Thursday, September 22, 2005

   Cold Supper
Hey guys, sorry i haven't posted in a while, long story on why not, and i'm no where near through with the Armageddon Tourney's story. Yeah, i've been slacking, but i did finish another story its called cold supper, check it out


Cold Supper
By: Keon Davis

The autumn air felt heavy as he, Detective John Gains, stepped out of his government-issued Lexus. The crimson-hued leaves of the trees swayed ominously in the wind. His new setting seemed most depressing, and a heavy feel of anxiety hung in the atmosphere.
John Gains is a FBI detective assigned to investigate a missing person report in the small town of Scarlet Hills, West Virginia. How appropriate a name, for the leaves of the tall oak trees turned red during the fall, and the town always seemed to have a scarlet aura radiating from it. As beautiful as it sounds, this feature only added to an already eerie environment.
The people of Scarlet Hills only make the situation worse. The town is home to very wealthy citizens and prominent families. But it you are picturing lavish houses and fancy cars, you are mistaken. The people of Scarlet Hills were born and raised on traditional and conservative values. Therefore, there were never any loud parties, never any loud music, or even any children playing in the yard. The lack of youthful freedom weighed heavily on Detective Gains, for he was only 24-years-old himself.
Detective Gains walked up to the Sheriff’s office, a small rather dilapidated building. Immediately, as he reached to open the door, the deputy greeted him, which startled the detective a bit.
“You mus’ be tha’ detective,” the Deputy said. His speech was so country and uneducated that it also caught the detective off guard. He thought that all the citizens of Scarlet Hills were uptight, snotty, old rich people. Plus, he was from New York, and was educated at NYU.
“Yes, Detective Gains, here.” He flashed his badge at the Deputy. “Is the Sheriff in? I’m hoping to be done with this case as soon as possible.”
“Yep, but I don’t thank he wantsa talk to ya’,” the Deputy answered. “We don’t take kindly to strangers comin’ ‘round here, stickin’ their noses in our affairs. We have it u’ner control.” His tone was so snotty that Detective Gains laughed silently as he spoke.
“Well,” Gains chuckled, “this is my assignment, so I’m going to solve this case whether you cooperate or not. Besides, an entire family missing for 2 months is not something I would call ‘under control’.”
“Whatever,” the Deputy said. “Come on in.”
As Gains entered the building, he was appalled by the unorganized facility. File cabinets were open in the most desultory manner. Papers were littered on the floor, along with donut boxes and beer bottles. Sitting in one of the old, iron, folding chairs, was a short, bald, fat man, appearing to be in his early 50s. He had on the same uniform as the deputy, but his had a sloppily placed gold star on it, symbolizing his rank as sheriff. The words ‘George Blanch’ were printed on the star.
“Detective Gains, I presume,” he said. Though his grammar was ten times better than his deputy’s, it had this drunken sound to it, as if he were boozed only minutes before he arrived.
“Yes, you must be Sheriff Blanch,” Gains said. “Are you ready to begin?” Gains’ anxiousness to complete this case was clearly evident.
“Just like you FBI agents,” Blanch said, blatantly insulting. “Always business, even if it isn’t your own.”
“Excuse me,” frowned Gains, “But the last time I checked, I was the one who was called here.”
“The Mayor asked for your presence,” Blanch responded. “I’d never let on who you government curs to take on a case under my jurisdiction.”
“Whatever,” Gains found himself saying. He was trying to avoid disrespecting him, but his youthful attitude got the best of him. “Can you brief me on the case and give me a list of suspects?”
“Alright,” Blanch responded reluctantly. This was probably the first colloquial word he’d heard the Sheriff say.
“Here’s our case,” Blanch began. “The missing family is that of Judge Richard Kennedy.”
“Richard Kennedy?” Gains repeated, very surprised. “The Supreme Court Justice?”
“Yes,” Blanch said. “He and his family were reported missing 2 months ago, July 21. The report was called in by his son youngest son, Curtis.”
“The entire family is missing but his son,” said Gains, curiously. “How’d he end up being so lucky?”
“The Kennedy’s disappeared the same day Curtis returned from college,” Blanch explained.
“The same day….” Gains said, slowly trailing off. “Give me a profile on this guy.”
Blanch signaled his deputy to bring him a file. The beige manila folder was filled with paper. This kid had some criminal history. Blanch opened the folder and read the first page.
“Curtis Arcturus Kennedy, Age 22.” Blanch began. “The youngest of 4 children. Very big fan of hunting and taxidermy, I know. My son and I used to hunt with him and his dad.” You could tell that he was very close to the family because of the surge of nostalgia that flowed through him as he spoke. “Where was I? He has 12 previous charges and he was exonerated from each one.”
“How was he exonerated from 12 charges?” Gains asked, baffled by this fact.
“Half of them involved his family,” Blanch explained. “And they dropped the charges. In the other six cases, his father got him out of it. Richard is a very good lawyer.”
“Oh,” Gains said, he was starting to understand why the deputy and Blanch didn’t want him to work this case. It was THEIR town. These were THEIR neighbors. This was THEIR case.
“He was sent to a boarding school,” Blanch continued, “after his last offense. He left the school at 18, and, when he was 19, he was accepted into Yale.”
“Figures,” Gains scoffed. “Son of a judge, of course he’d go Ivy League.” Blanch’s expression changed from serious to insulted.
“Curtis is not your typical ‘rich kid’,” he sneered. “He is about as far from that stereotype as possible.”
“Sure, if you say so,” Gains replied. He was still skeptical about Curtis’ sincerity, his deviation from the picture of the proverbial rich boy. All of the signs sign of this, in Gains’ mind, were clearly there.
“Curtis returned home 2 days before he reported his family missing,” Blanch recapitulated. “When the property was searched, Curtis was most distraught.”
“Did you find anything?” Gains inquired.
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” replied Blanch.
“How has the kid been doing since then?” asked Gains.
“Very misanthropic; no one has seen him since the reported,” answered Blanch. “I’ve visited him on several occasions, but he seemed really distracted.”
Immediately Gains was greeted by an epiphany. The picture was beginning to come clear, and thousands of connections were being made in his mind. Curtis knew were his parents were, this much Gains was sure of.
“I want to meet the guy,” Gains soon said, rising from his seat. “What is the address?”
“1812 Crimson Ave. SE,” Blanch quickly answered. “Is there something you want to share with me?” The minds of the two detectives seemed intertwined, as if one could tell when the other was on to something.
“No,” replied Gains as he exited the cluttered office. He quickly entered his car and started to engine. The purr of the Lexus engine seemed soothing to Gains, but at the same time adrenalin rushed through his veins. He then peeled off to the Kennedy Manor.
Upon his arrival and the Kennedy Manor, Gains sat in awe at the opulence of it. It was an enormous house, its architectural structure reminiscent to the huge antebellum plantation houses. Gains jogged up the ivory walkway, which slithered up to the porch. As Gains reached for the doorbell, he noticed that the door was unlocked. The home of a Supreme Court Justice would never be left opened. Something was amidst.
As Gains entered the home, he was greeted with an eerie smell. Not as stench, but more like the lack of a smell. The air seemed stagnant, as if nothing had moved in ages. This was especially peculiar, as a 19-year-old boy was living there.
As he made his way through the mansion, Gains began to notice other peculiarities. Everything was so incredibly well kept that it seemed as if no one lived there. It seemed as if nothing had been touched and everything was in perfect order. It was not possibly for a teenager to reside there.
Eventually, Gains made his way into the dining room. He peered through the door and saw something that almost made him scream. The entire Kennedy family was seated at the table, as if they were preparing to eat. He was about to greet them until someone came in from the kitchen. By the age, Gains deduced that it was Curtis. He stood tall, at least 6”2, and extremely lean. It appeared as if he were malnourished. He was carrying a platter of roast beef, but it was severely over-cooked. He was shaking nervously, and walked with an unusual jerking motion as he placed the dish on the table.
“Well, family,” he said, in a jarring high-pitched tone, “I hope you brought your appetites. Yeah, sure, it’s a little over-cooked, just like the beans and potatoes, but it’s still good. See, Mom? I told you I’d get this cooking thing down.” Mrs. Kennedy didn’t say anything. In fact, the entire family was eerily silent, except for Curtis. Gains found this particularly unusual, but continued to listen.
“Oh, Dad,” Curtis continued, “I glad you forgave for being expelled. I knew you weren’t REALLY going to disown me. You just needed some persuasion, that’s all.” Is toned changed for appreciative to completely eerie as he said “persuasion”. Gains took note of this, but continued to watch Curtis’ behavior.
“Well , I left the cake in the kitchen, so I’ll go get it,” Curtis then said clapping his hands. “I’m glad we can have these dinners again with us all together.” He then proceeded back into the kitchen.
Gains took the opportunity to talk to the family. He walked into the room and flashed his badge.
“Detective Gains, FBI,” he announced. While doing so, he noticed a change in the atmosphere. The air felt unbelievable heavy. He felt nauseous. Then he noticed that even though he was in plain sight, no one looked toward him. Their eyes seemed frozen in one position, staring straight ahead. So Gains walked toward Richard Kennedy, who sat at the head of the table. Gains waved his had in front of Richard’s face, but got no response. Gains then tapped him on the shoulder, and immediately reared back. He didn’t feel human; it was as if he had touched a stuffed animal. Gains patted Richard on the back, which caused Richard to fall forward, exposing the back of his neck. Gains saw what look like stitches, and examined them closely. It was as if someone had sewn Richard up. So he examined each of the family members, and they all had the same stitch marks. Gains was horrified; the entire family was dead and it seemed as if the killer stuffed them. Gains reached for his radio to call for back, when suddenly the kitchen door swung open. It was Curtis.
Gains immediately reached for the Beretta he kept in his jacket. He aimed at Curtis, who dropped the cake he was holding.
“You are under arrest,” he managed to announce, almost choking with discuss. Curtis raised his hands and looked directly at Gains and said,
“Your not a fan of taxidermy? That’s no excuse for ruining our supper. It’ll get cold.”

-The End-

cool isn't it?

-Terra Zero
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