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GUARDIAN CHRONICLES: TEMPTRESS OF FATE

 

A Ryan Brown original novel based on fictional events in Florida. All characters and corporations or establishments appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

#Canarsie #Miami #Kingston #Luton #Sydney

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 1

Key West, Florida…

January 2000...

 

Duval Street was lit…like a roman candle. The strip oozed with revelers celebrating the remainder of Martin Luther King Jr. Day weekend. Local police had their hands full trying to maintain order. A few disturbances occurred, but law enforcement’s main concern was the crazed cyclists clogging their streets. Throughout South Florida motorcyclists, dirt bikers, and ATV riders took to the roads, speeding while weaving in and out of traffic and performing dangerous stunts. A nuisance to some but to others, a movement to pay tribute to Dr. King.

Neon lights from the bars and clubs glowed along the thoroughfare, illuminating the twilight; music, cigarette and weed smoke filled the air.

Vaughn Lloyd suffered with anxiety accompanied by bouts of depression, so this getaway should’ve cheered him up and take him away from his troubles, and it did.

Going down on those girls really accomplished that, for a moment, but his heart still ached; his soul was deeply disturbed from the loss he endured. Time was supposed to heal all wounds, right? When were his wounds going to heal? When was he going to feel like himself again? When were things going to get better? All these questions floated around in his head. He was 17-years-old, but felt like he was going on 30. He stood at 6’3” and possessed a semi muscular build he maintained through exercise, whether it be sit-ups, push-ups, burpees or sex.

Vaughn loved girls…Spanish, French, Indian, and Black…every nationality he tasted. Different flavors had different tastes, but they all tasted good. He even bagged an older woman and her juices were good. The things she could do and the way she made him feel had him like Whoa.

He lay on his stomach in a bed that felt strange to him, pillows billowy like a pair of kissable lips; sheets were a little wet and broken-in. When Vaughn turned over, he found Lashelle Jones, but she went by the name Lasagna because she was a statuesque beauty with lot of layers and cheese. She had chocolate brown skin, the cutest dimples that accentuated her bright smile, and the most alluring eyes that could separate a fool from his money, which was useful in her line of work. She was one of the most beautiful dancers he has ever met, but she was loose and had a reputation. The evening sun filtered through blinds and cast its light across her face. She looked peaceful as she slept, and Vaughn felt a pang of guilt for silently judging her.

He yawned and rubbed his eyes, which felt grainy like sand. Vaughn scanned the room and all the details appeared blurry. He rubbed his eyes again and everything was clear.

The suite was spacious and bright with two full sized beds, contemporary furniture, a fully stocked mini bar, a modern fully equipped bathroom finished with top quality saffron colored ceramics. The suite also came equipped with an in-home automated system that regulated the temperature.

Andre and Ariel were snuggled comfortably in the neighboring bed while Lebron slept, awkwardly, on an air mattress. He still wore his skull t-shirt which was stained with blood; his nose leaked. He got into a bar fight with some preppy white boy motherfuckers, but despite the broken nose, Lebron snored loudly; his snores rivaled the revving motor bike engines that filled the dusk air.

He stood up from the bed and went over to his book bag where he kept his antidepressants prescribed by his doctor.

He unzipped the bag and reached inside; he felt around and found the bags of high-grade marijuana remaining. He sold the others and made the easiest one hundred dollars—now he could get those Jordan’s.

Vaughn continued feeling around in the bag and found what he was looking for. He slipped the pill bottle out, retreated to the bathroom, flicked on the light and closed the door. Vaughn stood before the mirror and stared at his reflection for a moment. He took a deep breath and continued by opening the safety cap and taking one capsule from the cylinder tube.

He popped the pill in his mouth and downed it with a gulp of water from the faucet. After, Vaughn closed the bottle, tucked it into his pocket and left the bathroom. He went across the suite to the window and peered down into the empty parking lot. Just a few hours ago, it was packed with cars and partiers. Hotel workers must have hurried and cleaned up during the day.

“I musta slept all day,” he stared out into the distance at the sunset; red and orange embers burned across the sky.

“That party was really good.” Vaughn muttered to himself, flashing back to last night.

Due to some very convincing fake ID’s, him and his friends had the time of their lives bar hopping.

They ended up at this Soca party and he was getting dubs and numbers from every direction. A flaming basketball tattoo on his arm and burgeoning physique proved a great conversation piece for picking up girls, better than any wingman. It was a crazy night…girls, liquor and weed, what more could a boy want? Drunk as a skunk and higher than a giraffe’s coochie.

It was a good weekend.

Vaughn looked out to the southernmost point and marveled at the shimmering Florida coastline. A few surfers were out enjoying the bodacious breakers. Among them was Terrance Silvers, a tall, slim fella with intricately designed braids; his lighter tone-skin and soft hair misled people into believing he was Hispanic, but in fact, he was black.

“What’s this fool doin’?” Vaughn spoke to himself, feeling his cell phone buzz in his pocket.

He pulled out the singing phone and smiled when he saw who it was on the caller ID.

“What’s up?” he cheered up; his southern accent real smooth and laid back like him.

“Hi,” her voice was soft as velvet; it was Eboni, his best friend since third grade and the cutest thing he’d ever seen before; she was 5’5” from the floor with the most beautiful golden brown skin and was so smart and one of the most courageous people ever. Vaughn confessed his feelings, but she gently turned him down. Something about not wanting to ruin the friendship.

“What are you doin’?” he asked staring down at the surfers.

“Getting ready to go out,” she replied.

Vaughn had been partying so hard for the past few days, he thought she was going to a party or something, but in fact she had something else to do. Something he didn’t understand and didn’t want to understand but had to come to terms with because it was so crucial to their very lives.

“I heard ya’ll was partying up last night.” Eboni commented.

“Where’d you hear that?” he continued watching the surfers.

“Melissa, she was there.”

”Damn that girl gotta big ass mouth!” he exasperated.

“I heard that!” he heard Melissa scream in the back.

Sometimes Vaughn couldn’t stand Melissa and her gossiping ways; she loved to talk about people when they weren’t around.

“How’d she get back already?” Vaughn asked.

“How you got back from the party?” Eboni asked Melissa.

“Courtney.” She replied.

“Courtney picked her up.” Eboni repeated to him.

“Why didn’t you come?” he asked Eboni.

“I had something to do…you know one of those nights,” she told him.

“Okay,” Vaughn nodded his head, realizing what she meant.

He continued looking down at Terrance, headed toward the water, wondering why on earth this fool decided to go surfing now when he knew they had to leave shortly and return home.

Terrance straddled his surfboard; one hand trailed in the water while the other shielded his eyes from the sunset. The board rose and fell gently with the waves that rolled beneath him. Further in toward the shore, Terrance saw a couple of guys, traditional Florida surfers with long blonde hair to match their dark tans.

Terrance always liked surfing. When he was younger, like fourteen, he used to come out and ride the crest of a huge white cap, but ever since his life changed, he never got the chance to put in the hours.

He whispered to himself, bending forward over the board and splashing some water onto his face. Terrance was a bit nervous but compelled to do this.

He took a deep breath and glanced around again. Awesome waves worth riding and about forty or fifty females still on the beach. He was getting one of them before he left, he knew he could—all he had to do was show off his skills.

Squinting against the glare, Terrance found what he was looking for.

A distance back, rolling toward the shore, it was tall and gentle with the barest ripple of white at its crest. Instantly, his heartbeat sped up. He bent low on the board and paddled toward the shoreline. He looked over his shoulder, trying to determine the exact moment the wave would break. As best he could, Terrance adjusted the angle of the board’s nose so that he was aligned with the wave.

The roar of an engine reached him, along with the distant sound of a boat horn.

He turned around and saw a curvy red head and her slender blonde friend looking on.

A wave swept in, rising higher than the level of the ocean, but it was going to pass him before it began to break.

Terrance nearly lost his balance when he stood on the board, and quickly glanced back at the girls—who were still watching.

He fought to regain his balance, and did, but just as he did, a wave was upon him. He felt the spatter of seawater as its crest turned white and started to break. The ocean swelled beneath him, as he held his arms out—as though on a tightrope, and his toes gripped the board as the wave propelled him forward.

He shouted, mostly to himself and the gulls circling overhead.

Terrance caught the wave. He put exact pressure with his feet, shifted his weight, slightly, and surfed the crest as the swell tumbled and broke and went to shore.

It had been so long since he’d done this, and it felt so good. A surge of victorious adrenaline pushed through him as he cut across the face of the wave, sensing its raw power as he sliced into it.

He was hoping the girls were still watching him—and they were.

Terrance rocketed along the front of the wave even as he lost some of his momentum. He did it, He rode the wave. He hadn’t surfed like this in years.

It felt great. The salty ocean breeze smacked him in the face as he sailed along the swell.

The corners of his mouth creased into a smile. He took his eyes off the water, only for a second, to take in the incredible sunset, when something raced through the water under the board.

He looked down and spotted the slick, dark forms arching through the water, just under the top of the wave, two of them, then another.

Terrance twisted his body, adjusting the angle of the board to avoid impact. It was too late though. The board struck whatever was swimming around under the wave.

Initially, it appeared to be a sea lion, but Terrance couldn’t decipher. Everything happened so fast. The surfboard smashed into soft, oily fur and fatty flesh, and Terrance flew off the board, limbs flailing, water rushed toward him.

Moments before Terrance hit the ocean, the wave rolled over him and the surfboard crashed into him with an impact that took his breath away. Terrance tried to yell out but couldn’t.

He felt a horrible pain rip across his shoulder. It struck his shoulder so hard that he felt the bone break, heard it crack inside his head. The pain tore through him, and the water pulled him down.

“Oh shit!” Vaughn yelled, still on the call with Eboni.

“What, what happened?” Eboni asked worried.

“Terrance, he just crashed.” Vaughn explained. “I don’t know what he was tryna do.”

“Is he okay?” Eboni asked.

Vaughn shielded his eyes against the twilight, trying to see if Terrance was okay, he could barely make out Terrance’s silhouette frantically thrashing about in the water.

“I don’t think so.” Vaughn answered with an alarmed expression on his face.

“I’m a call you back!” he declared quickly before hanging up.

Vaughn turned away from the window.

“Terrance!” he yelled.

Everyone was knocked out cold like some punched out prized fighters. Vaughn swore loudly.

Meanwhile, Terrance fought against the choppy waves and pulled himself up, breaking the surface. Saltwater stung his eyes as he fought to stay afloat. He ingested a heap of seawater and his belly churned. Between the pain and stinging sensation of the salty water, he felt like he was going to vomit. He thought this was it; Terrance thought he was going to drown.

Rough waves pushed him under, then over, then under again. Weakly, Terrance reached upward through the water and felt his hand break the surface, clutching air.

Terrance tasted something in the water, something terrible.

Blood! he realized as he gasped for air.

The water was discolored with his blood and Terrance knew he had to get to shore quickly, before it attracted any sharks. He wondered if that’s what he’d seen shortly before the crash. Through the excruciating pain spiraling through his shoulder, Terrance spotted his board washing toward the sand. He started in that direction, knowing he was going to get admitted into the hospital and dreading it.

Terrance climbed onto the board, clutching his injured shoulder. He lay on the board and stared up into the darkening sky.

He heard someone yelling from the shore and wanted to look, but his neck was stiff with pain.

The waves carried the board toward the shoreline with Terrance on it.

“It coulda been worse,” he muttered, thinking about the dilemma he would’ve been in if the board struck a few inches higher.

He let out a sigh of relief and the board drifted to shore.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 2

Somewhere else in Florida…

Two nights later…

 

21-year-old Joey Osborne was locked away in a moldy cell block of Ravencore Psychiatric Center, a crumbling shit hole for the criminally insane and mentally unfit. Barbed wire lined the perimeter of the derelict estate. The haunted castle-like structure loomed on an acreage of land, the rest claimed by the lush wilderness of South Florida. John Ravencore opened the center for the mentally impaired in 1899, but as time marched on, the school was handed over to the state and used to detain criminals and the insane. The dilapidated building needed to be demolished, but Councilman O’ Riley made sure its doors remained open.

Joey Osborne’s boyishly thin frame burned from the beating the guards handed down to him earlier. Assaulting him was something they did to him daily since his admission. He was five-eight or five-nine and weighed approximately 135 pounds. A shock of dark brown hair tumbled down over his forehead. Through swollen, blackened eyes, he looked up through the barred window at the filtered moonlight. A cloud passed before it. The tiny cell reeked of urine and feces.

He took pew at the edge of his lumpy mattress stewing in a cauldron of hatred for his fellow man. Over in the corner, by the soiled, cracked porcelain toilet a large furry rat with sharp claws and devilish eyes scurried along the floor.

He was on the edge of the bed still wearing the same clothes he wore when he was admitted to this cinderblock hell five weeks ago. Before that he was locked away in the maximum-security lock up in Fort Lauderdale and before that he was a self-proclaimed shepherd serving an exalted one.

He was leader of the Osborne Association, which consisted of himself and 1500 of his devoted followers. They donated all their earthly possessions to the betterment of the Association. He loved his followers for that and preached they would be greatly rewarded for their contributions. Joey and his congregation also did good things for the community like cleaning up litter on the side of the road, donating money, food and other essentials to shelters; they also took in a few transients from the streets.

They were doing good things and were to ascend and reap great benefits, but those wretched whores came along and thwarted him. It’s because of them why he was here, and he hated them for that. His face, arms, hands, legs, everywhere was crusted in layers of dinge and grime. The guards didn’t allow him to bathe either.

“I almost did it.” Joey proclaimed to the air. Then he began praying softly.

“Whatchu sayin’ now freak?” a disgruntled security guard named Cyrus Matthews yelled through the peephole in the rusty iron door; his southern drawl course like sandpaper.

Joey shot a glance at the door; his brown hair fell over his puffy, blue eyes.

“Your brother was a fool.” Joey alleged to Cyrus in a low menacing tone.

“What?” the guard yelled; his eyes flickered with anger and his nostrils flared with fury. “Whatchu say about my brother, freak?” 

“He was a fool.” Joey repeated before looking away out the window.

“How did you know?” Cyrus narrowed his eyes.

Cyrus’ brother was an impressionable 17-year-old kid seeking direction but ended up falling in with the wrong crowd. When his brother’s body was found among the dead, Cyrus nearly lost his mind. It was his kid brother, and even though he hadn’t been there for him for the past few months, he still loved him very much. Joey was responsible for his little brother’s death, but the guard never told anyone. The guard maneuvered himself into this facility, into that position with the intent to find and kill the monster that took his brother away from him. No one knew his little brother was a member of the Osborne Association, not even Joey—or so he thought.

“Oh, I’m going to beat your ass!” the guard reached for the bundle of keys on his belt.

Joey sat there on the bed, and patiently waited for the guard to burst in. He counted along as the guard searched for the key.

The guard found what he was looking for, shoved it into the lock, turned and busted into the dank cell, pissed off.

He pulled a baton from his side and came closer to Joey.

“You like talkin’ shit.” the guard menaced.

Joey continued staring out the window at the cloud passing over the moon and began singing the lyrics to Stevie Nicks ‘Edge of Seventeen’.

The guard became angrier.

“I’ m going to make you look like an accident.” the infuriated guard lightly tapped the baton against his palm. “I’m going to make you pay for what you did to Ben.”

As he approached the chorus of the song, the heavy baton whipped across Joey’s face sending him to the floor.

“Motherfucker!” the guard continued beating him.

Joey was on the floor, taking the relentless beating the guard handed him.

The very next evening, Joey Osborne was granted a shower and fresh clothing. When a tough as nails Disability Rights Coordinator got word of the decrepit conditions he was held in, she jumped on the telephone and called in a few favors. She was aware of the accusations against him, but he was still a human being and deserved to be treated as such.

Joey sat under the hot glare of the sanitarium lights, shackled at the ankles and wrists, a heavy-duty leather belt around his waist. Across the table from him was Dr. Jacob Jones.

The doctor’s probing gaze came through the expensive pair of designer frames on his face.

Dr. Jones scrutinized every nook and cranny of Joey’s bruised profile, and then jotted a few notes into his pad.

“Who hurt you?” the doctor asked.

“I can’t be hurt, no one can hurt me.” Joey’s tone was flat and monotone.

Doctor Jacob continued taking down notes into the pad.

“Whatchu writin’ about?” Joey demanded narrowing his menacing baby blues.

“About what you were thinking when you led those people to their graves?” the doctor straightforwardly declared.

“I didn’t lead anybody anywhere they didn’t want to go to begin with. Those sheep needed a shepherd, and I was appointed to act as such.”

“Who appointed you to be shepherd?” the doctor queried.

“Him,”

“Who?”

“I can’t tell you his name.” Joey uttered. “You’re not worthy.”

“Worthy?” the doctor responded.

“Yes, you need to be worthy to know what to see and when to see…” Joey explained.

“So how do I become worthy?” Doctor Jacobs prodded.

“It’s not really how, but when…” Joey paused.

“So, when?”

“When rivers and lakes flow over with blood of the innocent and day turns to night. When all mankind realizes their faults and be damned for their vices,” Joey elaborated dramatically.

“He will come to us and when he does…the world will know his infinite power.” he continued.

Dr. Jacobs stared across the table at Joey through the blankest eyes.

“Okay,” the doctor drawled emphatically as he wrote in the pad.

The doc cleared his throat and stared across the table into a pair of deep, troubled eyes.

Joey nodded his head and looked away from the doctor, staring at the mirror across the room. Doctor Jacobs followed his unsettling gaze.

“Is something wrong?”

Joey kept silent and continued scoping the mirror, staring past it.

On the other side of the mirror was a detective from the Pemberton Pines Police Department and two criminal psychologists dressed in white lab coats, both clutching clipboards.

The first, was a tall, slender fellow with long well-kept dreads that dropped to the center of his back, his face shaven clean of facial hair. The second was a little shorter with a slight muscular build, dark slicked back hair and a slight, but noticeable Caribbean accent.

Detective Dwight Carter was a 25-year veteran on the force had just transferred from the vice unit six months ago; he was in his mid-fifties now, stood at 6’1” in his socks and had well-toned and muscular body, his physique was admired by the opposite sex, and envied by men half his age.

He figured landing in the cold case unit at the Bond building would’ve been the best way to end his career; he was due to retire in a few months, and he thought it was going to be a breeze, boy was he wrong. Several cold cases were patiently waiting for his undivided attention.

Detective Carter overcame an alcohol and drug addiction and quickly turned his life around, but not in time to save his domestic life. His addiction and infidelity caused him to shun his responsibilities as a husband and father. The only thing left in the end was his job. Carter sat back in the cold metal chair and looked the accused, dead in his eyes.

“Can he see us?” one of the lab coats asked with a slight quiver to his voice.

“No, he’s just testing us.” Detective Carter stared at Joey with immense contempt.

Osborne was a predator, he preyed on individuals that were less fortunate, he preyed on misguided people. He preyed on children. He preyed on the elderly. He would captivate people with his rousing sermons. He seemed to have the ability to compel many into doing his bidding, which was impressive for someone his age and put him up there with the big dogs like Charles Manson, Jim Jones and David Koresh. Joey was dangerous and needed to be brought to justice for his crimes.

As Detective Carter sat there and watched the interview he reminisced back to the night when Joey was brought in. It was a hell of a battle….Two months ago, several police departments as well as the F.B.I. and other agencies banded together and raided Joey’s compound. They were met by gunfire from devoted followers. It was a blood bath; both sides suffered several casualties. As they exchanged gunfire, members around the compound began committing suicide. Some shot themselves, others drank poison, and the rest found inventive ways to off themselves.

Detective Carter and a band of officers were able to take down the armed sentries in their path. They did their best to detain whoever they could, but the members were bloodthirsty. A rabid woman jumped out of the shadow wielding a butcher knife trying to stab the detective; he planted two slugs in her. The haunting moans of the dying sounded through the corridor and filled Carter’s head. As he made his way past doorways leading to the members bedrooms, he saw dead babies resting on their mothers’ bosoms. Carter has seen a lot in his years on the job, but that night was just senseless….

Detective Carter snapped out of his trance and continued staring at that evil son of a bitch.

Joey’s gaze shifted back to the doctor, who was calling out to him. He didn’t hear him though, he sensed three devils sitting past the glass, judging him and making a mockery of everything he stood for.

“Joey? Joey?” Dr. Jacobs called to him.

“Yes, sir,” Joey answered politely.

“When you were captured you were on your knees praying to Karnack, who’s Karnack?”

Joey’s jaw clenched; his face hardened like a rock. “Don’t let his name slip off your unworthy tongue ever again!”

Dr. Jacobs looked surprised from Joey’s abrupt outburst.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.” Dr. Jacobs apologized.

“Offend me, ha! I’m not offended…he is, don‘t you ever mention his name until you are able to witness his power, firsthand.” Joey explained.

Dr. Jacobs wrote again.

“Evil doctor…always writing, do you think it’ll be easy to write with no fingers, to hold the pen…no hands, to guide the pen…or no mind, to collect your wicked thoughts?” Joey asked with a devious look.

The doctor stared at Joey and he stared back into the doctor’s fear filled eyes and smiled.

“Are you threatening me?” the good doctor felt a chill travel up his spine; the hairs on his arm stood on end. He usually wasn’t this petrified of his patients, but Joey was different; something about him was unnerving.

“Threats are for mortals, and I’m no longer bound by this mortal coil.”

The doctor wrote again and spent two more hours with Joey evaluating his psyche. Throughout the session, Joey exhibited signs of a true mad man, so much that Doctor Jacobs believed there was no treatment in this world that would quell the evilness within him.

After his psychological evaluation Joey was taken back to his cell and Dr. Jacobs met with the detective and doctors.

“So, what’s the verdict?” Detective Carter sat back in a chair with his arms folded across his chest, looking formidable with his shoulder holster.

“I would have to see him on an on-going basis to know the depth of his depravity, but he can definitely stand trial to face charges.” Doctor Jacobs explained. “I believe he may suffer from schizophrenia but as I explained I would need to continue meeting with him to determine that.”

“I have to strongly disagree.” one of the other doctors immediately interjected.

Dr. Jacobs furled his brows in disbelief. He couldn’t stand when his colleagues disagreed with him, especially when he was right.

“Disagree?” Carter furled his brow.

“This kid has been caught on several occasions worshipping some omnipotent presence and claims he’s some sort of shepherd.” the doctor with the well-groomed face stated dramatically using air quote gestures. “I believe he is a borderline psychotic with narcissism.”

The third doctor partially agreed but also lent his professional opinion and before long all the doctors were locked in a heated argument about Joey’s diagnosis. The detective stared around the room at the bickering doctors; he made several attempts to intercede, but the debate was becoming more contemptuous.

“Ayyyy!!” Detective Carter demanded their attention. Everyone looked up.

“I don’t care about his hopes and dreams, or what makes the motherfucker tick…All I care about is if he can stand trial? That’s all.” Carter clarified. “Can he stand trial?”

The doctors exchanged glances and nodded. “Yeah,” they agreed in unison.

 

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Later that night, Joey was alone in the dank cell showered in ghastly moonlight. A perfectly round moon lifted above the trees. He looked over in the corner when he heard loud squeaking. It was those pesky rats again. Ever since he’d been here the rats always come to him. Five of them gathered around the base of the rotted porcelain toilet, with their glowing red eyes, sharp claws and nasty serrated teeth. The hair across their bodies seemed withered and gray, like they’d been around since the building’s conception. One by one, each rat turned to him and leered.

“Master!”  Joey rejoiced.

The rats continued staring.

“They’ll pay, they’ll all pay.” Joey assured scornfully.

The rats lifted their heads up and down and squeaked noisily.

“Free you?” Joey declared.

The sinister looking rodents lined up, side by side, stood on their hind legs and began moving up and down—as if dancing to some off-rhythm beat.

“I shall release myself and then I shall free you.” Joey assured.

“You’re not freeing anything!” A huge voice boomed.

Joey looked over and saw stone-faced Cyrus Matthews glaring at him through the peephole.

“You fuckin’ freak. I hope you burn in hell and never get a moments peace.” Cyrus spewed.

“I won’t burn in hell…my place has been promised at his right hand.” Joey stated.

Cyrus slowly reached for his baton, itching to toss down another beating to the bastard.

“You like getting your ass beat, don’t you?” Cyrus fumed.

Joey looked away from the guard and stared at the rats, which were still dancing.

“They say it’s time.” Joey pointed at the toilet.

The guard peered over at the toilet and saw nothing.

“Yeah, I’m gonna shove your head in that toilet and drown ya crazy ass,” Cyrus threatened.

“Like I did to your brother,” Joey snapped back.

A look of shock crossed the guard’s features. “What the fuck!” 

“This morning, when I was wiping my ass, he told me to tell you something.”

“Shut up!” Cyrus bellowed.

“He told me to tell you—”

“Shut up!” he yelled again; emotion cracked his voice.

“That his presence can’t be stopped or contained and everything you hold dear will end in bloodshed and misery and his sacrifice was for the greater good,” Joey continued.

“You fuckin—” Cyrus started, but Joey quickly interrupted.

“But y’know what I think, I think he knew.”

“I’m going to fucking break ya neck!” the guard yelled, searching for the keys to the cell. Joey continued, “He knew what was coming, he knew the greatness that was upon us. He knew his soul would’ve been in jeopardy.”

He continued fumbling for the key.

Staring out the window, Joey continued his rant, “His poor tainted soul…you should’ve seen the horrible things he did…all the unsavory deeds he performed…his life was—”

The cell door flew open and slammed against the wall. Joey shot a glance at the door and saw the guard’s robust frame fill the doorway. He was clutching the iron baton in his hands.

“I’m not afraid, just like Ben.” Joey slowly rose up from the bed; straightening his garments for the beating he knew was coming.

He looked over at the rats; they were still bouncing to an imaginary beat.

“Take ya best shot.” Joey offered himself up on the proverbial platter.

The guard came at him and smashed the baton against the side of his face, cracking his jaw.

Joey fell sideways and landed on the bed. Joey tried getting up, but the guard smashed the baton into his ribs. The guard continued his savage assault on Joey, until he saw blood. He didn’t stop though; the sight of his blood incurred his rage.

“You wanna talk shit!” Cyrus yelled at the top of his lungs.

As he whipped Joey with the baton, another guard came by the cell and witnessed a few moments of the beating.

“Want some help?” she offered.

“Nah, I got this.” Cyrus declared, smacking the blunt object, soundly, against Joey’s skull.

“Okay,” she said closing the heavy iron door and turning her back on the assault. The guard continued beating Joey until his eyes were shut and his body went limp.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 3

Pemberton Pines, Florida…

 

The following night...it was getting late, about a quarter to one. Full moon hovered high over the city. Miami’s glamorous skyline sparkled in the distance. The streets and avenues shrouded in shadows; all the strip malls, restaurants and car dealerships along Pines Boulevard, along Sheridan Street, along Griffin Road, all of them were shuttered for the night. Everything was eerily still. No movement except for two girls in CB Park.

It wasn’t safe for young girls to be out late, weird and terrible occurrences tended to happen after dark in this town. Horrible things would happen to people, especially to young girls. Over the years, females would disappear. In most cases, they were never seen again. In other instances, their decomposing corpses would be found in canals, in lakes or thrown away like trash in a vacant lot.

Law enforcement did what they could, but their efforts were futile. Terrible things seem to happen anyway.

Eboni paced back and forth resembling a duck in a shooting gallery. She scanned the abundant layers of darkness for trouble. It was quiet, but she sensed trouble looming nearby.

Being a guardian bestowed 17-year-old Eboni Brown with special abilities that left her as no plain Jane. She was an honor student recently accepted to New York University and on her way in the Fall.

Since becoming aware of her calling, two years ago, Eboni averted many catastrophes and saved not only South Florida, but also the world from some deadly deeds. She questioned the notion of leaving and thought maybe South Florida could not handle her absence, but she still felt that she had a life to live. She was jaded and did not want her life revolving around this supernatural mess, but then again that was the type of selfish thinking that fueled her fateful choice. She contemplated it, long and hard. She thought maybe if she left others like her in the world would pick up in her absence. I mean there had to be other people, or other guardians or other beings in the world that could do what she does right?

Fate wouldn’t rest the world on one girl’s shoulder, would it? Since Eboni’s awakening though, she hasn’t encountered any other guardians. She thought she was doing the right thing, but it turned out to be a big mistake. A mistake that could potentially end the world.

Eboni wasn’t supposed to tamper with the guardian lineage but somehow, she figured out how to share the power with her sister. She wasn’t supposed to do that though and immediately felt the effects of the powerful rite. She was weak and drained of power for three days, but the ritual worked and that is what mattered. Christine now had the abilities of an empath and the strength of a behemoth. She gained power, but Eboni lost something. She felt it since the day she performed the incantation. A piece of her was missing. It wasn’t until Dee showed up and explained what was going on. Her soul was gone. A very small portion, but a portion, nonetheless.

Not a big deal. She initially thought.

Dee kept explaining though. She went through the side effects and drawbacks of not having a full human soul and Eboni wasn’t experiencing any of the symptoms. But the last one, was a doozy and wouldn’t be known until she died.

Without a full human soul, she is denied access into heaven and damned straight to hell. She didn’t want to go to hell. She wanted to go to college. Eboni was scared for her salvation but hoped was restored when Dee began to explain how to regain her full soul.

“You have to fight the ultimate battle and upon your survival, your soul will be returned.” Dee explained. “I’m here to guide you, and I will do my best to help you.” She assured.

So now Eboni had to fight harder, and she hoped with every vanquish, she was closer to getting her soul back.

The park was quiet. Winding bike paths illuminated under street and moonlight. Tiny glints of streetlight combined with the eerie light reflected off the nearby lake; gentle waves rippled across the surface of the water.

Eboni paced around, clutching her clenched right fist in her left hand.

“I didn’t come out here to get stood up.” Eboni remarked sarcastically.

She was out here for at least three hours and thought something would have occurred by now; her bones tingled with unease for most of the day. A veil of paranoia shrouded her thoughts; she felt as if something was going to jump out at her around every corner.

“Oh relax.” someone scoffed.

Eboni shot an annoyed look at Melissa, who was laid out across the picnic table; her hands comfortably nestled behind the nape of her neck; eyes locked on the moon; there was a black duffel bag on the table next to her.

“Melissa, you don’t have to be here if you don’t wanna.” Eboni continued pacing.

Melissa sat up; strands of her long Guyanese hair matted to her forehead; the rest of it tied back into a ponytail.

“No, it’s cool.” she said. “I’d rather take on something big and scary than be with my crazy ass family.”

“The way things are looking out here, we are not going to be taking on anything.” Eboni scanned the darkness with a vigilant gaze.

Melissa mopped beads of perspiration from her forehead with the back of her hand. The air was humid and still.

“Y’know Vaughn was dancing with some white girl.” Melissa grimaced.

“Where’d that come from?” Eboni furrowed her brow.

“I just thought about it.” Melissa stated.

“Why?”

“Because it’s not right,”

“Melissa, I’m tryna find something sinister here.” Eboni said trying to keep her mind on the task.

“And what’s more sinister than a white girl with an agenda?” Melissa scoffed.

“How do you know she had an agenda?” Eboni asked.

“They always do.” Melissa shot Eboni an absurd look.

“Anyway,” Eboni scoffed at her best friend’s ignorance. “Leave Vaughn alone, you know everything he’s been through.”

Melissa rolled her eyes.

“How are things with you and Courtney, did you see him today?” Eboni asked.

Melissa nodded. “No.”

“Why not?” she prodded.

Melissa shrugged.

“Because you too busy worrying about Vaughn,” Eboni sniped.

“I don’t care about Vaughn.” Melissa scowled lightly.

No matter what she says, Eboni knew Melissa still had feelings for him, but with everything going on with him a relationship wouldn’t be the best thing for either of them.

“Sure.” Eboni drawled sarcastically.

Melissa rolled her eyes again and said, “Vaughn could do whatever he wants.”

“Like dance with a white girl?” Eboni teased.

Melissa shot her a dark look.

“Anyway, so really why didn’t you go and see Courtney, getting tired of him?” asked Eboni.

“No, not really…just, I don’t know…” Melissa sheepishly said.

“You’re tired of him, aren’t you?”

Melissa didn’t have the best luck with boyfriends and went through them like popcorn.

“I’m not tired of him. I like him and I think he’s nice…well to me anyway. It’s just that sometimes he always talkin’ about his faith and finding something to believe in…blah, blah, blah.” Melissa flippantly gestured. “Sometimes I just wanna tell him to shut up and kiss me.”

“Ya’ll should go to church.” Eboni suggested.

“Ya’ll?” Melissa frowned. “Have you met my mother? She is not going to want me bringing my boyfriend around, especially with nosey hypocritical bitches snooping around.”

“Who cares about them…you’re there to take in the word and improve your relationship with God.” Eboni lectured.

“Please girl I have a very close and personal relationship with my lord and savior.”

“Really…weren’t you the one that snuck out of church to go see Bishop?” Eboni reminded.

“Excuse me, I am in church every Sunday, unlike some of us.” Melissa shot back with a judgmental tone and glower pointed at Eboni.

“Only because your mom forces you.”

“That’s beside the point…my attendance in Sunday school says I was there, so when judgement day comes, I’m walkin’ through those pearly gates. What will you be doing?”

“On judgement day, I’ll probably be out here in these streets, saving ya’ll asses again.” Eboni chuckled.

Melissa laughed. “Probably.” Melissa continued. “He hasn’t cheated yet, so I’m keeping my fingers crossed.”

“You think he will?” Eboni queried.

“Pfft, y’know my luck…he so busy tryna find his salvation hopefully he won’t have time to find no other ass.”

Eboni looked down.

“Kojo cheated on you yet?” Melissa hurled the question back at Eboni.

Eboni shot her an annoyed glare. “Kojo don’t need to cheat, unlike others.” She shot back.

“Hey, was that a hit on me?” Melissa grinned.

Eboni smiled slightly and continued pacing back and forth.

Her steeled muscles and frayed nerves ready for anything to jump out and start something.

“So, how’d you manage to get away from Kojo?” Melissa asked. “Y’know you two are attached at the hip.” she jokingly stated.

“Ha ha, you’re so funny.” Eboni remarked with obvious sarcasm.

Melissa laughed.

“I lied, as usual.” Eboni confided.

“I thought you said, ‘you were going to tell him.’”

“I wanted too, but…I couldn’t.” Eboni shook her head. “If he knows about what it is, I really do, he’ll flip.”

“Well, it’s not like you trickin’ on the corner or something, even though sometimes you look mighty suspect.”

Eboni glared at her. “Was that a hit on me?”

Melissa smiled.

“And besides you told me.” Melissa declared.

“That’s not exactly true. You caught me in the act, and I had no choice but to tell you.” Eboni said.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Melissa asked intrigued.

“Because I see things and…know things and I didn’t want you to worry or go crazy if you found out.” Eboni explained.

“Well I found out and I understood.” Melissa lightly chuckled.

“Understood! Please, you tried convincing your mother to sell the house.” Eboni said with an astonished look.

“Okay fine, I tripped when I first found out, but maybe he’ll understand.” Melissa advised.

“No, not Kojo—if I tell him he’ll think I’m crazy…and if I show him, he’ll go crazy.” Eboni nodded her head in opposition to the idea. “I can’t tell him, not yet.”

Eboni stopped pacing and went over to the picnic table. She propped herself up and sat on the edge with Melissa.

“Just give him a—”

Melissa’s soft gaze shifted to something past Eboni. “Who’s that?” she asked with a worried look.

When Eboni turned around, she saw a slender, petite woman with many muscles that supplemented her small stature. Long dark hair she wore in braided pigtails and the deepest most piercing brown eyes Eboni has ever seen in her life. A visible scar along her left cheek and something that looked like a tattoo on her forehead and another around her navel. Unknown to the bewildered girls the mysterious woman also wore a snake tattoo on the small of her back.

The stranger wore a white leotard; the stomach area was cut out, so her toned washboard stomach showed; her right hand encased in a metallic gauntlet with talons.

“I don’t know.” Eboni scowled suspiciously.

“Her abs are on point.” Melissa admired.

The woman started to approach with slow, deliberate strides.

“Get my bag.” Eboni ordered to Melissa, not taking her eye off the woman for a second. She kept coming at them.

Eboni glanced back at Melissa for a moment, but when she turned back, she vanished.

“Where’d she go?” Eboni looked around.

Melissa searched around as well but didn’t see anybody.

“I don’t know.” Melissa looked around.

“Get my blade!” Eboni yelled to her.

Melissa sifted through the bag and found it among the other bladed weapons.

“I got it, hold on.” Melissa said.

In moments, the weapon was in Eboni’s hand. A short sword with a deadly hook blade and beautiful ivory and golden colored handle. Ancient runes and glyphs marked the weapon she took from Warlord Jansen’s stockpile when she vanquished him. She kept a few of his weapons but fell in love with this one.

Eboni searched the darkness but found nothing.

“Eboni!” Melissa shrieked.

Eboni wheeled around, but it was too late, and something leaped out from the darkness and tackled her. It was the woman; her face, now, twisted and disgusting, elongated scaly snout with the fiercest red eyes and rows of gnashing teeth.

Eboni’s back slammed against the ground when the feral creature took her down. The weapon slipped from her hand and fell off into the shadows. Eboni craned her neck, dodging the woman’s massive teeth when they came at her face.

The guardian was cunning and strong and able to push her assailant off with tremendous strength, but when she stood to her feet, the femme fatale already jumped back into the shadows.

“Where’d she go?” Eboni looked around.

“Over there.” Melissa pointed.

Eboni looked in the direction and found nothing.

“Behind you!” Melissa cried.

Eboni spun into a backhand punch trying to disrespect her enemy’s jaw, but she was stronger and faster; she countered the guardian’s attack, grabbed her by the back of her neck and slammed her face into a tree.

Melissa went to help her friend but paused when she heard the persistent rattle of chains behind her. She turned around and her eyes widened in terror, breath stuck in her throat.

A cock-diesel creature that towered to at least seven feet and looked like it bench-pressed cars came at her with its demonic red eyes and serrated teeth. It also had a wide assortment of weapons.

The beast’s right shoulder and upper chest covered in a massive snake emblem.

“Oh shit!” Melissa blasphemed.

In all her life she has never seen anything so big and so ugly.

“Eboni!” Melissa cried out.

Eboni was busy though; locked in a life and death battle. Eboni grunted, pulling her face back as far she could from the woman’s dripping fangs; nauseating breath made her want to heave.

Quickly, Eboni locked her legs around the woman and with a sudden twist, scissored her to the grass. She was fast and in the blink of an eye she was on her feet. Eboni snapped a sidekick, but her opponent easily evaded the assault and landed a blow to Eboni’s midsection. Staggering backward, Eboni glimpsed the blade of her weapon glinting in the grass.

The crazed attacker lunged at Eboni.

Eboni tucked and rolled past her assailant, headed for the sword.

She grabbed the sword and wheeled around, ready.

Over her opponent’s shoulder, Eboni saw Melissa running from a large monster.

Momentarily distracted, the woman took advantage and lunged forward at her, plowing into her chest; she flew back and landed hard on her ass, the back of her head bounced off the rough bark of another tree. Eboni saw stars for a moment but she quickly, rolled over and pushed herself onto her knees.

The sultry soldier spun and landed a devastating roundhouse kick to Eboni’s jaw, taking her down to the grass, again

Eboni used the sword and guided herself up to her feet and then waved the weapon threateningly at her adversary whose hideous visage was chilling; her silky white outfit seemed to stay immaculate throughout the death match.

The crazed attacker charged at Eboni and tried to snatch the sword away from her. Eboni pulled it back from her rival’s reach and with a swift spin, whirled the blade around and down hard and fast; the blade cut clear to the bridge of the woman’s nose, and stayed there.

She stopped in her tracks, blood dripped onto her outfit, her mouth full of razor-sharp teeth hung open, blazing red eyes now parted from each other by the gap in her head. Eboni felt a surge of hope when she watched the woman fall straight back onto the grass.

That hope dashed when she heard her friend’s frantic screams.

Melissa leaped onto a picnic table. The hulky monster chased after her, its thunderous footsteps shook the ground; her assailant unsheathed a rather large broad sword as it drew closer to Melissa.

“Leave me alone!” Melissa shrieked.

Melissa jumped up and clung to a tree limb for dear life; her soft, tender features engraved in sheer horror. Without hesitation, she latched onto another tree branch and made her way higher up the tree.

The monster glared up at her, its blood red eyes pierced through the darkness.

“Eboni!” Melissa shrieked at the top of her lungs.

On cue, Eboni came with a flying side kick to its back. It stumbled into the picnic table but the massive behemoth grabbed the splintered wooden table and tossed it at her.

“Shit!” Eboni twisted through the air, dodging the table.

“Leave her alone!” Melissa admonished from the tree.

Eboni landed but was up in moments. She came at her combatant and landed a solid jab to its jaw.

The monster snarled and lunged at her, swinging a sword it quickly unsheathed.

Eboni came at the monster, undaunted, swinging her own sword; both blades clanged loudly. She parried every move her attacker made, holding her own against the oversized opponent.

Adrenaline pushed through Eboni, her strength and speed formidable against the beast, but as the skirmish continued Eboni knew she had to end it.

Moments later, she had her back pressed up against the tree. The colossal monster thundered toward her. It snarled; lips curled back showing nothing but rows of sharp, decayed teeth. Veins popped out from its face.

“What the hell is this thing?” Eboni asked herself.

Eboni looked around for an escape route and that’s when she saw it.

The woman in white was on her feet; the ghastly split in her face sealed shut with a soft sucking sound.

“Eboni!” Melissa screamed, also witnessing the woman’s miraculous recovery.

Eboni’s worried glance shifted back and forth between the woman and the hulky henchman that loomed dangerously close. The gaping wound closed until there was no sign she’d been cut.

She came closer across the grass, glaring at Eboni through those blazing red eyes. Eboni swore loudly before bolting toward a thicket of palm trees.

It went after her. It craved blood and couldn’t wait to sink its teeth into the guardian’s tender flesh.

“Run!” Melissa shouted.

It weighed several hundred pounds but moved swiftly, picking up speed and gaining on Eboni. In moments, they disappeared between the trees and it appeared as if the night swallowed them alive.

Melissa scanned the vicinity for the mysterious woman, but she vanished. She climbed down out of the tree, ran for the weapons bag on the table, ripped it open and reached for the first sharp weapon she saw. Her fingers coiled around the handle of a huge hunter’s knife. Strange markings etched on the blade of the weapon. Melissa turned around to go help Eboni but froze dead in her tracks. The woman was standing right there with her hands on her hips; her silky white garment, which was stained in blood, wafted in the breeze.

Melissa fell back, paralyzed in terror. Her face was no longer monstrous and horrific, but smooth and delicate, the way a woman’s face was supposed to be. Perfect brown skin glowed in the moonlight.

Melissa nodded her head, eyes pleaded for mercy.

“Please, don’t kill me.” Melissa shuddered.

The woman just stood there and reveled silently as Melissa begged for her life. Melissa knew she was no match and hoped for clemency.

While Melissa begged, she happened to notice a ring with a huge shimmering stone on her finger.

“I like your ring.” Melissa complimented hoping it would rouse some sort of sympathy.

The woman glanced at her ring, and then back at Melissa and smiled.

Eboni kept moving as fast as she could; she sprinted around trees, over roots and under low tree limbs.

The huge beast pulled a heavy double-bladed sword from its sheath and continued after her. The gleaming hilt of the magnificent weapon was gold and decorated in ancient carvings.

Eboni glanced over her shoulder in time to see something, shiny, coming at her, fast and hard.

“Shit!” she tumbled forward into a log roll evading the projectile.

It was the sword; the behemoth threw it in hopes it would impale her. Eboni jumped to her feet and faced east, heart thudded in her ears, arms and face slicked with cold sweat. In her mind, she pictured the monster standing over her mutilated body brandishing the blood-streaked sword.

You ain’t killing me! Eboni thought as she ran through the night.

Eboni peeled through the darkness, and with a burst of strength and energy, launched herself through the air. She latched onto a branch and swung up, taking refuge in the darkness that swirled above the trees.

Annoyed, the monster stopped and stared up into the darkness—its eyes glimmered brightly.

“Bitch!” the hideous behemoth snarled its first words.

It saw her moving swiftly through the trees. It stood there, watched and waited for the precise moment. She hurdled from branch to branch. It pulled back its arm and hurled the oversized battle axe in her direction. Eboni looked to the side when she heard a loud crash. End over end, the huge axe decimated the trees—snapped and severed limbs. It came directly toward her.

She leaped

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 20.07.2020
ISBN: 978-3-7487-5060-4

Alle Rechte vorbehalten

Widmung:
Ryan Brown, born in 1984, is a proud native of Brooklyn, New York. A first generation American, he is the son of parents who emigrated from Jamaica, West Indies with their eyes on the prize and the American dream in their hearts. Growing up, he was drawn to Horror/Fantasy genre and counts the Goosebumps series, Fear Street Sagas, Christopher Pike Chronicles, and Buffy The Vampire Slayer as his childhood favorites. Today, his work merges the supernatural with urban culture in which he grew up. His protagonists maintain a balanced life of school and saving the world, and with his work, Ryan hopes to fill a void in the literary world—bringing fantasy to the gritty city streets. Sincerely, Ryan Brown