Chapter 5: Wilder

January 29th 2023

The bus journey home took longer than Wilder expected. The rain finally stopped and the people emerged from shop doors and eateries like bees to sugar. Gathering in the streets immediately as soon as the first ray of sun parted through the clouds.

Acquiring a seat on the bus wasn't too difficult today, which was a nice surprise. As a regular to the public transport system, Wilder would often be standing and holding the pole for the entire journey. Not because people were being racist and forcing him to stand, no.

The bus was often packed full of residents and travellers going on with their lives. It was rare for Wilder to find a seat, and when he did, he would often courteously give it up to an old lady or pregnant woman standing nearby.

But not today. Today it was an unusual semi empty bus. No standers and plenty of unfilled seats. The only thing full in view, was the high traffic count getting out of Kenzington.

Wilder would like to think perhaps the recent high jacking has deterred the common folk from travelling by bus. It did not matter to him, he liked to ride by bus, it was his preferred mode of transport.

He has made many more friends and connections by talking to random strangers on his journeys through London than he has elsewise. Everyone had a story eager to tell to help pass the time, and Wilder listened to each and every one with interest. Some would talk about the weather, others the sad state of politicians, traffic came about often than nothing.

Sadly, the most talked about subject was the gang violence that erupted after Kira's disappearance.

For seven good long years when Kira ruled the world, the crime rate had fallen below six percent in all London boroughs. Any man, woman or child from every race could wonder the streets without fear of muggers, shooters and of course, knife wielders.

Wilder has seen his fare share of knife attacks in London, lost a few good friends when he was younger to the tip of a blade. That all changed when criminals started to fall down dead in the street. No bullet wounds or stab entries. Just dead.

And the name Kira soon blessed onto their mouths of the people like hope from the darkness.

However, that was long ago. Nowadays, fear ruled London. And from within that primordial nature formed a new gang that brought their own mark of terror onto the neighbourhoods. Their name was the "Crimson Claws"

Stepping off the bus with his briefcase in hand, Wilder adjusted his tie as he turned and headed for the next street around the corner with short casual steps. Even though he was late getting home, he couldn't rush the sights and smells of familiar ground.

Smiling a homely smile as a pub called "Prince of Peckham" came into view. With it, above the main door, "Welcome to Peckham" greeted Wilder in large white paint on the walls of the pub.

"Good to be back" he said.

Within view, just behind the establishment was home sweet home. A tall apartment building that stood in the centre of a square residential area.

"Good morning" Wilder greeted as he entered the building, passing by old lady Mrs Miller, going off to the shops now that the weather had cleared up. The old lady didn't seem to notice Wilder or at least forgot to put in her hearing aids again, as she just walked by in a hurried shuffle ignoring Wilder's greeting.

Smiling pleasantly as Mrs Miller disappeared, Wilder Passed quickly by the lift without giving it a second glance, choosing to instead proceed to the stairs as "they" were in working functional order, unlike the elevator.

A few minutes of climbing several floors, Wilder finally reached floor eight with slight shortness of breath and little pain in his legs. Recomposing himself from his long climb up, he headed straight for room 8C and knocked thrice on the white wooden door.

Knock. Knock. Knock….

No one replied. He knocked again but louder.

Knock. Knock. Knock….

Still no reply. Clearing his throat and planting his briefcase onto the floor, Wilder tapped the door handle with sufficient force, seeing if it was locked.

A light creak screeched as the door opened with little effort. The sight of which concerned Wilder as a bead of sweat formed from his brow.

Pushing the wood gently with his fingers, Wilder cautiously entered the property as he pulled out his metal pen from inside his suit.

The pen may not be an effective weapon as a blade. It was a small simple object compared to a knife or a cleaver. But in Wilder's fingers, it was just as good as a tool and as decently sharp if thrusted with enough force.

Pointing the pen firmly towards the ground, Wilder walked stiffly into the Livingroom with tiny quiet steps. He did not know what to expect as he surveyed his surroundings.

Nothing had seemed to be stolen. The tv still hung on the wall, the couch had not magically disappeared and a jar of pennies still stood on the glass coffee table; almost begging to be nicked.

The room was undisturbed.

"Brooke!" he called out, but there was no reply.

"Brooke!" he shouted feeling tension in his chest.

Creaking, Wilder spun with his weapon firmly ready as he saw the bathroom door open and a tall shapely dark-skinned woman appeared from within dripping in a towel.

She didn't seem to notice Wilder at first as the woman ringed out her long hair onto the floor. Light splashes of water trickled as Wilder stared at the near nakedness of the woman's body.

Glancing away from the floor, the woman's eyes paired with Wilder's as she immediately halted in her wet steps.

"Oh shit!" she gasps, clinging tightly to her towel over her decently sized chest. "Clarke! Fuck. Why didn't you knock?"

Coughing up a smile he was trying to hide, Wilder turned his back to Brooke so that she could feel less exposed.

"My deepest apologies Brooke. I did knock but your door was unlocked and I- "

Interrupting him with a knowing sigh, Brooke smiled "you thought I was in danger? Heh. You know me better than that Clarke. I must have forgotten to lock the door after getting pizza for Isabele"

Wilder twitched at the name as he tucked away his pen "Isabele. How is she doing?"

"What? No how are you, Brooke?" she mocked, knowingly full well that Wilder meant nothing by it.

A gentle thud hit the floor, Wilder did not need to see to realise Brooke had dropped her towel while he stared at the black screen tv on the wall. If he wanted to, Wilder could gaze his eyes and track Brooke in the mild reflection of the surface. Giving him glimpses of her naked body.

But she trusted him too well to know he would not do that. Instead, she moved into the adjoining open kitchen to continue the conversation in the nude while she dried out.

"Isabele is currently asleep in my bed, she was tired after dinner" she remarked as she turned on the kettle.

"Two sugars?" she asked.

"Please, no milk… I meant, how is she from yesterday… was she scared?" Wilder replied stoically.

The clinking of cups hitting the counter twitched his ear as Brooke struggled to come up with an answer.

"I- I was scared" Brooke began sullenly "we were right in the thick of it. I never had a gun waved so close to my face before. But Isabele… she remained quiet"

"Quiet? My Isabele?" Wilder almost turned to Brooke as she gave her answer but he immediately turned to the tv once more.

"Yeah. We were all scared when that man pointed his gun at us. But Isabele. She was calm, she was smiling. She tried to comfort me and said that her mother would protect us?"

The kettle stopped boiling as a ping let her know it was ready "her mom's… my sister is dead, Clarke. Is Isabele, okay?"

A twinge of grief befell Wilder's lips as the thought of his dearly departed wife past his memories.

"Isabele is… she is still at the age for imaginary friends. Her… "mother" may be a coping mechanism to handle grief or stressful situations. She's twelve. She will grow out of it eventually. Give it time Brooke" Wilder reassured her as the sounds of pouring hot water played in his ear.

"I hope you're right Clarke. Seeing that… what that man did after he stepped off the bus… shit Clarke! It was horrible!" Brooke replied as she held back the tears.

Keeping his eyes to the wall, Wilder walked carefully into the kitchen, using his memory to dodge the couch in his way.

Reaching out with a reassuring hand, Wilder grasped Brooke by the shoulder and gently comforted her.

"He's dead now. That man can no longer harm either of you. Do not let that memory of his passing define the rest of your life. Build from it, learn from it as… as I have… and thanks to you, and your courage, your niece gets to see another day"

Taking Wilder's hand, Brooke rested her damp head of hair onto it as she stroked his fingers.

"Thank you, Clarke"

A few hours had passed and the afternoon had turned to evening. Wilder sat comfortably on the couch with his fourth cup of coffee being nursed warmly in his hands. The only light in the room was from the tv as it played a random channel left on without volume.

Brooke lay beside him. Dressed in her pyjamas, her head rested on Wilder's lap as her legs curled into the couch. She insisted on him staying over for the night while Isabele slept in the next room.

"Why wont you say yes to me Clarke?" she smiled outwardly.

Taking another sip from his cup as Wilder stroked her long black hair, he contemplated briefly on the question before replying "I still miss her. Leah… your sister… sigh… I can't love another after her... I loved you both, even when we were children. You both helped me grow as a man, and each of you held a part of my heart. But now she is gone, and I… I feel empty inside. The piece she held is missing and it cannot be replaced by yours"

He stopped stroking her hair suddenly as his emotions hurt inside "I do love you, Brooke. But I cannot love you"

Wilder did not need to see but he could hear Brooke cry softly in his lap. What he said to her was by no means a lie. However, it was only half of the truth.

Some time had passed and Brooke had cried herself to sleep. His lap wet with tears, Wilder placed his coffee cup on the floor and gently removed himself from Brooke.

Quietly moving to the bedroom door, he opened it without trouble or sound and saw his little Isabele still soundly asleep in bed. The covers had been kicked off again as her dreams held great adventures.

"Long day my little bell" he quietly whispered as he left the door open.

Standing before the sleepy Brooke, he cupped her into his arms and carried her into her bedroom and nestled her gently next to Isabele.

Tucking the pair into bed, Wilder planted a light kiss onto Isabele's cheek. Turning to Brooke, her lips seemed to glisten as though to tempt his desires.

Leaning over to her, he hesitated before kissing her brow "good night, Brooke" he said quietly as she shuffled into her blankets.

Standing at the open door, Wilder held it as he observed his loved one's dream. A pleased loving look entered his smile as he slowly closed the door.

But just before it could, Wilder spoke to someone else in the room in hushed tones "Samui! Come"

Shifting from underneath the bed, a deep black shadow crawled as thin as paper across the floor and darted under the door as it closed.

Appearing as a puddle of black before the tv, the mass of darkness started to form and grow. Within its space, a tall midnight feminine creature formed with hair as long and flowing as air.

She held no physical features aside from a woman's shape and blue cracks that formed her black body. The Shinigami stood watching with no eyes and spoke with no mouth.

"Wilder" she said as though her voice was carried by the air.

"I trust your business with Taylor has concluded?"

Undisturbed or intimidated by her appearance, Wilder seated himself close to the standing strange beauty. "Mark Taylor is no longer of concern" he began as though there was no hint of emotion in his words.

"So, he is dead?"

"No. killing a man in a position such as he would invite others to take his place. He is broken. Both physically and mentally. Those loyal to him will now learn the consequences of following such a man. Soon his boys will leave Peckham alone and his operation will come to an end"

Samui nodded slowly as her body flowed in motion "I understand. As long as Isabele is safe, nothing else concerns me"

Wilder was pleased by her answer as he picked up his cup of coffee from the floor. It was cold now, the taste on his lips was unpleasant but he drank anyway.

"Thank you, Samui" Wilder said suddenly to her surprise.

"Why do you thank me, Wilder?"

Resting the back of his head into the soft couch, Wilder looked towards the ceiling and remarked "I would not have known that Henry Price had entered that bus. I would not have known he was with a gun if you had not left Isabele's side. Thank you for letting me kill that man and for protecting my daughter in her time of need"

If Samui was grateful, Wilder could not tell. Her brief silence would speak volumes if he could read her emotionless face.

"Shinigami do not need thanks… but your words are appreciated anyway"

Smiling slightly before it vanished, Wilder turned his gaze to her and noted "She called you mother again. Brooke heard it this time. Amusing isn't it. She was scared when she first saw you"

Tilting her head slightly Samui remarked with intrigue "So where you once… But her affection to me is not needed. We Shinigami are lords over death, not would be mothers wanting for a child"

Planting the coffee cup onto the glass table with a clink, Wilder hunched over with his hands clasped as though he disliked the answer.

"After Leah's passing, Isabele hasn't really opened up to me. She doesn't speak of her anymore. I would appreciate it if you could become a motherly figure to her until she matures. Keep watch over her as you have done"

Reaching underneath the couch, Wilder felt for a slight opening where the seams split into two, creating a hole. From within, laying on the bottom of the couch, Wilder pulled out a Death Note and laid it onto the glass table.

Opening the book to its second page, a series of names greeted him on the left-hand side as half the page on the right greeted in turn.

"You have another name Wilder?" asked Samui with interest as she moved behind him to get a better look.

"I have another name" he replied confidently "but I need to keep him alive as well. I do not suspect Jackson to be the man I'm after. Just another lacky in the scale of things"

Reaching inside his suit, Wilder pulled out his phone and opened "Photos". Inside was a series of people's faces, each picture was named after the person displayed.

His people, his connections in Peckham like the brothers Calvin and Damian, worked as the eyes and ears of his large-scale operation.

They dreamed the same dream as they spoke on the buses, in the parks and in the streets. Eradication of gang violence in the streets. Death to the Crimson Claws.

Choosing five names from the list his people provided, Wilder wrote them down followed by a date, time and brief description of events.

Once finished, he turned the page once more and tore out a fresh white paper and folded it into fours, tucking it behind his lapel.

"What was that for?" Samui asked as Wilder tucked the Death Note into the couch.

"Insurance. For when things go awry" he replied as he took his near empty cup into his hands.

"Now I wait" he sighed as he drank his coffee.


Authors corner:

Inspiration for Wilder started from the actor Keith David. His deep booming and respectful voice was something I wanted to imitate for a character.

After listening to a bunch of his more favourite quotes on YouTube, I struggled to create much of the character. I had the basics; black man from London, had a wife/lover, child of twelve. But I had no backbone behind this story.

That was until a Breaking Bad recommendation appeared.

Giancarlo or Gustavo Fring, his voice was chilling to hear. Stoic but threatening, his manners of speech inspired the completion of Wilder and the path he is set on.

Now I imagine his voice as I write.

Anyway, see you next time

May Kira be with you.