A/N: Hello, dear readers! I'd like to inform you that the first chapters are going through a bit of a re-design (a bit of creative change, if you will). Apologies to those who liked the original start, but thing is...I didn't. So a bit of change has occurred. Hopefully the change comes off as pleasing to you as it is to me. As always: Read, Review and Enjoy!
'Going fishing...' Those were the words that Old Man Grouse said to his neighbors by the time he left his home. But he didn't any fish. He found a young lady on the shores of the lake. Now no longer among the living, unfortunately.
'She's dead! Wrapped in plastic!', Them the words that were screamed on one side of the call, elderly vocals bringing forth Royal Woods' finest to the scene.
"I didn't do it! I found her like that, I swear!" said the panicking elder, his rotund frame jittery as he spoke.
"Don't worry, old timer. We believe you." Said the sole rookie cop on the scene, Howard McBride. A lanky fellow whose bright, ginger hair clashed with the blue of his uniform.
Not too far from the calming of elders, the crime scene was being examined. A frail cadaver, completely wrapped in a plastic sheet, as promised. A rotund detective in a blazer, named Dukes, he poked and prodded at it. Unveiling the plastic from the area that would be the face. And he did not like what he saw. He exhales as he stands, his closed eyes provide a sadden and exhausted expression.
"What do we got exactly, Dukes?" Howard asked as he approached his experience senior, after calming down Old man Grouse. Curious to see what the scene was without the panic of the elderly interfering.
"Do you not recognize the girl, rookie?" Whispers the gruff detective, pointing his finger at the unveiled corpse before them.
The revelation was a girl, young, about age 15. Her body dressed in soaked, purple clothing beneath the plastic that wrapped her like a Christmas gift. Her face drained of color and dotted with freckles. Her hair a wet and tangled mess of brunette.
"Can't say that I do." Howard answered ashamed, feeling both embarrassed and disrespectful.
"It's one of the Loud kids." Dukes answered, receiving a whole new response out of Howard. One of widen eyes, color draining from his face and all cylinders firing off in his brain.
"What?" Queried the bewildered ginger.
"Yep." Said Dukes, "This specifically is Luna Loud."
Howard then stared at the lying girl for a good number of seconds, though they seemed like hours in his head. Soaking it all in. A whole new reality was setting in for him.
"We should inform the family." Dukes says to his silent partner.
Howard snaps from his trance and looks at Dukes like he was crazy. "They'll tear the city apart for this."
"Yep." Dukes confirms, "But they deserve to know."
Howard gives one last glance at the late girl that was Luna Loud. And with that last glance, he couldn't help but agree with him...
Meanwhile...
Royal Woods was like every other town in the country. Generous to the eyes, seemingly bearing the image of the American dream. Bustling with people on the streets, Ford dominating the road, all scurrying to their work to defy the poverty that trend throughout the nation. As said, generous to the eyes. But the American dream is like any other dream. There's always that little speck of the image that hollers, waking you up from the illusion. Making you uncomfortable as you stir between what you see and what awaits you afterwards.
Royal Woods has its own little hollering speck. And it goes by the name of Lincoln Loud.
Lincoln Loud was young fella, about 11. His white hair was slicked back, held in a peculiar shape with some kind of grease. He wore an orange shirt with the sleeved rolled in, one withholding a pack of cigarettes. His red, beady eyes bore the expression of anger as he stood atop a soapbox and shouting as loud as he could be.
"Awhile back, Hoover was telling ya your jobs would be secure! That the economy would be okay! That load of malarkey aside, men would go out and try to change their situation! And when they did, the boys in blue would go out and punish them for it!" Lincoln shouted, attracting a number of children his age, surrounding the newspaper stand next to him.
"Hey kids! Ya wanna listen to the brat? Ya gotta buy somethin'!" The vendor said, agitated with the situation as it was. Many of the children, most of them boys, began to tossing nickels at the counter. Some snatching newspapers and magazines that simply stood on the rack and returned their attention to Lincoln.
"Most of our fathers were decent men who liked a drink on occasion! And when the law tried to take that from them, our fathers would not only try to return the drinks that we crave but as well as cash to your family's pockets! A pay-full opportunity denied by the dogs with badges!" Rambled the temperamental albino.
"Eh, shut up kid!" Shouted a passerby in response.
"You shut up!" Lincoln barked in return. He would then shrug and grumble to himself as he stepped off from the soapbox. "I'm taking a smoke break."
He unrolled one of his sleeves, liberating the crumpled pack of cigarettes from containment. He would take out one of the remaining few and a match. Sparking it up, he gleefully inhaled.
"Still around here, shouting about the coppers, huh?" someone said behind Lincoln. Lincoln turned to see an African-American child who was around his age, tattered clothes and his eyes painfully squinting. It was his friend, Clyde.
"Same as you being around to shine random people's shoes." Lincoln smirked with retort.
"Hey, it pays." Clyde shows off a palmed nickel before placing it on the vendor's counter. "One Pulp magazine, please."
"Sorry, fella." The vendor pushed back the nickel, "I got the right to refuse service to anyone and you ain't welcomed here."
"Hey, funny how you say that." Lincoln steps in, not looking happy. "I could always tell my Pop Pop to refuse your drinking habit."
The vendor looks at Lincoln, disgruntled. But he shrugs as he gives in, taking the nickel. He then grabbed a magazine and tosses at Clyde, ignorantly refusing to look in direction of the colored child. As he grabs hold of it, Clyde gleefully dives into his magazine's content.
"Thanks." Clyde said as he looks upon his reading material.
"Don't mention it." Lincoln says, looking upon the cover of Clyde's magazine, seeing a man in red tights and a mask. "How can you read that garbage?"
"What?" Clyde gripes in return, "It's Ace Savvy! The Savvy detective! Makes the world a better place and makes the cops looks like fools."
"I prefer making the cops look foolish by knocking them down and taking off." Lincoln murmurs as he inhaled from his cigarette. "Still, you got to admit. It's much more entertaining than the world around us." Clyde says, gesturing his hand at their surroundings. Lincoln simply shrugs.
A honk interrupts them.
Lincoln looked and saw two familiar faces sitting in a Ford. His sister Lori and her gentleman caller, Bobby Santiago. Clashed with his more casual looks himself, Lori and Bobby preferred to get more dolled up when they went out into town. Bobby wore a three piece suit and fedora that made him look professional for any work. Lori wore a dress of turquoise color, looking like the proper lady that she often pretended to be.
"Lincoln, get in here." Lori said to him with a calmed expression that was foreign to her little brother. "Mom wants us."
"See ya around, Clyde." Lincoln waved off his best friend off as he joined them. He was curious as to what this could be about...
Later...
Lincoln didn't like the police. None of the Loud children did, especially after what happened with their father. But this was the one time exception. As they all stood within the department that housed Royal Wood's so called "law enforcement". And not just any office. They were standing in the morgue, having to identify a body.
The detectives were correct. It was Luna.
Seeing the body of the musically inclined Loud lie there, it brought nearly all the Louds to tears. From the matriarch Rita to the infantile Lily. The only one not crying was Lincoln. No, he had to be tough for them. Couldn't bear weakness as the man of the house. He simply clenched his fist and darkened his expressions.
"When was the last time you saw?" Asked the fattest copper the children have ever seen, a Detective Dukes.
"N-not for awhile." Rita said through the sobs, "She ran off a couple days ago."
"Ran away?" Asked the other copper, one with ginger hair. Must be a mick, Lincoln theorized.
"Yes. With some friends into that new 'Rock 'n roll" craze." Said Luan, who's face was red from the sobbing. She was quite the closest with Luna.
"Ah, I see." Dukes said, supposedly understanding. God, Lincoln hated how condescending the police would be. His nailed stabbed the palms of his clenched fist as he saw them behave that way.
"Did you know the names of any of her friends?" Asked Howard, the red-haired copper. None of them speak.
"McBride, I believe we should give these folks some air." Dukes says, gesturing for the rookie to follow him out the door.
Howard nodded, understanding that the family needed to grieve. He left the room with his superior.
Rita broke down next to the cadaver that once was her child. She sobbed and sobbed until she couldn't form any actual words. She held baby Lily close to her chest, as if she was afraid that God would take another of her children right then and there.
The rest of the Loud children stood in place behind her. Tears streaming down their faces, yet said faces holding focused expressions. Each starring as if they nothing else on their minds but the late sister. Their eyes seemed conflicted as it couldn't decide between appearing sad or angry. So they bore the look of both.
Lincoln choose to break the silence among them.
"Whoever did this will be dead." Lincoln whispered fiercely to his sisters. "The cops won't do any good, but we'll find the scum and string him up."
The sisters simply nodded in agreement, as if it were the proper and clear approach to the situation. And to them, it was.
"Rest in peace, Luna." They all whispered as they bowed their heads in respect to their fallen sister.
By Loud hands, she will be avenged.
The End.