Ages:
Lori: 21/Leni: 20/Luna: 19/Luan: 18/Lynn: 17/Lincoln: 15/Lucy: 12
Oswald: 11
Lana & Lola: 10/Lisa: 8/Lily: 5
December 24th, 2019
Royal Woods, Michigan:
It was Christmas Eve. Oswald was having a snowball fight with Lana, both were watched over by Lincoln, now a tall teenager.
All were wearing heavy coats on.
While the two kids were pelting one another with snowballs, a car came speeding into the driveway.
"Hey guys, I'm-", Leni poked her head out the window only to be struck by a snowball, "Ow!"
Lana gasped, "Oops! Sorry, Leni!", and rushed forward, alongside Oswald.
Leni nonchalantly replied, "It's okay."
Luna exited the car and got on her hands and knees (in the snow), breathing heavily, "Next time, Len…I drive."
Leni rolled her eyes, "C'mon, I wasn't that bad."
"Luna!"
The rocker in question turned and was enveloped in a hug by Lincoln and Lana.
Luna smiled and returned the hug, "Hey, little dudes," with a bit of a teasing look at Lincoln.
Leni felt arms wrapped around her waist, looked down and smiled, "Hi, Ozzie."
Lana took a moment to look around, "Where's Lori?"
Leni, having let go of Oswald, paused, "She…um…decided to spend Christmas this year with Bobby's family."
The younger kids didn't hide the disappointment on their face, "Oh…"
Luna moved to cheer up the mood, "Doesn't mean we can't still have fun, dudes!"
Lincoln called out to the two others outside, "Hey, Lisa, Lynn! Come here! Leni and Luna are here!"
Both were running forward when Lisa tripped, "Aaah!"
Lisa got her head out of the snow (her glasses and hair covered with bits of the stuff) and looked back to see she had tripped on a goth girl making a snow angel, "Apologies, Lucy."
"Sigh…" Lucy replied in her usual monotone, "It's okay. Just waiting for the hypothermia to set in."
Lynn moved to help her roommate up, "Let's get you outta there, Luce."
"Sigh…" was again Lucy's response.
Luna was leading the way to the door. She opened it and found herself sprayed in the face with some liquid.
"Gotcha!", Luan cried out gleefully.
Luna licked her lips and recognized the taste. Eggnog.
She didn't know if it was the time apart in between family gatherings (what with her being at college and all) giving her more tolerance for Luan's pranks, but Luna wasted no time enveloping her ex-roommate in a big bear hug, "I've missed ya, sis."
They were interrupted by Lily who, freshly done with putting up ornaments on the Christmas tree, rushed forward to hug Leni and Lunas' legs, "You came!"
Leni knelt down and patted her youngest sister on the back, "'Course, Lil!"
"Ya see what I put on the tree? Aren't they pretty?", Lily gestured proudly.
Luna smiled, "Yeah. They are."
"Excuse me…", Lola interrupted suddenly.
This caught the twos' attention, "What if it, Lola?"
Lola, in her best dress for the season, glared at them, "Does anyone care to say hello to the winner of the latest Royal Woods holiday pageant?"
Leni gushed and complimented her, "That's great, Lola. Good job."
This caused Lola to smile, "Thank you."
…
London, England:
The concierge at a luxurious hotel was reading a ledger when a tall, black-haired man approached the desk.
He looked up and noticed the man's presence, put the ledger down in a rush, muttering apologetically, "Excuse me, sir…"
The man spoke, a cold gleam in his eyes, "Lamont Cranston. I believe I have a reservation."
The concierge's eyes lit up at the mention of the famous American playboy/world traveler, "Why yes, of course, Mr. Cranston!", then handed him a pair of keys, "Here's the key to your room. I do hope you enjoy your stay."
Cranston nodded, "Thank you," then made his way to the elevator.
He knew he would have much to do in this Holiday season.
…
The Lynch brothers, major figures in the city's organized crime 'firms' (as the police referred to them as), (all three middle-aged men: well-dressed, suave George; tough, muscular Patrick; and obese yet focused Sean) were all standing around in their pub.
George held up a wine glass, "Well boys, here's to another good year for business."
His brothers clinked their drinks to his, "Hear, hear!"
George was the brains of the operation. He liked to present himself as an honest member of society, what with the various art pieces he owned and enjoyed showing to friends as bragging rights.
Naturally, he left the dirty work of the business to Patrick. Patrick was a cold-blooded killer with a preference for using drive-by shootings when performing assassinations. He was a hard man in a fight, usually with a knife, though he still kept a trusty pistol hidden within the pub for precaution.
Sean was the money man for the Lynch firm. His responsibilities were laundering money and making sure all the right people (ie their partners, underlings, and cops on the take) received their monthly pay offs.
All were sipping their drinks when George caught sight of the clock, "Oh, look at the time! Better be off now."
Sean waved him off, "Give Winnie and the kids our love."
George put his coat on, nodded to his brother, "Will do," then made his way out the door.
No sooner did George take three steps out the door did a gunshot rang out. Patrick and Sean paled when they saw their eldest brother collapse to the ground.
"George! George!"
Always the man of action, Patrick was the first out the door. After looking around for any sign of the gunman in the dark night (to no avail), he knelt down to George.
George had a bullet wound in his chest, but still seemed to be breathing. Might still be time to save him, Patrick hoped.
Patrick turned to see Sean, standing timidly in the doorway, then bellowed, "Help me get him in here!"
Sean acquiesced to the command. He rushed outside, took hold of one of George's shoulders (while Patrick held the other), then brought him back inside the pub.
George was laid out on the floor while Patrick gave out more orders to Sean, "Get the phone! Call for an ambulance!"
While Sean stood up, Patrick patted George's hair affectionately, "There there, it'll all be alright…" There were still signs of life in the elder Lynch's eyes.
The panic setting in, Patrick screamed at Sean, "What's taking so long?!"
"It won't work!", Sean yelled back.
Patrick stood up, furious, "What the fuck are you-?!"
Sean, his face sweating and pale with terror, held up the chord, "It's been cut!"
Patrick grunted, "Aaargh…", when suddenly, a booming laughter began sounding.
It sent a chill up both their spines, "What's that?!"
They looked around, "Where's it coming from?"
Sean bellowed, "Look, Pat, over there!", pointing in the direction of the doorway.
Patrick looked and saw, due to the dim lighting, a shadowy figure carrying two pistols standing there.
"You son of a-", he took his own pistol out of its hiding place and was about to pull the trigger when suddenly the lights went out, leaving them all in the dark.
"Shit!"
Patrick knew this was bad. This was an ambush-and it seemed whoever this guy was, he had all the cards.
He turned to Sean, deciding it was time for him to do something useful, "There's a flashlight in the cupboard. Get it and bring it to me."
Sean accomplished this task, then knelt down next to George, growing increasingly concerned over how motionless his brother was being.
"Listen: stay here with George and stay down. I'll handle this creep."
Sean placed his fingers first on George's wrist, then his neck, before crying suddenly, "Pat…"
"What?"
"No pulse…", Sean let out a sob.
Patrick was stunned. This couldn't be happening…
He let out an animalistic growl, "That bastard…"
Patrick stood up, "Fuck you!", lighting the flashlight in the direction that the laughter was coming from and began firing wildly at a shadow.
He seemed to strike a hit in the chest. The figure then collapsed.
The shooter paused, then muttered, "Think I got 'im!"
He turned to Sean, who was now standing up too, "Stay here."
Sean was about to raise a protest, "But, Pat…", but was cut off, "Gotta make sure."
The conversation was cut off when a bullet hit Sean in the forehead, spraying blood onto Patrick's face.
"Sean!", he cried.
Within moments, Patrick was riddled with several bullets in his chest. He collapsed to the ground in agony.
The figure approached. Footstep by footstep. With the same demented laugh.
The flashlight was still on. And, as the figure got closer and closer, he could finally get some sense of what he looked like.
It was a white man wearing a hat and a cloth that covered his face. He could make out black hair on the sides. And the eyes-cold as ice.
"Who the fuck are you?", Patrick gargled out, blood streaming from his mouth.
The man gave no answer: only cocked his pistols, took aim, and pulled the trigger…
December 25th, 2019
Royal Woods, Michigan:
Christmas morning began, as was usual in the Loud house, with Rita calling from downstairs, "Kids! You up? Time to open presents!"
Right on cue, the kids rushed down the stairs, Lola being first in line.
After the obligatory sayings of "Merry Christmas!", the kids quickly got to work ripping the wrapping paper off the presents under the tree.
Oswald found a present signed, "To: Oswald, From: Dad" and quickly unwrapped it. He was happy to find it was an Ornithology book that was at the top of his Christmas list.
Looking up at Lynn Sr., he smiled, "Thanks, Dad!"
The family patriarch returned the smile, "You're welcome, bud."
Leni sat down on the couch and held up the TV remote, "What's everyone wanna watch?"
Lana paused before finding an answer, "Um…'A Christmas Story'?"
Lola groaned, "That again…"
Lana glared at the 'princess', "What's wrong? It's a classic!"
Luna felt the need to speak up, "Don't get me wrong-I like the movie but showing it all day is overkill."
To which Lynn asked, "Then, what do ya want to watch?"
Luna shrugged, "Don't know, but there's bound to be something else on."
And so, the channel surfing and bickering began.
London, England:
Inspector Eric Delka, from Scotland Yard, was at the scene.
Delka was a hard-faced man, in a bit of a temper at being awoke at Christmas morning to investigate the deaths of common hoodlums instead of spending it with his family. But he subdued his temper via his sharp intellect to focus on the job at hand.
He walked into the pub, where he was greeted by a skinny constable, "Merry Christmas, Inspector."
Delka nodded, "Walt."
The constable gestured towards the three bodies, which were now covered up, "Looks like someone's left us a few good gifts this year."
Another constable paused at Walt's choice of words, "Hell of a way to talk of a father of two getting murdered on Christmas Eve."
Walt replied, "I don't shed tears for dead gangsters. Never have, never will."
The constable nodded in understanding, yet held his reservations, "Not talking about this bastard," pointing at George Lynch's covered corpse, "I'm talking about the two kids out there that'll never spend a Christmas with their dad again."
"Then their dad should've chosen to live his life honestly. Instead, he chose to live it stealing and killing. And now he's wound up the same way he and his family put dozens of folks: dead."
Delka turned to a fellow Inspector from Scotland Yard, Coates, "The Lynch Brothers. Years back, I almost nicked the elder one for the Terrill hit."
Harold Terrill. A known money launderer who was gunned down last year. It was a drive-by: the gunman was riding on a motorcycle and was long gone by the time the police made it to the scene.
Patrick Lynch was the primary suspect in the case. But, much to the frustration of Delka and plenty of others in law enforcement, all the witnesses suffered a bout of 'amnesia' and could not identify what the gunman looked like.
A common ailment when cases dealt with high-up hoodlums like Lynch, Delka had learned long ago.
"Any ideas on who might've done this?", Coates spoke up.
To which Delka answered, "My money would be on the Turk. He's been lookin' to expand his turf for some time."
Mehmet Altun, one of the most powerful of London's crime bosses. Coming from a family of Turkish immigrants, he had his hand in every crime you could name. Drug trafficking, arms smuggling, contract killing…
"And he's known to have bad blood with the Lynches."
Delka paused, the sight of the dead body of Dilhan Altun (one of Mehmet's younger brothers (and accomplices)) flashing in his mind, "Yes, there's that."
A constable approached, carrying a note in his hand, "Excuse me, Inspector, we found a message on Patrick."
Delka took the note from the constable and read it aloud, "'What evil lurks in the hearts of man? The Shadow knows.'"
He looked around to see his fellow policemen looked to be befuddled. Delka made a mental note to tell his informants to root out if any villain operating in the city was going by the moniker, 'the Shadow'.