THE DARK SIDE
Copyright © 2017 William Schlichter
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published by Indigo
an imprint of BHC Press
Library of Congress Control Number:
2016962855
Print edition ISBN numbers:
ISBN-13: 978-1-946006-42-4
ISBN-10: 1-946006-42-4
Also available in softcover
Visit the author at:
www.bhcpress.com
Book design by
Blue Harvest Creative
www.blueharvestcreative.com
Silver Dragon emblem design by
BHC Illustrator Alli Kappen
No Room In Hell
The Good, The Bad, and The Undead
Book 1
400 Miles to Graceland
Book 2
The Silver Dragon Chronicles
Enter the Sandmen
Book 1
The Fifth Planet
Book 3
To my family and friends for
all of your love and support.
To Kathryn DeJarnette,
my first and brilliant editor.
The amount of time you spend
makes my story flow
and my darlings unconfused.
To BHC Press for
your patience and
countless hours spent
working with me.
I had worked on The Dark Side since high school. It was going to be my first book. I rewrote it. I collected rejection letters on it—well over fifty, maybe closer to seventy. I rewrote it again. I’d learn something in a writing course and rewrite. I wrote the next book in the series and then rewrote The Dark Side again, so everything lined up. I have one simple philosophy when it comes to a book series—tell a good story, which is my second rule for all my creative writing students. I wanted no “oh by the way I have a long lost brother I forgot to mention during the past twenty years who now wants to steal your ship and fly to the center of the galaxy.” So, I made all attempts for continuity. No, I won’t claim I’m perfect and have caught all inconstancies (a job for the internet), but I sure try. Nothing kicks me out of a story faster than when I catch a continuity error on the first run. It means the storyteller wasn’t doing their job. As many of my students will attest I am chasing a rabbit. But over the years I have been asked by or asked many of those same students to read a draft of The Dark Side. This version contains little of those early drafts other than the story I was striving to tell. Constantly working and never giving up on reaching published status, the characters have grown and have been fleshed out. Each time they grew, they needed to be rewritten. Upon returning to the beginning and correcting their story, they are now more than words on a page. Thanks to all those who have read of them before, or will read of them now. I hope you love them as much as I do. Thank you all for following me along on this journey.
“Who entereth herein, a conqueror hath bin;
Who slayeth the dragon, the shield he shall win.”
—Edgar Allan Poe
AMYE DRAGS HER fingers through her hair, removing the short strands matted into her eyes. Dried vomit crumbles as she pulls the crusted bits from her cheek. Her spine crackles as she flips up from hanging halfway upside down off the edge of the bed. As she squirms the rest of her body onto the mattress, more chunks of dried stomach juice flake from her dark hair. Room air chills her exposed neck as she remembers having trimmed what had grown past her shoulders. Her thoughts blur. She spent most of the night drowning in strange green liquor.
Before she’s able to search her memory, vertigo sends her slumping back into the sheets. Her swimming head strikes a hard lump. She fondles the blanket. Underneath the sheet she finds rough, bare skin. Blood throbs through her veins, reddening her sclera. She sits up, flipping over enough blanket to view the shirtless male underneath.
She has no recollection of this man, nor his species. His tattooed arm is caked in dried blood where fresh ink showcases his latest kills. Amye jerks the sheet completely off him. She sighs with relief, realizing the merc’s pants are unbuttoned but still on.
She crawls off the bed sleekly enough not to wake him. Her left leg cramps from the way she slept. Her bare feet entangle in the sleeves of her leather jacket. She yanks it off the floor and tosses it into a chair as she scoops up a bottle of wine. The swig of warm liquid leaves a bitter taste. She spits it up, dribbling over her naked chest and the ratty carpet. She tosses the bottle and limp-staggers shirtless into the bathroom.
She fumbles for a switch. The flickering light slaps her bloodshot eyes. Closing her eyes helps her to steady the light-headedness swimming over her. Her brain ferments in strange alcohol even after hours of sleep…or at least she thinks it’s been hours. She digs her finger nail into the black paint covering the window. Sunlight penetrates the scratch, giving a clue to the time. All roach-trap motels are the same on every planet. Only the names of the bug species change.
Her leg cramp subsides. Closing her eyes did little to cure the redness. They focus better in the light. The mirror displays her naked breasts covered in teeth marks. Amye turns on the water before running her hand down her panties. She grimaces as she inspects herself. She pulls her hand out.
“Well, at least it wasn’t a successful mating.” She washes her hands before splashing her face with water. “Come on, girl.” Amye squints at her
