Available Darkness Season 2

woke the next morning. She lay in bed, thinking about their argument and trying to remember her dreams as a craving for melon came to claim her. It took 10 minutes or so before the craving was sharp enough to pull her from the cozy bundle of down comforter and blankets. Hannah peeled the covers from her body, about to climb from the bed, when she noticed Greg’s phone — which had been in his pants when they slipped into bed — sitting on top of the nightstand.
    Did he check messages, or make a call? And who the hell is he calling? PRIVATE: BLOCKED?
    An idea nudged itself to the front of her mind, either brilliant or horrible, depending on the outcome.
    Hannah eased herself from bed, her eyes on Greg in the early morning light, watching as he slept, face down, on his stomach, snoring hard. She crept toward the spacious bathroom where she left her purse, slipped inside, softly closed the door, grabbed her purse and sat on the toilet.
    She rifled through her purse and retrieved her phone as she peed, thumbing through her apps until she found The Dictator, a funny but effective dictation app she used to record her ideas, everything from ways to mine more business from her standing orders, to ways she might be able to reduce her spoilage. The cool thing about the app was that it was voice-activated, meaning she could leave it running, and it would start recording only when she was actually speaking.
    But in this case, the app wouldn’t be recording her voice.
    She clicked “RECORD,” left the bathroom, and crept back into the bedroom with a hush. She scanned the bedroom for somewhere discreet to bury her phone, then decided on the dresser, tucked behind a vase of fresh cut flowers. The dresser was close to the bed, as well as the doorway leading out to the balcony, and Hannah figured it would likely capture voice from either location.
    I shouldn’t do this. It’s spying!
    “No, it’s called discovering truth, and you need to do it. If Greg is innocent, there’s nothing to worry about, right?”
    Right, she thought, hating herself anyway.
    Hannah finished hiding the phone, then hopped onto the bed like an exuberant child.
    “Rise and shine, sleepyhead!” she yelled, feeling almost as if she were faking an orgasm. “Still wanna go to El Montaño today? I was hoping we could get drunk on great wine, then pig out on amazing food.”
    “Yeah, yeah,” Greg said groggily, maybe a bit hung over. “Of course.”
    “OK, I’m going to enjoy the Jacuzzi, then I’ll need to dry my hair, put on makeup, and all that jazz, so you probably have another hour of snooze time.”
    “Well, gee, thanks for waking me up now ,” Greg said, turning over, and burying his head under the pillow.
    Hannah laughed, smacked him playfully on the ass, then went into the bathroom and turned on the faucet.
    As she sank into the warm, bubbling water, Hannah closed her eyes, trying her best to relax, and stop wondering what she’d find on the recording later.
    She thought about it every second anyway.

    * * * *

CHAPTER 4 — Duncan

    Duncan woke in his basement, hungry and cold. Shaking, and feeling every bit of his thousands of years. Yet, Duncan was glad to be alone in the dark, spared the indignity of what had become of his home.
    Upstairs, Jacob and his freaks, Harbinger soldiers, and monsters had commandeered his house. God knew what they’d done to the place, to his life’s work: his collections of rare art, books, and artifacts from Otherworld. It was all now in the hands of the monstrosity, Jacob, and the creatures he’d brought with him. Duncan’s estate had become, it seemed, Harbinger Central, at least while the monster plotted his evil plans for whatever the hell it was aimed to do.
    He sat up on the mattress that Jacob’s beasts had brought down for him. He looked up at the windows where someone had nailed boards over them while he’d slept. Despite the fact that no lights were on, and the basement should have been pitch black, Duncan was able to see well enough. Most of the large basement was filled with old furniture he’d not yet parted with, or stuff he’d told himself that he would restore if he ever got back into furniture restoration. Then there were boxes of stuff whose contents he didn’t even remember, and the remnants of a food supply he’d kept in the basement, which Jacob’s minions must’ve raided. He saw nothing which screamed, “Use this to escape!”
    Even if I could escape, where would I go