What Remains of Rebecca Palmer Chapter One

INTRODUCTION: At the conclusion of the novel, 'Steel World Inc', Karl Magnus, the Ubar of London, executed Willard Frick with a gunshot to the head, against the express orders of the Steel Worlds Council of America.   

Retribution was soon to come, not just to Karl Magnus, but to those London Families (The ‘Inner Party’ of the Court of the Steel Worlds in Great Britain) who were seen to be loyal to Karl Magnus. One by one the great American families took them out.

 

One such family was the Palmers – loyal to the Steel Worlds for generations, dating back to the Golden Age of the British Empire.

 

This then is the tragedy that befell their privileged daughter, Rebecca. 

 

What remains of Rebecca Palmer when the Steel Worlds clenches its iron fist?

The Shadow in the Dark Chapter Thirty Five - Final Chapter!

 

I was led - guided, really - through a sequence of archways and narrow corridors until the space opened into something more intimate than the grand halls I had first woken in. This inner chamber felt like the heart of the villa: tall but enclosed, the walls covered in frescoes of gods and nymphs frozen in moments of motion, their painted eyes following me no matter where I stood. Sunlight filtered down through a high, latticed opening, turning the dust in the air into drifting gold.

 

I stood alone in the middle of it, barefoot on warm stone, my red silk tunic whispering against my thighs every time I shifted. The fabric was scandalously thin and cut far lower than anything I would ever have chosen for myself, exposing a deep V of skin that made me acutely aware of how vulnerable I was. The steel collar sat at my throat like a brand, cool and unyielding, a constant reminder that whatever this place was, I was not free in it.

 

My heart thudded painfully as I waited. I didn’t know what I was waiting for, only that something was coming.

 

Then music burst into the room, accompanied by a swirl of disco ballroom lights.

 

Dance, Boogie Wonderland, hey, hey

Dance, Boogie Wonderland

 

Not flutes. Not lyres. Not anything that belonged to this ancient, marble-and-mosaic world.

Beginning Tomorrow: ‘What Remains of Rebecca Palmer’

 

I had doubts as to where we're going

But you gotta hand it to the guys upstairs

I've been put on a whole new program

Don't have to handle my own affairs

Everything I want is on my printout

I don't need anything anymore

I'm not confused by useless knowledge

 

I don't even know if it's 1984 

for sure

 

Rules rule Ok, ask no questions

Welcome to the age of consent

Fasten seat belts, drive with caution

Don't take shots at the president

Robot man's a wonderful creation

Automatically obeys the law

Laws of nature, man and physics

I don't even know if it's 1984 

for sure (1984?)

 

(Oh)

 

The only thing you need to know

Big Brother is watching you

You'll love him

1984

The Shadow in the Dark Chapter Thirty Four

 

The woman with the whip stepped forward, her presence suddenly overwhelming in the chamber. With a flick of her wrist, the coil of the whip unravelled, until the end trailed across the floor. I felt a shiver travel down my spine as her shadow fell across me. Her dark eyes appraised me coolly, and I understood, instinctively, that what she said next was not a request.

 

“Kneel,” she commanded. “Nadu. Let us see how your muscle memory is.” I sank to my knees on the polished mosaic floor, the red silk tunic sliding slightly against my bare legs, the steel collar pressing uncomfortably at my throat. My hands rested lightly on my thighs, though every instinct in me bristled against the submission I was being forced into. To my surprise my posture seemed instinctive, as if I had knelt like this many times before. I felt my knees close tightly together as I was in the vicinity of a woman. A curious thought at the back of my mind made me think the posture might be very different if I knelt before a man.

 

“It’s strangely instinctive, isn’t it, Ashlee? The way your body understands a word you couldn’t define to me.”

 

I suddenly realised I didn’t know what nadu meant – though there was a vague sensation I’d come across the word before - but I was kneeling instinctively on my heels, my back straight, hands on my thighs, my head up, and my knees pressed tightly together. 

 

She circled me slowly, heels clicking softly against the stone, the whip trailing loosely from her right hand. Her gaze was meticulous, taking in every detail - the way I held myself, the curve of my shoulders, the line of my neck, even the nervous tremor of my hands.

 

“You are a curvaceous thing,” she said finally, almost to herself, as though cataloguing me in her mind. “Eyes alert, hair full, skin soft… posture promising.” Her voice was cold, clinical, as though she were appraising an object rather than a person. “No wonder he lusts after you. You filthy little slut.”

The Shadow in the Dark Chapter Thirty Three

 

The gravel crunched under the tires as Martin pulled into the small lay-by, the car settling with a soft rock as it came to rest. We were deep in the woods now. Tall pines and bare-limbed maples crowded close to the road, their trunks dark with last night’s rain, their leaves turning the ground into a thick, copper-coloured carpet. The air smelled of wet bark and moss and something faintly sweet, like rot beginning to turn back into soil.

 

Martin switched off the engine and stretched, rolling his shoulders. “God, that feels better. My back was starting to complain.”

 

I opened my door more slowly, careful of the dress and of what was hidden beneath it. The petticoat whispered softly as I stepped out. The Glock tugged slightly at the tape on my thigh, a small, constant reminder that this moment was not just another stop on a road trip.

 

“Nice spot,” Martin said, glancing around. “Kind of peaceful, right? You’d never know Dunwich was just a few miles back.”

 

I nodded. “It’s… quiet.”

 

“Exactly,” he said. “Sometimes I think I could just live somewhere like this. Away from everything. No noise, no crowds.” He smiled at me. “Just you, me, and a lot of trees.”

 

I forced a faint smile, then gestured vaguely into the woods. “I’ll just go a bit further in. You know. Privacy.”

The Shadow in the Dark Chapter Thirty Two

 

I sat in the chair by the motel window with the lights turned off, my knees drawn up beneath the spread of my dress, the rain ticking softly against the glass like fingertips. The room smelled faintly of damp carpet and cheap soap. The neon sign outside bled a dull red glow through the curtains, painting slow-moving shadows across the walls.

Martin slept in the bed.

 

He lay on his back, one arm flung out over the pillow, his chest rising and falling in an easy, untroubled rhythm. He looked peaceful, almost boyish in sleep. As if nothing in the world could trouble him. As if he had not been the centre of something dark and carefully constructed.

 

The car keys were back where they had been, on the small table near the door. I had put them there with shaking fingers, arranging them exactly as I had found them, like returning a piece of a crime scene so no one would know it had been disturbed.

 

Beneath the powder‑blue dress and its soft bow, beneath the ridiculous, rustling layers of my petticoat, the Glock was taped flat against my outside right thigh with black gaffer tape. It pulled slightly when I shifted, a tight, grounding pressure that reminded me it was there. The petticoat was bulky enough to blur its outline completely, the fabric falling in forgiving folds that hid the hard geometry of the weapon. From the outside I probably looked like nothing more than a nervous girl sitting in a chair.

But I was armed.

 

The knowledge made my skin prickle.

 

I wondered if he would notice the keys had been moved.

 

I wondered if he already knew.

 

Has he always been part of it?

The Shadow in the Dark Chapter Thirty One

 

The classic movie line, “Now I have a machine gun, ho-ho-ho,” came to mind as I glanced to my left and right, checking that the streets of Dunwich were still empty, which they were. The weight of the Glock 19M in my hands steadied me in a way nothing else had all night. Rain tapped softly against the roof of the car as I drew the weapon into the pool of the interior light, my fingers moving with a confidence that felt older than memory. I didn’t have to think about what I was doing. My hands simply knew. I went through the motions I had repeated a thousand times before — the ritual of safety, of certainty — checking, confirming, rechecking. I felt the familiar resistance, the mechanical precision, the subtle click and tension that told me the gun was exactly what it appeared to be. Solid. Real. Not a prop. Not a trick.

 

The magazine came free into my palm, heavy with weight. Too heavy. I tilted it slightly and saw the brass glinting back at me in the harsh white light — a full load. Fifteen rounds, just as it should be. My throat tightened.

 

This wasn’t just my model.

 

This was my configuration.

 

I slid the magazine back into place and continued the inspection, running my fingers along the frame, the slide, the grip. Everything felt familiar, intimate in a way that made my skin prickle. This gun had been an extension of me. It had lived at my side. I could feel that in my bones even now.

 

I checked the safety systems, the mechanisms that prevented accidents and misfires, the things drilled into every agent until they were instinct rather than thought. Everything was intact. Everything was correct.

 

Everything was wrong.