Solvig's Shadow: The Perkins School For The Blind Chronicles novel number 1:
By S.J.W.P me
Prologue: Inception Of The War:
People came from the east, north, west and, south. From the shores at Boston harbor and, up from underground, the swearers. It was not a stealthy attack however. They roared in, they poured in, eager for their oppressor's blood.
Fleeing. Weather on foot or, in a vehicle, people were fleeing from the blood bath which had erupted only hours before, in night drenched Southly. Sirens, many sirens, were worbbling and howling their way to various parts of the city of Boston Massachusetts. Malissa and her partner, Patrick, were sowing up a young black teen's shot leg. He needed more medical attention at a hospital but, it would have to do for now. Since eighty three or, four, Malissa and, Patrick had worked side by side in the same ambulance. "A little more thread, Pat.", Malissa muttered, snipping off the too short peace of which she held.
"Ah! You bitch!" The young man screamed in pain, Patrick had tightened the bandage a bit too fast and, hard. With a mouth on him, this kid kinda deserved it.
"People are too damn curious for their own damn good.", Pat said, glancing out of one of the small back windows of the stopped ambulance.
"Yeah and, be easy on our customers.", Patrick raised his dark brown eyebrows at Malissa. She never told him what not to do. "We want them to come back and enjoy our company again, right?" Pat laughed and put the med kit away.
"Well, I mean, look at this. Theah ah people everywheah out theah." Pat prided himself on his Boston accent, highly.
Malissa liked Pat but, the man wouldn't know the letter, -r-, if it came up and bit him on the left nut. That is how he talked. "Agreed, we still need to get this kid to a hospital. Before I kill him", Malissa added to the kid's hopeful frown.
"Hell yeah. Get me thah fuck outta heah!", the kid yelled.
"Hey! One more comment like that and, we use, this.", Patrick held up a sedation needle.
"Go feck yo Mamma, White Meat!", the kid yelled.
"Feck it.", Pat sighed. He knew that he couldn't legally use the needle unless the kid had a gun or, knife or, freaking out in general.
The didn't, have a gun and, the kid hadn't had a knife either. Aside from his mouth, the kid was an okay kid. "How's the traffic?", Malissa asked, trying to take both of their minds off of the kid and, the situation as a whole. Pat looked out the ambulance's windshield then, back at Malissa.
"Still fecked foah movin.", he responded, frowning. "Still gotta wait."
The ambulance shook as the ground shuttered underneath the wheels of the ambulance. A great, Boom!, had given voice somewhere in the distance, people screamed. "Woah! What the feck?!", Pat yelled. He had seated himself at the driver's station and Malissa sat in the back, next to the shooting victim. Outside, more sirens added to the chorus which was already there. Malissa and, Patrick exchanged half puzzled, half worried glances. The kid winced painfully.
Malissa's face went utterly bloodless. "Pat, you don't think she-"
Patrick turned in his seat, gazing at Malissa. He seemed to be nearly as frightened as she. "Well, she did say a wah, Liss."
Eventually the traffic continued it's inexorable crawl. Behind them, from the direction of Southy, bloomed a bright orange glow. Soon everyone would realize the fangs behind the lips of the earlier declaration. The War For Southy, had begun. It had been throbbing just underneath the surface of the Southy community, like a boil. Now it had burst.
Lightning danced across the night sky. Flames transformed midnight into noon. Blood flowed freely as a tall figure stood in a depression of an earlier detonation, car, no truck, bomb. If you listened closely, you could hear the figure's laughter. Eye for an eye, an ear for an ear. A family for a family, blood for blood. For it was the way of Southy...violence.
The figure watched, in it's own blind way, as the foe began to break and, run. It laughed. No, they would not get far.
"Hi there! Gee I am sorry. I didn't see you, cheep joke, I know. Okay so, this last bit was painted this way in order to draw you in more than anything else. It didn't quite happen like that. Though, I will say this. The night that The War For Southy began, it would be recorded as the worst rioting in the city's history. But, the news always fucks shit up. It was no riot. I will tell you what it was, excuse me for a sec. There. Now I got my coffee I can talk. Boston got raped with an iron cock. It did though. I know, I know. Rape is nothing to joke about but, it is what happened to Southy.
Are you comfy? Yeah? Oh good. The War For Southy erupted when the citizens of Southy, only a couple hand fulls, decided that they were going to take no more of the Irish Occupation's mushroom breeding. Everybody in Southy had been kept in the dark and, fed bullshit for far too long, decades really. My Great, Great, Great, Great Grandmother compared Southy to Nazi Germany, in the way people just gladly bent over the counter and let the Irish fuck them all in their collective assholes. People died more indirectly in South from the Irish then they did in Germany.
Drugs, sex, alcohol, Hit-men and, simple governmental neglect. They were ruthless with the local gangs as well. Nasty, nasty people to become entangled with. The head of the famed criminal conglomerate even ate up law enforcement agencies. They even went so far as to purchase plants, placing them in the White House. Frightening yeah? As America is want to do in times such as these, they put their heads in the sand and waited for all the bad things to go away. At the order of the President himself, the film industry ballooned. You don't make good movies to make the American public forget about the fact that they are headed for a continental collapses, you will be imprisoned.
So came down the order from the oval office. Make it as insidious a death as humanly possible. Was their basic point. Even the United Nations saw that the American public were being squashed into the ground, forced to place their heads in the sand, as their government had done. It was obvious what was happening, to anyone with a mind of their own that is. The I.R.A were lobbying for full governmental control here, gaining it too. A few people dared to stand in the way of this, prominent amongst them, my Grandmother, I will be calling her my Grandmother in regard to my sanity okay? She fought bravely, very bravely. Tragedy struck again and, again however, for us all. Damn.
Samantha Jean Winters. Pebble for all you on the streets of Southy, where she spent twenty one months of her young life. I am writing these chronicles in honor of her efforts. I am also writing them so people understand the truth behind the mask of her nature. She was very kind and, warm. She was just insanely savage when it came to the protection of the one's whom she truly cared for. She waged war against any whom dared fuck up their valuable lives.
These stories are chronicling her life and, that of her two very best friends, she even married one of them. Also, we will hear about the tragedy behind the death of, Bread. We will also hear from another close friend of Samantha's. My name is Samantha The Second. I write this in honor of you Gran, in remembrance of all you accomplished. I love you.
Alright enough of this emo sappy shit. Lets get to the storytelling. To begin this properly we must start in Watertown Massachusetts...
Oh, one last thing, before we dive in here. Dog's licking my legs, no that's not it, sorry. I will be speaking to you at the end."
Chapter 1: Duty:
Slurp, slurp, slurp, slurp! The little girl, Tina, giggled happily as the small German Shepard puppy licked her face even more enthusiastically. Bill Warren was smiling, as was his Wife, Amy. The three boys were playing Super Mario Three on their Nintendo, they had yet no knowledge of the pup. It was Tin's Birthday and, Bill wanted to let his youngest, and only Daughter choose the name of said pup. Suddenly the pup jumped up on the table and, trod right through the salad Tina had lain out for their Sunday lunch. The little beast was going for the big steak, which sat beside the salad. The lunch was about to be announced when he'd come from the animal shelter with the pup in toe. "No!" Bill had yelled at the pup, whom was not about to even begin listening to him. Bill dove for the steak, pup too.
"Bill, the steak!" Amy had yelled. Bill tripped over a pulled chair, his at the head of the table, crashed to the dinning room's tiled floor and, the pup plopped down on his chest chomping away at the steak, which now lay on Bills chest.
"What kind of pizza do you want?" Bill had asked. All were laughing, even the boys whom had ran in at the sound of the crash.
"Bill, the dog's got salad on his paws. Give him a bath and, I will see to the pizza." Amy said, still smiling, now knowing that Bill was unhurt. As it turned out, the pup hated water, even in the bathroom sink. The pup cried and, yipped loudly. There had been a bit of an argument over first the pizza then, who's dog it was then, the name of the dog. The final name turned out to be of his Daughter's design, as promised. Bill smiled at her logic when the name had been given. Bill always wondered at the logic skills of a five year old. Everybody had laughed at the name of...
"Salad Paws!" As Tina had pipped.
Now, in the dinner, Bill winced hard. He was wishing that his shot glass was full of vodka, rather than fucking water. "Gah, damn it!" Bill spat savagely under his breath.
"Anymore salad, Sir?" A waitress asked, with the curtsey of her profession. "Sir? Sir?" The Woman asked going unheard.
The pup, the fucking pup. How could they have done that to his pup. Kids were in the house too. How could they have done that? A gentle tug on his left shoulder snagged his attention. The ugly thoughts faded for a moment. He looked up. "Huh?" Bill asked, temporarily bewildered.
"I asked if you wanted more salad or, some more water in a shot glass?" The Waitress asked, smiling in a fake sort of way.
"Oh, yes please, water. thank you" The Waitress nodded and, withdrew. She asked no questions about his shot glass of water. It was indeed water for a special reason. Bill had gotten himself into it real deep with the Irish Maphia, Of Southy. It would not matter that his business was just outside of Southy. It had been sized via the business purge. In order to stay in business, he'd had to swear to join up. He'd, at first, refused to play ball with the slimy bastards. He had hired a Lawyer. Only to find out that the Lawyer whom he'd hired to sue the Boston Mob was a Kingpin in disguise. This Kingpin, name of Roland, really gave Bill the shivers. It was obvious he was not all there.
"Here's your water, Sir." The Waitress walked away. The red headed Waitress was so calm and, cool that it made Bill suspect that she was the plant of the Mob's. They had told him that they would have one here tonight, to make certain that their, "work", was being carried out. The water was one of their orders as well. Nothing strong, this way he couldn't flub the job. They wanted him to kill a cop for him, he'd balked at first. Then came the night when hell rained down.
Bill owned his own business. He was the founder and, head of the largest automotive dealership in Southy. It was now a combined chop shop and, drug smuggling operation for the Mob. Just now he'd, dropped, his wallet in front of the smaller of the two off duty Cops, sitting in the booth in front of his own. A slip of paper had, slid, out of the confines of his wallet.
"Hey, you dropped your wallet, Sir." The Officer handed Bill the wallet back.
Bill smiled at the cop. "Check the paper." Bill had mouthed this at the Officer. The Officer had frowned, brow farrowed in puzzlement. By the time the Cop looked up, Bill was sitting where he was now. The paper had given the address of his, now former, place of business. On the back it had said to get his kids and, Wife out safely then find them safe houses. Clearly not dirty or, stupid, the Officer pocketed the slip of paper casually. That will give them a shock. Bill had not told the Officer that he was going to kill his Partner. That would get his family killed for sure. What choice was there. He couldn't drop another slip of paper telling the man he was sorry. The first was risk enough.
Bill knew that if he was going to fight back against these people, he would need to be smart about it. He would never forget the night when hell had broken in a wave over his home. Bill had come home, after a day of getting his place of Business tossed out from under him. He had walked up the front stoop of his large house. Several alarm bells rang inside of Bill's head. Firstly, at seven at night the house stood dark. His kids were allowed to stay up late enough until Dad had come home, always. There was always at least the front light switched on. Also, the latch had been expertly forced with a bobby pin or, something. He stepped into his house cautiously. "Hello?" He had asked the dark house. Perhaps his kids had decided to play a joke? They had scared him silly one April's fools night just like this.
"Hie. In here, me boy." A lucky charms accented voice, though colder and, much deeper, called from the front sitting room. Bill's bones did a little version of the conga at the sound of that voice. He knew who that was, his artificial Lawyer.
Mr. McMillon, is that you?" Bill called. The downstairs power had been shut off. The upstairs landing light was the only source of light to go by. Bill tracked a scent of metal, like a coppery aroma. Though he'd never smelled it before he knew what it had to be deep within his gut, blood. A lot of blood. Most of it had come from the general direction of the dinning room. Salad Paws, or what was left of him, was scattered about the room. The pup's head sat atop the dinning room table like some sort of sadistic centerpiece. The pup's glazed over brown eyes yawned balefully at Bill. battling his rising gorge, Bill walked toward the voice, it had come from the front sitting room. Their dog.
Bill was forced to accept the fact that his family very well may be dead or, worse. Was there any worse? He was placed into a chair. Pushed into it really but, Bill did not notice. Other than the fact that it was his Wife's chair he'd been pushed into. Four big body guards glared down at Bill. Bill was under six feet by about three inches. These men stood above six feet by about three or, even four inches. Bill damn near swallowed his tongue when Roland stepped out of the dark shadows. Roland was the Mob Boss's number four in command. Oh hell. Bill thought to himself.
Roland stood near enough to seven feet in height. Roland did not stand, he loomed and, he had a reputation for rape. "I have no time to bandy with ya." Roland said in his deep rolling Irish brogue. "Your gonna kill me Cop Brother."
"What?!" Bill shouted in shock and, outrage.
"You'll do it or, your family will die in a burnin house, after I rape your Wife in front of ya then, your dead next, understand?" The big man's eyes were tiny balls of azure ice. Roland brought out a wine bottle from behind his broad back. "Should I start now?" Bill knew what that wine bottle would be used for, all to well. To sodomize his Wife.
"Why our dog?" Bill asked without thinking.
"Buggarin thing bit me arm." McMillon snarled.
"He was teething, you could have said, down boy." Bill had said. They all new that Bill was gibbering nonsense out of fear.
"Shut your bleedin mouth or, they'll be lots more blood on your hands Warren." Roland snarled. "This is what you get for trying to stick it to us. We'll be takin your family for insurance." Roland grinned, revealing three missing top front teeth.
Bill signaled to the Waitress. He had to preform the duty set before him by the Mob or, his family would pay the price. Bill saw no way out of it. The fact that they had found his home told Bill that they had him by the balls. No way out.
"Yes, Sir?" The Waitress smiled.
"I will be going out. If my associate arrives tell him that I will not be far." That was bullshit. It was code for I will outside and, still watching my intended target. Please do not kill my family simply because I am not up my target's ass.
"I will." For the Waitress's part, she was confused but, she'd seen this look in family men's before. He thought she was his plant.
"Thank you." Bill replied. Yep, she was the plant. Her long red locks waved and, bounced as she walked away from his booth.
The spare male subject walked carefully out of the dinner, Brent watched him go. Brent had dealt with more than his fare share of drunks and, drug addicts. When the man had dropped his wallet Brent had smelled salad on his breath but no booze. Just to be on the safe side, Brent signaled to Jayden that he didn't want to discuss the note here. Jayden had nodded and then gone to the bathroom, excusing himself along the way to an elderly woman whom he'd walked into him by accident. Jayden had set the woman back on her feet and, continued his way to the bathroom.
"Officer Kraft, would you like to order now that the man is gone?"
Brent Sighed "I have told you so many times to please just call me, Brent, Jo." Brent said. He had known Jo for a while now and, she did not have a strong Boston accent but, her -R- did tend to fade. It was still there but, not fully. Brent was German born so, no Boston accent for him either. He had German Parents whom taught him German. Brent wore a faint Germanic accent, like his five Sisters and, Brothers. Brent's Grandparents were all German and, had no English.
"Okay, but my Boss hates it when I become too close to the patrons."
"Run?" Brent asked in a whisper, as not to get the young woman into trouble. Jo nodded her bright green eyes once, only her eyes. Yes, that meant. This meant that he and, Jayden should take this place down. Because, the word, "run", meant that the Mob had their filthy fingers in this pie. Watertown was not going to stand for that at all, for very long. "Usual please, Jo?" She nodded, smiling. The Irish had spread pretty far if they now had agents in Watertown.
"My sea food guy." Jo said as she spun and went back into the kitchens to tell the Cook that Brent wanted his usual shrimp platter. Using, "Officer Kraft."
"Hey Brent, you know your Married, uh, right?" Jayden teased beside Brent. He was drying his big hands with a napkin.
"Oh...shut up, Officer Asshole." Brent teased right back, smilingly. Brent caught the thrown napkin of Jayden's then.
"Ooh, good one. I like that." Jayden said musingly.
"Yeah, well, it's a gift." Brent shrugged.
"Too damn bad you've used that particular invective about a thousand times since we met, that's all."
Brent mockingly glared at his best Friend and, Partner. Brent was a big man, at six feet four and, two hundred fifty one pounds. Jayden was seven inches taller than that and, thirty pounds heavier. One whole inch away from being seven feet tall dead ass even. Fast too, shockingly so. Yet, Jayden or, Uncle Jay to his kids at home, Jayden Winters was the kindest man in all the land, Brent thought. Example. When Shawn, Brent's youngest boy, had been sick, Jayden walked into the hospital, at one in the morning after a very, very long shift, and gave Shawn his very own police walky-talky. Telling him that if he ever felt lonely, just call. Jayden was a very good man. No fool crossed Jayden but, he was a decent man and, a competent Officer to have around. "Did you order yet?" Brent asked.
"Oh, hie. Pattie Slammies."
These were potato pancakes with mixed vegetables thrown on. It came with a salad and, a large herbal tea. Jayden and, the Cook had a good friendship. Jayden had reformed the man's Son from life in a gang, to life in college, who knew how? Otherwise, Pattie Slammies would only be made only on St. Patrick's day. This is why they'd been named Pattie slammies.
"Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday dear Quenilyn...Happy Birthday to you!"
A four part family sang Happy Birthday to a small girl over across the row from where Jayden and, Brent sat. "Don't give me those puppy dog's eyes, go on man." Brent said, he know what Jayden wanted to do. Jayden stood up. It were these kinds of things that Jayden did that made Brent think of Jayden as a really big kid in a ton of ways. The first time they'd started coming here on a regular basis, Brent almost broke his ribs trying not to laugh. Something about a nearly seven foot tall man ordering something called, Pattie Slammies, was just funny to Brent, hilarious in point of fact. Jayden knew about Jo's kid and, always gave Jo a fifty dollar tip, though he too was expecting a kid not too long from now. His Wife Veronica, Ronnie, would be popping one out of the oven really soon now. Any day in fact.
"Thank you Mr Winters!" The tiny voice of Quendilyn Ross pipped now. She had taken the yellow lolly pop Jayden had given her, telling her to be careful with it. Jayden hugged the small girl, the Parents watching nervously. Jayden was big. He smiled at them all.
"Call me Uncle Jay, if you wanna Lass." Jayden said, his Irish showing through his speech. It did that when he was happy, angry too.
"You will make a great Father." Brent told his friend as he reseated himself in the too small booth, for him anyway. Jayden broke into a grin.
"Hie? You really think so? I can't measure with you, Brent." Brent's dark green eyes sparkled into his friend's light blue ones.
"Well, now you've gone and done it. I'm red as a damn candy apple. Thanks, Jayden." Brent teased.
"Oh, shove off with ya. Apples are pretty. Candy apples are sweet ta-boot ya know." Jayden said, smiling. Jayden got up and took the plates, heavy and hot with food, from Jo, still smiling. Brent let a pleasant thought float past him, his did the same sometimes. Brent had three boys and, three girls. He counted himself as blessed, as did his Wife.
The damn fool can't stop grinning. Brent thought. "Happy Birthday!" Brent called over to the family. They smiled and, nodded.
"No, no. I've got em, Jo. Go on with ya and, take your break now, I thank ya kindly." Jo smiled and, vanished once again.
This place may have been run but, Jayden owned the place when he was here, make no mistake. "Thanks, Jayden." Brent said, tucking in at once. They ate in silence. They left after the fifty dollar tip was placed upon the booth's table.
Bill watched the two big uniformed Officers get into their squad car, shutting the doors as one. Bill sighed. He hated this.
Jayden and, Brent joked a bit as they climbed into their black and, white. The radio crackled to brief life. "We have a fight in progress just past river street, please respond." The two cops glanced at each other, the same thought being shared. Jayden sat in the driver's seat, Brent the passengers. They nodded once as one. They were on duty now.