The Sins of the Light Part 1: Tales Beyond the Darkest Desert

I feel the cold, gentle touch of a delicate hand stroke my shoulder. Her slender fingers glide down my arm until they reach my hand, and then she wraps her porcelain white fingers with lavender nails around my black clenched fist. Just a moment ago her touch was all I wanted. It was all I ever wanted from somebody. She wanted me just as much as I wanted her.

So why am I lying here turned away from her? Is it out of shame? Guilt? Maybe it’s the harsh realization that I have made a horrible mistake? I should know better than this! I am better than this! I thought I was better than this. I can feel my hand gripping the sheets so hard that I can feel the soft fibers begin to tear.

“Don’t worry, James. This doesn't have to mean anything if you don’t want it to.” Her voice is so sweet. A voice that has no idea what this city is capable of or what happens deep in its shadows.

“Just two incredibly sexy people finally giving into their desires for a night.” I hear her sit up in bed. I feel her soft hair tickle my bald head as her warm lips press against it. I close my eyes and try to get back in the moment and out of my head. She’s right. Why should I feel so guilty when the whole reason we went out before work was because I finally found evidence that Betty is cheating on me.

I let the sheet go and turn around. I can see Charlene and her perfect young, fit body with emerald green eyes that have the same radiant innocence as her voice. Her skin faintly glows as her strawberry blonde hair falls over her breasts in the most enticing way.

She is waiting for me to make some kind of move. Am I a man that has one-night-stands with a co-worker and can go back to my wife, or am I a man that has long illicit affairs? I thought I was a man that would never cheat to begin with, but that illusion is gone now.

“It doesn’t have to be ‘for a night’ if you want” I say with a bit of an embarrassing shakiness in my voice. I’m the kind of man that has long lasting affairs. It’s been so long since any woman has wanted to lay with me, and Charlene doesn’t look at me like the broken man I know I am. She doesn’t know what my job…no, what this city has turned me into. She brings me comfort that my own Betty has given up on providing me, and who could blame her. She knows what I am. She knows this city’s shadows all too well.

I look over at the clock on the nightstand behind Charlene. 9:30pm. The lights from the bustling tourist trap nightlife of Eastside Savoria pour into this seedy one bed hotel room.

She lets out a faint giggle and then says “Well, as much as I’d like to go for round four. We have our jobs to do.” Charlene grabs her phone and I see the lights turn on.

I look at my phone, on silent, but the lights constantly flaring as the silent ring tone shows the notification screen. Six missed calls from the Sarge. Damn. This is what I get. The gold cross around my neck has never felt heavier.

I let out an audible sigh of a thirty-two year old man that is young enough for the night shift, but old enough to be sick of it. People in this neighborhood never know when to quit, and their sins always seem to catch up to them when I’m about to clock in for my shift.

“C’mon, James. We got some bad guys to catch.” Charlene is now fully dressed in her usual tight black jeans, bright red blouse with a silver pendant on a chain that teases at her bosom, and her signature red leather jacket that cut off at her midriff. She loads and holsters her white desert eagle in her light brown leather twin doctor’s holsters.

“Whatever happened to the other one?” I ask as I motion to the empty holster on her right side.

“Tch…that's a long story, but the short version is that I owed a friend a favor.” Charlene fidgets away impatiently towards the door. “Can we please go? The Sarge has been blowin’ up both our phones so it must be urgent.” I feel like I might’ve crossed a line that I didn’t even know was there. Women.

I sigh again. God, I’m so tired. “Yeah. Let’s go to work.” I quickly put on my brown work suit and a black t-shirt.

I walk up to the door leading out to the hallway of the hotel. I open it and you can hear the various sounds of a working hotel flush with clients that ordinarily I would arrest on sight, but not tonight. Tonight, I am amongst the sinners.

“After you, Detective Lightwell.” I give a slight bow of my head.

She rolls her eyes and says in a playful tone “Thank you, Detective Hilla.” Then we head out to the location the Sarge pinged to our gps.

***

We arrive at The White Lotus Casino and Nightclub. Home of the notorious Moore Family, a known crime family that has ties to Savoria’s elite. The casino is their front for all of their dirty crimes. Drugs are their bread and butter, but lately signs indicate that they are trying to push into the illegal munitions game. A case I just closed brought in over twenty street dealers that all had small stores of basic handguns with the serial numbers shaved off. Damn Americans.

I know that this young pup Melissa Moore has been trying to break her family business out of Savoria for the past three months, but God forbid the brass do anything about it.

The Savoria Police Department are the Private Police Department’s servants after all. And the PPD loyally serves our corrupt overlords at Original Products Incorporated and their illustrious founder, and CEO, Isaac Anderson. I know they are all working together somehow, but I can’t prove a damn thing.

The large white building in the shape of a lotus flower shines its gilded golden light all over Affluent Avenue. The strip is still abuzz with people going about their lives or distracting themselves from life. The Sarge has sectioned off the main entrance into the White Lotus.

“Well it’s about time! Hilla! Lightwell! Get the hell over here and tell me what we got!” Sarge's voice bellows out at us and instantly I want to hit him. His six foot five, brown skin and body builder frame is as intimidating as always, but tonight I feel like I could take him in a brawl.

Don’t cuz it’d be the end of your rise in the ranks and your only shot at infiltrating the PPD from the inside. I tell myself this so I don’t beat the man that is screwin’ my wife.

I must be white knuckling my fists, because I feel Charlene’s gentle touch as she looks me in the eye. She gives me a knowing nod and goes ahead to pull Sarge away so I can do what I do best.

“Sarge! I thought you had the night off to treat your lady? Here I brought you a coffee. Give me the spiel while Hilla looks over the crime scene.” Her voice rings with fakeness, but only I can tell that.

I can hear the trail ends of Sarge talking in his charmer voice which he uses on anything that is under thirty and pretty.

I look over the crime scene. There are three bodies sprawled out in about a ten-foot area. One adult male. Two adolescent females.

The male is wearing the typical uniform of a bouncer working at the White Lotus, and the two females are dressed up in matching blue and red dresses like they were coming from the nightclub. Blood covers all of them as they all lay in a pool of their own blood. Shattered glass both scattered around them and lodged into their skin at their forearms and faces.

I look up. Two windows on the fourth floor broke with freshly applied PPD tape across the openings.

The male still has his gun holstered, but not clipped in. Strange that it didn’t fly out from that fall. A bit further down a bloody combat knife is marked. Army regulation. I put on my gloves.

The male has a wallet with cash and his Savoria driver’s license. That’s a rare thing to have in this neighborhood. He should have a BT Express pass for the bullet train system, but I triple checked the wallet and all his pockets and couldn't find it. His name is Valentino Cienzo. Five eight. Has a boxer’s build with olive tinted skin. His address isn’t here in Eastside, but right near my old neighborhood in Westside Savoria. The blazer’s sleeves dangle all the way to his fingertips and the pants are very baggy. No belt or suspenders to hold them up. Shoes are too small.

Is this really his employee outfit? Possibly dressed up for the crime scene. I should ask around later and notify his next of kin.

Next the girls. The one in the red dress had nothing else on her except on her upper left thigh the knife holster that matches the knife found. The one in the blue dress had pockets and I find a little clutch purse that miraculously didn’t stray from her pocket. Inside the clutch is some cash, a bag of red pills, most likely some kind of illegal stimulant, and her Savoira ID card. Her name was Lacey Cummings. Both Caucasian with blonde hair and blue eyes. Possible pattern?

“Hilla! You done playin’ Sherlock yet? You got a bunch of witness statements to take!” Sarge comes up behind me as I finish.

“The Brass hired me to ‘play Sherlock’ since no one else in Precinct 32 can seem to do it quite as well.” I say as I stand up and take off my gloves with a satisfying snap.

“Whatever. You and Lightwell get in there and do your jobs. Brass wants this mess solved before morning.” I hear him spit his chew onto the ground near my feet.

Typical of the higher ups. I bet they are getting pressured by the Moore Family to tidy this up quickly. If I don’t get to the truth tonight, then I never will. Some PPD Leader will show up just before dawn at the precinct with a full confession of some poor idiot from a Circle of Salvation just trying to get out of their circumstances.

Charlene walks up to me and says “You heard the Sarge. We got till six to get to the truth or this will be another PPD cover up. Let’s get movin’.” The determination in her voice is what first caught my attention. Her drive for justice is stronger than mine and it’s what keeps me going at this dead-end job.

It is 11:15pm by the time we finish taking all the useless hearsay statements from the crowd that “witnessed” the three victims jump out of the windows on the fourth floor. Tch…as if any of the victims had the strength to break the bullet proof glass that all White Lotus windows have.

When Charlene and I enter the main lobby my ears are filled with the sound of gambling and the uncaring bustling of the masses. Three people died not twenty minutes ago and yet all these people continue to piss away their life savings for a fool’s hope that they may strike it big. But the house always wins, especially the Moore’s. The night shift manager meets us and gives us our keycard. Room 402.

“I’ll get the statements from the manager and the security that were on the clock at the time of the incident. You go on and look over the hotel room.” Charlene begins to walk away.

I reach out and grab her by the wrist and say “Be careful. We are in enemy territory.”

Charlene turns around and gives me the smile that melted my heart the first time I saw it. Then she says “You too, James” and goes off towards the security desk. I get in the elevator and head up to the room.

***

The card reader beeps and I let myself in, and immediately the stench bleach and other cleaning solvents assault my nostrils as they flare to adjust.

The room itself is a mid-tier room. One single open space with a large king-sized bed with the Moore Family’s signature gold and white theme.

The bathroom is sparkling white with a white marble sink and standing shower. I see two large jugs of standard cleaning bleach in the shower. Empty. Seems like whatever went down in here was tidied up before we could investigate.

Gotta keep business flowing after all. Pricks. However, it was a rushed job even for the professionals that the Moore Family hires. I spot a stray rust-colored spot in the corner of the shower that would be hard to reach if the cleaner was shorter than five-foot eight.

Back out in the main room I begin rifling through all drawers and the bed to see if I can find anything pertinent to the crime. In one of the nightstand drawers I find a box of contraceptives and a bottle of lubricant. The other nightstand has a rolled up wad of cash. Probably at least three grand. The sheets and blankets of the bed are covered in blood stains and probably other bodily fluids, but the patterns appear to be like they were poured on.

I’m no scientist, but I’ve seen enough staged crime scenes to know one when I see it. No signs of a struggle anywhere. Just the broken windows and the bodies on the ground. I double check the leftover window glass. Same thick, smooth plastic texture of industrial strength bullet-proof glass.

Suddenly, I feel a strong push from behind me, but I heard no one enter the room or any hands touch my body. It’s as if my whole body is surged forward by some kind of weird gravity. The push becomes so strong I can feel my feet leaving the ground. My body is launched head first through the opening. Instinctively, I reach my arms towards the window pane that separates the two windows. I wrap it around the pane to force my body to stop moving. The left-over glass cuts through my jacket and digs into my flesh. My body is whipped forward like a rag doll. My legs are now dangling as I lock my arm around the window pane. I can see some uniformed officers and bystanders moving on the ground.

“Aaarrggg!” I cry out as blood begins to pour out of the wound and onto my face.

“Damnit, just fall!” A panic stricken voice says.

I pull myself up just enough to look into the room. A person with black and red robes with gold trimming stands before me. I didn’t hear the door open? How did they get in here?

I drop back down so I can draw my gun.

I scream “SPD, FREEZE!” as I pull myself back up and then see the last person I wanted bursting through the door.

Charlene with her gun drawn, pointed at the suspect shouts “GET ON THE GROUND, NOW!”

The suspect raises their hands again and I see Charlene’s body freeze in place.

We lock eyes. I can tell she is trying to speak, but the rest of her body remains frozen.

“Charlene Lightwell, I presume.” The suspect speaks with a low, growly voice of man that has gained its confidence back.

“My superior wishes to speak with you” he says then his head turns towards me. The hood shrouding his face, except his eyes which I swear were glowing a feint red color.

“Only you. He has no need for people lost to the shadows.” He lets his hands down and Charlene breathes a sigh of relief.

She says “James Hilla isn’t lost, and you and your people know his role in the events to come. You can’t kill him.” The suspect scoffs.

What the hell is this? Why is Charlene speaking to this guy like she knows what is going on?!

“Detective! What are you doing? Arrest him and help me up!” I say with both desperation and a fleeting hope this is all an act Charlene is putting on to gain the upper hand against this strange enemy.

Charlene looks at me. Her eyes both smile at me and gently hold my aching soul.

“I’m sorry, James. I thought we had more time to be happy together. I never intended to hurt you or drag you into my family’s history. But I have to go now.” She walks over to me, still hanging off the edge. I feel her cold, gentle touch rest on my hands once again.

“Why? Why are you doing this?” I ask.

“Goodbye, James. I’m sorry things had to end this way.” She turns to the robed man and says “Make sure he doesn’t die from the impact.”

And then I feel her push my hands off the ledge.

This is what I get for giving into sin. Giving into the very shadows I vowed to fight against. The sins of the light pave the way for shadows to flourish.

But I will find out what is happening. I will get to the bottom of this one way or another.

Then I feel my head hit the pavement and my vision goes dark.