A crow's call
Prologue: Murder on All Hallows Eve
The moon was just eclipsing as the world came together for two lovers. Shafts of moonlight filtered over their bed reflecting off the sweat that glistened on their entwined bodies. Soft red lips caressed a stubbled cheek, and a black adorned hand slipped through equally black hair. Rain pattered soothingly against the glass window pane completing the sense of absolute confinement. At that perfect moment the world didn't exist, and nothing mattered but that moment. It was a then that a slim figure sat up, the silken sheets slipping from a delicate body. Dark brown eyes glowed in the dim light, taking the time to admire her.
In the moonlight her hair shimmered in a silvery dance to her shoulder blades which were narrow and yet strong, as her hobby was drumming. A dark shadow lay across her upper back. Without squinting, he knew it was a pair of broken angel wings with the Gaelic word for fallen. Reaching up to her, he ran his hand over her satin-like skin, tracing the outline of her tattoo. Following the right wing to the tip, he paused a moment his hand resting on her lower back. Leaning forward he placed a kiss on her hip before releasing her. Turning her head, she grinned at him, a flash of light in the dark room. Her blue eyes glowed in warmth, their amusement obvious even in the dim light. Leaning back she placed a light kiss on his forehead.
Taking the opportunity, he wrapped his arms around her and drew her back against him. A soft giggle was the only sound to break the quiet. The resounding boom of a gun and the splintering of wood shattered their amorous activity. Placing his hand over her mouth, he pulled her down under him, stifling her scream of surprise. Glass and the crash of furniture made her jump in reaction and him glance down at her nervously. Jerking his hand away from her mouth, she stared at him with wide frightened eyes.
"Mark, we have to get Jennifer." Her voice was nearly a breath. As if her words had triggered a lock the door burst off its hinges, wood flying all over the room. Light pooled in, casting the men at the entrance in shadow. Mark sat up quickly, using his body as a shield from unwanted lust-filled stares directed at his girlfriend. A long, piercing wail broke the silence, followed by a guttural choking sound. Behind him, the woman shot forward a horse-wordless moan clawing from her throat.
"You bastards! She's just a child!" The men surged into the room, swarming the bed and dragging the two apart. She watched as Mark received a leaded fist to the jaw, blood splattering the sheets and wall. Wailing in protest, she fought the arms holding her at bay, trying desperately to get free. Another of the men slugged him in the gut. Mark doubled over for a second before he lunged out with a well directed tackle taking one of his attackers down to the floor.
"Run Bry! Godammit run." The man holding her began to drag her from the room, his grip steely on her biceps. Once pulled from the room Bry was shoved from behind. Not ready for the impact, she flew across the living room to crash into the wall at the other end. Crumpling to the floor, she lay dazed for a moment. Her head pounding, she looked up following the dark stain in the carpet. Bile burned her throat as rage welled through her body. A few feet from where she lay the blood stain ended at the still form of the seven year old girl. Her blonde hair was matted already with blood. Her skin was ashen in death. Her normally lively blue eyes stared lifelessly at her sister, her angelic face frozen in a scream Bry would hear for eternity.
Rising to her knees, she weaved her way to the small form, placing her arms around her and cradling her close. Intense sadness bubbled up in her as she held the small girl. A loud series of gun shots rang out in the small apartment, drawing her attention, and a sharp intake of breath, to the other side of the living room. Four men huddled there, their cruel laughter ringing in her ears. The obvious leader stepped back and took a languorous drag of his cigarette, the smoke curling from his nostrils. With the path clear, she glanced down at his feet. A knife protruded from Mark's back, and blood from numerous gun shot wounds dribbled down his sides.
"No!" The word seemed to call the men back from their sick pleasure, gaining her the undivided attention of them all. She felt sick as their dark, sinister eyes raked her petite body. Advancing on her, she cringed back against the wall. Shock, fear, anger, and sorrow made her numb to thought as they advanced on her, the only thing to slip through was the single thought that she was going to die.
KKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK
The guitar faded into the static of the amps, its echo dying easily under the thunderous applause of fans. He kept his head bowed, panting from the vigorous show he had just put on. A chant rose in the distance, their shouts growing with each voice that joined in. Soon it was easily distinguished among the other noises.
"Hallows eve, Hallows eve, Hallows eve!" The mantra of the band's name continued, growing till it was a loud roar. Raising his eyes, he fought the urge to blink against the intense green light focused on him. Hundreds of people looked on as the band slowly straightened, their heads tilting from side to side as if assessing the crowd's intentions.
Women began screaming franticly as the three members all turned to stare at one another, bringing the mike closer to his lips, the lead singer, a rock god in studded belt and big black boots, purposely breathed into the mike.
"What do you think Steve, Very; do you think these people deserve another song?" His deep voice boomed into the crowd, starting a riot and renewing the frantic screams. His deep green eyes twinkled in the light, glowing like his face from a light sheen of perspiration. His red tie was the only hint of color in his dark ensemble. Messy black hair stuck to his forehead and gave him a dangerous yet charmingly boyish look. His two best friends grinned back at him from behind a bass guitar and a drum set. It was a scene he had witnessed a million times before, ever since they were ignorant teens setting out to rule the world.
Steve grabbed his mike, turning to stare intently at the gathered crowd. His blond hair was spiked, his numerous earrings glittering. The white tank top showed off corded arms and tattoos. Smiling at them, he couldn't help chuckling as a few fans bellowed their love of him, he shrugged it off that they were guys.
"I don't know Billy; they have been a pretty good group. I mean there was no flashing, few photographs, and I think only one person got kicked out." Billy turned to the last member of the group. Very was frowning, his head resting on one of his drum sticks. Intelligent, restless eyes gleamed in evil plotting. If there was one member of the group that was living proof that some children do need Ritalin it was him. His Mohawk was slightly droopy from vigorous playing. Leaning forward unexpectedly, he cocked an eyebrow and tilted his head, a fierce frown on his face.
"I think those are perfect reasons to not play another song. I mean, I work for boobs and I haven't seen enough of them. Plus, do you hear that? They don't really want it." Billy turned around, nodding his head. He didn't have to look to see that Steve was doing the same thing.
"You have a point. Come on, do you really want this?" He directed his question to the crowd. His reply was instantaneous. A roar capable of being heard for a mile rose up, fans were screaming for them. No matter how many times it happened they still couldn't believe it. About twelve women rose from the mass of wriggling bodies. Their hands clenched nervously on the edge of their tee-shirts. The band members gawked openly, as did the male members of the crowd as the girls lifted their shirts and flashed the world their chests. Large grins appeared on their faces before they sank back into the masses.
"Those, those were very nice. Alright, you earned it." He pointed to a girl who had a large and beautiful chest, knowing Aileen was going to kill him. Very started a count, the noise level dropping slightly as the two drum sticks beat against one another.
"One, two, one two three four!" A beat resounded throughout the packed arena, followed closely by the guitars and Billy's famous vocals.
Walking through the security lined hall way, the guys took a minute to reflect on the concert. Highlights were replaying through each of their minds. Wiping the sweat from his face, Billy grinned to himself, his smirk could cause girls around the world to melt at his feet, and most times he mourned his marriage.
"So…, that girl with the pierced nipples had a nice rack." Steve broke the silence in a way only he would. Very and Billy turned to look at him. They simply stared at him a moment, taking in his dopey smile and the mischievous glint in his eyes. Billy turned to Very, his face completely blank. Both broke out into huge grins at the same time before turning back to Steve.
"Hell ya. You know I'm not much for nipple piercing but damn. When a girl has a great chest, who am I to not stare at them!" Billy announced happily, his two buddies crowing their delight. The three had been best friends since high school, and had been through four marriages together. They never really needed words to communicate, but managed to invoke the wrath of present and past wives by using them.
Walking around a corner, the three stopped dead in the oppressive glare of Billy's wife. All three hated her, she was conniving, scheming, and plain evil, but Billy stayed loyal to her and put up with her crap because of their two boys. Still, he couldn't help taunting her now and again. The boob stunt was sure to set her off and by the looks of things it worked beautifully. Steeling their features the three faced off with the angry woman.
"Are you trying to get divorce papers in the mail the next time you're in Tokyo? Because I'm getting really fed up with your shit! God knows why I put up with you! Look at you! You're a fucking twenty nine year old child! Get your shit we're leaving." He remained emotionless through out her rant, Very and Steve looked more indignant the longer she talked. Sensing their intense anger, Billy spoke before they could.
"Oh, so, you are actually going to stay in the same hotel this time? God, dare I believe… in the same…room?" A fierce glare promising retaliation and horrors even Hell didn't know about was his response. Steve and Very looked like five year olds at Christmas. They loved nothing more than to see Billy's wife on the verge of losing her control, perhaps that's why they were single.
A few hours later found Billy relaxing in boxers laid out across the couch in the hotel room's living room. His hair was soaked from his shower and he was exhausted but satisfied. After a long fight, Aileen declared she couldn't stand the sight of him any more and left in a huff. She didn't bother telling him if she was coming back and he knew she didn't give a damn about the boys. He couldn't image a better way to unwind after a concert than to watch a movie with his sons and not have to deal with the bitch. The only thing that would make this little scene perfect was a beautiful, caring woman he loved laying in the crook of his arm spooned against his chest. However, with the bitch still lurking in the shadows and him not wanting to put the boys through an ugly and public divorce, he never would see such an ending. Sighing he tussled the hair of his oldest son, causing a civil war to ensue.
Night hit its pinnacle with clouds obscuring the moon's light. Four dark figures having disabled the security cameras snuck into the last suite on the top floor. Their mission was spelled out perfectly for them and after a brief inspection of the rooms they set to work. Clocking both boys in the head to ensure silence, they propped them up on the couch in the living room setting the stage for the main act, yet, getting into the master bedroom proved trickier. The slight squeak of hinges roused the target, making him sit up in the bed. His eyes focused quickly on the intruders, disbelief playing over his features.
"What the fuck?" Billy rose in a flash, grabbing the lamp on the bedside table as he went. Brandishing it as a weapon, he jerked it in the men's direction.
"I don't know what the fuck you are doing in here, but you better fucking leave. This isn't fucking funny. I'm calling security." Raising the receiver of the phone to his ear he watched the shadowed figures carefully. The cocking of a gun rang loud in the quiet room. Billy froze, his eyes scanning the four. The ringing in his ear stopped a second later.
"Front desk how can I help you?" A tired sounding man answered. Billy didn't have a second to answer. The phone was shot from his hand at that moment. Realizing this wasn't some crazed fans he was dealing with he made a quick decision.
Tossing the lamp at the four he darted out the sliding glass doors intending to get into the living room and try to get to his boys. His escape was cut off by a sharp pain exploding in his head. His sight went bright white for a moment, and then faded to gray as his body sank slowly to his knees. Finally, black enshrouded his vision.
Murmured voices, quiet sobs and a throbbing in his head more wicked than any hangover roused him. It took a moment for everything about his current situation to return to him. When it did he started violently, jerking against the bonds on his arms and legs. His vision swam for a minute before it settled and he regained clarity. He was strapped to a kitchen chair placed next to the couch. Huddled next to his chair were his nine year old and his four year old sons. Both had blood drying on their faces from nasty gashes on their foreheads. Other than being scared and the wounds to their heads they looked okay. He thanked luck for that. It didn't, however, stop the boiling rage that someone dared to break into his hotel room and injure his kids.
"What the fuck did you do to them? They're only kids! What kind of sick asshole would fuck with a little kid?" He spat in their direction, landing a large glob of spit on the apparent leader's face. Wiping it off, a sneer on his face, the man stepped forward, and punched Billy in the face. Billy's head snapped to the side, the iron taste of blood filling his mouth. Spitting the blood out, he glared at the man defiantly. A silent war raged between the infuriated green orbs and the emotionless grey ones. Sneering at Billy, the leader stepped back and nodded to one of his men.
"I was going to let you die first, but now I think I'll let you watch your children die." Billy jerked against the restraints, the cords biting into his wrist and rending his flesh. The open wounds bled profusely, the pain just fueling his resolve. Two men stepped forward and each seized a child. Terrified squeals and pleas tore at Billy's heart, as he watched helplessly. The leader lined the two boys up in front of their father brandishing a knife for him to see. Billy watched in horror as it was raised over Brandon, his eldest son. The knife glittered like the tears in his sons' eyes. As the knife plunged into the gut of his son, Billy bellowed in agony and hatred. His sons' cries quieted dramatically as Brandon fell to the floor with a dull thump, the carpet absorbing the sound.
Fighting his restraints madly with no heed to pain, Billy flailed wildly. He managed to tip his chair over and found himself face to face with Brandon's still form. Another agonized scream tore from his throat before bloodlust took over. Rising tearful eyes, Billy snarled at his captors.
"You fucking cowards! I'm the one you want, not them! They're babies! I'm going to kill you. I'm going to fucking tear you apart!" Straining at his bonds he felt the cords grow taunt and shudder under his assault. Heedless to the wounds he was creating, he bellowed again as he felt the chair give away. Freed, he moved quickly to a crouching position, his face a mask of rage. The leader cocked his eyebrow in amusement before stepping up behind the terrified youth and produced the blood coated knife once more. Jerking Brian against him, he placed the knife against the four year olds throat, his iron grip stilling both father and son. The other three men had rushed in on Billy when he broke free, trying to secure him once more. He had gotten in several punches and a few swift kicks before sighting his son in the grips of danger.
"Now, now, Billy." The man tusked, "You wouldn't want young Brian's life shortened by your foolish actions, now would you?" Brian whimpered his green eyes large with fear.
"Daddy!" The plaintive call broke Billy's restraint. He broke down. Sinking to his knees he rocked back on his heels struggling to get words past the lump in his throat.
"Please. Oh god, please. Just let him be, god don't take him too. I'll do whatever you want. He's just a baby." His pleas were nearly silent, but in the quiet room they rang in everyone's ears. He didn't struggle as the three men lifted him to his feet and dragged him to the open glass doors leading to the balcony. He knew he was going to die, he knew he had watched helpless as Brandon was killed, but he had saved Brian. That knowledge comforted him as he dragged his feet past Brandon's lifeless body. It looked so small surrounded by the large black pool of blood that should have been flowing through his veins.
He was dragged out to the stone wall, the only thing between him and a nineteen story drop to unforgiving concrete. Staring at the ground below, he resigned himself for death. Turning, he stopped short seeing Brian still in his precarious position. Glancing up to the cold grey eyes he questioned the man silently. A small smirk, a vicious twist of his lips was all the answer Billy needed. He renewed his struggles, fighting franticly to get to Brian.
"Why, Billy, who ever said I was going to spare anyone?" With a flick of his wrist Brian's eyes widened impossibly. The knife flew over the delicate skin of Brian's throat splitting it wide. It was the last vision of Brian Billy had before he was flung over the wall and went careening to his death.