This is the introduction and first chapter of my crime/horror antihero protagonist.
As children we make believe an entire universe of monsters and ghosts, villains and heroes, and sometimes friends. When you don't really fit in to a setting as children, they play with these imaginary friends. Most children grow up from this phase, most adults never hear those voices or see those children again, but sometimes the voices never go away. Sometimes the imaginary children grow up as you do, and sometimes when it seems like you have no friends in the world, having something temporary to talk to our to have a experience with. Sometimes, this goes away, when your social life kicks up again. Does imagination really go away, or are the voices, and these imaginary people just looking for the right time, to say or do something. We all have to grow up, right?
Paradise, a city of over 2 million people, located on the East Coast, it is a melting pot of people, ideas, and commerce. Crime and Corruption run wild, its ghettos are referred as Hell itself. However, museums and malls, concert halls and bars, anything and everything flourishes here. Bohemia brings in people from all over the USA for their big break, actors, actresses, directors, and writers. Bull Street, brings in the businessmen, brokering and gambling company fortunes, money turns like a dial on a clock, the epitome of wealth and greed. Socrates Circle has some of the finest educational institutions in the world, both colleges and public and private secondary schools. The subjects of Science, Art, History, and Math are innovating the very future of the world. Military wise it is one of the highest recruitment of officers and career enlistees in the state at times top ten in the region as well. Not to forget there are three military bases inside the city limits, all with a specific task, weapon testing being a cooperative effort. The city is at its peak of prosperity, and it is always easy when times are good to hold a blind eye to suffering around you.
Who is responsible when good men do nothing, when everything you do, has an affect on the world around you. Its enough for most to go insane. Psychotic some say.
A History of Violence
It was dusk in late September. The migrating birds started chirping and the city neighborhood was alive with play. Children laughed so innocently as the tap of a bat and the later wale of a flying ball came into even the most distant ears. Cars drove by slow and ready for any ball to be chased into the street, and all the neighbors were home. An unmistakable echo filled the peaceful street, and it was as if that sound did not happen. It was their inaction that sealed the fates of a young boy and an unborn fetus.
In a small room off the dining room a child was playing. Trucks and trains, army men and police, his play was scattered and highly imaginative. Joy filled his rosy cheeks and a half smile came to his boy mouth. Blonde hair with highlights growing black, and eyes honey brown turning to abysmal black in times of joy or pain. Just like his father's.
The next room was filled with sound and angry voices. Argument carried from the dining room to the small kitchen. A woman, curvy and beautiful, with stress and worry filling her face stood at the skin washing and rinsing the bottles and dish of her child. Fire spit from her lips on her convictions and her responsibilities. Brown eyes filled with tears but would dare not fall for the emotion was held back by her motherly and former wifely rage. The man at first stood silent and took the verbal assault.
“Yes, we are getting a divorce. You have a problem! You don't take your fucking meds with our son in the next room. He is four years old, he doesn't understand, why daddy isn't here.” Showing a slight bit of compassion she tilted her head looking at the shadowed man that she once loved absorbing her attacks barely out of the doorway. “You need help. I can't give it to you. Especially when we have a son to raise. Get better and be a dad to your son.” She paused and lowered her voice to just above a whisper in a plead, “Please Mika!”
Coming forward from the shadow of the wooden door frame his jean jacket revealed soiled. A mop of long brown hair stood on a Mediterranean face, oval and at one time soothing, but frighteningly focused. Shadows under his eyes of sorrow on top the recent shiner. His lip fleshy and swollen. Broad shoulders stood on a muscular frame covered in a white t-shirt and jean pants. His left hand trembling as a red river fell from his hands. Knuckles laid skinless and exposed. The abysmal eyes looked over at the shouting yet compassionate woman he once called wife, and a desperate smile came to his face.
“They came to collect. I told them I had a family to come home to.” His slow and exclaimed, but whispered speech showed his pain as high pitches sporadically followed words and phrases. “If I didn't have a family they would have killed me. Would have killed me for fighting back.”
“Mika,” the woman gasped as she started to run to him but stopped. Turning her head from the abysmal eyes she once loved she sighed thinking only the best scenario for herself and the child playing in the next room. “You have to leave. Call Doctor Sullivan, or just go back to the hotel. Please just rest and we will talk about this tomorrow.”
“NO.” Mika whispered as his head dropped looking at hardwood floor of the kitchen. “I have a family. I'm dead without my family. I...” the man stopped in mid-sentence looking at the blonde child playing in the carpeted room. Eyes filled with tears, and only the sickly smile clearly noticeable on his face. “This is my family. No one else.” He continued to whisper as he slowly turned from looking at his son and back at the worrisome beauty. “If I can't have my family no one else will.”
The strong woman at first charged the tear stricken man, anger and fear filled her voice. Adrenalin filled her veins as she didn't even feel a steak knife fall and cut her. She walked passed the blood soaked silverware continued her advance but was stopped in her tracks. Rage turned to fright as her eyes opened wide and then crossed onto what looked like a metal pipe just inches from her face. Blood ran down the stainless steel however the once trembling hand stood steady with the heavy weapon in it. First speechless as if she was a young woman looking upon the weapon in a simple robbery but then words erupted from her stomach and heart as her motherly instinct came forth.
“Mika, what the hell are you doing?” She submissively asked looking deep into the black voids of the man's eyes.
“If not my family,” the man spoke, lips trembling, and tears running like waterfalls but with lack of compromise inside his eyes. “If not my family, then no one else will call himself father. Or husband.” Jerking the pistol back quickly, cocking the hammer, he pointed the gun again. “We will be reunited, and be a family again.”
Looking moments ahead to when her corpse would hit the ground then eventually her son. The frightened but womanly mother knew she had to survive. At any costs, as the fear in her eyes turned to a false submission. She moved into the barrel of the gun and her hands caressed it. Her eyes lids fell slightly as they did when the lovers were young under the dimmed moonlight, and she masked her desire.
“Oh Mika, Mika, why do you say such things.” She whispered as her hands moved passed the man's wrist and seduction filled her body language coming closer to the man. “We could be a family now and here. I'm sorry I didn't see it before.”
“See what,” the gunman whispered through his trembling lips.
“How much of a man you are, I thought I'd lost my husband.” Her pheromone words blew into his ears as she moved her bust onto his blood soaked jacket soiling her apron.
“I've been sick,” Mika whispered loosing his grip on the gun.
“I know baby, I'm here.” Leaning into him she first kissed his neck and then a little lower to the place where the chest meets the neck. Her brown eyes looking down then up to her once lover, as she did in passion. Her hands roamed and found the man's buckle and the zipper. A pretense to what she was prepared to do, she gasped and fondled. The man then closed his eyes in lust, almost not feeling the delicate fingers creeping toward the weapon.
“This time it will be forever,” Mika whispered into the black hair of his once lover. Opening his eyes now feeling the hands move to take control of the mechanical power inside his palms. No more angry and almost expecting this act his hands gasped the handle tighter, and the barrel moved up the woman's torso to underneath her chin. “I'm doing this because I love you, you and Joespf. See you soon.”
Pulling the finger back and down on the trigger his hands trembled, and the mans body fought the thoughtless action of the heart. His delusions were too strong to resist, and in a moment she would be dead. Then a shadow filled the doorway from the carpeted living room. Short and petrified the once joyful face looked of pure fright.
“Daddy!” the boy shouted.
Mika looked back on his son, and hesitated for another few seconds. Seeing the level of fear he delivered to his family, reason tried to rebuke the obsessions echoing inside the mans conscience. Shaking his head in conflict, the gun trembled in his hand, doubting everything he had once thought. Going through every scenario in his head, he shut his eyes and pulled away from the terrified woman. Walking to a distant corner, he put his head inside his hands while still holding the gun.
“Joespf, come to me now!” the mother shouted as she fell to the ground leaning against the metal and fiber class stove. The small feet sprinted as fast as they could crying into his mother's bosom. The brown innocent eyes looked upon the gun wielding tear stricken man, turning the grown man's soul.
“God gave me this, and I can't let it go. Without my family there is nothing to live for. My goddess and my son everything I ever could have wanted. Taken away from me,” Mika screamed in the low commanding but emotional tone.
“Mika, listen to me.” the mother said in a stern but caring tone. “Your not loosing a family, your loosing a wife. Your son needs you, he needs a father.”
The man breathed heavier and heavier but was for a moment speechless. Tears stopped falling, brown compassion for a moment filled the driven man's eyes. However a second later the left eye started to twitch slightly in insanity. A side affect of withdrawal from the prescriptions.
“Joespf needs a family. We need to be a family. God will reunite us,” the man declared as she stormed forward pointing the gun. Instinct told the woman to pull the baby behind her as she attempted to shield her son from the appending figure. However the suspenders slipped out of her hand and her child seemed to storm his father.
A shinny of light refracted off something as the descending sunlight. Sound of a slight whistle filled the chaos, and the advancing figure suddenly lost his balance as blood squirted from his knee. Distracted the hand wielding the gun lifted into the air and a echo blared into the ceiling fan. Another round was fired as the almost six foot man finally started to fall. The muscular torso falling backward arched leaving the head lower and about to hit the ground first.
The mopy like black hair cushioned the skull for a millisecond before it colliding with the wood. With the impact, a nerve response told the finger to jerk and squeeze off one final shot off from the gun. A bullet that cut through the air and found its fleshy target.
Instinctively the child ran to fallen man in a fit of ignorant rage; kicking and screaming the knocked out man. Tears ran down his rosy cheeks and his little fits pounded on the muscular chest. The anger stopped leaving only child like guilt and fear, the boy looking to his motherly guardian tears in and falling from his eyes. “Mommy!”
“Oh my god,” She whispered in shock. I'm so proud of you, my brave, brave boy.” the woman whispered as tears and pride filled her eyes as her hands were bloodied hiding a stomach wound.
The once quiet neighborhood was now alive with sirens and police officers. Paramedics stormed into the tan and beige house with great haste. The uniformed police officers created a perimeter around the now interested once deafened neighbors. SWAT police stormed in before the paramedics wearing all black body armor and riot face wear. Hiding their faces behind plastic and metal respirators, eyes cased in plastic bubbles.
Four of the armored men picked up the unconscious man, and took him away on a hand stretcher. While the other masked man, reached out his gloved hand to the woman bleeding on the wood floor. His hand on her left shoulder as Joespf laid buried into her right bosom, the leather and mesh fingers massaged her shoulder in comfort.
“Don't worry kid, she's going to be all right.” the man repeated over and over again, as the once so frightened boy looked on this figure in awe. Joespf remembered him only as the “Gas Mask Man.”
The paramedics, two men and a female, moved quickly over the fading woman. The once passionately brown eyes now laid dormant behind her feminine eye lashes. The blue jumpsuits put the IVs into the limp arms and the plastic mask over her mouth letting the oxygen into her nostrils.
Joespf feeling afraid however in his child like attention span was distracted by the flashing lights. Even the soaring of the sirens calmed him as he looked on the two male paramedics frantically moving in the confides of the ambulance. More and more suspended bags came empty and more and more they had to replace them, then one of the them looked almost shocked and physically fell back slightly.
“Dave this woman is pregnant. Months over due, maybe more, no wonder we are going through so much fluid.” The young crew cut paramedic spoke over to his companion. “Whole shit, no wonder the EKG is off from her wrist pulse. I've never seen anything like this!”
` Even more frantic than before the blue jumpsuits were replaced by white coats and blue scrubs. Joespf stood now caressing a random teddy bear given to him by one of the on call nurses, looking into the operating room seeing the men and woman moved in a controlled panic. He did not cry, but worry and awe filled his face as his eyes absorbed everything.
The blood soaked sheets and instruments, the commanding doctors and helpful nurses. All making movement after movement to the beeps of the various machines around them.
A blade sliced into his mother's stomach just under where the bullet had struck. The tallest of scrubbed out doctors reached into the slice and moving slower than before put first one then both hands inside pulling out a black orb like object. “My God. This is the first ever case I've seen of this,” the doctor whispered bringing the small reptilian like creature into the artificial light.
“What is it doctor,” a nurse asked as the group looked in awe at the slimy gray humanoid staring blankly with blood shot eyes.
“This child was in a sense, well mummified, inside it's embryonic sack. Usually this is what happens to stillborn twins, but for some reason this child lived for almost a year.” The doctor exclaimed as they continued to examine the abomination.
“Then how did it die,” the same nurse asked now taking the dead child from the doctors hands.
“It eventually drowned as the umbilical cord rotted off, a horrible way to die. When she comes out of the amnesia tell her we had to remove the bullet and a malignant tumor. God knows she doesn't need to know more than that, especially after a domestic violence incident.” The doctor spoke as he gestured to another nurse to prepare his stout to stitch up his incisions and the bullet hole.
The first nurse carried the corpse of the child over to an incubation table that was surprisingly low to the ground. It laid at almost eye height to the teddy bear holding Joespf as he saw the whole thing from the observation room.
Looking into the table Joespf was hypnotized by the black voids that were this creature's eyes a red ring surrounding the pupils. Slimy undeveloped skin made up the small doll like body. No nostrils only two slits and a flesh patch for a mouth. Ears of small holes and fingers almost web like added to the bizarreness of this monster.
Joespf's eyes filled with guilt again, as his little lips tucked inside his mouth, and he began to pout. “I'm sorry Bra Bra. I love you brotha. Brother...”