Silver Sight: The first two chapters

In this post I present to you the first two chapters for my work-in-progress novel Silver Sight. Posted below this message are chapters one and two of my first full draft. Hopefully reading the opening chapters of the story will help you to get a feel for the style and atmosphere of "Silver Sight". Please enjoy and remember to comment.


CHAPTER 1

Destiny is a phenomenal concept. The notion that our lives are set to a certain path and a single pace. The word "destiny" is thrown around as often as a salutation in today's world. There are people who believe that they are destined to succeed, others who say they are destined to find love; even individuals who claim they are destined to die for their beliefs. Many mortals live their entire lives under the false impression that they can change their fate. They walk naive, blinded so much by their hand-crafted creeds they see not the shackles that bind them to one set pace. I was once like these many mortals, so sure of the control I had over my journey; but nothing could have prepared me for the very places my path would lead me. Now at the end of my remarkable road, I pass this tale onto you in the hopes that you might reconsider your perspective.

My name is Matthew Dinstey; and my story is the one of an ordinary man who's simple world is shaken by events that can only be properly explained using tired science-fiction terms. But rather than scare you away with preposterous notions, I will simply start from the begining and leave your own imagination to slowly make sense of insanity. It all began during that cold December. I was at an all-time low. I had lost my job and the love of my life. I would spend endless days doing nothing more than crying my blue eyes out, envisioning the approaching dark days of my dreary life as an unemployed, divorced loser. My mind had become a deep sea of suicidal solicitude; and I wanted nothing more than to throw my worthless form from the top of the tallest mountain to the green pastures of sweet release. Indeed I was at tether's end with not a ray of hope to be seen. In an act of selfish impulse I used the very last of my sterling savings to travel to the United States of America. And there I would stay for the month of December, or so I had planned, alone at the Fourteen Fortune Hotel in New York City.

Yes I had chosen to spend the Christmas season in the "Big Apple". It was certainly a nice atmosphere for a Londoner such as myself, and a breath of fresh air to experience a truly white Christmas after years of snow-drought back home. Upon first arriving at the Fourteen Fortune, I felt a relaxed sense of inner-peace that I had not known for quite a while. I showed up without a reservation but it was almost as if my arrival had been expected.
"Can I book a room?", I enquired to the smartly-dressed gentleman behind the desk.
"We've got a room just for you, Mr. Dinstey", he replied with a smile. As I followed the bellhop up the winding silver staircase, I wrecked my mind trying to recollect ever telling the receptionist my name.

My room, despite being a great size smaller than my London flat, offered a homely aura of belonging; its warm red walls giving place to many marvellous masterpieces; paintings and photographs in golden frames. I found my eyes drawn to one work in particular. A silver stopwatch dripping blood, with all numbers back to front. Well I had never been one to understand the complexities of modern art but this one took the proverbial biscuit. Still, no matter how perplexing this piece was I couldn't help but consider its meaning. Perhaps, I thought to myself upon first laying eyes on the painting, it is meant to make one consider the way time bleeds on so endlessly; that we must grab all opportunities that come our way and never take the time we have for granted; that our futures are ours alone to shape and mould. This seemed like a rather intriguing concept at the time; but these eyes upon the painted canvas had not yet witnessed the sights ahead.

Perhaps even more attractive than the works upon the walls was the captivating view beyond the glass pane. I drew the black gold-trimmed curtains all the way aside and gazed out into the snow-caked city streets. To call what my eyes beheld a beautiful sight would be a gross understatement. Winter had always been my favourite season. Not only for the beautiful atmosphere it brought, but also the tranquillity. There is no better feeling than sitting at home during the Christmas season, wrapped up warm by the fire, one's mind absent of care. Here in New York the feeling was amplified tenfold with the promise of a white Christmas. As I continued to appreciate the falling white crystals, I couldn't help but notice the many busy people down below, rushing in all directions, and thought about the month ahead of me. No stress. No hassle. No worries. Blissful days alone with no company but my own.

After admiring the outside view, my attention turned to the inviting bed that stood room-centre. I laid atop the red satin sheets and rested my heavy head on the puffy purple pillows. Such luxurious comfort. An insomniac could likely dream peacefully between these sheets. And yet I did not enjoy a single good night's sleep since arriving that day in New York City, for my inner-most thoughts were disturbed by haunting visions.


CHAPTER 2

The chilling winter breeze sent a shiver down my spine as I walked alone in the dead of night. The darkness surrounded me, blinding my tired eyes from anything more than a step away. Quite unfortunate then, that the path beneath my feet was ice-coated. I was to tread carefully or face a nasty fall, much like my life in that respect. To be quite honest there was a small part of me that wished I would indeed fall down. Fall down and never get back up. Such tempting thoughts would taunt my mind from time to time. I dismissed the coward's notion once more, unsure of just how many times I could continue to do so. Despite my groggy state and the whispers in my head, I continued onward through sombre shadows.

Three nights. Three consecutive nights I had spent awake, unable to drift off into the land of deep slumber. For the very life of me I could not understand it. Here I was on my own personal holiday, hundreds of miles away from the many troubles I had left behind. It was to be blissful, but I simply could not lay my tired mind to rest when night time came around. For three nights I had climbed into that snug hotel bed and laid my body still. On all three nights my mind had just begun to slip away into deep sleep... when the images came back to haunt me. Such disturbing visions of violence and blood. Each time I would awake suddenly in cold sweat, struggling to understand how my own imagination could craft such horrors.

Tonight was just like evenings previous. I could not achive a wink of rest. My cruel insomnia had driven me out into the city, and I soon found myself sauntering through a small park at four in the morning, the chattering voice of my own inner-thoughts refusing me a moment of peace. How alone I felt on that December night, with nothing but my own mind to keep me company, keep me moving onward through the darkness. When my legs could walk no longer I came across a wooden bench. There I sat on that stone cold seat, overcome with fatigue. Looking up to the shining stars, I thought back to brighter days. I had never been one to dwell on the past, but when the future holds naught promise where else is the mind to go?

Nadia was my one true love. On the day of our wedding I had decided she was my ultimate soul mate, and I gleefully looked forward to enjoying the rest of my life with her. The feeling was mutual of course. We were so in love, always promising we'd put our marriage first; never letting each other forget that as long as we stayed together, nothing could break us. It's hard to pinpoint the exact time when things began to slope. Looking back, it hurts to even think we could let it fall so fast. We became so wrapped up in our own lives that the supposed unbreakable love just shattered, and neither of us stopped to pick up the tiny pieces.

'E-Voth' was the name of the internet company for which I worked. An unusual name for an unusual corporation. In my three years working as a data handler for E-Voth I was never privy to the simplest information. What was their purpose? What use were all these crazy number sequences I was assigned to "handle"? But when you recieve a handsome twenty thousand pound cheque each month, you tend not to bother asking too many questions. I guess I was a fool. There truly is no such thing as a perfect job, but I wouldn't come to learn this until it was far too late, despite the countless warnings from Nadia about the "unstable environment".

In early November, the E-Voth big wigs fired everybody on the payroll and quite literally disappeared. Their website vanished from the internet, as did all records of such a company ever exsisting. I wouldn't know from personal experience but I'm almost certain that even the most brutal bankruptcy could never call for such drastic actions. I still wonder on occasion exactly what that shady business was up to. With all contacts for redundancy fees cut off, all I had to fall back on was my banked savings. Thank goodness I had put aside a nice chunk of cash every month in case of emergencies.

I tried to assure Nadia that things would all work out fine, but our marriage had been rocky for a long while and losing my job only made our relationship a million times worse. Numerous heated arguments and legal papers later, I was on a direct plane to New York, in denial of the dark depression looming above my head. Which brings me back to that December night. As I sat on the wooden park bench longing to step backwards in time, my eyelids began to grow heavy. The chilling wind that had kept me wide awake just minutes ago had now become like a mother's gentle touch, brushing through my hair, lulling me to sleep. The last thing I remember before my mind shut down was an awful pain in my chest, like a knife through the heart. Perhaps it was that sharp stabbing sensation that lead my imagination into such a state. It's not so hard to believe that the images my mind created were due to some subconcious reaction to physical pain. Oh if only it were that simple.

A bloody knife would be the first picture in my head on this night, bringing with it a terrible sense of remorse and confusion. A sudden flash of silver and the image was gone, nothing but darkness in its place. I had never been afraid of the dark, so you can imagine I was quite perplexed when my heart began to race. I felt anxious, afraid, terrified of this pitch black darkness. Nothing but empty night sky as far as my eyes could see. It was closing in on me, trapping me. My breath became short and wheezy. It was as though my lungs had shrunk and were continuing to decrease in size. Collasping to my knees, I grabbed my throat with both hands and gasped desperately for air. A flash of silver and the haunting images returned once more. A bloody knife, a frozen corpse, a faceless man looking down upon the end result of his evil deed. Just as my head felt like it was about to explode, overwhelmed by the many awful images running through my mind, the blinding flash of silver light would return again, sending all disturbing images back from whence they came. I awoke suddenly to the terrible sound of a spine-tingling scream, laying face down in the freezing snow.

Jumping up to my feet, I turned my head to the left, then the right, seeing not a single sign of life.
"So how did I end up here?", I asked myself. The bench where I had parked myself for a moment of rest was a good few yards from where I had awoken. I don't recall ever suffering from somnambulism in the early stages of my life, but I suppose one could posses a sleeping disorder for years on end without ever realising it. I was a logical sort of person afterall, always searching for an explanation to everything, and sleepwalking was the only logical explanation my tired brain could craft. Yet, my logical mind just couldn't silence my wild imagination. I simply couldn't shake the unnerving feeling that somebody... or something... was watching me.

All imagination and logic aside, there was no denying that the sensible thing for me to do was get back to the hotel. So I set off down the icy path. Slowly at first, trying to figure out just how many hours had passed since I had stepped through the tall and rusted park gates. But as the noises around me grew louder, I could no longer keep my mind occupied. My feet began to move faster and faster along the ice-caked path as twigs snapped and bushes russled all around me.
"I'm losing it", I told myself as what can only be called quiet whispers met my ears.
"No escape... no escape... no escape...", the voice became louder and louder inside my head. Before long I was sprinting through the park. The rusty gate was now in sight. I longed for nothing more than to leave this spooky park and return to the warm comforts of my hotel room. The gate was almost within reaching distance when I felt my body lift up into the cold air. I did not have more than a second to regret my wrecklessness before I came crashing down to the ground. I had let my irrational imagination get the best of me and ended up laying in agony on cracked ice.

It took every ounce of my physical energy to push my aching frame up off the ice. After brushing the ice off my clothes and taking a moment to recollect my thoughts, I looked up and very nearly leaped out of my skin in shock. Stood before me in a long black cloak was what can best be described as a skeleton draped in unhealthily pale and wrinkled flesh. With thin grey hair and mile-long beard, he resembled somebody out of a kung-fu movie. I took a few steps back in unease as the strange-looking man continued to stare right through me with piercing green eyes. He did not speak a word nor move a muscle. I don't think I even recall seeing him blink. He just stood there, still as a stone statue.

"W-W-What do you want?..", I uttered in a hushed tone, taking another step away from this man who seemingly materialised out of thin air. He had somewhat of a presence about him and, despite my unease, I felt almost foolish for being so afraid. It was as though something inside me was telling me I was safe and that this man had nothing but good intentions. After recieving not a single response, or even a slight acknowledgement of my presence before him, I addressed the stranger again, this time in a much more pronounced and confident fashion. "Who are you?", I inquired. It was then that the cloaked man finally opened his mouth to speak,
"My name is Sone Pace", he replied in what I quickly infered as a chinese accent.
"So you speak afterall", though still slightly unsure of this man's intentions, I took a step towards him this time, "What do you want?", and no more than a second after these words had left my lips, the cloaked man moved closer and grabbed hold of my left arm. I was suddenly overcome with an undescribable fusion of ideas and emotions. I saw burning fires, speeding cars, tumbling towers and flooding rivers. Alongside all of these images was a sustained feeling of terrible emotional pain. I let out a sharp gasp as I broke free of the cloaked man's grasp. He was suprisingly strong for such an elderly-looking man. "All I ask of you is a little faith, Mr Dinstey. I sense-", taken aback by the sound of my own name, I interuppted,
"Do I know you? How do you know my name?"
"Such matters bare no importance at this moment in time, Mr Dinstey. I sense you are being haunted by other-worldly visions." After pausing momentarily to register what this perculiar man had just said, I responded,
"Other-wordly visions?... What do you mean by that?..."
"I must urge you not to play this game Mr Dinstey. This is a gravely serious matter. You know exactly what I mean"
"... I really don't Mr... Pace was it? Well if you must know I've been having some trouble sleeping", I paused as the cloaked man shot me a critical glance, as though he believed I knew more than I was letting on, "... I see images in my mind. Bloody knives, a flashing silver light... Ah I really don't know why I'm telling you this. I'm over-tired I guess. They're just nightmares and unless you're a doctor who specialises in sleeping troubles I've really nothing more to say to you." And with that I walked right by the cloaked man and headed for the entrance gate.
"Matthew Dinstey...", the cloaked man called after me. I turned around to find him as close as he was before. He opened his dried lips to speak again, "Though I am not a doctor, I can help you more than you know. Take my card. You can visit me in my house just a few blocks from the hotel", the frail man reached into his right pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of card which he placed in my hand.

'Sone Pace

Specialist in the supernatural'

Turning over the card, I noticed a printed address on the underside. He did indeed live just a few minutes from the hotel where I was staying. "I expect to see you again soon", he said as I continued to examine the wallet-sized business card in my hand, "And Mr Dinstey... I am very sorry about Nadia." Once I realised what had just been said, I looked up to find myself alone once again. Sone Pace was nowhere to be seen. Had I imagined the elderly man who had stood before my eyes just a few seconds ago? I looked back to the card in my hand, reassuring myself of my own sanity, for I could not imagine a real solid piece of card. "Specialist in the supernatural... pfft, gimme' a break."