Darkadia

Darkadia
Chapter 1: Crucifixion

         
The empty needle fell to the floor from Asher's now limp hand; the last of its seductive contents coursing around his veins. The low light of the moon filtered through the half closed blinds, casting an eerie glow upon the office.
          Rain drove against the windows like a persistent drum beat and the faint sound of sirens could be heard roaring in the distance, but the room was silent, except from the slow tick of the clock and Asher's long deep breaths.

The office was unremarkable but functional, if a little out of date. A row of file cabinets lined the walls with a few of the draws left ajar; records of past cases, though no new additions had been made in quite awhile. A metal rubbish bin sat overturned on the floor, its contents; mostly cigarette packets, cartons of full fat milk and old pizza boxes lay strewn out across the room.

         A long maroon coat was thrown unceremoniously upon a stand next to the door, a pair of muddy boots lying at the bottom. The dark green walls were battered and worn, the paint chipped and peeling; it had been years since the room had been fixed up. All around, large holes and dents were telling evidence of past violence. In the centre of the office was Asher's desk, facing the door. Perhaps the only well made piece of furniture in the room, it was large and heavy; made of sturdy oak, no man but Asher had ever moved it. And there he sat in ignorance, oblivious to the city of Darkadia continuing without him.

         He groaned and slumped forward in his chair spreading out across the desk and knocking a half finished bottle of beer onto the floor. It clanged loudly; but he was in no state to notice or care.
         He let out another low groan and lifted his head slightly; a line of drool clinging to his lip. His long dark hair clung to his sweaty face. He blinked a few times to focus his eyes and stared up at the clock hanging above the office door.

'Quarter past one...shit he was late, how long had he been out?'

         He thought about getting up but his body wouldn't listen. He had taken a triple dose, not advisable for anyone, but he had a high tolerance to the stuff. He had come to realise over the years his body could take a beating.  Drugs, booze, pain; he could handle it and still come back for more.

'A perk of my second life...'

He glanced back at he clock, it was now half past.

'Right. Give it a couple of minutes, then ill head over'.

         His head slammed down hard on the solid oak and he found his eyes beginning to sag under the weight of tiredness. He tried to concentrate but he couldn't. Everything seemed to be fading away, all he could hear was the tick, tick, tick of the clock...

'Thud!' 'Thud!' 'Thud!'

         A sharp knock at the door pieced his thoughts like a dagger, sharpening his mind. Even in his current state of near paralysis, he was aware of the dangers. He had not received a visitor in days, a client in weeks. And he was pretty sure it wasn't one of his lovely co-inhabitants of Aspholt Meadows apartments coming to bring him cookies. Could be the police, maybe someone had put out a missing persons request for him. Who was he kidding, no one was missing Asher.

'Maybe if i just stay quiet they'll leave'

The knock was harder this time.

'Shit'

The force of the knock gave Asher the impression this guy, whoever he was, wasn't going away any time soon.
         Mustering all his willpower and strength he heaved his body from the table and sat back in the old rickety chair, his arms flopping about uselessly by his side. He tried to pull up his right arm but it wouldn't budge, not even an inch. He tried the other.

This one was willing to play ball.

         With immense effort he lifted his arm slowly to the front pocket of his shirt and pulled out a box of cigarettes.
'First things first' he muttered to himself.
He drew one out with his teeth and bit down on the end little on it; his jaw felt tight and stiff. With great difficulty he then placed the carton back in shirt pocket. Holding on to the table, as if his whole body was made of jelly and the floor might at any moment fall away from him, he managed to raised himself off the chair and perch in a hunched over stand.

'What the fuck have I done to myself?'

Half of him wanted to laugh; what a sorry mess he had become. The other wanted to curl up into a ball on the floor and never have to see another human being again. But alas, he had a guest.
Another forceful knock at he door.

'Immacommin!" he shouted, the words all falling out in one muddled sound, the drool now plastered all over his chin and running down his unkempt beard. As he made his way round the desk he spied his lighter sitting on top of a stack of papers. He made a grab for it as he lurched past.

He missed completely.

It fell to ground with a clink on the hard wooden floor. Salem swore in annoyance at himself; it was only a foot away but it may as well have been a mile. He stared at the lighter angrily as if it was somehow all its fault.

'Fuckin lighter being an ass' he growled as he swayed dangerously from side to side.

         He debated trying to reach down and get it but decided against it; this man wasn't waiting around much longer and he didn't want to have to pay for the door to be repaired again. He shuffled towards door like a dead man walking, the unlit cigarette still perched in his mouth and roughly fell against it with a grunt. A pale yellow light shone through the glass, a dark silhouette stood unmoving outside. The name Asher Salem was written backwards on it in sharp black letters, although with the H and S missing. He'd been meaning to get that sorted for weeks.

With his only working hand he felt around for the handle and grasped it tightly.

With all his effort he pulled hard and swung the door open.

         The now bright yellow light of the hallway blinded Asher for a moment and all he saw was the whip of a dark coat before a punch came landing squarely in his gut, knocking all the wind out of him and sending him crashing to the floor. He lay, his arms tight around his legs in the foetal position, drooling once more. A Pair of black boots with a silver clasp made their way past his face and into his office.

The door slammed shut and once again the room was in darkness. The man seemed to take in his surroundings before walking further into the room. Asher then heard the familiar creak of his desk chair as the intruder sat down.

'Good Evening Salem, you could have cleaned up for me' said a sharp, cold voice.

A voice Asher would recognise anywhere. It meant you were in trouble. It meant that you had been a naughty boy, you had not been playing by the rules.

         The punch may have knocked the wind out from his lungs, but asher felt better for it, more alert. Adrenaline was surging though his veins as his body prepared for a fight. But the recognition of the voice had put him at ease a little, he wasn't in danger. Well not serious danger.

         He painfully dragged himself up from the floor and collapsed against the wall. In the dark, with the moonlight shining brightly behind him, it was difficult to make out the man. He wore all black with further increased the difficulty, he seemed to melt into the darkness.  An expensive dark shirt with thin tie clutched tightly around his throat. Over the top, a large coat with the collar turned up made him appear large in stature, but his gaunt features and bony hands were a indication of a lean man. Intricate designs of angels and crosses, swords and flowers, were tattooed upon his neck and face; a verse of some kind written over his left eye. The only thing that stood out was the cross hanging loosely around his fragile neck. It shone like a beacon in the night, a ward to the darkness.

'I would say its a pleasure to see you, but we both know that's not the case'. Spoke the man again. He spoke clearly and with elegance, but there was a hard edge to his words.

Asher just grunted. He pulled his eyes from the man and glimpsed his cigarette on the floor; it had cartwheeled out of his mouth when he had been stuck. He inched his fingers towards it and managed to pick it up and place it between his lips.

"It's hard to make friends, Raphael ,when you go round beating them all up' Asher mumbled.

'Raphael, a so called Angel, but far from it in my experience.'

'Why did you even knock, you could have just come straight in...got a light?' he added.

Raphael sighed and reached inside his coat producing at strip of matchsticks. He tossed them at Asher.

' It was amusing to watch you haul that battered and abused body to the door.' he said grinning

Asher gave him an disgruntled look before grabbing the matchsticks. The word Zion was written in  striking gold across the front of the white cardboard. He had been there many times but not recent months. He struck the match, his hands becoming more responsive now and the familiar tingling sensation setting in. He took a long draw, the glow from the end illuminating the scars and deep lines upon his face. That felt better.

'The boss aint happy Salem' said Raphael abruptly. Asher threw the matchsticks back to him.

"Is he ever?" he quipped

"Can you blame him?" replied Raphael. "look at yourself! Hardly what he intended when he saved you and gifted a second chance in this life!'
'Passing out alone in your office, pumping toxins into your veins, drooling on the floor, going days without washing...you stink by the way' he said matter of factly.

'Immortality does not give you free reign to destroy your body, it can still effect you. When was the last time you left this room?'

Asher thought for a moment. He genuinely couldn't recall the last time he stepped outside his crooked door. But he thought it best not to tell Raphael that.

'I went out the other day...i think it was yesterday...or maybe the day before? I needed some milk...' he said trailing off.

'Pathetic' hissed Raphael.

Raphael looked at the desk in front of him littered with old Chinese takeaway boxes, papers from dozens of case files, needles and gone off cartons of milk.

'You're a mess. So much promise and you're throwing it all away!' He exclaimed

' I didn't asked to be saved!' Asher shouted angrily. He screwed his fists together tightly, his eyes flashing dangerously. There was a deep silence between the two as the long history they shared was uttered not in words, but in dark eyes of each man staring back the other and the tight breathless air around them.

Raphael seemed to study Asher for a moment before gently leaning back in his chair and resting his legs upon the table; the tension eased slightly. He played with the matchstick strip in his hand, slowing turning it over and over.

'What happened to you're family was regrettable' Raphael said, picking his words carefully.

'But you were saved for a reason and whether you like it or not you owe the boss. And everybody pays up, one way or another, in this life or the next.'

Asher slammed his elbow back against the wall adding another dent to the already perforated cheap plywood.

'This is fucking bullshit!' he roared, the anger rising again.

'You claim to be the righteous ones, the good guys. But all your doing here is holding me to ransom, plain and simple. Do as you ask or I never see them again...tell me I'm wrong!' His question hung in the air as there was silence once more.

'You could see it like that' Raphael said eventually 'or you could see it as a chance to do good in this world.'

Asher brushed the hair out of his face and laughed sarcastically.

'And why should I care about this world, this city. What has it brought me but pain and suffering! Pain and suffering which he allows by the way!'

Raphael ignored Asher's jibe.

'Sometimes i wonder whose side you're on Salem?' He said pulling his legs down and leaning forward towards Asher.

'I didn't pick a side...the side picked me.' he took a long drag from his cigarette and coughed sharply. That punch had been hard.

'You act all tough, but would you ever really join them Salem? After the things you've seen them do, what they did to your family? he questioned

Salem took another hit of his cigarette and thought on that for a moment. Glancing at the clock he noticed it was already nearly two in the morning.

'Sometimes, i find it hard to see the difference between them and you.' he said finally, locking eyes with his unwelcome guest.

'Them and us' Raphael corrected

'You're all the same.' Asher snarled as he massaged his ribs.

Raphael stood up. Asher caught a flash of duel golden grips tucked into Raphael belt; his infamous tools of destruction. His demeanour had changed, any of the lightness in his voice disappeared.

'Be careful half-born' he warned 'My patience has limits, and your testing them.'

Asher squirmed where he sat, he body was going numb, but he was clearly not intimidated.

'And I thought patience was a virtue' he said smiling. Raphael sighed and walked round the desk.

'You always have been too smart for your own good' he said, shaking his head at looking at Asher with a mixture of pity and disgust.

'They say I get it from my father, you should know.' Asher said slyly. Raphael walked around the room, examining the various pictures and news articles on the wall.

'I grow tired of this chit chat, I did not come to this shit hole of an apartment building  to trade quips with lowlife drug addict!'

'Ouch'

'Do you have any leads on the alchemist?' he asked sternly

'I had a meeting with an informant' Asher answered, looking up at the clock once more.

'Had?' said Raphael turning to face Asher.

'I missed it, it was at 11 this evening.'

'And you were too busy stewing in a pile of you're own filth to go...where was this meeting going to take place?' he demanded

'At Abbadon.' said Asher 'I was to meet him in one of the private booths.'

Raphael walked over and knelt down so his was at eye level with Asher.

'Go there Salem, and hope your man is still there. Bring the boss some results.'

'Why don't you go?' Retorted Asher

'As if i could get within a mile of Abbadon' said Raphael rolling his eyes. 'And if i could get in somehow, you know we cant interfere directly. That's why you are so important.'

He playfully clapped Asher on the knee, a little harder then necessary and stood up. He made his way to the door and held the handle.

'This is your last warning Salem.' his voice low and monotone, as if he was delivering a prepared speech.

' Get clean, get your head straight, get the job done. Otherwise we dispose of you and find some who will...I don't care who your 'daddy' is. He wont protect you forever.'

He opened the door and bathed the office in warm light.

'Until our next meeting Asher Salem.' he said, stepping out into the hallway.

'Yeah, au revoir you skinny little prick.' Asher replied

He dabbed what remained of his cigarette on the floor and tossed it at the back of Raphael.

It missed pathetically.

The door shut with a bang. Asher sighed in the darkness.

The clock ticked, the rain persisted.

He sat there for a long time, thinking about the conversation that had just taken place. it had been a long time since they had bothered to come and see him. Yeah he sometimes took his time with the cases but he always saw them through in the end. What was so special about the alchemist guy that needed Raphael to pay him visit. And Raphael wasn't any small time pup either, he was one of the big dogs.

After awhile and still a little shakily,  Asher slowly got up and made his way to his desk. He picked his lighter and the bottle of beer he had knocked over earlier. He gave it a rough shake; still a bit left. He swigged heavily from the bottle and placed it down on the table. He went over to the blinds and peered through. It had been raining for days now, out in the streets large puddles formed as the drains struggled to contain the vast amounts of water.

Asher walked over to his coat and pulled it over his shoulders.

'ah my coat, my best friend'

He instantly felt more ready and awake. He slipped his feet into his boots, not bothering to tie the laces and glanced around his office. First thing Monday he was going to get cleaning.

'what day is it again?'

Asher opened the door and pulled up his collar, it was going to be a long night. He snatched out a cigarette and lit it. As the foul air filled his lungs, he felt strangely positive.

'Well, at least I'm getting out the house!'

The clock ticked.

The rain persisted.