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Dark Rivers of the Heart
#1highlander fan
09-09-2003, 09:39 PM
{CHAPTER 1:THE SEED IS PLANTED}
He hovered over his 8th cup of coffee of the day. He didn't know what would give out first, his bowels or his patience. He pushed the report away and leaned his head back on the chair. The florescent light was on the blink again.
He tapped his fingers on his skull and impatiently waited for a phone call.
Patience was never one of Devon Michaels' strong suits. Of course being a Homicide detective for 13 years will do that to you.
He picked up the report once more and jumped when the thunder boomed. great, another day of rain.”
It had constantly rained for the last 72 hours, only stopping a few minutes here and there to give a false hope. He reached out and grabbed the report and held it up to the desk light once more.
He shook his head in confusion. “What went wrong with this kid?” he whispered to himself.
James Horton. 14 years old. Accused of murder. Decapitation.
Family - father, recently deceased. Mother - where-abouts unknown.
He looked at the small inserted picture. It was just a small innocent looking boy. Brown hair, slight freckles, seemingly intelligent.
“How strange...” he thought. He looked over at the boy's psychological profile.
He had never suffered any kind of mental problems. Up until 2 weeks ago, the kid was just an ordinary kid.
Hell, He might grow up and become president one day.
Doctor Kenneth Manson watched the young boy through the one-way looking glass.
He scribbled notes on a piece of paper.
The boy sat in a room with bolted down furniture and drew on a piece of paper.
Dr.Manson stood silently, debating his next step. He sighed deeply and entered the room. The boy didn't look up, he just ignored the doctor altogether.
The doctor sat down beside the boy.
He watched intently as the boy gave him an obvious cold shoulder. He sat forward and put his hands on his knees.
"So, James,are you hungry?"
The boy stopped his drawing and looked at the doctor. He curled his lips and looked down.
"You have to eat, James!"
The boy became a little more anxious and started bearing down on his drawing.
The doctor was a little befuddled by this. "Can I see what you're drawing,James?"
The boy looked at the doctor and cocked his head. He then slid the piece of paper in front of the doctor. Dr.Manson smiled, then looked down at the drawing. He frowned and tilted his head.
The picture depicted a man getting struck by lighting and holding a sword. Around him were dead bodies and one without a head. This made Dr.Manson cringe.
He looked once more at the boy and swallowed hard. The boy was playing with his sneakers.
"James, who is this?"
The boy looked up. His lip trembled. "He's the one who killed my father!"
The doctor stared intensely at the boy, seeking a lie in his voice or body language.
"Ummm, James why is this man getting struck by lightning?"
The boy looked up at the doctor and frowned. "He's not." The doctor was taken back by the response.
He scanned the picture once more.
"Yes, James, the picture you drew has the man getting struck by lightning."
The boy shook his head. "It's not lightning!" he spat.
The doctor felt a bit uncomfortable.
He figured he would humor the boy a bit.
"OK, James, It looks like lightning to me, can you tell me how I can be wrong?"
The boy shrugged. "Lightning comes from the sky."
The doctor cleared his throat. "So you're telling me this lightning didn't come from the sky, well then just where did it come from?"
The boy seemed agitated by this question and sunk into the chair.
The doctor noticed this as well.
"James?"
The boy pointed his finger at the headless man in the picture. "From him!"
The doctor laughed. "The lightning came from the dead man, James?"
The boy nodded his head.
The doctor sighed. He rose from the table and walked over to the door. He looked back and the boy had begun to draw on a separate piece of paper. The doctor waited until an image formed. The doctor called out.
"And what is that a picture of, James?"
The boy held up the picture. It was a round circle with the letter W in the middle.
The doctor raised an eyebrow.
"And what is that a picture of?" he asked again.
James seemed to go into a trance.
"It was my father's tattoo".
The doctor walked out of the room and scribbled on the pad of paper again.
He then picked up a phone and called the Police station, and asked for Detective Devon Michaels.
James Horton entered a small room. The walls were colored light blue. He noticed only one window. It was barred. He had heard of places like this from his friends at school, but had always thought they were exaggerating. The room was smaller than his bedroom at home.
Nothing of it reminded him of home.
The bed was no more than a cot with an olive green blanket draped around it. It had the smell of disinfectants. It made his nose burn. He was being escorted in by two burly orderlies. They seemed nice, but smelled of urine.
He sat on the bed holding his only possession left in the world. A photo album, that he would not give up. One orderly, who bore his teeth marks on a hand, knew how badly. He flicked on a small desk lamp, but noticed no light bulb inserted in the socket.
He brought the album over to the window. The shadows of the bars danced across his album. It was raining out, but the moonlight still shone through. He reached out for the pillow and placed it behind his back. He opened the book and read the transcription he had read a hundred times before.
To James, from Mom and Dad. May these pictures in this album reflect a world of ever changing times, for they may be difficult at times but know that you don't walk alone, for we will walk with you. If you fall we shall pick you up, if you become lost we shall guide your way, and when you feel lonely, we are always beside you, love mom and Dad.
Devon Michaels jumped when the phone rang, knocking his coffee on the desk as well as the reports. "$hit!!" God dammit!!"
He moved the reports out of the way and reached for the phone. "Yeah?!" he called out.
There was a moment of silence before he heard a voice. "Ummm Detective Devon Michaels please!" Devon tried to hold the phone under the crook of his neck while wiping up the spill. "Yeah this is he, what can I do you for?"
"Yes, detective, this is Dr.Mason at the Fairhaven Psychotherapy Center" There was a pause, then: "You were the arresting officer for a boy named James Horton?"
Devon threw the paper towels in his waste basket, but unfortunately, missed. "I'm cursed" he told himself.
"Yes, Dr.Mason, I'm the arresting officer! So what did you find out?"
Dr.Mason was very quiet, then he said, "Detective Michaels, this situation is a top secret priority, you understand?"
Devon didn't like the politics of psychobabble, and did not like to involve himself in the affairs of doctors and scientists.
"Listen, Mason, I don't really care about the ins and outs of all this, just tell me if ya want the kid transferred to juvie or not?"
Another moment of silence. Devon could hear the doctor breathing heavy. Good, he'd pissed him off.
"When will you be arriving to transfer the boy, Detective Michaels?" Mason sneered.
Devon smiled to himself. "Tomorrow around noon. Make sure he's fed and had a potty run, OK,?"
This time the silence was deafening. "Noon tomorrow then Detective!!"
Mason hung up and Devon went to sit down on his chair. He looked at the clock. 10:37. Well time for a little trip to the ole pub.
He got up, locked up his office, shut off the lights and strolled down the corridor.
And a shadow from the darkest reaches of the corridor rose from the blackness. And followed Detective Devon Michaels.
James Horton just turned 14, four months ago. As he looked in his picture album, he could remember that day so vividly.
His dad had bought him a camera for his birthday. And James was so obsessed with taking pictures everything. The neighbors dog relieving himself on another neighbors lawn. His mother putting candles on the cake. His father on the phone..again.
His father was on the phone a lot lately.
Sometimes for hours at a time. And when he was not on the phone, he was having a party of sorts with a bunch of friends. Well, not friends exactly. They never went anywhere. Never bowling or to the baseball games, or anything like that. The just came over and ..talked. Once in a while he would leave on ..business trips, and would be gone for weeks. His father told him he worked in the real estate business, and had to go on company meetings once and a while.
James new this was a lie. He would go into his fathers study when he was away and he discovered lots of things that one did not use to sell houses.
One time he found 3 pistols. He could understand one for protection, but three?
He one time found a box full of photo's of men and women with a red X across their faces. He wondered if his father was hitman.
But then laughed at himself, cause his father was too kind and gentle for that.
James stood by the barred window, now lit by the bright sunlight. His photo album opened to his 14th birthday.
His father had been murdered and he knew not what had happened to his mother, but he vowed to find out. He just needed to get out of here first. He over heard Dr.Mason talking on the phone to a detective about transferring him to another place.
He would make his move then. He grabbed a pencil from one of the orderlies that brought him breakfast. The tip sharpened.
He would hunt down the man who killed his father. He would pay for what he did.
James squeezed the photo album with all his might.
Country music is awful. but it's a good way to wake up. Especially when the alarm clock is set to a country station, the volume turned up and the alarm clock is about 2 feet away.
This, Devon Michael's used daily. It was the only thing that would get him up in the mornings.
The drowning voice of Willie Nelson was like finger nails on a black board.
Devon stumbled out of bed, banged his little toes against the bed post and hopped to the alarm clock.
He fought for the buttons and felt he achieved another victory. And planned on celebrating that victory by rewarding himself with 5 more minutes of sleeping.
He jumped back into bed and pulled the covers over his shoulders. The yelling and swearing of the neighborhood kids had him adding the pillow to his head for extra silence. Kids. "How can they be so cute and evil at the same time?" He wondered.
He heard cap guns going off in the distance. It reminded him of his childhood, and the irony his future had taken. He always got the unfortunate luck at being the bad guy. It's too funny to think that 17 years later, he was an actual good guy. hmmm, good vs evil. Is there such thing? Are we all not evil at least once in our life? And doesn't that one evil deed make up for the last thousand good deeds?
He pulled the cover off his body and sat up. He felt around for the remote. And in typical Devon Michael's style, knocked it off the night table and crashing to the floor, the batteries then rolling under the bed.
"I think this is a sign to stay in bed" He told himself. And if right on cue, The scurrying foot steps of his St.Bernard could be heard coming his way.
The dog burst through the room and jumped on Devon. The dog licked at his face furiously.
Between coaxing and pleading Devon finally go the dog to calm down.
"This, he told himself, is the reason why dogs are better than women!"
An hour later after showering, shaving and walking Max, the wonder dog, he shouldered his gun and extra ammo clip and threw on his blazer.
God, how he hated to dress up. He looked at himself in the mirror. He still had all his hair, which was good. He opened his mouth and inspected his teeth. Yup, all still there. He stared at himself intently. Not bad for a 36 year old man, who quit the gym and started his new diet of cheese sausages and croissants.
Max was laid out in the backyard, content to just be alive. Devon smiled at this. He then began to frown. Today was the day he needed to transfer that kid. Jesus, and for a moment he thought it would be a nice quiet day. He hoped the kid would be nice and calm and not give him any problems.
Then he remembered that night. When the kids father had been murdered.........
FLASHBACK
*********************************************
He hated this, waiting outside a house for a fugitive to make his return. The contacts assured the operations detail that the fugitive would return tonight.
Well he had waited for over 14 hours. He felt incredibly cramped in the car. His partner seemed so peaceful. He never moved or complained, just sat their sipping his now cold coffee. But Devon Michael's was not the peaceful or patient type. And his partner, Clyde Abrams,always criticized him about this.
Devon Michael's brought the binoculars up to his eyes once more. He focused on the yellow brownstone house. Who paints their house yellow? He searched the windows from bottom to top. He lifted the binoculars to a house 6 feet away. The upper window was lit by inside lights. When he squinted hard enough he almost believed he could see the figure of a naked woman. But that was just hopeful thinking.
He leered over to his right side, and noticed Clyde nodding off. Poor guy, he had been on this stake out for almost one full day.
Devon looked into the rear view mirror and saw another parked car 100 feet away. This would be his backup. Maureen and Sandy.
They were good cops. Straight edged and competent. If this loser did show up tonight, he would be contending with the best.
He closed his eyes for a second, and was awakened by rain hitting his face. He jerked his watch to his face. Only two minutes went by. Thank god. Clyde was in deep sleep.
It began to rain harder now. The sky totally blackened. Every few minutes streaks of lightning would illuminate the sky. He knew he needed to get out of the car. His legs had tightened up and would prove useless if he needed to run.
He thought about waking Clyde, but that peacefulness on his face was classic.
He grabbed Clyde's umbrella and slide out of the car. He figured he would pay the ladies a visit. He ran over to their car and both of them were wide awake.
He knocked gently on the window and before he got one word out, Clyde was screaming at him from the car. He just nodded to the ladies and ran back. When he sat back in the car, Clyde had already a started it. Devon gripped the wheel, buckled himself in and stared at Clyde.
"We have a homicide at Churchill avenue" Informed Clyde.
That was all Devon needed to know. He peeled out and raced on over to Churchill Ave. Little did Devon know, that tonight would be a night of destiny. A night that would spawn evil. A night that would be consumed in vengeance. A night...his life would change.
Devon Michaels had pulled up along the sidewalk and parked the car. He looked over at Clyde who was relighting a cigar. "You ready for this Clyde?" Clyde puffed a great big cloud of smoke. "I got a bad feeling about this one,Devon!"
Devon opened his car door and stepped out. He popped his head back in. "You always have a bad feeling,Clyde!" He stated.
Clyde grinned. "I know, but i got a REALLY bad feeling about this one"
Devon ignored this and shut his door.
He surveyed the area and sighed out loud.
There were other police cars as well as ambulance drivers already on the scene. The place was a 3 story Colonial Villa. Very big and very expensive looking. Devon unbuttoned his blazer,which threw his badge into view.
He walked over to an officer who was talking on a radio. The officer nodded and pointed to the direction of the entrance of the house. Devon waited until the officer was done talking into the radio.
"Officer Taggert" Devon said with much respect. Taggert held out his hand and shook Devons vigoroulsy. "Detective michaels" Replied Taggert.
Devon viewed the area and noticed a lone officer trying to apprehend a dog who had made the crime scene his new toilet. Taggert made a demand to get the dog out of there and get some ribbon around the area.
"So, officer Taggert whats the word?" Whispered Devon.
Taggert pulled off his hat and shook his head. "You won't believe this one,Detective".
"Try me" Answered Devon.
"Well it seems we got a murder and a half" Devon didn't like the sound of that. He had already had his share of mutilations. He stared at Taggert and shook his head. Taggert placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled. "No,son,its not like that" "It seems like someonekilled the owner of house, A man named Jonathan Horton, and his 14 year old son, had shot the killer"
"Only thing is" Taggert paused. Devon tilted his head. Taggert took a deep breath and continued. "Only hting is, we don't have the body of the killer" "The boy swears he put over 10 bullets into the face and chest of his fathers killer" "But unless the guy was Superman,he should be a corpse"
The first thing Devon noticed was the first rate security system installed within the house. His brother was into alarm systems, and he knew this guy must have gone for a good $2000.00.
Devon walked into the foyer and by habit dragged his feet on the rug. A memory swept through his mind and he smiled.
~Aunt Gertrude one time making him wash the floor when he and his cousin Oscar ran through it one summer afternoon,when he was about 10, after jumping in the bogs. Man, they were filthy from head to toe.~
He walked by a huge mirror and almost jumped out of his shoes when he saw the image that reflected back. He had been a lot healthier when he was still married to Janette**. He sighed deeply and scanned the foyer. One forensic agents was scraping some substance into a plastic bag. Devon walked over.
The man, who was on one knee noticed the shadow hovering above him. He looked back and hissed. "Hey could you get out of my light,Bub?"
Devon moved out of the way and for a slight moment flet like playing a little soccer with this guys head. Devon knelt down next to the agent. "Detective Michaels, homocide" He stated.
The agent looked at him and shrugged. "I'm happy for ya" The agent spat.
Devon tried his best to keep his anger in check. He looked at the asian carpet which they both knelt on. Devon thought the price of the carpet itself could feed a Country for a week.
He noticed a large blood stain in the middle. He pointed to it and asked whos it was. The agent sighed heavily. "It's a mix of both, the owner of the house and someone else's we don't know"
Devon raised an eyebrow at this. Well i guess they really did have a mystery man after all. But with no dead body it would get swept under the rug.
Devon looked at the agent and smirked. "You have a nice day now, ya hear" He said sarcastically.
The agent just looked up and held out his middle finger. Devon smirked again. He got up on both his feet and walked away, whispering just loud enough for the agent to hear him. "No need to show me your I.Q., a$$hole!"
He waited in the shadows,becoming one with the night. He pulled a cigarette from his mouth and flicked the burning embers to the ground. He held up a small pair of binoculars and spied into the buildings windows.
At times when the moon light would hit just right ,he could catch the silhouette of the boy. There he was cowering, within the depth of the room. But the boy could not cower deep enough, cause he was darkness.
He was night. He was all those things, that go bump in the night. He laughed at his own jingle.
He lit a new cigarette with the old and stood there, contemplating the next day.
The policeman would surely fulfill his obligations and transport the boy. Good. It would make planning so much easier.
He pulled out a sword from within his jacket. The blade gleamed in the moonlight. The handle, which adorned tiny ruby crosses, glowed a stigmatic type crimson. He stuck out his tongue and ran it across the blade, making the blade itself lined with a red stream.
He stared back once more at the window, and saw the boys face. His eyes all so innocent. His soul now corrupted. Tomorrow he would join the day of the dead.
#1highlander fan
09-09-2003, 09:39 PM
{CHAPTER 1:THE SEED IS PLANTED}
He hovered over his 8th cup of coffee of the day. He didn't know what would give out first, his bowels or his patience. He pushed the report away and leaned his head back on the chair. The florescent light was on the blink again.
He tapped his fingers on his skull and impatiently waited for a phone call.
Patience was never one of Devon Michaels' strong suits. Of course being a Homicide detective for 13 years will do that to you.
He picked up the report once more and jumped when the thunder boomed. great, another day of rain.”
It had constantly rained for the last 72 hours, only stopping a few minutes here and there to give a false hope. He reached out and grabbed the report and held it up to the desk light once more.
He shook his head in confusion. “What went wrong with this kid?” he whispered to himself.
James Horton. 14 years old. Accused of murder. Decapitation.
Family - father, recently deceased. Mother - where-abouts unknown.
He looked at the small inserted picture. It was just a small innocent looking boy. Brown hair, slight freckles, seemingly intelligent.
“How strange...” he thought. He looked over at the boy's psychological profile.
He had never suffered any kind of mental problems. Up until 2 weeks ago, the kid was just an ordinary kid.
Hell, He might grow up and become president one day.
Doctor Kenneth Manson watched the young boy through the one-way looking glass.
He scribbled notes on a piece of paper.
The boy sat in a room with bolted down furniture and drew on a piece of paper.
Dr.Manson stood silently, debating his next step. He sighed deeply and entered the room. The boy didn't look up, he just ignored the doctor altogether.
The doctor sat down beside the boy.
He watched intently as the boy gave him an obvious cold shoulder. He sat forward and put his hands on his knees.
"So, James,are you hungry?"
The boy stopped his drawing and looked at the doctor. He curled his lips and looked down.
"You have to eat, James!"
The boy became a little more anxious and started bearing down on his drawing.
The doctor was a little befuddled by this. "Can I see what you're drawing,James?"
The boy looked at the doctor and cocked his head. He then slid the piece of paper in front of the doctor. Dr.Manson smiled, then looked down at the drawing. He frowned and tilted his head.
The picture depicted a man getting struck by lighting and holding a sword. Around him were dead bodies and one without a head. This made Dr.Manson cringe.
He looked once more at the boy and swallowed hard. The boy was playing with his sneakers.
"James, who is this?"
The boy looked up. His lip trembled. "He's the one who killed my father!"
The doctor stared intensely at the boy, seeking a lie in his voice or body language.
"Ummm, James why is this man getting struck by lightning?"
The boy looked up at the doctor and frowned. "He's not." The doctor was taken back by the response.
He scanned the picture once more.
"Yes, James, the picture you drew has the man getting struck by lightning."
The boy shook his head. "It's not lightning!" he spat.
The doctor felt a bit uncomfortable.
He figured he would humor the boy a bit.
"OK, James, It looks like lightning to me, can you tell me how I can be wrong?"
The boy shrugged. "Lightning comes from the sky."
The doctor cleared his throat. "So you're telling me this lightning didn't come from the sky, well then just where did it come from?"
The boy seemed agitated by this question and sunk into the chair.
The doctor noticed this as well.
"James?"
The boy pointed his finger at the headless man in the picture. "From him!"
The doctor laughed. "The lightning came from the dead man, James?"
The boy nodded his head.
The doctor sighed. He rose from the table and walked over to the door. He looked back and the boy had begun to draw on a separate piece of paper. The doctor waited until an image formed. The doctor called out.
"And what is that a picture of, James?"
The boy held up the picture. It was a round circle with the letter W in the middle.
The doctor raised an eyebrow.
"And what is that a picture of?" he asked again.
James seemed to go into a trance.
"It was my father's tattoo".
The doctor walked out of the room and scribbled on the pad of paper again.
He then picked up a phone and called the Police station, and asked for Detective Devon Michaels.
James Horton entered a small room. The walls were colored light blue. He noticed only one window. It was barred. He had heard of places like this from his friends at school, but had always thought they were exaggerating. The room was smaller than his bedroom at home.
Nothing of it reminded him of home.
The bed was no more than a cot with an olive green blanket draped around it. It had the smell of disinfectants. It made his nose burn. He was being escorted in by two burly orderlies. They seemed nice, but smelled of urine.
He sat on the bed holding his only possession left in the world. A photo album, that he would not give up. One orderly, who bore his teeth marks on a hand, knew how badly. He flicked on a small desk lamp, but noticed no light bulb inserted in the socket.
He brought the album over to the window. The shadows of the bars danced across his album. It was raining out, but the moonlight still shone through. He reached out for the pillow and placed it behind his back. He opened the book and read the transcription he had read a hundred times before.
To James, from Mom and Dad. May these pictures in this album reflect a world of ever changing times, for they may be difficult at times but know that you don't walk alone, for we will walk with you. If you fall we shall pick you up, if you become lost we shall guide your way, and when you feel lonely, we are always beside you, love mom and Dad.
Devon Michaels jumped when the phone rang, knocking his coffee on the desk as well as the reports. "$hit!!" God dammit!!"
He moved the reports out of the way and reached for the phone. "Yeah?!" he called out.
There was a moment of silence before he heard a voice. "Ummm Detective Devon Michaels please!" Devon tried to hold the phone under the crook of his neck while wiping up the spill. "Yeah this is he, what can I do you for?"
"Yes, detective, this is Dr.Mason at the Fairhaven Psychotherapy Center" There was a pause, then: "You were the arresting officer for a boy named James Horton?"
Devon threw the paper towels in his waste basket, but unfortunately, missed. "I'm cursed" he told himself.
"Yes, Dr.Mason, I'm the arresting officer! So what did you find out?"
Dr.Mason was very quiet, then he said, "Detective Michaels, this situation is a top secret priority, you understand?"
Devon didn't like the politics of psychobabble, and did not like to involve himself in the affairs of doctors and scientists.
"Listen, Mason, I don't really care about the ins and outs of all this, just tell me if ya want the kid transferred to juvie or not?"
Another moment of silence. Devon could hear the doctor breathing heavy. Good, he'd pissed him off.
"When will you be arriving to transfer the boy, Detective Michaels?" Mason sneered.
Devon smiled to himself. "Tomorrow around noon. Make sure he's fed and had a potty run, OK,?"
This time the silence was deafening. "Noon tomorrow then Detective!!"
Mason hung up and Devon went to sit down on his chair. He looked at the clock. 10:37. Well time for a little trip to the ole pub.
He got up, locked up his office, shut off the lights and strolled down the corridor.
And a shadow from the darkest reaches of the corridor rose from the blackness. And followed Detective Devon Michaels.
James Horton just turned 14, four months ago. As he looked in his picture album, he could remember that day so vividly.
His dad had bought him a camera for his birthday. And James was so obsessed with taking pictures everything. The neighbors dog relieving himself on another neighbors lawn. His mother putting candles on the cake. His father on the phone..again.
His father was on the phone a lot lately.
Sometimes for hours at a time. And when he was not on the phone, he was having a party of sorts with a bunch of friends. Well, not friends exactly. They never went anywhere. Never bowling or to the baseball games, or anything like that. The just came over and ..talked. Once in a while he would leave on ..business trips, and would be gone for weeks. His father told him he worked in the real estate business, and had to go on company meetings once and a while.
James new this was a lie. He would go into his fathers study when he was away and he discovered lots of things that one did not use to sell houses.
One time he found 3 pistols. He could understand one for protection, but three?
He one time found a box full of photo's of men and women with a red X across their faces. He wondered if his father was hitman.
But then laughed at himself, cause his father was too kind and gentle for that.
James stood by the barred window, now lit by the bright sunlight. His photo album opened to his 14th birthday.
His father had been murdered and he knew not what had happened to his mother, but he vowed to find out. He just needed to get out of here first. He over heard Dr.Mason talking on the phone to a detective about transferring him to another place.
He would make his move then. He grabbed a pencil from one of the orderlies that brought him breakfast. The tip sharpened.
He would hunt down the man who killed his father. He would pay for what he did.
James squeezed the photo album with all his might.
Country music is awful. but it's a good way to wake up. Especially when the alarm clock is set to a country station, the volume turned up and the alarm clock is about 2 feet away.
This, Devon Michael's used daily. It was the only thing that would get him up in the mornings.
The drowning voice of Willie Nelson was like finger nails on a black board.
Devon stumbled out of bed, banged his little toes against the bed post and hopped to the alarm clock.
He fought for the buttons and felt he achieved another victory. And planned on celebrating that victory by rewarding himself with 5 more minutes of sleeping.
He jumped back into bed and pulled the covers over his shoulders. The yelling and swearing of the neighborhood kids had him adding the pillow to his head for extra silence. Kids. "How can they be so cute and evil at the same time?" He wondered.
He heard cap guns going off in the distance. It reminded him of his childhood, and the irony his future had taken. He always got the unfortunate luck at being the bad guy. It's too funny to think that 17 years later, he was an actual good guy. hmmm, good vs evil. Is there such thing? Are we all not evil at least once in our life? And doesn't that one evil deed make up for the last thousand good deeds?
He pulled the cover off his body and sat up. He felt around for the remote. And in typical Devon Michael's style, knocked it off the night table and crashing to the floor, the batteries then rolling under the bed.
"I think this is a sign to stay in bed" He told himself. And if right on cue, The scurrying foot steps of his St.Bernard could be heard coming his way.
The dog burst through the room and jumped on Devon. The dog licked at his face furiously.
Between coaxing and pleading Devon finally go the dog to calm down.
"This, he told himself, is the reason why dogs are better than women!"
An hour later after showering, shaving and walking Max, the wonder dog, he shouldered his gun and extra ammo clip and threw on his blazer.
God, how he hated to dress up. He looked at himself in the mirror. He still had all his hair, which was good. He opened his mouth and inspected his teeth. Yup, all still there. He stared at himself intently. Not bad for a 36 year old man, who quit the gym and started his new diet of cheese sausages and croissants.
Max was laid out in the backyard, content to just be alive. Devon smiled at this. He then began to frown. Today was the day he needed to transfer that kid. Jesus, and for a moment he thought it would be a nice quiet day. He hoped the kid would be nice and calm and not give him any problems.
Then he remembered that night. When the kids father had been murdered.........
FLASHBACK
*********************************************
He hated this, waiting outside a house for a fugitive to make his return. The contacts assured the operations detail that the fugitive would return tonight.
Well he had waited for over 14 hours. He felt incredibly cramped in the car. His partner seemed so peaceful. He never moved or complained, just sat their sipping his now cold coffee. But Devon Michael's was not the peaceful or patient type. And his partner, Clyde Abrams,always criticized him about this.
Devon Michael's brought the binoculars up to his eyes once more. He focused on the yellow brownstone house. Who paints their house yellow? He searched the windows from bottom to top. He lifted the binoculars to a house 6 feet away. The upper window was lit by inside lights. When he squinted hard enough he almost believed he could see the figure of a naked woman. But that was just hopeful thinking.
He leered over to his right side, and noticed Clyde nodding off. Poor guy, he had been on this stake out for almost one full day.
Devon looked into the rear view mirror and saw another parked car 100 feet away. This would be his backup. Maureen and Sandy.
They were good cops. Straight edged and competent. If this loser did show up tonight, he would be contending with the best.
He closed his eyes for a second, and was awakened by rain hitting his face. He jerked his watch to his face. Only two minutes went by. Thank god. Clyde was in deep sleep.
It began to rain harder now. The sky totally blackened. Every few minutes streaks of lightning would illuminate the sky. He knew he needed to get out of the car. His legs had tightened up and would prove useless if he needed to run.
He thought about waking Clyde, but that peacefulness on his face was classic.
He grabbed Clyde's umbrella and slide out of the car. He figured he would pay the ladies a visit. He ran over to their car and both of them were wide awake.
He knocked gently on the window and before he got one word out, Clyde was screaming at him from the car. He just nodded to the ladies and ran back. When he sat back in the car, Clyde had already a started it. Devon gripped the wheel, buckled himself in and stared at Clyde.
"We have a homicide at Churchill avenue" Informed Clyde.
That was all Devon needed to know. He peeled out and raced on over to Churchill Ave. Little did Devon know, that tonight would be a night of destiny. A night that would spawn evil. A night that would be consumed in vengeance. A night...his life would change.
Devon Michaels had pulled up along the sidewalk and parked the car. He looked over at Clyde who was relighting a cigar. "You ready for this Clyde?" Clyde puffed a great big cloud of smoke. "I got a bad feeling about this one,Devon!"
Devon opened his car door and stepped out. He popped his head back in. "You always have a bad feeling,Clyde!" He stated.
Clyde grinned. "I know, but i got a REALLY bad feeling about this one"
Devon ignored this and shut his door.
He surveyed the area and sighed out loud.
There were other police cars as well as ambulance drivers already on the scene. The place was a 3 story Colonial Villa. Very big and very expensive looking. Devon unbuttoned his blazer,which threw his badge into view.
He walked over to an officer who was talking on a radio. The officer nodded and pointed to the direction of the entrance of the house. Devon waited until the officer was done talking into the radio.
"Officer Taggert" Devon said with much respect. Taggert held out his hand and shook Devons vigoroulsy. "Detective michaels" Replied Taggert.
Devon viewed the area and noticed a lone officer trying to apprehend a dog who had made the crime scene his new toilet. Taggert made a demand to get the dog out of there and get some ribbon around the area.
"So, officer Taggert whats the word?" Whispered Devon.
Taggert pulled off his hat and shook his head. "You won't believe this one,Detective".
"Try me" Answered Devon.
"Well it seems we got a murder and a half" Devon didn't like the sound of that. He had already had his share of mutilations. He stared at Taggert and shook his head. Taggert placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled. "No,son,its not like that" "It seems like someonekilled the owner of house, A man named Jonathan Horton, and his 14 year old son, had shot the killer"
"Only thing is" Taggert paused. Devon tilted his head. Taggert took a deep breath and continued. "Only hting is, we don't have the body of the killer" "The boy swears he put over 10 bullets into the face and chest of his fathers killer" "But unless the guy was Superman,he should be a corpse"
The first thing Devon noticed was the first rate security system installed within the house. His brother was into alarm systems, and he knew this guy must have gone for a good $2000.00.
Devon walked into the foyer and by habit dragged his feet on the rug. A memory swept through his mind and he smiled.
~Aunt Gertrude one time making him wash the floor when he and his cousin Oscar ran through it one summer afternoon,when he was about 10, after jumping in the bogs. Man, they were filthy from head to toe.~
He walked by a huge mirror and almost jumped out of his shoes when he saw the image that reflected back. He had been a lot healthier when he was still married to Janette**. He sighed deeply and scanned the foyer. One forensic agents was scraping some substance into a plastic bag. Devon walked over.
The man, who was on one knee noticed the shadow hovering above him. He looked back and hissed. "Hey could you get out of my light,Bub?"
Devon moved out of the way and for a slight moment flet like playing a little soccer with this guys head. Devon knelt down next to the agent. "Detective Michaels, homocide" He stated.
The agent looked at him and shrugged. "I'm happy for ya" The agent spat.
Devon tried his best to keep his anger in check. He looked at the asian carpet which they both knelt on. Devon thought the price of the carpet itself could feed a Country for a week.
He noticed a large blood stain in the middle. He pointed to it and asked whos it was. The agent sighed heavily. "It's a mix of both, the owner of the house and someone else's we don't know"
Devon raised an eyebrow at this. Well i guess they really did have a mystery man after all. But with no dead body it would get swept under the rug.
Devon looked at the agent and smirked. "You have a nice day now, ya hear" He said sarcastically.
The agent just looked up and held out his middle finger. Devon smirked again. He got up on both his feet and walked away, whispering just loud enough for the agent to hear him. "No need to show me your I.Q., a$$hole!"
He waited in the shadows,becoming one with the night. He pulled a cigarette from his mouth and flicked the burning embers to the ground. He held up a small pair of binoculars and spied into the buildings windows.
At times when the moon light would hit just right ,he could catch the silhouette of the boy. There he was cowering, within the depth of the room. But the boy could not cower deep enough, cause he was darkness.
He was night. He was all those things, that go bump in the night. He laughed at his own jingle.
He lit a new cigarette with the old and stood there, contemplating the next day.
The policeman would surely fulfill his obligations and transport the boy. Good. It would make planning so much easier.
He pulled out a sword from within his jacket. The blade gleamed in the moonlight. The handle, which adorned tiny ruby crosses, glowed a stigmatic type crimson. He stuck out his tongue and ran it across the blade, making the blade itself lined with a red stream.
He stared back once more at the window, and saw the boys face. His eyes all so innocent. His soul now corrupted. Tomorrow he would join the day of the dead.
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