About

Stories

Misc.

Credits

Ads

GAMBLE WITH FATE.COM

Murderous Plots in the Witching Hour

Calen had finished work early to sleep away his late afternoon, making sure to wake up for the dinner his father was adamant that he attend. Carrying on as he usually did, the meal consisted of him going over and listening to new details of what Ortonse wanted of him, playing dumb to the glances Kit sent his way, and politely entertaining the bimbos that were thrown at him while Ortonse and his colleagues spoke privately over coffee in his study. Ortonse knew he would decline the offer, so no one was suspicious of him turning down the prospect of late-night clubbing.

As the night owls of the city came out, Calen got ready for his own rendezvous. With his father and colleagues taken care of, he quickly donned his most comfortable pair of blue jeans and a t-shirt. Who knew how long he was going to be out this night? Loud music could be heard echoing from the upstairs wings of the Fisher mansion when he finally slipped away undetected from the compounds.

Anticipation nearly caused him indigestion as he drove the dismal streets of upper Fallen Greenwich. Since he had arrived, countless warnings had been practically beaten into his brain about never going there if he didn’t have extremely important business, especially at night! But this was the address given to him, and contrary to popular belief, he could handle common car-jackers and muggers. There was a moment when he thought about not going. Mr. O’Kirk could just be luring him out to abduct and hold for ransom.

Once the man had left, Calen had scanned the memorial for his name. Seven O’Kirks in all were connected with the bombing. Two were related to Gale. Calen had looked up the old reports and a new hate for Ortonse took hold in his heart. Gale O’Kirk had been living an unrealistic dream. Who else could boast of crossing into Aquaria, marrying someone who seemed to be the love of his life, adopt a sickeningly cute kid, and become a successful writer in just a few years? His lover and child had been at the Worthington Zoo on the now infamous day. According to the medical reports he found, Sean Revillot and Bastian Radon O’Kirk were some of the unfortunates who had been close to one of the explosives. They had not been evaporated by the blast, but it had been messy.

Calen parked outside of the lopsided building he had been directed to and stepped out into the chilly, polluted air. No, he wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. O’Kirk had a violent agenda in store for him. He wouldn’t even try and stop him if that’s what he really thought would change things. Although, he would be helpful and point out that he doubted his father would care or pay for his safe return.

Calen pushed open the heavy doors at the entrance, the broken chains from the door knobs making loud clanging noises to his ear. It was cold but surprisingly clean on the inside. Hardly any big drafts or leaks could be found, but then again, he was still on the ground floor. Climbing up the death-trap stairs, he took his time on the rickety wooden planks. Each floor was inhabited he noticed. A few babies crying could be heard from down the naked, mildewed halls. Televisions blasted behind some doors while other apartments were silent as mausoleums. Calen quickened his pace to the top floor. It was quite possible that everyone here were good, down-on-their-luck folks, but he didn’t want to risk drawing attention to himself.

Stepping into the seventh floor’s corridor, Calen shivered at the blast of wind. Broken glass glittered against the charred floor and the plastic that was supposed to have kept the winter air out was ripped and blowing violently. No one lived up here yet the scrap of paper said room 15, floor seven of the Chamberling Apartments. Calen quickly sought for the door, finding it quickly, and noticing a faint light beneath the strong, newly bought door. This was it.

He knocked, no answer. Calen rolled his eyes and opened the door. It was too cold and late to be waiting in an abandoned apartment building. Stepping inside, his pace faltered. From the front door on, the space was completely redone. The floors were bare and gray but did not have any signs of water rot or infestation. Hardly any furniture except for a couch and a chair. What caught his attention was the high-priced electronics off to the side of the living room.

A computer was booted up, stacks of paper lay everywhere, a printer, telephone, wireless connections all cluttered a cheap particle board desk. Along the wall around the work station were clippings. Calen came closer and found a myriad collage of newspaper and magazine articles, photos, and other printed documents all pertaining to the bombing and Ortonse’s and his companion’s goings-on since then. He turned away and a sheet of paper on the top of one of the large piles caught his eye.

It was direct from Mecca Corporations. Only someone with the information to log onto the mother computer could have gotten it, especially since he had just changed all of the security coding. It was dated that day that it was printed. Lists of monetary figures stared up at him and he would have looked closer if it hadn’t been for a strong hand grabbing him by the throat to slam him against the paint-chipped wall.

He really did struggle against his attacker, but the warning squeeze made him still. There was no way he could get out of the hold. He was at the man’s mercy. Calen chanced a look up and found he was being choked by a crazed Mr. O’Kirk. His hair was damp and down his back, he was shirtless and smelled of sweat, and when he met his eyes he was let go.

Gale smirked as the young man slid down the wall, gasping for breath. “Sorry about that.” He stooped to pick up the towel he had dropped in favor of taking his trespasser by surprise. “You’re early.”

He had been working out and was planning on hopping into the shower before his guest arrived when he heard footsteps in the living room. He should have known. No one else who knew the apartment wasn’t vacant would dare come in here uninvited. Only the idiot golden boy would stomp around a dodgy, condemned building after ten in Fallen Greenwich.

“Just by two hours!” Calen hissed, rubbing his sore neck.

Gale shrugged, tossing his towel away and went to grab a t-shirt. When he came back, he found Calen standing with a pissed off expression on his face. He couldn’t help another smirk from gracing his face. The boy was actually pouting.

“You know, coming here wasn’t that smart of you,” Gale sat in his computer chair, appreciating Calen was not wilting under his stare like many others would.

Calen crossed his arms over his chest, beginning to grow tired of everyone in Pearl. “You said if I really believed what I said that I should come here. I meant what I said.” His glare matched his host’s.

Gale stood and walked up to him, noting that he wasn’t backing down yet. “Tatou was just the beginning, Calen. If you truly meant what you said then you’ll be happy to know that I am a long way off from being finished.”

The words caused a barely visible tremor to spread through Calen. He had had his suspicions ever since they last spoke, but to hear him admit it was a shock to his system. This man had taken out the general. Priceless, precious things had been taken from him and he wasn’t going to let those that had wronged him get away with it. One person out of the thousands in Aquaria was getting revenge, regardless of consequences.

“You told me your name,” Calen said, looking up at him without backing down from his proximity. “You’ve told me your name, I know what you do, where you frequent when you’re not at your house, and you’re not worried that I’m going to turn you in.”

Gale shrugged, turning to flop back down into his chair. “If I still had doubts about where your loyalties stood, I would just kill you. No one else knows that I am the one responsible for Tatou.”

“And no one else will know, unless you’re the one to tell them.” Calen sat on the floor against the wall. “I’m impressed, I figured a team took Andre out.” He smiled slightly at the look he was given. “It’s just, the man was a five star general.”

Gale scoffed, shaking his head at him. “His title wasn’t earned through skill. Besides, put a cute piece of ass in front of the walking dick and you’d have more than enough distraction.”

“What do you want me to do?” Calen did not believe in wasting time.

“Before you help me, I need you to realize there is no going back. And I’m telling you right now, Ortonse is going to die for what he did, and everyone else that stands by him,” Gale said, leaning forward to look at Calen, judging his responses.

Calen looked down at his hands. He wasn’t stained yet, either way. There was still a chance to back out, to not be involved in anything. But how realistic was it of him to think that his father would allow him to stay out of his illegal affairs? Calen felt sick. Whose side would he rather be on if he had to be responsible for bloodshed?

“All right,” Calen said and stood up. “You have my assistance, Mr. O’Kirk, with whatever you need help with.”

Gale smiled, his blood singing in his veins. His next move was almost upon those that had fucked his life up. He shook the young man’s hand firmly. “It’s Gale. Now get comfortable, we have some long hours ahead of us.”

“Yes, Sir,” Calen nodded.

Gale moved aside and motioned him toward the black and gray swivel chair. He sat in front of the computer, hands posed above the home keys, and waited for whatever orders Gale had for him. As Gale left the room to make coffee, Calen thought how odd it was that he did not feel an ounce of guilt for betraying his father.

Next Chapter

Back

Home

Copyrights & Credits

GambleWithFate © Lacey Grey and Coco Reed (2006)
Designed by Aethereality.net
Images © Index Stock
Textures © The Blooming Effect and Hybrid Genesis
Brushes © Relished.net and Cirratus.org and Roshiweb.com