Conroy John Sinclair - Beyond Death

Book 10 - 12
1. Auflage 2018
ISBN: 978-3-7325-5371-6
Verlag: Lübbe
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection

E-Book, Englisch, Band 4, 300 Seiten

Reihe: John Sinclair: Horror Series Collections

JOHN SINCLAIR. A Horror Series Compilation. Episode 10-12.

Episode 10. BLACK DRAGON RISING

For once, it seems, DCI John Sinclair has an easy job: Pick up Nicholas Croydon, a British citizen who's on his way back from Hong Kong via a special medical transport. But when a group of armed men infiltrate Heathrow Airport, Croydon is abducted. Soon, Sinclair and his new partner, Inspector Suko, find themselves fighting a deadly cult called the 'Black Dragon' wants to plunge our world into darkness ...

Episode 11. RAGE OF THE BLACK DRAGON

Following the events of 'Black Dragon Rising,' John Sinclair and his partner, Inspector Suko, have to battle an unspeakable evil. When a deadly cult manages to resurrect the 'Heilong,' an ancient Chinese dragon, the serpent spreads its wings and unleashes its deadly wrath in a city of millions. Soon, the army is called in and a bloody battle erupts over the streets of London. Sinclair and Suko have to find the dragon's nest. But how do you stop a creature of legend?

Episode 12. SOME DARKER MAGIC

Cascabel is a deformed creature who lives on human flesh - despised, desperate, and hunted. The 'Great Sourette' is a failed stage magician at the very end of his life. When their paths intersect, a dark plan is set in motion, a plan that brings them to Samdon Isle, a small cluster of rocks near the coast of Scotland. Here, underneath the twisted ruins of a forgotten castle, lies a gateway to the underworld. All they need now is John Sinclair - their messiah. Only his soul can open the gate and unleash hell on earth ...

'John Sinclair' is the relaunch of Europe's longest running horror series. Originally conceived in 1973 by Jason Dark and still going strong, the 'John Sinclair' novellas are firmly rooted in the finest pulp traditions: true page turners with spine-tingling suspense, exquisite gore, and a dash of adventure.

For fans of the dark visions of Stephen King, Clive Barker and the 'X-Files' and the fast-paced action and globe-trotting excitement of James Bond.

Gabriel Conroy was born in Los Angeles, California, in 1967. After high school, he joined the armed forces and was stationed in Germany for several years. He discovered his love for writing while traveling through Europe. When he returned to the States, he studied Journalism at Los Angeles City College and UCLA, and currently works as a freelance journalist, writer, and translator. Mr. Conroy is married and has a dog and a cat.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Conroy, Gabriel

Leseproben

Wan Chai District, Hong Kong. 10:29 p.m.

Nicholas Croydon looked over his shoulder and saw that the man was still following him. The man’s face was barely visible in the crowd. For a moment, Croydon couldn’t see him, but then, suddenly, there he was again. Croydon felt his heart start beating faster. Who is he? Croydon wondered. What does he want?

Lockhart Road was lined with fast-food stalls and dance clubs. The neon lights were as bright as day. It all seemed like a fever dream to Croydon. He still couldn’t get used to it. The constant humidity, the heat, even the stench of the city. The street was alive with people, with shouts, music, cars and sputtering motorcycles.

Why is he following me? Croydon wondered again. He picked up his pace, walking faster and faster, almost running now.

Croydon was a tall, heavy-set man in a bright blue business suit, dark stains showing under his armpits. He wasn’t cut out for this, this city, this heat. For one thing, he was too tall. When he moved into his first apartment in Hong Kong, he couldn’t even fit into the bedroom, his feet were sticking out into the hallway. Everything was too dense, too crowded. He missed the relative quiet of South London. He missed trees — there seemed to be not a speck of green in this skyscraper nightmare.

Most of all, he missed his Carol, his wife, and his daughter. Gillian was six years old, and he was on the phone with her every day, but he still felt alone without his family, so alone that it was like a physical pain.

He missed being with a woman.

“Mister? Ham-shui-mui?”

The voice had come from his left. The man must have caught up with him. Croydon almost flinched, but then forced himself to keep walking, to keep pushing through the crowd.

“Ham-shui-mui? Salt water girl? You want?” said the voice.

This time, Croydon looked. Yes, it was the man who’d been following him. The man was smaller than him, and skinny. He wore baggy jeans and a torn Rambo III T-shirt that seemed too loose for him. He had black hair, and there was sweat on his forehead. He was almost jogging alongside Croydon, keeping up with his large strides.

“Salt water girl?” said the man. “Eh?” His eyes were gleaming.

So that’s what it was. The man was just another street hustler. The city was full of them. Walking up to him, wanting something, sometimes even touching him. It should have been a relief, but it wasn’t. What if he wants to rob me? Croydon thought? Drag me into a dark alley and knock me over the head?

Croydon, against his better instinct, stopped and looked around. There was no police officer nearby, only tourists. Surely the man wouldn’t try anything in the middle of the crowd?

“Salt water girl?” said the man again.

Croydon ran his hand over his forehead. Salt water girl. That’s what they used to call prostitutes in the old port of Hong Kong. Back then, sailors from all over the world came into the harbor, looking for a wife for one night.

Croydon gave a crooked, embarrassed smile. He was about to turn away and keep on moving, but the man grabbed hold of his arm. Alarm bells went off in his head.

“You want?” said the man.

Croydon stopped, suddenly conflicted. The answer was yes. Croydon wanted. He wanted a girl very badly. He was a businessman with Royal Crown Petroleum. He’d been with the Hong Kong office for two months now, a long time without his wife … a long time without a woman.

“I’m not sure …” Croydon stammered.

The man smiled, and there was something in his smile that made Croydon even more uneasy.

“Come in,” said the man and nodded toward one of the dance clubs. “You choose … You choose girl.”

Croydon shook his head. He’d never been unfaithful to Carol. He couldn’t. He’d seen the other men in the office, going out for drinks and meeting prostitutes in dance bars after work, but he couldn’t do that. He loved Carol.

And still …

The man’s fingers dug into his arm, and Croydon felt himself slowly being dragged toward a door.

It’d been a long time.

Sex came easy in Hong Kong, he already knew that. Buying a girl for a night or a few hours, for a Westerner with money, it was nothing. Everybody did it. Everybody was lonely, and you practically had to fend them off.

Croydon had been fending them off for months now, and he could feel his resolve weakening. His first night here, he had been awakened in his hotel room at 3 a.m. by a busty woman in a long coat. She had smiled at him and opened her coat, and Croydon could see that she wore only a negligee underneath. She spoke no English. Croydon had slammed the door shut.

But he was lonely.

“Here,” said the man. “You come.”

He pulled Croydon toward the club. A green neon sign in the shop window read: “Paradise Dance Bar.”

The man pushed aside the bead curtain and they went in.

The dance bar was bathed in red light. Asian pop music was blasting from the speakers. There were few people in there, and even fewer Westerners. Croydon felt out of place. This was a mistake.

“Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea …” Croydon murmured.

“No, you come!” said the man insistently. Gently but firmly, he dragged Croydon deeper into the club. Nicholas Croydon felt sweaty in his blue polyester suit.

Girls in revealing outfits were sitting on bar stools or in booths. Some raised their heads to look at him. Their smiles were fake, and he could see the desperation in their eyes.

The man smiled at him. Croydon saw that two of his front teeth were missing.

“China girl, two-fifty,” said the man. “Malay, cheap, one-eighty. Russian, very expensive, five hundred.”

Croydon cleared his throat and said: “I think I’d better leave …” He thought of Carol, alone at home, and he felt a sharp sting in his stomach.

“No, you stay,” said the man. “Have fun! Yes? Fun!”

Croydon nodded weakly. His father had always admonished him for being a pushover. And perhaps he was. But he was tired and weak and lonely. He’d only stay for five minutes, and then go back home, to the tiny, empty corporate apartment by the harbor, with the ice-cold air conditioning and the noise from the courtyard.

One beer, he thought. What’s the harm?

“Hello,” said a seductive voice.

Croydon looked up.

The girl smiling at him was in her twenties. Her lips were cherry red. She was, Croydon thought, very beautiful.

“What’s your name?” she said in pretty good English.

Croydon nervously cleared his throat. “Nicholas. I’m Nick.”

She smiled and nodded.

“I am Jenny,” she said. “Buy me drink?”

And that’s how it started.

For Nicholas Croydon, it was the beginning of the end.

***

One beer followed another, and soon, they were dancing. Her skin felt warm and soft under his touch. When she pressed against him, he could feel himself getting excited. He was breathing hard now. Must be the heat, he thought, but he knew it wasn’t.

He was gently swaying with the music. Her breath on his neck, her tender arms around his shoulders, her lips were so close to his … it made him dizzy.

Less than two hours later, Jenny Chen — that’s the name she had given him — was leading Croydon through the courtyard of a vast apartment building, the Orchard Towers, just a few hundred feet away from the club. The skinny man who had dragged him into the club had vanished, perhaps looking for other customers. So Croydon had danced with Jenny. He’d had one beer too many, perhaps. He was feeling tipsy. More than tipsy, actually. He was having difficulties walking. Jenny had plied him with drinks, and he had accepted readily. Croydon wasn’t thinking about Carol anymore. Now, he only thought about what awaited him in Jenny’s room.

His hand rested in hers, and he allowed her to lead him through the front door, then up a staircase that never seemed to end. It was dark in there, much darker than outside.

“The light broken,” Jenny explained. “Man don’t fix.”

“What man?” Croydon said, suddenly alarmed.

“Apartment man,” Jenny said.

“Ah.” Croydon nodded.

After a few floors, he needed a break. That was another thing he hated about Hong Kong. Too many stairs, not enough elevators. And those buildings were so damn tall! He leaned against the wall.

“Come on,” Jenny purred and pulled on his hand. “This way, up here.” Then she leaned in and he could feel her hot breath in his ear. “I want you,” she said. Croydon felt himself flush.

I want you.

When was the last time he had been wanted? Carol was all right, but they hardly ever went to bed anymore, not since Gillian was born. And when they did, it felt rote. Routine.

He pushed off the wall and continued the climb. His heart was racing.

“What are you trying to do to me,” he said in a whiny voice. “Kill me?”

Jenny Chen merely giggled. “Yes,” she said. “We almost here.”

“You’re like a doll, you know that?” he said, his speech slurred. “So gentle … A little China doll.”

She led him all the way up the...