Tomorrow’s Light
Written by Drew Clements
Conceptualized by Drew Clements and Bryan Hester
(Part One)

I grow tired of this.” The voice was menacing and nauseating as it flowed into his ears; it burned his mind.
Thomas, the center of the questioning, found it incredibly hard to think, much less speak. The questions had been coming hard and fast to his clouded mind—too fast. His throat was dry; he’d not had a thing to drink in nearly...
How long had he been here? Two days? Three? It really didn’t matter; he wasn’t leaving any time soon. The darkness—he wasn’t leaving the cold, penetrating, black darkness. It was depressing... destructive to the nerves.
His arms, restrained behind his back with heavy-duty chains, tugged at the metal binds. It was no use; his strength had left him long ago. Now, the fight was leaving him altogether.
The voice had been asking for days... had it been days? It had been asking for something only Thomas could answer: where was she, the key to this all?
“Your group wants to bring destruction to this world... why?” Thomas’ fatigued voice asked.
“We want to bring a new life.”
“Life? Once you speak his name... all life disappears.”
“You know only what the foolish elders have passed down—not the real truth. Tell me what I want to know or I will kill the other.”
Other? Yes, his daughter, Alexa. She was there with him, wasn’t she? Not in the same room, but elsewhere. They had taken her too; it had all happened so fast.
When?
Where was she?
“You’ll kill her anyway! I answer you and you doom this world,” His tone had built up a bit of strength and more defiance than he’d been able to muster before.
“That is not correct,” the other voice stated, “We will allow her to live, but only if you answer quickly.”
What they wanted... it was horrible. The end of the world is what it was—the end of the world! Thomas knew it was his answer or his daughter’s immediate death. Oh, but the answer… that was something entirely different and yet… the same.
“Your time is up Thomas Clayton Thorne, president of The Council. I require an answer.”
His heart leapt into his throat. What was he to do? Would he answer? He had to, to save Alexa, but he would be dooming another; he would also be compromising The Council. In the long run he would be dooming everything that existed.
This was something that, unfortunately—an understatement if there ever was one, called for him to allow Alexa to be murdered. It was for the good of the world. Once she died, there would be no chips to be bargained with; they would have no leverage over him. They could then kill him and he would go to his grave with the answer.
“Time is up, Thorne.” The voice coldly stated.
“You will get nothing from me.” Thomas answered in tones just as cold.
“So be it. Say your goodbyes to Alexa.”
A light, blindingly bright, lit up one corner of the room; it ate up shadows all the way up to Thomas’ knees. After what seemed like an eternity, his eyes adjusted to the light and he saw his daughter, Alexa, chained, arms and feet, to the wall. Had she been in the room the entire time? Had she heard his pathetic cries and whimpers when his captor beat him mercilessly just days—hours?—ago?
Her long, dark hair fell messily on her bare shoulders. She was stripped of all clothes and her lean, white body reflected the bright light. Her wrists and ankles were raw from the metal shackles.
“Father?” Her eyes were glistening; tears flowed, filling the large, brown windows.
“I cannot.” Thomas looked away; the pain was unbearable; he had sentenced this young woman—his daughter—to death.
“I-I understand.” Her voice, coated with a heavy sloshing of saliva, quaked.
“Goodbye, Alexa.” Thomas’ voice shook just as much as hers.
The light burned out and there was silence for just a few seconds before it happened: it was the horrible sound of a butcher’s knife hitting home on a tender piece of meat, then the blood-garbled screams of his first daughter echoed through the room.
“She can still be saved, Thomas, you know that.” The deep, evil voice told him.
Another hit, the sound of liquid splattering, followed by another screech from his daughter’s mouth.
“No!” Thomas shouted. It would be the end of the world!
“Three more and she is gone.”
The third hit sounded infinitely worse than any of the previous; the scream that followed was much the same. Something warm and wet hit his face—at first it was almost comforting… the warmth, but then as he realized just what it was, he felt a horrible churn in his stomach.
“Two, Thomas, and she will be no more.”
She was twenty-two years of age, nothing more than a child. Thomas’ thoughts went back to the girl’s first birthday and those big brown eyes looking up at him; so innocent and happy that day.
The fourth hit and accompanying scream obliterated the image from his mind. She would be gone forever, nothing more than a memory! Those eyes would never look at him in that way again—like on her birthday or any day after.
More liquid splattered across his face, though this time, he felt dashes of it hit his tongue. Closing his mouth to avoid any more of the horror entering, his senses kicked in; the taste was pure copper. It was true, this was happening—her life was spilling across him and it was his entire fault! No, not all—damn that witch from years ago—but right now, this part was his fault!
He could take it no more!
“Please, I beg of you! I will give you what you want! Just stop, please stop!” His voice, he was surprised, rang out louder than her death-screams.
There was a sudden silence; it was oddly surprising.
“We are waiting, Mr. Thorne.” The cold voice nearly tore him from his seat.
“Please forgive me.” He whispered and then did what a father must: “Northport… Northport, Alabama. Her name is Tomorrow.”
Regret filled his mind. What did it matter, truly, that he’d saved his daughter for now? She would be gone, along with him and the rest of the planet soon enough.
He knew it; there was no way around it: with just a few words he had doomed the world!
 

Fiction Index