Prologue
October 10th, 2001
The neighborhood was quiet, too quiet for the twilight hours between sunset and night hours. No children could be heard loudly playing with friends, no birds sang songs in the trees above, no god awful music played from the houses of college students, not even cars going faster than the speed limit could be heard through the mussie ears of Detective Sam Harrison. He could see the children playing without a care, the sun setting and the street lights reluctantly coming to life. He could see cars speeding down the streets and the flashing of blue lights from police cars; he could see the curious neighbors who wanted answers to questions and to find out what happened in the seemingly ordinary semi-detached Victorian house at the end of the quiet street.
Detective Harrison could see the pale faces of his colleagues. Some still had horror etched upon their aged features, and others had a faraway look in their eyes as if they wished for nothing more than to unseen what was now burned into their memories and nightmares for the foreseeable future. The moment the detective entered through the beaten down and splintered front door, his horror took hold; the first thing he saw was blood everywhere, painting the walls, the ceiling, everything. Gone were the happy memories that once existed in the ordinary-looking house; now, it was the scene of a horrific crime that would scar the community for years to come.
The first thing he heard was that another officer not far from him uttered a line that would stick with everyone who heard it. It was a simple question, but everyone thought: How many victims were there? After all, it wasn’t easy to tell with dismembered body parts screwed around what used to be the living room. In the middle of the body parts was a chain saw jammed with long stangs of hair, bone, sawn flesh, and blood.
The worst was yet to come for all officers there, including Detective Harrison; from what used to be a den hidden in the back of the residence, cries of a child, a girl calling for her mother could be heard, strangled cries of a child that had seen something far beyond what their young mind could understand. The moment Detective Harrison entered the back room, his horror only grew. Two young officers surrounded a little girl no older than six, covered in blood to the point it was impossible to tell what her hair color was or if any of the blood was her own. The only precise details were her dark, almost black eyes, red and puffy from the endless flow of tears. Her front teeth were broken—a blood-soaked teddy bear with what used to be a black silk ribbon tied around its neck tightly hugged against her chest; the only thing it seemed was grounding her to the horrible reality that was now her own.
Another senior officer, one of the first responders, stepped closer to Detective Harrison. His name was Chief Inspector Garret. He was a tough man. He had seen it all ten times over, but even the scene surrounding them would scar him. He was a gruff man with a balding head of grey hair and a thick mustache that needed its own postcode. Despite his tough, often unphased exterior, Inspector Garret had sorrow glimmering in his jade green eyes; he knew the owner of the once-happy family home and the little girl yelling for her mother through haunted tears of pain and suffering.
“Her name is Morgan,” uttered Inspector Garrett, his voice thick with an ascent reminding one of the old gunslingers from a bygone era; still, it was softer than his normal gruff tone, “She’s six years old,” he added in a matter of factly way. For a slither of a second, concern shone through his jade orbs. He knew Esperanza, Morgan’s mother, but he’d never seen the little girl’s father, nor could he recall hearing Esperanza mention a father in any way. The closest he’d personally seen was the girl’s uncle, a tall man of almost seven feet. The tower of a man was always accompanied by his wife, a gentlewoman, blonde and graceful, and two little girls of his own, around the same age as Morgan.
“Where’s her parents?” asked Detective Harrison, a horrible shiver rattling down his stiffened spine at the thought one or both were the victims of whomever had committed such a massacre.
“I’ve never met her father; Esperanza never mentioned him either,” hurriedly responded Inspector Garrett, admitting he didn’t know if one of what could be assumed was two men was the little girl’s father. However, he could confirm that one of the two women was her mother, Esperanza Blade. Detective Harrison followed his line of sight to what remained of an arm, tattooed from wrist to shoulder; instantly, Detective Harrison knew the cruel truth: the little girl, Morgan, hadn’t only been witness to such a brutal crime but also been present when her mother, the only parent she knew was so cruelly taken from her, witnessed something that would haunt her.
“Officer Odair,” called Detective Harrison, calling for one of his most trusted trainees. The young man was a rising star within the law enforcement ranks, but even so, he was out of his depth at that particular crime scene. “Take Morgan to the hospital and make sure she has no injuries besides her teeth. Get her cleaned up; social services will send someone to get her,” he added, giving the young officer an escape from the horrors the crime scene was sure to have waiting for those who investigated.
Office Odair nodded quickly before stepping closer to the crying girl. Despite the original thoughts of many, Morgan didn’t protest being taken from the scene. She hurried out the backdoor so she didn’t have to see the scattered remains of at least four in what used to be the living room. She didn’t speak a word even when she stopped crying from exhaustion; she just stared blankly ahead, clutching her blood-soaked teddy bear for grim death. Emotionless, lost, silently terrified, and traumatized, perhaps beyond repair.
“The planner suggested there was a meeting with Kanan Coffer, Selene Viktors, and Alejandro Bandares,” said a middle-aged woman with copper hair and a worn face. Quickly, it was suspected the other three victims were the three mentioned, which only brought the question of who wanted them dead and why in such a brutal fashion. Who would hack four people to death with a chainsaw? Why didn’t anyone fight back, and why hadn’t anyone heard anything? Another question arose upon recalling little Morgan witnessed the tragedy. Why had the chainsaw-wielding maniac let her live?
“Alejandro Bandares, Golden Skull?” called a man from the corner of the bloody-covered room; a tone of surprise flooded his voice. The name Alejandro Bandares was almost legendary in the world of organized crime. He had his hands in nearly everything apart from the sex trade and human trafficking; notably, despite his career choice, he respected women far more than others in organized crime. More often than not, he freed those he came upon, helped them build a new life, or return home to their loved ones.
“What was Esperanza’s last name?” asked Detective Harrison, dread painting on his aged face; he’d been in the organized crime unit some time ago, chased the Brothers of Destruction across the world several times over, and arrested many members of their Ministry too. Every time, one woman, Esperanza Blade, had thwarted his team. She is fierce and fearless in many ways but protective of her family. It was rumored she had a love affair with Mark Calaway, the Undertaker and the eldest of the Brothers of Destruction. Some whispered sometime ago that she had a child with him, but no one could confirm it, even less so after the love affair had turned into bitter hatred.
“Blade,” confirmed Inspector Garrett as if already knowing where this was going. “Known as the Shadow Queen in organized crime. As many people found, she’s not a woman to mess with,” he added while immediately thinking of the chaos that would inevitably come. If the Shadow Queen had been murdered, it was only a matter of time before the syndicate she ran with an iron fist would seek retribution against those responsible. A war was coming, and the city was the battleground.
“If I’m not mistaken, sir, Selene Viktors was known as Lady Thorns and Kanan Coffer, the man of a thousand poisons,” spoke the middle-aged woman from earlier, as if the names and conversation had triggered a long-forgotten memory. Kanan Coffer was thought to have poisoned over 30 enemies over the years; the only reason he’d remained free was because no one could prove the deaths were murders, let alone directly connect him to them.
“Four crime lords massacred, the only witness a traumatized child who has no father,” mumbled Detective Harrison, raking his bony fingers through his thinning brunette hair; for a moment, he closed his eyes and sighed. How were they going to question their only witness without scaring her further? How could they promise her protection when they had no clue who they were looking for? “Find The Undertaker, Mark Calaway. Question him and his brother Kane.”
For a moment, Detective Harrison thought he was the only one who suspected the brothers were involved. After all, the eldest of the duo had slowly been getting his ducks in a row for some time now, preparing to leave the life of crime behind to start a new life with his bride. Besides his brother and syndicate, Esperanza Blade was the only string he had left severe: that and his rumored daughter, Morgan. The moment Detective Harrison glanced around the bloody crime scene, he was met with looks of acceptance and agreement, as if they, too, had been thinking the former lover could have been involved.
Without another word being exchanged, Detective Harrison turned to the stairs; with dread painted on his aged features, he climbed them, hoping there would be no more nasty surprises hidden in the rooms up there, no more bodies. He made sure not to stand in the blood leading up the stairs or disturb what had been smeared across the banister and wall; instead, he kept to one side and followed silently. Upon reaching the landing, he noticed a bloody handprint on one of the doors. The door was pristine white and slightly ajar, revealing a purple-painted room with sparkling accessories. Morgan’s room, Detective Harrison thought thankfully, though nothing had been disturbed, blood only led to the collection of teddy bears near the window.
“The killer gave her the bear?” quietly questioned Detective Sam Harrison; he found the question odd. Even more so when the act of kindness showed the little girl was never a target, or at the very least, the killer couldn’t bring himself to harm a child. Upon leaving the child’s bedroom, he followed the blood trail once more, this time back to the stairs and through the door at the top of them to the bathroom: another blood-covered room, this time with clothes and boots thrown in. The killer had cleaned themselves up thoroughly by the looks of it.
The detective soon theorized why it had taken so long for someone to notice the brutal crime; this was by no means the first time the killer had committed such atrocities. They had to have experience; the victims hadn’t thought back, which suggested he used something against them. Morgan, perhaps, he’d cleaned himself up and given the only survive something of comfort in the form of what the detective assumed was her favorite teddy bear. More than that, it appeared it was the killer himself who had phoned the police, perhaps after returning to the scene to see it remained untouched by law enforcement.
“Sir, you can’t be here,” Inspector Garrett’s voice echoed from the bottom of the stairs. The yells of a man could be heard, pained no doubt upon seeing what remained of four people strewed around the living room. What caught Detective Harrison’s attention was the man calling for Morgan, the little girl, asking about her and yelling loudly when the terrible thoughts of her being among the victims hit him as if he were a father crying out for his child.
With careful steps, Detective Garrett returned downstairs, again taking care not to disturb the blood. Upon reaching the bottom, he saw a middle-aged man near the beaten-down front door. He had an American accent, short brown hair, and piercing blue eyes. To those untrained, he appeared just like any other man, but to the officers dotted around the crime scene, they knew he was a man of secrets. Secrets he held tightly to his chest.
“She’s alive, being taken to the hospital for evaluation,” worded Detective Harrison, noticing the man never once entered further than the door. Unlike many others, he didn’t protest when another officer asked to take his prints and DNA swob to eliminate him from the crime scene he’d burst into. His focus was the innocent little girl. “You know her?”
“And her parents,” uttered the man, Irwin, he said his name was. “You might want to look into The Undertaker’s whereabouts and a man who goes by Big Show if Kanan Coffer is among your victims,” he added without being prompt. For a moment, he looked around the hall; a slight grin landed on his lips when his eyes found several pictures hanging on the wall near the stairs—pictures of happier times from what Detective Harrison could see.
One of the pictures was of mother and daughter in what looked like an amusement park. Another was of three girls around the same age, one blonde, another brunette, and the last was clearly Morgan. The picture was no older than a few months old. The final photo was a group photo; it included the man standing at the door now, as well as Esperanza and the man Detective Harrison could identify as Kane Jacobs, the younger of the Brothers of Destruction. There were five children: the girls from the previous picture and two boys.
“Can I take them?” asked Irwin after an eternity of silence. It was clear his request was not selfish; he intended to give them to Morgan so she had memories of happier times to keep with her. “She had a teddy bear, Holly, white with blue streaks, had a black ribbon around its neck,” he added, indicating the teddy bear was dear to the little girl and one she wouldn’t go anywhere without.
“She was holding the bear when she was found,” replied Inspector Garrett, seeing relief pass over Irwin’s features, although concern soon flashed over it at the thought of it being taken from her. “It’s gonna need to be washed, but otherwise, it’s intact,” he added, with a heavy tone, as if purposely avoiding announcing that both the teddy called Holly and Morgan were soaked in blood. It was clear Irwin cared for the little girl as a father would their own child. “Do you have contact information for her father?”
Irwin nodded silently. He did have the information the police were interested in, but he found himself doubting whether or not it was a good idea to give them it, not for The Undertaker’s sake but for Morgan. Morgan didn’t know her father; they hadn’t seen each other since her parents’ vicious breakup four long years prior. Since then, Mark had been a ghost in his daughter’s life; he’d moved on, and Esperanza had essentially been a prideful single mother.
“She has no memory of her father,” coldly replied Irwin, speaking the truth that was likely already obvious. “If you’re to send her to a family member, her uncle Kane would be best; he’s already more of a father,” he added sorrowfully as if admitting what few in the criminal underworld dared to. Mark had abandoned his daughter, but Kane hadn’t walked away from his uncle duties, if anything he stepped into the role his brother left behind.
Quietly, Detective Harrison handed Irwin a small notepad, open to a blank page with a pen clipped to the top. Irwin knew what was being asked of him, so just as silently, he wrote down the contact information for Mark and his new bride, as well as Kane and his beloved wife, Crystal. With a bit of note that indicated the Undertaker would ignore any attempts to reach him, especially now when he was so close to achieving his goal of having a life outside of organized crime, a normal life as he claimed, without the reminders of a past he was so determined to forget and bury.
For a fleeting moment, relief washed over Detective Harrison and Inspector Garret; they had contact information for Morgan’s family, but that was quickly erased with concern and dread for what was to come. As it stood, no one knew how much Morgan had seen of the horrific crime; given she was drenched in blood, it wasn’t difficult to guess she was likely in the room for part of the gruesome murders. On top of that, she was their only witness and had a long road ahead of her.
Dread only grew upon recalling that Esperanza was the Shadow Queen, the leader of her own crime syndicate, and one that would not hesitate to get justice for their fallen queen, even if that meant going beyond the law. There was little doubt in either man’s mind that the very syndicate would also work to protect Morgan, hide her even from the enemies she’d one day inherit from both her parents, if she hadn’t already.
Without a second thought, Detective Harrison asked someone to take a photo of the pictures Irwin had asked for. After that, he carefully removed them from the place they were hung and passed them over to the man in question. He knew he was breaking protocol, but he didn’t care, even less so when he had a hunch the little girl wouldn’t return to her once happy home turned house of horrors. At the same time, his gut told him the traumatized little girl was far more than she seemed, just as he suspected once the investigation concluded whether it was solved or destined to be a cold case, he’d be unlikely to see the little girl again.
She’d either live with the family that so clearly loved her or someone who truly cared would hide her from whatever monsters were hidden in her parents’ crime-filled past. Either way, he made a silent promise to keep tabs on Morgan, to see what the six-year-old grew into and where she ended up. He’d keep tabs on her as he did with all the children he found at horrific crime scenes, in the hopes that they’d grow to be normal, healthy, and hopefully, happy members of society, grow to live with the trauma and not let it control them as others had in the past.
interesting story keep it up