Prelude to Darkness:

The Awakening. . .

Salvatore Stagioni quickly raised his back off his bed's mattress.  He was frightened, and it showed, for his big, brown eyes were wide as his mouth was hanging agape while a few strands of his thick, somewhat long black hair clung closely to his forehead.  Salvatore's muscular, slim chest was now puffing in and out, the man breathing very heavily, demonstrating his fear as he was now wearing it on his face, open to all. 

He blinked, realizing that he had just awoke from another bizarre dream, one that had truly scared the wits out of him. Salvatore's dream was so terrifying that it turned his tanned skin pale and made it sticky, feverish, and clammy.  His sweaty, sticky skin caused his black t-shirt and slacks to cling to his body like a leech would adhere itself to flesh.

Salvatore was truly horrified, yet as he sat on top of the bed he wasted not a second of his time for he immediately looked around the room, taking his eyes and scanning everything.  Sal was trying to be as analytical as he could, and to most this would seem odd; however, for those that knew him it would be normal.  After all, one would hope for a detective to be very analytical, as that was their nature; yet he was a bit more analytical than most, and because of this he usually drove everyone around him mad.  This was simply because he would use his analyzing techniques to the point of ad nauseam. 

As he sat atop the firm and soft mattress Sal began to twist and turn his head and waist to the right, left, up, down, and around, curiously looking about his surroundings. He was hearing voices coming from all around him, tearing into his mind. The cries of young schoolgirls filled the air, their sweet and soft voices entering into his head, filling him up with a myriad of torturous comments as they demanded that he murder and give in to something that he couldn't quite make out due to their inaudibility. However, instead of asking these voices what they were implying he made no such retort. Salvatore refused to reply because he doubted that they were even there, thinking that he was beginning to go insane.

Then, without warning, in what seemed like the blink of an eye all the voices stopped crying out to him, causing silence to overcome the room.  With the silence restored Sal began to shift his eyes to the right, left, and forwards in rapid succession, going so fast that one would swear he looked like a man struck by a state of paranoia since he was acting so panicky over something so trivial.  It was to his belief that ghosts couldn't harm him.  In fact, he even believed that ghosts, demons, and other deities beyond this realm didn't even exist, for there was no logical proof of them.  Because of his beliefs he regarded those that did believe in things not of this realm as foolish and should probably seek out help.  Still, though—the thought of spirits lurking in his room and asking him to kill was a frightening offer indeed; it even worried him.

"This can't be." said Sal as he continued to sit on the bed, doubting his own aspect on specters, wondering if maybe he was wrong.  He wouldn't have long to ponder on the existence of ghosts, for another realization suddenly dawned upon him.  When it did, Sal immediately looked down at his legs only to notice that there was no bed sheet over his body.  This wasn't much a problem, for Sal had frequently come home after a long day's work at the police station, and once he did Salvatore would almost always fall onto his bed and go to sleep, even when fully-dressed.  What did make this situation unique was that one major occurrence was different from his normal routine, and he never broke his routine.   His habit was that even though he would seldom fall to sleep on his bed, even if fully-dressed, he would always cover himself up.  It was something not even he understood.  Perhaps Salvatore felt secure with the sheet, perhaps not.  What he did know was that he always had it over him when he woke up, and this time it wasn't there.  This bothered him, for Sal knew that he was a creature of habit, and always did things precisely; it was his way.

He quickly started to think about what he had done prior to falling asleep, and the only thing that continued to echo throughout the recesses of his mind was that he was watching television right before he had blacked out.  So, Sal raised his head up to look at the television; however, eerily enough, to his utter dismay and astonishment when he saw the TV it was as black as the deepest regions of space, not even so much as a sound emitted from the speakers.  It was off.  Sal immediately gulped at this while staring into the deep abyss, swallowing a cold, hard lump of saliva down his throat as he was now truly scared and worried for his safety and sanity.   "Am I going insane?!" He wondered.  Salvatore was now beginning to question whether his own senses had become dulled.   Then, when the silence became so unbearable that he didn't think he could take it anymore, the telephone rang, breaking through the eerie ambiance, allowing him to once again drift back into the safety of his reality.   Salvatore looked over at the phone, and upon the second ring, he quickly seized it by its handle, and brought it up to his face, and began to speak.

"Hey?"  spoke Salvatore into the phone with a somewhat disillusioned and aloof tone to his thick New York accent. "Who's this?"

"It's me, Michel."  With this, Sal grinned, his smile breaking through the desolation that had once consumed him, bringing a bit of joy back into his life.  He was now a little bit more at harmony with himself, especially since he was speaking with his brother, the one he had considered to be his best friend.

"Hey, Michel!  It's late.  What do you want?" said Salvatore with a somewhat scornful yet very quick and zestful tone to his voice, a tone far different than the one he had only seconds ago when he answered the phone.   He was happy that it was his brother and not some other person, for Sal didn't have the patience to deal with someone else this time of night. "What do you need?"

"I'll tell you how it is.  We got problems."  Michel said as he tried to sound happy and full of life, though the stagnant taste of depression lingered in his voice.  "So, don't be so laid back and joyful right now."

"Why not?"  He questioned, absolutely puzzled. "What's wrong?  And what's with the melodramatics?  Why're ya always so dramatic, Michel?  Did dad make you read Shakespeare too much?  I always told him that reading that stuff would make you a fruit some day.  I didn't think it'd really happen!  Really, I swear!"  Sal was obviously joking a bit, nagging on his younger brother, for it was something he's done since childhood.

"…that's not funny.  And now's not the time for jokes."

"Right.  Right.  Sheesh.  What do you want then?  Quit bustin' my balls and get to the point."

"OK.  Well, the truth is…I don't know what's going on.  That's why I called you.  There's been a problem."

"What kinda problem?" replied Salvatore with a demanding tone to his voice, now beginning to get a bit annoyed.  "What're ya talking about?  Get to the point, Michel.  It's 4:00 in the morning.   You woke me from my sleep."  Salvatore was lying, but this wasn't that much of an unusual trait for him, after all, he had lied many times before, so why would this one be any different?  Besides, he didn't think there was that big of a deal in lying to him.  After all, he would have been woken up anyway, had he not of waken due to his nightmare, which was all he thought it was now.

"Well, Sal, you might want to brace yourself."

"Oh?  Why?  What's happened now?  Why should I brace myself?  What do I have to brace myself for?  Is the Pope coming from Rome today?  Is he visiting my house?  No?  Then what is so important that I have to brace myself?"  Sal said with a very, very jocular tone to his voice, a bit of a laugh coming through his words.  He never did understand the proverb 'brace yourself'.  On the other line, however, there was no response, no laugh, nothing to clarify that his small joke had been funny.  This was when Sal knew it was serious.  "Michel?"

"No, he's not coming."  Michel said, disheartened.  "I'm at dad's house."

"Wait, dad's house?"  Salvatore was now raising the tone of his voice, for he didn't like his father much.  After all, the man had constantly tried to force history on him when he knew that it was his least favorite subject.  Sal had hated history with a passion, yet his father had insisted he learn it, that and the fact that nothing he ever did was good enough for the man left a very bitter taste in his mouth when it came to talking about him.  Still, even though he hated his father, Sal was curious as to what was wrong, and why Michel was there.  Salvatore was especially curious about this because the same thing happen to Michel, causing him to also not like their father for what he had done.  'So,' Sal thought, 'If Michel's there, something must be up.  He wouldn't go all the way down there on January 3rd just to visit. "What's wrong, man?  What's happened?"

"Well, much.  Everyone's gone.  Everyone in the house has just suddenly disappeared.  Not even a picture of anyone remains in the house." said Michel with an absolutely somber tone to his voice.  It was then that the soft sound of sobbing started to fill the phone, the sound ringing through Sal's ears.  The sound was faint, but it was still discernable. "Dad called me last night.  He sounded as though he were panicking, as if he were scared out of his mind.  It was as though he was frightened and worried for his and our very existence.  And then he said something to me, but I couldn't quite make it what it was. After that the phone cut out, and that was the last I heard from him.  I immediately tried to call him back, yet I received no response.  Nothing at all.  So, I called again an hour later, and still nothing.  Finally, I tried to call him back again today, yet still, no response.  So, I took a plane down here.  When I got here I checked the answering machine and what I saw was something horrible.  It appears that all of his messages are still here.  Every one I left him, still here."  There was nothing but silence from Salvatore, for he had no idea what he should say.  He hated his father, but he never wanted this to happen.  Never in his life, especially since his mother and sister were also gone.  This was more than he could bear. 

"Now, I'm here.  I have no idea what to do.  I was wondering, since you are a detective, if you'd be able to make it down here to find out what happened to them?  I'm worried.  I'm very worried."

"I-…" Sal wasn't sure what to think or say.  He hated his father with all his soul, yet loved his mother and sister more than that.  Salvatore couldn't bear to think that they would be harmed.  Never could he allow such a thing to happen.  He knew what he had to do—he had to help, even if he hated his father.  "-…I will be there immediately.  I'll take the next plane…"

"Thank you.  See you soon…"

"Soon, Michel.  I'll see you soon." and with that said, Michel hung up the phone.  Sal, however, did not, for he just sat there while staring blankly off into space, still holding the phone in his hand, unable to believe what he had just heard.  He began to wonder-he began to wonder if what he was experiencing was a dream.  Sal truly hoped it was, for this was something he didn't want to happen--something he never thought could happen.  Then, without further ado, Salvatore finally hung up the phone, his soul somewhat at ease as his mind was now beginning to work analytically once again.  He knew he had to get to his father's house as soon as possible, no matter the consequences.   So with that thought in mind he quickly leaped out of bed, jumped into his brown leather shoes, and looked down at the small wooden chair where he had placed his long, black trench coat.  Sal seized the coat by its sleeve and without haste slid it onto his frame, his broad shoulders making it fit somewhat awkwardly.  He immediately grabbed his gun holster, which was just lying loosely atop the wooden seat of the chair, there for anyone to grab.  Sal noticed that the gun was still in it, loaded with its bullets.  This was good for Sal since he didn't have to search for it.  So, with the gun holster in his hands he quickly wrapped it around the left side of his mahogany belt and fastened the strap very tightly, making sure it would not come undone.  With it on his side Salvatore patted the gun holster and turned around to face the door, gazing at it for just a moment.  

 Finally, now bearing all the necessary possessions Salvatore would need he bolted out the front door of his apartment, running as fast as his legs could carry him.  He was now racing to the airport, and knew he had to get there as soon as possible…