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    Abandoned
    Abandoned
    Abandoned
    Ebook351 pages3 hours

    Abandoned

    By Derek Hart

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Danielle Draganov was in no way the typical woman, if there was such a thing to describe a 25-year-old beauty. Instead of going to college like most of her friends, she got a job and spent her free time searching through abandoned buildings. Officially she was known as an urban explorer, an apt description for her escapades, but too simplistic to cover the range of her adventures. Danielle was considered something of a legend among her peers. She took her hobby seriously and without hesitation explored places others bypassed. Perhaps this is why she got in so much trouble in the first place.
    Summer break arrived and Danielle begrudgingly enlisted the help of Gaius Cromwell, a book-smart nerd who used to live next door. This former neighbor lad was delighted to accompany her on these often dangerous expeditions. Gaius had always worshipped Danielle from afar and looked favorably on this golden opportunity to start a serious relationship. Danielle, however, would have none of it and stressed that he was nothing more than a pack mule, even though a wonderful friendship was born.
    Then one day, while searching through an enormous abandoned piano factory on the South Side of Chicago, Danielle literally runs into Michael Paxton. He too is an abandoned building explorer. So begins a torrid romance with a significantly older man. The pair is inseparable and quickly becomes involved in numerous close calls, strange happenings, and barely avoids death at the hands of a creepy criminal organization known as the Reapers.
    However, this is truly a tale of what goes on in the world of URBEX, or urban exploration. Located throughout the Chicago metropolitan area and surrounding suburbs, Danielle uncovers all sorts of treasures, some of them actually quite valuable. Unfortunately, Dimiter Draganov, Danielle’s father, has a dark secret from his past life in Bulgaria, which finally catches up to him. Interestingly enough, Michael Paxton also has a complicated background. In the end, all of these stories collide in a fantastic mess of gunfire, sacrifice, and derring-do.
    So come along on one hell of a roller-coaster ride of thrills, as Danielle and company confronts a myriad of challenges. ABANDONED, by Derek Hart, is like nothing you’ve experienced before, unless of course you like traipsing around inside abandoned old houses and uncovering things you really shouldn’t. Throw in some unexpected twists, plenty of steamy sex, and some gritty violence and you’ll be glad you can experience all of this without leaving the comfort of your armchair.
    This novel is rated R - for adults only.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDerek Hart
    Release dateApr 6, 2018
    ISBN9781370322459
    Abandoned
    Author

    Derek Hart

    Derek Hart is the prolific author of 28 action and adventure novels, known for their historical accuracy, while still maintaining a high level of entertainment. Romance is also a vital part of Derek Hart's trademark style and his novels generally appeal to men and women alike. Mr. Hart authored Secret of the Dragon's Eye, his first novel aimed at all age groups, which met with instant success and outstanding reviews. The author has since followed with Secret of the Dragon's Breath, Secret of the Dragon's Claw, Secret of the Dragon's Scales and Secret of the Dragon's Teeth. The final volume of the 6-episode series, Secret of the Dragon's Wings, will be available in November of 2018. He has since started a new series, post-apocalyptic in nature, with Minerva's Shield and Nike's Chariot. The third installment, Apollo's Plague came out in November 2017. Abandoned was published in March 2018 and Game Over premiered in June 2018. List of published books: Secret of the Dragon’s Eye Secret of the Dragon’s Breath Secret of the Dragon’s Claw Secret of the Dragon’s Scales Secret of the Dragon’s Teeth Secret of the Dragon’s Wings Claws of the Raven Danger Cruise Favor for FDR Crooked Cross Factor Tracks of the Predator For Love or Honor Bound Tales of the Yellow Silk Element of Surprise Seas Aflame Ice Flotilla High Altitude Low Opening Tangles of Truth Shadows in Replay Flag of Her Choosing Tidal Trap Dangerous (Poetry) Executive Firepower The CARLA Conspiracy The Wreckchasers Minerva's Shield Nike's Chariot Apollo's Plague Abandoned Game Over Mercury's Wings Before the Dead Walked Books coming soon: The Samuel Clemens Affair Pearl and Topaz By the Moon Darkly Broadmoor Manor Neptune's Trident Operation Sovereign Primary Weapon Saturn's Fire Tails of Thaddeus Enchanted Mesa Eagle Blue Last Guidon Excess Baggage Container Carta Codex Shipwreckers Romeo Tango The 5x5 Gang Desert Salvage

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      Book preview

      Abandoned - Derek Hart

      Abandoned

      By

      Derek Hart

      All Rights Reserved. Copyright © 2017 Derek Hart

      No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

      This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy.

      Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      Published by Derek Hart at Smashwords

      This book is available in print at most online retailers.

      Cover designed by David M. Burke

      Adjective: abandoned

      (https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/abandoned)

      1 a : left without needed protection, care, or support

      an abandoned baby

      … she began to live in what she referred to as the straitened circumstances of an abandoned woman. —Richard Russo

      b : left by the owner

      an abandoned car : left to fall into a state of disuse

      an abandoned field

      abandoned property

      an abandoned factory

      c : no longer held or thought of : given up

      abandoned hopes/dreams

      2 : wholly free from restraint

      The lower the beer dropped in the kegs, the more abandoned and frenzied the dancers became. —Don Asher

      I always find beauty in things that are odd and imperfect - they are much more interesting. - Marc Jacobs

      Dedication

      This book is dedicated to Lupita Martinez.

      Foreword

      Urban exploration is the investigation of man-made structures, usually abandoned ruins or not usually seen components of the man-made environment. Photography and historical documentation feature heavily in this hobby, and although it may sometimes involve trespassing onto private property, this is not always the case, and is of innocent intent. Urban exploration is also commonly referred to as infiltration, although some people consider infiltration to be more closely associated with the exploration of active or inhabited sites. It may also be referred to as draining (when exploring drains) urban spelunking, urban rock climbing, urban caving, or building hacking.

      The nature of this activity presents various risks, including both physical danger and the possibility of arrest and punishment. Many, but not all, of the activities associated with urban exploration could violate local or regional laws and certain broadly-interpreted anti-terrorism laws or be considered trespassing or invasion of privacy. Ventures into abandoned structures are perhaps the most common example of urban exploration. At times, sites are entered first by locals, and may sport large amounts of graffiti and other acts of vandalism. There is also the possibility of running into drug dealers and addicts, rapists, and all sorts of unsavory types.

      Explorers face a myriad of physical risks in abandoned structures including collapsing roofs and floors, broken glass, guard dogs, the presence of chemicals and other harmful substances, most notably asbestos, hostile squatters, and motion detectors. Some explorers wear respirators to protect their airways and proper attire to insulate their bodies. A few even pack firearms, knives, or pepper spray for personal protection.

      Although targets of exploration vary from one country to another, high-profile abandonments include amusement parks, grain elevators, factories, power plants, missile silos, fallout shelters, hospitals, asylums, schools, poor houses, sanatoriums, military bases, airfields, railroad yards, tunnels, defense bunkers, office buildings, or entire blocks of unused housing, such as in Detroit, Michigan, or Gary, Indiana. Urban explorers often venture out to rural locations as well, where locating an abandoned house takes more time and effort, but can also be more rewarding. There are several parts of the United States that boast thousands of abandoned properties to explore, such as Ohio, Pennsylvania, Michigan, Wisconsin, Minnesota and especially North Dakota.

      Acknowledgements

      First and foremost, the author must extend a huge thank you to Dimiter Kolev who became the vital catalyst for this story, as well as providing the author with much-appreciated background information about Bulgaria.

      Also, much of the inspiration for the main character in this tale is directly connected to Lupita Martinez, who personifies beauty, intelligence and an incredible zest for life. She is powerful, independent, and inspiring, which the author recognizes as vital to everything he writes. No words can express the author’s gratitude to her for reawakening his passion to write. On top of that, he doubts she would believe she’s in any way responsible. Still, it is because of her that the fire was rekindled and she has assumed the sacred role of muse.

      Derek Hart was an avid urban explorer who searched literally hundreds of abandoned houses, farms, factories, apartment complexes, shopping malls, military bases, old mines, railroad yards, railroad tunnels, sewers, underground subway stations, and a myriad of other sites no longer in use. It was a dangerous and foolhardy way to find entertainment, which is why he loved doing it. Please don’t undertake such an expedition on your own without proper equipment and precautions. There are countless examples of explorers who met untimely deaths or serious injury because they were ill-prepared for the challenges that lay ahead. Many of the adventures within this novel were drawn from the author’s personal experiences.

      The author would also like to thank Ian Lenthart who, in his own right, has become quite a skilled urban explorer. His photographs and experiences were used extensively in the writing of this book. There was seldom enough time to pursue our mutual hobby, but whenever we got a chance, the results have always been stunning and profitable.

      Introduction

      The Moon is bright tonight, and the fall wind blows, gently caressing the naked trees, finally out of their autumn dresses. I hear no animal or man, no car or plane, only the sound of the Earth's sweet voice, there for those who know how to listen.

      I look to the night sky and reflect upon the passing clouds as they speed across the Moon's refulgence, thinking how big they look, not unlike a low-flying plane, or spacecraft. I recall how high they really are, and at what marvelous speeds they move, and how huge they must really be. Compared to me, compared to the trees, compared to the whole neighborhood, an amalgamation of cold water vapor and ice crystals pushed on by a sharp wind, and almost too big to comprehend for a human mind. Yet they look so soft and warm, as if the Earth herself drew up her pillows and her quilts across the night, putting her children to sleep.

      As the wind slowly picks up, bringing the fresh scent of moist air after the rain, I look beyond the clouds and Moon and see the twinkling pinpricks of light that smolders there with a defiant blue light, reminiscent of wytch-fyre. I see a big and a little bear, as well as a hunter chasing close. Reminded of their transient existence, I think of stars and constellations whose aged light still reaches us long after the fuel of their life has run out, ending their existence.

      No, not ending, I chastise myself, but transforming, shifting into something different, something greater. For when the star has burned out, it's slowly dispersing mass of stardust creates life anew, birthing new stars, new planets, and new moons. New possibilities.

      The wind quiets down, and, as I look to the sky, I see stars and constellations that no one has ever seen before. I see the light from newly born stars whose flickering glow will reach Earth centuries, millennia, eons from now. I see, in their light, the hope of the future, the hope of new beginnings and discoveries.

      I look at the Christmas lights strewn about, filling the peaceful night with their own muted glow. Little pinpricks of light, little pinpricks of hope right here, within a few dozen meters. I could reach out and touch them, touch the stars. Are those lights and the ones filling the sky truly different? If you know how to stretch, how to reach, you can hold them in your hands, so small and fragile, so majestic and indestructible. So human.

      I'm reminded that this moment is no less transient than the stars, and will pass come the morning light. Man and animal, car and plane will once again fill the air with their vibrations, the sound of their lives. They will not pay attention to the Earth's sweet whisper, too busy, or too distracted to hear it, and too apathetic to care.

      I know that I too will move on after dwelling on this moment for a while, but wish to share it while I'm still in it. Still listening to her sweet music. And I know that it will leave me different, leave me changed. Give me new understanding, new perspective, which would otherwise have avoided my grasp no matter how hard I tried to obtain it.

      I do not regret using the time I should have spent sleeping, to enjoy looking at the sky and listening to the Earth. And if, at this moment, even one more person is doing the same thing, reflecting upon the same matters and gains new perspective, I do not regret being born a human.

      The wind picks up and I hear a rustling on the shadows of the ground in front of me. My curiosity increases as the rustling comes closer. A possum? A fox? I must know, so I approach. A small twig of a branch, pushed over to me by the wind. I pick it up and am filled with joy and warmth. A magnolia branch, my favorite spring scent, though the nearest magnolia tree is over twenty meters away, downhill, not the direction from whence the wind gently blew it towards me. It is the night, telling me that the moment has been fulfilled, the reflection remembered, and thanking me for listening to her when so few others take the time to do so.

      I am touched by the gesture. I will keep the branch, and it's slowly decaying leaves will remind me of this transient moment of tranquility. I go now, but wanted you to have a glimpse of this moment, though I'm sure it pales in comparison to experiencing it.

      Dimiter Kolev

      (Used by permission)

      Prologue

      A Thief in the Night

      Dimiter Draganov stood perfectly still.

      He could hear the house breathing.

      He could feel the dark energy.

      He could sense the danger.

      The windows were all missing and the walls oozed with decay. Once, not so long ago, this mansion was vibrant and alive with the sounds of activity. The former occupants had been wealthy, to be sure, but their focus was on their fellow man, not the hording of money. The abandoned mansion of Bulgarian industrialist Pencho Semov had stood empty for many years now, but had become a hangout for alcoholics and narcotics traffickers. The floors were littered with used syringes, empty bottles, and old moldy mattresses stuffed with pages from porn magazines, as was the most convenient for its occupants. Most of the inside walls were covered with vulgar graffiti befitting its transient inhabitants, with one wall even prominently displaying a sign, I love glue! drawn in beautiful script.

      The authorities in charge of guarding this estate had surrendered the property suddenly and completely, without even a token security presence or maintenance detail for so storied and prominent a work of architecture. It was almost as if they were willing it to decay and collapse as fast as naturally possible, short of destroying it themselves.

      Dimiter sighed with frustration.

      He had just turned 33 and future prospects seemed bleak.

      It was time to get out of Bulgaria. The entire country had been seized by a sense of stoic desperation. Dimiter had to break the catatonic state surrounding him and his family.

      His native country suffered from hyperinflation, worse than pre-WWII Germany. Dimiter had filed for the state-run immigration lottery, but after almost two full years of trying, the chances of winning seemed stacked against him and his family.

      He was a big man, with a prominent forehead where his brains and stubbornness resided. Dark penetrating eyes always looked deeply into everything. Dimiter carefully formulated his thoughts into complete sentences, taking time for his words to have maximum effect, and he always spoke what he thought, regardless of whether it was considered moral or politically correct.

      The abandoned mansion beckoned to him, whispering idle promises of fabled treasure and blacker secrets of long-forgotten gilt-edged libraries. Dimiter was well aware of the shrouded legends and unfounded sordid tales.

      He was after only one relic, the original Rohonc Codex. According to certain tales, the book of forbidden spells had been purchased from Heinrich Himmler for an insane sum of gold sovereigns during WWII. Shortly after the fabled book was delivered, the new owner died. What made this edition so valuable was it contained a key, thereby affording the owner a way to translate the coded images.

      Pencho Ivanov Semov was one of Bulgaria’s greatest industrialists from the first half of the 20th century. He was born in Tsvetkovtsi village near Gabrovo. Semov made a significant contribution to Bulgaria’s economic development through fifty years of dealing with trading, industry, and banking. He was a charitable man, giving much of his wealth away. His final will and testament was written on March 21, 1943, only six days before he passed away under mysterious circumstances.

      His estate contained three other buildings, one of which was supposed to be turned into a retirement home carrying his name. It was planned to care for 50 elders over the age of 60. The other two buildings were set aside for a boarding school. The girls from poor families would be offered a free education. The ones from wealthy families were supposed to pay small stipends. Semov’s last will and testament plainly stated that there should be another boarding school for boys with mandatory study of foreign languages.

      Sadly, none of his dying wishes would come to pass. During Bulgaria’s 1947 nationalization, all the resources for his charity projects were blocked by the struggling government. From 1947 until 1990, the enormous house was used as the Infectious Disease Ward by Gabrovo’s hospital. So, instead of children’s laugher, the walls of the building were filled with the hopeless bloody coughing from countless tuberculosis patients.

      Across from the villa was a kindergarten, where parents once took their children to school every day. Nobody went near it now, because it was full of disease. Some adults were not so cautious, tending to flower and vegetable gardens they separated from the main park of the Villa’s front yard. The people cut trees, grilled peppers, and made compote.

      When Semov’s son also unexpectedly died from unknown causes, his grandson inherited things, but refused to renovate the main building. When asked why, he simply said he did not want to fight with demons or ghosts.

      The man refused to make further elaboration.

      The Rohonc Codex was never located. Some experts believed the ancient book was still hidden in a secret vault within the walls of the mansion. Many tried to locate it, but all failed.

      The politicians always had a well-thought out argument that couldn’t be disproven, no matter how high up the ladder Dimiter went. He had lost patience for all the excuses and lies. He was there to see for himself. He had spent six months researching the mansion and the stories behind the legacy. Now it was time to test the fates and uncover the truth!

      As the sun set, Dimiter pulled a black balaclava down over his face and hurried from the hillside, skittering from left-to-right through the thick foliage to his first stopping point. He wore a leather tool belt around his waist and carried a powerful battery-operated torch, which could double as a weapon if necessary. Light on his feet for such a big man, Draganov darted into the shadows, only taking a moment to scope ahead a path to his intended target.

      Suddenly it was pitch black, as the moon slipped behind the clouds and the darkness provided the perfect cover.

      Dimiter sprinted to the flight of cobblestone stairs that led to the rear of the gigantic crumbling manor house. Before he reached the top step, however, the villa was once again bathed in silver moonlight. Ducking in through a shattered rear door, Draganov halted long enough to catch his breath and calm his pounding heart. Though the house had stood abandoned for many years, the authorities would press charges if he was apprehended.

      Even with such inherent dangers, Dimiter smiled. He quickly discovered that he was standing inside the very room he was seeking. The enormous library was now empty of books, the wooden shelves covered in dust and mold. The carpet was ruined, but once had been plush and priceless, a woven masterpiece from Persia. Dimiter crossed the room carefully, studying the intricate woodwork that decorated each wall. Within minutes, he figured out that each bookcase had been built into the walls, but the wood carvings were different in each direction of the compass. The runes and images told a story, if he was able to decipher their meaning.

      Dimiter set the torch down so the light beam would be more indirect, hopefully keeping his silhouette to a minimum. With fingers adept at feeling subtle differences in tooled surfaces, he inched his thumbs and forefingers along each seam. The engravings had been carved by a master and even after all this time, the detail was astounding.

      He concentrated on each figure, number, or rune. At first, the symbols didn’t seem to make any sense, but after a few minutes, Dimiter realized there was a subtle pattern to the engravings. They didn’t tell a story, but the carvings were part of an equation. It wasn’t simply a matter of mathematics, either, as it was far more complicated than that.

      Dimiter grinned. It’s a riddle, a word problem.

      His whispered voice still sounded like a bundle of hissing snakes.

      Draganov frowned. The puzzle, once deciphered, didn’t make any sense.

      Cocking his head to one side, Dimiter closed his eyes and concentrated. The best riddles were written to lead astray the casual mind.

      I can only live where there is light,

      but I die if the light shines on me.

      A shadow, Dimiter answered suddenly.

      He looked around the room. There was only one spot that would always be hidden by darkness. He went to the space between two sections of the massive bookcases. No moonlight, sunlight or modern electric lamp would be able to penetrate the narrow enclosed gap.

      Cautiously, Dimiter slid his gloved right hand in between the wooden slats. Carefully he groped along the edges, reaching out with his sense of touch, listening and feeling with his eyes closed.

      Click.

      It was the distinctive sound of a device being triggered.

      A small wooden door popped open in the base of the shelf directly across from him.

      Draganov chuckled quietly.

      Reaching down inside the tiny vault, Dimiter’s fingers snagged a rolled piece of parchment. As he unfolded it, he discovered a poem written in either ancient Greek or the dead Thracian language. Using his torch, he was able to roughly translate most of the words.

      I have gone alone into the wild,

      With magic written treasure bold.

      Keep the darkest secret filed,

      Hint of spells both new and old.

      Begin where angles part,

      Take it where only moonlight falls.

      Not far, but only inches to start,

      Cast your eyes below the walls.

      There is no place for the meek,

      The end is ever drawing nigh.

      No opening easy to peek,

      Just heavy burdens and levels high.

      If you’ve been wise and found the maze,

      Look quickly down, your quest to cease.

      Tarry not with startled gaze,

      Just take the book and go in peace.

      My sands of time must flow,

      This cursed tome for all to seek.

      The answers I already know,

      Tread lightly before you tire and grow weak.

      Hear me and heed the wisdom,

      Your effort may not be worth the toil.

      If you are brave and deep under the soil,

      I give you title to the wicked kingdom.

      He read the poem aloud, over-and over, carefully considering each portion of verse. The first inconsistency Dimiter noted was the rhyming pattern changed in the final stanza. This alteration must be important, because it was a profound disruption to the melodic style.

      He took several steps backward until he was equidistant from every shelf, but not quite in the center of the room. He studied the bookcases.

      They were not all alike. In fact, every section was built using different varieties of wood. Was there a clue in this as well? It would certainly seem so.

      Dimiter studied the poem again.

      Slowly stepping to the side, he measured the steps from each bookcase, to stand before the open vault. Then he looked up. The ceiling was peeling, but he could make out the outlines of several planets. One shape was definitely earth’s moon.

      Then he looked down.

      The carpet surface had rotted away in spots, riddled with mold and decay. The fibers were unraveling, which gave Dimiter his first glimpse of what lay underneath. The floor was wooden, of course, but darker with age and water damage. However, some kind of metal plate peeked up, reflecting a momentary gleam from the passing moon.

      Could it be that obvious?

      Kneeling down, he ran his gloves over the surface. There wasn’t any apparent seam. He cast his gaze along the far molding looking for any anomaly.

      The wood was relatively smooth, even after all this time.

      Wait.

      Dimiter lay almost flat.

      Just one section had a noticeable knot, a not so obvious imperfection, but not repeated anywhere else. He jumped up and scurried to the spot.

      Pressing hard against the knot, his thumb met with no resistance.

      Thump.

      Whir.

      It sounded like a pulley system engaging.

      Dimiter went back to where the metal plate was partially exposed. Acting purely on instinct, he stomped down hard.

      At the far end of the room, one entire section of bookcase shelves folded up flat and the back of the case slid aside, revealing an opening large enough for a man to step inside.

      Dimiter warily aimed the torch beam into the ebony space. A steamer trunk sat on the floor. It was not locked. He slowly lifted the lid, revealing its contents. There were three bundles.

      The Rohonc Codex had been carefully wrapped in several layers of high quality painter’s canvas. There were four other books stored within the hidden vault, so Dimiter took them too. Draganov decided to take a few minutes to look at the fabled volume. It was leather-bound and 448 pages long, containing a variety of antiquarian religious illustrations and much writing of an unrecognizable character. The book was filled with Christian iconography, but additionally, some illustrations depicted astronomical symbols, such as stars, suns and crescent moons, hinting pagan or even Islamic iconography. The system of writing turned out to be no less mystifying than the illustrations. While some characters appeared rune-like, others seemed rounded and not runic at all. Dimiter thought the script looked Greek, Cyrillic, or even an alphabet originating from obscure ancient regions of the Roman era named Dacia and Thracia.

      If this was an original manuscript, the number of distinct characters alone made translation highly unlikely. There appeared to be at least 200 individual graphemes, suggesting that rather than a code or language, it may have been written using a syllabary, which provided characters not for letters, but for combinations of letters into sounds and syllables.

      Dimiter felt he was peering into the darkness looking for blind spots.

      Tucking the books under his arm, Draganov exited the library as quickly as possible. Using the shadows to his advantage, Dimiter skipped down the stone steps into the overgrown garden, before retracing his original route from the mansion grounds.

      He was exceedingly wary, suspicious that he might have been followed. Several times he stopped abruptly, waiting within a stand of trees, listening carefully. Only when he was certain there was no one nearby, did he emerge to sprint to the next piece of cover.

      When he reached the roadside, Dimiter carefully stored the bundles in the boot. As soon as he sat behind the wheel, he became even more nervous. He had to drive carefully, so as not to raise any suspicion why he was traveling past curfew. However, he had one sizeable advantage. His contact was a powerful government minister who had contracted Draganov to pull off this job in the first place.

      Dimiter had already done a great deal of driving that day. First he would stop in his home town of Verna to refuel. He loved the smell of the sea, how it wafted up into his nostrils and filled him a sense of peace. Unfortunately, there was also the putrid odor of rotting garbage, because dumping refuse was a common event near the seashore. Incredibly, even the stink provoked memories profound.

      It would be an additional 493 kilometers to Sofia, the capital, but necessary to complete by dawn. He drank a cup of strong coffee and drove out of town. He successfully made the trip without incident or delay.

      As Dimiter parked outside the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, he pondered his next move. It would be inaccurate to describe him as desperate,

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