Shattered Dreams

Chapter One

My first attempt. Please R&R. Tips and pointers welcome.
This chapter is [NC-17] for violence.


To the casual observer he seemed little more than a black tear in the almost black sky. No lights trespassed on the scene, nor was there any noise save for the low howl of the wind, and the gentle lapping of the waves.

The stranger was slight, and wore only a black silk shirt and pants, but he showed no signs of feeling the cold. His stance was slightly slumped, with his arms hanging limply, but his head remained upright whilst he stared out into the ocean, seemingly oblivious to all else.

Perhaps he wished for no-one to see the tears in his eyes.

The pier he stood on, a construct of two inch wide wooden boards perhaps four yards long, had been abandoned years ago with the building of the new docks. On the shore lay signs of the pier's past life: broken husks of barrels, torn netting, twisted and fraying ropes, and the skeleton of a wrecked boat. Timid urban explorers, and amateur historians were deterred from visiting by the derelicts who made the area their home, whilst the pier itself, with its rotting planks and fraying ropes, was almsot wholly deserted. Once the boats and people had come daily, but now no-one came, saving for the stranger, and the rats.

But tonight was different, for the pier had not just one, but two visitors. The second moved slowly and delicately, so as not to be heard, but so lost was the first in his contemplation of the waves that the effort was wasted. The second man's reasons for caution quickly became apparent though, as he reached into his jacket and pulled out a heavy looking pistol.

The stranger did not turn from his observation of the ocean.

"It is time," the gunman intoned, his voice as dead as the surroundings.

Now the stranger turned, his eyes straining in to see who called to him in the darkness. The man holding the gun had already taken aim. The stranger's eyes relaxed suddenly, and a sigh escaped his lips.

"Is it?"

There was no answer, save the click and bang of the gun.

The stranger fell to his knees, blood leaking from his chest. In the darkness any emotion on his face passed unseen. But he raised his head, with obvious effort, to meet his killer's gaze. His mouth opened to speak, but it was not be.

Another shot - this time to the left temple. His face twisted in agony - features once considered beautiful marred forever more. But all this was lost in the darkness as well. He hovered a moment on his knees, swaying back and forth, before flopping down face first on the pier. Blood leaked from his head and body, flowing through the cracks in the boards and into the dark water below. His shoulders twitched a couple of times before all movement ceased.

The killer smiled, and slipped his weapon back into his jacket. With his other hand he pulled out a cigarette, and placed it in his mouth. He fumbled a moment with his lighter, before the end of the cigarette caught light.

He drew on the cigarette for a few seconds, withdrew it, and exhaled. The smoke hovered in the air a moment, before dissipating. He gave a grunt of satisfaction, but the smile on his lips was slightly more muted now.

"It's always time."

He took another draw on the cigarette before flicking it away. Without another word he turned and walked away from the pier, disappearing into the night. The stranger's body lay unmoving on the pier, and once again it had no-one but the rats for company.


The pale blue glow of the monitor was all that stood in the way of total darkness. Its eerie half-light caught only the raised areas of the man's sharp features, giving him a gaunt unhealthy appearance. His hair was short, neat, and deep black in hue. His eyes, two black orbs sunken deep into his skull, were fixed steadily forwards, watching the words appear on the screen as his fingers hit the keys at speed. Apart from his fingers, and the occasional blink of those dark eyes, one might think him dead.

He was aware at the back of his mind that it was quite a few hours past closing time. He recalled hearing the church bells toning midnight a while ago; possibly they had toned one o'clock and he had missed it. In the last ten minutes though, he had become aware of a sharp stabbing pain in his left temple. This was annoying - he had thought the headaches to have stopped. No matter - he was almost finished. An aspirin would be nice, but he could wait.

"Access denied."

"Access denied."

"Welcome drf3."

His eyes skimmed over the screen, then came to a halt.

"That's my baby."

He grinned, or at least his teeth showed. Crawford would reward him for this.

"Save file. Logout. Shutdown. Get aspirin."

His fingers hit the keys, and he waited for the machine to shut down before standing up to hunt down the aspirin. With monitor dead his features were no longer made ghoulish by the pale blue light - now he was but a patch of shadow moving through the dark empty building.

Quite familiar with the outlay of the building, he encountered no difficulty navigating the office in darkness. Stepping smartly around a swivel chair, he reached out and opened the medicine cabinet.

"Aspirin, aspirin, asp... aha!"

He seized the bottle, twisted off the cap, dropped two pills from the bottle onto his palm, and twisted it shut in one fluid motion. The bottle was replaced on the shelf, and he downed the pills.

"Hmmm. Home?"


His fingers thumped out a lazy beat on the dashbord, keeping in time with the cassette of "Anatomy of a Murder" playing in the car's cassette deck. Normally he'd have waited for the headache to pass, but he'd just picked up the tape, and was keen to hear it. Besides the Duke's playing was soft and relaxing. Unlike Ellington himself he reflected with a smirk.

It was a clear night, and the roads were quiet at this time. Driving was actually quite a pleasant activity under such circumstances. The fact he was waiting on a light when there was clearly no need gave him pause for thought however.

"To Hell with it!"

He hit the accelerator, and drove through the red, swinging the wheel to the right, and turning down the high street. The shop windows were lit up, even at this time, and the streetlights were frequent, making it less obviously night time. It was only the closed doors, and absence of people that made it much different from the day.

Jake found the notion strangely melancholy, but pleasing nontheless.

"Romantic I guess," he muttered to himself. "I'm not missing anything much."

He had a party to go to. Perhaps he was a little late, but he knew his host - the party would still be going - in fact it was probably at its most interesting by now. So why miss more than necessary?

He flicked down the mirror on the sunshade and checked his appearance - blond locks, blue eyes, pale almost white skin, thin understated lips, and a sharp well defined nose.

"Looking good."

His foot hit the pedal hard, and the red Citroen fired forward towards its destination.