Huey’s Foreword: The following is the original prologue from the novel prior to publication. Following discussions with my editor, Dr Steve Carver, we decided to remove it, for a number of plot, length and structural reasons.
Before this decision, during the writing process, the prologue went through many drafts over the course of a year or two. The first iteration came in it at nearly 1,500 words. This version is less than 500. It should take a couple of minutes to read.
I hope you enjoy. Don’t forget to like and share. Thank you.
Huey Hawke, 2025
Prologue
‘I’m gonna hit play,’ said the man. ‘Just watch. Don’t say nothing.’
The grainy video started. A woman, early thirties, her back to the camera, knelt on the floor and played with a girl. The child, perhaps five- or six-years-old, lay on her back in front of a stone hearth in an ordinary domestic living room. The woman tickled the child’s stomach and the child laughed hysterically. This activity repeated for about one minute, the woman saying unintelligible words and the child snorting with hilarity, arms and legs jerking wildly. Finally, the woman could be heard saying, ‘Is she coming? Is she near?’
The woman stopped tickling and the child lay still, shutting her eyes. Nothing happened for ninety seconds.
A girl with short dark hair wearing jeans and kids’ green Converse Allstars, materialised by the fireplace over the course of two seconds. She stood, arms by her side, and smiled at the woman. Then she knelt and kissed the prone child, who opened her eyes. The jeaned girl then leant over the child and hugged the woman. Both began to cry.
‘Jesus Christ, what the—’ said a male voice behind the camera.
The girl in the jeans looked at the camera, raised a finger to her lips and slowly shook her head. She straightened and moved backwards towards the hearth. Then feet together. She blew three kisses. Once to the man behind the camera, one to the kneeling woman. The last, the longest, to the child on the floor.
The camera lingered on the girl for a moment and then she vanished.
Another ‘Jeez’ from the man behind the camera.
The video stopped playing and the screen turned white.
The video was shut down by the man who had pressed play. He turned to his companion. ‘That was five years ago,’ he said. ‘You saw what happened. I don’t need to explain. We obtained the original source files. It’s legit.’
‘Who was the contact?’ his companion said, sombre.
‘The child lying down. She’s not a contact. She’s the conductor,’ said the first man, assured.
‘Oh.’
‘We’ve been monitoring the minor for several years.’
‘And the girl, the visitor?’
‘No idea.’
‘Your assessment?’
‘She’ll be yours,’ said the man.
‘There are no guarantees. For chrissakes, I only hope you know what the fuck you’re doing. I still fundamentally object to this approach.’
‘We’ll receive support from the inside. That is a given. Five years. The countdown has begun.’
The End