He walked through the gates of the cemetery, surrounded by death. It was nearing dark, and he would have to make this quick. The smell of fertilizer and roses filled his nostrils. As the rain began to pour down heavy on his scalp, he pulled his hood up.
As he walked through the path, passing endless graves, he was stopped by a groundskeeper. He nodded towards him.
“It’s getting late, son.” the groundskeeper said. “You don’t wanna be here late at night, it’s not exactly comforting.”
“I’m just here to see an old friend.” he replied.
“Well, I’d be quick about if I were you. There’s a storm coming later.”
“Give me five minutes, I’ll be gone soon.”
The groundskeeper sighed. “You got four. Should lay off the cigarettes, son. Your voice doesn’t sound too great.”
The man nodded, scowling at the man and walked towards the grave he’d been looking for. He reached inside his hood pocket, pulling out a sharp bowie knife. As he walked past more resting places, he knelt down and cut a selection of flowers from the ground.
Gripping them tightly, he felt the thorns piercing through his skin. Warm blood trickled down his palm, staining the white petals of the flowers he’d picked. He knelt down as he came to the grave he was looking for, leaving the bloodied flowers by its side.
“Hello, Wendy. It’s been a long time since I was here and I don’t have much time now, so I’ll make this quick. I’m back in London for good. I’m going to finish what you started.”
Lightning crackled through the air as he spoke. The rain got heavier, seeping through his hood. He took his knife out and began cleaning the blade.
“By the time I’m done, the world will know the true man that Quentin Lloyd really is. I can’t do it alone though, for the first time since I knew you I’m going to need help. There is someone I have in mind. I’ve been watching your son. He’s different; he’s everything I should have been. He’s an asset.”
He stood up and put the blade back in his pocket. “I’ll start with him.”
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