Shadow on the Wall: Superhero | Magical Realism Novels (The SandStorm Chronicles | Magical Realism Books Book 1) by P.K. Tyler Page A
Authors: P.K. Tyler
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looked down to check his watch and found it gone, as was, to his surprise, his shirt. His tuxedo pants were ripped at the knees, but other than a few aches he did not feel too badly injured. It was too dark to check and see what surface damage had been done. Recai reached up and touched his face, wincing at the contact. His memory was fuzzy from the previous night. Looking back in his memory, he saw only swirling cyclones of sand.
Across the room a sliver of light shone from under what must have been the door. Recai heard voices coming from the other side but couldn't make out what they were saying.
Slowly, he used the dim glow to take in his surroundings. The room was dark and small. There had been shelves along the wall at one point but someone, or something, had ripped them from their posts. Packages of paper towels and disinfectant were sprawled about the floor.
He pulled himself up to his knees, hissing through his teeth at the pain of concrete grating against raw flesh. Tiny pieces of ancient dirt and grime worked themselves into his wounds, intermingling with his bloodstream. With cautious movements, he felt his way along the floor in the dim light to the door. As he approached, the voices became clear in spite of their hushed tones: a man and a woman.
Why am I here?
He dizzily relaxed back down on the ground, allowing his head to rest on the floor's welcome coolness.
The darkness was seductive, the lure of sleep difficult to resist. The voices beyond the door spoke just beneath the level of his understanding. He deciphered the familiar tones of Turkish and Arabic intermixed so completely they had to be of someone from the city. The second voice was lower and softer, speaking in an unfamiliar cadence. Soothing, like a chant. Recai had heard this accent before but could not place it. His ears strained for a clearer sound.
As he lay in the dark cellar, his memories swirled like the storm he had been caught in: the voices from outside, flashes of a woman beaten and afraid. As he moved farther from sleep a final image broke through—a man, snarling in the storm, with a snake tattoo winding up his arm and peeking out from behind his neck.
Recai bolted upright and burst to his feet, the previous night's events overwhelming him as they flooded back. The man with the tattoo…the snake's eyes…. Rebekah's death rose to the forefront of his mind as the man's face shone in his memory.
Outside this little room was someone who was keeping him in here. Whoever had pulled him off the tattooed man had dragged him down here. His rage-filled memory told him that much. Last night, with Darya, he had momentarily allowed himself to forget his pain. But all he accomplished was adding more confusion to his chaotic heart. His need for revenge raged anew.
"Open this door!" Recai roared. Mustering what strength he had he threw himself against the metal keeping him inside the concrete cage. His shoulder burned from the impact but he didn't stop his assault.
"Let me out! Who put me in here? Open this door or—"
"If you were calm I'd feel a lot better about opening the door," a smooth voice said in a familiar cadence.
"I'd be calm if I wasn't locked in this hell hole. Open!"
"Ah, and there's the downward spiral. I cannot let you out until you are calm, and you cannot be calm until you are out. It seems we are at a bit of an impasse, eh, Recai?"
Recai was still. For a moment he just stood there in his cell and stared in wonderment at the door. How had this person outside known his name? His confusion was so complete his anger dissipated. The attendees of the mayor's party and Darya knew his identity, but no others, and they were all still under lock and key from the storm.
A quiet shuffling from outside pulled him back to his current predicament. A click echoed through the small room, ricocheting off of every surface as his captor unlocked and opened the door.
Light flooded in, momentarily blinding Recai, forcing him to squint
Across the room a sliver of light shone from under what must have been the door. Recai heard voices coming from the other side but couldn't make out what they were saying.
Slowly, he used the dim glow to take in his surroundings. The room was dark and small. There had been shelves along the wall at one point but someone, or something, had ripped them from their posts. Packages of paper towels and disinfectant were sprawled about the floor.
He pulled himself up to his knees, hissing through his teeth at the pain of concrete grating against raw flesh. Tiny pieces of ancient dirt and grime worked themselves into his wounds, intermingling with his bloodstream. With cautious movements, he felt his way along the floor in the dim light to the door. As he approached, the voices became clear in spite of their hushed tones: a man and a woman.
Why am I here?
He dizzily relaxed back down on the ground, allowing his head to rest on the floor's welcome coolness.
The darkness was seductive, the lure of sleep difficult to resist. The voices beyond the door spoke just beneath the level of his understanding. He deciphered the familiar tones of Turkish and Arabic intermixed so completely they had to be of someone from the city. The second voice was lower and softer, speaking in an unfamiliar cadence. Soothing, like a chant. Recai had heard this accent before but could not place it. His ears strained for a clearer sound.
As he lay in the dark cellar, his memories swirled like the storm he had been caught in: the voices from outside, flashes of a woman beaten and afraid. As he moved farther from sleep a final image broke through—a man, snarling in the storm, with a snake tattoo winding up his arm and peeking out from behind his neck.
Recai bolted upright and burst to his feet, the previous night's events overwhelming him as they flooded back. The man with the tattoo…the snake's eyes…. Rebekah's death rose to the forefront of his mind as the man's face shone in his memory.
Outside this little room was someone who was keeping him in here. Whoever had pulled him off the tattooed man had dragged him down here. His rage-filled memory told him that much. Last night, with Darya, he had momentarily allowed himself to forget his pain. But all he accomplished was adding more confusion to his chaotic heart. His need for revenge raged anew.
"Open this door!" Recai roared. Mustering what strength he had he threw himself against the metal keeping him inside the concrete cage. His shoulder burned from the impact but he didn't stop his assault.
"Let me out! Who put me in here? Open this door or—"
"If you were calm I'd feel a lot better about opening the door," a smooth voice said in a familiar cadence.
"I'd be calm if I wasn't locked in this hell hole. Open!"
"Ah, and there's the downward spiral. I cannot let you out until you are calm, and you cannot be calm until you are out. It seems we are at a bit of an impasse, eh, Recai?"
Recai was still. For a moment he just stood there in his cell and stared in wonderment at the door. How had this person outside known his name? His confusion was so complete his anger dissipated. The attendees of the mayor's party and Darya knew his identity, but no others, and they were all still under lock and key from the storm.
A quiet shuffling from outside pulled him back to his current predicament. A click echoed through the small room, ricocheting off of every surface as his captor unlocked and opened the door.
Light flooded in, momentarily blinding Recai, forcing him to squint
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