Equation

•PROLOGUE•

It’s dawn. The darkness has almost lifted. Orange and red sunrays rise to threaten the pinkish-blue sky.

Jaydon Lynch feels the grains of sand lightly scratch between his toes. He listens intently as waves crash against a craggy precipice nearby. The smell of salt permeates the air.

One could easily lose themselves in the enormity of liquid aqua—an infinite number of droplets moving in perfect unison to form the ocean’s vibrational pull. Offset by a myriad of dangers veiled beneath its depths.

In his hands, he fondles a natural onyx stone necklace with an S inscribed on its surface. Jaydon glances down towards the jewellery which he holds tenderly.

The pain and the loss still cut deep, but somehow bearable. Jaydon’s body remains still as his consciousness once again returns to the infinite vastness of the ocean.

• 1 •

THE PHONE CALL

An electric voice emanates at a distance, digitised from somewhere within this modern abode, yet to be seen. Realms of natural light disperse through the large windows of the spacious Ikea-like showroom.

This ultra-contemporary six-bedroom suburban home belongs to the Colburn family. The electric voice belongs to Marcus Webb from The Morning Show. He delivers his daily dose of negative in an even, professional tone. ‘Good morning, I’m Marcus Webb, and this is Sunrise Live at 8. Community leaders of Hatham, Pelth, and Kendersford implored government heads to reconsider their plans for a fully armed police patrol. The initiative strategy will include the eventual implementation of militarised security groups in these areas…’

The voice originates from an 85-inch screen 8K UHD TV hanging on an exposed brick kitchen wall. This is where the suited and tied Marcus’s digital image sits. Small, when com-pared to the real-life Colburn family, as they settle into the morning routine at the kitchen table.

Mia Colburn is mostly sixteen, going on thirty-five. One of those adolescents who is continually finding spurts of maturity budding from her silliness. She is also not the awkward in her body type of teenager.

Unlike her brother, Zachary. A year younger, lanky, geeky, and self-conscious, hiding under his trendy fringe haircut.

Outside the ceiling-to-floor windows. Baxter, the families’ border collie, lounges in the backyard. Streaks of sunlight break through the clouds, filtering between the gaps of the maple trees’ autumn-coloured leaves, creating a pattern of light and shadow.

Caitlyn Colburn stands near the window, holding a large knife, lost in thought. The sound of the television and her children melt into the background. She stares pensively at her own reflection, a distorted closeup trapped within the silver blade. Who are you?

Caitlyn’s part-time work as a barrister in the Crown Prosecution Service is rewarding. Her children are beautiful, almost grown. She wouldn’t have it any other way. However, there remains a lingering void. She wonders if darkness is the only thing that can fill the nagging emptiness. No, that’s absurd.

The sound of Baxter’s barking draws Caitlyn out of her thoughts. She gazes upwards to see the dog chewing on a rubber toy, whilst wagging his tail. He must be hungry. She views Zachary reflected through the window, emptying some dog food on a tray. Caitlyn finds a smile as Marcus continues.

He says, ‘The trial is part of the radical war against crime initiative. Tensions have been steadily rising in the South-West trilateral branded The Slums.

‘Owing to severe unemployment, rampant drug misuse, and a steady rise in crime. The initiative begins with the rollout of an armed police patrol, closely followed by–’

Caitlyn silences the Newsman abruptly via remote control. Digital hum and black screen replace images and sounds.

She places breakfast on the table. Within each plate, the yellow of the egg’s yolk breaks through the white of its poached exterior. Dribbling subtly over the gluten-free toast and smooth avocado it lies upon. Accompanied by a cashew nut and banana smoothy.

Zachary re-enters after feeding Baxter. He pulls on a wooden chair, which complains with a screech before he sits.

Benjamin Colburn will be forty-seven in a couple of days, and he looks his age. Yet, the crow’s feet and greying temples seem to add an allure to his presence. He carries himself with a powerful, fluid grace as he moves through the corridor. The tall, muscular frame fills out the shark-coloured three-piece suit tailored to a third of a millimetre. He slows to a stop and taps the speed dial on his smartphone. Then he raises the device to his ear.

Mia toys with her brother. ‘No one needed to tell me anything. It’s so obvious. Are you in love?’

‘You’re so silly sometimes, you know that.’

She reaches past Zachary to grab breakfast. He pretends to ignore her whilst texting on his iPhone. Caitlyn stands a short distance away, continuing her chores. She watches her husband intently, who is in mid-flow.

Caitlyn’s ears perk up with interest in what is transpiring with her husband in the corridor. Though her children are talking, it isn’t difficult to hear Benjamin, as his voice is now raised.

‘Kidnapping, blackmail, grievous bodily harm with intent. Forget about a career in law. You should write fiction with an imagination like that. My client is a successful investor and a pillar of the community. If you bring us anywhere near a court of law, I will bury you.’

Benjamin ends the call with a press of a button. He looks up to find Caitlyn staring. She holds an expression that is hard to gauge. Benjamin’s wave of darkness transitions to a half smile. Caitlyn has already diverted her attention elsewhere.

‘Mum, your son is in love,’ Mia says.

Caitlyn is well aware of what her daughter is doing. However, she plays along with the jest. ‘Is he now? What’s her name?’

‘How do you know it’s not him?’

She looks at her son playfully. ‘Well, I always had my suspicions.’ They both laugh.

Benjamin’s voice reaches everyone’s ears before he enters the room. ‘Ladies, give the guy a break.’ He finds Caitlyn. Their eyes meet, and tension underscores the subsequent kiss.

He moves towards the refrigerator and opens the door. It displays a picture of an older couple, Caitlyn’s parents. The family is on holiday in Japan. There are also metallic copper style fridge magnets with the notes: EMILY’S BIRTHDAY THIS TUESDAY, MIA TO EMPTY BINS THIS WEEK. Then oddly, HI MR DAN DOLL FASE. Benjamin reaches deep into the recesses of the fridge. He removes some coconut milk for coffee.

Caitlyn takes a seat beside Mia. They both observe Zachary with interest. Zachary sets down his digital device. He clears his throat. ‘Okay. Her name is Kazuko Himura. She’s seventeen years old. We went out a few times, and we’re just taking it slow. Happy?’

They fall silent for a moment, allowing the ambience of distant traffic and chirping birds to enter the fray. Then the occupants of the table suddenly burst into laughter. Zachary rolls his eyes. ‘Oh, so funny.’

Mia is having a blast. ‘You should see your face.’ Zachary finally gives in and sees the humour, joining in with the laughter.

Benjamin draws up a chair and sits next to his son, coffee and documents in hand. Zachary straightens up. ‘An older woman, eh? Is she pretty?’

‘Yeah, she’s pretty.’

‘Remember to use protection, right?’

‘Dad!’

‘I’m just kidding.’ His smile fades. ‘Though I’m not.’

Caitlyn observes her husband. Drinking coffee and appraising files. Her gaze meets Zachary; now back on his iPhone. Then, she turns her attention towards Mia, also absorbed in the latest digital device. She shakes her head in private amusement. ‘Modern families.’

The landline rings. Caitlyn feels an overwhelming obligation to answer. She rises from her seat and moves towards the hallway.

Caitlyn picks up the ultra-modern cordless device and raises it to her ear. An uneasy pause precedes the voice that emanates from the receiver, which is hypnotic and otherworldly.

* * *

A continuous beep, the dial tone, emanates from the phone, which lies on its side. What did the voice say? She can’t remember. Nor can she hear her children speaking from the kitchen or feel their presence. She is certain that they have already departed for school. How much time has passed?

* * *

There were flashes of Mia as she rose from the table. Zachary, toast in hand, school bag in the other, bumped a fist with his father before he followed suit. Then both of her children gave her a peck on the cheek before hurrying away…

* * *

What happened before and after? It is hazy, off somehow, and out of sync. An overwhelming high-pitched noise is creeping up on her. The sound you hear in war and action movies as our temporarily deaf hero stops to contemplate the horrors of explosions and violence surrounding him, all in poetic slow motion.

Caitlyn finds no explanation. The emptiness has disappeared, faded away. She feels… so alive. Everything is so vibrant.

Benjamin Colburn glances upwards from reading his documents. Caitlyn has been missing since the phone call. ‘Honey?’ Nothing greets him. He listens out for a while longer. Following another moment of silence, he continues highlighting paragraphs whilst consuming his coffee.

Caitlyn makes her way through the minimalist master bedroom, which is spacious, super contemporary and characteristic of the Colburn home. She slides open the Japanese-style wardrobe and reaches upwards towards the top shelf. Behind a linen basket is a secured safe: steel, biometric touch ID.

She raises her hand, directing her index finger to the square where the fingerprint should go, and presses. There is a beep, preceding a click. The red light switches to green, open sesame.

If this were an artistic film helmed by a creative auteur. The perspective would be from inside the safe. The camera capturing Caitlyn in a tight head-to-shoulder silhouette, with orchestral strings moving to a crescendo. It’s very moody, atmospheric, stylish, but this is not a movie, and we’re not playing make-believe.

Within the safe is a box, and inside the box is a .22 calibre weapon. That is a gun to the uninitiated. Caitlyn lifts the magazine and adds bullets. She loads and chambers the gun, then heads downstairs.

There is weightlessness, a heightening of senses accompanied by vibrant technicolour. Maybe this is the spiritual enlightenment gurus philosophise about.

She drifts along the corridor. One hand holds the weapon, with the other, she lightly traces the wall with her fingers, finding a newfound appreciation for touch.

A gun click gains Benjamin’s attention, forcing him to look up and away from his work. Caitlyn stands in the hallway. She points the weapon in his direction.

Benjamin sits frozen, a bewildered expression on his face. He then slowly ascends. Hands raised, fear in his eyes.

Caitlyn can see that her husband is desperately trying to reason. However, his words are inaudible, drowned out by the high-pitched ringing that has now intensified into white light.

Then…

Everything fades away, leaving her in deafening silence, as Benjamin mouths the words. ‘Caitlyn, please don’t.’ Their eyes meet, and tension underscores the subsequent kill. Caitlyn pulls the trigger. The gunshot breaks the silence.

• 2 •

TWO LIONS AND A CROWN

The city ambience from below melds into the scattering of diffused sunlight and seeps into a second-floor studio apartment’s open window. A majority of the exterior’s luminance has stopped short of this apartment. Tangible, but just out of reach.

An alarm clock sits on the bedside table, within the confines of the minimalist abode, guttering laid bare to see. The clock reads 13.15, in a whitish-blue hue. Central colon flashing between the numbers, alight in digital buzz.

The bed is untouched, neat, and immaculate. If anyone lives here, they have not slept in this spot for days.

Adjacent to the untouched bed is the open-plan living room, bathroom, and kitchen. The place is sparse. That’s why the ocean turquoise coloured acoustic guitar sitting in a corner is noticeable.

Jaydon Lynch lies on the sofa before a modern glass table. He is half asleep, dressed scruffily in a dark t-shirt and loose, dark cotton trousers. He stirs, then rises groggily from his stupor to a weary stretch, finding a sitting position.

His laptop and an abundance of police files lay next to a digital newspaper device. Amongst the files lies a black leather ID wallet with a silver crested emblem—a crown hovers over a shield, with a lion on either side. The words, DETECTIVE CHIEF INSPECTOR, accompany the two magnificent creatures standing on hind legs. Jaydon is a cop.

A scattering of white pills lay next to an open bottle with the label Paroxetine. A few half-empty cups of black coffee sit alongside last night’s leftovers.

The newspaper digital device includes a patchwork of several headlines and articles, such as Another Doll, Another Victim, and Calculating Killer Eludes Capture. They share space with Missing Girl Reunites with Family After 15 years.

Jaydon’s eyes skim a missing person’s report, with details such as height: 5 feet, weight: 105lbs, eye colour: hazel, sex: female, age: 15 years. His attention is now diverted to a blue origami unicorn lying next to the computer screen.

He lifts the origami tenderly for closer inspection. Upon doing so, the hairs raise on the back of his neck. Jaydon turns towards the feeling, but it is just an empty room. I need to get some sleep.

Jaydon gazes at the origami fondly, reminiscing. There is a figure that his eyes discern in the near distance, a young girl, in her mid-teens, with dark brown hair and hazel eyes. She wears casual blue denim and a purple jersey. She seems to have materialised from nowhere.

The girl smiles. He somehow catches a breath. Jaydon outstretches his arm, offering a hand for the girl to take. Only these two inhabit the universe.

The jangling of his mobile phone breaks the moment. He glances downwards at the device. Along with six missed calls is a text message, which reads, ‘I need you here’, followed by an uptown suburb address. His gaze returns upwards. No one is there. Jaydon rubs his face tiredly, then exhales deeply.

Jaydon opens the bathroom cabinet and scans the toiletries, which have an array of prescription drugs on display. This includes, Fluoxetine, and Valium. He had never given a second thought to taking prescribed medicine in all of his forty-three years of life. Not until recently.

He reaches for the legal drugs and closes the cabinet shut, forced to meet his reflection in its mirror—a stranger holding a thousand-yard stare. His brown curly hair contains a whisper of grey glimmer, and his face looks surprisingly young for his years, with expressive cheekbones. His dark brown eyes convey pain through his intense glare, yet are oddly trusting and at odds with the two-inch vertical scar that cuts from eyebrow to cheek.

He embarks upon a momentary examination of the soul. The emptiness patiently awaits the encroaching darkness. Open armed and willing for the icy embrace. Eager to let her in.

He moves away from the cabinet, pours the drugs down the toilet, and then flushes. The pills disappear into the swirling abyss of water, pipes, and the sound of Bhu-Woosh!

Jaydon has now taken a shower and shaved, clothed in a black top and slim trousers. He stands directly above the table. A warped reflection in the glass, attention aimed towards the assortment of police files and newspaper digital device.

Jaydon’s eyes find the leather police ID. There is an intense charge, a change in his persona. He scoops up the badge and moves to the closet.

He reaches for his dark brown leather jacket, which is loosely placed on the clothes hanger. Before closing the closet, he notices the tan-coloured, open-faced, retro-modern motorcycle helmet that lies on its side. It’s been a while. Jaydon hesitates for a moment before retrieving the helmet.

Riding a motorcycle has always captivated Jaydon. There is a heightening of the senses. You see and feel all. It’s IMAX on steroids. Once the combination of fear, exhilaration, relaxation, and pleasure combines, the mind disappears, and everything becomes one. This is the way of Zen.

Jaydon’s Zero DSR Electric Motorbike sounds like something from the film Tron. He hurtles along the city street towards the scene of the crime.

• 3 •

A TALE OF TWO NEIGHBOURHOODS

Detective Jaydon Lynch’s motorbike slows to a stop outside of the crime scene. Police vehicles, paramedics, and flashing lights surround the Colburn residence, whilst blue and white crime tape keeps the ever-growing crowd and news reporters at bay.

The city’s finest question the locals, who loiter outside their houses, looking on in concern and despair. This type of crime rarely occurs in this neck of the woods.

In The Slums, this wouldn’t be much of a tale to tell. Just another day. Jaydon, having spent his formative years in Pelth, the worst of The Slums, knows this all too well.

* * *

It was just him and his mother, Frederica. His father, Lamont, left them to fend for themselves when he was eight years of age. Frederica tried the best she could, whilst delirium ensued around them. Cracks appeared within the protective wall this woman had built, seeping into their existence.

Crimes were up tenfold. The Slums were in chaos. Criminals ran rampant on the streets. The Municipal Police, under extreme pressure and woefully undertrained, shot and paralysed a woman named Marie Stephenson in her own home. They were searching for her son, Michael, a known felon. This was to ignite the third Slum Riots.

Jaydon vividly remembers a specific night during the revolt in which a disgruntled mob launched a firebomb through the window of a nearby corner shop. With the flames ablaze, the police lost control of the vandalised streets as the looters ran havoc.

Frederica stood silent. She gazed with sad eyes at the madness taking place outside of her bedroom window. Jaydon was at his mother’s side, trying to gauge her thoughts. Though the look in her eyes hindered him from joining in with the activities that same night.

When Jaydon awoke the next day, the teenager drifted tiredly downstairs and discovered a packed suitcase. Frederica sat at the living room table. She had her mind made up. He was going to live with his grandparents, Joseph and Gertrude.

* * *

Jaydon surveys the scene up ahead. He watches and waits a while longer.