SKELETON KEY

NOT DREAMZ NOT SHADOWZ

Prologue

The air in Tuff was heavy with secrets, clinging to the skin like a second layer—suffocating yet familiar. In this town, darkness roamed freely, entwined with echoes of sorrow and the specter of violence that had become all too common. Every street corner whispered tales of lives interrupted, dreams shattered, and hopes buried beneath the weight of despair, leaving the inhabitants to navigate a landscape where joy felt like an illusion.

In a dimly lit apartment, Priest—a weary soul caught in a tumultuous world—sat alone, the flickering light illuminating shadows that danced across the walls like specters of his past. The remnants of a half-eaten pizza lay forgotten on the table, cold and congealed, a testament to his apathy and the comfort he sought in mundanity. He turned his gaze toward the window, where the fog crept in like a shroud, swallowing the distant sounds of barking dogs and the occasional wail of sirens—a constant reminder of the chaos lurking just beyond his reach. Outside, the streets were alive with muted turmoil; figures moved under the flickering streetlights, lost in their own struggles, oblivious to the turmoil roiling within him.

His mind wandered back to the recent events at Braam, a site that had become synonymous with tragedy and despair. A body had been discovered, lifeless and hanging, a cruel masquerade designed to deceive the world into believing it was a simple suicide. The image haunted him, a ghost that clung to the edges of his consciousness, an indelible stain on his memory. He had been there, a reluctant witness to the horror, when the moment his world shifted irreparably played out before him. The killer’s intentions were clear: silence the truth, bury it beneath layers of fear and uncertainty, suffocating the voices that dared to rise against the injustice.

Dolph's voice echoed in his mind, a lifeline amidst the suffocating darkness. "Priest, I need your help." The urgency in his tone cut through the haze, reminding Priest that he was not alone in this fight. Together, they could unravel the threads of deceit that bound them to a past filled with anguish. Yet the words hung heavy in the air, and Priest felt the familiar weight of despair anchoring him down. How could he rise from the ashes of his own disillusionment when every step forward seemed to pull him deeper into the abyss?

In the stillness of the night, Priest reached for the bottle of beer resting in the fridge, the cold metal of the cap a fleeting comfort against the chaos swirling within. He poured a glass, watching the golden liquid catch the light, a momentary reprieve from the weight of his burdens. The pills on the table whispered their siren song, promising solace in their deceptive embrace—a seduction he had long fought against but increasingly found hard to resist.

As he sank into the depths of his thoughts, the chilling realization dawned on him—each choice carried the weight of consequence, and every moment wasted was a step closer to being swallowed whole by the very darkness he sought to escape. He thought of the lives lost, the whispers of the dead filling the air around him, their stories begging to be told. In Tuff, nothing was as it seemed, and the shadows held truths that could shatter even the strongest resolve.

Priest knew he had to face the demons that haunted him, not just for himself but for the sake of those who had fallen victim to the silence that enveloped them all. He felt the stirring of something deep within—a flicker of resolve amid the gloom. The time had come to break free from the chains of fear and step into the light, no matter how faint it appeared. In this fight against the encroaching darkness, perhaps he could reclaim not just his own lost voice but also the echoes of those silenced by the shadows of Tuff.