20/07/2024
Read sample chapters from the Dark Paradigm thriller series!
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11.40 AM, March 11
Three miles outside Madrid, Spain
Vibrations shot through the toilet floor, followed by a high-pitched metallic grinding that sounded like a demonic scream. A rush of force violently threw Hugo Reese’s whole body into the mirror, fracturing the glass into a spiderweb of cracks.
Panic flashed across Hugo’s mind; the carriage shook, and then he was in free fall. The world turning upside down.
Time slowed, senses went into overdrive as his body pumped adrenaline and he felt himself curling into a fetal position, waiting to die.
Inevitable impact.
The railway carriage was turning, metal crumbled by an unseen force crushing it up like a foot on a tin can. The small window darkened as the ground quickly filled the space.
A vicious crack.
The smell of sticky, stale urine filled the air before Hugo’s body slammed against the window. Then, as if someone pressed play again, the moment jumped back into action.
Blackness.
Just like an earthquake.
His mind spiralled in the darkness, consciousness slipping through the cracks. Then he was standing in Firestone, LA, and the buildings, the concrete under his feet, all began to move like nothing he had ever known. Senses playing tricks on him.
One weird feeling. No control.
Like free-falling into a volcano, the heat of the lava burning his skin. Steam surrounding him, making it hard to get air.
Hugo pulled at a mask that wasn’t there, as if something was there to stop him breathing. No matter how hard he tried, it would not shift, and his time was up.
No air, no life. Adios.
He almost jumped back into consciousness, head springing up as if physically gulping for oxygen. As his vision slowly returned, he saw smoke forming all around him.
Then he realised he was still on the train, still in the familiar surroundings of the toilet cubicle. Nick Batchman’s lifeless body was juxtapositioned into place as if arranged like that by an unseen puppeteer; his back curved in a U shape, limbs flopped by his side. Dead eyes stared ahead in frozen fear, just as Hugo had first discovered him. His round glasses still hanging around a bruised neck.
An overwhelming silence followed that seemed to draw on for an eternity. Then, slowly, the screaming began—a child crying, panicked cries for help from someone trapped, and moans from children, men and women alike. All barely audible, all in extreme pain.
Hugo realised he was in a similar position to Batchman on the other side of the sink. He tried to move, but a sharp pain shot through his neck, making him wince, and he cried out like he hadn’t done since he was a kid.
And then the blackness returned.
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