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    The Gates of Light
    The Gates of Light
    The Gates of Light
    Ebook304 pages4 hours

    The Gates of Light

    By Barbara Bretana

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    About this ebook

    Lost on a world not his own, abandoned by his parents, Christopher Savich searches for the way home. To find it, he must seek out the slivers of the Mirror that open the Gates of Light, the portal that guards the way home. Coveted by a schoolmate, he runs from Regan Black, the rich, spoiled and pampered son of Senator Constance Black. Chased by both Black and the NSA, he runs to the city to hide. But you can't hide from the monsters, not een on your own world.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBarbara Bretana
    Release dateNov 26, 2014
    ISBN9781311210081
    The Gates of Light
    Author

    Barbara Bretana

    I've been writing and reading since the age of three. Anyone who knows me knows I'm nuts about horses, reading, dogs and painting. Went to school in Vermont, Castleton State and Pratt/Phoenix School of Design and found out college wasn't for me. Worked with Developmentally Disabled and loved it. Went back to school for my CNA license and decided to try writing for a career as I keep breaking things like my rotator cuff, discs and whatnot. Getting bucked off your horse, well, I don't bounce like I used to. I'm the one in the brown coat.

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      Book preview

      The Gates of Light - Barbara Bretana

      Prologue

      Jaeger sat at the steel desk and stared at the flat screen monitor. His Deputy Director pointed to the grainy images that flickered across the computer screen. The room was lit expansively by great windows, sunshine pouring in from three sides and melting the images of the top of the skyscraper. He could see other buildings close but none higher. Clouds raced across and created shadows that sharply darkened the office and shadowed his face.

      Jaeger’s lips thinned and he rubbed his carefully tended hands through his short dark hair that had seen a stylist only two days earlier. His neck itched where the stylist’s clippers had nearly nicked him.

      These come from our satellite recon. On a routine pass over the Empire State Building. We monitor the high-rises in NYC frequently after 9/11; the computer programs pick up any anomalies, the DD said. Resolution brought it down to this.

      The next series of images resolved from a blob to that of a moving figure, and then the distinct body shape of a male clad in gray clothes carrying a navy backpack and finally, a face. They saw the face of a young boy, a teen with brilliant green eyes and blue-black hair, skin like the finest cream. Almost too pretty to be real. Jaeger felt a twitch in his groin and was astonished that a mere male, a child could illicit such a response.

      He’s beautiful, he murmured. The DD laughed sourly.

      His photo had a similar effect on everybody, Director.

      And you’re bringing this to my attention why?

      The DD expanded the view to show the boy’s surroundings and his eyes widened as he saw the green-eyed youth was perched on a thin cornice of the building some forty stories in the air without benefit of safety lines or climbing gear. They watched as the satellite images showed the boy opening a hole in the glass and sliding through to enter an office and disappear into the darkness.

      Analysts said the forty-fifth floor. An import/export business out of Chankiang, South Korea. Police reported a robbery yesterday morning. Ten thousand in cash was stolen from the time safe and some artifacts.

      Cash I can see but what kind of artifacts? Antiques?

      Always the same thing. Squares of gray metal, never amounting to more than a few ounces, a handful of slivers of what looks like smoky glass. The owners claim it has no value, just some kind of curiosity factor because it’s always found at some kind of phenomenon site; like an earthquake or wildfire, or frogs falling out of the sky. Vortices. Bigfoot.

      You’re shitting me, right? Jaeger sneered.

      No. Tell me this. The DD changed the screen and the boy’s face appeared on seven different sites, all skyscrapers, all at impossible heights, the names and floors of the buildings in white at the top left of the screen. Seven other images we’ve found. NY, London, the Needle in Dubai, Cairo, Taiwan and China. How does he get up into these sites?

      Holy Christ! The Needle is the world’s tallest skyscraper! How could he get up there?

      Not by the elevators. Every one of them is on CCTV, both in and out of the lifts. He didn’t parachute or rappel down, no way over from another building and he didn’t come in disguised as a female or anyone else. We checked. Ran facial recognition programs for the last two months.

      If he can get into these buildings—has he been in here? Jaeger’s face was white in astonishment.

      The DD hesitated. Not as far as I know. We don’t keep cash or artifacts here. He’s only interested in those, it seems. We still haven’t figured out how he gets into the time safes and vaults. It’s like he’s a shadow.

      Facial recognition? Any ID on him? Age, height?

      Computer analysis puts him at thirteen, fourteen. Height nearly six-foot, weight one fifty. Caucasian, European, possibly of Irish ancestry. Clothes are American made. Always wears that gray outfit, hoodies, climbing shoes. No gear to speak of, no pitons, harness or ropes.

      What, he’s Spiderman?

      No. We’ve taken images of him moving. He walks the ledges as if he’s on a walk through the park, slides through the windows. No inhuman stuff like Spidey. He shows no fear or hesitation on the thinnest ledges or rooftops, it’s as if gravity holds him up. He moves like a…ballet dancer.

      How many places has he robbed?

      Twenty-seven that we know of.

      Jaeger whistled. How much cash stolen?

      About a 120K.

      Not much if he’s jetting around the world. Find out who he is and get him. Any way you can. A kid like that would be a major asset we can use.

      It’s in the works. Computer’s sifting through school databases, Face Book and Twitter. Some one knows this face. It’s too outstanding to go unnoticed.

      Keep me up to date on this one. You’ve tweaked my spider sense, ‘Harry’.

      The DD grinned. I am the Goblin of Dark Affairs, Director. I should have his name in two or three days.

      Chapter 1

      The last day of school for three whole months! Yea God! I wiggled in my seat and Marvelous poked me in the back with a sharpened fingernail filed just for that purpose. I yiked, turned round and incurred the wrath of Mr. Rouse, the Math teacher who had just collected the last test of the year.

      Mr. Savich, care to enlighten us on your outburst? He stared at me from hooded, dark eyes and a stiff military manner. Rumor had it he’d been a spy for the CIA and an interpreter for the FBI because of his language skills. He was six foot, blonde and good-looking, a real hard ass. I gaped at him as he stood there with a handful of test papers, all extra credit and important for those who were seriously behind in algebra and Calc. My scores were high enough to get me into a good college if I wanted to go.

      Christopher Michael Savich, I am not speaking Russian, he said patiently. What made you squawk?

      I cleared my throat and tried to rub the tiny stinging spot on my side where Marvelous’ talon had stabbed me. Every one of the twenty odd faces in the dingy classroom stared either at me, Marvelous or Mr. Rouse. I shifted in the chair and made the plastic tray of the desk creak as it twisted to accommodate my six-foot frame. The plastic, melamine and tubing of these desks in orange, puke green and sickly flesh were older than my teacher was but the building much older. Brick, built in the 1940s, it smelled old and musty. The furnace groaning on made you want to run before it belched into an explosion or just fell apart.

      The walls were painted every year but the cinder blocks just ate the paint until they resembled a baby’s diaper and sometimes, smelled as bad. The staircases creaked, lights never stayed lit and the cafeteria was famous for the world’s worst food and grimmest servers. You could still find brown baggers inside. Most students went off school grounds and ate at Pizza Hut or Burger King. The teachers, however, were brilliant so parents put up with the decay of the building. Most of us thought it was kind of cool, it had the reputation of a haunted house and we liked it.

      The bell rang and I was spared an explanation as I snapped up my backpack, laptop and leaped for the door. Dr. Rouse sighed and stepped back as the mad exodus of insane fifteen-year-old teenagers headed for escape. Either over or through him, we didn’t much care which.

      In the dim, creepy hallway, I kicked Marvelous in the shin and he turned on me, his freckled innocent face incensing me further.

      OWWW! Whaddya do that for? he bitched and I ducked into the MENS room, heading for the mirror.

      Place was crowded. Dudes hanging around, smoking, pissing, comparing notes. Most of them ignored me until I pulled up my black t-shirt and angled my back in the mirror so I could see the red slice he’d made in my skin. A red half-moon with a trickle of blood, a tiny thing to cause such a flush of pain and violent reaction. I pulled my shirt down.

      I didn’t like anyone to touch me and Marvelous knew it. He stood in the doorway watching me, his pale blue eyes dark. Sorry. I forgot I filed that finger. Is it deep?

      No, I was short. Washed my hands and dried them. Let’s go.

      The stares from the seniors made the hairs on the back of my neck lift and Marvelous sidled in to stand behind me.

      Regan Black came out of one of the closed stalls and blocked me. He was shorter than me, built like a wrestler with a short neck and heavy shoulders. He was quiet, didn’t make trouble but he ruled his own turf and no one crossed him. He dealt drugs, bought favors and ran his own little gang both in and out of school.

      Somebody to avoid. I knew of two freshman boys and several girls that had come to his attention and hadn’t survived the encounters. Two had committed suicide; the rest had run away or disappeared.

      Your name is Chris, right? Christopher Michael Savich? His eyes were deep, dark brown with thick lashes. His hair was a light brown with kinky curls. He had black or Mexican in him, his skin a creamy café au lait and not a tattoo in sight. He was dressed in clean, designer jeans, pullover Abercrombie and Fitch, all high-end name brand stuff. His posse gathered around him and now, my stomach dropped as a faint frisson of fear ran down my spine. Marvelous breathed shallowly into my neck.

      Although I towered over him by six inches, he outweighed me by seventy pounds.

      Are you afraid of me, pretty boy? He smiled and that scared me even deeper. Chrissy.

      His smile was white, blinding as he stepped forward. I turned to run and his friends held me. I exploded but with six of them holding me, I didn’t get far, especially when he snapped his fist forward into my belly. It sank into my gut and I wrapped myself around it, my lungs paralyzed. I couldn’t draw in a breath.

      Hands held me up and he grabbed my face, twisted it to the side as vomit spewed forth to hit the wall and one urinal. The lights dimmed. I wheezed. His fingers wiped off my lips and he pulled my face close so that all I could see were his eyes as he kissed me.

      Below the throbbing in my gut, I felt his fingers reach in my jeans and fondle me. His eyes widened and he smiled into my gasping mouth.

      Oh lovely, he whispered and nodded. They dropped me. I hit the floor on my knees, curled around my stomach and fought to breathe.

      I’m so sorry I didn’t introduce myself to you sooner, my Chrissy, he whispered. School’s out. Now, I have time to devote to our new acquaintance. I will call on you, soon.

      He left me alone and only when the last one filtered out in his train did Marvelous reach down a hand and lift me up.

      Chapter 2

      Icried when the door closed behind me. I’d gotten off the bus, walked the half mile up the lane to the farmhouse, cut through the yard to the travel trailer and found the motor bike. My helmet was tied to the bars and I slammed it on my head, got on the bike. One good kick and it started, I was heading across fallow fields until I hit the state highway and town.

      Forty minutes after that, I was in the city and climbing the stairs to the condo I’d rented with fake ID and pre-paid debit cards. No one knew where I lived, my school transcripts listed the farmhouse as my current residence so if Black tried to find me, he would run into a dead-end. He’d blow circles in the dust.

      I wouldn’t have to worry about him until fall and next semester. I could just move on but I’d established an identity here and didn’t want to go through the trouble and expense of relocating and reinventing myself. Besides, my family had disappeared in the area and I wanted to remain where they had been spotted last.

      Marvelous had been terrified; he’d thought I was dying. Had dithered long enough so that I had recovered my air, washed out my mouth for ten minutes and then puked again at the memory of that open-mouthed kiss and stomach burning assault. He wanted to drag me to the nurse’s office but I’d slunk away to my bus and left him on his own.

      I knew he was small and timid but he hadn’t even raised a hand in my defense.

      Marvelous, Jed Marvell was a thin, whippy fifteen-year-old with gray-blue eyes and spiky red hair. He was not ‘pretty’ enough to attract Black’s appetites but he was just the type of kid that Black liked to torment.

      My cell phone buzzed right before I climbed into the shower as I turned it on scalding hot and tried to scrub off the stench of the little bastard. I couldn’t tell the water from the tears until I found myself on the floor of the stall curled into myself, totally exhausted.

      Midnight found me sitting in the corner of the bedroom on my bed dressed as if I was wearing armor and my phone lit up as I went through the forty texts from Marvelous.

      Whr r u?

      R u ok?

      Mom wnts 2 tlk 2 u.

      Call me!!!!

      And on and on for hours until finally,

      Im srry Chris plse cll me!!!

      Im :o 4 u. don’t do anything stupid.

      I clld cops. Thyr hdd out 2 ur plce.

      Oh shit. That would be bad. Once on the property, it wouldn’t take long for the authorities to realize no one lived there and hadn’t in years.

      I flipped the phone open and called him and from the speed of his response, knew he’d been waiting for my return calls.

      Where are you? Why didn’t you text me back? Are you all right? You didn’t pass out or anything when you got home, did you? What did your parents say? Did you tell them? I waited until he ran out of breath and questions.

      You done? I asked mildly.

      You asshole! I thought you—

      Killed myself? He’d have to do a lot worse to me than that, Jed. I shuddered as I thought how bad it could be. When did you call the cops?

      Right after I got home. I told my dad. I’m sorry, Chris but after Leah was raped and killed last year, I’m afraid to let that short turd get away with anything.

      But he did, Marvelous. The cops don’t believe that the son of their leading citizen is all that bad. Daddy’s money pays off a lot of people.

      Oh yeah, Regan Black’s mommy was the senior Senator Constance Lindquist Black, part of Homeland Security, Department of this and that, his daddy a high-priced Washington lawyer and lobbyist.

      I’m going away for the summer with my dad, Marvelous. Won’t be back until fall. Maybe not then, either. Have a great summer. See you then.

      Wait! Give me your e-mail, your dad’s cell. Something besides this cell number so I can contact you, he protested. Man, we’re buds! Don’t drop me! I’m on my way out to your house!

      No! Stay away from there! Stay away from Black, forget me, it’s safer.

      I hung up, smashed the phone to pieces and threw it out the window to land on the rooftop of another brownstone where it joined other unwanted garbage.

      Chapter 3

      Regan Black had his own apartment over the six-car garage, large enough for him and the four Secret Service men who accompanied his mother when she was home. No one paid any attention to his comings and goings or the number of young men and women who visited his surprisingly cozy four room suites, the largest of which was a study with four computers, desk and comfortable chairs. There was a large screen TV. That room was kept locked but Regan wasn’t stupid enough to keep evidence of his extracurricular activities at home. He reserved that for a condo in the city in an old warehouse under a corporate umbrella. A grateful older man with expensive tastes and needs that Regan both enjoyed and supplied fronted it.

      He was there surfing through the websites with lowered brows and a frown on his zit-free face while his former lover watched in the background.

      What are you doing, Regan? The man, a retired schoolteacher demanded rolling his wedding ring around on his finger. He was wearing jeans, nothing else and the gray hair on his chest looked like the head of a coconut. He was in decent shape for an older man, muscled and no spare tire. His eyes widened as he saw the schoolbook photo of a young boy.

      Oh my. How simply delicious. Do you know him?

      Regan smiled slowly. Oh yes. I’ve tasted him, too.

      What’s his name? Can I have him when you’re done with him? Please?

      Regan flicked him a scathing glance. For God’s sake, Jeremy, are you drooling?

      And you wouldn’t? He’s beautiful.

      He’s straight.

      I don’t care. Do you?

      It doesn’t matter to me. I want him. What I want, I get. When I’m done with him, he won’t be pretty anymore. But I’ll let you play with him.

      Oh yes. The teacher sat on the edge of the desk and read the profile. Christopher Michael Savich. Born 1998, January 6th. The feast of the Epiphany. He lives in your old hometown. Oh, how exciting! You get to see him every day. Do you stalk him, Regan? Is he hung? He’s only fourteen?

      Yes, he is, Regan licked his lips and remembered the feel and taste of him.

      Did you touch him already? Won’t he call the po-lice?

      So what if he does? My momma’s money runs the town, the Chief of Police is in my pocket and my boys give me any alibi I want or need.

      When are you going after him?

      You have a few things I need you to finish up, Jeremy. I need to finalize the shipment coming in from Pensacola. Mommy dear and Perry Mason are flying home for the Graduation ceremony and Prom night.

      Prom Night? How fun! Who are you taking, Regan? A pretty little girl or…him?

      Oh, teach, I’m keeping him for my summer vacation project. He deserves my undivided attention. Now, go play with yourself. I have work to do.

      Yes, master.

      He left the boy’s face on the screen.

      Chapter 4

      Strobe lights made the ground waver in flashes of blue, red and white. Made the yard of waist high uncut grass, dead trees and roses past their bloom and strangled out by weeds look like an abandoned lot. The house stood like a lonely dowager, proud but worn out, her shutters flapping, and paint peeling. The windows were all intact, wraparound porch still solid even for heavy-footed Staties and sheriff’s deputies. They peered in the windows, searched the outbuildings but the consensus was that no one had lived in the brick Colonial in years.

      "The boy’s school records say he lives here, this address and phone match up. P&G state that there are bills paid to them with this address yet no one reads the meter or has serviced the tanks. I can hear a phone ringing inside but there’s no furniture, no lights and no one inside.

      I’ve found some footprints towards the woods and a small shed where a bike’s been parked. Oil stains under it and tire tracks out to a state highway. No papers, no evidence of squatters. If this boy was living here, I don’t know where.

      His social security card pulled up a blank.

      Fake? Asked the sheriff.

      Good enough to fool us until we dug deeper. The FBI is coming in because of that.

      What’s a fourteen-year-old capable of doing? The Statie sneered and the Deputy shook his head.

      Barefoot Bandit ring any bells? The kids at Columbine? Newtown? They were silent.

      I thought we were here because of a suicide risk?

      His friend called it in, said somebody tried to molest him, wouldn’t say who, just that it happened at school.

      School? That school is cursed. Too many kids with bad luck there, complained the State Trooper.

      The local cop sneered, Yeah, a curse with the name Black.

      You can prove that I’ll be the first one to nail a stake through his heart, the trooper came back. Otherwise, keep it to yourself or you’ll wind up dead, missing or on the streets.

      Poor bastard. If Regan Black is interested in this kid, I hope he’s run far away. You got a picture of him?

      They gathered around the flyer laid out on the hood of the blue and gold SUV and whistled as the boy’s unearthly beauty came through in loving detail.

      You got a copy of that I can have? one of them asked clearing his throat.

      What for? You gonna take it home and play with it? He was teased by his partner.

      No. Need it for the wire. I’m going to post it on the internet. With a face like that, he can’t hide. Does he have a Twitter or Facebook account?

      No. Not that we can find, the Sheriff shook his

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