All in the Family

Time, where you all live, is considered to be a true concept which allows all of you to plan your days, months, and even years. It’s as if your kind is convinced they can control it. Where I come from, it is nothing but an illusion. We go about life not through time but through efficiency and careful use of our breath and health. Our memory bank is bottomless and clear of mental clutter, allowing us to use what we see and do in order to act accordingly to any and all situations. This is true whether it calls for a sense of urgency, problem-solving, creating peace between enemies or friends, or using energy to either heal or strengthen our senses.

My name is Corseus, a distant cousin from an owl on your planet named Ulama. Most humans call him the Devil Bird due to the given legend. This legend states that a man accused his wife of adultery and, in his rage, he decided to kill his son and cut him into small enough pieces to be added into a stew that he would later serve to his wife. Blinded by his own anger, he was unaware of a thumb that floated to the surface of the stew upon serving her. When I first heard the legend, this particular part of it made me caw in laughter in remembrance of the first human I met. If I had heard this while still living on my planet, I never would’ve laughed or understood its meaning. Nevertheless, that memory is one where Gavriil (the first human I met) told me about a saying that went as follows: “stick out like a sore thumb”. You may be familiar with this saying. If you aren’t, consider yourself lucky. Though I must warn those of you who have a weak stomach—those who hate horror movies, scary books, and the darkest parts of the news, and are triggered by certain fears—this man did some horrible things to both innocent and sinful people. He was a man full of greed, anger, lust, twisted humour, and recklessness. I was not sentimental towards him or those he hurt and killed when I first met him, nor for the large majority of the story I’m about to tell you. My job was to be his messenger and observer. With all of this in consideration, I shall refrain as much as I can from interjection in this story. I cannot allow myself to halt or miss any details. The Fields family suffered a great deal of grief, pain, fright, misery, and hopelessness. There will be some small and big moments of triumph, but with each one comes a mirror-shattering reality. Before we begin, please note the following abilities I have that permitted me to do my job for Gavriil and tell you this terrible tale filled with momentary triumph. I am able to read minds and communicate with others through telekinesis, in which, if done directly to the human’s brain, will cause their skin to burn and give them a possible concussion if they can’t handle it. However, I can do it without causing harm if I connect to the soul.

Henry Fields II, a man truly and beautifully complicated, had to now abide by the Fields legacy. Not too long before the moment this story begins, he killed Gavriil’s son and his best henchmen—not because of some vendetta or the knowledge of who Gavriil was and those associated with him, but because he was told to do so in order to be part of the family business. The legacy he had to follow was to preserve art before it reached the hands of those who caused harm and lacked a true understanding of art.

To those who don’t recall, Henry shared the same name as his grandfather. So, to avoid confusion, we shall call Henry simply by his first name (which was what he was called by everyone who ever spoke to him, other than Gavriil who loved to use pet names). As for the grandfather, we shall call him Grandpa H. A little informal but based on what are called “sit-coms”, a “cutesy” or “friendly” name is appropriate for a story involving humans in their respective planet.

For years, Henry lived in the illusion and depression of what he called life; nevertheless, it wasn’t until his family came to his aid that he truly began living. In the past, he was a well-recognized writer with a loving wife, friends, and wealth. He slowly began to lose understanding of what his purpose was; furthermore, it was that slow dwindling of who he once was that caused him to lose everything. His wife left him because of a lack of trust and mutual affection, he was no longer respected as a writer, and he had a short-lived career as a book editor. The rest of his trials and hurdles that came along his journey to where we see him now shall be left in the past. Let us now delve into Henry’s first day as a true part of the Fields legacy.

First winter after Henry’s initiation …

The family had been sitting in the living room as the construct of time felt like it was stretching. No one spoke, moved, or even breathed a sound. It was winter, so not even critters or animals were there to fill the void. Oddly, this silence was not caused by a dispute or bitterness between family members. All the family members sat without looking at each other and mindlessly stared into nothingness. Unable to sit for so long without anyone making a sound, Henry broke the silence with a gentle yet stale tone.

“Would anyone like something to drink? Maybe coffee?” he said, breaking his gaze from the fireplace.

His mother, Mary, who was dressed in beige corduroy and a delicate white sweater, simply nodded in response.

His father, Charles, wearing dark brown corduroy and a matching sweater, said, “Black for me.”

“Two cream and three sugars for me,” said his sister, Amelia. For someone who I know considers herself as the “tough type”, she was dressed rather comfortably. A sky blue fleece robe and white slippers don’t exactly infer that she is not to be tested. Then again, it could be on purpose. She always had a knack of creating an approachable aura when she needed to get closer to her enemies.

“Black and strong for me,” said Grandpa H. He, like Amelia, had dress attire that made him look innocent. However, it wasn’t to create a softer version of himself. It was simply for the fact that he was an old man who had been enjoying his retirement. Well, that’s what he said. Before Henry had done what he did to Gavriil’s son and best henchman, Grandpa H was living a peaceful life as a taxidermist. Unfortunately, Henry’s actions resurfaced certain dangers that made him feel … needed. Despite this call to action, he felt no need to appear intimidating or to act hastily. As of yet, no one had come to harm the family. He felt confident with the family’s safety, which was quite noticeable on this night as he was dressed in a light brown sweater and black fleece pants.

Mary got up and wrapped her shawl around her to gain warmth as she walked towards Henry.

“I’ll help you, dear,” she said softly.

Henry was already in the kitchen opening a pot labelled Bold Roasted Coffee and began to scoop the grounded beans into what you would call a coffee maker. Mary grabbed a coffee pot full of water.

“You know, dear, what you did was a good thing,” she said.

Henry looked at her as if she was insane. When he killed Gavriil’s son and henchman, he was more scared and confused than he had ever been in his life. He wanted no part in the business but through chaos and persuasion, he had to accept it. For, despite his hesitation to a life of crime, he loved his family and felt their criminal acts were out of respect for something he had mutual feelings for.

She deflected his facial expression with a gentle smile and light sigh. “Son, we don’t kill for sport or to send a message … only to protect ourselves.”

The cabin they all lived in truly represented their love for art and the power behind a creative expression. The kitchen itself was an art piece: marble counters, heated flooring, steel appliances, solid oak that glistens and exemplifies incredible craftsmanship. The cupboards resembled the work of Kaare Klint, who had a Danish style. A little bar (or a kitchen island? Not sure) in the center was complemented by a chandelier from the Blackpool Tower. In the center of it was engraved From H.F. to C.F. (Henry Fields, or Grandpa H, to Charles Fields).

Henry took the first two coffees out to Amelia. She smiled softly and then sipped her coffee as if savouring its every essence and flavour.

Henry grabbed the tin can of the stronger coffee and began preparing the coffee maker for a new batch of coffee. He leaned on the counter with his arms folded, gazing down and contemplating … well, everything. Mary watched him as she sipped her coffee. Noticing Henry’s body language, she took a few steps towards him.

“What is it, sweetie?” she said as if she had an idea of what he might be thinking.

Henry shrugged his shoulders as he eyed the coffee maker that just finished brewing.

“Nothing. I just wish I knew more about … well … the family.” He turned towards the cupboards to grab two mugs and then poured the coffee.

He took a few steps out towards the living room. Mary came up behind him and touched his left shoulder. He paused and turned his head slightly.

“Come downstairs with me; there is something I want to show you.”

He nodded and then handed Grandpa H his coffee while forcing out a crooked smile.

Mary stood near the door, arms crossed and waiting for him. “Shall we?”

“Shall you what?” asked Charles inquisitively.

“No need to get excited, dear; just showing our dear boy what it means to be a Fields.”

Charles nodded and stared back at the fireplace.

Mary led the way past the kitchen and entered the hallway. She pulled open a trapdoor near the back door, revealing a downward staircase. She took a couple steps down as lights turned on.

Henry followed her.

They took their last steps into the basement and within seconds the entire room was lit. They turned to the right and came upon a wall labelled W&S.

“What does that stand for?” asked Henry.

“Weapons and Storage,” she replied, opening a slot in the bottom right corner of the wall.

She entered Morse code for open: - --- .--. . -. When she finished, the doors slid open.

There was everything from rifles to modified and strange weapons that were beyond description.

“Revelabit,” said Mary. The wall of weapons turned sideways, revealing a room similar to the one in Charles’s cabin. Paintings, jewellery, money, etc.

“I still don’t understand why you guys do this,” said Henry, looking around at all the paintings.

Mary smiled and sighed softly while looking at him.

“Sweetie, these paintings belonged to people who don’t understand or respect art. We make it our job to keep it out of the wrong hands.”

Henry, having learned to control his inquisitive nature, nodded in agreement. It was a habit he worked hard at because he got tired of biting his tongue. He bit it so much that when he’d look in the mirror, he’d look at his tongue in disgust. I was disgusted by his tongue as well. Thankfully I have the ability to be stealthy through invisibility and daintiness.

Yes, that’s right, despite Gavriil’s knowledge of the fact that I don’t need to see to know everything about his enemies, I was obligated to go inside any and all areas as much as possible.

Mary looked at him as if she knew he was going to continue to be inquisitive. Henry breathed a heavy sigh as he looked around.

“Come, hun, there is still plenty to see,” said Mary, now waiting outside the room with her arms crossed.

Henry stepped out quietly while Mary punched in the Morse code to close it.

The doors slid closed as they walked to a corner of the room in which nothing was in sight.

Henry stood there, puzzled by what they were looking at.

“Sasopic,” said Mary. A door opened out of thin air, revealing a small damp room with nothing but a couch and a coffee table. “This is the invisibility room. If someone breaks into the house, go in and be as quiet as possible. We soundproofed it but parts of the walls aren’t. Someone broke in a while ago and tried to destroy it but wasn’t able to.”

She closed the door and it locked automatically. There was a black screen in the observation room that went from wall to wall, with four chairs along what looked like a high-tech and complex keyboard.

“Here is where most of our work and research is done when it comes to an art piece or enemies that may be a threat to us.”

Henry nodded as he looked around excitedly.

“The password is Picasso’s Birthdate,” said Mary as Henry stared blankly at the black screen. “You know what it is, right, sweetie?”

“Yes, Mother. It’s 1881.”

“Good. Now here you’ll see the interrogation room where we just installed a private cell. There aren’t any windows, so if someone does not cooperate, we throw them in there.”

There was a knock near the top of the stairs. “Permission to enter?” asked Charles.

“Yes, dear, we are just finishing up,” said Mary softly.

Charles and the rest of the family came down one after the other with their mug in hand.

All of them went to the middle of the room, which was a lounging area with two couches, a love chair, a quarter log coffee table, and a fireplace right in the middle.

Henry and Mary joined them and took a seat on one of the couches.

“Did you show him the stress release area?” asked Charles excitedly as he pointed to the other side of the stairs.

Mary shook her head. Charles put his mug down, got up, and signalled Henry to follow him. Henry got up with no hesitation and walked with his father to a corner of the room. On the wall were the words Frustration Zone branded in bold letters.

For art thieves, they had some rather generic taste. A term I had never heard of on my planet. Everything there was wholesome and untainted by numbing agents that fall under the spell of something you would call “entertainment”.

Charles started fooling around on a punching bag while exhaling in short bursts.

“Take a swing, Son!” he said while punching the air with an excited yet childish grin.

Henry scoffed and looked at the bag and started wailing on it like a madman, knocking a bit of stuffing out.

Everyone turned their attention to him. He panted a little bit like he just finished a light jog. Henry caught his breath and looked at everyone, who apparently gave him a stare humans give when they’ve seen another portray the behaviour of a savage wild animal attacking another. Which, from my understanding, is when their eyes go wide and forehead furrows in surprise.

I’ve met “wild animals” here on earth, and I must say that the look the Fields gave Henry after he gave the punching bag a good beating resembled the one of an animal being hunted by prey. This element of the “animal kingdom” (something I learned about while stealthily watching a “nature show” with Henry when he was still a writer) certainly matched how things went from time to time back home.

In order to test Henry, Charles grabbed a knife out of his pocket and attempted to slash him, but Henry was too quick. Henry deflected the knife, grabbed it swiftly out of Charles’s hand, and then put Charles in a choke hold with the knife at his throat.

“Where did you get training to do that, Son?” said Charles, a little short of breath.

“Self-taught. I kept to myself for a long time when my career as a writer died. I’d train in my basement while looking at YouTube videos and I made connections with private instructors.” He put down the knife and released Charles.

Henry always felt a need to protect himself because he had a number of crazed fans try to kill or harm him. More so when he retired from writing. One woman tried to break his sternum in his sleep with a sledgehammer. Considering that she didn’t succeed, which was due to his quick reflexes and a knife under his pillow, it was the least frightening part of this event. The most frightening was what she said before her attempt:

“How could you stop doing what you are so great at? You have broken and ripped my heart out. It’s only fair I do the same to you.”

Henry handed back the knife and smiled like nothing happened.

“We certainly have some catching up to do. Promise me you will be honest with us. We will do the same for you,” said Charles with sincerity.

Charles had always been the stern and stoic type. Basically, he always had a rather unfazed look plastered on his face. He felt a need to seem strong and fearless. It’s not that he had no ability to feel emotions, he just never expressed the ones that would lessen or soften his tough exterior. In the past, and for the most part of my observation during this tale, I felt like I could relate to him because I never understood what it was like to have human emotions. That being said, I thought he was the same way. However, during the time when Charles and Gavriil were new enemies, I came to see that Charles was acting this way to protect his family and do his best to intimidate Gavriil.

Henry and Charles headed back to the lounge room.

“Repair,” said Charles, and the torn part of the punching bag stitched itself back together.

Charles looked at Mary and said, “Did you do the profile tour?”

“No, not yet.” She signalled Henry to follow her.

They headed to the study and observation department. Henry took the middle seat and typed in the password. The screen came on and Henry flinched at the brightness before he could adjust to it. A dim blue line ran across the screen with classical music playing softly in the background. An automated voice broke the silence by saying:

“Hello, Henry the second. I am Jacqueline. How may I help you?” The voice was soft with a bit of a French accent.

“That name … it sounds so familiar,” said Henry, intrigued by the name.

“I was named after Pablo Picasso’s spouse, Jacqueline Roque. Therefore, I was given her name and voice. How may I help you?”

Mary cleared her throat and said, “Hi, Jacqueline, my son is here to learn a little bit about the Fields.”

“Hi, Mary. Most certainly. Who shall I present first?”

“Let’s go with Henry the first,” said Mary firmly.

“Great start, Mary,” said Jacqueline with no change in tone.

A page with Grandpa H’s face, basic information, and details from his past showed up onscreen.

“Henry was trained in hand-to-hand combat, in weapons, and as a green beret for the United States of America from 1952 to 1957. He became a ghost for the FBI as an assassin in Cambodia. In 1974, his spouse, Alessandrina, was held hostage and killed by the Vasiliev mafia. Still now, Henry is a target for the Vasiliev mafia due to having taken a prized painting which originally belonged to him. His legal name is Valdi Picesso Moretti. He is the head of the Fields business in preserving stolen art from those who only possess art for greed. To avoid exploiting his family to any legal authority, his public cover profession is taxidermy.”

“Wow,” said Henry, astonished at his grandfather’s history. He looked at him sitting on the couch, staring bitterly at the fire. Grandpa H’s face always had a hardened and stoned look to it—a hard man to read but a loyal one indeed.

The onscreen profile changed to a woman who looked to be in her forties. It was Alessandrina.

“Alessandrina is Henry’s wife, who, as you know, is deceased. She had a degree in linguistics, criminology, and English literature. Her cover job was bookkeeper.”

The screen then changed to a profile of a man named John. He looked like he was in his thirties, was covered in tattoos, had a gaunt look on his face, had bloodshot eyes, and was dressed in a dirty and lazy fashion.

“Who’s that?” asked Henry.

“Mary, shall I go on?” asked Jacqueline.

“Yes, Jacqueline.” Mary turned her attention to Henry. “Now, Henry, before she tells you who John really is, you have to promise me you won’t do anything foolish like go after him. He is a dangerous man and is behind bars for several reasons. Do you understand?” She held his gaze until he nodded in agreement. She then turned back to the screen. “Go on, Jacqueline.”

“John Kalev, formerly the husband of Amelia Fields, was a spy (or snitch) for Vasiliev. He had the task of retrieving details of the Fields heist to retrieve a stolen art piece. Upon successful completion of this task, the hostage and murder of Alessandrina Fields took place. His role in Vasiliev’s business was uncovered by Amelia Fields when she noticed the tattoo on his right forearm had a Russian saying: Болтун большие корабли. Boltun bol’shiye korabli.”

“That means loose lips sink big ships,” said Mary.

“Well, that is a lot to process,” Henry said.

“Promise me you won’t go after him unless we say so,” said Mary, grabbing him by the shoulder.

“Don’t worry, Mom, I won’t—wait, what do you mean by ‘unless we say so’?” asked Henry inquisitively.

Mary sighed. “There is word that he might’ve broken out of jail.”

“What? We gotta do something about that, don’t we?”

“Again, not until we say so. If you go off on your own, you are risking your life. It is best if we stay together as a team … as a family. Got it?”

He nodded and then typed the password to shut the screen off. They rejoined everyone in the lounge, the fire roaring and crackling at their feet.

One detail Mary left out was that John made dramatic threats when he was served divorce papers upon Amelia’s visit. He told her he’d break out just so he could kill her and ruin her family. That, believe it or not, was the lighter side of this convict’s escape.

What no one but I and the Vasilievs knew was that, after he broke out, he was thrown from a helicopter into a dark unknown forest. I wasn’t told, nor did I hear, where the forest was, but I do remember seeing everything that happened to John from the moment he was surrounded by starved wolf-dog hybrids. Two days prior to this graphic feast, they had been wandering the forest with nothing to eat. So, as they circled him, they licked their lips and locked their jaws on to any soft flesh they could grab a bite of. Screaming for the first half of the feast, he pathetically tried to fight his way out of it. Within minutes, he was nothing but bone and a small pool of blood mixed into the steaming soil. The wolf-dogs left his hot skeleton to decompose in the ground as they pressed on to the outskirts of the forest.

Gavriil was quite upset about John’s lack of care to not get caught. This went for anyone who dared show any hint of weakness or risk of exposure. The Fields will never know of what happened to John, and frankly, it wouldn’t make a difference—other than knowing he was a ruthless psychotic killer. Though I’m sure they’ve always known that.

A maniacal laugh echoed in the room, startling everyone except Henry who simply stopped sipping his coffee and put the mug down on the table. The laugh grew louder and more hoarse—like a madman infatuated with chaos and mayhem.

“Good evening, Fieldys. Hope you are all enjoying yourselves, you monsters!” The disturbing voice had a sharp and thick Russian accent.

“Gavriil,” said Grandpa H. He got up and paced around the room. “You dare call us monsters—you killed my wife, you diabolical prick!”

“You stole from me and killed my son! MY SON!” said Gavril with a sharp tone.

“To hell with you! You stole from us first, you greedy, dirty Russian!”

“NO! To hell with you all for having killed one of my best men and my son! I declare war upon all of you!”

The room became silent.

“Is he here?” Henry asked quietly.

“BOO!” said Gavriil, laughing hysterically. “Ooooh, I’m far away, my dear boy. Just know I will know your … every … single … move.” Gavriil laughed even harder.

Of all the characteristics of Gavriil that I’ve come to know, his sense of humour and comical overuse of maniacal laughter are the ones I hated the most.

The room went silent again. Charles scoffed and then smiled as he looked up at the ceiling. For a moment it seemed he wasn’t looking at anything—until his eyes twitched at a blinking light on the ceiling.

“Get me the ladder, Mary,” he said.

Mary got up and grabbed a ladder from behind the stairs. Charles climbed the ladder till he could cut the wires from the blinking light, and then he removed the light and passed it to Henry.

“Destroy it,” said Charles.

Henry nodded and stomped it to smithereens. “How do we know he’s still not listening?” asked Henry.

“We don’t. The house is safe but he could’ve planted cameras elsewhere.” Henry nodded in agreement, and then everyone started to head upstairs. Charles was first, and after he took a couple steps up the stairs, he stopped in his tracks and turned his attention to everyone behind him.

“Before we head upstairs, I want to make it clear that, although we may be safe here, it may only be safe for the time being. We don’t know when or where Gavriil will make his next move.” Charles spoke with a concerned but firm tone.

Usually, Charles was not the type to bluntly express concern for safety. What I gathered over time about his way of leadership was that he simply dictated who does what and everyone followed. He usually maintained this persona, but when it came to close and dangerous situations, he sometimes broke from his hard shell.

He continued up the stairs with everyone behind following his lead, and the downstairs light turned off automatically.

Once upstairs, Charles walked to the end of the hallway and turned his attention to his family, who huddled up to listen.

“Huddled up” is an expression humans use to mean to gather in close quarters. This is something my comrades and I never did back home because we could communicate from great distances without losing mental connection.

“So, Gavriil wants to go to war, which is not a good thing, but it will be a great test for you, Son. I hope you are ready to go to war with this monster.”

Henry smiled forcefully, with his hands in his pockets, acting a bit squeamish.

Charles sighed. “I need to hear you say it, Son.”

“Yes, I’m ready to go to war.”

“Good. Now, how he got that camera in here and used the study and observation deck is unknown.”

“But why only downstairs?” said Henry inquisitively.

“Because he probably knew we did most of our work in the basement, which also means that the Vasilievs know about our storage room.”

Everyone nodded in agreement.

“Here’s the plan. Tonight, I will be setting an alarm that will go off every three hours. When you hear it, check your surroundings. There is an intercom in every room, so say ‘Clear’ once you’ve completed your task. Everyone got it?”

Everyone nodded once again.

“Good. Mary and I will take the upper floor. Father, you will take the attic. Son, you and Amelia will take the living room and kitchen. Do not open the front door to check the outside. If you hear something, press the intercom and say ‘Red’. Understood?”

Henry and Amelia nodded in agreement.

“Hey Amelia?” said Henry.

“What?” she said with a sigh, wrapping herself tightly in her blanket.

“What happened for there to be beef between us and the Vasilievs?”

“Beef? That’s the word you’re going with?”

“Umm, yeah?” said Henry confused.

She scoffed. “It’s called sarcasm, bro-man.” She had a bit of a stone cold look.

Henry chuckled but stopped when he noticed her tone. “Bro-man, haven’t heard that one in a while. You are hard to read, Sis.”

“Uh-huh, now shut up and listen.”

Henry gulped at her tone.

“The Vasilievs are ruthless, ballsy, and super competitive. They don’t care who they kill, who they steal from, or how many times they end up in jail. Worst of all, whoever causes them emotional pain is the one they try to hurt the most.”

“Wow.”

“I told you to shut up.”

Henry nodded and gestured her to keep going.

“So, two things. One, we had a painting Gavriil really wanted and he got it. By we, I mean Mom, Dad, Grandpa, and Grandma. I wasn’t in the business until five years ago when the last break-in happened. They went to the Vasilievs and stole it back, but it came at the cost of Grandma’s life when she was held hostage. It was a dark moment for Grandpa.”

Henry nodded, looking at her like his head was full of questions.

“Two, the break-in five years ago was an eerie one because Gavriil and his goons left no traces and stole nothing. I think they only meant to spook us. I was the one who noticed the security of the house was compromised. Dad was pissed that Gavriil still wasn’t letting go and wasn’t understanding what respect was. He knew they’d always be enemies but, man, was he mad as hell. Probably still is.”

The alarm went off and they both got up and started checking every area of the living room and kitchen. “Clear,” said Amelia.

Henry opened his mouth to say clear but noticed something strange when he pressed the intercom: a thick laser beam shot out of it. He looked up and saw something glowing red on the ceiling.

“Amelia, look,” he said, pointing to the ceiling while pressing lock on the intercom.

Amelia looked up at the ceiling and saw where the laser projected a small message: One hundred hours – Give me what I want or I will destroy you all!

“Red! I repeat, red!” Amelia said into the intercom with urgency.

Everyone came down quickly and stared at the ticking timer.

“Shit,” said Charles.

“Is this about the painting again?” said Henry.

Charles nodded as he ran his hands through his hair.

“Yes, but it’s not all he wants,” said Charles. He scratched his beard as he frowned the way humans do when thinking meticulously.

“What else could he want, dear?” said Mary.

“Something even rarer. The person who has it wants the painting Gavriil’s trying to get from us more than he does.”

“Wait, you don’t mean … ” said Amelia in shock. “We’ve been searching that for years. What are we going to do?”