The king of Canyon City was a cruel and unjust man. Corrupt and evil to the core. His people were growing weak, tired, and hungry by the day. Every ounce of what they had to give was being bled to feed his greed and selfishness. This undeserving king has been drunk with power for longer than most want to remember, and the everlasting drawn-out pain of his royal reign has aged everyone unfairly. No one cared anymore. They did as they were told because there was no other option but to concede to a vicious ruler that stole everything. Nothing much was left and before long, his people would wither and blow away like the dust across the barren land they called home. All of this was destined to become the last chapter of their existence until a rumor was heard. Whispers of a forgotten king. An uncrowned king with the blood of inheritance, the blood of the people. But will he fight for his people? Will he fight for his rightful throne? Will he fight to become… a true king?
Leroy Dink. “Dinks” was the Willy Wonka of arcades. He was strange, odd, socially awkward, and moody. Unlike the chocolate factory, there was no need for a golden ticket to get into his whimsical haven for kids. Nope…if Dinks liked you and you had money to spend, you were welcome. If Dinks didn’t like you and you had money to spend, the money was welcome. Oh, and another thing about Dinks. If he really wasn’t fond of you, well, let me just say this. There’s no free men when he makes you play for your own life.
Here’s the original Story Jot that started this tale. For continuity, (Please Click Here)
Aeryn: Sister, you’re injured. We should stop. That is a lot of blood coming out of that wound.
Adria: It’s fine. We don’t have time to stop. Those humans won’t be stopping, so we cannot afford to. Let’s keep on moving. You know the plan.
Aeryn: I know the humans are on us, I remember the plan, but we just need to slow down enough so we can heal you. Come, take hold of my hand.
Aeryn moves close to her sister who by now has no use of her entire left side. She could barely keep herself in flight. The gunshot wound she received from a shower of bullets sprayed at them during their escape was looking more and more serious. As soon as Adria got ahold of her sister’s hand, both began to glow. They flew in a trance-like state with their eyes closed as Adria’s wound began to heal and her skin slowly started to grow over. Colour came rushing back into her face and body and the blood stopped right away. She was healing.
Officer Dusty Salad had been given strict orders to bring Detective Sarah Wilson directly home after the Burnside Country Club investigation wrapped up. No stops, no detours, just straight to 126 Maple Road. The address of Detective Ethan Frost and his wife Susan. Only, Officer Salad was not following the orders he was given. He was not on his way to 126 Maple Road. No instead, instead, he was driving his police cruiser in the opposite direction. And, in two short minutes, with the key party to those orders in the backseat, would be pulling up to Lochlan’s Pub. A bar located a few short blocks from the precinct that catered mostly to cops. It was the perfect place to blow off a little law enforcement steam and a place Sarah was a regular.
It excites me to write that I have something coming down the pipeline with regards to my series “The Red Journal”. I hit a wall with this project an embarrassing long time ago on account of losing my confidence in the story. But, short and sweet, and no bullsh*t excuses. The Red Journal is back in my “works in progress”.
Also, I’m planning a relaunch of the designated page to get everyone up to speed and on the same well…page. So, hang tight, and soon enough we will all be getting another chance to delve back into the lives of Det. Sarah Wilson, Det. Ethan Frost, supporting cast, and the still unknown killer. Someone who has taken quite the shine to Det. Wilson and there is not one single clue to determine why.
Stay tuned for the next chapter in my killer story that’s literally “in the making”. As in, I am making it up as I go…
The town of James Harbour was only a few short kilometers up ahead. Jake Fox, a police detective, travelling from the mainland, was hoping his assumptions were correct. This narrowing of the main road had to mean the god-forsaken bus ride would soon be over. It had to. For the four-hour ferry trip and the longest eight-hour drive ever from where the ferry finally landed him ashore had finally taken its toll. His whole body ached, and his neck made a crunching noise as he tilted it slightly to look out the tiny window next to him. Now, he was beginning to realize how remote this community was going to be. A complete contrast to the big city he just left behind. ‘Geez, can you believepeople choose to live here?’ He mumbles under his breath. Jake Surveys the landscape some more. He couldn’t deny the beauty of the place. Snow-capped rolling hills, and rugged unforgiving mountains sheltered the tiny hamlet on three landlocked sides. Everything protected from the mood swings of mother nature. The picturesque backdrops he was starting to enjoy suddenly changed. They quickly went from the perfect desktop screensaver to a hillside you would see in Mordor from the Lord of the Rings. The Greyhound bus had begun its descent down a steep winding road. On the left, ice walls and cold black jagged stone. On the right, a thousand foot drop to the Atlantic ocean and some more cold black jagged stone. The further down, the more barren the place became. Jake’s grip got tighter. He looked straight ahead and at the very end of the road, he could barely start to make out what looked like a sign.
What? Our neighbour. The guy across from us in the adjoining apartment. Have you met him?
Ah…no, I don’t think so. Why? Oh, nothing. I was just thinking today about how strange it is that we’ve been in our new place for three months now, and the both of us have yet to lay a single eye on him. Don’t you think that’s a tad odd?
No, not really. Maybe this guy likes keeping to himself. He could work awkward hours or something. Yeah, I guess. But you would think we would have seen him coming or going at some point. His door closing here or there.
Baby, you are being weird. Who cares? Look, I am completely cool with not getting to know our neighbours. I hate those annoying stop and talks. Besides, shit’s tangly when people get too all up in your business. That’s the whole reason we moved. We hate people remember.
All I am saying is that I find it odd. I haven’t seen him in the laundry room, I am there pretty much every day. Both of us check the communal mailboxes, no sign of him there either and his mailbox is right next to ours. Plus, it is not only his door, but I also never hear anything coming from his apartment. Nothing. It is always so quiet over there. And, I am not weird. There was no need to call me that. You are being mean.
Go ahead, tell me one more time that you don’t know where he is, and I am pulling this trigger. I’m tired of games. You know, it’s actually convenient you wearing that mask. Now I won’t risk getting too much of your ugly face all over my new black marble floor. My wife hates when I do stuff like that. She’ll be pissed if she finds out I brought my work home. Only, this time she won’t be too hard on me. Because you my friend, were stupid enough to come here on your own free will. This is sort of like delivery for me. What the hell were thinking coming to my house anyway? To my private masquerade party? Then, have the nerve to drink my expensive booze and hit on my ladies. They are all on my clock you know? You got some balls, kids. I will give you that. OK, cut the bullshit. Where is Danny Champagne?
The body was easy to move from the place to the car to the boat. As it always is. Premeditation is kind of my thing. I have done this same routine maybe a hundred times. No, I believe it is a hundred and six times. Yeah, a hundred and six. You know, blondes are my favourite of all the women. Slightly more gullible. Usually more attractive. All of them walking by themselves late at night. Coming from their restaurant shifts, drunken bachelorette parties, or on their way to an ex-boyfriend. Then, I would present myself to these tired, these tipsy, and these texting specimens. Most nights, it is an unlit cigarette in poor lighting that works effortlessly. Cliché I know. Although, there were times I would fake a bleeding lip on this fragile face of mine. It was easy with these ladies the way I look. Always so helpful they are. But now I am bored. Unmotivated. No more of this killing racket. I am done. Finished. The girls just do not seem to fight back anymore anyway. Shall I leave a clue? Maybe allow one to getaway? Hmmm. Better yet! How about this one? Number 107. I mean, after all of that and you, my pretty blonde lady…are still breathing.
Alex began to walk slowly back in the direction he had just come from. As he did, he searched ahead scanning the area for his buddy who he could have swore was right behind him. He knew Marcus couldn’t have been playing around with him, he loved racing too much for that. He was extremely competitive and rarely loss at anything. It didn’t matter what they both faced off against. Still scouting for his friend, Alex passed the halfway rock, and as he did, he caught sight of what looked like Marcus’s foot poking out from a bunch of bushes. It seemed his friend might have actually bit the dirt. Had to be something like that. Whatever the reason, Alex was definitely going to have the last laugh now. Except, it was not going to be because he had finally won the race. There was that, but, there was also the fact that Marcus had to come all the way back to help his sorry ass. That’s another victory all of its own. There was a good chance he was hiding in those bushes up there trying to come up with an injury to fake in order to get the race declared a no contest. Realizing as much, Alex picked up his pace. He was not going to waste another second; he could not delay rubbing it in. Only, as he drew closer, he started to notice something didn’t look quite right. Marcus would have definitely begun with the excuses already. He would have sensed Alex by now. Crying “Do over”, or “Help, I tripped”, or his famous “I let you win that one”. Nothing. Instead, when Alex finally made it to his best friend, he was laying in the bushes faceup. He was barely moving. There was zero expression on his face. None at all. No look of pain, no look of shame, no crying, no laughter, no embarrassed excuse face. Nothing. He was completely blank. His eyes blackened, and his chest was moving up and down rapidly. He was taking in large deep breaths. One at a time, and releasing the air as if he were shushing someone for five seconds at a time.
Earth To Ash 