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The time for the feast at Salvación had come. Just like always when there was one, no matter the kind, the entire city on the canyon was brightly decorated with colorful streamers, garlands and lightbulb lines.
With each respective district, there was a spot set up for the communal meal. At the behest of the Dolarhydes, the Forresters opened up their storehouses and distributed a generous amount of food to the people. From end to end, jazz bands played their lively tune to lighten the unease that followed in the Dominion's wake. Everyone was expecting them to show up, now that Godfather extended the invitation himself. There wasn't going to be a war, the saying went. Not everyone heaved a sigh of relief at this, but they all were willing to indulge themselves in whatever form of escapism that was at their disposal.
At the manor itself, the best and finest were reserved for the upper echelon. Godfather wanted to make sure everything was in order for their honored guests, and should they fail to arrive, the preparations would at the very least make the celebration memorable. The patriarch of the house busied himself with freeing up his schedule, closing up all accounts regarding business so that his mind would be focused on one thing- making this new alliance work.
However, Junior had other ideas.
"Sir, might I have a moment of your time?" Vincent Cognellier approached his master.
Bennett waved him away with a stern and dismissive hand, still deep into the purchase invoices piled up on his desk that came with the party decorations. "Don't bother me right now, Vincent!"
"Regrettably sir, I must inform you despite your apprehension." The butler insisted, "It concerns Junior's... personal deviancies."
"Heavens, man!" The patriarch exclaimed, rushing back to shut the door. He waited a bit to listen if there was anyone in the halls, then straightened up to adjust his waistcoat. "We have guests! What possessed you to make mention of these things out loud? I swear, one of these days we'll all be lynched thanks to the carelessness running around in this house!"
"Forgive me, sir. But it's most urgent."
"Fine fine, out with it!"
"Junior's kidnapped another girl. He's in the lower roasting den right now, just getting started."
Bennett's eyes flashed with renewed fury. His lips pulled taut into a thin line under his mustache, and he stormed out of the office with Vincent trotting off not far behind him. Enraged at the actions of his son, despite his clear instruction not to engage in the clan's most cherished secret ritual, Bennett's mind filled with all manner of ideas for the punishment he would have Junior suffer. So much hung in the balance at that moment, and Godfather wasn't about to let his stupid progeny ruin it for the clan.
It was a short trip down through the old but reliable Teagle elevator to the secreted depths of the Dolarhyde manor. Here, the cellars and roasting dens once served as the holding areas for the most vile criminals in Four Seasons, as well as their execution chambers. Now, they served as Junior's personal playground. If he wasn't indulging himself in his private study or engaging in unspeakable acts with the mummified corpses he kept in his bedroom, the sadistic deviant came down to the cellars to have fun with his 'toys'. They were people who fell through the cracks of society and had the misfortune to land in Dolarhyde hands. 'No one will miss them', Junior would often say.
The victim in question was another whore from Reese's brothel in Summertown. Junior had his personal guards posted at the steel door that separated the cell from the wide corridor, so that he'd have plenty of privacy while he played with the girl. But even they had the sense not to be in the path of Bennett Dolarhyde Senior when he was of that mood.
Godfather tolerated his son's wickedness, for he himself was just as wicked. However, he fancied himself as one above the veiled barbarism of the Dolarhydes. An alpha wolf in a pack of rabid mongrels. There was a time and place for indulging in the pleasures of the flesh, and this was not the time.
"JUNIOR!" He thundered, throwing the door open.
The fat bastard was hunched over his victim, who was tied securely to an iron chair. The poor girl had been stripped to her underwear, her skin soaked with sweat from her exertions as she tried in vain to break free. Junior had been working her fingers with his knife, peeling the skin off starting from her pinkies to her thumbs. Her voice was a faint croak, for she'd been tearing her throat out with her agonized screams. Blood trickled in little droplets off the arms of the chair.
Hearing his father's voice, Junior bolted for the door, only to run smack into his father's heaving chest. He staggered backwards and dropped the knife.
"F-Father, I didn't... I-I didn't..." He stammered fearfully, the lying words tumbling over one another.
"You disobedient piglet..." There was a loud metallic jingle as Godfather removed his belt. He then proceeded to whip his son till he spent all his anger tanning the boy's hide and his arm tuckered out. Again and again, the belt whistled through the air and Junior sang in a manner similar to the tortured whore's screams. When Bennett was finished, he ordered the guards to throw a bag over the woman's head and lock Junior in his room. Under no circumstance was the boy going to ruin this for the clan, and since time was short he would have to deal with Junior later.
"Get the doc down here to patch this one's hands." He declared.
"Boss, the Jacksons are here." A Dolarhyde henchman stepped off the Teagle and informed Godfather just as the others dragged a squealing Junior upstairs. "And we've gotten reports from the lookout towers. The Dominion's on their way too."
"Good." The patriarch steadied himself and stretched his aching back. After working Junior over, he put a strain on his aging body. "Good. If the Dominion arrives, have them pass through the checkpoints without delay."
"Boss, that's the thing. They ain't comin' by land."
"What? What's that supposed to mean?"
"They're comin' by air."
Little John glanced up at the powerful hum of furiously spinning rotors overhead. Snowball, bored from the long ride, jumped out of the elevator car that brought them up to the uppermost district of Salvación. The dog barked and yipped excitedly at the sight of the Dominion aircraft. Two Condor gunships escorted a third transport bird into the manor vicinity. People nervously peered out of windows, balconies and street corners but hesitated to get close. Most of them have never seen a helicopter before, let alone as heavily armed as these ones.
These weren't the nimble XVB-series light vertibirds that dominated the skies of Elysion some years back. The Condors were the new transport and close air support crafts in the Dominion armed forces. Like their namesake they were bigger, tougher, had better engines and carried a lot more firepower than their predecessors. Instead of manned mini-guns at the doors, the Condors had two ball-turrets mounted on the underside of each wing deice, armed with twin-barrel gyrostabilized 20mm autocannons, all slaved to the controls of the pilot's console. Additional armaments with other variants included laser-guided smart-bombs, unguided streak rockets or multi-laser fusion-lances.
The Condors landed on top of Bennett's prized front lawn, messing up the green grass and earning the ire of the manor groundskeeper. Two squads of Aegis soldiers marched out of the rear loading ramp of the transport Condor, frightening the guests when they purposefully displayed their more advanced arsenal. It was another show of force, one to drive home the message that the Dominion didn't come at anyone's behest save for its own. Kitty Reyncourt and Lt. Nobby Hynes walked out to meet the Dolarhydes. Godfather came with his usual entourage of bodyguards and sycophants. Lily Dolarhyde kept her distance but showed her interest in the Dominion judge.
The girl was fascinated with the sight of a woman in armor who carried herself with as much authority as the men, perhaps more.
"Lieutenant Hynes!" Godfather greeted the party, extending a welcoming hand to the man. "I despaired at the thought of you not coming, but dear me, you certainly know how to make an entrance!"
"First impressions are always important, Mr. Dolarhyde." Nobby said in turn.
"I don't believe we've met." The patriarch nodded towards Kitty, "I'm-"
"I know who you are." The judge said bluntly, "I am Judge Reyncourt, I am the Dominion law and if you're not well acquainted with me now, you will be."
Hearing the threatening undertone behind the statement, the smile on Godfather's face disappeared and a single bead of sweat trickled down his left temple. It was as if he subconsciously knew his family's sins would find him out, even if the judge had no clue just how degenerate the Four Seasons upper class was. The proverbial bill was on its way. Nervously, he ushered the guests inside, although insisting that they disarm before entering. This led to a brief but heated argument, as the Dominion soldiers had no intention of following a non-citizen's commands. Thus, a compromise was proposed before a fight broke out. The armed escort was to remain outside, while the judge and lieutenant ventured indoors unarmed.
It was a compromise everyone agreed upon.
Little John and the Jacksons arrived last. He and the judge met at the bottom of the stairs leading into the main door of the manor. Nobby went ahead, busying himself with defusing the tense exchange between the two parties in hopes of better acclimating the Four Seasons upper echelon to the idea of Dominion assimilation. He shook hands with the other clan heads that showed up to the party. Unsurprisingly, there still was no sign of the Crowes. Kitty beheld Little John with cold indifference when he approached her, although amazed herself that he showed up when he did.
The man decided to get straight to the point before either of them got ahead of themselves, "Judge, can we talk? Privately, I mean."
Kitty frowned but said nothing. She followed John to a spot near the landing site of the three Condors, away from the prying ears of the Dolarhydes and other guests. She noticed him visibly gathering the courage to speak up about the matter, but there was some hesitance, largely on his part. So, she made it easier on him. "Come on man, spit it out. I don't have all bloody day."
"I ain't here for the party." John blurted, "I need your help."
"With what?"
"Molly Wes, my woman, she's gone missing a while back. I've picked up on her trail and it's led me here. I wanna poke around, search the place while the party's ongoin'. I know for a fact, the Dolarhydes got her locked up in here somewhere. I'd ask my kin to back me up, but Pop's keen on making this whole business pass smoothly. He won't risk nothin', but I reckoned you have no such apprehensions."
"It's no secret I don't, but why should I help you?"
"Back in Camp Torchlight, you told me how much you hate us. That we're nothin' but barbarians in gussied up suits-"
Kitty bristled at the accusation, "I said nothing of the sort!"
"Not in so many words, no." Little John pointed out, "But my point is, Madam Judge, how 'bout you help me find my Molly and I'll help you find some dark n' nasty secrets 'neath this here manor?"
He didn't tell her how it was Mama Jackson's visions that pointed him towards Salvación. He didn't know what exactly he would uncover, the visions only told of bad things hidden behind the Dolarhyde veil of elegance. That could mean anything, and most of them meant he'd never see Molly alive again. But a man's love is fierce, he would go through hell or high water for his woman. And if he did find out she was gone, indeed there would be hell to pay.
"I do love me some good old fashioned sleuthing." Kitty considered his words carefully, then agreed to his proposition. She found the idea of a party a boring affair. And although she held no love for anyone in Four Seasons, a little mystery hunt was simply too good a distraction to pass up, "Alright then, you got yourself a deal Mr. Jackson. What's the plan?"
Little John nodded gratefully, "Godfather's gonna talk everyone's ears off the whole time, so I'll have plenty of a chance to poke around. But I'm no fool, I know I'll be spotted sooner or later. I just need you and yer boys to be able to back me up. Yall got enough firepower to set this here manor ablaze a hundred times over."
Kitty tilted her head to the side and smiled, her eyes hard and serious. "Those guns aren't just for show, true enough. But I'm not setting my dogs loose unless you've got hard evidence of the crime. Do I make myself clear?"
"Fair enough. I'll get you your evidence."
The two went their separate ways, the railsplitter towards the secluded corners of the manor and the judge to mingle with the other guests. Little John watched Kitty resume her disdainful act of the sneering imperialist, waited until all eyes were upon the Dominion visitors, then slipped away towards the long corridors that ran through the Dolarhyde ancestral home. He relied on faint memories from his visits as a child, when his father took him along on his business trips to the canyon city. Much had changed in the layout of the furniture, the walls and stairs. And yet much remained the same.
Little John managed to slip his knife past the guards' pat-down, though he kept it hidden for the most dire of emergencies only. He didn't actively seek out trouble, he just wanted to find his girl and get both of them out, without starting a war if possible.
His first thought was to check the rooms for the manor help, where the maidservants slept. While most of the guards had their hands full with the guests, going there still meant he would have to pass by a cleaning lady or two. All Little John had to do was act like he belonged there, giving the maids an acknowledging nod as if he was a Dolarhyde or Crowe man himself. As for the more inquisitive exceptions, most of the help were too busy trying to keep their jobs so they kept their heads down. Upon seeing John, they went about their business and didn't bother him as he crossed the hallways looking for Molly.
Arriving at the first destination, he discovered that each door opened up to an empty room. Growing frantic, Little John went through every desk, bookshelf and bed trying to search for clues. All his attempts yielded nothing, and his despair deepened.
Little John stood in silence for a few minutes, thinking back to what Mama Jackson revealed to him.
Suddenly, the butler Vincent Cognellier appeared at the door. The old gentleman's face was a mask of passiveness, but his eyes betrayed his astonishment. He knew who Little John was, and had the impression of an idea as to the reason why he was snooping around. As for Little John, seeing Vincent allowed a clearer picture of the plot. He recognized the butler from that night, when the lovers parted ways at the Dolarhyde gates, the last time he ever saw Molly.
The words found their way to his lips, and Little John's hands curled into fists. "Where is she?"
"Sir, I don't have the slightest idea what you think you're doing..." Vincent moved to reach for something under his sleeve, under the guise of fixing up a cufflink. "But you're trespassing. I will have to ask you to leave immediately."
"Don't dodge my question, dammit!" Little John pointed a threatening finger his way, "You know what- Agh! Sonuvabitch!"
Before he realized what was happening, Vincent had already pulled out a large knife the size of his forearm. The butler sliced off the tip of Little John's right index finger, goading the man to spring into action. Little John was the bigger man, cutting off a finger did little to change that. Within a second, his hands were on Vincent's wrist and he twisted so hard that nearly went a full 360. A loud shriek burst out of the gentleman's lips, the knife dropped to the floor and up against the wall did Vincent soon find himself.
Little John's hands closed down tight against his windpipe, allowing just a little room for him to stay conscious. "Where's Molly? Talk to me, asshole!"
"H-Hhh..." Vincent wheezed, his cry for help coming out as a hoarse whisper. "Help me, somebody!"
The railsplitter pulled then slammed the old man back against the wall. "No one will hear you from here, and I will squeeze the fucking life out of you if you don't answer my question!"
"Wait, wait!" Vincent gasped, blurting out the first thing that came to his oxygen-deprived brain. "Junior will know!"
John's eyes narrowed, "Where's Junior?"
The butler gave him directions to Junior's room, desperate to escape the vengeful Jackson. Once he got the info, John dropped the old man to the floor and put his boot through his face. There was a loud crack as something broke in Vincent's jaw, but John was already out of the room. He bluffed about the part of nobody hearing the ruckus, he knew it was only a matter of time before someone alerted the guards.
He followed the directions given to him and was up the stairs before he knew it. Little John pulled out his knife and winced at the pain lancing up and down his arm. Vincent cut him good. "Damn bastard..." He muttered as he approached the door. Putting his ear close to the wood, he heard the muffled grunts of someone inside. It couldn't have been a man, it sounded more like the grunting of a pig.
After glancing back and forth from the hall to make sure no one was around, Little John mentally steeled himself for the impending confrontation. It was going to be a short confrontation, but no amount of mental fortitude could ever prepare him for the evil that lay behind that door. It was locked securely, but Little John had one hell of a kick.
With a loud crack, the door swung open.
Junior was half-hunched, pants down and clutching tightly to a strange oval object which was pressed towards his nethers. His round face was bruised and scratched from his father's beatings. He was sweaty, so sweaty that he reeked of something vile. The lights in his room were dim, but John could make out what the object in his hands was just by looking long enough.
It was a woman's head.
Too shocked and appalled to do anything else other than stare in disbelief, Little John stood frozen in place as Junior dropped the head and stumbled awkwardly towards his bed. Up on the wall above the headboard hung a double-barreled shotgun, but Junior's weight and stumbling gait prevented him from reaching the weapon.
There was a grim fascination in John, he had no idea why but he crossed that threshold and approached the head nonetheless. As if in a trance or drawn to by an unseen hand, he reached for the thing and held it up in the light. A mixture of sadness, grief and smoldering rage replaced the look of horror on his face when recognition dawned upon John.
He found Molly.
And all he could see in the following moment was red. A bright bloody veil of murderous red. He had the knife in his hand, and Junior's greasy hair in the other. The blade descended, and the shrill cries of a pig being butchered filled the air.
Kitty glanced up from her plate just as the waiter filled up her glass with iced bourbon. She could've sworn that she heard someone crying out in agony. But whatever she heard, it was quickly drowned out by the titter of half-drunk guests and the lively jazz music of the band playing in the corner of the outdoor gardens. Little John was right about Godfather talking their ears off. Just like he did back at the pavilion in Camp Torchlight, he bragged about the things his clan owned and the riches he accumulated from the great-mines.
There were some men from the party who weren't put off by her icy demeanor, most likely rendered uninhibited by drink. False courage got them as far as dropping a few sleazy comments or bad pickup lines. Nobby drove them off before Kitty buried her thumbs in their sockets. The party, overall, was as terrible as she imagined. At least the food was passable by Dominion standards.
The minutes ticked on and on until an hour passed. Then two. But just as Kitty thought it would never end, Little John finally showed up.
There was a collective gasp from the guests who saw him first. Covered in blood from head to toe, dragging with him a large bundled up blanket stained with as much red as the man himself, Little John was like a dead cat thrown into a dance parlor. The Jackson clansmen immediately turned from the tables and ran up to his side, only to be brushed aside as he headed for where Kitty was sitting.
Seeing that something was amiss, the Dolarhyde guards converged slowly towards John with their weapons drawn. The railsplitter didn't seem to care, it was like something was snuffed out inside him.
"Boy, what the hell happened to ya?" Big Daddy demanded at the scene after jostling his way through the crowd, "And what's that in your hand?"
Little John ignored him, drawing the attention of the judge as he cried out in an exhausted and grieving voice. "I have your evidence, Judge Reyncourt! A dozen heads from a dozen women, all found in Bennett Dolarhyde Junior's room!" Another collective gasp, followed by the frantic murmur of agitated elitists. "Among them was my woman, Molly Wes! Murdered and desecrated!"
Hearing him mentioning Junior, Godfather's concern for his son outweighed his concern for the discovery of his victims' remains. "Junior? What have you done with my son?"
Little John's lips curled into a mocking smirk through the blood, "He told me everything as I carved him up like the fucking degenerate pig he was. The Dolarhydes are cannibals! And Junior was a corpse-fucking deviant!"
The accusation fell upon more guilty ears than anyone could've anticipated. Kitty had been trained to read people well enough to see that the elitists of Four Seasons knew, perhaps even participated with, the evil practices of the Dolarhyde clan.
Something had to be done.
"I welcome you into my home, and you murder my son?!" Bennett screamed, "I swear, I'll kill you-"
"Is this true, Bennett?" Big Daddy asked, "Were the rumors true after all?"
Kitty reached up for the radio hanging by her shoulder and transmitted a quick message while everyone was distracted, "All call-signs, converge on my location."
"It's true!" Lily Dolarhyde declared before her father could spout out any more lies.
"Lily, you shut your fucking mouth girl!" Godfather hissed.
"Enough, dad! No more lies! We are all guilty of cannibalism, Big Daddy. And I'm sick of it all. Judge, whatever you gotta do- you gotta do."
Kitty's gaze narrowed, there's hate in her eyes. A cold killer's fury. She didn't have the voice of an angel, not the gentle whisper of a pretty little minx from some lonely farm.
Hers was as hard and cruel as liquor, sweet but brutal- a black widow's voice. There were no threats in her words, only guarantees. "Kidnappers. Murderers. Cannibals. Rapists and necrophiles. You all die today."
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