RAGE (The Rage Series Book 1)

Copyright © 2014

All Rights Reserved
. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

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

             
Manhattan 1985

              God, he was tired.

              But then it seemed like he was always tired these days. As soon as he was released from school, he had to decline all of his friends' invitations to the arcades and Coney Island. Instead, he donned his uniform for the fast food joint on the corner down from his house where he worked. The extra money he made helped keep his family afloat.

              As fifteen-year-old David Marscomb trudged down the lowly lit street for home, he tried to get himself into the mindset for homework. It was eleven-thirty, and he had to be up by six the next day, but he still had to do the outline for his science project and read a chapter for his lit class. He only hoped that he could stay awake.

              God, how he longed to be like his classmates—coming home to dinner on the table and in bed by ten on school nights. David knew he would be lucky if there was some boxed mac and cheese in the cupboard. He couldn't remember the last time his mother had cooked a filling meal. Certainly, it had been before his tenth birthday; but, he would have to go back to when his father had still been working for Mathers Incorporated to be sure.

              Those had been the days.

              His dad had been in love with the world, his family, and his job. It had been like a dream for him, going from a low-level, white-collar position to becoming the head of the tech development department at Mathers. Even as a child, David had known that his father's ideas were amazing. They were far beyond anything his eight-year-old mind had been able to grasp at the time, but they still enraptured him all the same.

              For a year, his family had been walking on air. They'd had enough money to start building up decent savings, and there had been meat on the table every night. For his ninth birthday, David had received the coolest remote-controlled airplane, and
all
his friends had wanted to borrow it. Unfortunately, he'd ended up crashing it into a tree and ruining it beyond all repair; but, his dad had promised to get him another one. At that point, there had been little worry about money, and they thought there was a bright future ahead.

              And then, everything had gone south.

              One day, Lester Marscomb had come home jobless and hollow-eyed. For days he didn’t speak to his wife or his son, and when he finally did, it was only to apologize for being a failure and letting them down. Although they had quickly burned through their savings, David and his mother had tried to get his father back on his feet; but, nothing they attempted had seemed to help. After a while, he stopped looking for other jobs and was reduced to emptying bottle after bottle of cheap liquor at the kitchen table. He was always bitter and always sad.

              Soon, David's mother had grown unable to cope with her husband's decline and begun seeking her own escape. Often, when her son came home, he'd find her passed out from copious amounts of sleeping pills that the doctor had only reluctantly prescribed.

              It was hard, especially when David remembered how happy they had once been.

              Sighing, he started up the front walk of their small Brooklyn apartment. He wasn't looking forward to dragging his mother to bed. He was looking even less forward to his father's drunken attempts at parenting. If he was lucky, he could quickly be done with them both and nurse his aching heart, as he worked his way quickly through his homework.

              “Mom? Dad?” Edging open the front door, he called out to his parents. As usual, there was no reply. He made his way through an entryway littered with dirty laundry and trash to find his mother snoring before a TV that buzzed with static. Sighing, David bypassed her for the moment to hunt for his father. He'd be the most difficult to deal with, so it made sense to get him squared away first. “Dad?” he called out, edging up the stairs quietly. His father didn't take well to being startled, especially when he was drunk.

              He wasn't in the bedroom or his study.

              “Dad? Where are—” David pushed open the bedroom door, and the sight that met his gaze made the words die on his lips.

              His father was utterly nude, lying bloated in a cold tub full of water colored with his own blood. The skin on his wrists was sliced neatly along his veins, all the way up past his forearms. The cuts were so deep that David could see the pink, meaty flesh, and he fought down the bile that welled in his throat.

              Worst of all was the vacant, unseeing expression on the man's face. David didn't even have to check to know that his father was long gone.

              He had seen him just this morning and had drawn a smile from him with some corny science joke. Now, here he was, obscenely displayed and lifeless in their single bathroom. Slowly, David backed out. He kept going until his back hit the wall of the hallway and he could go no further. There, he slid down to the carpet and stared, unable to move.

              What was he going to tell his mother?

Present day

             
Today was the day.

              As he stared down at the hulking breakfast he'd made for himself—two eggs, bacon, toast, and juice—his stomach suddenly turned. How had he been so hungry when he'd first gotten up? Now, he couldn't fathom eating a single bite.

              With a sigh, David unfolded his long form from where it rested beneath the table. Picking up his plate, he moved through the apartment's small kitchen to set it on the counter before rummaging through the lower cabinets for a tray.

              In short order, he produced the only one he owned, a white number with kittens on it. He vaguely remembered his mother buying it for him some years ago, but he was pretty sure the purchase had been more for herself. Hopefully, the sight of it would cheer her up today.

              Placing the still warm breakfast on the tray, he left the kitchen to pad down the hall in his bare feet. He paused at the last door on the left, taking a breath before opening it.

              His mother was in practically the same position that he'd left her in the previous night—propped up against the headboard and engrossed in whatever senseless television program was on the screen before her. It was a struggle to get her out of bed these days, but David hoped that soon he would finally accomplish something that would pull her from the depths of the depression. She had suffered from it for almost two decades.

              “Mom?” he called out to her. She barely glanced at him before looking back to the television. He couldn’t help but think that at least the small acknowledgement was something.

              Without further ado, David entered the dark room.

              Rain or shine, his mother never liked for him to open the curtains. Oftentimes, he was sure she pretended that the world outside didn't exist anymore. It was easier for her than risking the pain of facing what she'd lost.

              Placing the breakfast tray on the table beside her bed, David took in the sight of the middle-aged woman. He recalled that his mother had been very pretty with dark hair that fell in waves almost halfway down her back and bright green eyes. She’d had dark freckles that she'd always been embarrassed over and an amazing smile.

              Now, at the age of sixty, she almost never left the bed. Beneath the coverlet, he could barely see the wasted form of her once plump body. Her skin was pale from lack of sunlight, and her formerly sparkling green eyes seemed to have sunk into her head. Her hair was still long, but it didn’t have the slightest vestige of ebony and had gone completely white, covering her like a shroud. She looked as if she could be twenty years older than she was.

              “I brought you some breakfast. You should really eat.”              

              This time his words didn't even draw her attention. She merely continued to stare at the TV screen.

              On days like these, David knew better than to try and illicit any kind of decent response from her. Instead, he bent down to smooth her hair back from her brow and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. Then, he turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.

              He couldn't remember how many years it had been since he'd spent most of his meager salary on the small apartment in the city, far away from the house where he'd grown up—the house where his father had died.

              He had hoped that getting out of Brooklyn would help his mother recover. Instead, she only seemed to have gotten worse.

              However, today things could change for them. He'd been working for
years
to reach this day, and he had every confidence that when he walked into Mathers Incorporated and impressed the hiring manager with his credentials and knowledge that he'd be hired for the currently vacant position they'd advertised.

              On his way down the hall, David paused before a cracked mirror hung on the wall.

              A man of about six-feet-four stared back at him with a broad frame that was very reminiscent of his father's. A dark crop of raven hair curled down onto his expertly starched collar, setting off skin just slightly tinged with mahogany. When he was a boy, his mother had loved to tell him that one day he would be a heartbreaker. With his intense gray eyes, dimples, and naturally strong build, David had broken many hearts over the years.

              However, it hadn't been for the sheer fun of it.

              Getting caught up with women for him was...complicated. Often, the moment they found out the depth of his financial troubles, as well as his familial situation, most girls went running the other way. Funnily enough, the past few times, David hadn't cared so much.

              He'd been drawing closer and closer to his ultimate goal, and the pleasure that filled his mind when he pictured that achievement was enough to soothe his aching heart.

              Today, he wore his best suit. It didn't host a single moth hole or rip and was the same deep gray as his eyes. Beneath it, his white shirt had been so heavily starched that the collar actually irritated his neck a bit. However, his shirt, along with his recently polished shoes, made him look like he belonged in a place like Mathers Incorporated.

              Perhaps, David Marscomb belonged there more than any other employee they'd hired.

              Pausing at the door on his way out, the dark-haired man picked up a briefcase filled with his latest prototypes. Some had been his father’s, and he'd improved on them only slightly. Others were his original works. For the past five years, he'd been working at a start-up company that had stolen several of the new devices right from under his nose. Since he didn’t have the money to apply for patents, there'd been nothing that he could do.

              Marshall, one of his best friends, had been all for quitting the company altogether; but, they'd both known better. David needed the money and no matter how much Marshall wheedled and cajoled, he'd never been able to get his friend to take a single loan from him.