Controll - Preview #1

Hello. This is an unrevised version of what I wrote so far of my novel. So, I know that it is probably scattered with small errors, and a certain part of it is not yet fully finished, but what I truly want to know is what you think of my style... Is it too formal and systematical? Is the thing too short? How does it actually sound? Reasonably good or truly terrible?
Please, do not mention any small mistakes, for I will probably be aware of them once I begin revision. I merely need to know how the think sounds, whether I should continue with this style or perhaps attempt to alter it in order to make it more effective... Much appreciated :)

Note (he probably was not a receptionist. I just don't know yet.)


   Tyrone Sobers drove through the winding road which was situated within the vast, nameless expanse of deciduous trees lying not far from the small city of Amnesvill. His car, a relatively new Alfa Romeo Giulietta made in 1962, vibrated as its made its way along the surprisingly smooth concrete. Relying on the headlights of his car to see in the moonless night, shivering in the unforgiving cold which had plagued him ever since he had departed his home that evening, he could not help but feel beautifully lost within the blackness of the trees surrounding him. There were no clouds, he knew, contributing to the low temperature, and certainly the fact that it was winder did not aid his physical comfort. As the climate had been surprisingly warm for the past few weeks, there was no snow, which had quickly melted away to leave a damp and rotting environment.

  After two hours of watching the road speed past him, an endless array of trees approaching and disappearing in an endless cycle, illuminated only by his car’s headlights, Tyrone was beginning to feel the traces of fatigue building up in his system. A dull ache was building up in his back, something which was becoming rather common in his life, irritating him, and the mild excitement which he had felt upon leaving his apartment, inspired by the beauty of the night, had been worn away by the never-ending vibration which had accompanied him throughout his journey. He had been listening to his radio for the first hour after departing, but that had begun stirring a headache within his skull, and so he had turned it off, preferring relative silence. Although he did occasionally enjoy true excitement, owning numerous rock music records, he often enjoyed silence, often due to the thoughts it could invoke. He could not think clearly, despite the joy involved, when listening to music. At least not when he was actively listening to the music, which is what he always did. He could not see the logic in leaving a melody playing in the background if he was not truly enjoying it, and thus usually dedicated some time each day solely to his record player.

  Surrounded by an inscrutably dense forest, Tyrone noticed a clearing in the distance, previously occluded by the vegetation. A while light flashed somewhere in front of him, followed by three more, and he emerged into a wide clearing paved in concrete and illuminated mainly by high floodlights overlooking the area on his left. He squinted in an attempt to see the brilliant scene before him, his eyes requiring time to adjust to the abrupt change in brightness, and when was able to see again, his gaze was instantly drawn to the mansion domineering over the blinding visage. Its façade, dark in contrast with the illumination, was lined with an inspiring array of statues depicting the twisting shapes of what appeared to be gods, their facial features indistinct but their poses hinting at serenity. To figures stood transfixed in an eternal battle near the entrance of the building, their weapons intersecting at a point above the door, and although Tyrone did not possess the knowledge to identify each of the present gods, it was quite apparent that the two figures were Zeus and Jupiter, two of the most powerful gods in mythology, wielding what appeared to be lightning bolts.

  Steering his car to follow the road, Tyrone searched for a place to park, spotting a secluded parking area situated on his left behind a lighted passage. He drove there, attempting to take in the details of his environment. The deciduous trees were not affected by the powerful floodlights, forming a black line along the concrete which faded into a starless sky. Something that appeared to be a low fountain stood within the centre of the wide square, positioned not far in front of the entrance to the mansion, three streams of water intersecting above its centre in identical arcs. He made a mental note of the fact that there was no fence surrounding the area, not even a gate of any kind, and decided that it was probably because of the location of the mansion. The road leading to it has no other purpose, and, being quite long, few people would care to follow it. Tyrone estimated that it must be at least twenty kilometres in length, a distance which could not easily be scaled without a vehicle, leaving only the truly dedicated robbers to attempt and clean out the mansion. But the lack of a barrier, he concluded, probably implied that there was a sophisticated alarm system within, for no rich man would leave his fortune unprotected.

  He drove under numerous trees, their branches meeting above the road in a crude arc, and navigated through a small parking area, avoiding the dozen or so cars present. He passed two men walking into the opposite direction, near each other but obviously not familiar, one of them resting his hands in the pockets of his overcoat. He decided on a vacant parking spot, and steered his vehicle onto the white outline of a square painted into the concrete. Turning the key in its slot, he felt the engine lose power and die, leaving a strangely satisfying silence.

  After hours on the road, Tyrone began growing tired of the journey, and was pleased to know that he could finally rest for a perhaps a few hours. When his boss, Joseph Gregor, had informed him that he was invited to a formal party as a result of his rather successful employment. He was a receptionist … As a result of his exceptional performance, or so he had been informed, he had been awarded an Employee of the Year award by the National Something Union and was invited to a formal party privately hosted by one of the union's leading members. Although he had been a member of the union for numerous years by now, he was unaware that it awarded prices, and was quite excited upon receiving it. Gregor relayed to him that that the actual award was yet to come - a medal, he was told - and that an he had received an invitation to meet the other, although lesser, winners of different prizes. Tyrone had been surprised by the scheduled time, although this had only added to his excitement due to his general love for nocturnity. He often enjoyed the solitude of night, the obscurity of it, and found the timing of the party rather attractive, and although he generally did not enjoy parties due to his quiet nature, he in a state of anticipation for the past few days. Neither the prize nor the party mattered to him as much as the fact that he was one of the best, a concept which was truly foreign to him although deeply desired.

  But as he sat in the absolute silence of his unmoving vehicle, preparing himself for the possible surge of pain which might come when he would exit the vehicle due to his noticeable headache, a strong feeling of apprehension began crawling through his mind. His mind ran through the possibility that this was all a joke, that he was the unfortunate victim of a formal prank, dismissing it immediately. That would have been illogical, and even more so, a useless act. He then considered what would happen at the actual party, and discovered that he might possibly be made the centre of attention. That notion considerably unnerved him, and he could only hope that it would not be so. He knew himself to be an introvert, highly uncomfortable around people, and did not welcome the idea.

  Stepping out of the car, carefully not to hit his head on the metal ceiling, he breathed in the cold night air, the sudden rush of freezing wind making him shiver uncontrollably. The temperature seemed indeed far below zero and he hastily wrapped his leatherette overcoat to attempt and retain some warmth. He closed the car door before locking it using his key before striding into the direction of the mansion, utilising his height to his advantage by taking larger steps. He hurried along the marked concrete ground, eyes downcast due to the chilling atmosphere. His eyes have by then become almost fully adjusted to the lighting, and it no more shone with the brilliance with which he had observed it at first glance. Although he was still unable to look directly at the floodlights without squinting, it was no longer painful to look, or so it would have been if not for the cold. Numerous cars were scattered throughout the parking lot, all of them relatively expensive, and he spotted a duplicate of his own resting on the opposite side of the squire. The piercing air communicated the monotonous sound of crickets, although not as vividly as the undying wind which rushed through the leaves with an undiminishable force.

  A creature sounded in the distance, melancholy in its nature, perhaps an owl, but Tyrone did not wish to pause in order to appreciate the phenomenon. His overcoat proved of little worth in keeping the wind away from his flesh and his teeth rattled before he could tightly shut his jaw. His eyes began to water, afflicted by the unnatural temperature, and he felt that he had to painfully blink in order to prevent the cornea from freezing. He forced his hands into his coat pockets hastily, feeling them grow numb, and increased his pace almost to a run.

  It took him about four minutes to return to the area near the building’s facade, and by that time the place was almost entirely desolate. As Tyrone passed the fountain, he came to the realization that its concave structure protruding deep into the ground, rendering it much larger than it had first appeared. It was not as shallow as he had presumed, and its simple network of three arching water streams flowing through the air actually made him pause for a second to gaze. The sight was not something that he would have expected, for it was of a form which he had never seen before, seemingly unique. He tore his eyes from the fountain, content to continue into the comfort of the mansion.

  Near the large wooden door which marked the entrance to the building stood A man dressed in black trousers and what appeared to be a blue shirt, smoking an almost depleted cigarette, his hands shaking as he numbly took the thing out of his mouth in order to extinguish it. He did that by throwing it onto the ground and stomping on it, but was considerate enough to pick it up afterwards and slip it into the pocket of his shirt after a moment of brief inspection to make sure that it was out. Tyrone passed the man without hesitation, unnerved by his presence, before the other could follow.

  Pushing open the wooden doors, mahogany by their appearance, he was surprised by the swift silence with which they turned around their hinges, offering resistance and yet easy to move after the initial force had been applied. A warm gust of air greeted him, flowing over his figure and feeling almost hot in comparison to the cold stratosphere outside. Hastily, he shut the door behind himself, uncaring whether the man outside would be offended, and made his way slowly along the red carpet covering the floor. Massaging his temples with one hand, he fervently tried to to subdue his headache which became apparent after the sudden change of temperature. Fortunately he was alone, at least for the moment, and he allowed himself a brief moment of respite.