HearseGirl89
Art is in the eye of the beholder.
Mild language content ~ Reader discretion is advised.
(OOC: A secondary sneak peek into the very first Arc. As opposed to the previous, this is a more detailed outlook on what life is like on my main protagonist's beginning in life.)
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Chapter 1
Long flowing fields of golden grass, small towns scattered throughout the whole state of Nebraska, flying into one small speck that was a small community, Brule. Only a truck stop and a single gas station, a few simple stores and a café, given the cliché name of Small Town Café with numerous abodes that filled around this place and within it, farms and crop properties that generated most of the town’s profits. It was the hometown of an expecting, happily married couple; Alyssa and Dylan Thorne.
Alyssa had come from Canada in high hopes for a better livelihood. While Dylan had come from Saint Louis, moving within the same town as his sister to get away from the crime filled city of Illinois.
The soon to be parents lived outside of the town, between Brule and to the west of a larger town, Ogallala. On a 50 acre farm with just a one story house that had two bedrooms, one bath, a kitchen and a lounge room, while the rest of the land went to growing a few different crops, mainly corn and wheat, and even sometimes, Alfalfa.
Upon on that farm, in the singular family home, came the cries of a newborn baby boy. Manuel Aaron Thorne was born under the watchful eye of a nurse from Ogallala. And thus, the beginning, we then skip five years later.
Just north of the Thorne homestead with an even larger acreage of eighty, utilized for mainly cattle, beef and milk cows. The rest was just filled with other farm related essentials, chickens for eggs and consumption, specifically for the family themselves. They also had horses for rounding up cattle and saving on gas and a personal garden, fresh for the taking.
Dylan’s sister, Amelia along with her husband Ray Walker and their three children; Dewey, Nick and Jacob. Dewey, the youngest of the children was only 6 at the time. Nick, being the middle offspring was 8 and Jacob, being the oldest, at the age of 9.
The scent of barbeque and roasted corn on the cob filled the sweltering humid air, classic songs from country singers played. From Johnny Cash to Waylon Jennings, the list just went on shuffle from old times long gone away. Children screaming and running ramped, playing cowboys and Indians, while the adults sat at picnic tables, chattering. A family reunion was being held at the Walker farm.
Though the chatter of the adults had grown silent, as Amelia had stood from the table, peering down their long and dusty driveway, watching as a green ‘95 Chevy waddled through the rough terrain.
“Oh hey, it’s the neighbors!” The hostess gleefully cheered.
When the truck had come to park close by the makeshift venue, located behind the two story house on the property; A Hispanic woman, her husband and toddler in tow, then exited the truck.
As the foreign family approached, Amelia introduced them to her brother, “Dylan, this is Sonya and her husband Carlos, the Herreras!” She giggled, “And their new, sweet baby boy, Nicolás!”
Greetings were then held all around between the adults, as soon they settled onto the picnic tables. Jay then announced to the newcomers, “Lunch, will be ready here shortly.” Checking his wrist watch, “Oh probably here in fifteen or so.”
Sonya simply nodded with a delighted smile, noticing her fidgety son, whining, “Jugar.”
“Who gar?” Dylan raised a brow in question.
The Hispanic mother would then plop her child down, watching as he scurried off towards the other kids, before she peered up at mister Thorne, “It’s Spanish for play.” Sonya gestured towards the children, humming back with a smile.
The venue being held upon the patio, slightly further is a chicken coop, to the left of it, is a greenhouse for homegrown crops and in the middle of it all, a jungle gym for the older youths.
Near where the playground stood, Jacob and Nick wrestled, as Manuel with his cousin played in the mud hole, near the coop that contained the chickens.
As the toddler aimlessly wandered on a collision course towards the roughhousing, with his sights set on the two building castles out of mud. Jacob rushes his brother Nick with an elbow to the shoulder, shoving him down, narrowly missing the small child. In this struggle, Nick shrugged Jacob off, before his sights set onto new shenanigans.
Charging towards the two hapless kin, innocently molding globs of mud, Nick menacingly chuckled with ill intent.
With Jacob hot on his brother’s heels, “Hey! Get back here, ya chicken!”
Around the picnic table, a more important discussion ensued. Dylan speaking to the group, “But I don’t know about that Joseph Kringle. He’s from Knoxville. He’s got too nice of a smile for a twenty year old trying to get into politics. What my family has always said, the brighter the picture, the darker, the negative.”
Though Jay rubbed at his chin, before pointing out, “Oh yeah. The Santa Claus guy…”
Mister Thorne shook his head in dismissal, “His father owns a big oil industry. Out east. It makes me wonder what his intentions of trying to run for governor here for. Because he’s being funded by his-…”
Dylan was stopped short in his words by the shrill cries of children; his fatherly instincts kick in as he turned his nose towards the noise, just in time to see chaos unfolding.
The oldest brother straddling Nick, rubbing his face into the muck, while the other two had been sprayed with mud.
Naturally the other parents took notice; Yet Jay was the first one to shout, “Jacob! Get off your brother! And get over here! Right now!”
However, Dylan got a vibrating phone call, which prompted him to abruptly exiting to the seclusion of the house.
To this, his wife questioned, yet the wellbeing of her child concerned her. Indecisive, she observed her son making his way towards the adults, before peering around her. This is when an immediate and vital decision was made. “I will be right back.” Briefly stating, following after her husband into Amelia’s house.
Upon entering, she could hear a different tone in her husband’s voice over a phone call, something a little more distraught.
“No! I can’t take him. And that’s final. It’s fine if you try, but don’t be surprised that you’ll find a small militia at the ready!” Dylan huffed, before slamming the phone onto the floor. Marking the wood floor and shattering the phone on impact.
Alyssa gasped at the sudden change in his mood, she looked onward with a sense of vexation, “Who was that?”
The husband sighed with grief, “My cousin from Jersey went missing. His brother won’t take his kid… I need to lie down.” Dylan withdrew from the hallway, working his way to the living room, before falling onto a knee, clenching his chest.
To which Alyssa rushed to his side, with panicked scream, “Somebody call an ambulance!!!”
Sirens wailed throughout the country side, interrupting the quiet afternoon.
Chapter 2
A fifteen hundred square foot, fenced property stood to the west side of Brule’s main district, by the Lincoln highway heading out of town. This was the one and only major salvage yard, J.E.’s junks as it was widely known to the community of Brule. A structure (that had been built on the north side) was the only entry point in and out of the salvage yard for customers. Inside this building was filled with shelves of old broken, worn down home appliances, some were even antiques. Once beyond the store, leading into the yard was hundreds of disorganized rows of junked vehicles, from something as small as a sedan, up to busses.
Plodding through this graveyard of cars, the father and the 10 year old son surveyed for a project. A 1991 Jeep protruded to Dylan’s sight, it was similar to his sister Amelia’s current vehicle, only by one year. As he begins to examine the cadaver of the Cherokee, focusing in on diagnosing the motor, yet the sound of thunderous whirring catches his attention. Dylan threw his eyes towards the sky, and there he observed a black chopper flying at a low altitude. The leisure mood had been dismantled.
Peering to his side, expecting to leave hastily with his son, Dylan only discovered himself to be alone. Alarmed, his instincts called out for his child, “Manuel? Manuel!”
Hearing his brother in-law’s flustered tone; Jay sprinted from a few rows over, “Hey, you’re as nervous as a long tailed cat in a roomful of rocking chairs! We’ll find him.”
The father nodded in agreement, “Let’s fan out. You go to the west, I’ll head this direction.”
They then parted ways; Mister Thorne briskly made his way between the vehicles, looking down each row, drawing closer towards the fence. With each ticking second, Dylan’s pace escalated to an urgent jog.
Just when all hope seemed to have dissolved, not far from the end of the row, Manuel popped out with an exclamation, “Dad!”
Jolted by the sudden appearance of his son, the father slapped a hand over his pounding chest, “Jesus, son, you nearly gave me a heart attack!”
“Come’ere!” The excited boy rushed to the furthest corner of the salvage yard.
There, they beheld the sight of a Lincoln shell. Ebony black as the darkest night. With several parts missing off of this vehicle; the left front fender had been taken, the hood was dislocated and hanging off of the vehicle, the iconic grill and shroud missing and most of the lights and windows on the Lincoln were busted. Notably, the rest of the metal exterior was wrinkled, bent out of the proud shape that it once was. The interior of the Lincoln could have looked far better than the disarray it was currently in. With ripped back seats, tires had been stacked on the buttshelf, both front seats had been removed.
Dylan briefly looked over the car, hesitant on touching the luxury sedan, before peering into the engine bay. Remarkably, the motor was found to be intact and clean.
“I don’t know, son…” Mister Thorne drew a breath, unable to shake the negative vibes that emanated from the Lincoln.
Manuel laughed, charging into the vehicle, “Look dad!” As he settled in the place of where the driver’s seat once sat, digging underneath the steering column to pick two hanging cables with inner, exposed copper. Quickly bringing both wires together, igniting life into the old car.
The father had been taken back, holding his palms in the air, “The hell?” His voice cracked with confusion, recalling that the owner never left keys in the ignitions and the other fact being that he had never shown his son this technique. “Ho-How did you do that?”
As the young Thorne stood, locking eye contact with his dad, “Uncle Jay taught me!”
Mister Walker strolled to Dylan’s side, sarcastically making a comment, “I heard my name… what about me?” He chuckled, before speaking further with an honest tone, “I just thought that Manuel might need it in the future for whatever reason, probably to get out of a jam. Like some people, I know, Murphy.” He laughed the concerning matter off, while raising a brow.
Dylan jabbed at his brother in law with a knuckle, “Hey, what did I tell you about using my old name, huh?”
“Well, look, Dylan. I know you don’t like this car, but your son seems to enjoy it. Ignore the fact that it looks like the cars that we used to drive back in the day. Not only that, but, hey, it started. That’s something you don’t see every day. Plus, these are hard cars to find out here, Dylan, but they are really great and super safe. And honestly, by the looks of this big land yacht, I think it could look great. I actually would want to buy this car. So, if you don’t buy this for your son, I will.”
The father nodded, “Okay, Jay. You convinced me. But it sounds like I don’t have much of a choice.” Rubbing at his cheek in thought, “Just one more thing I have to fix on that car… those ignition cables.”
Into the junkyard’s shop, full shelves lined horizontally and vertically, like any convenience store that anybody would see normally. Reaching the grand entrance of J.E.’s Junks, stood the counter, meant to be the base of operations and to pay with any desired products, the three entered.
“How ya doin’, Jonathan?” Dylan asked, shaking the hand of the man that stood behind the counter. Though, before the other could answer, he queried, “What’s the price on that black Lincoln out there?”
The middle aged man behind the counter gave off a slight smile, “So ya wanna sail away in that yacht, eh? Or drop anchor and,” Jonathan closed his left eye, “plunder the scurvy sea dog fer’er parts?”
While Jay seemed to have found the pirate imitation hilarious, Mister Thorne did not seem too enthusiastic about the playful words.
Seeing as though Dylan did not take the joke so well, Jonathan replied with a cough, “Well, back to business… matey’s?” He gave off a short chuckle, “Anyways, I was hoping to get a thousand out of that car. It’s got a damn great motor in her, but other than ya having to grab a bench to have a seat to shit in.”
Mister Thorne crossed his arms, “Please Jonathan, I know you own this place, but try to keep your language on the down low. My son is right here.” Scratching at the back of his neck, “Is there any way we could negotiate price?”
Before Dylan could fish out the cash that he had brought with him, Jay grew shocked with an expressive, “Oh shit.”
The protective father, peered to the left, shooting a stinky eye at Walker, but before he could speak; a familiar feminine voice broke to his right.
A broad shouldered business woman stood, on Dylan’s side, holding up a gob of money, “Make it, two thousand.”
The uncle of Manuel’s dove around his brother in law, grabbing the woman by the wrist, forcing her to drop the paper currency on the floor, “We dropped you like hot shit back in that goddamn city! Why?! Why now and why here?”
Dylan rested his palm on Walker’s shoulder, “Jay… Jay, please don’t do this buddy.”
Peering back, Jay snapped, “Why? So this bitch can just march back in here, in our lives again? I ain’t doing that again, Murphy! Not ever!”
Though Manuel spoke out lightly, “Dad…” As his innocent oculars observed a man walk out from behind one of the shelves, branding a silenced handgun. When he failed to tug his father’s attention, he shoved on his father’s hip, sending him crashing into the counter as the flash and a bang from the pistol erupted.
At the Thorne Estate, in the home of Alyssa and Dylan; the mistress and her sister in law, Amelia sat at the kitchen table on that same afternoon. It was after lunch that the two women mingled; Miss Walker humbled herself, “I can’t thank ya’ll enough for having me and the boys over, while the men are at the junkyard. It really is impressive to see how mature Manuel has become in these recent years, but I’d have to chain my boys down, or they’d be running around like wild heathens!” She giggled after the playful statement.
“You are very much welcome! You know that you and the boys are welcome here any time. There’s really not much of anything here that the boys can get into. But-” Alyssa’s thought was suddenly cut short by the unexpected ringing of the house telephone, yet continued to speak shortly after, ignoring the noisy device.
The eldest of Amelia’s children, charged in from outside, to fetch a drink of water for himself. Jacob reached the sink with cup in hand, seconds before he finished filling; the phone began to ring anew.
Taking a few moments to look in between his Aunt and Mother, who seemed to be too preoccupied with chatting, rather than check the phone. Taking up the initiative; he set the glass aside, answering the phone.
Before the seventeen year old was able to speak, he was met with the distraught voice of Sonya, “Hola Alyssa?”
The teenager replied calmly, “No Ma’am, this is Jacob. I’ll get her.”
“Por favor Jacob adele!” Miss Herrera ushered.
Sensing the urgency, he rushed to his aunt Alyssa, handing her the phone, “It’s Sonya, I think it might be important.” He spoke quietly.
After the phone is taken from his grasp, Jacob made way to exit the house, leaving the converse; only to be startled by the sound of Alyssa’s shriek of terror.
As Manuel shoves his father against the counter, a subtle serenity befalls the room. Followed by the final dooming ding of a ricocheting bullet, before silence; time then began to turn slowly. A splatter of warm liquid blasted with the sprawl of crimson fluid pooling on the concrete floor. Then Jay came cascading to the ground.
The utter slap of weight hitting concrete is what had dragged young Manuel’s attention to his uncle, lying so lifelessly on the floor. His legs buckled, peering through the open cavity, “J-Ja-Jay?”
The woman in the red suit brushed herself off, “I never liked him anyways. Horrible at shooting. Ironic that’s how he went.”
Quietly, Dylan scooped up his son off of the ground, before plopping the child behind the counter, all the while; bearing through the shock, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
Candace smirked with a raised brow, “Where is your militia now, Murph?” She snarked, pulling another hundred dollar bill from her pocket to slap on the counter. “Three hundred, for compensation of the mess, Mister Everett.”
When the female motioned to Dylan, he then followed without question.
To the small customer parking lot outside, in the middle of the two way street; to a waiting helicopter, which blocked all through lanes of traffic. Armed men stood around the chopper, brandishing fully automated rifles. Eerily, the streets that could be seen; ominously empty and free of any other people in sight, simply just the bustling noise of the highway nearby.
On the way to the copter; Candace spoke, “With your cousin out of the way, I need you, Murph, to act as a leader. The boys are too much for me to handle.” She then added, “And Rupert’s son was the only one keeping me from being in charge. You put me in a very hard corner, Murph. So if you do exactly as I say, perhaps I won’t let harm come to your family.”
A thunderous boom erupted from inside the Everett building, prompting the female to rush Dylan.
“Manuel! No!” Mister Everett cried out to the ten year old.
A year ago, at the Walker estate; out in the field of cattle, stood an uncle and nephew over a bovine with a broken leg.
Jay knelt down, silently motions Manuel over. Before clearing his throat, “I want to teach you something, kid. Sometimes we have to do things we don’t like in life. But if we don’t take that step, there will be people or animals suffering.” He sighs, rubbing his face, “I know your dad means well, but he’s trying to raise you like the world is all sunshine and rainbows.” Unholstering his pistol, eyeing the chamber in the old six shooter, “But this is a necessary tool that shouldn’t even be called a weapon. It only is, if somebody uses it for bad purposes.”
Standing up, he aimed at the bull’s skull, looking down the barrel, “The way you shoot these is you have to look down the sight, make sure it’s level. And… you shoot.” Suddenly taking a turn towards the sky, aiming at passing Starling, before sniping the bird out of the sky.
Once Jay peered down, noticing that Manuel had been frightened by the reverb of the revolver, the uncle again kneeled down with encouraging words, “It might seem scary at first, but one day, you will need this. Regardless, Here.” He gestures the grip of the pistol toward Manuel.
The 9 year old hesitantly grips the firearm, adjusting to it’s weight. Taking a moment to stare at the pistol, before his uncle would gently push the barrel towards the cow’s head, yet Manuel dropped the heavy tool.
“No-No! I can’t do it!” Manuel sobbed.
A white light, high pitched rings piercing through the young boy’s sense. This time, he was going to finally do it!
Ignoring the urging of Jonathan Everett, with new clarity, the ten year old swept up the semi automatic pistol, flying towards the entrance of the building. Peering down the sights of the barrel, making the lucky shot.
Buzzing right past Candace, the hot lead buries itself into the mouth of a guard, exploding the man’s jaw.
Dylan then takes the advantage of the goons’ bewilderment, wrapping his arm around the woman’s throat, pulling her to the side as he quickly frisks the woman’s jacket for her pistol, before aiming it at her head with the hammer cocked back.
The female gave to a snarky grin, “Don’t stop aiming at the kid!” Bringing her tone down, Candace warned, “Put a bullet in me, my boys will put two in your boy.”
Now at a Mexican stand off; the moment was held, before the sound of a familiar, Latino voice shrieked, “Chupa mi polla!” The vocal man rounded the corner of the building with an AR-15, raining a hail of bullets, hitting both the pilot and the second to last man standing.
The last thug dove behind the rear of a nearby truck, while Mister Everett grabs the young Thorne, bringing the boy inside the building.
The loudmouthed man then grabbed a fist full of Candace’s hair, yanking her from Dylan’s hands, shoving her face first into the pavement, bringing the barrel point blank to her skull, peering up at Dylan, as he would set a knee onto the back of her neck. “Go get that puto, Dylan!”
In a hoarse voice, Manuel’s father spoke, “Thank you Carlos.” Stepping forward, he announced, “Drop the weapon. Come out, if you don’t want my friend taking your boss out.”
By then, police sirens could be hear wailing.
Chapter 3
A bullet grazed past the woman in a red suit, zipping into the face of a man. As blood splattered the aircraft, the man’s jaw unhinged, hanging from a thin strand of a tendon. The man fell forward. A single quick blink of the shocking incident, Manuel soon realizes that it was his uncle lying on the ground. Oculars grew wide as he froze in place, that same white lined ringing seemed to have reawakened in his auditories.
“Manuel. Manuel Thorne!”
The air began to gain a chill, shivering slightly; the ten year old stared down to the pavement, which the bumps seemed to curve into a figure. Colors began to fill in as his eyes watched the world return to his fourth grade classroom. Right in his face, a displeased female teacher eyed the boy down.
“Are you even paying attention?” She questioned, pointing to the whiteboard behind her.
Manuel Thorne looked on with a frazzled expression, “Uh…uhuh… um… wh-wh-a..what?”
The classroom bursted with snickers of other students. “Miss, he’s just having another one of his malfunctions again.” Snorted a fellow classmate.
“You used to be one of my best students and now you can’t even pay attention.” The teacher responded, “We may have to bring this up in parent-teacher conference.”
“Ooooh, he in trouble!” Chortled a child.
The teacher stood, grabbing the attention of her students, “Enough of that. Let’s get back to the lesson.” Taking towards the whiteboard.
Recessing to lunch, the ear aching chatter of boastful students filled the mess hall was not even enough to keep a mind from being preoccupied. Without the appetite, Manuel poked at his tray of food items.
Another male student approaches the young Thorne, slapping the boy out of his seat, before settling on the bench with a short held chuckle, “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there tiny. Or is it Malfunction, these days?” Raiding the other’s lunch.
Manuel slowly picking himself from the floor.
“Oh. Here, you forgot this.” The bully snickered, grabbing the milk box on the table, pouring it over Thorne’s head. Announcing to anybody that listened, “He needs some milk!”
Watching as the milk spilled over his tangled, muddy brown hair, into his lap and pooling on the floor. It grew into a tainted color, darkening to a blood red hue. He gasped for air, as if he could not breathe.
In the background, a thunderous clang of two students running into one another, trays and food flying. Before the metal trays clapped on the floor.
The bully looked onto the action, calling out with coy, “Kyle! Scott! The fuck you two idiots doing? Are you trying to give Malfy a panic attack?”
Too loud. The milk. The banging. Manuel’s blood ran cold; gathering his legs, he flees towards the exit, before a tray had been flung. Impacting the back of his cranium, sending the boy to the floor.
When Thorne lacked movement, Kyle spoke up, “Oh shit Brody, did you kill him?”
Shifting his head, Thorne peered towards the exiting hallway, noticing a shimmering mirage of a figure. Not quite in focus, yet he could tell it was a male that stood about seven foot tall. Shaking off the minor concussion, Manuel lifted himself off the floor, before sprinting past the projection, escaping to a nearby loo. Barricading himself within a stall, forgetting to lock the door as he assumed a fetal perch on the toilet.
Looking over his blood covered hands; trembling as it dribbled onto the floor, yet his dead eyes were brought to focus on a body lying on it’s side, before making the connection that it was his uncle on the floor. With tears welling in his oculars as his brain processed imagery that flickered and fluttered through the horror of grief.
Unexpectedly, Jay rolled onto his hips, shifting towards his stunned nephew, rubbing at the lingering bullet hole that had penetrated his skull, “It’s okay kid. You are like a son to me. It’s not your fault that you didn’t pull that gun. Not from me. Not from your dad. It’s okay.” His voice thickened to a threatening tone, “I should have been firmer! You should’ve grabbed that gun! You should have shot that prick!” His voice grew deafening, “It’s all your fault!” Jay’s palm snatched a revolver, aiming the barrel at his nephew’s cranium. “You deserve to die!”
The trigger is pulled, before a blinding white light flashes his unblinking eyes.
A Latino child leapt back as liquid soon had soaked around the crotch of his pants, this boy seemed startled. Brushing the feeling aside, he flung himself to Thorne, snagging him by the collar to shake the ten year old back to reality, “Mal! Wake up! Wake up bud!”
Sluggishly bringing his head up, Manuel silently threw his arms around the other, pulling him into a constricting hug, “I-I… I’m s-s-sor…” Gulping down the guilt, “Nic-Nicol.”
A clang of the bathroom stalls erupted as the face of Brody peeked around the corner, “Heerree’s Brody!” Taking hold on the Mexican boy’s shoulder, yanking the student out of the enveloping embracement, before pinning him against the metal cubicle wall, “Did you change your name, Nicolas? Are you gay now? You know your holy mother won’t approve.” He cackled, dragging the Latino outside of the stall, jostling Nicolas to the floor, “Awh, did the wetback have a little accident?” Bringing forth a babying note, “Does the widdle baby still pee-pee in his beddy bye at night? Huh?”
The brute then stood over the tormented seven year old Mexican, straddling Nicolas to initiate slapping the younger student’s cheeks, “Not gonna talk, huh? You’re just like your defective boyfriend!”
Manuel bared his teeth to the sounds of his friend’s distress, “Ss-St-Sto-.”
Brody perked his attention onto the 10 year old, standing with predatorial instincts as he stalked towards Thorne, “What was that Malfunction? St-Stop? You want me to stop? What’s the magic word then?” He mocked, latching onto Manuel’s muddy brown locks, “Or how about we find out how hard your head really is?”
When the bully goes in for the cliché face to wall smash, he is met with resistance as Thorne braced his palms against the stall. Brody drew closer, straining against the smaller classmate, “You’re tough for a little bitch! Take your medicine!”
A sudden donkey kick to the groin had sent the brute to the floor, whimpering as he held his damaged package.
Thorne launched himself off the toilet, flopping onto the larger student’s chest. Knuckles whitening as he pounded rock hard fists into Brody’s charming face.
Hearing the grunts of brutality from outside the loo, the school’s hall monitor exploded through the door, seizing Manuel by the collar. Towing the fourth grader out, “We don’t need you killing a fellow student! I think we need to see the principal about this, young man!”
In the bright afternoon of the next day; it was after the Funeral services held for Steven Jay Walker, into the home of Amelia’s, the reception was held. A somber air fills the aptitude of this once happy home. With most of the family and friends gathered in the Living room, speaking of the great times had by all, surrounding their lost loved one. Only three had escaped to the less noisy grievance of the outside world.
Out on the patio, on the comfort of a picnic table, sat the two men; the brother in law and Carlos.
It was after a brief recall of what happened that day, Dylan finally sparked the question onto Carlos, “So what were ya doing in town?”
Taking a swig of his tequila, Carlos responded, “We were actually on our way to pick up my nephew. His familia was killed two weeks ago. We… We actually first noticed the Heli, I drove us to a safer location… and I waited until it was the right moment to pop in. Everybody else was just kind of waiting in their little spots. In.. you know, in case if things went wrong. I think they were too afraid to jump in. I’m just one crazy ass Mexican.”
Dylan flicked the ashes from a cigarette, before taking a calming puff, “Well I’m just glad either way that you were there.” Sighing, the man dropped the butt, before stomping on it, leaning back as he faced Carlos, “I just wished we had a better state representative here… that asshole Kringle had forced them to let Candace go on the account of no evidence.”
Carlos would then offer his alcoholic beverage as a condolence, yet Mister Thorne denied, “Nah. Thanks. I don’t drink.”
The sliding glass door opened to Manuel walking out, past his father as he spoke, “I’m gonna go pet the chickens, dad.”
It was until after Thorne’s son was out of range to listen, Carlos then brought up an important topic, “I heard Manuel got into a fight yesterday. What was that about?”
To which Dylan responded with a sigh, as if it were a long tale, “He didn’t talk to me too much about yesterday. But I’m assuming it was that Brody kid again, causing issues.”
Although, a taller Latino male exited the house, flicking a lighter with a cancer stick in his mouth, “Talking…” He paused to hold the cig between his fingers, “Talking about Nicolas? Yeah… From what he’s told me. Classic school bully. A real fuckin’ perv. And one nasty racial asshole.” Drawing a puff, “I know his type. Lil’ Nickie told me about how Manuel had to go to therapy. Yadda dahda… Little mister O’Mal’s having some serious PTSD dude. You should really-” He paused, staring towards the commotion coming from the chicken coop.
There inside the hutch; Nick held a squawking hen by the feet, “Is this your favorite chicken? Huh Mal? You like this chicken? Well ghee… I don’t know… why do you like chickens so much? Is it because you are one?! You didn’t have the guts to kill that cow. I mean… fuck! You couldn’t even save my dad! It’s all your fault!”
Manuel brought his back against the corner of the coop, gasping for words that he could not seem to spit out.
“You know what Mal?” He nodded, while swinging the hen around, coaxing the bird to squirm, “Fuck your favorite bird!” Suddenly, whipping his younger cousin the chest with the hen, before slamming the unfortunate chicken onto the wooden floor of the shed.
Abruptly, the strange Latino entered the coop, clutching onto Nick’s shoulder, only to lightly push the obnoxious thirteen year old to the wall of the coop, “Let me tell you a secret, kiddo.” Leaning to whisper in Nick’s ear.
The young Thorne stared aimlessly at the hen struggling on the floor, gasping for air, like a fish out of water. But after listening to the whimpering noise of his cousin, his attention interchanged between both.
In a sudden burst of emotion, Nick screamed as he ran out, bawling for his mother.
Chuckling, the male then turned towards Manuel, kneeling down, “Oookay… Hi. My name is Alejandro.” He snorted, before slapping his own face, “That sounded so much better in my head.” Shrugging it off, Alejandro grabbed Manuel by the arm, tugging him closer to place onto his knee. “Listen. Kid. I’m sorry for your loss. I’ve lost people as well. In life… you’ll go through so many losses. It’s not exactly the loss that gets you. It’s really how you deal with it. And any decision that you make, really. I get why you are having problems. But honestly, having to deal with somebody as docile as your dad. I get it. But here’s the thing, your dad being super protective and pretty much a dud when it comes to violence, he’s already thinking of happy little trees. People like that, they were violent at one point… but remember happy little trees. So if you remember that now, you’ll be one hell of a badass later in life. You’ll be able to do the things that you think you might not be able to do.”
The chatty male then sighed, “But remembering to say goodbye and every little I love you, helps. Because you never know when you’ll be too late to say it.” Shrugging, “And I guess it kinda does help, even if they aren’t still here to hear it. Ugh… English is so weird.”
Gesturing towards the struggling bird, Alejandro spoke quietly, “Well… as much as I hate to say it… like, I don’t think she will make it. I mean, they do say that if you love something, set it free. I know it’s sad, but she’s in pain. It’s not good to leave those you love in suffering.”
The ten year old boy lifted his chin, staring at this complete stranger hitting him with some hard life lessons, before the attention pulled elsewhere in contemplation. A final decision was made, he stood up, picking the hen from the floor, then he would gently hug the chicken.
Alejandro sighed as he stood, “I know you’ll make the right decision, kid. I see it in your eyes. You have a good heart on you.”
Inside the home of Amelia’s, family and friends gathered in the lounge room, around a coffee table full captured images of a life once lived so merrily and carefree.
The owner of the junkyard; Jonathan scratched at his dry scalp, “Yeah, there were many’a times Jay came to my shop,” His smirk faded as he lost the thought of a cheerful joke, shifting forward on the couch slightly, “Amelia, he was like a brother to me. None… No one really expected this to happen. ”
Miss Walker eyed her sister in law, before turning to speak with Mister Everett, “I know that it wasn’t your fault for what happened. And you can’t blame yourself over what happened. When I met Jay, he reached the end of his road as a self righteous lawman. At the time, I was living in Gotham. I probably shouldn’t have been there, seeing as how that goddamn city attracts trashed people. Or Thorne’s specifically.” Amelia paused for a moment, before continuing, “I did expect this. Ever since Dylan and I’s cousin went missing, somebody else with a grudge wanted revenge, so one of us had to pay that price. I mean it’s obvious.” She shrugged, “Alyssa has only heard of the horrors.”
The middle aged son of the three brothers rushed in, diving to his mother’s side, “Alejandro threated to shove a chicken head up my butt!” He cried, hugging onto her.
Back outside, Mister Thorne added onto his earlier discussion, “Yeah, I’m not liking this new representative that we have. He’s already stepping over his authority.”
“Who?” Carlos questioned.
“Joseph Kringle.” Dylan responded, “Shortly before Candace came here, he made a law, where the actual shooter gets the penalty. And those associated, who does nothing more, do not get charged. It’s a new law that went into effect two weeks beforehand. And here’s the thing Carlos, when I left, Candace was fired. Or at least that’s what I heard. So I’m thinking it’s a revenge plot. Or maybe one that went wrong.”
Carlos nodded, “I noticed Joseph was trying to introduce a new bill to regulate how many seeds can be bought. But I’m not sure if it’s just for people that don’t do crops or for everybody. What a great Christian man he is, right?”
Alejandro approached the two men sitting at the picnic table, looking at his cell phone, taking a seat on the bench next to his uncle. Soon taking his attention onto Dylan, “I’m not one for political business, but I think the one dude that you are both talking about… he’s calling your family out, Dylan. He wants you and your wife to be arrested.”
Dylan sat back in silenced disbelief for a moment, looking back towards the chicken coop, witnessing his son walk out with a limp chicken, raising a brow. Shaking his head as he ran his fingers through his hair, glaring back towards Alejandro, “What did he say?”
The young Latino shrugged, “I don’t know. Some political bullshit. You’re the one more into politics than I am. You should already know this. Not unless you were watching the beginning of his little speech. Knowing your temperament with Candace, you likely immediately shut off the live cast on the television after he said that she was basically not guilty. You are quiet, but I can see you probably throw temper tantrums like a four year old and destroy the thing that makes you upsetty spaghetti.”
“Jokes aside… what did he say about me and my family?” Dylan grew serious as he leaned in.
Alejandro crossed his arms, “I’m not joking. I bare the gift of the Latina perception. I’m blunt. But I do need one right now.”
Mister Thorne reaches acrossed, stealing Carlos’ alcoholic beverage, carelessly swinging it as he gestured towards the older Latino, “I want you to take that snot nosed, racist, pot smoking brat out of here!! Before I lose my temper!“ Swallowing a small swig, tossing it at the sliding glass door of the house.
Carlos slightly tilted his head, “Que pasa? I was enjoying that…”
The sudden thunk had started Alyssa inside, persuading her to hesitantly move from the couch, to the doorway of the patio. Much to her shock, she saw her once docile husband hovering above the eighteen year old Latino, choking the adolescent out.
From there, the scene turned chaotic; the moment that his wife demanded that he release Alejandro, along with the tugging on the shoulders to reel Dylan off of the kid. Amelia had suddenly charged in from the commotion, booting her own brother in the face, prompting Mister Thorne to buckle.
Holding onto his face as he shifted off of the eighteen year old, he laid on his spine, listening to the barrage of his sister’s furious rage.
“What the hell do you think you are doing at Jay’s wake?!” Amelia exclaimed. “You’re the whole reason why Jay is dead! If you hadn’t answered that fucking phone call five years ago, this would have never happened! Oh you wanna know how I know? You left a divot in my floor! It’s still there! I had to ask Amelia where it came from! If you still had a mobile phone on you, maybe you could’ve called me about that helicopter! And just maybe… just maybe, we could have prevented all of this from happening!”
“That’s enough.” Alyssa advised softly.
Amelia had yet to finished, she continued, “Or maybe you weren’t such a scared little rabbit running from your past, you could have taught your son to shoot the guy that got Jay! Or even said something, beforehand! You can’t just go around pretending the world is all sunshine and rainbows! We are the Thorne’s, the world hates us for who we are because of our cousin! And you went and skipped around in that steamy cesspool of his organization! You made an ass of this side of the family’s name! Jay dropped out of what he was doing, but you didn’t quit until after you got arrested for contraband!”
At this point, the children had gathered at the sliding glass doors to the patio, observing in horror.
Alyssa settled a palm on her sister in law’s shoulder, “Amelia, that is enough! You need to watch your language, your kids are watching!”
The widowed Miss Walker shot a killer look to the other; shouldering her compassionate approach, “Just maybe then, y’all wouldn’t have a son walking around in circles with a dead chicken in his arms, looking so dead inside. If only both of you were better parental figures.”
“He is our first child!” Alyssa reproached.
“Ignorance isn’t a good excuse for bad parenting, Alyssa.” She chided, before storming towards the direction of where Manuel was pacing.
(OOC: This is the end of chapter 3, was working on Chapter 4, before I got distracted and attracted to the oppositional life of another. Again, thank you for reading into this! Hoping to finish these Arcs within the year! Due to my job, progress on writing has been slow, but I have been pumping more ideas into the second Arc.)
(OOC: A secondary sneak peek into the very first Arc. As opposed to the previous, this is a more detailed outlook on what life is like on my main protagonist's beginning in life.)
~ ~
Chapter 1
Long flowing fields of golden grass, small towns scattered throughout the whole state of Nebraska, flying into one small speck that was a small community, Brule. Only a truck stop and a single gas station, a few simple stores and a café, given the cliché name of Small Town Café with numerous abodes that filled around this place and within it, farms and crop properties that generated most of the town’s profits. It was the hometown of an expecting, happily married couple; Alyssa and Dylan Thorne.
Alyssa had come from Canada in high hopes for a better livelihood. While Dylan had come from Saint Louis, moving within the same town as his sister to get away from the crime filled city of Illinois.
The soon to be parents lived outside of the town, between Brule and to the west of a larger town, Ogallala. On a 50 acre farm with just a one story house that had two bedrooms, one bath, a kitchen and a lounge room, while the rest of the land went to growing a few different crops, mainly corn and wheat, and even sometimes, Alfalfa.
Upon on that farm, in the singular family home, came the cries of a newborn baby boy. Manuel Aaron Thorne was born under the watchful eye of a nurse from Ogallala. And thus, the beginning, we then skip five years later.
Just north of the Thorne homestead with an even larger acreage of eighty, utilized for mainly cattle, beef and milk cows. The rest was just filled with other farm related essentials, chickens for eggs and consumption, specifically for the family themselves. They also had horses for rounding up cattle and saving on gas and a personal garden, fresh for the taking.
Dylan’s sister, Amelia along with her husband Ray Walker and their three children; Dewey, Nick and Jacob. Dewey, the youngest of the children was only 6 at the time. Nick, being the middle offspring was 8 and Jacob, being the oldest, at the age of 9.
The scent of barbeque and roasted corn on the cob filled the sweltering humid air, classic songs from country singers played. From Johnny Cash to Waylon Jennings, the list just went on shuffle from old times long gone away. Children screaming and running ramped, playing cowboys and Indians, while the adults sat at picnic tables, chattering. A family reunion was being held at the Walker farm.
Though the chatter of the adults had grown silent, as Amelia had stood from the table, peering down their long and dusty driveway, watching as a green ‘95 Chevy waddled through the rough terrain.
“Oh hey, it’s the neighbors!” The hostess gleefully cheered.
When the truck had come to park close by the makeshift venue, located behind the two story house on the property; A Hispanic woman, her husband and toddler in tow, then exited the truck.
As the foreign family approached, Amelia introduced them to her brother, “Dylan, this is Sonya and her husband Carlos, the Herreras!” She giggled, “And their new, sweet baby boy, Nicolás!”
Greetings were then held all around between the adults, as soon they settled onto the picnic tables. Jay then announced to the newcomers, “Lunch, will be ready here shortly.” Checking his wrist watch, “Oh probably here in fifteen or so.”
Sonya simply nodded with a delighted smile, noticing her fidgety son, whining, “Jugar.”
“Who gar?” Dylan raised a brow in question.
The Hispanic mother would then plop her child down, watching as he scurried off towards the other kids, before she peered up at mister Thorne, “It’s Spanish for play.” Sonya gestured towards the children, humming back with a smile.
The venue being held upon the patio, slightly further is a chicken coop, to the left of it, is a greenhouse for homegrown crops and in the middle of it all, a jungle gym for the older youths.
Near where the playground stood, Jacob and Nick wrestled, as Manuel with his cousin played in the mud hole, near the coop that contained the chickens.
As the toddler aimlessly wandered on a collision course towards the roughhousing, with his sights set on the two building castles out of mud. Jacob rushes his brother Nick with an elbow to the shoulder, shoving him down, narrowly missing the small child. In this struggle, Nick shrugged Jacob off, before his sights set onto new shenanigans.
Charging towards the two hapless kin, innocently molding globs of mud, Nick menacingly chuckled with ill intent.
With Jacob hot on his brother’s heels, “Hey! Get back here, ya chicken!”
Around the picnic table, a more important discussion ensued. Dylan speaking to the group, “But I don’t know about that Joseph Kringle. He’s from Knoxville. He’s got too nice of a smile for a twenty year old trying to get into politics. What my family has always said, the brighter the picture, the darker, the negative.”
Though Jay rubbed at his chin, before pointing out, “Oh yeah. The Santa Claus guy…”
Mister Thorne shook his head in dismissal, “His father owns a big oil industry. Out east. It makes me wonder what his intentions of trying to run for governor here for. Because he’s being funded by his-…”
Dylan was stopped short in his words by the shrill cries of children; his fatherly instincts kick in as he turned his nose towards the noise, just in time to see chaos unfolding.
The oldest brother straddling Nick, rubbing his face into the muck, while the other two had been sprayed with mud.
Naturally the other parents took notice; Yet Jay was the first one to shout, “Jacob! Get off your brother! And get over here! Right now!”
However, Dylan got a vibrating phone call, which prompted him to abruptly exiting to the seclusion of the house.
To this, his wife questioned, yet the wellbeing of her child concerned her. Indecisive, she observed her son making his way towards the adults, before peering around her. This is when an immediate and vital decision was made. “I will be right back.” Briefly stating, following after her husband into Amelia’s house.
Upon entering, she could hear a different tone in her husband’s voice over a phone call, something a little more distraught.
“No! I can’t take him. And that’s final. It’s fine if you try, but don’t be surprised that you’ll find a small militia at the ready!” Dylan huffed, before slamming the phone onto the floor. Marking the wood floor and shattering the phone on impact.
Alyssa gasped at the sudden change in his mood, she looked onward with a sense of vexation, “Who was that?”
The husband sighed with grief, “My cousin from Jersey went missing. His brother won’t take his kid… I need to lie down.” Dylan withdrew from the hallway, working his way to the living room, before falling onto a knee, clenching his chest.
To which Alyssa rushed to his side, with panicked scream, “Somebody call an ambulance!!!”
Sirens wailed throughout the country side, interrupting the quiet afternoon.
Chapter 2
A fifteen hundred square foot, fenced property stood to the west side of Brule’s main district, by the Lincoln highway heading out of town. This was the one and only major salvage yard, J.E.’s junks as it was widely known to the community of Brule. A structure (that had been built on the north side) was the only entry point in and out of the salvage yard for customers. Inside this building was filled with shelves of old broken, worn down home appliances, some were even antiques. Once beyond the store, leading into the yard was hundreds of disorganized rows of junked vehicles, from something as small as a sedan, up to busses.
Plodding through this graveyard of cars, the father and the 10 year old son surveyed for a project. A 1991 Jeep protruded to Dylan’s sight, it was similar to his sister Amelia’s current vehicle, only by one year. As he begins to examine the cadaver of the Cherokee, focusing in on diagnosing the motor, yet the sound of thunderous whirring catches his attention. Dylan threw his eyes towards the sky, and there he observed a black chopper flying at a low altitude. The leisure mood had been dismantled.
Peering to his side, expecting to leave hastily with his son, Dylan only discovered himself to be alone. Alarmed, his instincts called out for his child, “Manuel? Manuel!”
Hearing his brother in-law’s flustered tone; Jay sprinted from a few rows over, “Hey, you’re as nervous as a long tailed cat in a roomful of rocking chairs! We’ll find him.”
The father nodded in agreement, “Let’s fan out. You go to the west, I’ll head this direction.”
They then parted ways; Mister Thorne briskly made his way between the vehicles, looking down each row, drawing closer towards the fence. With each ticking second, Dylan’s pace escalated to an urgent jog.
Just when all hope seemed to have dissolved, not far from the end of the row, Manuel popped out with an exclamation, “Dad!”
Jolted by the sudden appearance of his son, the father slapped a hand over his pounding chest, “Jesus, son, you nearly gave me a heart attack!”
“Come’ere!” The excited boy rushed to the furthest corner of the salvage yard.
There, they beheld the sight of a Lincoln shell. Ebony black as the darkest night. With several parts missing off of this vehicle; the left front fender had been taken, the hood was dislocated and hanging off of the vehicle, the iconic grill and shroud missing and most of the lights and windows on the Lincoln were busted. Notably, the rest of the metal exterior was wrinkled, bent out of the proud shape that it once was. The interior of the Lincoln could have looked far better than the disarray it was currently in. With ripped back seats, tires had been stacked on the buttshelf, both front seats had been removed.
Dylan briefly looked over the car, hesitant on touching the luxury sedan, before peering into the engine bay. Remarkably, the motor was found to be intact and clean.
“I don’t know, son…” Mister Thorne drew a breath, unable to shake the negative vibes that emanated from the Lincoln.
Manuel laughed, charging into the vehicle, “Look dad!” As he settled in the place of where the driver’s seat once sat, digging underneath the steering column to pick two hanging cables with inner, exposed copper. Quickly bringing both wires together, igniting life into the old car.
The father had been taken back, holding his palms in the air, “The hell?” His voice cracked with confusion, recalling that the owner never left keys in the ignitions and the other fact being that he had never shown his son this technique. “Ho-How did you do that?”
As the young Thorne stood, locking eye contact with his dad, “Uncle Jay taught me!”
Mister Walker strolled to Dylan’s side, sarcastically making a comment, “I heard my name… what about me?” He chuckled, before speaking further with an honest tone, “I just thought that Manuel might need it in the future for whatever reason, probably to get out of a jam. Like some people, I know, Murphy.” He laughed the concerning matter off, while raising a brow.
Dylan jabbed at his brother in law with a knuckle, “Hey, what did I tell you about using my old name, huh?”
“Well, look, Dylan. I know you don’t like this car, but your son seems to enjoy it. Ignore the fact that it looks like the cars that we used to drive back in the day. Not only that, but, hey, it started. That’s something you don’t see every day. Plus, these are hard cars to find out here, Dylan, but they are really great and super safe. And honestly, by the looks of this big land yacht, I think it could look great. I actually would want to buy this car. So, if you don’t buy this for your son, I will.”
The father nodded, “Okay, Jay. You convinced me. But it sounds like I don’t have much of a choice.” Rubbing at his cheek in thought, “Just one more thing I have to fix on that car… those ignition cables.”
Into the junkyard’s shop, full shelves lined horizontally and vertically, like any convenience store that anybody would see normally. Reaching the grand entrance of J.E.’s Junks, stood the counter, meant to be the base of operations and to pay with any desired products, the three entered.
“How ya doin’, Jonathan?” Dylan asked, shaking the hand of the man that stood behind the counter. Though, before the other could answer, he queried, “What’s the price on that black Lincoln out there?”
The middle aged man behind the counter gave off a slight smile, “So ya wanna sail away in that yacht, eh? Or drop anchor and,” Jonathan closed his left eye, “plunder the scurvy sea dog fer’er parts?”
While Jay seemed to have found the pirate imitation hilarious, Mister Thorne did not seem too enthusiastic about the playful words.
Seeing as though Dylan did not take the joke so well, Jonathan replied with a cough, “Well, back to business… matey’s?” He gave off a short chuckle, “Anyways, I was hoping to get a thousand out of that car. It’s got a damn great motor in her, but other than ya having to grab a bench to have a seat to shit in.”
Mister Thorne crossed his arms, “Please Jonathan, I know you own this place, but try to keep your language on the down low. My son is right here.” Scratching at the back of his neck, “Is there any way we could negotiate price?”
Before Dylan could fish out the cash that he had brought with him, Jay grew shocked with an expressive, “Oh shit.”
The protective father, peered to the left, shooting a stinky eye at Walker, but before he could speak; a familiar feminine voice broke to his right.
A broad shouldered business woman stood, on Dylan’s side, holding up a gob of money, “Make it, two thousand.”
The uncle of Manuel’s dove around his brother in law, grabbing the woman by the wrist, forcing her to drop the paper currency on the floor, “We dropped you like hot shit back in that goddamn city! Why?! Why now and why here?”
Dylan rested his palm on Walker’s shoulder, “Jay… Jay, please don’t do this buddy.”
Peering back, Jay snapped, “Why? So this bitch can just march back in here, in our lives again? I ain’t doing that again, Murphy! Not ever!”
Though Manuel spoke out lightly, “Dad…” As his innocent oculars observed a man walk out from behind one of the shelves, branding a silenced handgun. When he failed to tug his father’s attention, he shoved on his father’s hip, sending him crashing into the counter as the flash and a bang from the pistol erupted.
At the Thorne Estate, in the home of Alyssa and Dylan; the mistress and her sister in law, Amelia sat at the kitchen table on that same afternoon. It was after lunch that the two women mingled; Miss Walker humbled herself, “I can’t thank ya’ll enough for having me and the boys over, while the men are at the junkyard. It really is impressive to see how mature Manuel has become in these recent years, but I’d have to chain my boys down, or they’d be running around like wild heathens!” She giggled after the playful statement.
“You are very much welcome! You know that you and the boys are welcome here any time. There’s really not much of anything here that the boys can get into. But-” Alyssa’s thought was suddenly cut short by the unexpected ringing of the house telephone, yet continued to speak shortly after, ignoring the noisy device.
The eldest of Amelia’s children, charged in from outside, to fetch a drink of water for himself. Jacob reached the sink with cup in hand, seconds before he finished filling; the phone began to ring anew.
Taking a few moments to look in between his Aunt and Mother, who seemed to be too preoccupied with chatting, rather than check the phone. Taking up the initiative; he set the glass aside, answering the phone.
Before the seventeen year old was able to speak, he was met with the distraught voice of Sonya, “Hola Alyssa?”
The teenager replied calmly, “No Ma’am, this is Jacob. I’ll get her.”
“Por favor Jacob adele!” Miss Herrera ushered.
Sensing the urgency, he rushed to his aunt Alyssa, handing her the phone, “It’s Sonya, I think it might be important.” He spoke quietly.
After the phone is taken from his grasp, Jacob made way to exit the house, leaving the converse; only to be startled by the sound of Alyssa’s shriek of terror.
As Manuel shoves his father against the counter, a subtle serenity befalls the room. Followed by the final dooming ding of a ricocheting bullet, before silence; time then began to turn slowly. A splatter of warm liquid blasted with the sprawl of crimson fluid pooling on the concrete floor. Then Jay came cascading to the ground.
The utter slap of weight hitting concrete is what had dragged young Manuel’s attention to his uncle, lying so lifelessly on the floor. His legs buckled, peering through the open cavity, “J-Ja-Jay?”
The woman in the red suit brushed herself off, “I never liked him anyways. Horrible at shooting. Ironic that’s how he went.”
Quietly, Dylan scooped up his son off of the ground, before plopping the child behind the counter, all the while; bearing through the shock, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
Candace smirked with a raised brow, “Where is your militia now, Murph?” She snarked, pulling another hundred dollar bill from her pocket to slap on the counter. “Three hundred, for compensation of the mess, Mister Everett.”
When the female motioned to Dylan, he then followed without question.
To the small customer parking lot outside, in the middle of the two way street; to a waiting helicopter, which blocked all through lanes of traffic. Armed men stood around the chopper, brandishing fully automated rifles. Eerily, the streets that could be seen; ominously empty and free of any other people in sight, simply just the bustling noise of the highway nearby.
On the way to the copter; Candace spoke, “With your cousin out of the way, I need you, Murph, to act as a leader. The boys are too much for me to handle.” She then added, “And Rupert’s son was the only one keeping me from being in charge. You put me in a very hard corner, Murph. So if you do exactly as I say, perhaps I won’t let harm come to your family.”
A thunderous boom erupted from inside the Everett building, prompting the female to rush Dylan.
“Manuel! No!” Mister Everett cried out to the ten year old.
A year ago, at the Walker estate; out in the field of cattle, stood an uncle and nephew over a bovine with a broken leg.
Jay knelt down, silently motions Manuel over. Before clearing his throat, “I want to teach you something, kid. Sometimes we have to do things we don’t like in life. But if we don’t take that step, there will be people or animals suffering.” He sighs, rubbing his face, “I know your dad means well, but he’s trying to raise you like the world is all sunshine and rainbows.” Unholstering his pistol, eyeing the chamber in the old six shooter, “But this is a necessary tool that shouldn’t even be called a weapon. It only is, if somebody uses it for bad purposes.”
Standing up, he aimed at the bull’s skull, looking down the barrel, “The way you shoot these is you have to look down the sight, make sure it’s level. And… you shoot.” Suddenly taking a turn towards the sky, aiming at passing Starling, before sniping the bird out of the sky.
Once Jay peered down, noticing that Manuel had been frightened by the reverb of the revolver, the uncle again kneeled down with encouraging words, “It might seem scary at first, but one day, you will need this. Regardless, Here.” He gestures the grip of the pistol toward Manuel.
The 9 year old hesitantly grips the firearm, adjusting to it’s weight. Taking a moment to stare at the pistol, before his uncle would gently push the barrel towards the cow’s head, yet Manuel dropped the heavy tool.
“No-No! I can’t do it!” Manuel sobbed.
A white light, high pitched rings piercing through the young boy’s sense. This time, he was going to finally do it!
Ignoring the urging of Jonathan Everett, with new clarity, the ten year old swept up the semi automatic pistol, flying towards the entrance of the building. Peering down the sights of the barrel, making the lucky shot.
Buzzing right past Candace, the hot lead buries itself into the mouth of a guard, exploding the man’s jaw.
Dylan then takes the advantage of the goons’ bewilderment, wrapping his arm around the woman’s throat, pulling her to the side as he quickly frisks the woman’s jacket for her pistol, before aiming it at her head with the hammer cocked back.
The female gave to a snarky grin, “Don’t stop aiming at the kid!” Bringing her tone down, Candace warned, “Put a bullet in me, my boys will put two in your boy.”
Now at a Mexican stand off; the moment was held, before the sound of a familiar, Latino voice shrieked, “Chupa mi polla!” The vocal man rounded the corner of the building with an AR-15, raining a hail of bullets, hitting both the pilot and the second to last man standing.
The last thug dove behind the rear of a nearby truck, while Mister Everett grabs the young Thorne, bringing the boy inside the building.
The loudmouthed man then grabbed a fist full of Candace’s hair, yanking her from Dylan’s hands, shoving her face first into the pavement, bringing the barrel point blank to her skull, peering up at Dylan, as he would set a knee onto the back of her neck. “Go get that puto, Dylan!”
In a hoarse voice, Manuel’s father spoke, “Thank you Carlos.” Stepping forward, he announced, “Drop the weapon. Come out, if you don’t want my friend taking your boss out.”
By then, police sirens could be hear wailing.
Chapter 3
A bullet grazed past the woman in a red suit, zipping into the face of a man. As blood splattered the aircraft, the man’s jaw unhinged, hanging from a thin strand of a tendon. The man fell forward. A single quick blink of the shocking incident, Manuel soon realizes that it was his uncle lying on the ground. Oculars grew wide as he froze in place, that same white lined ringing seemed to have reawakened in his auditories.
“Manuel. Manuel Thorne!”
The air began to gain a chill, shivering slightly; the ten year old stared down to the pavement, which the bumps seemed to curve into a figure. Colors began to fill in as his eyes watched the world return to his fourth grade classroom. Right in his face, a displeased female teacher eyed the boy down.
“Are you even paying attention?” She questioned, pointing to the whiteboard behind her.
Manuel Thorne looked on with a frazzled expression, “Uh…uhuh… um… wh-wh-a..what?”
The classroom bursted with snickers of other students. “Miss, he’s just having another one of his malfunctions again.” Snorted a fellow classmate.
“You used to be one of my best students and now you can’t even pay attention.” The teacher responded, “We may have to bring this up in parent-teacher conference.”
“Ooooh, he in trouble!” Chortled a child.
The teacher stood, grabbing the attention of her students, “Enough of that. Let’s get back to the lesson.” Taking towards the whiteboard.
Recessing to lunch, the ear aching chatter of boastful students filled the mess hall was not even enough to keep a mind from being preoccupied. Without the appetite, Manuel poked at his tray of food items.
Another male student approaches the young Thorne, slapping the boy out of his seat, before settling on the bench with a short held chuckle, “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there tiny. Or is it Malfunction, these days?” Raiding the other’s lunch.
Manuel slowly picking himself from the floor.
“Oh. Here, you forgot this.” The bully snickered, grabbing the milk box on the table, pouring it over Thorne’s head. Announcing to anybody that listened, “He needs some milk!”
Watching as the milk spilled over his tangled, muddy brown hair, into his lap and pooling on the floor. It grew into a tainted color, darkening to a blood red hue. He gasped for air, as if he could not breathe.
In the background, a thunderous clang of two students running into one another, trays and food flying. Before the metal trays clapped on the floor.
The bully looked onto the action, calling out with coy, “Kyle! Scott! The fuck you two idiots doing? Are you trying to give Malfy a panic attack?”
Too loud. The milk. The banging. Manuel’s blood ran cold; gathering his legs, he flees towards the exit, before a tray had been flung. Impacting the back of his cranium, sending the boy to the floor.
When Thorne lacked movement, Kyle spoke up, “Oh shit Brody, did you kill him?”
Shifting his head, Thorne peered towards the exiting hallway, noticing a shimmering mirage of a figure. Not quite in focus, yet he could tell it was a male that stood about seven foot tall. Shaking off the minor concussion, Manuel lifted himself off the floor, before sprinting past the projection, escaping to a nearby loo. Barricading himself within a stall, forgetting to lock the door as he assumed a fetal perch on the toilet.
Looking over his blood covered hands; trembling as it dribbled onto the floor, yet his dead eyes were brought to focus on a body lying on it’s side, before making the connection that it was his uncle on the floor. With tears welling in his oculars as his brain processed imagery that flickered and fluttered through the horror of grief.
Unexpectedly, Jay rolled onto his hips, shifting towards his stunned nephew, rubbing at the lingering bullet hole that had penetrated his skull, “It’s okay kid. You are like a son to me. It’s not your fault that you didn’t pull that gun. Not from me. Not from your dad. It’s okay.” His voice thickened to a threatening tone, “I should have been firmer! You should’ve grabbed that gun! You should have shot that prick!” His voice grew deafening, “It’s all your fault!” Jay’s palm snatched a revolver, aiming the barrel at his nephew’s cranium. “You deserve to die!”
The trigger is pulled, before a blinding white light flashes his unblinking eyes.
A Latino child leapt back as liquid soon had soaked around the crotch of his pants, this boy seemed startled. Brushing the feeling aside, he flung himself to Thorne, snagging him by the collar to shake the ten year old back to reality, “Mal! Wake up! Wake up bud!”
Sluggishly bringing his head up, Manuel silently threw his arms around the other, pulling him into a constricting hug, “I-I… I’m s-s-sor…” Gulping down the guilt, “Nic-Nicol.”
A clang of the bathroom stalls erupted as the face of Brody peeked around the corner, “Heerree’s Brody!” Taking hold on the Mexican boy’s shoulder, yanking the student out of the enveloping embracement, before pinning him against the metal cubicle wall, “Did you change your name, Nicolas? Are you gay now? You know your holy mother won’t approve.” He cackled, dragging the Latino outside of the stall, jostling Nicolas to the floor, “Awh, did the wetback have a little accident?” Bringing forth a babying note, “Does the widdle baby still pee-pee in his beddy bye at night? Huh?”
The brute then stood over the tormented seven year old Mexican, straddling Nicolas to initiate slapping the younger student’s cheeks, “Not gonna talk, huh? You’re just like your defective boyfriend!”
Manuel bared his teeth to the sounds of his friend’s distress, “Ss-St-Sto-.”
Brody perked his attention onto the 10 year old, standing with predatorial instincts as he stalked towards Thorne, “What was that Malfunction? St-Stop? You want me to stop? What’s the magic word then?” He mocked, latching onto Manuel’s muddy brown locks, “Or how about we find out how hard your head really is?”
When the bully goes in for the cliché face to wall smash, he is met with resistance as Thorne braced his palms against the stall. Brody drew closer, straining against the smaller classmate, “You’re tough for a little bitch! Take your medicine!”
A sudden donkey kick to the groin had sent the brute to the floor, whimpering as he held his damaged package.
Thorne launched himself off the toilet, flopping onto the larger student’s chest. Knuckles whitening as he pounded rock hard fists into Brody’s charming face.
Hearing the grunts of brutality from outside the loo, the school’s hall monitor exploded through the door, seizing Manuel by the collar. Towing the fourth grader out, “We don’t need you killing a fellow student! I think we need to see the principal about this, young man!”
In the bright afternoon of the next day; it was after the Funeral services held for Steven Jay Walker, into the home of Amelia’s, the reception was held. A somber air fills the aptitude of this once happy home. With most of the family and friends gathered in the Living room, speaking of the great times had by all, surrounding their lost loved one. Only three had escaped to the less noisy grievance of the outside world.
Out on the patio, on the comfort of a picnic table, sat the two men; the brother in law and Carlos.
It was after a brief recall of what happened that day, Dylan finally sparked the question onto Carlos, “So what were ya doing in town?”
Taking a swig of his tequila, Carlos responded, “We were actually on our way to pick up my nephew. His familia was killed two weeks ago. We… We actually first noticed the Heli, I drove us to a safer location… and I waited until it was the right moment to pop in. Everybody else was just kind of waiting in their little spots. In.. you know, in case if things went wrong. I think they were too afraid to jump in. I’m just one crazy ass Mexican.”
Dylan flicked the ashes from a cigarette, before taking a calming puff, “Well I’m just glad either way that you were there.” Sighing, the man dropped the butt, before stomping on it, leaning back as he faced Carlos, “I just wished we had a better state representative here… that asshole Kringle had forced them to let Candace go on the account of no evidence.”
Carlos would then offer his alcoholic beverage as a condolence, yet Mister Thorne denied, “Nah. Thanks. I don’t drink.”
The sliding glass door opened to Manuel walking out, past his father as he spoke, “I’m gonna go pet the chickens, dad.”
It was until after Thorne’s son was out of range to listen, Carlos then brought up an important topic, “I heard Manuel got into a fight yesterday. What was that about?”
To which Dylan responded with a sigh, as if it were a long tale, “He didn’t talk to me too much about yesterday. But I’m assuming it was that Brody kid again, causing issues.”
Although, a taller Latino male exited the house, flicking a lighter with a cancer stick in his mouth, “Talking…” He paused to hold the cig between his fingers, “Talking about Nicolas? Yeah… From what he’s told me. Classic school bully. A real fuckin’ perv. And one nasty racial asshole.” Drawing a puff, “I know his type. Lil’ Nickie told me about how Manuel had to go to therapy. Yadda dahda… Little mister O’Mal’s having some serious PTSD dude. You should really-” He paused, staring towards the commotion coming from the chicken coop.
There inside the hutch; Nick held a squawking hen by the feet, “Is this your favorite chicken? Huh Mal? You like this chicken? Well ghee… I don’t know… why do you like chickens so much? Is it because you are one?! You didn’t have the guts to kill that cow. I mean… fuck! You couldn’t even save my dad! It’s all your fault!”
Manuel brought his back against the corner of the coop, gasping for words that he could not seem to spit out.
“You know what Mal?” He nodded, while swinging the hen around, coaxing the bird to squirm, “Fuck your favorite bird!” Suddenly, whipping his younger cousin the chest with the hen, before slamming the unfortunate chicken onto the wooden floor of the shed.
Abruptly, the strange Latino entered the coop, clutching onto Nick’s shoulder, only to lightly push the obnoxious thirteen year old to the wall of the coop, “Let me tell you a secret, kiddo.” Leaning to whisper in Nick’s ear.
The young Thorne stared aimlessly at the hen struggling on the floor, gasping for air, like a fish out of water. But after listening to the whimpering noise of his cousin, his attention interchanged between both.
In a sudden burst of emotion, Nick screamed as he ran out, bawling for his mother.
Chuckling, the male then turned towards Manuel, kneeling down, “Oookay… Hi. My name is Alejandro.” He snorted, before slapping his own face, “That sounded so much better in my head.” Shrugging it off, Alejandro grabbed Manuel by the arm, tugging him closer to place onto his knee. “Listen. Kid. I’m sorry for your loss. I’ve lost people as well. In life… you’ll go through so many losses. It’s not exactly the loss that gets you. It’s really how you deal with it. And any decision that you make, really. I get why you are having problems. But honestly, having to deal with somebody as docile as your dad. I get it. But here’s the thing, your dad being super protective and pretty much a dud when it comes to violence, he’s already thinking of happy little trees. People like that, they were violent at one point… but remember happy little trees. So if you remember that now, you’ll be one hell of a badass later in life. You’ll be able to do the things that you think you might not be able to do.”
The chatty male then sighed, “But remembering to say goodbye and every little I love you, helps. Because you never know when you’ll be too late to say it.” Shrugging, “And I guess it kinda does help, even if they aren’t still here to hear it. Ugh… English is so weird.”
Gesturing towards the struggling bird, Alejandro spoke quietly, “Well… as much as I hate to say it… like, I don’t think she will make it. I mean, they do say that if you love something, set it free. I know it’s sad, but she’s in pain. It’s not good to leave those you love in suffering.”
The ten year old boy lifted his chin, staring at this complete stranger hitting him with some hard life lessons, before the attention pulled elsewhere in contemplation. A final decision was made, he stood up, picking the hen from the floor, then he would gently hug the chicken.
Alejandro sighed as he stood, “I know you’ll make the right decision, kid. I see it in your eyes. You have a good heart on you.”
Inside the home of Amelia’s, family and friends gathered in the lounge room, around a coffee table full captured images of a life once lived so merrily and carefree.
The owner of the junkyard; Jonathan scratched at his dry scalp, “Yeah, there were many’a times Jay came to my shop,” His smirk faded as he lost the thought of a cheerful joke, shifting forward on the couch slightly, “Amelia, he was like a brother to me. None… No one really expected this to happen. ”
Miss Walker eyed her sister in law, before turning to speak with Mister Everett, “I know that it wasn’t your fault for what happened. And you can’t blame yourself over what happened. When I met Jay, he reached the end of his road as a self righteous lawman. At the time, I was living in Gotham. I probably shouldn’t have been there, seeing as how that goddamn city attracts trashed people. Or Thorne’s specifically.” Amelia paused for a moment, before continuing, “I did expect this. Ever since Dylan and I’s cousin went missing, somebody else with a grudge wanted revenge, so one of us had to pay that price. I mean it’s obvious.” She shrugged, “Alyssa has only heard of the horrors.”
The middle aged son of the three brothers rushed in, diving to his mother’s side, “Alejandro threated to shove a chicken head up my butt!” He cried, hugging onto her.
Back outside, Mister Thorne added onto his earlier discussion, “Yeah, I’m not liking this new representative that we have. He’s already stepping over his authority.”
“Who?” Carlos questioned.
“Joseph Kringle.” Dylan responded, “Shortly before Candace came here, he made a law, where the actual shooter gets the penalty. And those associated, who does nothing more, do not get charged. It’s a new law that went into effect two weeks beforehand. And here’s the thing Carlos, when I left, Candace was fired. Or at least that’s what I heard. So I’m thinking it’s a revenge plot. Or maybe one that went wrong.”
Carlos nodded, “I noticed Joseph was trying to introduce a new bill to regulate how many seeds can be bought. But I’m not sure if it’s just for people that don’t do crops or for everybody. What a great Christian man he is, right?”
Alejandro approached the two men sitting at the picnic table, looking at his cell phone, taking a seat on the bench next to his uncle. Soon taking his attention onto Dylan, “I’m not one for political business, but I think the one dude that you are both talking about… he’s calling your family out, Dylan. He wants you and your wife to be arrested.”
Dylan sat back in silenced disbelief for a moment, looking back towards the chicken coop, witnessing his son walk out with a limp chicken, raising a brow. Shaking his head as he ran his fingers through his hair, glaring back towards Alejandro, “What did he say?”
The young Latino shrugged, “I don’t know. Some political bullshit. You’re the one more into politics than I am. You should already know this. Not unless you were watching the beginning of his little speech. Knowing your temperament with Candace, you likely immediately shut off the live cast on the television after he said that she was basically not guilty. You are quiet, but I can see you probably throw temper tantrums like a four year old and destroy the thing that makes you upsetty spaghetti.”
“Jokes aside… what did he say about me and my family?” Dylan grew serious as he leaned in.
Alejandro crossed his arms, “I’m not joking. I bare the gift of the Latina perception. I’m blunt. But I do need one right now.”
Mister Thorne reaches acrossed, stealing Carlos’ alcoholic beverage, carelessly swinging it as he gestured towards the older Latino, “I want you to take that snot nosed, racist, pot smoking brat out of here!! Before I lose my temper!“ Swallowing a small swig, tossing it at the sliding glass door of the house.
Carlos slightly tilted his head, “Que pasa? I was enjoying that…”
The sudden thunk had started Alyssa inside, persuading her to hesitantly move from the couch, to the doorway of the patio. Much to her shock, she saw her once docile husband hovering above the eighteen year old Latino, choking the adolescent out.
From there, the scene turned chaotic; the moment that his wife demanded that he release Alejandro, along with the tugging on the shoulders to reel Dylan off of the kid. Amelia had suddenly charged in from the commotion, booting her own brother in the face, prompting Mister Thorne to buckle.
Holding onto his face as he shifted off of the eighteen year old, he laid on his spine, listening to the barrage of his sister’s furious rage.
“What the hell do you think you are doing at Jay’s wake?!” Amelia exclaimed. “You’re the whole reason why Jay is dead! If you hadn’t answered that fucking phone call five years ago, this would have never happened! Oh you wanna know how I know? You left a divot in my floor! It’s still there! I had to ask Amelia where it came from! If you still had a mobile phone on you, maybe you could’ve called me about that helicopter! And just maybe… just maybe, we could have prevented all of this from happening!”
“That’s enough.” Alyssa advised softly.
Amelia had yet to finished, she continued, “Or maybe you weren’t such a scared little rabbit running from your past, you could have taught your son to shoot the guy that got Jay! Or even said something, beforehand! You can’t just go around pretending the world is all sunshine and rainbows! We are the Thorne’s, the world hates us for who we are because of our cousin! And you went and skipped around in that steamy cesspool of his organization! You made an ass of this side of the family’s name! Jay dropped out of what he was doing, but you didn’t quit until after you got arrested for contraband!”
At this point, the children had gathered at the sliding glass doors to the patio, observing in horror.
Alyssa settled a palm on her sister in law’s shoulder, “Amelia, that is enough! You need to watch your language, your kids are watching!”
The widowed Miss Walker shot a killer look to the other; shouldering her compassionate approach, “Just maybe then, y’all wouldn’t have a son walking around in circles with a dead chicken in his arms, looking so dead inside. If only both of you were better parental figures.”
“He is our first child!” Alyssa reproached.
“Ignorance isn’t a good excuse for bad parenting, Alyssa.” She chided, before storming towards the direction of where Manuel was pacing.
(OOC: This is the end of chapter 3, was working on Chapter 4, before I got distracted and attracted to the oppositional life of another. Again, thank you for reading into this! Hoping to finish these Arcs within the year! Due to my job, progress on writing has been slow, but I have been pumping more ideas into the second Arc.)