I come here?

  “Certainly, and neither is my health. I’m afraid I’ve been a little out of sorts and unable to work.” Back was the too-sweet voice and the innocent expression, but her eyes were storm clouds on the horizon. They were anything but innocent. They drew him in, begged him to get lost in their depths. She’d seen things, and he longed to know her secrets.

  Bringing up her file on his pad, partly to distract himself and partly to double check he’d not been distracted the first time he’d looked at her file and missed something, Jaylon found no records of her being sick.

  “There are no records of your sickness, or visit to a medical center.”

  “Why would there be? I’ve been recovering in bed.”

  “Well, you look fine now.” His eyes betrayed him and looked her up and down. She noticed. She noticed everything.

  “Do I now?” Her smile held a hint of sass.

  “Yes, you look in good health and able to work. I’ll expect you there tomorrow unless there is another reason for your absence?”

  An unreadable emotion rolled through her gaze. It was gone a spilt-second later, and her attitude was back. “No, no reason.”

  “Good, well, that clears that up. I erm…. Have a nice evening.”

  “You too, Jaylon.” Her voice was soft, seductive and it wrapped around him. He was still stood in the same spot a minute after she’d closed the door. Shaking the fog from his brain, Jaylon walked away, his steps long and quick. “There is something about that woman,” he mumbled to himself.

  He couldn’t quite work it out, or decide whether she was, in fact, a threat or not. The only thing he knew for sure was she’d lied. He was good at reading lies, which was why he was so good at his job. The question was why had she lied? Had she simply not wanted to work? Because she didn’t strike him as the lazy type. It bothered him that he didn’t know the truth. He didn’t know what was hidden within the storm of her eyes. Yet what bothered him the most was that it actually did. Why did he so desperately want to know her secrets?

  Aqulla laughed to herself as she closed the door. She didn’t meet men often, but when she had in the past, she’d enjoyed ruffling their feathers. It hadn’t taken her long to realize after she’d grown some breasts, men found her attractive, add in the banshee allure that helped her seem a helpless female, and men could be stuttering messes in minutes. But there had been something different about Jaylon. It was more than just attraction. He’d wanted to work her out. His gaze had been fixed, and he’d really looked at her, not just at the outside, but what was beneath. Jaylon Rowe unnerved Aqulla. He knew she had secrets, and something told her he wasn’t the type to let it go.

  The next day she showed up for work, but thirty minutes into the lunchtime rush, she walked out without a word. The café was too popular. It seemed every Meta with a rap sheet liked to eat lunch in there. It was for the best, she told herself, far better to walk out and be fired than attack a customer and be kicked out of the Complex.

  But she wasn’t fired. Instead, Jaylon turned up at her door again and this time, he looked angry.

  “Can I come in?”

  “No.”

  She heard the grind of his teeth. “Aqulla, I either come in there, or you come with me to headquarters at Climintra North. Your choice?”

  “Fine,” she huffed, throwing open the door and stepping backward. “Come in.”

  He glanced briefly around the small room, then focused on her. “You worked half a day then left.” He crossed his arms.

  “I felt ill,” she said lamely.

  He didn’t even bother accusing her of lying. She could tell by his expression he knew. “What are you hiding?”

  They were talking about her job, but Aqulla felt as if the question had applied to more than just that.

  “Why should I tell you?”

  “Because I might be able to help you.”

  “I’m a Banshee.”

  “Yes, I know. It says so in your file.”

  “Well, does it say what I do?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “I sense death. And serving killers isn’t something I enjoy.”

  He frowned. “Well, surely you can just ignore it. Otherwise your kind wouldn’t function.”

  If only I was a normal banshee “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll be at work tomorrow. Now if you don’t mind, please leave.”

  He looked baffled again. Aqulla couldn’t blame him. She felt the way he looked. She wasn’t even sure why she’d attempted to explain. She decided right then and there Jaylon Rowe was a threat, not because he frightened her, but because he didn’t, and that was dangerous. It made her tongue loose and made her want to trust him.

  He straightened, his Intra persona slipping back into place. “Please do. Otherwise, I’ll be forced to report it.”

  Closing the door, Aqulla leaned her head against it, her eyes sliding shut. “You can do this,” she told herself. “You can, and you will.”

  He was at war with himself. Stood, hidden from her view, he watched Aqulla work while silently having an argument with himself. He’d only come to make sure she was actually doing her job today, which was all it was. He was simply doing his job. Yet he’d been watching her for thirty minutes. She was clearly doing her job, yet he still watched her.

  Her expression was pained, and she went out of her way to avoid certain people. He’d watched her twice weave through tables to avoid the direct path passed a customer. He’d never seen a banshee before, but one of the men on his team had worked with one and after a quick talk with him earlier that morning, Jaylon had learned the woman his colleague knew had functioned pretty much in the same way any other person did. She’d not avoide
d touch, or looked pained around crowds, so why was it different for Aqulla?

  Morbid curiosity, Jaylon told himself. It had nothing whatsoever to do with the flutter in his chest when she was near, or the fact that she was the first woman to make the flesh in his pants stir for quite a few months. Jaylon couldn’t remember the last time he’d been with a woman he’d actually liked. Why her? Why did it have to be her?

  A customer reached out and grabbed her arm as she walked past. It wasn’t an aggressive move, purely a customer after more coffee, but Aqulla’s reaction was more than aggressive. She shifted, her eyes full of killing calm. Jaylon was too stunned to move. His heart and lungs stuttered, gazing at her, hair like fine strands of silver, eyes aglow with menace, her face stunningly beautiful yet altogether terrifying. Jaylon wasn’t sure he’d be able to move to defend himself if she turned on him.

  Hands around her throat, lungs on fire, a desperate plea used with her last breath. Aqulla was doused in darkness, sucked into the void where only the last moments of life lingered. Echoes of the past, a mirror into a woman’s violent death.

  Kill him, she screamed. Avenge me, she demanded. Her commands pulsed through Aqulla’s blood like her own heartbeat, driving her on, controlling her body. She was death’s tool, a weapon used to wreak vengeance on those who had committed the greatest sin. Her body shifted, claws curling, sharp, lethal weapons ready for use. Aqulla looked into the man’s eyes. He was confused, frightened even. His mouth moved as he formed words, words Aqulla couldn’t make out for the screams in her head. “Coffee,” she read from his lips.

  He wants coffee, she thought, feeling detached. Give him death, the voice whispered in her head.

  The man clambered to his feet, his chair scraping loudly across the floor, his coffee mug like a barrier between them.

  Her heart pounded harder, the screams grew louder. Every cell in her body urged her to make the kill, but a small distant part of Aqulla held back. There remained at least a semblance of control. It took everything in her power to crawl back from the edge. It would have been so much easier to fall. Even as she walked away, the cries for vengeance followed her. Aqulla barged past another waitress, not even registering her presence. Her shoulder crashed into the door leading her out back and then finally alone, she gained enough control to shift back. Sweat coated her skin as if she’d been exercising. Ragged, desperate air rushed into her lungs. She’d been so close to killing him. Her grandmother was right. She’d never live a normal life. Her best hope was to live alone in a remote area. That was if she made it out of the Complex without giving in.