Amnesia Bites (Shady Arcade Book 1) Read online

  Amnesia Bites

  (Shady Arcade Book One)

  SHARON STEVENSON

  Copyright

  Sharon Stevenson asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  Copyright © Sharon Stevenson 2017

  All rights reserved. Thank you for buying an authorized edition and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning or distributing any part of it in any form without permission of the author.

  This book is a work of fiction and includes the creation of fictional towns. Any resemblance to real persons or places is purely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Najla Qamber Designs

  http://www.najlaqamberdesigns.com

  Editing by Divas at Work

  https://divasatwork.wordpress.com

  Proofreading by Carol Thompson of Readers’ Favorite

  https://readersfavorite.com

  Formatting by Polgarus Studio

  http://www.polgarusstudio.com

  To Mum

  For always being there

  Also by

  Sharon Stevenson

  The Gallows Novels:

  Blood Bound

  Demon Divided

  Fate Fallen

  Curse Corrupted

  Hell Halved

  Spirit Splintered

  Heaven & Hell (coming soon)

  Reality Ruptured (coming soon)

  Prophecy Passed (coming soon)

  Short works in the Gallows series:

  Back from the Dark (novella, best read after Fate Fallen)

  Double Dare (newsletter exclusive short story, set before Blood Bound)

  False Front (newsletter exclusive short story, set before Blood Bound)

  Shadows Grove (newsletter exclusive short story, best read after Spirit Splintered)

  The Raised Series:

  Dead Man Running

  Death Magic Rules

  Restless Spirits

  Limitless Magic (coming soon)

  Short works in the Raised series:

  Walking Away (novella, coming soon)

  The Shady Arcade Trilogy:

  Amnesia Bites

  Sweet Oblivion (coming soon)

  Beyond Shadows (coming soon)

  At Hell’s Gates Anthologies:

  At Hell’s Gates: Existing Worlds (Gallows short story: Welcome to Hell)

  At Hell’s Gates: Origins of Evil (stand alone horror short: Forget Me Never)

  At Hell’s Gates: Bound by Blood (stand alone horror short: Monster)

  Saint’s Grove Standalone Paranormal Romance:

  Heart (Book 10 of 12)

  All Saint’s Grove Novels in Series Order:

  Immortal Ties by Jennifer Malone Wright

  Hearts Aligning by Miranda Hardy

  Her Forbidden Knight by Carly Fall

  Racing Time by Elizabeth Kirke

  Crossing Time by M.H. Soars

  Across the Universe by Elise Marion

  The Ghost and the Belle by Rose Shababy

  All Dragons’ Eve by Casse NaRome

  Worlds Apart by Amy Richie

  Heart by Sharon Stevenson

  Enchanted Souls by Tia Silverthorne Bach

  Thy Heart’s Desire by P.T. Macias

  Forthcoming works:

  The Gallows Novels, Raised and Shady Arcade series are all expected to be completed by the end of 2017. Release dates for the remaining books are still to be announced.

  Sign up to Sharon’s newsletter to be the first to know about release dates and new works:

  http://sharonstevensonauthor.com/newsletter

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Sample: Sweet Oblivion

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Zack poked at the hole between his left pinkie and his ring finger, filling up with dread as he realised it had widened considerably since the day before. The gloves were falling apart again, and he didn’t like what that meant. Every time he repaired them, it took him days to get used to the weird tingling between his fingers. Better this than the alternative, though: buying a new pair.

  He didn’t mind the expense or the annoyance of finding the right fit for his long fingers, but the story they pushed through him was something else entirely. Someone somewhere left their mark on each and every little thing that was produced every day in every part of the world, and the gloves were no different. The problem was he’d get to discover who’d left their mark the second his bare hands touched them. They’d be infused with something he didn’t want to experience, some measure of melancholy that wasn’t his own but that would slip under his skin and force him to experience the dark emotions he tried so hard to avoid. The effect never fully wore off, so every time he put them on he’d get the same damned story played out in strong emotional resonances that felt like his own.

  Eventually, this would fade into an echo of a feeling which would still absorb into his skin but would become a dull background noise. The worst part of the whole thing was no matter where he bought his clothes, the feelings they’d absorbed were always negative. They weren’t typically made by workers who loved their jobs; sure, maybe the designer had been happy, but the production line staff were generally a tired, over-worked, miserable bunch who left their unhappiness in the end product without ever knowing it.

  Well, Zack knew it, and it gave him a headache. He tried to count himself lucky that it was only his hands that would feel the pain—his body had no idea if his shirt and trousers were depressed—but that only made him more anxious about his current problem. New gloves were not happening.

  He ignored the hole, which was easy to do since it wasn’t in a place that would let his bare skin touch his desk. His unbearably lonely desk. He’d grown sick and tired of feeling sorry for the damned thing.

  He straightened as his office door opened. Well, more of a back room than an office, but he was happy enough to make do since it was windowless and more peaceful than expected for a unit inside a rundown, small town shopping arcade.

  The professionally dressed blonde who manned his reception desk on the shop floor stood in his doorway, one hand on her hip as she informed him that he had a client.

  “Are you ready for company or should I tell him to wait?”

  Bridget didn’t bother to lower her voice as she spoke, her bored tone letting him know the ‘client’ was another one of those damned private school kids looking for a cheap way to have a laugh on his lunch-break. She had no patience for pleasantries. It was the cop in her. She was only playing receptionist, and she didn’t seem to particularly enjoy it.

  He cleared his throat. “I’m ready.”

  She nodded and stepped back from the doorway.

  The boy who walked in had a pensively drawn frown that he threw back at Bridget as she closed the door. Zack caught the snide smile on her exquisitely pretty face before she disappeared from sight. The boy indeed wore the blue and grey uniform that signalled he went to the private school down by the lake. Less expectedly, he clutched a little pink purse.

  Zack motioned for him to take a seat. “What can
I do for you?”

  “I heard you can find people.”

  He raised an eyebrow, a little shocked. This was usually the line adults who visited his agency gave, the ones actually looking to enlist the help of a licensed detective with alleged psychic abilities, not the snickering little brats who came to amuse themselves at the local freak show’s expense. He’d built up a poker face for those moments and could usually keep it on until they pissed off back to their afternoon lessons. Sometimes, he even managed to get a laugh at their expense.

  Shaking out of his thoughts and nodding slowly, he wondered just how many fifteen-year-old boys carried purses around these days. Chances were high this wasn’t a trend most likely to catch on.

  “That’s right. Usually, though…” He didn’t quite know how to put it. His parlour trick price was substantially lower than his rate for actual detective work. One real job every month or so could keep him going for a while, but the freak show act made sure his funds between times never ran out. This kid didn’t look like he was here for a laugh, but Zack doubted he had the cash for anything more substantial, even if his parents might.

  He was proved right when the kid whacked a twenty down on the desk and put the purse down after it with considerably more effort. His knuckles had turned white while on the damn thing.

  Zack gazed down at it, imagining how happy it should feel, given the bright colour and pretty little bow. Dread flooded through him as he looked at it, not quite ready to remove his gloves.

  “That’s the rate for one question,” he said, not wanting to give him any false hope.

  “I know,” the kid said, face scrunched up with determination underneath his pallor. “It should be enough.”

  At least, he didn’t seem to be expecting more than he could pay for. Sighing inwardly, Zack removed his right glove. Hope glowed in the kid’s eyes as he watched Zack touch the purse.

  The trace feelings of desperation he picked up instantly were overshadowed by the terror that engulfed him, making him jerk back in his chair and curse loudly, right before the vision flooded his brain.

  This happened once someone had owned an object for long enough. It became theirs, saturated with their thoughts and memories imprinting themselves over the original production-line-embedded feelings. The kid hadn’t just bought this thing, after all; it had belonged to someone. None of that worried him. It was the intense fear that grabbed hold and swept through him that was making him shake now, causing his heart to race and his mouth to dry up. Something terrible had happened to the owner of this purse. Something he was about to bear witness to.

  Zack hit the button to call Bridget back in before the room itself faded in front of him, giving way to an open air car park in the middle of night.

  The broken remnants of a street lamp at his feet appeared to be thickly coated with a dark substance he didn’t want to identify.

  A shriek cut through the stillness, and he turned to see a young woman with long dark hair fall down in front of him, the whoosh of air as her body hit the ground making him shudder uncontrollably. Blood obscured the left side of her face, her dark eyes empty and staring.

  The sound of an engine behind him let him know the girl’s attacker was getting away. He moved quickly, pushing the horror of what he’d just witnessed down. The dark estate car was gone before he could get more than a few rushed steps closer. The part of the licence plate he’d seen, he repeated to himself over and over again, knowing that when the vision cleared, he’d find it almost impossible to remember otherwise.

  As light slowly replaced the darkness around him, he studied the details he’d been given. The girl wore a pink T-shirt and bleached jeans. She had dark hair and eyes, just like the kid who’d brought him the purse.

  Reciting the partial licence number, he closed his eyes.

  When he opened them again, he was back in his office sitting behind his desk with one hand on the purse. The kid was staring at him open-mouthed.

  He ignored the weird look and muttered the licence numbers under his breath until he had them written down. It could be difficult to write with gloves on, but he’d taught himself to do it so that he’d never have to put up with the emptiness the average ballpoint had buried within it.

  “What was that?” the kid asked, sounding awestruck.

  A horror story in extreme close up for me, kid. A glimpse at the freak show your friends told you about.

  He shook his head and pulled his poker face back on. His job was almost done here. He could forget this shit soon enough.

  “Who does this belong to?”

  He was almost afraid to ask. Holding back a shudder, he removed his hand from the purse and put his glove back on. The cutesy pink thing appeared evil to him now, mocking him from the desk in its own unique, inanimate way.

  He grabbed the purse, thankfully taking it out of Zack’s sight. “My sister. Can I ask my question now?”

  Bridget made them both jump as she opened the office door and looked questioningly at Zack. “What’s wrong?”

  “Maybe nothing. Stick around.” Code for don’t leave me alone right now.

  She nodded, coming into the room and closing the door. She sat primly behind the client, brushing at the leg of her grey trouser suit. Her clear blue eyes never left Zack’s face.

  He relaxed slightly. “Where did you get the purse, kid?”

  “My name’s Dorian,” he said, sounding thoroughly insulted at being called a kid.

  Zack rolled his eyes, making Bridget smile. “Where did you get this, Dorian?”

  Dorian picked it back up. “It’s my sister’s. It was next to her car.”

  The bags under his eyes should have tipped Zack off in the first place. He should have told him to leave the minute he came in. He’d never get the sight of that girl falling down dead at his feet out of his head now. She’d haunt him for weeks. Those dark, vacant eyes, and that blood flowing from her cracked skull… touching the purse had been a mistake.

  He ground his teeth as he tried to calm himself down. It wasn’t working, but he couldn’t stand to finger-tap pulse points in front of people. The weird looks that got him only stressed him out more. He concentrated on his breathing instead.

  Bridget got to her feet and placed a hand on the kid’s shoulder, and her voice hardened when she spoke. “What’s going on here exactly?”

  “I need to know,” the kid said, his voice getting louder. “I need to know who killed my sister.”

  The determination on his face shot right through Zack, jolting him into action.

  He lifted his mobile phone out of his pocket and turned away from them both. “Excuse me a moment. I have to take this call.”

  ***

  Bridget sighed as Zack turned his chair around to face the wall. She dropped her hand from the kid as he glanced at her again, clearly confused at what the man he’d asked to help him was doing.

  “Steve, I’ve lost… I’m losing it again,” Zack said, grabbing at his hair with his gloved hand.

  She bit her lip, gauging the situation and waiting to figure out what to do with the kid. Zack was going into melt-down mode, and she needed to know what the hell had caused it. But she couldn’t walk the brat out of there and find out how badly Zack was cracking up at the same time.

  Zack’s chair creaked slightly to the right. His voice took on a soothing lilt. “Calm down, Zack. Everything’s just fine. Relax. Listen, I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think it is.”

  She winced. He’d gone straight into ‘Steve’, his invented therapist. His speech had slowed, and he spoke quietly. She’d been hoping the guy would turn out to be real and that Zack had actually dialled his number, but apparently, the phone was a prop right now. What a bizarre thing to see happen, and this was only about the tenth time she’d actually witnessed it in the six months she’d been watching over him. Something messed up had to have happened, something that had poked at his trauma.

  He laughed maniacally as his chair swung back slightly to
the left. He became his own hysterical self again. “How can you even say that? Another girl is dead. They’re still out there! They’re real, and they’re still out there. I thought they were gone, but no…”

  She cringed hearing those words. Exactly what they didn’t need. This was going to be a bad one. The boy was staring goggle-eyed at the man she was paid to protect. This situation had trouble written all over it.

  “Right, come on, get up,” she muttered, giving his shoulder a shove.

  “What?” Dorian wasn’t moving. “No chance. I need his help…”

  “Who are you talking about, Zack?” Steve’s soft voice returned as Zack’s chair moved swiftly to the right again. “You’re talking crazy. Is this the monsters thing again? I think you know ‘they’ don’t exist.” He paused. “There is no dead girl, is there?”

  Zack’s self-doubt appeared when he moved to the left once more. “I… I thought there was. I saw her, I’m sure… I mean I think.”

  Steve was quick to wrestle control at the first sign of Zack’s doubt. The smooth swing to the right came before his typically reassuring comments. “It’s all right, Zack. You’re simply seeing things again. All you need to do is take your tablets.”