A/N: So, for this chapter we're throwing all the way back to some of the details from 'New Beginnings, Familiar Conclusions.' For such a notorious antagonist we have seen very little of Devon's actual presence in this sequel and for him to play such a huge part in the denouement of this story we need to examine him a little more. Don't worry, there isn't a chance I'm going to have you feeling sorry for him, quite the opposite in fact. There's no redemption arc for this villain. But I do want to examine a little bit of his motivations since that night. Exactly what has he been doing all this time? Has he been aware of the gang? Why did he suddenly decide to get the revenge he did in such devastating fashion? Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the dark mind of one Devon Blake.

Chapter 19 – The Devil in the Details

Coolsville, November 2009, That night.

Devon Blake couldn't help but to admire the spunky attitude of Daphne and her new friends. Daphne herself had shown real courage and guts in a completely unexpected way in the way she had stood up to him so resolutely. He still couldn't help but admire Fred Jones for his determination and bravery, and now Velma Dinkley really had given him a run for his money, and a heck of a scare if he was completely honest with himself. The feeling of relief when he saw it was 'just' her challenging him, quickly disappeared when she smartly started to torch his merchandise. He hadn't been ready to let Daphne go but when it became a choice of letting her go or losing a huge chunk of the drugs, there had been no contest in his mind.

When the girl finally kicked the bag towards him, he had lunged for it with all of the enthusiasm of a greedy kid snatching at an offered ice cream, before being knocked off his feet by an explosion in the factory behind them. What the hell?! He thought in alarm, his head turning to look at the flames bursting from inside now as he clambered back to his feet after temporarily being thrown into the dirt. Both of the girls had also been knocked over from the force of the blast and Daphne was wailing in anguish now, screaming for the Jones boy.

The whole place hadn't gone up yet and Devon knew that the silo itself was located further away from where the explosion had happened. The boy would probably be OK (unless he had already been suffocated of course.) He idly wondered if Cain had started the fire deliberately but wasn't aware of the combustible materials that had undoubtedly caused the explosion, sending orange flames shooting into the night sky and shards of glass shattering to the ground. Idiot.

He grabbed the holdall tightly, relieved to have recovered a sizeable chunk of the merchandise at least. He smiled cruelly and turned his gun on Daphne and Velma, unable to resist one last taunt as he prepared to finally end his nieces' brave resistance.

"Fair play to you ladies," he said sincerely. "You came so close, and you have my heartfelt admiration, but we all know how this is going to end."

He pointed the gun straight towards them, surprisingly finding that he needed to work up the nerve to actually pull the trigger. It perhaps shouldn't have come as too much of a surprise; she wasn't his biological daughter. But he had very much treated her as one for most of her life, and although she stood in his way now once again, and he knew that he had to take care of her, he felt a desperate hollowness within him as he prepared to shoot her, that he frantically tried to shake away. Come on Devon! Just get it over with! Bang, bang. Problem solved. Move on.

But he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that it wouldn't even be 'problem solved'. He knew for example that there was no way Velma had arrived without the hippy and the dog for back up. Even after killing the girls, there could still be a lot of messy loose ends to take care of that he would much rather avoid. Even now with the gun poised, he remained incredibly reluctant to shoot them. After all, as Fred had correctly deduced, he tried to avoid the actual killing parts himself. He wasn't afraid of it but he had preferred to delegate the messy parts to his minions. The one and only time he had got his 'hands dirty' so far was dealing with the Daphne 'decoy' and that had only happened out of rage and sheer necessity. He found himself hoping the fire would spread and take care of Jones naturally but that would have to be his last act of some mercy. His hand tightened on the trigger resolutely now, he couldn't let them sense his hesitation.

That hesitation however, did suddenly cost him dear, as sounds of police sirens filled the air. Impossible! But there it was, the sight was clear as day. He was absolutely stunned to see an absolute cavalcade of police cars roaring up the dirt track now. No, this can't be happening! I took care of the police! He thought frantically. How are they here, how did they know where to come?!

He knew realistically there could only be one answer and he turned furiously on them again now, his anger pouring off his face. The sheer brazenness of her to defy his threats and get the police involved anyway! No! I'm not having that, she needs to know I'm a man of my word and be punished accordingly. He was going to have to take what she loved most, he had no regrets any more.

He spoke only to Daphne, locking eyes with her hatefully. "Oh you shouldn't have done that! You really shouldn't have done that! Lover boy is so dead now, if he isn't already!" Devon taunted her cruelly. He raised the walkie talkie to his lips to instruct Cain to go and finish off Jones properly. He knew Cain would be only too willing and glad.

"Cain, can you hear me? Kill him! Cain? Cain?"

He stared at the walkie in confusion, hearing only static in return now. Shit. He could see the police getting even closer now, and most disappointingly of all, there was no sign of Sheriff Douche. The flames from the factory were getting larger, Devon could see the fire was spreading rapidly. His plans were crumbling around him, survival was now the only name of the game. To the left, the girls, with a tsunami of cops about to descend behind them; to the right, a factory beginning to burn but with a potential escape route still valid. He knew there was only one option.

Casting a final glance at the girls and the oncoming police wave, Devon turned on his heel and sprinted as quickly as he could back towards the blazing factory. He felt his cape fall to the floor but there was no time to pause now.

When he got back inside the factory, although some parts were still untouched, parts of it were well ablaze now and the heat from the flames was instantly unbearable. In some ways it was just as well, dressed in his 'Dracula' outfit and now devoid of the cape, he was only in a very thin waistcoat so the heat itself was in some way welcome, the smoke however was not.

He made his way towards the entrance to the silo, lugging the holdall, pausing to grab up a black jacket that was either Cain's or Rick's. He put it to his face to avoid breathing in the acrid smoke that was filling up the factory. The approach surrounding the silo was well alight now but even through the flames and the smoke that filled every crevice now he could see one thing was evident, the door to the silo was hanging open, the grain had stopped falling, and Jones was gone.

It wasn't too surprising, it made sense that if Velma had gone to Daphne's aid, the boy would go to Fred's, but he was surprised that the boy had been successful. In getting him out of the silo room anyway. Good luck on getting out of here alive boys! He thought grimly, knowing it was going to be a challenge to get out himself. He wondered if Cain was still alive and called out into the smoke.

"Cain? Cain, are you here?"

The only response at first was the licking of the flames as they ate up every surface, and he eyed the rapid progress of the fire worriedly. When they reached as far as the garage and storage areas, it would be game over, he knew there would be no way out.

He hurried away from the silo, cocking his pistol in sudden alarm when he heard a groaning sound as he passed the bottom of a staircase.

He whipped around smartly and was astonished to see a badly bleeding Cain heaving himself down the steps from the control room.

"Devon," his henchman cried out weakly, and Devon could immediately see he was in a very bad way. "Devon, help me!"

Devon Blake showed no loyalty to anyone but his immediate instinct was to help his most dedicated servant. He had no idea what had happened to Cain, but it was obviously bad, he was crawling so slowly now. Devon stepped closer to him to get a better look and Cain weakly held out his hand. "Devon, please!"

But a second explosion, even louder than the first, suddenly tore through the factory, followed by the sound of a huge ton of metal crashing to the ground with a wailing scream. It sounded like the walkway had collapsed. Devon grimaced to himself, he knew it was going to take everything he had if he was going to survive this, there could be no room for passengers. He looked a little regretfully on Cain before turning away from him to Cain's instant despair. "Please Devon, help me!" "Please!" His cries soon subsided and Devon knew he had succumbed to the smoke that was threatening to envelope him too unless he got out of there.

He couldn't afford to dwell on his callous action, he hurried along until he came to the storage room where they had dragged Rick's body after Fred had catapulted him off the walkway. It wasn't Rick's body that was the important cargo in here, there was no telling how much time he had left. This was where they had stored most of the remaining merchandise but it would still be impossible to take it all. He stuffed as many packets of cocaine into a second holdall as it could hold and a couple of his spare 'Dracula' masks, and strapped it to his other shoulder. The two bags weighed him down terribly but he wasn't even entertaining leaving without it.

The fire had really taken hold now and he held the jacket closely in front of his mouth as he stumbled towards the garage. He could hear the sounds of other frantic voices now and he knew the police had entered, hopefully from the same way he had came in which would buy him some time as surely most of that had now been totalled.

He had to get to the garage where Fred had so nearly escaped, if he could make it in there and to a car, he had a chance.

He became obsessed with nothing else but reaching the garage and despite the destruction all around him, the endgame was in sight. His eyes lit up when he saw the truck sitting there relatively unscathed with the shutter doors open. He ignored the yelling and the spreading flames to beat a frantic path towards the truck. Just a little further Devon, he was going to make it after all. He got so buoyed by the elation of potentially escaping, that he ignored everything else around him as he tried to reach the truck. It was a dangerous oversight.

A pillar of burning wooden masonry above him suddenly snapped off without warning and struck him on the side of his face, sending him sprawling to the ground, and with his face instantly erupting in agony. He screamed, writhing around on the floor from the excruciating pain. His entire right side of his face felt like it was melting away and he screamed fearfully, rolling around on the ground desperately trying to put out the flames as smoke filled the garage.

"BLAKE!" he heard somebody scream in the darkness and he blindly pointed his pistol towards where he thought the voice was coming from.

"BLAKE! HOLY SHIT!" He heard the sound of someone running frantically towards him but of course he couldn't see them.

He vaguely recognised the voice as Sheriff Douche who took one look at him and immediately flung an entire blanket on his face.

"GET HIM OUT OF HERE!" Devon heard him instructing someone and he felt them get him to his feet and lay him gently on the back seat of a car, all the while his skin burned ferociously.

"You know where to go?!" Sheriff Douche asked someone frantically but the voices were already fading in and out for Devon. "Dirt track...diversion...now! Get him... Christ sake... help him!"

He tried to focus on the voices but he knew he was fading fast now. The last thing Devon heard was another explosion shake in his eardrums and the roar of a car engine coming to life before everything faded to black.

The pleasant yet distant sound of birds chirping heralded Devon's return to consciousness but when he opened his eyes, frustratingly his world remained black.

"Hello," he called out uncertainly. He was immediately unnerved by how weak and pathetic his own voice sounded. "Is anybody there?!"

"Ah, good morning sir," a nervous voice replied. "How are you feeling today?"

Devon felt like he had been hit by a tow truck, all of his senses seemed wrong, fragmented somehow and he couldn't even feel some of his face. He shifted his body a little bit and realised he was strapped to a table, he flexed his arms a couple of times but the movement was ultimately very weak. Fuck.

"Would you mind telling me why I am fucking chained to a table?!" He tried to say angrily but it came out as a feeble whisper.

"Certainly sir," came the incredibly glib reply and Devon wanted nothing more but to roll his eyes but found he couldn't, he couldn't feel anything.

He tried not to panic but it was an incredibly unsettling feeling for anyone, even someone as tough and imposing as Devon Blake.

"Sir, you were burnt very badly, it is merely for your own safety, you are restrained."

"Nobody restrains me without my permission, who the hell do you think you are!" He tried to add some steel in his voice and frantically tried to sit up.

"Alex, I think we're ready for another sedative" the voice called across to someone and Devon squirmed in frustration.

"Don't you fucking dare!" he weakly protested.

"Mr Blake, this is for your own good, we have strict instructions."

From who?! Devon thought wearily as he felt the pinprick in his arm but it was too late, he had already lost consciousness again.

...

When he awoke again, he could feel more of a sensation in his face this time, on the left side at least. There was still something draped over it though, slightly damp and blocking his whole sight. He felt more lucid this time too and he could ascertain a lot more. His wrists were pinned tightly by his side and his ankles pulled slightly to the side, he was restrained on a cold metal table. He could feel the leather wrapped taut and it felt more like a belt buckle. The kind they used to hold down mentally disturbed patients.

"You are beginning to heal up nicely," a new voice suddenly said by his side and he recognised this voice immediately. Sheriff Doug Douche sorry, Dalton.

"Doug? What the hell happened? Where am I?" He was pleased to hear that his voice sounded a lot stronger this time.

"You're in a safe place Devon, you don't have to worry about that. You're here until you get your strength back. You got burnt up pretty badly."

The factory, the falling masonry I remember that! Devon thought. "I remember all that but what happened next?" He asked the Sheriff impatiently.

I don't want to burden you too much, things will make more sense when you're fully healed. You just need to rest and get your strength back. It's been a week already."

Holy fuck! A week?!

Devon thrashed awkwardly in the leather cuffs again, desperately trying to wrench his wrists loose. "Goddammit Doug, you get this thing off my face and untie me right now," he tried to command sternly.

"All in good time Devon, we cannot risk any further damage," Doug replied smoothly, and his voice floated closer still. He soon had a good idea why.

"No Doug, don't!" Devon pleaded, but with despair he felt the needle slide effortlessly back into his arm and then he felt no more.

...

When he next opened his eyes, the dark veil was thankfully gone and though his eyesight wasn't perfect, he could see the outline of Doug looming over him in concern.

"Yes, yes, you're healing quite nicely. And that right eye is looking much better. A permanent mask would probably be a good idea though."

Permanent? Just how badly damaged is my face?

"Doug you better start to tell me what the hell is going on!" Devon demanded and to Devon's immense relief, Doug undid first the wrist cuffs and then the ankles.

Almost as soon as he was freed, Devon sat up abruptly and tried to swing himself around to climb off, only to be hit with an onslaught of nausea, and a concerned Doug having to catch him smartly as he almost pitched straight off the high table.

"Woah! Easy there Devon! Take it slow for Christ's sake. You have a lot of recovery ahead of you still."

Devon swayed in Doug's arms and then promptly threw up all over him. Doug didn't even flinch as he continued to support him and gently lowered him from the table to the floor.

Devon looked beyond him, seeing a load of medical equipment and a handful of other people. He seemed to be in some kind of a log cabin.

"Where are we?" he asked woozily. Doug had propped him against the wall carefully so that Devon was supported while he grabbed a towel to clean off the vomit from his clothes. He saw Devon about to reach up to his face to tug at the bandages they had put on and he leaned over, urging him not to.

"No! Devon! Don't!"

Devon could feel the damage of the burns, his skin was singed, his right eye socket felt swollen, he knew it was bad. Did he really want to know how bad?

He relented and placed his hands back to the floor. He saw Doug sigh in relief. "Well," he demanded again. "Where the hell are we Doug?"

"Where no one can find us I promise you that," Doug replied and the expression on the unbandaged side of Devon's face must have been wholly unpleasant so he added a little more information hastily. "We're in a cabin that I smoked out months ago. We're about fifty miles from Coolsville."

"Why would people be looking for me Doug? Wouldn't they assume I died in the fire, there would be three, maybe four burnt up bodies in there, it surely would take a while for them to figure out that none of them were me, if they even could identify them at all. Surely most of it is charcoal now."

"It's been almost two weeks now. Only two bodies have been recovered from the building. Both now identified. Cain and Rick." Doug confirmed carefully.

Devon reacted with astonishment. "Just two? What about the Jones boy and his friend?"

He had felt for sure that there was no way the boys could have survived, he had barely made it out alive but Doug shook his head in a little embarrassment.

"They got out. Apparently, from what I've heard at the station, they crawled out some old maintenance tunnel. They're fine. They all are."

Devon digested this news unhappily, 'they all are' so Daphne and her friends had won after all? How was that even possible?!

"You need to tell me the situation right now Doug," he calmly instructed though he was already beginning to panic on the inside. "Where does this leave us? The entire operation? Have I been made? Have you been made?"

Doug paused, perhaps considering how much to tell Devon when he was still recovering from such undeniable physical trauma. He saw a couple of the other younger cops exchange uneasy glances with each other.

"The whole of Coolsville knows you're behind everything," he grimly confirmed. "There is suspicion that there is a level of corruption within the police ranks. The two detectives that have been brought in from state and led the raid, a young thing called Stella White and a cocky son of a gun called Will Barnum are ripping into everything. I don't think it will be long before they find the source of the corruption."

"Fuck Doug, I hope that doesn't mean you have been careless? Who are they?" he gestured towards the group of young men watching them anxiously.

"These are good men, my men. I've had them ship out the remaining merchandise, it's all here. We're making arrangements right now to get you out of the country. You need to lie low for a while yet, unfortunately these Detectives are looking into everything, including re-opening an investigation into what happened to your wife and brother."

"WHAT THE HELL? I don't understand what the fuck happened?! Even Daphne calling the police wouldn't have brought on the wave that reigned down on the farm. Why couldn't you have stopped it?! You're the bloody Sheriff! She had no evidence! I destroyed it all!"

Doug looked monumentally uncomfortable now, and Devon sensed a deeply unpleasant truth was coming.

"It wasn't her. She wasn't the one who called the police."

"So her friends then? Velma? The hippy?" but Doug shook his head morosely. "Then WHO?! Who the fuck had the power to bring this entire shit show crashing down onto our heads like that?!"

"It was Ethan," Doug replied, leaving Devon truly stunned for a moment before he laughed loudly.

"Nah Doug, see that's not possible, because I killed Ethan!"

"You didn't."

"Well no, I suppose I didn't, but Cain did, he shot him and buried him! It couldn't possibly be fucking Ethan."

"I've seen him with my own eyes Devon, he's alive."

"No, no. That cannot be right! He's dead. He's 100% dead," Devon concluded fully in denial.

"Cain, for whatever reason didn't kill the kid." Doug revealed the shocking truth. "Ethan made it to the highway and was picked up as a John Doe. He was near death, I believe he had been stabbed? But the doctors were able to save him and when he regained consciousness, he told those detectives the whole sorry story – who he was, what had happened to him, including where you had the other kid holed up."

Devon's shock rapidly turned to immense fury and he cursed Cain, any sliver of remorse he had felt about leaving him to die, dissipating instantly.

"That fucking useless oaf!," he raged. "He told me that he was dead! He said he was going to bury his body! How DARE he do this to me?! That was the reason for the cavalry charge?! Fucking Cain letting Ethan go?!"

"The editor of the Chronicle filed a missing person's report about Ethan. I tried everything to flatten it, when they realised he was related to your dau...ah...your niece I managed to convince everyone his disappearance was a mere suicide after her murder. Unfortunately, someone kept digging and they found Ethan's disturbed apartment. It didn't worry me though, you told me he was dead! The Detectives then made the link with the beat up John Doe and they spoke to him. It took some convincing that you were involved but this then led to the raid."

"And you couldn't stop it?! Remind me Doug, what I was paying you for?!" Devon was fully enraged now and ready to take his anger out on the weak town Sheriff he had easily manipulated to his will.

"It was impossible Devon! Ethan blew this thing wide open and if I hadn't sanctioned it, they would have known my involvement and I wouldn't have been able to be at least part of it. You're lucky that myself and some of the boys managed to get to the back of the factory before they did because we never could have got you out otherwise. You're welcome by the way."

"I'm grateful for you helping me Doug," he said wearily "but I'm struggling to get my head around this. I can't believe Ethan is alive, that's absolutely extraordinary. What a fucking twist! So what happens next?"

"Like I said, we're making plans to smuggle you out of the country. How does Brazil suit?"

"Fine."

"Good, then you can start again. We can get you out as soon as you are fully recovered. You are still pretty weak."

"I feel fine. It's just a few burns," he said disdainfully eyeing the burnt flesh he could see on his arms and legs.

"Devon you've been here nearly two weeks healing up, we shouldn't move too quickly."

"Bullshit," Devon sneered. "If I've been made, we need to move quickly, start making plans to get me out tomorrow. That is an order Doug."

"Okay," Doug reluctantly agreed. "Though even when you get to Brazil you really do need to lie low. Wait for the drama to pass."

"Drama?" Devon said in amusement.

"Perhaps you need to show him Sheriff?" one of the young guys piped up with his suggestion.

The Sheriff glared at the young charge but listened to his suggestion, he glanced at his watch seeing it was almost ten thirty. Perfect. He walked over and switched on the small TV set and the nightly news was just beginning.

"The news in California tonight is of course still dominated by the deadly downfall of millionaire businessman and entrepreneur Devon Blake.

Blake, who owns a string of successful pharmaceutical businesses in Coolsville and several neighbouring towns, was dramatically revealed to be behind the drugs war in Coolsville almost two weeks ago now.

The news came to light after a tense hostage situation culminated in the complete and utter destruction of a disused farmhouse and grain silo. Two bodies have since been recovered from the devastated structure, and have been revealed locally as those of Cain Wilson and Rick Miller. It is still widely believed that Devon Blake himself was able to flee the scene to avoid capture. Events have taken an even darker turn this week with the news that the deaths of Devon's younger brother Matt, and wife Eve, are now being re-opened on suspicion of foul play involved. Matt and Eve Blake died in 1995 when the car they were travelling in burst into flames.

In addition, it has been confirmed that Devon Blake is to be treated as a fugitive who is now wanted on headline charges of murder and abduction in addition to a string of other charges.

Locals in Coolsville have reacted with shock and abhorrence to the allegations, having previously seen Blake as something of a town saviour, he is widely credited as reviving the town.

Yesterday, a second business of Blake's was firebombed, and more graffiti has appeared on the gates of his palatial property. His businesses have been raided by local law enforcement where an undisclosed quantity of illegal drugs were seized, and several more arrests have been made. Devon Blake himself however, remains at large and the public are once again strongly reminded that he is a dangerous individual and if seen, you should contact the police immediately and under NO circumstances should you approach him."

Doug switched off the report before turning to Devon grimly to catch his reaction. Devon laughed loudly, clearly in disbelief.

"I can't believe they actually did it. I know they had been plotting to take me down for a while but they actually took away everything that I have worked so hard for. My name is now mud."

"Like I said Devon, you need a fresh start, a new country, you don't even have to ever come back to the States. A business in South America, Europe or even South East Asia could be incredibly lucrative, it would make what you built up here look like small fr..."

Doug's throat seized up and with good reason as Devon's arm had shot out to grab him around the neck. For a full thirty seconds he squeezed but then finally Devon let go, leaving Sheriff Douche coughing and spluttering.

"You think I'm going to just run away? From my town? You think I'll actually let them get away with what they did to me?!" He stood up abruptly and ripped off the bandages before anyone could stop him. He didn't need a mirror, he could feel the damage, the burnt flesh, he knew half of his face had been disfigured grotesquely before he even put his hand up to confirm it. It felt disgusting. He was disgusting. Not only had they devastated his business, they had devastated him. He was damaged goods and it was all their fault.

Well, he maybe down but Devon Blake was not out just yet. It might take a while but he wasn't done with Coolsville. He wasn't done with Daphne, Ethan or their friends. Not by a long shot. And now it was no longer just them.

"You need to get everything ready to get me out tomorrow night," he instructed the hapless Sheriff firmly. "And in the meantime I want you and your boys to find me everything you can on Detectives Stella White and Will Barnum. It looks like I have a new enemy in town."

Over six months later...Sao Paulo, Brazil. June

After six months of mild recuperation Devon Blake was feeling much better. He had come to terms with his facial disfigurement and rather than let his burns be the talking point he had taken probably the only piece of advice he had ever accepted from Sheriff Douche and that was to wear a mask. He had adopted a Phantom of the Opera style face mask but instead of his being white, it was black. He felt like a comic book villain wearing it and he knew it commanded respect from his new team. His burns weren't quite on the level of say Harvey Dent, but nevertheless he felt a heck of a lot better wearing it than not. He didn't let anyone see him without it. Not since he had arrived in Brazil.

His new team compromised almost entirely of young South American drug runners who seemed to idolise him, and a couple of the young dirty cops who had decided to flee with him rather than hand themselves in with Sheriff Dalton.

Ah Sheriff Douche, true to form, the idiot had caved from probably minimal pressure from the new dynamic duo and had confessed all, sealing his own fate as he told the Detectives that he had been working for Devon all along with several corrupt officers and had helped to facilitate his escape. He had stopped short of revealing his current whereabouts but a couple of the young cops at the station had panicked and raced back to Devon. The planned extraction was pushed forward and he was smuggled out on a late ferry. A couple of days and transport swaps later, he and the fleeing cops arrived in Brazil. He admired their loyalty and kept them on his team, especially after learning one of the boys' first aid skills had probably kept him alive in the immediate aftermath of his face burning off and had certainly saved his sight. He never bothered trying to remember their names however, Trevor, Jon and Robert or something like that, something beginning with a J and R anyway. They had served him incredibly well especially with his requests for updates on Coolsville. They still had some unblemished connections there.

Coolsville. The source of all the trouble and upheaval. And with every month passing there were mixed updates coming from there.

The first thing Devon and his team had found out was the delightful unexpected consequence of events there. The entire town had begun to fall into something of a slump and local criminals had risen up, possibly wrestling for control of the place in his absence. Slowly but surely, crime levels had been ticking upwards and they revealed a most pleasing trend.

Inspired perhaps by his own costumed antics, many of the town's underlings carried out their nefarious scheming in their own Halloween style disguises. First, there had been a straight up 'ghost' at the old Vasquez Castle and then delightfully, a werewolf and Mummy. Then it sounded like they had got especially creative as he was told of a life size puppet caper at the theatre. He couldn't help but salute these crazy bastards who were slowly creating mayhem across the town.

And who was there to save the day? Well, Coolsville's newest heroes of course. Sure, the Detective duo were very much a presence but they weren't the real stars of the show. Not really.

It was a development that caused him much disbelief and he had refused to believe it at first but soon more and more internet stories were coming out about them and their adventures, which he found himself checking for avidly.

Yes, his niece and her adopted friends (who once kidnapped her of course, but this all seemed to have been conveniently swept under the rug) had formed their own mystery solving business and were actively going around helping to take down the newly formed costumed 'villain alliance' of Coolsville. Ethan didn't seem to be a major part of this 'venture' but his name often cropped up in articles about them so it was obvious he was still there lending support. He had returned to journalism as far as Devon was aware.

Devon followed all of their exploits with great interest. It didn't sound like it was all plain sailing, on more than one occasion, 'peril' had been mentioned in interviews with them, and he had to admit this definitely intrigued him. Why, after everything they went through, were they actively seeking out danger again?

Of course his main priority was his blossoming new drugs trade here and that was really starting to take off nicely, but as time went by, his desire to return to the States became all consuming . He could have stayed here for life, he felt completely comfortable and safe. The gang members here were frighteningly efficient and they seemed to treat him with honour and cult status. They had an exceptional system going on and the local cops were even more useless than those in his home town. He was making money, probably more than he had made in Coolsville and yet it wasn't enough. A fire burned in him and he knew what it was. Unfinished business. They had taken so much from and he thirsted for revenge. It threatened to consume him.

As the months rolled on and summer turned into autumn, the desire for his revenge grew even stronger as a fateful anniversary approached but he knew this had to be sophisticated. This wasn't a simple revenge hit he could carry out in one go, there were too many people involved. It might take months, over a year even but he didn't want to rush it. Quietly, he started to formulate a plan that would begin around Halloween.

His 'hit list' contained seven never changing names:

His dearest niece and nephew – Daphne and Ethan

Coolsville's finest protectors – Detectives Stella White and Will Barnum

The rest of Mystery Incorporated - Fred Jones, Velma Dinkley, Shaggy Rogers (Apparently THAT was the preferred name of choice!)

And technically there was even an eighth if you included a dog called Scooby Doo.

This however, was a long game and he couldn't wait to get started and set the chess pieces in motion.