Sinking Eden

I entered this is Amazon's contest...please tell me what you think..... would you read the rest?? :)


Short Synopsis:


“The Nephilim were on the earth in those days—and also afterward—when the sons of God went to the daughters of men and had children by them. They were the heroes of old, men of renown.” Genesis 6:4

A forgotten bloodline. An ancient legend. A god-like killer and an innocent little boy. A tale that challenges the idea of good and evil and the role of men in weaving their own destiny.

Sinking Eden is the first part of the Legacy series. It follows the story of Tommy Handy, a little boy from the projects who has a skill he doesn’t yet understand, and Edward Neice, a killer who has taken upon himself the job of making the world more beautiful through his deadly art. It becomes a battle of life and death as forces, both seen and unseen, begin to choose sides.

Things are further complicated by the presence of The Society, a group who has, for years, kept a startling secret.


Chapter Three: Edward and Daniel- Friday April 14, 8:30:pm

As the warm Florida sun dipped down below the horizon, the whole word seemed to come out of hiding. The people that filled the streets walked more briskly, their voices became louder, their feet stepped higher and their mood seemed lighter.

Situated a little off the beaten path, away from the newly awakened world, Edward Niece sat hunched over his latest project. The little concrete slab in the alley that ran beside Calloway’s Diner had been chosen days before because the lighting was perfect. There, by the side door of Callaway’s, just above the concrete square where the employees occasionally congregated to have their smokes, was a sixty watt light bulb in a rickety old fixture. The owners had neglected to dust the glass cover and the resulting buildup of cobwebs made a faint yellow glow. It formed the tiniest halo of light around his work. It was just enough light for him to see without being seen. It was enough for him to make it right.

Because of this, he was willing to tolerate the stench that floated from the large green dumpster several feet away from his work area. Old meatloaf, day-old egg salad, and two-day-old grease fused together in the bin to form an entirely undesirable odor. Fortunately, he had been down-wind for most of his stay in the alley but that had started to change, and so he sniffed loudly and straightened up. Looking to his left, he could barely make out the shape of the dumpster, but he could imagine the rats that feasted on its contents in the darkness. He willed them to hurry up and devour what ever was making the worst of the smell. He rubbed his nose with the back of his right arm and looked back down at what was in front of him. It was only his work that kept him in this place. He sighed, and swept some dust off the concrete in what could almost be defined as a caress. He was not a quitter under any circumstance, and he couldn’t leave this job half done.

He reached for the pale blue plastic case he kept his tools in, and it made a slight click-clack sound as he shuffled through the contents to pull out two worn down pieces of chalk. One green. One red. He sat the green down by his right knee and rolled the red back and forth a few times between his gloved palms.

He got nervous at the start of each step in the process, but he enjoyed the feeling. Savored it like a fine wine. He glanced up and looked at the door that led inside Callaway’s. He knew that someone might walk out at any time to dump some trash or have a smoke and then they would find him here. But who were ‘they’ anyway? No one important; the world was filled with hundreds and millions of nobodies, but there was only one like him. There was only one to do his work. Thinking like that gave him chills. He smiled as the tension mounted in his chest and he put the tip of the chalk on the cement. For a second, his breathing became louder, but he kept his hand steady.

He could hear the sounds of people laughing noisily just a few feet away, on the sidewalk outside the alley, but he ignored them. He had learned to do that. He drew despite the stench and despite the feeling that his “audience”, if they could see him, would somehow disapprove. He outlined every petal with care, seeing in his mind a perfect red rose.

He smiled at the way the picture was coming together. Surely anyone who saw it would be impressed. He smudged the green chalk at the base of the bloom and began to draw the stem, complete with tiny thorns. He then picked up the red again and he held it for a moment, admiring it, and wishing it luck. He softly exhaled and bent his body nearer the concrete on which he knelt. From each side of the stem of his perfect rose he drew a perfect wing. Small but intricate, they resembled those of a dove. The man fussed a little more with the wings and grunted a bit as he shaded them in using the side of the chalk. His gloved right thumb was then used to spread the color. With this done, he leaned his head to the left and he froze. For several minutes he sat like that, immobilized over his task, before he felt compelled to do the rest.

But while he was making the final touches, it came to him. It was a warm feeling that grew inside his stomach and radiated up his arms and down his legs in the form of a shiver. It was his sign. It was perfect now. Complete.

He looked at the goose bumps on his arm, took his gloves off, and ran a hand over his face as he turned to admire the lines of chalk on the concrete. He had gotten it right. It was beautiful!

His only regret was that he would not be able to see first hand the face of the one who discovered his art. Edward liked to imagine that his work was appreciated, even though he knew that few artists were ever truly valued in their own lifetime. Most people wouldn’t even understand what he was trying to say, much less realize the favor he had done them. He sighed and left his latest masterpiece. He never even once looked back at her crumpled body as he walked down the alley and joined the rest of the world on the sidewalk.

A few hours later found Edward Niece grinning like a man whose team had just won the big game. He sat in the little sports bar cleverly named “Balls” that was right across the street from Callaway’s. Ostensibly he was sitting out on the deck watching a re-run of last Monday night’s game, but actually he was viewing the comings and goings of the police with great interest. They’d gotten the crime tape up some time ago, which had been nice. It added a certain ambiance.

He also enjoyed watching the plain clothes detective take the statement from the young dishwasher for what must have been the third time. It wasn’t the same as seeing the boy’s face at the moment of discovery, but it was still sublime, even if it was sloppy seconds.

Edward leaned forward in his seat as the boy began gesturing back toward the alley. Edward imagined that the young man spoke of coming out to dump the trash and finding ‘the body’. The boy wasn’t trained to see death as art. Pity.

Edward chuckled to himself. The dishwasher’s features were priceless. That never-been-shaved face was all innocence and confusion. The young are always most easily influenced by such things. Most impacted. That child would probably remember this day for the rest of his life. Edward sighed and mentally congratulated himself.

The only smudge on Edward’s evening was how fast the evidence team had arrived on the scene. He couldn’t see what they were doing in the alley but he imagined them as ants swarming over his work and carrying bits of it away. He consoled himself with the knowledge that they were sure to have taken lots of pictures.

Edward’s ears picked up as he could hear some guys talking behind him about his efforts and he listened with amusement.

“That’s some freaky shit!” came the first voice

“No lie!” came the second “Right where God and everybody should have been able to see him.”

“I know. I was inside Callaway’s when they found her” said the first.

“They say she was a hooker” came the third “and that it was a trick gone bad.”

“Nah!” came the first again. “I heard that whoever did it painted her up.”

‘Whaddya mean ‘painted her up’?” queried the third.

“Crazy bastard painted her with her own blood and outlined her in chalk or some shit.”

“No shit?!”

At that point Edward stopped listening. It was normal for people to think him crazy. He reminded himself of that. Most people lacked true vision and his unique talent. They were prisoners inside their own limited minds, so it wasn’t their fault-not really, but even so, he was annoyed at their lack of intellect. They would never know the true beauty of his project: The rose he’d colored in with the crimson of her veins. And how like a rose she was! Her blood was pretty, but watch out! There were thorns below the surface.

These ordinary town’s people didn’t know what he did. They couldn’t know that his alleyway art project, in addition to being a prostitute herself, had been a madam running a very successful prostitution ring which serviced the entire county. And they certainly couldn’t be held accountable for knowing that she was HIV positive, had known it for six months, and yet continued to offer her services to her clients who in turn took the disease home to unsuspecting wives and girlfriends. By killing that bitch he’d saved more than one innocent life, but no one would ever congratulate him. Even when the police finally got the whole story, he’d receive no thank you card. But, then again, he wasn’t in it for the thanks.

Edward downed the last of his beer and decided to take a drive. It was time to find another blight on the world. Something corrupt, useless, and distasteful that he could transform into beautiful art. He left a tip on the bar and walked into the street to get his car.

He wouldn’t go back to the same neighborhood in which he found Nora. But he knew of another on Whittier Boulevard that was just as seedy. Honestly, Edward wished the police would just leave him to his own devices. He could have entire city blocks cleansed and beautified in mere weeks. But, since the average man saw only with average eyes he would have to carry on his operations quietly. Edward imagined that he could stay here in this town for maybe another three months tops. So, he would have to make the most of it. Savor each masterpiece.

He shivered as he started the ignition because he felt that an idea was coming to him. An idea for his next project. He would never have guessed, in that seemingly ordinary moment, as he glanced in the side mirror of the car before pulling out, that what was actually coming to him was the first in a series of rather unpleasant surprises. For there, reflected and small in the glass, was a figure Edward hadn’t seen in years. His hat was pulled down low and his coat hung loose on his lean frame, but there was no mistaking him. It was Daniel looking at him, with accusation in his eyes. Daniel glaring daggers.

Edward hit the gas hard and the wheels spun as he shifted into reverse, nearly clipping the silver Volkswagen parked behind him. His breath caught in his throat and he glanced behind again, but the apparition had vanished. Maybe it had never been there at all. At least that’s what Edward wanted to believe because he was not yet ready to meet with the only human who had ever truly seen him. The only one who knew what he really was.

However, as Edward traveled down the street convincing himself that Daniel was never really there, the fifty-two year old Scotsman had slipped into Edward’s Alleyway-come-art project and was preparing to duck under the crime tape.

“You’re not supposed to be here.” The voice was both stern and annoyed.

“Your murderer is getting away, you know that?” replied the older man. There was a smile on his face that was belied by shrewd eyes.

Manny Rosquez was not amused. “Who are you? What are you talking about? And why are you attempting to walk into this crime scene?” Normally a man of humor, Sgt. Rosquez was deadpan. He wasn’t supposed to be working tonight. It just so happened that after a long day at work, he had stopped at Spot On Dry Cleaners to drop off some shirts. When he opened the door to get out, quiet unexpectedly, his police dog, Molly, had bolted from the car and took off running down the street. She refused to answer his call and when he chased down the street after her, his evening went from bad to worse. As he neared the block of third and main, calling for Molly, two black and white cruisers pulled into the alleyway ahead of him.

He cursed his natural curiosity for asking Dennis Chapman, his long time friend in the department, what was going on. Dennis informed him that someone reported a mutilated body outside the side door of Calloway’s. Of course, with his luck being what it was that night, upon walking further into the alley, Manny discovered his dog sitting at the feet of the dead woman.

“I think your mutt just contaminated a crime scene,” Offered Frank Jennings, Dennis’s partner. The man always had a macabre sense of humor, and seeing the half- naked, bloody corpse did not seem to bother him. Dennis, in contrast, covered his mouth and nose and wretched into his cupped palm. The coppery blood smell was discernable over the greasy garbage stench and it turned Manny’s stomach too, but he controlled himself, swallowing hard.

“She’s just doing her job, Frank. She must have smelled the body.”

“Yeah. We should give her credit for being first on the scene.” Dennis sounded strange as he tried to laugh. He must have been swallowing more vomit.

“Well, I’m sure as hell including it in the report. How else are we going to explain the bloody paw prints that show up in the photos?” Frank snorted disdainfully.

In the end, Manny had removed Molly to the curb where she happily sat and greeted passerby with a wag and the decorum befitting a well trained police dog. As for Manny, of course, there was no way he was getting out of assisting with the investigation now, so he trudged back down the alley to put in some more overtime.

Not that Manny minded work, itself. He had never been lazy. It was just that lately, he had been having problem after problem on the job and was beginning to question if it was worth it. Working the drug beat lately had been bad. He’d seen some sad things in recent months, but the sight of the Jane Doe’s lifeless body laid out like that for all the world to see, was enough to make him ashamed to be human. It was disgusting what people did to one another and themselves all in the name of a ‘good time’. The grinning looky-loo with the foreign accent trying to penetrate the crime scene simply to satisfy his own curiosity was a prime example. No respect for the dead. Manny geared himself up to let off a little steam on the trespasser.

“I’m only trying to help,” offered the Scotsman

“Help?” repeated Manny, pulling a notepad out of his pocket, “Who are you?”

“Daniel DelArno, and now may I ask, who are you?”

At first Manny just stared at the man. This yahoo was actually demanding to know who he was! But then after a second or two of thought, Manny decided to play along and adopted a posh and slightly mocking tone. “I’m Manny Rosquez, a Sergeant in The Cold Springs Police Department. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise.” The man did not let on that he knew Manny was poking fun at him.

“Now, Mr. DelArno, If you’ll be so kind as to tell me what you are doing nosing around my crime scene.”

“Your crime scene?” the Scotsman brightened, “Oh! So you’re the investigator in charge! Good. Well, as I’ve said before, the man you are looking for, the murder, has escaped.”

Manny did not bother to correct the man’s assumption and inform him that he was most certainly not in change, only finding himself on the scene because his dog was too good at her job. “Yes. I did notice that the perpetrator was no longer in the immediate area. Therefore, we have all concluded that he has escaped. Thank you so much for your little tip. If there is nothing else. I’ll..”

“Wait, please, Mr. Rosquez,” Daniel’s manner changed suddenly, became desperate, “I know this man, or I knew him, many years ago. He is a monster; his name is Edward Neice, and he just drove off in a black Saturn Sedan. This is not his first kill. Please, let me help you find him.”

Manny stopped and evaluated the man again, taking in his odd attire. The long coat he wore when it was well over 80 degrees outside, even after sundown, the old fashioned hat, and loose fitting clothes that looked like they were borrowed from a larger man.

“Who are you, Mr. Delarno? And how do you know this?”

“I told you, I know him from many years back, back when he was still very young. He is the killer you are looking for.”

“I see. And do you live in Cold Springs, Mr. DelArno, or are you visiting?”

“I am here, I guess you could say, on business.” The Scott waved the question away as if it annoyed him.

“What kind of business?”

“My business is my business, I’m afraid.”

“Mmm. And who is your employer?”

“I work for myself. And these questions are getting us nowhere.”

“I’m going to need to know where you are staying, Mr. DelArno. And answering this one isn’t optional.”

“Alright, then. If I must, I’m staying at Wisteria Place, in one of the efficiency apartments there.”

“Good. Now tell me again about the man that you claim you used to know, and who you are certain is the murder in this case.”

“Well, I…”

Daniel was interrupted by frantic barking as eighty pounds of fur sailed passed him and charged down the alley into the crime scene.

Barking frantically and charging at nothing, Molly raced in circles around the alley.

“Hey Manny, you better come get this damn dog. She’s freaking out the CSIs.” Called Dennis.

“Actually, I think she’s just plain freaking out.” Frank Jennings added his two cents after watching the bizarre behavior of the dog.

“You stay right there, Mr. DelArno.” Manny said with longsuffering sigh, “I’ve got to take care of this, but I’m not finished speaking with you.”

After Manny had turned his back, Mr. DelArno, never a fool, took the confusion as his opportunity to disappear. He had told the cop enough to set the wheels in motion. He would, of course, have to help them along, but he knew that what had haunted him for so many years would have to die in this town and he was prepared to do what he must. If only there wasn’t that one potential complication. That one little thing that Edward must never know about: the existence of Tommy Handy.