Dark Moon Rider [Words Inside My Head]

A full moon. Bats in the sky. A Carriage and two horses – 1 gray, 1 black. A driver with a whip.

I’m thinking stage coach. Traveling hell for leather. Who is chasing them? Man? Animal? Supernatural being?

Who is in the coach? Who are the passengers? Who isunsetcontrastshadowscroppeds the driver?

In the carriage is evil – a villain – he has someone with him. The journalist? So, is the villain a railroad agent? Are they heading to or away from the train? Does the story have to do with migrant workers – the Chinese? The Irish? Is a man or a family or a town in jeopardy?

What we don’t see is the Dark-Moon Rider shadowing the coach. He scents the evil and his lover. Vengeance burns in his eyes. He has no choice, he is driven to pursue the conveyance. His target is in that coach and his lover is unaware of the danger. Sweet boy must be saved from himself and Rider can do no other than see to his protection. And destroy the evil within. This is his purpose.

The night is clear. The time of year is November. It’s a cold night.

The carriage comes to a halt, the Dark-Moon Rider sits in judgment upon the railroad agent. We learn why – what his guilt is. The journalist tries to stop the vengeance, but Dark-Moon Rider will see it done. It’s his job and he sees to it swiftly.

The journalist’s life is in jeopardy as the agent puts a gun to his head trying to save his own worthless life. It doesn’t stop Dark-Moon Rider and justice is meted out, the journalist saved.

The man is buried in loose earth. Snakes slither toward the grave and descend beneath the earth. The driver’s mind is wiped clean and he’s sent on his way. Justice will come for him in its own time. The money in the coach will be delivered to the orphans and widows.

Back at the journalist’s rooms above the newspaper, it is almost dawn, but he and the Dark-Moon Rider speak of what has occurred.

In the old west good and bad are not so sharply discernible. In war it’s even harder. The journalist is conscience-stricken. Murder does not rest easily upon his mind.

But dawn is closing in and soon his Dark-Moon Rider must leave. They make love. And then he’s gone. Leaving the journalist sated, but with questions.

The next day the journalist hears word of the disappearance of the railroad agent. And that the driver with no memory has been taken into custody. He has a black reputation. But still, the journalist feels some guilt. [He feels the guilt because the Black-Moon Rider can’t.]

[Note: the journalist is Black-Moon Rider’s conscience – his own remorse spills into the journalist, for he himself cannot feel. His desire for the journalist in a physical way is an anomaly. The sex with him is a form of purging his guilt, a cleansing ritual that must be maintained. The journalist keeps him rooted and anchored. But the journalist doesn’t realize this.]

He writes his story, the lamp burns brightly. He senses a familiar dark presence. He says simply. “Come in.”

The Dark-Moon Rider comes in.

“What vengeance tonight, Rider? What blood will you let in the name of justice?”

The journalist turns and meets the dark hungry gaze – like a wolf – of the Rider. He can’t deny him. He feels the undeniable, desperate need. The journalist blows out the lamp. The moon shines in through the window, but Rider is a ghostly presence, a shadow without definition as he moves toward the journalist and they merge as one.

Any other consideration is soon lost as the journalist entwines himself into his Dark lover’s embrace.

Outside, the owl screams. Soars downward, snatches up a mouse, soon to become his dinner. Even as the Dark Rider picks up the journalist and carries him up the stairs.

Constable of Disturbia – revise to Ch1, Pt1 – deliverance

Chapter 1 has lengthened considerably. I’m posting the first part of Chapter 1 today. One of the things I know I needed to do with this story was delve deeper into the background of the main characters. Thus, I begin the journey of discovering who these characters really are.

Chapter 1 – Part 1

“Am I satisfactory, sir?”

Sam inspected the handsome young man standing before him. Pretty might be a better word with his dark brows perfectly arched over periwinkle eyes, and long, gorgeous dark lashes. The stunning brilliance of shoulder-length bright copper-colored hair dusted his broad shoulders. He was dressed not as an upscale gentleman, but clothed in a conglomeration of beautiful and bright colors. The trousers dyed a peacock shade of blue, and resting casually on narrow hips, were fashionable and dapper. A loose cream shirt was opened at the neck, exposing a pale column of Constable of Disturbia: Deliverancethroat, and a glimpse of his smooth, hairless chest. He wore a fitted waistcoat of paisley, stitched and sewn to enhance his slender, youthful frame. The beige leather coat, utilitarian, or might have been, except for the black velvet-covered lapels and cuffs, adding that dash of dapper and debonair, with just a touch of rugged and earthy. And then, of course, the hat resting upon his neatly trimmed and styled locks topped off the look. His head was capped stylishly with a black bowler beribboned in periwinkle to match the shade of his eyes, a brace of vivid scarlet poppies settled at the curve of the brim seemed to match the vivid shade of his lovely perfect lips.

It wasn’t the outfit that Sam scrutinized so thoroughly, it was the man-image encased beneath the civilian accessories. The quality of the skin, ivory-hued and pampered exquisitely with specially concocted lotions, measured up to human expectation—its pale tone, texture, and elasticity would easily pass for human flesh upon close inspection. Then there were his almond-shaped dark-lined deep-set periwinkle eyes that seemed to see everything with a remarkable absorption of detail, the perfect nose, nostrils flared and scenting the faintest nuance of aroma in the air, topped his image of the eligible and virile young male. Sam brushed back one unruly shining lock of hair at Bobby’s brow and peered closely at the fine stitching, then allowed the hair to settle back into its natural fall, the mane buoyant and springy.

“Is something wrong, sir?” Bobby’s expression exhibited curiosity, his gaze was sharp as a hawk’s and all-seeing. The color of his eyes changed, lightening from the bluish-purple to a brighter shade of brilliant turquoise as he looked at Sam. The look still bordered between intimacy and duty. It was an odd quirk about his eyes which changed color depending on the task at hand, be it the dark navy, almost black of close magnification, the sky blue of far-reaching observation, the brilliant turquoise of sexual flirtation and intimate congress, or the periwinkle of ordinary daily engagement. Sam had learned to decipher exactly which task Bobby engaged in at any given moment. He was far too exquisite and complex a creature for Sam’s peace of mind, but there was no turning back. The brilliancy of Bobby’s gaze as it connected with Sam’s just at that moment almost made Sam forget the important matters they were about today.

Sam stepped away. A mournful dread bore down upon him, a punishing weight of iron settling inside his chest made it difficult to breathe. He worked to tamp down the feeling of unease–and regret. He forced his thoughts to the weighty matters at hand.

“You understand what will happen today, Bobby.” Their creation was so perfect in practically every way. Well, really it was Oberon’s creation; Sam’s hand in it was cursory at best, seeing to the execution of Oberon’s half-mad, yet brilliant scheme. Perhaps it was because Bobby was imprinted with at least a shadow of Oberon’s personality that had Sam so taken with the automaton.

Bobby Robbins, the creation standing before him, was truly splendid. The team, and Oberon, had left the naming up to Sam. Bobby Robbins–an unremarkable name for a very remarkable automaton. To Sam it had seemed fitting.

A year of living with him, knowing him, enjoying his companionship altered Sam’s original understanding of where this little intrigue was intended to lead.

“Of course, sir,” Bobby responded in an even tone, no true inflection of emotion suffused his expression now, the blue of his eyes returned to periwinkle. Fear had not been built into his mechanical workings, so that was to be expected. Curiosity and a thirst for knowledge were at the center of his mechanical emotional core. After all, Bobby wasn’t human–he was an automaton. A very well executed, detailed, top-of-the-line creation that could only have come from the brilliant mind of a man like Dr. Oberon Ophelian. The scientific researcher some called a mad man, was now incarcerated at the experimental government bathypelogic internment facility at Mission Point, located just beyond the city limits.

“Oberon, what sort of mess have you gotten me into this time?” Sam muttered to himself.

Complications abounded, and black and white had merged to gray for Sam, which seemed to match the poisonous smog-filled sky that hovered over Ragstown, as well as infiltrating his current mood. Nothing was as clear-cut as it had been at university, nor so simple.

[End Chapter 1, Part I]

I’ve begun revisions to a free short story I have up on Goodreads. I thought this might be a good venue to share the metamorphosis of this story. A bit of an introduction about this story which is really grabbing my muse by the throat and taking me further along my rather demented writing path…

Constable of Disturbia: Deliverance

Constable of Disturbia: Deliverance

A twisted tale of love, loyalty, devotion, and honor in a dangerously insane dystopian world.

Madness does strange things to a man’s passions, especially under trying circumstances. But one adapts… Take Dr. Oberon Ophelian, a mad scientist incarcerated in an institution deep below the water, who is a perfect example of passions gone askew. He is a man disturbed, deeply so, no small thanks to the Mission Point Bathypelogic Internment Facility where he now resides. It’s a cruel fact that sometimes the caretakers are more corrupt and depraved than the inmates, especially those in charge at the Mission Point Incarceratorium.

Constable Sam Dart is an honorable young man, and truly tested by his loyalty to a man so warped by circumstance and his own choices. He and Ophelian go back a long way having attended university together. Sam is the man responsible for putting Ophelian behind bars. But the matter is not so easily put behind him because he’s also a man who is devoted to Oberon–who married Oberon. And now he is the man who plans to free Oberon from the depravity of his confinement. Sane you say? Perhaps not so much. Only by comparison to Oberon. And then there’s Bobby…

A sweet, sexy automaton named Bobby Robbins, fully equipped and who passes surprising well for human, has been at Sam’s side to assist with the insanely wild scheme…as well as other companionable pursuits…and will remain on hand to aid with Oberon’s escape. A bribe here, a promise – a sacrifice – and a career destroyed. Obvious insanity quite fully realized. A tarnished knight, an especially bright automaton, a maniacally unbalanced scientist, how can this mad scheme possibly come out right? Love is quite an insistent, chaotic, and demanding emotion in the best of times.

And this is truly a strange and twisted affair.

Constable of Disturbia – the blurb revision to deliverance