So just something I've been working on. 1st chapter isn't finished, as you wll be able to tell. It is what I have so far, let me know if it is working. Thanks! ((Forgive the format. Pasted word document...rest assured I am quite capable of novel foormat
))
Prologue
“Hey Gabe, Jeopardy is on in five minutes!” Gabe heard his father’s deep voice boom up at him. “You are so going down tonight!”
“Bring it on,” his small voice from the upstairs of the house squeaked. “Just let me finish my book. I’ll be down in a second. Whatever questions they do before I get down can be counted as yours.”
Devlin smiled and walked back to the couch where his wife sat with a bowl of popcorn in her lap. He plopped down, putting his arm around her.
“Eight years old and I swear that kid has the IQ of Einstein.”
Kaitlyn smiled at her husband’s exaggeration.
Devlin got back up to go yell up at Gabriel again, but the doorbell rang, causing him to glance at his watch.
“Honey, are you expecting anyone?” He called back over his shoulder.
Kaitlyn looked up from the television.
“No. Dev, after you get the door, yell to Gabe to hurry up. I think he would really like these categories.” She turned back to Alex Trebek.
Devlin walked over to the door and looked through the peephole. He pressed his forehead against the cool door, his hand resting on the handle. Against his better judgement, he pulled the door open. Fit and handsome, Taylor Byrne dominated the front stoop. His blue uniform was neatly pressed, and his boots and belt buckle shined, giving him the neat, friendly police officer appearance Devlin had found so appealing as a young boy.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in, Dev?”
Devlin opened the door wider, and moved aside, allowing Taylor access to the house. He walked in with the swaying motion caused by too many items adorning his tightly strapped belt. Devlin nervously eyed one of those items. Taylor’s .38 Special was newly polished, and the strap that held it in its holster was open.
After entering the house, Taylor turned to face Devlin, who was slowly shutting the door.
“What’s up, Taylor?” Devlin fought to keep his voice from trembling. He prayed Gabe stayed upstairs.
“Oh, same ol’ same ol’, Dev. You?”
Devlin nodded, biting down on his cheek nervously. He silently cursed himself for leaving his gun in the bedroom upstairs.
Taylor smiled, sensing his partner’s nervousness.
“You and me, Dev, we gotta talk.”
“Ok. Let’s go out and have some coffee, or a beer. Let’s go get a beer, Taylor.”
Taylor shook his head.
“No. No beer. What I gotta say to you, I say right here.” He smiled again, his white teeth flashing. “Scared, Dev? You should be. Cops aren’t s’posed to turn on their partners.”
Dev’s jaw tightened.
“Turn on? I didn’t say anything to IA, Taylor. Not yet, at least. All you gotta do is stop skimming, or request a new partner. I am not going down for that crap you did.”
Taylor moved closer to Devlin. Devlin’s shoulders twitched, but his feet stayed planted.
“Stop? Don’t give me that self-righteous crap. Everybody skims money. When you get paid peanuts, you have to. You know that.” Taylor glanced around at the house.
“Well, you are a little better off than most. You’re lucky your daddy gave you this house. I could barely afford an apartment, you know? Anyway, who cares about some drug money? The dealers ain’t getting it back. It’ll probably just go to some dirty politician’s pocket. So why not my pocket?”
Devlin swallowed hard, his eyes narrowing.
“We’re cops. We are supposed to uphold the law, not break it. Come on, Taylor. I won’t say anything, just leave my family alone.”
Taylor stepped forward and Devlin’s eyes caught the glint of light off the gun’s barrel. He tried to move to counter Taylor, but he didn’t react in time. Taylor shoved the gun into Devlin’s ribcage and pulled the trigger. Devlin’s body served as a crude silencer, and his eyes widened as his brain finally registered what had happened.
“I can’t do that.” Taylor whispered in his ear as he held Devlin close. He pulled away, gently easing Devlin to the floor. Devlin’s mouth hung open, his ice blue eyes staring up at his most trusted friend.
Gabriel sat on the top stoop, watching the ordeal. He fought desperately to keep from screaming as the bullet entered his father’s body. Now, the man he had known as Uncle Taylor moved towards the living room: towards Gabe’s mother. Gabe wanted to get up, to scream to his mother to run, but he didn’t move, and a disgusting feeling of helplessness brewed as he sat crouched on the stairs while Uncle Taylor sauntered out of his view, and into the living room.
“Dev?” Gabe hear his mother call.
A shot rang out, and Gabe silently sobbed.
After what seemed like forever, Taylor moved back into Gabe’s view as he walked towards Devlin’s body. Gabe shifted, creating an almost inaudible noise. Taylor’s trained ears picked up the sound, and he looked up at Gabriel.
“Hey buddy.” A slow smile filled Taylor’s face. “Come say hi to your Uncle Tay.” He moved towards the bottom of the stairs. With every step he took, Gabe scooted backwards a few inches.
Run, Gabe’s brain screamed at him. Tears streamed down his face as Taylor made his way up the stairs. He couldn’t run. His feet were glued to the stairs. Then, all of a sudden, the little boy in Gabe stopped crying, and he bolted up the stairs, as his brain’s frantic messages reached their desired destination. Taylor’s pace stayed the same.
“Don’t run, Gabey. I’m not gonna hurt you. Besides, there’s nowhere to run.”
Gabe made his way to his parent’s bedroom, shutting the door tightly behind him. He sunk to his knees on the floor, the footsteps of his pursuer echoing from behind the door. He crawled his way to the table on his father’s side of the bed. He dug until he found his father’s backup pistol, loaded and deadly. He easily located and turned the safety off, well versed in this weapon. His father had taught him to use it, convinced that is his son knew how deadly it was, he would be less likely to play with it. Devlin had been right, and Gabe had never had a desire to even hold the gun. Now it was necessary.
The bed concealed him from Taylor’s view as the door creaked open.
“Gaaabbbeee.” Taylor sang.
Gabe cringed at the familiar word dripping with evil.
“Come on, son. You can’t hide.” Taylor moved closer to Gabe’s hiding spot. Everything seemed to be going in slow motion. He could hear the blood rushing around in his head.
See that shell? Put it to your ear. You hear that Gabey? People say that is the sound of the sea. Want to know what it really is? It is the sound of the blood rushing in your ears. Cool, huh?
Taylor rounded the corner of the bed, that disgusting smile drew across his visage as he noticed Gabe.
“There you are.”
Gabe leveled the guns to Taylor’s chest with surprisingly steady hands. The smile remained on Taylor’s face.
“You gonna shoot me boy? Did your daddy teach you how to shoot that? Come on. Come on, Gabey. Shoot me already.” Taylor moved closer to Gabe.
“You can’t do it, Gabey. Only men kill other men. You are just a boy. A helpless, little boy.”
Tears ran down Gabe’s face. He didn’t want to kill Taylor out of anger, only necessity. He aimed at Taylor’s heart, and shut his eyes.
Remember never to jerk the trigger. Always squeeze. Really gently. There ya go, Gabey.
Taylor silently pulled the .38 Special from behind his back. Gabe kept his eyes closed. He couldn’t see Taylor pull the gun, but he felt it. He opened his eyes slowly, and gently squeezed the trigger.
Gabe woke up in a cold sweat, a bitterly familiar nightly ritual. He glanced at his glow in the dark watch and groaned. He still had two more hours until he had to be up and down in the French Quarter. He dragged himself out of his cot, and slumped down into the rickety chair in front of his computer. It had taken him a few days to rig the DSL from the café next door to the library basement, but he enjoyed the fruits of his labor for free. He figured since he ate at the café everyday, and always left a good tip, he could steal a little internet and not feel guilty. His computer was ten years old, but still served its purpose. Even though it was a little more slow than what he would like, he knew he was lucky to have it. He had bought it from a guy for a hundred bucks, and put another hundred into fixing it up the best he could. It wasn’t pretty to look at, since duct tape held most of it together, but the inner workings of the computer were as tight as they could be.
He signed in, and opened his internet browser. Instantly, his home page, drumlines.org, popped up. He usually spent the two hours between his awakening, and jogging to work to pour over every single topic in the drumming forum. He had been hooked on drums since he was a child, and now used his talents to feed himself everyday. His keen blue eyes scanned the topics, looking for something interesting.
Is This Normal? Raising his eyebrows, he double clicked the topic. He hadn’t read half of the first post when something creaked up above, and he froze. Sounds in the building were typical, but this sound was too close. He resided in the sub-basement, and it was rare for anyone to even enter the basement above him, let alone be trekking over the trap door leading to his home. He quickly shut off his computer, strode to the door, and bolted it shut. He sucked in a deep breath and held it, waiting for the footsteps to fade off. He prayed for them to fade, but they didn’t. They got louder, and louder, until they were directly over him.
“If the guy saw the kid come in through the grimy window all the way in back, then he must have sneaked into the sub-basement. There is a trap door around here somewhere…ah!” The trap door shook violently, and Gabe backed away, wondering if he had enough time to gather his things. The door shook even more causing dust to float down from the ceiling. The rotted wood creaked, and strained against the rusty bolt. He mentally took inventory of his possessions, and decided nothing was worth getting caught over. He hurdled boxes of old books that he had read a thousand times to reach the window in the back of the sub-basement. He flung the window open and squeezed out, directly into the waiting arms of a police officer.
“Got him!” The officer cried, yanking Gabe to his feet.
Gabe fought the urge to struggle. Instead of physically overpowering them, which was highly unlikely anyway, he would gain their trust, and bolt as soon as he could. The beefy officer clamped a hand tightly on Gabe’s shoulder.
“No trouble, right boy?”
Gabe shook his head, and allowed the officers to escort him to the squad car. The blue crescent moon painted on the side of the car seemed to mock him as he was put into the back seat. He watched the beefy officer speak to a female officer. The window in front was cracked open, so he heard their conversation.
“Runaway, no doubt. Take him to the station, check him for priors, etc…”
Gabe shook his head. He should have been more careful. Now his things, his beloved possessions, were being looked over by cops. He groaned aloud at the thought of not having access to his collection of Harry Potter. He poured over those books every night, connecting with Harry in every way. He too was alone and misunderstood most of his life. A cop squeezed into the front seat of the car. He made such a ruckus that it tore Gabe from his thoughts. Sighing, he stared at his feet. The officer looked back at him, his face etched with sympathy.
“It’s ok, kid. It’ll be alright. We’ll take care of you.”
“Gee, thanks.” Gabe muttered. His sarcasm was lost on the officer, who turned back in his seat and started up the car. He blew upward in an attempt to get his dark hair out of his eyes. He only succeeded in getting the strands to fly up for a moment, then come right back down again. He leaned back, thoroughly frustrated, and extremely exhausted.
The cop flew over the high rise at almost eighty miles an hour. Gabe shook his head. He hated when cops abused their privileges. It was a minor infringement, but it was disgusting nonetheless. Traffic was light, and they arrived at the station quickly. A social worker was already waiting inside, and Gabe was seated across from her in a damp, dark room.
“Hi there.” She grinned at him.
Gabe ignored her, and started tapping on the table with his fingers. He tapped out Flams and Swiss Army Triplets like there was no tomorrow, desperate to push his current situation far out of his mind.
“What is your name?” The social worker asked, trying again to get some conversation out of him.
Gabe debated whether to make one up, or just say silent. He decided it would be more fun to mess with her.
“John Williams,” he said, naming his favorite conductor.
“Pleasure to meet you John.” She extended her hand. Gabe, surprised that she believed him, he took her hand and pumped it firmly.
“How old are you, John?”
Gabe thought for a moment.
“Fifty-two.” He guessed at the conductor’s age.
“I think I heard you wrong, John. Did you say fifty-two?”
Biting his lip to keep himself from laughing at the look on the social worker’s face, Gabe nodded solemnly.
“Funny kid. So you aren’t going to tell me your name?”
Gabe shook his head in reply.
“Maybe someone will recognize you, then.”
“Doubt it. No one knows me around here, lady. I don’t hail from New Orleans. Nice try, though.”
He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. A smug look was plastered on his visage as the social worker stared at him. A police officer burst into the room.
“Prints, kid.”
Gabe obliged, then sat back down in his chair, still bearing the smug look.
The officer left, and Gabe once again stared wordlessly at the social worker.
“You aren’t helping yourself, you know. If we don’t know who you are, we place you in foster care. You can help us find some family or someone to take you.”
Gabe shrugged.
“Honestly, I could care less.”
