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Territorial Bonds

Chapter one

It had been raining heavily on the night that it had happened. The rain poured down, running in rivulets down the deserted streets, filling up the drains and causing the odd club-goer to take a different path less they get their brand new shoes wet.

In a club in the middle of town, a young man named Jazz danced, lost in the music. His hot pick t shirt clung to his sweaty skin, riding up to expose his flat, pale stomach and the tattoo that circled his navel. He hadn’t a care in the world at that moment.

The song ended, and the young man made his way to the bar. He wasn’t old enough to drink, but a sultry look and a sexy wink at the bartender worked in his favour and he moved away with a bright, purple cocktail, sipping it through a straw.

By the time it came to go home, he was delightfully buzzed. He’d had offers, a few people asking him to accompany them home, but he’d declined them, deciding he’d prefer a night alone in his soft, warm bed,

Jazz walked home slowly, puffing away on a cigarette and concentrating on not falling over on his face. He almost made it, just happened to trip over on his front lawn, getting grass stains on his expensive pants. It made his head spin slightly and he fumbled to get his keys out of his pocket. Eventually, he found them and raised a hand to slip them in the lock only to find that the door swung open as he touched it.

A long shaft of moonlight shined down the length of the hall from the window in the kitchen, giving the house an eerie air. Jazz sobered a little as he stepped through the door, closing it quietly behind him as he moved down the hall towards the front room, where he could hear the noise of the television. He nudged the door open with his foot, noting instantly the back of his father’s head as he sat, slumped in his chair.

“Dad?” he asked as he moved closer, trying not to slur his speech. “What are you doing up so la…?” Jazz cut off as he reached the side of the chair, staring down in disbelief at what was in front of him.

His father sat in the chair as he always did, his arms resting loosely on the arm rests, slack. What Jazz noticed first was the blood that ran down his face and his blank eyes staring at the television screen. There were deep gashes running down his face diagonally as if something sharp had torn open the skin from top to bottom. His father had obviously died so quickly that he hadn’t the chance to move from his chair.

Jazz stared in shock. His eyes trailed down over his father’s chest and the sight that greeted him at the man’s stomach made his own stomach convulse and he dived for the bin, throwing up everything he’d consumed in the last few hours. His father’s stomach was a bloody mess, skin torn; intestines pulled out and partially devoured, blood everywhere.

The young man tried not to scream, to let out his horror and shock, but he forced himself to calm as best he could, despite his shaking hands. His father was dead, brutally attacked and murdered in his own house. The bile rose in his throat as he darted into the kitchen to find the house phone to call the police, but in the dark, he stumbled over an object in the doorway, crashing to the ground. He heard the crack of his wrist breaking as he landed straight on it, but he couldn’t scream at the pain, too frozen in shock at the bloody, deformed face of his mother that lay just inches before him.

Jazz cradled his injured wrist to his chest as he scrambled to his feet, his breathing heavy, his eyes darting frantically around the room. He didn’t want to turn on the light to see the twisted body of his mother dead on the kitchen floor, he could feel the blood on his body where he’d fallen, that was proof enough.

His uninjured hand shook so badly as he reached for the phone, about to dial when a thought entered his head and he turned, taking shaky steps up the stairs in the hall to the top floor of the house.

His sister was visiting. Staying in the guest room with her husband and Jazz could barely bring himself to open the door. He wished he hadn’t when he pushed it open only to find their mangled, bloody corpses lying naked on the bed, slashed up in the same way his father had been. He wanted to run, to get out of the house and flee to where he knew it would be safe, but curiosity pulled him to the door of his brothers’ room. There were three of them, all younger than him at four, fifteen and seventeen.

He almost tripped over the corpse of the fifteen year old that lay just inside the doorway in a pool of blood, his eyes staring blankly ahead of him. The seventeen year old was slumped over the computer desk, illuminated in the light of the screen. Jazz could see his messenger window blinking as his friend’s text went unanswered.

A sound from the corner of the room caught his attention and he swung around, now little more than a desperate mess of nerves, fear and shock. There was something in the corner, a dark shape curled up and as he drew closer, the noise drew into a helpless wail.

It was his brother, the four year old Ethan. When he realized it was Jazz than stood above him he jumped to his feet, flinging his arms around his brother’s legs and sobbing into his jeans.

They were all dead. His entire family save for his youngest brother were nothing more than bloody, mangled corpses dotted around his house, the one place he had always felt safe.

Jazz’s legs collapsed and he sunk down onto the carpet beside Ethan, pulling him into a tight embrace despite the fierce pain in his wrist. He couldn’t tell the child that it was okay, not while the bodies of their brothers lay still behind them, never to move again. It was only by sheer force of will that he dialled for the police, his good hand shaking too badly he almost couldn’t hit the numbers.

“911 emergency. How may I direct your call?” the operator asked and Jazz had to force himself to speak.

“Police.”

Another person came on the line and Jazz found his head spinning, the world going fuzzy at the edges around him as he tried to talk.

“Hello?” a voice asked and Jazz swallowed thickly, forcing the words out.

“My family.” he began, pulling Ethan closer. “They’ve been…slaughtered.”

He didn’t know how he managed to make a rational sentence, to tell the man where he was and what had happened but by the time he was done; his head was feeling light, as if his mind would float away any second. Against his better judgement, he turned once more to see the corpses behind him, but that was it. His mind gave out and the darkness flooded in, pulling him down into its depths.

By the time the police arrived, they found Ethan sobbing over the unconscious form of his oldest brother amidst a house full of people that had loved him that lived no more.

Jazz didn’t awaken until the next day, when he found himself staring up at a plain, white ceiling, his consciousness thick and groggy. He heard a voice beside him, but it took a long time before it worked itself through the haze of his mind.

“Jazz, honey?” A hand grasped his loosely and he managed to force his head to one side to see his Aunt Meredith sitting beside him. Her eyes were puffy, dried tears streaked down her cheeks. She looked as if she had been there all night from the bags under her eyes and her haphazard clothing. Beside her, on a bigger chair. Ethan sat slumped with his head back against the cushions, deeply asleep and he could just make out the shape of his uncle stood at the foot of the bed.

“Where am I?” Jazz mumbled, trying to push himself up, but his uncle moved, pressing hands to his shoulders until he lay back down. His wrist ached a sort of numb ache and he glanced down to see a thick cast covering it up to his elbow.

“Easy son. You’ve had a big shock.”

“How long was I…?” he asked and his aunt sniffed, patting the back of his hand.

“Almost twelve hours.” she told him, trying to force herself not to cry again. “Do you remember…what happened?”

It all came flooding back then. The sight of his murdered family permeating his hazy stupor. The bile rose once more in his throat and he lurched towards the side of the bed, bringing up whatever little there was left in his stomach. His aunt stroked his back as he wretched, trying to calm him and she gave him a deeply worried look as he finally settled back down. The stress of the whole situation seemed to have aged her a few years.

“They’re all dead.” Jazz choked out, feeling tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. His aunt simply nodded sadly, raising her handkerchief to her face to dab at her eyes as his uncle moved to comfort her. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, the door to the hospital room slid open and two men stepped inside, both dressed in suits.

“You’re awake, Mr Monroe.” one of them said, pulling a notepad out of his pocket. “I’m Detective Moore, this is Detective Smith. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“Can’t you see he’s had enough trauma?” Jazz’s uncle asked, looking angrily at the two men. “His entire family has just been slaughtered save for his little brother. Don’t you think he needs a little time to recover?”

Recover. How could he ever recover from what had happened? How could he ever fall asleep at night without the bloody corpses of his family permeating his dreams?

Jazz laid his head back against the pillow, allowing it to loll to one side. His eyes seemed to drift closed of their own accord, the tears caught in his lashes. Life would never be the same, not without the people that had loved him, the people that had been his whole life. No matter what happened, nothing could bring them back.

He could hear the people in the room talking, but they all seemed distant and Jazz let sleep carry him away to a place where it didn’t hurt. If only he could stay there forever.

It took almost two years of counselling for Jazz to get over what he had seen. Two years of waking up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, two years of self-harm and failed suicide attempts, but it had finally happened.

Instead of going on to university as he had intended to do before the massacre, Jazz had dropped everything. He could do little more than lie in his room, staring at the walls for the longest time. But when he snapped out if his utter depression, he had gotten himself a job; something that he hoped would take his mind off things.

Deciding he had bothered his aunt and uncle too much, he had moved out, gotten his own little place in the city where he could be alone with his thoughts. They had been reluctant to let him go, worried that he would attempt to end his life again, but he felt he was gone from that place. He still had Ethan to live for.

His brother had been too young to really comprehend what had happened at the time of the murders. He had missed his parents and his siblings greatly, but had come to accept life with his aunt and uncle, who had taken him in instantly. For a long time after the events, he asked for his mommy and daddy, crying when they wouldn’t come, but after almost three years, it seemed he had forgotten about them. Jazz went to visit him often, unwilling to let the only member of his immediate family go, and the boy always clung to him as he left, crying at him to stay. He had to wonder if the massacre had affected him more than any of them realized.

It was early in the afternoon on a cold day in November, almost three years since the incident that found Jazz sitting on his couch, watching the television. He was dressed in jeans and a t shirt, his work uniform hanging on the back of the door for him to take when he was due to leave in 5 minutes.

It was a miserable day outside, one that made him just want to climb into bed and curl up underneath the covers. But he’d forced himself out of bed that morning, going about his daily tasks before work.

Even after three years they hadn’t brought the murderer to justice. A man had been caught and his trial was due to be carried out in court in a few days time. It made Jazz nervous, the thought that the man who had killed his family in cold blood would go free. It all depended on who was chosen to represent him.

Jazz sighed as he lay down on the couch, with his head on one of the cushions, staring at the news on the television. It wasn’t long before a news story came on that made him sit up.

“In other news,” the newsreader began, “The trial of Deacon Grady will be going to court in two days time. He was arrested back in September, suspecting of being the key player in the Monroe family massacre, in which six family members were slaughtered in their home. They left behind two males, Jazz, now aged twenty-one and Ethan, now aged six.”

Jazz sighed, watching the screen with half lidded eyes. Even three years on, he didn’t like to hear about what had happened. It made him want to cry and break down all over again.

“It has been announced today,” the woman continued, “That Mr Grady will be represented in court by well known lawyer- Samuel Taylor.”

Jazz sat up straight, staring at the screen in disbelief. Sam Taylor was extremely well known throughout the county at being excellent at his job. Throughout his years of work, he had gotten some of the most notorious suspects off of a host of crimes ranging from burglary to murder. That was, if they had enough funds. A lawyer like Sam Taylor didn’t come cheap. Deacon Grady, however, looked as if he didn’t have much money to his name, as he was rather scruffy. It made Jazz wonder why Sam Taylor would want to have anything to do with him.

The news made him angry. If a prominently successful lawyer such as Sam Taylor was taking on the case, then it meant that Grady would more that likely get off of a sentence. Even if they could prove he’d done it, the man would have some way around it, and justice would never be served.

Jazz watched the screen, but he could feel his eyes blurring. Grady deserved to pay for what he had done and thanks to the lawyer; he would more than likely walk free.

On the screen, they showed a video of Sam Taylor talking on behalf of his client, while the weasley looking man stood behind him, watching the crowd of reporters with a look of satisfaction on his face. It made Jazz clench his fists in anger and he could feel the hot prickle of emotion over his body.

He sat watching the rest of the report that detailed the massacre, going back to the time when it had happened. It had been all over the news and the papers and the radio for weeks and he’d been hounded by reporters in a time of deep depression. They followed him everywhere, never letting him have a moment of peace and it almost drove him mad. But thankfully, after time, they dropped things and he was left alone.

Jazz watched the news until it was over and it was only then that he glanced over to the clock.

“Shit!” he cursed, jumping to his feet. He was ten minutes late for work and he hurried around the house, turning things off before darting out of the door. He was only gone for a minute before he returned to pick up his uniform and he cursed again as he made himself even later.

It was raining outside when he stepped out of the door of the apartment block and he folded the bag containing his uniform over his arm as he darted across the street to begin the trip to work. It wasn’t that far and he ran quite quickly to avoid getting soaked, arriving just a little late.

The other waiters were already busy working in the restaurant when he arrived, setting out tables and cleaning things up. He was the head waiter, a position that he’d been given only a year after he had begun work at Le Loup d’alpha. There was no one above him save for the boss of the entire restaurant, the man who owned it, and he worked hard to keep things in order and keep the place running smoothly.

Jazz hurried to change into his uniform in the cloak room, pushing his belongings into the nearest available locker. He was just hurrying out onto the restaurant floor to begin work when there came an obnoxious buzzing sound and all the waiters looked up.

“He’s been buzzing for the last five minutes.” one of the other young men said, passing Jazz with a pile of napkins.

Of course, none of the others would ever answer the buzzing of the intercom, they weren’t allowed. At Le Loup d’alpha, they worked for a very strange man. He sat upstairs in the darkness of his rooms and the only person he would ever talk to on his staff was Jazz. It was left up to Jazz to coordinate the rest of the team with specific instructions.

If he needed anything, Lucas Chenard would simply press the button on the intercom on his desk, which would buzz downstairs. Only Jazz was ever allowed to answer it.

He darted across the restaurant to do so as quick as he could, picking up the receiver so fast he almost dropped it.

“Yes, sir?” he asked, wondering if he would be in trouble for being late. There was a long pause.

“I want to see you straight away.” Came the reply, before the line went dead.

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