November 22. 2011 12:21 A.M.
The wind was the only company for Dream as he clawed through the wasteland his mind had be morph into for his first move. How could he find his killer? He didn't know who he was really. William Paulliano was the one man that Dream could actually hate with a passion and not regret it. First Will took Dream's lover Kathy, then his life. And for what? Dream could only guess for fear. Fear of Dream coming after him, so Will had to beat him to the punch and kill Dream. One problem is that he thought to much because Dream didn't even have murder in mind, until now. Dream still had something more important than his vengeance. His first priority was decided. He needed to see Kathy and find out where that demon of a man Will lives and kill him. Dream looked at the hole he crawled out of earlier. He made that hole the day he lost Kathy. First anger then sadness. The sadness had filled him until the day he died.
Dream grabbed the trench coat that Kathy had given him as a birthday gift from the closet. When he put it on it felt a bit snug but still wearable. He could still remember that day. He felt a bit of warmth from his chest, then pain. The thought that he died because of her killed him inside. She threw him away for the reputation of being a bad girl and he was the one that paid the price. He reached into his closet again to get a pair of pants that folded over a hanger and pulled out his spare knife that he hid from his mother. He could still her his mothers voice. She would always say things like, " Be careful Dream," and , "Stay away from trouble." All without even knowing about Kathy and him being together. He didn't know what was worse, being away from the person you love or having someone you love die because of you.
The rain still poured like a hurricane was near and Dream allowed the past to eat away at him. He couldn't fight back the memories that still kill him inside. As he walked down the sidewalk he looked at his left arm where his scars used to be. He felt that he deserved to die. Why even bother with vengeance? But then the thought of Kathy being with Will refueled his anger. He had to find a payphone to call Kathy.
He found one that still worked outside of the nearby liquor store. He was glad they didn't find the quarters that he saved up under the bed. Dream reached into his pocket and grabbed a small hand full of quarters and dialed her cell phone number. The voice requested 75 cents and he fed them through the slot. The phone rang three times and when to voice mail.
"Kathy…It's me. I…"
Dream slammed the phone on the receiver. The coins clattered into the payphone as he walked away. He busted into tears. He wasn't able to handle it. There was nothing more important to him than Kathy. He believed that he couldn't live without her and it was true. How could anyone handle it, it was impossible. A group of teenagers hung outside of the store watching Dream enter it. They were most likely members of the local gang. They were infamous around the gang world for acting like suburban mobsters, whacking anyone they were paid to whack. The difference is that they don't have an age limit. They have been given a few names but hate all of them. They prefer to be called the Wraith of God. There leader, Christian Davalza, came from a strict Catholic family, causing him to feel a need to rid the world of evil. Just another person getting over their head like any dictator given power. He wasn't much of a problem to the police until they started getting organized and deadly. The main reason he even knows the leader's name is because some of his friends had joined the gang. Promised money and company and given shit. Isn't that what life was all about?
Dream had to see if he could turn the rest of the quarters into cash. The cashier was concerned about the way Dream looked when he walked up to the counter.
"I'd like to turn these into dollars if it's not a problem." Dream said dropping handfuls of quarters onto the counter.
"Sure no problem." The cashier said, "But if you don't mind uhh… what's with the get-up?
"If I knew I would tell you." Dream answered.
The cashier was puzzled but let it go. The man in the trench coat had to be a wacko, especially if he's walking around at 1 in the morning like that asking for an exchange.
The quarters were exchanged for $20.75 and Dream left. The teens near the door talked among themselves about nonsense as Dream passed by.
"Go, go!" one whispered.
"Hey buddy, what's the rush?" One with brown hair and black clothes said pushing on Dream's chest, stopping him.
"Yeah, we just wanna talk." He pulled out a knife from his left front pocket. "Now give me your money and I won't spill your guts all over the parking lot."
"Go away," Dream replied, " And I won't spill yours all over the parking lot and have your friends die as well."
They all broke out in laugher hooting and hollering. One with a buzz cut and an under shirt seemed like he was pissing his pants.
"You got a screw loose bitch?" The one with the knife said pushing it into Dream's rib, barley enough to make an indent in his skin.
"I would love it if you kill me you little brat," Dream said grabbing the kids hand and plunging the knife into his own rib, "But someone already beat you to it."
Dream pushed his hand forward getting the knife out and with the other hand jabbed his index finger and thumb into his eye sockets. Dream could feel the boy's eye lids attempting to close but with no avail. The rest have their's coming, they just had to wait there turn. One with a pony tail tried to stab Dream with a swing of his knife towards his temple. Dream ducked it, his left arm pulling the one stuck to his hand to the ground and with his right hand he caught the attacker's arm by trapping it between his forearm and bisect.
His left had now free from the kid's eye sockets he grabbed the other guys arm with both hands and broke it using his shoulder. A third gangster grabbed Dream from behind and tried to lock a choker hold. The last one punched Dream with a jab in the mouth. Dream shook it of and kicked him in the face, knocking him to the ground as well as knocking out a couple of teeth. The gangster fell backwards, a parking block breaking his fall, and his neck. The heart dropping crunch of his bones snapping. Dream then flipped his holder over by bending forward and stomped on his head repeatedly. The last stomp was adjoined with a yell as Dream felt the gangsters skull cave in.
The one with a broken arm ran in fear of sharing the same fate as the others had, but Dream wouldn't allow it. Dream plowed him into the store's wall and grabbed his collar with both hands.
"Please, please don't kill me! I'll leave town, I'll do anything!" the gangster pleaded.
"Don't worry," Dream hissed, "I'm not going to kill you. I want you to be the messenger."
"Oh, oh thank you!" He said with a sigh of relief.
"But," Dream said, "I don't want it to be easy for you." He pulled him by the collar towards the one that pulled a knife on Dream and picked up said knife.
"I want you to tell your boss that his time is soon. That he's not a god and even if his was he still should fear me for I am Death's right hand. I am the darkness of night. I am the chill in anguish and I am going to kill all of you." Dream smiled when he looked at the knife. "But I want you to use your imagination when you tell the whole world."
"What time is it?" Patricia Gomez said to herself. She looked at the alarm clock in her night stand. 12:48 a.m.
" Oh god, how can I enjoy my day off tomorrow if I can't fucking sleep!"
Patricia hated having insomnia. It did come in handy in the past when she did stakeouts but on her days off it was her worst nightmare. She actually would prefer a nightmare right now over insomnia any day. She got out of bed and walked to the bathroom. She turned on the lights and opened the medicine cabinet to look for something that will knock her out.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" She groaned. " Out already? UGHHH!"
She slapped the cabinet closed and looked in the mirror.
"Calm down Trish," She said to her reflection, "You're going to get wrinkles."
She examined herself. She was a decent looking 37 year old detective with long brunette hair. Luckily for her she still had a nice figure thanks to her diet and gym membership. Her genes also played a good part in her body. She hasn't had any children, so her body was still fit. Her arms and legs were even well toned, but are rarely shown due to the uniform she had to wear. She was even blessed with a bust that was a bit above average but was also a bit of a curse in her mind. The only reason men would flirt with her was because of it but she hated that kind of attention. Her face was still in order, almost wrinkle free surprisingly to her. Her blue eyes still had plenty of life in them. Her skin still had some youth as well. She sighed.
She had no choice, she had to go to the store. She's always hated going to liquor stores at night. The scariest things happen at night and mostly take place in a liquor store. She went back to the room to get dressed in a rain coat and black pants. She grabbed her purse on the way out and check for the essentials; money, keys, and her pistol. After double checking the lock she headed to the spot where her car is parked in the apartment complex. She turned the alarm off, got in , turned the car, and then drive off to the nearest liquor store on Orchard St.
The street was mostly empty besides the occasional jogger or car that was being driven by a late night worker or someone coming back from the local bars and night clubs. She found the store and drove into the entrance of the parking lot. She parked the car into a spot close to the store's entrance and exited the vehicle. Patricia slammed the car door shut and clicked the alarm button on the key chain, then headed into the store. On her way in she could feel eyes staring at her. By impulse she adjusted her coat to make sure nothing arousing was showing to entice a wandering eye. A small number of hooligans were loitering nearby, making the detective alert.
I hate our cities local gang, She commented in her mind, Always acting like they're invincible. More of a cult then a gang really.
She hoped she didn't have to use her gun tonight. She only used it once, and she planned to keep it that way. The door chimed when Patricia entered the liquor store. She looked around for the medicine aisle and walked near the center of the store.
"I don't even care how much it cost," she whispered to herself, "If it works, it'll be worth it."
She spotted a magazine on the shelf that held an interesting topic involving one of her favorite actors. She didn't see any harm in taking a few minutes to read what she wanted. She grabbed it from the shelf and opened it. A few moments into the article, she heard the door chime again. She unlocked her gaze from the pages to see a tall man wearing a black trench coat with long black hair enter the store.
"Must be one of the local band members coming in after a gig to grab a smoke." She presumed. After hearing the cash register being slammed shut, the man's exit was announced by his boots clicking on the tile floor.
"Oh shit!" She whispered loudly, "I almost forgot why I even came here."
I can't be wasting time like this or else I'll loose my touch.
She searched in the next aisle over and found the sleeping aid medicines. She picked up her trusted brand and was alerted by the price.
"Eight dollars! Well, It's worth getting some rest."
Suddenly a loud ruckus of profanity blasted from outside. Then something collided with the store's wall.
"Shit, I was afraid something like this would happen!" She said whipping her gun from her purse and rushed out the store.
At the doorway she saw the man with the black trench coat and black hair punching and slamming a gang member's head onto the asphalt. Blood was already pooling around them as the man unleashed his onslaught of blows.
"Freeze!" Patricia ordered while aiming down the sights, "Put your heads on your head slowly!"
The man stopped in mid strike and twisted his head around, still gripping onto the victim's neck and showing part of an uncomforting black smile. He got up and followed her orders, lacing his fingers and resting his blood soaked hands on his rain drenched hair.
"Turn around, slowly!" She ordered, trying to keep herself calm.
The rain seemed to divert around him as he turned to face the detective. His skin was pure white with black outlining his lips and eyes, but crosses occupied his upper cheeks. Patricia was sure he was a local band member, since the people in black and death metal almost always paint up there faces when they play there music.
"Get down on you're knees. You're under arrest."
"You don't have any cuffs Patricia," He said in a deep, smooth voice as he knelt down, "Should I wait her until you find some"
"Shut up!" She yelled. She fished around in her purse for her cell phone. She came out empty handed. Shit, she thought, I forgot my phone.
"Call the police!" She yelled to the cashier, still keeping her eyes on the perpetrator.
"What?" He called back, unable to hear her request.
She turned her head around to face him, "I said call the cops!"
When she turned back, the mysterious killer had vanished.
"Shit! She said stomping her foot, "I'm going to get hell for this." She covered part of her face with her left hand and shook her head in disappointment. She couldn't believe she had lost the criminal. For the first time in eight years she had let her guard down . But then it hit her.
His voice.
It belonged to someone she knew. Could it of been… Dream?
But… he's dead.
It wasn't possible. Even if Dream was alive some how, he wouldn't of killed three people for any reason. The only possible conclusion was that it's just some nut job doppelganger who decided to murder some punks when the city slept. Motive could range from vengeance all the way to sport if he was truly crazy. Either was he could be a problem for the men in blue. She observed the damage dealt to the to the surrounding bodies.
"Oh my god. What the fuck is he?"
She looked back to the store wall where blood was surrounding something.
"What is that?"
She walked up to it and picked it up. When she realized what she was holding she shrieked in disgust, throwing it away from her. She started to believe that just tossing and turning in her bed would have been heaven compared to this. She really hated insomnia.
Christian Davalza's parents were rich business owners of Italian decent who owned several companies in New York that started to do well. Christian now owns them and the mansion they lived in due to his parent's "unseeable" accident they were in when their brakes "failed" during their decent down the large hill on their way home. He was an only child that his parents loved to death, and their will showed it.
Most of the members of his gang live in there own houses, but his most trusted members lived in the mansion with him as his servants or bodyguards. He would spend most of his time planning out and issuing out strikes on the non believers. Anyone who didn't believe in god had to die in Christian's mind. He felt out of place though, like he was in the wrong body. He was a woman trapped in a man's body. He didn't want to get a sex change because that isn't anything being accomplished. He planned on something even more then having his inner and outer status match. He planned on being a god.
Gods don't have a sex, they don't have feelings, they don't have problems, and they don't have human limitations. All they have is power. Pure, everlasting power. And he wanted it. All the pieces were set, now the measly pawns have to move to allow the game to start. He would always look in the mirror and smile proudly at the events that are about to be presented to the world.
A knocking at his bedroom alerted him and diverted his attention from his movie that he was watching with a couple of other people on his giant HD TV that hung on the wall. He looked at the clock in the wall and it showed that it was 2:00 in the morning.
"Who is it?" He called.
The guard opened the door and bowed. "Sorry sir, but it's Harry Gallinte from the North side. He's got a message I uhh…. I think."
Harry ran into the room mumbling like a maniac pointing and slapping and stomping his feet. Christian's lover, Benedict, got up and chuckled.
"What's the matter Harry, cat got your tongue." He joked.
Christian approached Harry and put his arm on his shoulder. " Listen, take a deep breathe. Just calm down."
Harry started to breathe steadily and blood began to run out of his mouth.
"Open your mouth, could you?"
He followed his request and Christian looked away and groaned.
"Well Ben, you were semi right."
Benedict was confused and tapped Harry's chin.
"Uhh, could you…"
Harry opened his mouth again to show that his tongue was cut out. Benedict was disgusted at the sight. Christian got a notepad and a pen.
"Here, write down the message."
Harry wrote down in his sloppy hand writing and paused one in a while to think on how to spell words. After a few minutes he handed the pad back to Christian. His eyes filled with anger as he read.
"What is it honey?" Benedict questioned.
"Fuck! If this says what I think it says, then all of my work will be void." He said angrily, then handed the pad to Harry, "Here, uses this until you get medical insurance or a white board."
Harry took it and left, as Christian started to pace around. If someone could take out four guys and tauntingly keep on alive then he could be a problem, especially if he planned on terminating his plans. Whoever he was, Christian was sure that he would send him back to the hell he came from.
