Chapter 8- A Trip Down Memory Lane
A/n: This is really just for you to learn a little more about the characters since it's the 8th chapter and the story's pretty deep, I thought it was time for some bios. This is gonna be the longest chapter yet . Oh, and thanks for reviewing….I'm updating as fast as possible. Just so ya know, there is a sequel to this that I'm currently working on….so hope you look forward to it !
"Oh, Tom, you're so sweet," Angela said. Tom held his girlfriend tighter. The two 16 year-olds embraced each other. "When do you get released form the orphanage?" Angela asked.
"Next year," Tom said, a little embarrassed by the fact that he had grown up in an orphanage.
"That's great! We'll be 18 in two years, then we'll get married!"
"Of course," Tom said, he kissed her lips.
When they separated Angela stood up and walked over to the soda machine. "Do you want anything?"
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
"Angela!" Tom yelled. He dodged being hit by any bullets. Angela, on the other hand, had been shot three times in the back. Her body sprawled on the sidewalk. "Angela, no! You fucking bastards!"
The black car speed off. Tom barely caught the license plate- 7RELLIK-. He reached his girlfriend's body, stroking her face he cried, "Wake up! Angela? Angela? Wake up! Angela!"
He heard police sirens coming their way. A police car pulled up near them. Two police men got out and walked over to Tom. "What happened here, son?" one asked.
"A God damn drive by! They shot my girlfriend! She's dead! She's dead!" Tom broke down into tears.
"C'mon, Son. Let's go downtown." The other police officer said.
"No! No man!" Tom yelled. He stood up crying. He ran away from the police, disappearing down a darkened alley. He sat down on a stoop and cried himself to sleep.
He awoke the next morning at sunrise. Tom was barely able to think straight. Crying himself to sleep made him feel groggy and miserable. The only thought in his mind was to find those guys and kill them for killing Angela. It was almost a dream. Angela, his Angela, killed in a New York drive by. These guys were going down.
Tom wandered off to the troublesome side of New York City. Walking around he found Joey, a gun dealer from Tom's high school. "Joey!" Tom called. Joey looked at him when his name was called.
"Man, what happened to you? Get wasted or something?" Joey asked.
"Angela was shot."
"Oh, damn. I'm sorry, man. What do you need?" he asked sympathetically.
"A gun."
"You're going after those guys?" Joey asked surprised.
"Yeah. How much?" Tom asked.
"Free." Joey said handing him a gun.
"I owe ya one."
"Just don't rat me out." Joey said grinning.
"Deal. Thanks, man." Tom said gratefully.
"No biggie."
Tom strode off in search of the guys who killed his girlfriend. He saw a gang hanging out in an alley near a bar. "Hey, what you think you doin' commin' up in here, white boy?" One of them asked.
"I'm looking for someone whose license plate is 7RELLIK." Tom said.
"7RELLIK? Damn, dawg. You be lookin' for Rondell." Another one said.
"Where could I find Rondell?" Tom asked.
"What do we get for telling you?" the guy who appeared to be the leader of the gang asked.
"Here." Tom said. He pulled out his wallet and took out his license then tossed the wallet to the guy. "There's about 600 dollars in there. Keep it."
"A'ight, dawg. Rondell lives over in the apartments near the old warehouse on Elm Street. Apartment 6A."
"Thanks." Tom said walking away. An hour later he was at the door of apartment 6A. He pulled the gun out of his coat pocket and grasped it tightly in his right hand. Opening the door he found Rondell and three other guys lounging on couches and chairs.
"What the hell do you think you're doin' commin' up in here thinkin' you own da place just cuz you is white?" Rondell spat.
"No," Tom said, he held the gun up and pointed it at Rondell. "What the hell did you think you were doing last night when you killed Angela?"
When Rondell didn't answer, Tom went berserk. He pulled the trigger and shot Rondell directly between the eyes. The three other guys started to come after him, but he shot them too. He stood there, in the middle of the room, looking at the four bodies. He began to shake violently, never had he killed another person.
Tom ran out of the apartment. Whenever he saw a cop car he hid. He didn't know if anybody had found the bodies and called the police. He decided it best to run away. So that's what he did, ran.
That night he was walking down a low-lighted street. He noticed a limousine was following him. When he stopped, it stopped. Tom starred at the limo, waiting for something to happen. At last a door opened and a man dressed in a grey suit got out. He looked like he was in his thirties. He walke dright up to Tom, smiled, and said, "So you're the boy who killed Rondell?"
"Uh…Who are you?" Tom asked nervously.
"The name is Kohlson. I run an assassin group."
"What do you want with me?"
"Well, you killed my employee so I wanted you to replace him."
"You want me to be an assassin?"
"Yes. I can cover up this incident so it never happened and you'll no longer exist to any, but me, those you work with, and those you kill…"
"So nobody will know I killed those guys?"
"As long as you work for me and follow those orders to the exact specifications then no one will know."
"Deal."
Tom climbed into the limo an doff they went.
Dyllan-
"God dammit, Steven!" Dyllan could hear his mother's voice screech and then a crash . His mother had thrown another glass at his father and the glass hit the wall instead.
"Hey, shut up! I'm tryin' to do my homework here!" he yelled back.
"Shut your damn mouth!" his father replied.
"Go to hell!" Dyllan yelled.
Loud stomps were heard coming towards his room. Dyllan waited for the door to swing open. A moment later it did. In came his father, angry and beat red. His hands moving to the belt at his waist. Fumbling with the buckle his father pulled of his brown leather belt. Snapping the air with it once, his father brought his belt down hard on Dyllan's back.
Dyllan flinched once. Then he waited for the scratchy-screechy voice of his mother. A thick smell of cigarettes and whisky filled the air. Another three strike of his father's belt nailed his back. "Steven leave that boy alone!" his mother said half drunkenly.
"You shut up, bitch!" his father barked. He struck Dyllan again.
"Ah! Asshole!" Dyllan yelled.
His father struck him several more times. "I'll teach you to balk talk to me, boy!"
"You bastard!" his mother's voice screeched. "You leave him alone!" Smack! Dyllan knew what was coming and he wasn't going to stand fo rit.
"You filthy slut!" his father yelled. He took his belt and hit Dyllan's mother several times.
"Stop!" Dyllan yelled jumping up.
"You little ingrate!" his father yelled.
He whipped the belt at Dyllan's face. Blacking it with his arm, Dyllan let the belt wrap around his arm. Grasping it by the end, he pulled on it and his father began to fall toward shim. Bringing his knee up he nailed his father in the stomach.
When his father fell to the ground gasping for air, Dyllan began punching him. After a few punches he stopped. "No! No, I'm not gonna be like you!" Dyllan stood up. He looked to his mother, she was half drunk and almost in tears. "I'm not like you! I'll never be like you! Ever! Maybe you deserve this, mom! You drunk! I'm leaving, for good!"
Dyllan ran past his mother and out the door. His mother stumbled after him. "Dyllan, wait, come back!"
"No!" he ran down the block. The only light from the street lamps lit the way.
The last he knew he had blacked out. Awaking the next morning in an alley. Standing up, he walked out onto the bustling sidewalk of San Diego. He looked at the street sign, no wonder his legs hurt. He was almost four miles from his home. Better off heading towards the crummy side of town. Maybe then they won't find me there, Dyllan thought. He headed off the other side of town.
As he entered the lower class part of town he ran into a gang. "What are you doing here?" A black man asked, a cigarette in hand.
"Ran away from home." Dyllan answered.
"You smoke? Drink? Anything?"
"Nae, but I'm good at shoplifting."
"Hmm…Where you crashin'?"
"I dunno."
"C'mon."
Dyllan followed the gang back to an abandoned warehouse. "Here, light up." They guy tossed Dyllan a joint and a lighter, then lit one up for himself. Dyllan followed. When he took his first drag he coughed until he vomited.
In the next month, Dyllan a heavy-duty shoplifter and he began smoking marijuana. One day hhe was coming home from lifting some beer from a local gas station. He saw a couple of police cars in front of the building. Trying not to act suspicious, Dyllan began walking down the street by the house. He oculd see the gang being handcuffed and place din backseats of police cars. "That's him! That's him! Over there! That's Dyllan Manchez!"
"Awe, crap!" Dyllan said. He began running. He ran to the gas station and climbed into a car. Leaning under the steering wheel , he began hot wiring the car. Just as he was almost finished the door opened. A tall man, about 18, with black hair and cobalt blue eyes stood before him. "Dammit! Not again!"
"Uhmmm…Can I help you?" The man asked.
Dyllan sat up. "You're not gonna call the fuzz on me?"
"Not if you tell me why you're hot wiring my car?"
"I ran away from home about a month ago. My gang just got busted and the cops are after me."
Sirens began coming closer. "Move over." the man said. Dyllan did. The man took his seat, reached under the wheel and finished what Dyllan had started. The car wouldn't run otherwise. The man stepped on the gas, pressed a button, and in three minutes left the cops in the dust.
"Uh…Thanks man." Dyllan said. "So, what's your name?"
"Tom."
" Where are we going?" Dyllan asked.
"I'm going to employ you."
"Employ me? For what?"
"I'm an assassin. You're going to be in my group. Kohlson thinks it's about time I got a partner."
"Uh, okay." Dyllan said a little shocked. Then he hyped up, "Sounds wicked!"
Dymetrio-
"Ew! You sick freak! You're gay?" Jeff yelled.
"Awe, sick man!" another fraternity brother yelled.
"Man, get the hell out!"
"Dymetrio, we don't allow gay guys here in this fraternity. SO get your stuff and leave." Jeff said.
Dymetrio grabbed his duffle bag and walked out the door. He found an apartment in San Antonio. He was at party where he got into a big fight and stabbed a guy. He was then sent to a boy's reformatory.
He was there about two weeks before a visit from his "brother" Tom. "Hello, Dymetrio."
"Who a re you?" Dymetrio asked.
"I'm your new big brother and about to be your ticket out of here, but only if you agree to join my group."
"Group of what?"
"Assassins."
"Why would I wanna be?"
"Well, would you like to be another face in the crowd, made fun of and discriminated for being a homosexual, or live the exciting, secret life of an officially hired assassin?"
"I guess being an assassin would be pretty cool. What's the catch?"
"No catch. Let's go."
"Wait. What about those police out there?"
"I gave 'em enough knock out gas to keep them asleep for 20 hours."
Tom and Dymetrio walked out of the building untouched. Team member number three Dymetrio.