Message at the deep jona.., p.1
Message At The Deep (Jonas Johnson, #1), page 1
Message at the Deep
A Jonas Johnson Novel (1)
By V. A. Jeffrey
Copyright © 2025
All rights reserved.
Artwork by Book Cover Zone
An Epistle Publishing book
The stories contained in this book are works of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, past or present is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved.
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Table of Contents
Copyright Page
Message At The Deep (Jonas Johnson, #1)
Table Of Contents
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
“Before I go away – and I will not return -
To the land of deepest darkness,
To the land of utter gloom,
A land of deep shadow and disorder,
Where even the light is like the gloom.”
- Job 10:21-22
Table Of Contents
ONE...................................................................................................4
TWO................................................................................................12
THREE.............................................................................................18
FOUR................................................................................................25
FIVE.................................................................................................30
SIX...................................................................................................37
SEVEN..............................................................................................43
EIGHT..............................................................................................53
NINE................................................................................................58
TEN.................................................................................................66
ELEVEN...........................................................................................74
TWELVE...........................................................................................85
THIRTEEN........................................................................................96
FOURTEEN......................................................................................117
ONE
The ravens chased away the sun. Seizing Dusk by its corners, they pulled it down and with cruel beaks pierced the night until they had put all the stars out.
He came to with an abrupt start; a nascent migraine was settling in his right temple again. He had nodded off, the only thing having saved him from falling into true sleep was the noise of the long-range lens of his old night vision scope banging against the dashboard. His eyes climbed up the dash to find an unusually large crow sitting on the hood of the vehicle. Was it a crow or was it a raven? He had a hard time telling the difference and he didn’t much care for either one.
The creature was Stygian black and it fixed its tiny eyes, glittering like wet onyx stones, upon him. He slowly reached for his thermos. The creature cocked its head to the side, tracking the movement of his hand. Slowly, Jonas unscrewed the top and took a sip of coffee, ignoring the crow. He kept his eye on the chosen location; the last door of the condo to the left of his windshield.
Still hot. No, it wouldn’t do, he thought. Not for the headache massing at his temple. The com-link in his coat pocket vibrated and chimed the distinctive tone he’d set for new clientele messages. Glancing at his face in the rear-view mirror, he winced as the com-plug in his ear burst with blue light in response.
He reached for the black canister under the seat beside him for the electrolyte mix. It was one of the rare things that worked to chase away migraines, if he caught it in time. He hated going to the doctor or using prescript drugs. It was a great difficulty to get an appointment as an independent patient, for the Health Authority wanted patients as monthly subscribers belonging to a health management company, not patients with their own coverage. Once a person was registered with an approved health management company (and therefore on the radar of the system) they interfered in every aspect of their life until that person died. Sometimes at their hands.
He gulped the cool liquid down, feeling the satisfaction of his thirst slaked, his cells replenished. Or at least he imagined this last part. He sighed in relief as the growing cluster in his head slowly subsided.
The monstrous ghoul, finding no reaction nor any food offerings from Jonas, hopped a few steps along the hood and then with a sharp flap of his wings, flew off. And with it, Jonas’s distracted mind. He shivered involuntarily, shook himself and willed his mind to focus again, the one thing Jonas prided himself on. Lately, he’d been losing sleep and losing his focus. It was an effort to do simple things now. Everything annoyed him and everything disturbed his sleep. And the nightmares were back.
One thing that he’d lost no sleep over was the fallout over the last case. Normally, a case ended with him finding a client’s cheating spouse, stolen goods, a runaway teen or some other minor resolution and him getting paid and going on his way.
This time it ended with the client’s own cheating husband murdering her for exposing his predilection for the very young, and Jonas hunting him down and killing him for murdering his client. He’d lost no sleep over that, which surprised him. What did cause him to lose sleep was that this man was a very wealthy, influential tech CEO who had friends and associates in high places with similar predilections. Sooner or later Jonas knew that he would be on the radar of some very dangerous people. Until then, he would continue as he was.
The two marks finally emerged from their poorly chosen love nest. A cheating wife and her paramour. When they walked out to the front porch of the condo, partially hidden by a few blood-good Japanese maples, Jonas lifted his night vision scope, adjusted the illuminator lens focus and took several shots. Then he recorded the two as they embraced and kissed, oblivious to the rest of the world. He felt grim satisfaction. That kiss would pay his living expenses for the next month. Often, he preferred boots-on-the-ground investigation over sitting on his computer using software to track and spy on people. A good, old-fashioned long focus-lens camera, a laser gun in his holster and a stake-out vehicle was the perfect job for him. No computer consoles, no fancy technology like invisible shields, which always had to be calibrated just right unless one enjoyed feeling nauseated. He smiled to himself. Sometimes he felt like a hypocrite. Spying on others was his job, yet he hated the pervasive spying of the government and its myriad satellite corporations. As a private investigator, once he got what he needed, enough was enough. They, on the other hand, could never get enough.
Pulling out his com-link device he sent a message to his current client that the marks had been observed, evidence taken and ready to be sent. Then he sent an invoice for payment. When he got home he would make the obligatory copies for a special file for himself. Insurance for lawsuits that he would keep for five years before getting rid of them. As he was sending the message the device pinged with a familiar sound. It was his druggist.
The new sleeping pills Ralston Manning made for him were ready. Stronger, more potent. Able to block out dreams. Another hypocrisy. He didn’t like prescript drugs, but he was no longer opposed to illicit desiderata, if they were effective in helping him with his work or helping him get to sleep.
Ralston was a chemistry major and he was good at engineering imaginative drugs. Drugs that were of the purest, cleanest substances or drugs mixed in the right way to boost performance, drugs that could suppress hunger and help the mind do amazing things, if one didn’t over do it. There were times that Jonas could stay awake, alert and function at a high level for nearly a week, due to Ralston’s product. He preferred the term druggist rather than dealer when it came to Ralston.
Ralston also made all sorts of concoctions with mushrooms and mold. Jonas had started calling him The Alchemist. Ralston was something of a genius in his mind. Jonas would pick up his new batch later.
It was still twilight, the sun not yet seen but the midnight black sky had turned dark blue. A thin streak of pale rose color signaling the coming dawn shot across the horizon. He loved being planet-side and enjoyed any work he could get on Earth, just for the sunrises and sunsets. His soul hungered for it. Grrrrwhrrjuut. His stomach gurgled and growled for something else. It was time for some breakfast.
He glanced at the fingers on his right hand, making sure the fingerprint skin pad adhesive was still bonded to his actual fingers. He touched the ignition fingerprint scan and as the vehicle lept to life he turned up the heat, enjoying the warmth as it coursed through the seats and the steering gear. He spent much of his time feeling cold these days. Warmth was a luxury whenever he could get it.
“Manuel steering,” he commanded the General Use Program.
“Manual steering is less ideal for this make and model. You must opt in for this feature,” came the response. I have to opt
“Computer, I, Mr. Vaughn Johnson opt in to have the manual steering option on and available at all times whenever I rent a vehicle from Travel Sense Company. Please update the terms of service agreement I signed. Manuel steering, on.” Rotting hells.
“Manuel steering, on,” the computer responded. “Terms of service automatically updated, Mr. Johnson.” Suddenly, the holo-screen near the rear-view mirror exploded on. He jumped and grimaced in irritation as advertisements always came on far too loudly, as if to make some quick imprint on the captive mind before they got shut off. How many are they going to cram in this time? he wondered.
“Try our new and improved Wubbly Bubbly cleaner! Safe to use for laundry, household cleaning, disinfecting and even as shampoo! Now, with twenty percent more solution added! Say yes and the last four digits of your personal identification number to sign up for a free sample!”
“No.” Ad number one.
“Vera Cafe Mocha Mix! Mmm-mmm, delicious! Get that Vietnamese coffee experience for next to nothing! Say your personal identification number to get yours today!”
“No.” Ad number two.
“Are you lonely? Do you have strong manly. . .urges? Looking for beautiful females who will-” Jonas finally grabbed the bottom of the screening device and punched the “off” button. Unfortunately, this abrupt shutoff prompted the General Use Program to proceed along a more invasive path in its surveillance framework.
“Hello, Mr. Johnson. I’ve noticed that you’ve turned off the holo-screen advertisements. Are you in a regular habit of turning off this content?” This line of questioning in a rented vehicle was new to him. There must have been a recent system-wide network update among rental vehicle companies.
“Umm. . . .no?” he said uncertainly.
“We’ve noticed that you’ve turned advertisement content off. Such content supports the products, services and necessities that we all use for a better, more comfortable modern life. It also keeps many people gainfully employed which helps us all. Now, Mr. Johnson, how much web, holo-vid entertainment and news content do you watch on a daily basis?”
“Ah, well. . .” Jonas wasn’t ready for this question. Some system update must of happened since the last time he was on Earth. A nosier system update.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t understand your answer. You can say more than seventy hours per week or less than thirty-five hours per week. If less than thirty-five hours per week we can arrange to have a Robeson Entertainment tech visit and assess your dwelling for their latest entertainment packages?” Jonas rolled his eyes. Assess my dwelling. Sure.
Sometimes the true purpose of front-facing employees dealing with a customer base was spying on them for the company if said company deemed any activity or pattern of behavior suspicious. Jonas did not have an account with Robeson Entertainment.
“Never mind.”
“We have detected that you seem annoyed or disturbed about something, Mr. Johnson. Does-”
“I said never mind!” If it detected an angry expression that meant there was a camera hidden somewhere in the vehicle that needed shutting off or at least covering over. Jonas looked around in the more obvious places where he might find a camera. “Does a personal music collection or frequency or amplitude radio count for these packages?” he inquired.
“Radio is discouraged as it is antiquated and not curated by official government channels, authorities in your jurisdiction or solar system sector. From what location are you consuming unauthorized content, Mr. Johnson?” The General Use Program sounded alarmed, the pitch in its usually mellow voice noticeably lifted.
“Your anus,” he said dryly.
“Uranus. Does not compute. Let’s try again, Mr. Johnson-”
“No, let’s not! Rotting hells!” He moved to the side of the road and shut the vehicle off, then he fumbled around for one of his ad-and-voice command blocking drives and inserted it inside a drive dock hidden in a small panel under the steering wheel and started the vehicle up again. He wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to get away with doing this but it had always worked. His morning saved by an illegal ad-blocker, he breathed a heavy sigh of relief and continued on his way.
After charting a path to the diner Jonas took the scenic route; being the one that took him through the biggest parks and the oldest neighborhoods, the pinnacle in his mind being the beautiful, manicured grounds of Polaris Academy. Even in and around the well-kept college neighborhood before he got to the city he again noted the shattered glass of transit rail shelters here and there and hideous looking graffiti, sometimes with the prominent letters: LOC.
Some new gang in town? What does that mean? He wondered. Whoever the vandals were, they were relentless. They broke out glass or bombed out strong plasti-windows from transit shelters everywhere these days. And in every case there was the ugly, spray painted graffiti. Sometimes trash was strewn all over the shelter. It was becoming difficult for the city or corporate maintenance to respond to clean up calls. It chased more and more transit patrons away from public transportation unless they had no other way to travel.
Rounding toward the familiar area, he could see the long row of ancient oak trees that lined the street of the school’s eastern side. The actual school itself could barely be seen for the trees and the walls that surrounded it like an old fortress, a natural privacy barrier, but he liked catching glimpses just the same. It was early spring, which still felt and looked like winter. Across the street was an equally long line of cherry blossom trees, not yet in bloom. But there were a few daffodils here and there throughout the neighborhood yards announcing their sunny little faces, even in the twilight. His eyes peeled the streets from one side to the other, playing a childish mental game: how many daffodils do you see? His grandfather’s yard would explode with them every spring when he was a child. They were his favorite color back then, the color of happiness.
Unfortunately, just thinking of the bright color yellow seemed to bring a dull pounding sensation to his temple again. He rubbed it, trying to soothe himself. He looked over at the seat next to him, frantically grabbing for the drink canister. It was empty. He dug through his pockets, driving with one hand, switching to the other hand to dig in the pockets on the left side of his coat. So intent was he to find a pain pill to stave off the resurrected migraine that he swerved, nearly hitting an oncoming vehicle. The blaring horn of the other vehicle made him jump, lighting up his nervous system with painful pricks of sensation that spread throughout his body in waves. He grabbed the steering wheel with both arms as if it were a life raft. He saw a sharp flash of red, white and blue light in his rear-view mirror, and then the assertive alarm of a police drone. He had only seconds to pull over and stop. Failing to stop immediately would prompt them to shut off the vehicle remotely and if they deemed it necessary to do that, no matter what the issue was, he would face immediate arrest. Jonas, blocked by parked cars where he was on the street, simply stopped the vehicle, put it in park and kept his hands on the wheel. He turned over in his mind what would happen if they found he had several fake ID cards, what would happen if they found that he had no status assignation. His head was pounding but he was trapped. In the mirror he saw a large black drone dropping down right behind his vehicle, the emergency lights slicing through the morning. A large mech climbed out of the drone. Jonas touched his face, glancing at his reflection in the mirror. His old, plasti-flesh mask seemed to be holding up fine. But pounding heart and head made him second-guess this assumption. Jonas closed his eyes and went through the meditation chant he often went to when he was under great stress. It took him to a silent island of calm when his thoughts were stormy and chaotic. He wasn’t advanced in this technique. It only lasted for a few minutes but it was what he had.
A mech knocked on the driver’s side window. Jonas rolled it down.
“Good morning, mech-officer,” Jonas said calmly. He held the wheel tighter to stop his hands from trembling. Oh, dread god!
“Please turn your face to the left,” it said, the voice, grating and brusque as metal dragging across granite.
