The Crow
A Poet's Grief
By NiteFenix
Chapter 1 – The Fairy Tale
"Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he,
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door--
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door--
Perched, and sat, and nothing more." An excerpt from
The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe
Professor James Bradbury lay down his pen nonchalantly next to his notebook as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He had been working for hours on the presentation he would give his class the following day. He looked up at the clock on the mantel piece in his study. Three minutes past midnight. Eleanor would surely be asleep by now.
He immediately pushed the thought of calling her out of his mind, but as he gathered all his writing utensils the thought of her kept creeping back to the surface from the very depths of his mind.
They had been dating now for nearly a month and she truly made him happy. She seemed happy too. He felt the very first sparks of love the very previous evening on one of their dates.
Jim was quite young for a Professor. In his early twenties, he was considered to be the youngest Professor of English Poetry in Harvard. Revered by his peers and looked upon with awe by his students, he could do nothing but smile at the good fortune that came his way. But he worked hard for everything he had achieved. Eleanor included.
He looked at all his achievements in the form of diplomas and awards lining the walls of his study as he walked by them to the door. He stopped for a moment in front of the diploma near the door.
"Awarded for bravery in the face of danger during the war in Iraq in 2003." He muttered to himself. He never wanted to go, but it was his sworn duty to serve his country and he did what he was told to do.
He gently closed the door behind him and walked down the long carpeted hallway under the hanging lamps of the ceiling to his bedroom. On his way he passed the telephone on the end-table next to the lounge and the thought of calling Eleanor popped up into his mind again. He wanted to push it out of his mind again but then he saw the light across the street was on through the lounge window.
Did she merely leave the light on when she went to sleep and forgotten about it or was she in there right now reading a magazine, her legs propped up in that feminine manner which he admired so much. He pictured her reading some or the other women's magazine on her lounge, comfortably scanning the pages with a cup of java at her side on the end-table.
Without knowing what he was doing, his finger picked up the headset of the phone from it's cradle. He only realized he had the phone in his grip when he felt the cold plastic press again his ear. He reached down with his other hand and punched in the number which he had come to know by now.
A soft ringing came from the other side of the line. He lifted his foot slightly off the ground and examined his shoe. He heard a faint click and then her soft, tired voice came from the other side of the line.
"Hullo?" Her unmistakable Manchester accent bore through to him.
"Hello Eleanor" He heard himself say.
"Jim...Jim is that you? What's the time?"
Jim looked up at the wall clock above the television set. The hands showed Twelve-Fifteen exactly.
"Quarter past Twelve" He said earnestly.
"What in heaven's name are you doing calling me at this hour Jim Bradbury?" She asked in her highly noble English accent.
He chuckled as he thought of her accent in this way.
"I just thought I'd give you a call to tell you that I love you Eleanor Jones" Jim smiled wickedly to himself.
"Oh my James, that is rather sudden don't you think?" All her worry of the late hour suddenly dissipated.
"Not sudden at all Eleanor, in fact, I want to marry you" His grin widened as he anticipated her response.
"Let me think about it James" She hardly ever called him by his formal name. Her English side was showing through tonight. She gave a yawn and then said goodnight. He said goodnight in return and heard a faint click on the other side as she hung up.
As he walked up to the door he heard a faint screeching as if tires were spinning on bare asphalt. He detested the sound. As the sound died down he walked through the door of the lounge and continued the walk down the long hallway. He smiled inwardly as he finally acknowledged just how much this woman meant to him.
He opened the door to his bedroom, he always kept it closed, he was a very private person, and then closed it behind him again. Just as the door clicked shut, he heard a distant sound in the night, something which pulled all his attention to it.
Gunshots.
Gunshots? He thought to himself. In this area? Impossible. Yet there it was again, and this time he could hear screams. The screams of a woman. It was unmistakable. He peered out through the curtains of his bedroom and out into his yard.
"Spast, I can't see anything from here" He muttered to himself and left the bedroom the same way he came in.
He walked down the hallway back to his study and unlocked his gun cabinet. He looked through the array of weapons and finally pulled out a handgun of fine marksmanship. A 9 Millimeter Glock Parribelum. One of the most accurate pistols ever created. With the Parribelum enhancement, even more so.
He removed some 9 mm clips from the top shelf, slid one into the handgun and another few into the inner pocket of his jacket.
Closing the gun cabinet, he picked up a key from his desk, smartly disguised as a miniature American Flag, he slipped the flag out of it's wooden stand and the bottom was unmistakably in the form of a key. He used the key to unlock a drawer of the gun cabinet and removed something which he hadn't seen or used in a while. His trusty Infrared Nightvision goggles. It gave him the element of surprise whenever he needed such assurance to back him up.
He locked the drawer again and placed the flag back in it's place. Another gunshot echoed in the night as he was leaving the backdoor of his house. He figured that he would leave that way to avoid any detection. From operations in far off battlefields he had learned that the element of surprise was best employed by extreme enforcement of stealth, one of his most prided skills.
As he snuck off in the general direction of the gunshots and screaming, he came to realize that the last gunshot had come from across the street and for a fleeting moment the thought occurred to him that it might have been Eleanor's house.
He promptly pushed the thought aside and crept further along the fence until he had a clear view of the street in front of him. The trees lining the pavements shone with an eerie green glow as the streetlamps above shone down on them and the shadows cast below them loomed menacingly over fences and driveways.
He heard a snap to his side, as if someone, or something, stepped on a twig and immediately his attention jerked to it. He dared a quick look over the fence and noticed that it was only a cat, on the prowl. He felt the hair at the nape of his neck stand on edge. He was afraid, he hadn't admitted it until this very moment. Just like he was on many different occasions, out on the battlefield, before he wrote his Professor's exams, before he went on his first date with Eleanor.
He thought of her pretty young face for a moment, imagining the beautiful smile she has whenever he mocked him. She so loved to imitate him, the way he would give his lectures. Her every movement would be exactly like his, even the way he spoke. He would chuckle whenever her feminine voice tried to mock his male tones.
Then the image of her smiling was all of a sudden replaced by a face full of blood and tears, as he heard another gunshot. This time more close. He was jolted back to reality and he crept closer to the street. He slung himself over a nearby fence into the neighbor's property and stealthily ran through the shadows as quick as his feet would carry him.
He paused for a moment as he thought he heard voices. Something which he hadn't noticed before. The people were speaking in hushed tones, but he noticed, sinisterly, as if plotting.
He eyed his 9 mm pistol warily and sighed.
"I should have brought the silencer" He thought despairingly.
He crept a little closer to where the voices were coming from and he faintly began to make out words amongst the silenced words.
"...did you hear that bitch squeal...man this is even better than the last job we did...I swear, we should do this more often..."
"...you didn't do nothin'...we're just backup, in case something goes wrong..." The other man's Italian accent was unmistakable, even through his whispering.
"...d'ya think she's dead yet?" the first man asked, his clear Brooklyn accent shining through.
"...why do you have to ask such stupid questions you freak?" The Italian asked.
Jim had heard enough, as stealthily as a cat, he leaped over the fence, but something which he hadn't contemplated was the fact that he was directly under a street light and by jumping over the fence he had exposed himself to the would-be criminals.
They immediately spotted him, having been leaning against the car, smoking and talking and looking at the houses in the boredom. They also immediately spotted the pistol he had in his hand and as swift as any trained killer they had their own weapons in their hands.
Standard Military Issue SMG Assault Rifles. Why hadn't he recognized the patterned tripe bursts from the semi-automatic assault rifles? Jim could have slapped himself, but instead he ducked in behind a tree as the first burst rang past his head.
These were trained killers all right. But what was their game? He knew for a fact then that Eleanor was either dead already, or would be dead soon, and if he wanted to save her life, the slim chance that she still was alive, he had to act fast. He clung to that hope as he leaped from behind the tree, gun poised in front of him like a trained marksman as he squeezed off three succeeding rounds in the thugs' direction.
One struck the Brooklyn guy in the shoulder, or at least, the guy he figured would be the Brooklyn guy. He caught a quick glimpse at them in his leap of faith. The other guy looked to be at least twice as big as the one he thought to be the Brooklyn guy. He had to be the Italian guy.
He heard the Brooklyn guy swear.
"Fucking prick! I'm gonna kill that asshole!" The accent was unmistakable. He had hit the Brooklyn guy.
"Tony help me you fuck!" He shouted at the Italian. The Italian, now revealed to be Tony, just shrugged and reloaded his weapon.
"Why'd you have to try and play the hero, you schmuck" Tony's voice rang out to where Jim was crouching behind the safety of a huge tree.
Jim remained perfectly quiet as he surveyed his surroundings. His time as a US Marine Corps Officer taught him many skills, among which were survival.
By now almost every house in the street had their lights on and a distant wailing in the distance could be heard as the first brigade of the police force was on their way.
Jim had to act fast if he wanted to take these thugs and try to rescue his girlfriend. He checked the clip of his gun and smirked satisfactorily when he saw that he had more than enough shots left to take these two out.
As quietly as he feet could carry him he bolted by them in the shadows and approached them from the rear, studying them as he moved. The Italian, known as Tony, was heavy-set man, dressed entirely in fatigues and armed with not only the semi-automatic rifle, but also with what seemed to be a whole belt full of modified grenades.
He knew they were modified because he had specialized in Explosives in his Marine Corps training. These were modified to explode, not after 30 seconds like standard grenade, but after 5 seconds, which shortened the lifespan of the person it is thrown at by a considerable amount. He had to be careful.
The police sirens were getting closer. He acted just as he had acted not very long ago in the lounge, purely by instinct. He had leapt to his feet as quickly and fluently as if he had been made of the air that surrounding him and he had the gun against the Italian's head as fast as a rattlesnake would seize it's prey. The shot was off even before the gun was against his head. The Brooklyn guy followed soon after with a shot at the back of the head as he tried to bolt away.
He snatched a hand-full of the grenades from the dead Italian's belt before he ran across the street to Eleanor's house.
As he entered through the front door he was confronted by a scene of horror and revulsion. The entire lounge was covered in blood. He had not yet discovered from where it had come, but somewhere in the back of his mind a little voice was shouting at him. Telling him that it was her blood. Eleanor's blood. He stepped further into the house and heard the crunch of glass beneath his shoes as he neared the side-window.
So this is how they got into the house. They smashed the window and came in through the lounge's side window. He had to move quickly. Eleanor's life depended on it.
He heard another scream, and then sobbing. The same pattern three shots resounded through the house and then all was quiet. He approached the stairs and he could hear out the faint muffled voices of men talking to each other and to someone else upstairs.
As he walked slowly up the stairs the voices came through more clearly now.
"...I told you not to leave that fucking fat idiot Tony down there with Eddie, they probably got killed now and the car is our only escape route..." One voice came down clearly.
Jim dared to move up more, not wanting to risk being heard in his ascent. He reached the top of the stairs and a second voice could be heard now.
"..look just calm down Johnny, whoever killed them, wouldn't dare come in here to try and take us on, he's probably down there bleeding his guts out after Eddie shot his fucking balls off..."
Jim chuckled at this guess. These really are stupid thugs. But then the reality of the situations dawned on him again as he heard another stifled cried.
"What do we do with the bitch?" Johnny asked his thug-friend.
"She's already shot up pretty bad, we did what we were told to do and we got the necessary information, so just leave her, she'll bleed to death before the ambulance gets here." The second voice said.
Jim's heart sank as he heard these words spoken.
"These assholes are gonna pay." He mumbled to himself as he cocked the 9 mm.
The two thugs inside Eleanor's room heard the distinctive cock of the pistol in the dead of the night and realized that what they had said was not in the remotest true. Jim was not in the street bleeding his guts out. He was right outside the door, and he was going to kill them.
Johnny removed the clip from his SMG and eyed it warily. He had left his other clips in the car, trusting his own professionalism, he hadn't contemplated this development. He had less than half the clip left and eyeing his partner doing the same thing next to him realized that he too was low on ammunition.
Jim picked the moment after he heard to two distinctive clicks from inside the room to make his move. He leaned in hard into the door, sending the pieces of wood splintering inwards and shattering the mirror on the wall next to the door in the process. The pieces of broken mirror flew with him through the air as he drifted as if in slow motion towards the floor of Eleanor's bedroom floor. The moment he struck the floor he already had his pistol pointed at the two thugs and he squeezed off two rounds instinctively aiming at each thug's heart in turn.
But something which he hadn't contemplated was the fact that they too were trained as he was and as swiftly as he had burst his way into the room they had moved out of his line of fire.
Jim quickly rolled into a crouching position, squeezing off another set of rounds at his two adversaries. He smiled warily as one of his bullets struck home, hitting Johnny's partner smugly between the eyes. The impact was so great that it flipped the thug off his feet and flung him out of the window, sending him spiraling down towards the front lawn.
It happened so swiftly that Jim didn't even realize that only a minute had passed since he had started his ascent from the bottom of the stairs.
He eyed his ammunition clip swiftly and assessed the situation. He had not time to reload his pistol and Johnny probably had a full clip left after his 'torture' of Eleanor. Jim couldn't be sure. He just had to take a chance.
He leaped out from behind the end-table, squeezing off his final rounds at the unseen adversary, hoping to hit his target. Time seemed to slow down once again as the bullets traveled, seeking soft flesh to impact into, but instead of finding flesh, they instead found the solid wood of the trimming's of the bedroom wall. The splinters of the wood went flying into the air and hit Johnny.
The sirens of the police armada was only a few blocks away by this time and Jim knew that it was now or never, he had to either risk his life by going out in the open and fighting his adversary man-to-man or risk dying like a coward while his beloved watched.
Just as before, the instinct took over and his hand loosened it's grip on the pistol. The clatter of metal distinct on the wooden floor. Johnny took this as a sign of surrender and a sadistic grin spread across his facial features. It was finally over. He could leave this god-forsaken place and get the hell out of here.
As Jim leaped out from his hiding place, Johnny did the same, but with his gun poised out in front of him, ready to fire at any moment.
"I never caught your name hero, I like to put a name to a face before I blow it away." Johnny smiled his sadistic smile as he said this. Sweat was gleaming on his face.
"Fuck you." Jim said simply.
"Well Fuck You, say goodbye." Johnny said as he cocked the lever on his semi-automatic rifle.
Just then Jim dived at him and knocked the rifle from his grip, sending it sprawling across the bedroom floor, in Eleanor's general direction. Jim hadn't seen her until that moment and a sickening feeling of despair hit him as he saw her bloodied features lay spread eagled on the floor. He doubled over in grief and the tears started streaming down his cheeks.
"Ah, a weakling. Were you in love with this woman Fuck You?" Johnny asked Jim.
Jim turned his head and looked Johnny straight in the eye, all the hatred of what had happened that evening came boiling to the surface. He balled his fists up into tight knots, the veins in his arms standing out in powerful contrast to the soft nature that he had possessed earlier that night while speaking to the very woman who lay half-dead across the room from him now.
Johnny didn't expect the next blow. Jim hit him squarely on the jaw and spittle mixed with blood flew through the air, decorating Eleanor's wall with a new pattern. Johnny, apparently unfettered by this went on with his relentless guffawing directed at his opponent.
"Still trying to be the hero?" He said half-out of breath and slightly chuckling through the broken mess off his mouth.
"I'll make you eat every single one of those words." Jim said as he moved in swiftly for another punch.
This hit Johnny squarely on the right eye, Jim was one of those fighters who put every last ounce of his power behind a hit and it was apparent that Johnny had felt it. The power of Jim's hit had properly jarred his brains and he was incoherent at what was going on around him for a moment, trying to assess his situation.
What Jim didn't contemplate was the fact that Johnny was slowly but surely working his way around to where his rifle was laying. After Jim hit him once more with a powerful shot straight on the nose, leaving Johnny's face a bloody mess, Johnny swiped up the rifle and squeezed of a long burst of automatic fire in Jim's direction, ripping a clean spray right across Jim's chest.
The two were so close to each other that Jim was literally punched off his feet by the automatic fire and thrown against the bedroom floor.
As Jim lay against the wall, crumpled up and fighting for his life, flashes of images from his life appeared in his mind's eye. His childhood had been a happy one. One of his birthdays flashed by him. He had been Nine years old, all his friends surrounded him as he blew out the candles on his birthday cake. He remembered so vividly what he had wished for that day. He wanted, above anything else, to be as happy as his mommy and daddy. He remembered that up until tonight, his wish had come true.
Other flashes swept by, a lecture, at the University. A student had asked him why he had chosen the works of Edgar Allen Poe to be their curriculum that semester. He couldn't remember exactly why, but the answer was staring him straight in the face. He was experiencing it at that moment. But he breathed his final breath before the answer dawned on him.
"Qouth the Raven 'Nevermore'" – The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe
N/A I realize that there are no real direct references or whatever to The Crow here in the first chapter, but bear with me. Chapter two as you can guess is the beginning of the REAL story. For now, lemme know what you guys think of this so far. Comments and suggestions are welcome. Please, don't flame me. Anybody who flames, are basically degrading themselves, so spare yourself the humiliation.
Chapter 1 – The Fairy Tale
"Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he,
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door--
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door--
Perched, and sat, and nothing more." An excerpt from
The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe
Professor James Bradbury lay down his pen nonchalantly next to his notebook as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He had been working for hours on the presentation he would give his class the following day. He looked up at the clock on the mantel piece in his study. Three minutes past midnight. Eleanor would surely be asleep by now.
He immediately pushed the thought of calling her out of his mind, but as he gathered all his writing utensils the thought of her kept creeping back to the surface from the very depths of his mind.
They had been dating now for nearly a month and she truly made him happy. She seemed happy too. He felt the very first sparks of love the very previous evening on one of their dates.
Jim was quite young for a Professor. In his early twenties, he was considered to be the youngest Professor of English Poetry in Harvard. Revered by his peers and looked upon with awe by his students, he could do nothing but smile at the good fortune that came his way. But he worked hard for everything he had achieved. Eleanor included.
He looked at all his achievements in the form of diplomas and awards lining the walls of his study as he walked by them to the door. He stopped for a moment in front of the diploma near the door.
"Awarded for bravery in the face of danger during the war in Iraq in 2003." He muttered to himself. He never wanted to go, but it was his sworn duty to serve his country and he did what he was told to do.
He gently closed the door behind him and walked down the long carpeted hallway under the hanging lamps of the ceiling to his bedroom. On his way he passed the telephone on the end-table next to the lounge and the thought of calling Eleanor popped up into his mind again. He wanted to push it out of his mind again but then he saw the light across the street was on through the lounge window.
Did she merely leave the light on when she went to sleep and forgotten about it or was she in there right now reading a magazine, her legs propped up in that feminine manner which he admired so much. He pictured her reading some or the other women's magazine on her lounge, comfortably scanning the pages with a cup of java at her side on the end-table.
Without knowing what he was doing, his finger picked up the headset of the phone from it's cradle. He only realized he had the phone in his grip when he felt the cold plastic press again his ear. He reached down with his other hand and punched in the number which he had come to know by now.
A soft ringing came from the other side of the line. He lifted his foot slightly off the ground and examined his shoe. He heard a faint click and then her soft, tired voice came from the other side of the line.
"Hullo?" Her unmistakable Manchester accent bore through to him.
"Hello Eleanor" He heard himself say.
"Jim...Jim is that you? What's the time?"
Jim looked up at the wall clock above the television set. The hands showed Twelve-Fifteen exactly.
"Quarter past Twelve" He said earnestly.
"What in heaven's name are you doing calling me at this hour Jim Bradbury?" She asked in her highly noble English accent.
He chuckled as he thought of her accent in this way.
"I just thought I'd give you a call to tell you that I love you Eleanor Jones" Jim smiled wickedly to himself.
"Oh my James, that is rather sudden don't you think?" All her worry of the late hour suddenly dissipated.
"Not sudden at all Eleanor, in fact, I want to marry you" His grin widened as he anticipated her response.
"Let me think about it James" She hardly ever called him by his formal name. Her English side was showing through tonight. She gave a yawn and then said goodnight. He said goodnight in return and heard a faint click on the other side as she hung up.
As he walked up to the door he heard a faint screeching as if tires were spinning on bare asphalt. He detested the sound. As the sound died down he walked through the door of the lounge and continued the walk down the long hallway. He smiled inwardly as he finally acknowledged just how much this woman meant to him.
He opened the door to his bedroom, he always kept it closed, he was a very private person, and then closed it behind him again. Just as the door clicked shut, he heard a distant sound in the night, something which pulled all his attention to it.
Gunshots.
Gunshots? He thought to himself. In this area? Impossible. Yet there it was again, and this time he could hear screams. The screams of a woman. It was unmistakable. He peered out through the curtains of his bedroom and out into his yard.
"Spast, I can't see anything from here" He muttered to himself and left the bedroom the same way he came in.
He walked down the hallway back to his study and unlocked his gun cabinet. He looked through the array of weapons and finally pulled out a handgun of fine marksmanship. A 9 Millimeter Glock Parribelum. One of the most accurate pistols ever created. With the Parribelum enhancement, even more so.
He removed some 9 mm clips from the top shelf, slid one into the handgun and another few into the inner pocket of his jacket.
Closing the gun cabinet, he picked up a key from his desk, smartly disguised as a miniature American Flag, he slipped the flag out of it's wooden stand and the bottom was unmistakably in the form of a key. He used the key to unlock a drawer of the gun cabinet and removed something which he hadn't seen or used in a while. His trusty Infrared Nightvision goggles. It gave him the element of surprise whenever he needed such assurance to back him up.
He locked the drawer again and placed the flag back in it's place. Another gunshot echoed in the night as he was leaving the backdoor of his house. He figured that he would leave that way to avoid any detection. From operations in far off battlefields he had learned that the element of surprise was best employed by extreme enforcement of stealth, one of his most prided skills.
As he snuck off in the general direction of the gunshots and screaming, he came to realize that the last gunshot had come from across the street and for a fleeting moment the thought occurred to him that it might have been Eleanor's house.
He promptly pushed the thought aside and crept further along the fence until he had a clear view of the street in front of him. The trees lining the pavements shone with an eerie green glow as the streetlamps above shone down on them and the shadows cast below them loomed menacingly over fences and driveways.
He heard a snap to his side, as if someone, or something, stepped on a twig and immediately his attention jerked to it. He dared a quick look over the fence and noticed that it was only a cat, on the prowl. He felt the hair at the nape of his neck stand on edge. He was afraid, he hadn't admitted it until this very moment. Just like he was on many different occasions, out on the battlefield, before he wrote his Professor's exams, before he went on his first date with Eleanor.
He thought of her pretty young face for a moment, imagining the beautiful smile she has whenever he mocked him. She so loved to imitate him, the way he would give his lectures. Her every movement would be exactly like his, even the way he spoke. He would chuckle whenever her feminine voice tried to mock his male tones.
Then the image of her smiling was all of a sudden replaced by a face full of blood and tears, as he heard another gunshot. This time more close. He was jolted back to reality and he crept closer to the street. He slung himself over a nearby fence into the neighbor's property and stealthily ran through the shadows as quick as his feet would carry him.
He paused for a moment as he thought he heard voices. Something which he hadn't noticed before. The people were speaking in hushed tones, but he noticed, sinisterly, as if plotting.
He eyed his 9 mm pistol warily and sighed.
"I should have brought the silencer" He thought despairingly.
He crept a little closer to where the voices were coming from and he faintly began to make out words amongst the silenced words.
"...did you hear that bitch squeal...man this is even better than the last job we did...I swear, we should do this more often..."
"...you didn't do nothin'...we're just backup, in case something goes wrong..." The other man's Italian accent was unmistakable, even through his whispering.
"...d'ya think she's dead yet?" the first man asked, his clear Brooklyn accent shining through.
"...why do you have to ask such stupid questions you freak?" The Italian asked.
Jim had heard enough, as stealthily as a cat, he leaped over the fence, but something which he hadn't contemplated was the fact that he was directly under a street light and by jumping over the fence he had exposed himself to the would-be criminals.
They immediately spotted him, having been leaning against the car, smoking and talking and looking at the houses in the boredom. They also immediately spotted the pistol he had in his hand and as swift as any trained killer they had their own weapons in their hands.
Standard Military Issue SMG Assault Rifles. Why hadn't he recognized the patterned tripe bursts from the semi-automatic assault rifles? Jim could have slapped himself, but instead he ducked in behind a tree as the first burst rang past his head.
These were trained killers all right. But what was their game? He knew for a fact then that Eleanor was either dead already, or would be dead soon, and if he wanted to save her life, the slim chance that she still was alive, he had to act fast. He clung to that hope as he leaped from behind the tree, gun poised in front of him like a trained marksman as he squeezed off three succeeding rounds in the thugs' direction.
One struck the Brooklyn guy in the shoulder, or at least, the guy he figured would be the Brooklyn guy. He caught a quick glimpse at them in his leap of faith. The other guy looked to be at least twice as big as the one he thought to be the Brooklyn guy. He had to be the Italian guy.
He heard the Brooklyn guy swear.
"Fucking prick! I'm gonna kill that asshole!" The accent was unmistakable. He had hit the Brooklyn guy.
"Tony help me you fuck!" He shouted at the Italian. The Italian, now revealed to be Tony, just shrugged and reloaded his weapon.
"Why'd you have to try and play the hero, you schmuck" Tony's voice rang out to where Jim was crouching behind the safety of a huge tree.
Jim remained perfectly quiet as he surveyed his surroundings. His time as a US Marine Corps Officer taught him many skills, among which were survival.
By now almost every house in the street had their lights on and a distant wailing in the distance could be heard as the first brigade of the police force was on their way.
Jim had to act fast if he wanted to take these thugs and try to rescue his girlfriend. He checked the clip of his gun and smirked satisfactorily when he saw that he had more than enough shots left to take these two out.
As quietly as he feet could carry him he bolted by them in the shadows and approached them from the rear, studying them as he moved. The Italian, known as Tony, was heavy-set man, dressed entirely in fatigues and armed with not only the semi-automatic rifle, but also with what seemed to be a whole belt full of modified grenades.
He knew they were modified because he had specialized in Explosives in his Marine Corps training. These were modified to explode, not after 30 seconds like standard grenade, but after 5 seconds, which shortened the lifespan of the person it is thrown at by a considerable amount. He had to be careful.
The police sirens were getting closer. He acted just as he had acted not very long ago in the lounge, purely by instinct. He had leapt to his feet as quickly and fluently as if he had been made of the air that surrounding him and he had the gun against the Italian's head as fast as a rattlesnake would seize it's prey. The shot was off even before the gun was against his head. The Brooklyn guy followed soon after with a shot at the back of the head as he tried to bolt away.
He snatched a hand-full of the grenades from the dead Italian's belt before he ran across the street to Eleanor's house.
As he entered through the front door he was confronted by a scene of horror and revulsion. The entire lounge was covered in blood. He had not yet discovered from where it had come, but somewhere in the back of his mind a little voice was shouting at him. Telling him that it was her blood. Eleanor's blood. He stepped further into the house and heard the crunch of glass beneath his shoes as he neared the side-window.
So this is how they got into the house. They smashed the window and came in through the lounge's side window. He had to move quickly. Eleanor's life depended on it.
He heard another scream, and then sobbing. The same pattern three shots resounded through the house and then all was quiet. He approached the stairs and he could hear out the faint muffled voices of men talking to each other and to someone else upstairs.
As he walked slowly up the stairs the voices came through more clearly now.
"...I told you not to leave that fucking fat idiot Tony down there with Eddie, they probably got killed now and the car is our only escape route..." One voice came down clearly.
Jim dared to move up more, not wanting to risk being heard in his ascent. He reached the top of the stairs and a second voice could be heard now.
"..look just calm down Johnny, whoever killed them, wouldn't dare come in here to try and take us on, he's probably down there bleeding his guts out after Eddie shot his fucking balls off..."
Jim chuckled at this guess. These really are stupid thugs. But then the reality of the situations dawned on him again as he heard another stifled cried.
"What do we do with the bitch?" Johnny asked his thug-friend.
"She's already shot up pretty bad, we did what we were told to do and we got the necessary information, so just leave her, she'll bleed to death before the ambulance gets here." The second voice said.
Jim's heart sank as he heard these words spoken.
"These assholes are gonna pay." He mumbled to himself as he cocked the 9 mm.
The two thugs inside Eleanor's room heard the distinctive cock of the pistol in the dead of the night and realized that what they had said was not in the remotest true. Jim was not in the street bleeding his guts out. He was right outside the door, and he was going to kill them.
Johnny removed the clip from his SMG and eyed it warily. He had left his other clips in the car, trusting his own professionalism, he hadn't contemplated this development. He had less than half the clip left and eyeing his partner doing the same thing next to him realized that he too was low on ammunition.
Jim picked the moment after he heard to two distinctive clicks from inside the room to make his move. He leaned in hard into the door, sending the pieces of wood splintering inwards and shattering the mirror on the wall next to the door in the process. The pieces of broken mirror flew with him through the air as he drifted as if in slow motion towards the floor of Eleanor's bedroom floor. The moment he struck the floor he already had his pistol pointed at the two thugs and he squeezed off two rounds instinctively aiming at each thug's heart in turn.
But something which he hadn't contemplated was the fact that they too were trained as he was and as swiftly as he had burst his way into the room they had moved out of his line of fire.
Jim quickly rolled into a crouching position, squeezing off another set of rounds at his two adversaries. He smiled warily as one of his bullets struck home, hitting Johnny's partner smugly between the eyes. The impact was so great that it flipped the thug off his feet and flung him out of the window, sending him spiraling down towards the front lawn.
It happened so swiftly that Jim didn't even realize that only a minute had passed since he had started his ascent from the bottom of the stairs.
He eyed his ammunition clip swiftly and assessed the situation. He had not time to reload his pistol and Johnny probably had a full clip left after his 'torture' of Eleanor. Jim couldn't be sure. He just had to take a chance.
He leaped out from behind the end-table, squeezing off his final rounds at the unseen adversary, hoping to hit his target. Time seemed to slow down once again as the bullets traveled, seeking soft flesh to impact into, but instead of finding flesh, they instead found the solid wood of the trimming's of the bedroom wall. The splinters of the wood went flying into the air and hit Johnny.
The sirens of the police armada was only a few blocks away by this time and Jim knew that it was now or never, he had to either risk his life by going out in the open and fighting his adversary man-to-man or risk dying like a coward while his beloved watched.
Just as before, the instinct took over and his hand loosened it's grip on the pistol. The clatter of metal distinct on the wooden floor. Johnny took this as a sign of surrender and a sadistic grin spread across his facial features. It was finally over. He could leave this god-forsaken place and get the hell out of here.
As Jim leaped out from his hiding place, Johnny did the same, but with his gun poised out in front of him, ready to fire at any moment.
"I never caught your name hero, I like to put a name to a face before I blow it away." Johnny smiled his sadistic smile as he said this. Sweat was gleaming on his face.
"Fuck you." Jim said simply.
"Well Fuck You, say goodbye." Johnny said as he cocked the lever on his semi-automatic rifle.
Just then Jim dived at him and knocked the rifle from his grip, sending it sprawling across the bedroom floor, in Eleanor's general direction. Jim hadn't seen her until that moment and a sickening feeling of despair hit him as he saw her bloodied features lay spread eagled on the floor. He doubled over in grief and the tears started streaming down his cheeks.
"Ah, a weakling. Were you in love with this woman Fuck You?" Johnny asked Jim.
Jim turned his head and looked Johnny straight in the eye, all the hatred of what had happened that evening came boiling to the surface. He balled his fists up into tight knots, the veins in his arms standing out in powerful contrast to the soft nature that he had possessed earlier that night while speaking to the very woman who lay half-dead across the room from him now.
Johnny didn't expect the next blow. Jim hit him squarely on the jaw and spittle mixed with blood flew through the air, decorating Eleanor's wall with a new pattern. Johnny, apparently unfettered by this went on with his relentless guffawing directed at his opponent.
"Still trying to be the hero?" He said half-out of breath and slightly chuckling through the broken mess off his mouth.
"I'll make you eat every single one of those words." Jim said as he moved in swiftly for another punch.
This hit Johnny squarely on the right eye, Jim was one of those fighters who put every last ounce of his power behind a hit and it was apparent that Johnny had felt it. The power of Jim's hit had properly jarred his brains and he was incoherent at what was going on around him for a moment, trying to assess his situation.
What Jim didn't contemplate was the fact that Johnny was slowly but surely working his way around to where his rifle was laying. After Jim hit him once more with a powerful shot straight on the nose, leaving Johnny's face a bloody mess, Johnny swiped up the rifle and squeezed of a long burst of automatic fire in Jim's direction, ripping a clean spray right across Jim's chest.
The two were so close to each other that Jim was literally punched off his feet by the automatic fire and thrown against the bedroom floor.
As Jim lay against the wall, crumpled up and fighting for his life, flashes of images from his life appeared in his mind's eye. His childhood had been a happy one. One of his birthdays flashed by him. He had been Nine years old, all his friends surrounded him as he blew out the candles on his birthday cake. He remembered so vividly what he had wished for that day. He wanted, above anything else, to be as happy as his mommy and daddy. He remembered that up until tonight, his wish had come true.
Other flashes swept by, a lecture, at the University. A student had asked him why he had chosen the works of Edgar Allen Poe to be their curriculum that semester. He couldn't remember exactly why, but the answer was staring him straight in the face. He was experiencing it at that moment. But he breathed his final breath before the answer dawned on him.
"Qouth the Raven 'Nevermore'" – The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe
N/A I realize that there are no real direct references or whatever to The Crow here in the first chapter, but bear with me. Chapter two as you can guess is the beginning of the REAL story. For now, lemme know what you guys think of this so far. Comments and suggestions are welcome. Please, don't flame me. Anybody who flames, are basically degrading themselves, so spare yourself the humiliation.