I don't want to reveal too much about the story itself, but what I can tell you is that this is my personal take on the crime sub-genre mostly known in the film industry as 'Noir' with additional influnces from post-apocalyptic urban fantasy/sci-fi as well as a tiny bit of cyberpunk, not too much though.
Also important to note is that the whole story will be told solely from the point of view of the respective main character of each chapter. Yes there are two...
And yeah, I know... it might sound a bit strange at first, but don't be scared away... I works out quite well if may say so and besides... that's just how my brain works.
I've realeased a couple of posts containing background information on the story. Just follow the links below to the respective content.
The setting of Loner's Peak in short-short.
The Jameston Company
The Jameston Family
Because Loner's Peak will be the first part of a short(?) series I'm still thinking about a name for the whole thing. Current favorite continues oto be something on the likes of "Omnivore" or "Omnium vorare" (which could be very bad Latin as I honestly don't know too much about that language).
Origionally intended to have 3 parts in total, I've changed my mind and expanded the whole thing to possibly 5 parts. It'll be worth it!
The quering phase is heavily on it's way and I hope dearly to be able to present some positive news concerning that.
And now I present to you the prologue of Loner's Peak. I hope you'll enjoy it.
*~*
Prologue
Los Angeles
Somewhat around 3 or 4 a.m.
It should actually be winter, at least I think so. Maybe December or January...
It’s been a while since I last had a glance at a calendar. Not that it would matter nowadays..., or make any difference in this godforsaken time.
It is almost always warm, sometimes blistering hot, even during the night. But there are also these few sudden days during the course of the year when you might just freeze to death.
Only the foul stench of sulfur continues to contaminate the air at all times.
The world just does not work the way how it used to anymore.
The air tastes rotten, sour even and the sky is far from being as azure as my last few childish memories suggest.
Now thick brown clouds cover up everything, keeping sun and stars tucked away just alike. And even if you manage to see them sometime from somewhere outside of the city, they might just be an envoy of your certain demise.
What a damn shame.
But to hell with it..., who am I to judge?
I’m just a lonely old man, a run-down cop, dispatched from duty many years ago, trying to play private eye for those who are willing to pay me just enough for my next jar of whiskey.
Insomnia has become a good friend of mine over the years. Probably the only real one I have left. A companion, guiding me through the nights and to the last scrapes of work I can actually get; ultimately trying to devour my life, my existence and all that is, well..., all that once was precious within it.
It seems ‘he’ has already succeeded.
I can’t suppress a mad chuckle as I think about it whilst walking down the narrow streets, deep within the bowels of this darkened former city of angels. Yet not even the few other figures, shrouded by the shadows of buildings looming over them, give a damn about me.
On the other hand... why should they?
There are so many creeps and weirdoes wandering through the night, some gagging continuously, others shaking and trembling from one seizure to the next. So why, I come to ask myself, should they care for one more giggling old fool?
The answer is simple: They shouldn’t.
And still something is different about me... at least I try to think of it that way.
I have a destination to go to tonight.
I’m not lurking in the alleys for my next victim to rape or murder nor am I blindly searching the streets for someone who can supply me with my next fix.
I am heading somewhere... I have a place that I’m going to. Right now.
Old Harry’s Bar is just around the block from here.
And even though I’m one of his regulars, tonight it’s not about the alcohol. The old man of the joint had called me personally, maybe half an hour ago, telling me horror stories of people even more shady than usual sitting at his bar, seemingly capable of doing anything their twisted mindset comes up with. A ticking bomb, ready to explode. A catastrophe, just waiting for that one unlucky fool to set it into motion.
Yet something inside of me was more than just plainly worried about this.
It’s the first job in weeks and maybe old Harry would let me put things on my tab again if I manage to sort this one out.
Trying to hide the faint smile on my lips I take a turn to the left at the intersection.
The green and red neon lights forming the signboard flicker wildly, casting their light not too far onto the street itself. The acid rain should have been nibbling on it for quite a while now, a few months at least. Harry needs to replace it or it’ll come down before the end of next week.
As I draw closer to the bar my eyes catch a glimpse of something lying on the sidewalk directly in front of it.
I instinctively know that something terrible must have happened not too long ago.
And it appears this bad feeling hasn’t let me down one more time, just as always.
The, black bulk lying there soon shows more and more shades of red, revealed by the flickering lights around it with every step that I draw closer.
Finally reaching the bar, I find myself standing over my first dead body of the evening. Silently I crouch down to get a better look at the person motionlrss lying in front me.
I know the man.
He’s in his late twenties, or well... was at least. He's the young guy who worked the bar at Harry’s every couple of nights, sometimes also tending to the customers as a more or less poor waiter. Yet he usually only did so when there were ladies to attend to, which realisticly hardly ever happens.
But I guess, Mike, Mickey, Micky or whatever his name was won’t be bothering about this anymore, as the dark bloody hole in his forehead also testifies to, whilst his eyes only stare blankly upwards to the heavens.
I always had the feeling that he was too nosy for his own good.
Slowly I get up again, feeling a sudden sting followed by waves of pain in my back. It always tries to remind me that I’m still only an old fool, who shouldn’t overexert himself.
Goddammit, old man! Get to your feet!
I stagger the first few steps as I approach the entrance of the bar. I know I need to find out why one of Harry’s younger bartenders is lying outside on the sidewalk with his brains leaking out of the back of his head and into the gutter.
The outer door opens silently as I make my way into the building. Despite my concerns, as I throw a first look through the colored frosted glass into the bar itself, everything seems normal. The second door swings open with a long stretched out creaking sound.
I look around me, irritated. Usually I would be welcomed by the sound of Sinatra, Kelly or Cash, but today everything remains quiet except for somebody talking off to the side. And even after the few seconds, so the next song could have picked up again, which felt far too long, have passed, no music arises.
Only the low humming that haunts every house gets to my ears.
Making my way over to the empty bar, I catch a few stray words of the gibberish I hear to my far right. It sounds like three or four people at least, most likely sitting behind the partition in the small lounge, complaining about the taste of their drinks and of the air, as well as probably everything else in this joint, that there wasn’t even good music to start with and whatnot.
They never come to the conclusion, or let alone consider that it might just be their own taste that is rotten.
I don’t bother with taking my coat off or sitting down. I just put my rough hands on the counter and take a look over it.
A young woman is cowering next to an old run down freezer, shivering slightly supposedly more because of fear or anxiety and less due to cold steal touching her skin.
Her name is Shirley, at least that is what she once told me. She’s still in her early twenties, her firm young body and the golden hair leave no doubt about that. Not too tall and not that bland of what you might think for her age, a beautiful thing with a heart of gold, even for an old man like me. Sadly she often falls for the wrong wretched bastards.
Yet this time, it isn’t about her.
I turn away from the trembling girl, offering her a last soothing look of which I’m not quite sure whether she would notice it or not as I step back into the middle of the room without a word.
My eyes wander to the staircase in the back with light shining down from above and I ask myself if I shouldn’t go up there and talk to Harry first.
No! You can’t, old man.
You can’t just leave the girl alone down here, even if you don’t know whether those guys around the corner have anything to do with dead Mickey in front of the door outside or not.
There seems to be nobody else in here except for me, the girl and them.
Still nothing to wonder about.
As I approach the partition, separating the lounge in the corner from the rest of the room, I reach inside my coat to find my old gun. Not entirely sure, whether it would work at all I carefully pull it out from underneath the cloth.
I let my eyes run along the surprisingly smooth surface of its blackened barrel, before hiding it away again.
I haven’t fired a single shot in years, still it offers me a feeling of safety when I know I have it close and ready.
Without further hesitation I take the turn around the fake wall.
The couch that used to be in there was luxurious, at least for the current circumstances. Harry talked to me about getting rid of it only a little while ago.
As I turn my head, I stare into the small eyes of four people who are sitting in almost complete darkness. A single lamp shining forth in black light is failing to illuminate the corner, at least for me.
I’m having trouble adjusting to the sparse lighting with my old eyes.
Nobody is saying a single word.
It is up to my imagination to tell me that they already know exactly why I’m here. Slowly, I reach back into the inside of my coat.
That was the biggest mistake that I could possibly make.
I imagine how one of the four is brightly grinning at me, just before it hits. My left shoulder is suddenly thrust backwards, also throwing me off my balance. I still don’t hear a single sound, but I feel a second impact on my body. Unable to tell where, I can only say it hit me like a truck.
The gun escapes my loosening fingers as I am send flying backwards against a wall.
You stupid old man!
How could you be so foolish...?
My head hits the wall hard. That moment it’s lights out for me.
Los Angeles
Somewhat around 3 or 4 a.m.
It should actually be winter, at least I think so. Maybe December or January...
It’s been a while since I last had a glance at a calendar. Not that it would matter nowadays..., or make any difference in this godforsaken time.
It is almost always warm, sometimes blistering hot, even during the night. But there are also these few sudden days during the course of the year when you might just freeze to death.
Only the foul stench of sulfur continues to contaminate the air at all times.
The world just does not work the way how it used to anymore.
The air tastes rotten, sour even and the sky is far from being as azure as my last few childish memories suggest.
Now thick brown clouds cover up everything, keeping sun and stars tucked away just alike. And even if you manage to see them sometime from somewhere outside of the city, they might just be an envoy of your certain demise.
What a damn shame.
But to hell with it..., who am I to judge?
I’m just a lonely old man, a run-down cop, dispatched from duty many years ago, trying to play private eye for those who are willing to pay me just enough for my next jar of whiskey.
Insomnia has become a good friend of mine over the years. Probably the only real one I have left. A companion, guiding me through the nights and to the last scrapes of work I can actually get; ultimately trying to devour my life, my existence and all that is, well..., all that once was precious within it.
It seems ‘he’ has already succeeded.
I can’t suppress a mad chuckle as I think about it whilst walking down the narrow streets, deep within the bowels of this darkened former city of angels. Yet not even the few other figures, shrouded by the shadows of buildings looming over them, give a damn about me.
On the other hand... why should they?
There are so many creeps and weirdoes wandering through the night, some gagging continuously, others shaking and trembling from one seizure to the next. So why, I come to ask myself, should they care for one more giggling old fool?
The answer is simple: They shouldn’t.
And still something is different about me... at least I try to think of it that way.
I have a destination to go to tonight.
I’m not lurking in the alleys for my next victim to rape or murder nor am I blindly searching the streets for someone who can supply me with my next fix.
I am heading somewhere... I have a place that I’m going to. Right now.
Old Harry’s Bar is just around the block from here.
And even though I’m one of his regulars, tonight it’s not about the alcohol. The old man of the joint had called me personally, maybe half an hour ago, telling me horror stories of people even more shady than usual sitting at his bar, seemingly capable of doing anything their twisted mindset comes up with. A ticking bomb, ready to explode. A catastrophe, just waiting for that one unlucky fool to set it into motion.
Yet something inside of me was more than just plainly worried about this.
It’s the first job in weeks and maybe old Harry would let me put things on my tab again if I manage to sort this one out.
Trying to hide the faint smile on my lips I take a turn to the left at the intersection.
The green and red neon lights forming the signboard flicker wildly, casting their light not too far onto the street itself. The acid rain should have been nibbling on it for quite a while now, a few months at least. Harry needs to replace it or it’ll come down before the end of next week.
As I draw closer to the bar my eyes catch a glimpse of something lying on the sidewalk directly in front of it.
I instinctively know that something terrible must have happened not too long ago.
And it appears this bad feeling hasn’t let me down one more time, just as always.
The, black bulk lying there soon shows more and more shades of red, revealed by the flickering lights around it with every step that I draw closer.
Finally reaching the bar, I find myself standing over my first dead body of the evening. Silently I crouch down to get a better look at the person motionlrss lying in front me.
I know the man.
He’s in his late twenties, or well... was at least. He's the young guy who worked the bar at Harry’s every couple of nights, sometimes also tending to the customers as a more or less poor waiter. Yet he usually only did so when there were ladies to attend to, which realisticly hardly ever happens.
But I guess, Mike, Mickey, Micky or whatever his name was won’t be bothering about this anymore, as the dark bloody hole in his forehead also testifies to, whilst his eyes only stare blankly upwards to the heavens.
I always had the feeling that he was too nosy for his own good.
Slowly I get up again, feeling a sudden sting followed by waves of pain in my back. It always tries to remind me that I’m still only an old fool, who shouldn’t overexert himself.
Goddammit, old man! Get to your feet!
I stagger the first few steps as I approach the entrance of the bar. I know I need to find out why one of Harry’s younger bartenders is lying outside on the sidewalk with his brains leaking out of the back of his head and into the gutter.
The outer door opens silently as I make my way into the building. Despite my concerns, as I throw a first look through the colored frosted glass into the bar itself, everything seems normal. The second door swings open with a long stretched out creaking sound.
I look around me, irritated. Usually I would be welcomed by the sound of Sinatra, Kelly or Cash, but today everything remains quiet except for somebody talking off to the side. And even after the few seconds, so the next song could have picked up again, which felt far too long, have passed, no music arises.
Only the low humming that haunts every house gets to my ears.
Making my way over to the empty bar, I catch a few stray words of the gibberish I hear to my far right. It sounds like three or four people at least, most likely sitting behind the partition in the small lounge, complaining about the taste of their drinks and of the air, as well as probably everything else in this joint, that there wasn’t even good music to start with and whatnot.
They never come to the conclusion, or let alone consider that it might just be their own taste that is rotten.
I don’t bother with taking my coat off or sitting down. I just put my rough hands on the counter and take a look over it.
A young woman is cowering next to an old run down freezer, shivering slightly supposedly more because of fear or anxiety and less due to cold steal touching her skin.
Her name is Shirley, at least that is what she once told me. She’s still in her early twenties, her firm young body and the golden hair leave no doubt about that. Not too tall and not that bland of what you might think for her age, a beautiful thing with a heart of gold, even for an old man like me. Sadly she often falls for the wrong wretched bastards.
Yet this time, it isn’t about her.
I turn away from the trembling girl, offering her a last soothing look of which I’m not quite sure whether she would notice it or not as I step back into the middle of the room without a word.
My eyes wander to the staircase in the back with light shining down from above and I ask myself if I shouldn’t go up there and talk to Harry first.
No! You can’t, old man.
You can’t just leave the girl alone down here, even if you don’t know whether those guys around the corner have anything to do with dead Mickey in front of the door outside or not.
There seems to be nobody else in here except for me, the girl and them.
Still nothing to wonder about.
As I approach the partition, separating the lounge in the corner from the rest of the room, I reach inside my coat to find my old gun. Not entirely sure, whether it would work at all I carefully pull it out from underneath the cloth.
I let my eyes run along the surprisingly smooth surface of its blackened barrel, before hiding it away again.
I haven’t fired a single shot in years, still it offers me a feeling of safety when I know I have it close and ready.
Without further hesitation I take the turn around the fake wall.
The couch that used to be in there was luxurious, at least for the current circumstances. Harry talked to me about getting rid of it only a little while ago.
As I turn my head, I stare into the small eyes of four people who are sitting in almost complete darkness. A single lamp shining forth in black light is failing to illuminate the corner, at least for me.
I’m having trouble adjusting to the sparse lighting with my old eyes.
Nobody is saying a single word.
It is up to my imagination to tell me that they already know exactly why I’m here. Slowly, I reach back into the inside of my coat.
That was the biggest mistake that I could possibly make.
I imagine how one of the four is brightly grinning at me, just before it hits. My left shoulder is suddenly thrust backwards, also throwing me off my balance. I still don’t hear a single sound, but I feel a second impact on my body. Unable to tell where, I can only say it hit me like a truck.
The gun escapes my loosening fingers as I am send flying backwards against a wall.
You stupid old man!
How could you be so foolish...?
My head hits the wall hard. That moment it’s lights out for me.
*~*
Oh, and yes - Loner's Peak is be the first part of a short series, with a couple more parts following shortly... or at least as soon as possible.
The current working titles for some of those are Fool's Flight and Savior's Haven but that's all you are going to get for now. (Added to the list of working titles: 'Diaries of the Devil' as well as 'The Void's Apprentice')
