Immortal seed:doll face

U.O.I

Copyright 2012 by U.O.I


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Table of contents

Prologue
Chapter 1: old wounds
Chapter 2: budding love
Chapter 3: old song
Chapter 4: death merchant
Chapter 5: faces
Chapter 6: Revelations
Chapter 7: Scion


Prologue

Four lads not yet old enough to wear their own beards tried to pull the wool over the good eye of the night club's door supervisor, brandishing fake plastic identity cards. The fact that he lost one eye in childish games when he was five didn't make him anyone's fool. The bouncers friends made him play patient while they took on role of doctor. In a scuffle for a plastic stethoscope, the make believe doctors sent him crashing into a can of inverted pencils. His right eye was impaled on impact with the pointy end of the pencils. The boys responsible got off with a mere reprimand while the injured party got to see the world through a very skewed one eye. ' You little runts aren't getting your skinny arses in my club, go on boger off to your mums', the barrel chested, coloured door supervisor ranted at the underaged pranksters.

Like scared sewer rats the four teens hurriedly dispersed. They cursed at the guard when they were at a safe distance and out of his reach. 'We're getting low on the good stuff', one of the teenage boys donning a red Nike face cap remarked as he rolled a joint. Half high, half awake, the boys saw two glowing fiery orbs approaching. The light appeared to be nested in eyesockets but the face remained shrouded by darkness. Something in their brains was affected by the entity causing the less than somber junkies to slip out of conciousness. As they lay unconscious on the concrete floor, the light from the orbs dimmed allowing the creature to melt away into the shade of darkness.

oldwounds

Papers stained with wine covered the face of a marble table. A broken down wreck of a man with myriads of sweat crisscrossing a slightly aging face, sinks into the comfort of an old leather sofa. An awkward silence filled the air, followed by the gritting of toffee coloured teeth as Mr lark tries to digest each letter in the well drafted memento from a philandering wife. 'Mama always said she would bleed me dry, it's a damn pity I never took the time to listen', the broken man murmured to himself. A tall slender frame in the corner emerged from the shadows of a poorly lighted room. She was neither his crotch nor his poison, just a listening ear for a cocktail of bile from a bitter man. 'Detective inspector lark your special attention is required sir. There's been an unpleasant development at st Johns road', the tall lady intimated. The words seemed to slide out of her lips in a rather eloquent, affluent English accent. Her gaze seemed fixed on the half opened window. You could see the fire and zeal of a new recruit burning ever so brightly in her hazel eyes. 'The half pint constable come to tell me what to do', he muttered as he grudgingly obliged to her request. You could literally smell the stench of unease between the two comrades. It was like sweaty armpits and a lady. She didn't like the stench but couldn't stay away from the man with the armpit.

It was a long drive to st johns road. DI Lark's eyes stayed fixed on his old Rolex watch. He was forever tapping the face of the old trinket, hoping it would respond to his brand of CPR. Finally they made their way through the hustle and bustle of London's narrow but busy roads. At the end of a tiny ally way was a lifeless body surrounded by paramedics and first aiders. The badly bruised man in his late thirties had just been pronounced dead. It was now an official police murder investigation.The forensic team soon swooped in like vultures on a fresh carcass, hoping to find any helpful pieces to the jigsaw puzzle. Constable Matthews was quick to notice the murder weapons lined up in a corner: four blood stained steel bats. She pointed them out to her superior officer. 'Its like we've got easy pickings today inspector lark sir. Guess who ever hired the imbecilic quartet that wielded the murder weapons just wants to be caught', Mattews commented. 'From my neck of the woods half pint, it certainly looks like the puppet master behind this assault is very thorough and confident that we won't find a shred of evidence to tie them to a very dead john doe over there. They like any great illusionist, wanted to misdirect our attention and fool us into believing it was an assault gone wrong', the experienced inspector Lark elaborated to his attentive audience.

Drenched officers punished by a merciless downpour of rain, made a hasty exit after sealing up the crime scene with the usual black and yellow tape. A little girl in a white Chinese masquerade mask on her tricycle, watches the detectives vanish out of sight as sirens blare. A balding man in his fourties sprints towards the child from the adjacent side of the road. 'Fifi!, you know better than to be out at this time, mum will definitely not be impressed by such behavior', he growled rather angrily. He plucked her from the bike and carried her in one arm while the bike rested in the grasp of the other hand.

Through a slightly blurry window you could see cupids little fingers at work. A well groomed middle aged man practices the art of flirting with a stranger he'd had his eye on since the start of summer. He had finally worked up some courage as the words weighed heavily on his tongue like an anchor. The ship did indeed, find it difficult to sail as he was no master of seduction, in fact he had never been on a proper date with a proper lady before. As he pretended to struggle with his menu choice, the object of his desire approached ever so gracefully. The waitress uniform looked like she was born to be in it as it highlighted a symmetry of such proportions that it would make a saints mouth water. Every one liked Cindy Valentine but no one had a big enough heart to look her in the eye and say a simple hello until now. Opportunity presented itself when he noticed she was missing an earring. 'Youre incomplete today miss, care to ask me why?', said her drooling admirer in a calm collected manner. Cindy's face lit up like a thousand fireflies on a dark night. She gave a mischievous smile and asked him: 'why?'. 'Jewelry are a ladies ornament, they simply amplify your natural beauty exponentially my darling', the entranced admirer teased. 'Thats three pounds for the glass of white wine and for those kind words, I believe you owe me some wining and dining', the flattered waitress hinted.

Through the footpaths and clusters of old buildings, past the power lines, into the unusually calm and quiet room of a troubled youth. It was a simple home with outdated antique furnishing almost as old as the landlady. As the small framed lady opened her eyes to a new dawn, she was greeted by a foul stench that could choke the life out of a bear. Stairs started to squeak like some sort of bizarre symphony as the retired scarlet lady made her way up. She went from faint polite knocks to heavy bashing on the mahogany door with her cane. All that could be heard was the track: 'sky is over', repeatedly belted out by loud speakers. Her hands quivered and shook like a leaf as she struggled with the keys but the keyhole was blocked by the key on the side.

Hours rolled by still all that lingered was silence of a stillborn. Tick, tock, tick the hands on the grand father clock slowly raced to the twentieth hour of the day. A worn out old woman laid back in her chair with the shutters on her eyes overcome by sleep. Neigbours overcome by the stench from the old lady's house soon vented their fury on her front door with their fists. Soon the door caved in and the motionless body of an old woman laid sunken on the cane chair with a peaceful, serene look on her face. The police were called in and soon acted swiftly, taking the flight of stairs up to the lodgers room. The door was rammed into, revealing four drained husk like human remains. Drugs and needles littered on the floor told the story of a decay that has corrupted youths, robbed children of innocence and led parents to early graves. Fire department was called in by the officer in charge because the house smelt like something had been burnt. A carbon monoxide build up alongside other gases associated with fires originating from the room of the four deceased boys was identified as the cause of the stench. Personal effects where confiscated by detectives to be analysed by the forensic team. The entire house could be a significant public risk if a match was to be lit within the premises. The fire fighters took control of the property as the law enforcement officers made a hasty departure.

A mountain of paperwork was being wheeled in by the admin staff at the police station. Inspector lark clumsily but deliberately walked into her spilling some of his coffee on her polka dot blouse. His apology was laced with sarcasm as he addressed the admin staff saying: 'that's a terrible waste of a good cup of tea, I'll take some of that load off you for light reading'. Her response was a less than friendly stare as she gave a look of a woman scorned, knocked her heels against the wooden floor board and vanished into the ladies room. Hours of digging into the case files seemed to make some light bulbs come on in the experienced detectives brain cells or at least Pamela Johnston thinks he has just one.

The case his eyes was fixated on, was dated 3rd of October which was 3 days ago. Four murder weapons and four dead teenagers had to be somehow connected, it was a hunch this bulldog of a man would chew on with relish and regurgitate until something gives way. With the speed of a steam powered engine the Lark bulldozed his way into the storage room and foraged through tonnes of evidence till at last the holy grail revealed itself. The metropolitan police department warehouse was a treasure of ancient, old and recent incriminating materials. The four steel bats were definitely murder weapons. The trick was tieing the assault weapons to a face or faces in this circumstance. The ageing detective held his handkerchief to his nose as he stepped over decomposing mould infested marijuana bags making an exit from the gloomy strong house back to civilization and fresh air. Clutching his mobile phone in the right arm he called on his not too enthusiastic assistant. He kept Mattews on speed dial. To her demise his psychologist advised him against getting behind the wheels.

She was just getting to the gates when Lark put his arm through the window of the car and let himself in. She looked him in the eyes. He gave the nod and she drove like a woman on aphrodisiac pills, with the tires almost leaving scorch marks on the road. She shouted out loud: 'I always advised that you did not shake things up sir, the fungi in the evidence room will wreck havoc in your lungs'. 'Cough, cough what do you know about anything halfpint, you take care of the wheels and I'll take care of the things that actually matter', he thundered. They could barely make out what each other was saying as the siren buffered the sound of their voices. Guess that was the saving grace that kept them from literally disembowling each other.

The forensic department soon got to work analyzing every inch of the bats a second time. Like ants on a lump of sugar they worked tirelessly into the knight. Small amounts of particles where lodged in a tiny cleft on one of the bats. It had a chemical structure consistent with the drugs found in the tissue samples of the four deceased teenagers. The lab technician emerged from the forensic laboratory with the test results filled out and handed it to DI Lark who was already pacing about in the hallway like an anxious first time father waiting for the miracle of a child and family. The irony in all this being that the inspector is now married to the job that wrecked his relationship as he sticks to his work with the blind faith of a heretic. As his eyes browsed through the paper work, a familiar tall slender frame leaned over Larks broad shoulders and tried to catch glimpses of the results. 'So I take it these boys were accidentally overdosed on heroin. What a waste sir, dont you agree', she said hoping for approval. 'Perhaps!', echoed the inspector but not for her benefit. 'I think there could be some foul play here. I'll take the sample to my old friend prof Leyton', Lark argued.

'All those years abroad at Harvard ought to count for something', he thought to himself as we walked through the busy hallway, closely shadowed by Mattews. Queen Mary's university was a like a circus for overachievers, the detective only felt at ease there in the company of a familiar face. Lark sat head buried in his hands and facing the ground. The bulky frame of the well studied chemist in glasses and suspenders cast a shadow on the door. His duck like way of walking could not be mistaken. Both men exchanged bile and pleasantries and headed to the school lab to mess around with the equipment. Scribbling on a piece of paper, the professor announced his results: 'The spectrophotometer indicated heroine and codeine coupled to a protein which. I suspect to be an enzyme that breaks down the heme pigment in blood to form carbon monoxide. The ammonia from the process of accelerated decay could be responsible for the foul smell at Palmers grove'.

'That's very enlightening professor. I owe you one the wings are on me mate', a grateful lark says. As they sat at the school cafeteria, miss Mattews pushed her spoon back and forth in the cup of tea, raised her head

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 02.01.2013
ISBN: 978-3-7309-0560-9

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