by Andy Briggs
MARLOW
Andy Briggs
MARLOW
Copyright © 2020 by Andy Briggs
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Cover art: Shutterstock
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Contents
Marlow
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
About the Author
Also by Andy Briggs
Marlow
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Chapter One
The rapping at the door was loud and persistent. A middle-aged pretty woman answered it with equal urgency. Her black hair was pulled so tight into a smart ponytail that the skin was taut against her clearly defined cheekbones. For several seconds she stared in surprise at the malodorous tramp on the doorstep. And several more to register it was a woman.
“Bryony Glass?” the tramp asked as she gruffly cleared her throat.
“Y-yes.”
“You called my. About your son.”
The tramp raised an unkempt eyebrow expectantly. Bryony's father, Boris, joined her at the door, carefully angling it so that the stranger couldn't see into their well-appointed home. Boris’s brow furrowed and his nostrils automatically twitched at the sour aroma standing on the doormat.
“Can I help you?” Boris Glass demanded with as much authority as his five-foot-six frame could deliver. He pushed his glasses firmly up his nose and looked as if he wished he had something to block the stench out.
The tramp ran a hand through her lank hair then risked a casual sniff under her left armpit. Even with the thick trench coat she could detect something unpleasant, although she conceded that could have been the coat itself.
“Marlow Cornelius. You called me.” When the Glasses looked at her blankly she felt compelled to add: “About the kid?”
Comprehension flooded their faces and a little gasp of “Ooohh!” escaped their lips in unison.
“Sorry, of course,” puffed Bryony as it suddenly dawned on her how rude she had been. “I just didn't expect you to... um...”
“Be a woman?”
“Be so early,” Boris quickly chimed in. He looked expectantly around the doorstep. “Did you bring anything? Any specialist equipment?”
Marlow opened her long coat revealing a modified sawn-off shotgun, the barrel of which flared outward like a hunting blunderbuss. She patted the scarred walnut stained hilt.
“Right here.”
Bryony smiled. “Jolly good,” she said weakly. After all, it was what they were paying for and services like Marlow's were far from cheap. She opened the door wide. “Dan is upstairs, asleep.”
Marlow wiped her runny nose with the hem of her filthy jacket then pumped the blunderbuss with a loud CLICK-CLACK that echoed through the still night air. She entered the house and the heavy oak front door slammed shut behind her.
Dan Glass was fast asleep.
For a thirteen-year-old kid like Dan that was no surprise. He suffered from narcolepsy, a condition that sent him headlong asleep at the most inopportune moments. He had lost count of the number of times he'd started snoring midway through giving an answer in class. MRIs showed nothing. Pills only had a limited effect, as did caffeine. In short, it was a debilitating condition Dan and his parents could do nothing about. Now the condition had started to attract even bigger and more unusual problems.
Marlow Cornelius gently pushed open the bedroom door and crept inside. She could have entered with rock music pumping and Dan still wouldn't have stirred. Out of habit, Marlow gently closed the door behind her and slid the chair from Dan's desk, positioning it at the end of the bed. There she sat with the blunderbuss across her lap, and waited.
Patience was not a virtue Marlow was born with, yet it was a vital one her profession demanded. Profession... there was an unjust phrase. Marlow was born into the family business and her father had drilled into her the importance of carrying it on, right up until he had...
Marlow forced the grim memories from her mind and concentrated on Dan. The boy's eyes were rapidly moving under closed eyelids. He was deep in REM sleep, caught up in a dream. Marlow felt a pang of jealousy. She never dreamed. Unlike those annoying people in the bar who claimed they didn't dream either, when in fact just didn't remember them, Marlow really didn't dream. Ever. She had never experienced the joy of stepping into another reality; the pleasure of meeting incredible characters who existed only in her mind’s eye; or enjoyed the thrill of being a heroic warrior.
She’d never had a dream to follow.
She hated people who did. Loathed them. Staring at Dan lost in another world made Marlow seethe with envy. She dragged her gaze away from the boy and studied the pile of books at the side of the bed, most of them unread as Dan couldn't make it past the first chapter before his eyes clamped shut. The bedside table light was decorated with figures from anime movies. Marlow didn't know which; she never got the chance to go anywhere.
Then she noticed that the lamp's ceramic body had been glued back together from a fall. Paying more attention, she saw that the wallpaper behind was torn - three diagonal slashes that looked as if powerful talons had swiped down. The angle suggested that they came from the direction of the bed, but each mark was as least two of the boy's fingers in width. Now she was looking for it, the room bore many signs of previous struggles. The carpet was torn in places, furniture scuffed as if something large had passed by, and the back of the door - that sent shivers down Marlow's spine - savage claws had torn chunks of wood from it. She noted that the door wasn't a normal bedroom one but a heavy wooden fixture, more like a front door. Designed to keep somebody out.
Or something in.
Dan mumbled incoherently in his sleep. Marlow regretted shutting the door and turned back to Dan just in time to see the table lamp dim. The bulb wasn't faulty, it burned with the same brightness - but the shadows around it grew denser, soaking up the illumination like a sponge.
Marlow's fingers tightened around the shotgun but she didn't move. She focused on keeping her breathing steady. Panic was not a friend in these circumstances. She'd done this routine many times before, yet somehow, for some intangible reason, this felt different.
Dan grumbled in his slumber, unaware of what was happening in the waking world. The illumination had now dropped to near twilight levels, velvet shadows were cast in all the usual trouble spots: under the bed and across the closet door.
Marlow's ears pricked when he heard the noise: a low chittering that sounded like a distant locust swarm ready to descend. It came from the darkness and rose in volume, slowly evolving into a growl that came from beneath the bed. The throaty bass was so deep that Marlow felt her ribs vibrate. She angled sideways on the chair so she could get a better look under the bed, but Dan's hanging duvet blocked the view.
Marlow berated herself for doing this sober, she had a v
ague sense of pride for not drinking for several weeks now, but that accomplishment was swiftly becoming a problem. Drink might be damaging her health but at least it helped keep terror at bay. A cold chill pricked the back of her neck and her breath became visible in short smoky puffs as the temperature plummeted. She slipped from the chair and knelt down, using the gun barrel to lift the duvet aside, tensing in anticipation of an attack.
There was nothing under the bed. Except a pair of crusty socks that had fermenting for so long that their odour overpowered Marlow's own stale musk.
Then she sensed movement behind. Marlow’s shoulders sagged as she realised her mistake. Nightmares - you could never trust them. And you should never turn your back on them.
In the reflection of a small sticker-covered mirror that hung on the wall, Marlow could see the black mass of darkness coil into a solid shape. It looked panther-shaped, with matte black skin instead of fur, and an oversized mouth with hundreds of needle-like teeth in a slavering maw. Luminous blue eyes burned with an inhuman malevolence.
It was a sight that could, and indeed literally did, freeze the blood.
But not Marlow’s; her blood was too thick. She had been studying the nightmares for as long as he could remember and knew the beast’s linage even if its hunting methods were irregular.
Feline quadru-nightmaris, she mentally rattled off before the creature rose on its four hind legs, revealing an extra pair of thin forward legs that ended in a lethal pair of serrated hooks designed to pull victims closer to the gnashing teeth. Feline sextulus-nightmaris she corrected herself. Crap.
This was not just an irregularity - this was something new. And if there was one thing in the world Marlow didn’t like, it was new.
She swung the gun under her arm so it was upside down, but at least facing the general direction of the foe. Her finger snapped backwards and pulled the trigger.
Bryony jumped when she heard the gunshot upstairs. It was followed by an almighty crash that didn’t seem to want to end. The ceiling light swung frantically and she was convinced the roof would cave in. Even as she watched, cracks formed across the plaster and hanging Christmas decorations trembled. Boris refused to meet his daughter’s gaze. He just stared at the television and hitched the volume up so the audience laughter masked the destruction in Dan’s room.
More splintering wood followed another ear-splitting gunshot. Bryony made a mental note that they would need to purchase another desk for Dan. She’d never liked that one anyway.
Marlow slid out a desk drawer and swung it across the beast’s head. It broke on contact but did nothing to faze the creature, which was flat on its back, rolling amongst the desk’s debris. Dan was still fast asleep, smiling, oblivious to the racket from the battle.
A clawed foot struck Marlow in the stomach, knocking the breath from her. She staggered backwards across the room; a flailing hand tore a poster off the wall as she slammed against the window. She heard, and felt, a pane of glass crack under her shoulder blade.
The nightmare thrashed on its back, trying to roll upright but hampered by its own scything fore-claws. Two plate-sized gunshot wounds to the chest had only slowed it a little. The pale blue wounds had pumped thick blue blood before the wound had frozen with icy crystals that automatically stemmed the bleeding. This was a tough opponent, and Marlow was badly out of shape, used to hunting down smaller Infiltrators. Her fingers scrambled for a pair of fresh shotgun cartridges held in loops on her belt.
The beast finally flipped onto its four rear legs - just as Marlow breached the barrel open across her arm. The monster furiously shook itself clear of the splinters like a dog.
Marlow slid the first cartridge into the barrel of the specially designed duel-barrel blunderbuss. A weapon originally favoured by Victorian elephant hunters and refined by Nightmare Hunters. Cobalt lupine eyes locked onto her and the nightmare howled as it sprung forward.
The second cartridge was loaded as the creature arced through the air. Marlow allowed herself to slide down the window - landing hard on her ass. She felt the pain of sitting on something sharp, an errant plug probably. With a flick of the wrist she locked the barrel back into place and pulled the trigger–
The nightmare was destined for the window the moment Marlow dropped. The twin gunshots blew its ugly head into indigo icily particles that splattered and stained the walls. The monster was slain before it crashed through the glass, dragging the curtains with it. The corpse vaporised before impacting the floor, leaving just a mess of broken glass, a splintered window frame and some unsightly paisley curtains.
Marlow let the gun fall to her side and expelled a long sigh. The eradication had been a lot tougher than she’d anticipated. Her mouth was dry and craving alcohol – preferably Southern Comfort. It would also numb the aches that pulsed across her body.
Dan rolled over in his sleep and let out a contented grunt.
Marlow waited impatiently on the doorstep as Dan’s mum wrote out a cheque. She glanced at the pool of broken glass on the grass outside. Dan’s room and wondered why the Infiltrator had acted so out of character. In all her experience, they stuck to the same routine. They were not creatures blessed with vivid imaginations...
Her musing was cut short as Bryony shoved the cheque in her hand and mumbled “goodnight”. Marlow checked it was for the right amount and just turned back in time to see the door close in her face.
With a sigh, she slid the fee in her pocket and trudged back to her dilapidated Beetle car. Her mouth may be demanding a drink but her brain needed sleep. Unfortunately, as usual, it would be a dreamless sleep.
Chapter Two
Dan Glass yawned and his eyelids fluttered uncontrollably. Before he knew it his head lolled and sharply knocked against the car window. The jolt made him sit bolt upright and he forced himself to look out of the car window, focusing on anything to keep him awake. It was an exercise his doctor had recommended, but Dan found it difficult.
Bench. Bus. Girls walking to school. Pigeon. Man with obvious wig.
“Feeling alright?” said his Grandpa from the driver’s seat. He angled the rear-view mirror to get a better look at Dan.
“Sure. Great.” Dan’s mind felt fluffy as narcolepsy fogged his brain, ready to pounce.
“How did you sleep? I mean, do you remember your, um, dreams?”
Dan shook his head. His dreams were sometimes vague shadow memories of things he had experienced. Other times they were vivid and vibrate; fun and surreal. But lately, they had become... scary. He didn’t want to alarm his mother. It didn’t look like she was getting any sleep either and he didn’t want her to worry any more about him. She had been doing that for far too long.
Boris reached for a capped thermos cup wedged in the car’s drinks holder and handed it to Dan.
“Coffee, just the way you like it.”
Dan took the cup, opened the cap, and took a mouthful of the sweet hot liquid. He knew he shouldn’t really be drinking coffee at his age, but he found it was one of the few things that kept him awake even if the caffeine was losing its edge. At least it was better than the army of prescriptions he had been given over the years. None of them ever worked and he had increasingly become suspicious the doctors were using him for nothing more than a training ground.
“Thanks.”
Boris didn’t bother asking any more questions on the drive to school, and Dan managed to stay awake and alert for the rest of the journey. He felt comfortable with his Grandpa who understood his condition almost as well as the doctors, and nothing else needed to be said. Dan exited outside school and stared at the soulless grey building; his prison for the next six hours.
He made it through the school yard gauntlet, never stopping to speak or say hello. What was the point? His two best friends had left - one when his parents relocated for work and the other... Dan wasn’t so sure what the reasons were exactly but his friend had stopped talking to him after a sleepover and then the family left the country shortly afterwards.
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The sanctuary of the school library lay just ahead. Just a few more yards to the tranquil refuge...
“Alright, Hypnos,” growled a voice from his left.
Dan sagged as Barry Maven hove into view and blocked his path. He was a foot taller than Dan and considerably wider as most of him was muscle. He was the school’s top soccer player and currently ranked as the number one bully. Jenkins and Pith were his two cackling henchmen. What they lacked in physical presence they made up for in ugly. They were the perfect wingmen to Maven’s chiselled leading-man looks and groomed black hair that caught the attention of every girl in school. What was worse than having a bully whom all the girls fancied? Well, having one who was also smart didn’t help one bit.
“Hypnos?” said Dan. “What, so I’m going to hypnotise you now? Make you punch yourself in the face?”
“Hypnos, Greek god of sleep, doofus.” Maven shoved Dan so hard in the shoulder that he almost fell to the floor. “And don’t try and get smart with me or I’ll shove your molars down your trachea.”
Dan blinked, trying to work out what the threat actually was. That was the problem with Maven, he baffled you with his banter then punched you in the face when you were trying to figure it out. Dan gripped the strap of his backpack, he was carrying some heavy book, which would make a handy weapon, and he wasn’t beyond retaliation. He’d done it before, not that it did him any good, in fact it landed Dan in a whole world of pain and no amount of complaining to the teachers would get them to believe Maven, their role model pupil, was a thug.