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View Full Version : Untitled 2nd Chapter. 4500 words. Some language PG-13?



FrameOfDust
February 19th, 2012, 01:48 AM
I recently posted the first chapter of this same novel. This portion isn't exactly sci-fi or horror during this portion of the tale, but because it is associated with the other chapter that is, I went ahead and placed it in this forum. I still think it needs a good bit of work, so any advice you can give would be appreciated.

-----------------------
Garrison Calvert was having a less than comfortable dinner with his sister Kristen, and her boyfriend Mark. Amigo's Mexican Grill in Shiloh was the agreed to locale, and as far as the food, it was as good as always. When it came to the three people sitting in the corner booth, trying to be nice, however, things were somewhat more shaky; at least as far as Garrison and Mark were concerned.


Conversations are flowing things, and the give and take at their particular table seemed to hit a dam one moment, leaving them in silence, only to burst and become a rough torrent the next. The torrents helped Garrison to see that any attempts on his part to help his relationship with his sisters boyfriend, wasn't getting anywhere.


Mark had just left to go to the restroom.


“I'm glad you two are getting along” Kristen said with a slight smile, locking eyes with Garrison.


He return the smile.


“Yeah, well, I mean... I can tell he really doesn't care for me, but he's at least trying to put on a good show. Good for him.”


Kristen's smile faded. She had no response.


Ten seconds slowly passed.


Mark slid in next to her, interrupting the awkward lull in conversation. He glanced back and forth between them as if divining what had just been said. He took the initiative.


“Ah, it was locked. I'll hold it till we're home, and I'll probably live to tell about it. But anyway, what do you say Gary? Camping next Friday?”


Even though he had plans, Garrison wasn't opposed to going. He honest to God wished that everything was becoming easier between the three of them; that things were going back, in some ways, like they used to be, and such an outing would be comfortable, enjoyable. He wished that Mark would let inconsequential matters fall into the dust, and be forgotten.


Doubtful. Very doubtful. How long will he let stuff bother him? Forever? Probably...


Garrison shook his head slightly, “Nah, man, I can't make it.”


Marks eyes grew even harder as he diverted his gaze. He nodded sharply.


“Well, maybe some other time” he said with a voice that betrayed bitterness.
Garrison ignored it; the tone of voice and the shadows peeking out from behind his shifting gaze.


“That'd be great. I really do want to, but I just can't this week.” Garrison paused and smiled, trying to find something to say, wanting to avoid sounding apologetic and guilty. He really did have plans.


He made his tone light, “Anyway, where are you guys camping at?”


The was a moment of silence before Kristen picked up the ball and ran with it.
“Mark found a place he thinks'll be great. It's somewhere outside of town, towards Brison. Where is at again?” She asked Mark, trying to get him back in the conversation.


“Ah, I found this little bridge by as dirt road about three miles out of town. I figured that we could park there, then hike a few miles. Get good and away from everything, ya know?”


Garrison nodded, “You guys'll have to tell me how it is.”


“It'd be great just to get out there... I feel like I need to. It'll be nice. It'll sound nice, out there... I think” Mark said, ignoring Garrisons comment. His words were odd, and haltingly given. Garrison gave him with a quizzical look.


A silent few second followed.


Mark, seeming to realize that his last comments sounded odd, shook himself from some hidden revery, and smiled, “I love the camping.”


Kristen looked as though she wanted to speak, but then didn't. Mark looked down at the table.


The waitress brought the check and with a friendly good night, along with a request for any requests, she dropped it in the center of the table. Mark and Garrison both reached for it at the same time. Garrison grabbed it first.


“I got it.” He said with an upbeat tone. An attempt to disarm.


Their eyes met for a long moment, and emotions were conveyed in a simple efficient manner, without the slightest doubt as to what the one was feeling. Garrison was trying to be nice. Mark wanted to jump across the table and smash him in the face.


Mark smiled a forced, twisted smile. He rose from his seat, grumbling quietly, sarcastically, as he headed for the exit.
“I bet you do. I bet you do. Thank you Garrison, thanks so much.”






****


As Garrison left the restaurant he kicked himself.


Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. How did you not see that would make him livid? Stupid!




It was all so ridiculous, though, so how could more absurd situations not follow?


Money! People go as crazy as an out house rat over money!
Garrison and Kristen's parents were dead. They had both passed on within a two year period, three years prior. Kenneth Calvert had died from injuries he received in an on the job accident, and their mother, Susan Calvert, committed suicide seven hundred and thirty days later.


Their fathers death hadn't really mattered all that much, at least in the beginning. Slowly but surely, however, as many times happens, death caused the birth of certain metaphysical consideration; At least in Garrison. If Kristen had a similar experience, she never let on.


Garrison had reached out to his mother, but to no success. They had never been close, in much the same way he had never been close to his father. She wouldn't let him come to her then and in the end she had deteriorated at a quick and steady pace. One night Garrison found her on the floor; A pain killer overdose. Yet again, if this had any effect on Kristen it was not apparent.


The immediate reason for Kristen's apathy, without calling up a myriad of issues from years gone by, was Mark. Their parents loathed the guy. Two years before her fathers death she had moved out of their house, and in with Mark. The fight was astonishingly brutal and violent; chaotic and hateful on a grand scale. The result was that Kenneth and Susan Calvert declared that they did not have, nor had they ever had, a daughter. She was written out of every aspect of their life. This is where the problems between Mark and Garrison, if not began, did indeed find their outlet.


The real problem was that, after his fathers death, Garrison had become religious.
Call it finding Jesus. Call it finding solace. Call it fleeing into the arms of faith because you fear your own mortality. Whatever you decide to classify it as, after Kenneth Calvert died, his son became a Christian. Mark declared him to be a 'religious asshole' and for the most part kicked him to the curb.
His mother hadn't liked it either. She hadn't wanted to hear, or know about it. In the end, though, she didn't make too much of a fuss. At least he wasn't like Kristen. Indeed, in spite of her humanism, she had to admit he was a better kid than he had been. He was her sole beneficiary, as she had been for his father.


They hadn't been rich, but neither were they poor; and when Susan Calvert died two years later she left Garrison with a reasonable mortgage, three vehicles, and nice pile of cash. The debt had been easily paid off with life insurance money and all, from a fiscal vantage, Garrison Calvert was in great shape. Indeed, much to the rage of Mark Hull, Garrison had came away “pretty damn good”, as he had stated more than once.


Mark worked an eight to five job, and lived in a mediocre little apartment. He drove a ten year old truck, and he never ate out on his lunch breaks. Yet, here was Garrison rolling in it. It was for these reasons that anything to do with money, such as the check at dinner, was a possible launch point for Mark's wrath.


Yeah, came out pretty good, didn't I Mark? Parents died while living like a couple of reprobates, but how about that? Don't I have some money!?






***


Garrison sighed as he walked down the dark street towards his car. He always liked to park in out of the way places, especially when he knew that he'd be out late. Garrison was a night owl in the highest order, and it was during the dark hours that he found himself in the highways and byways of Shiloh, Brison, and occasionally Hixon City.


He walked past his car as the cold air moved slowly, the street lights giving him sporadic glimpses into the gloom. Garrison smiled a sad smile.


Little idiot you were, weren't you Garrison? Well, lets go see if we can repay some of our 'fool debt' tonight...


Garrison turned down a shadowed alley, old three story brick building on either side, looking for those other late night prowlers who perhaps need some help; like he once did.




***


Garrison looked at his watch as he crossed the black asphalt of Third St., turning his steps onto Sully Ave. It was ten after eleven. He turned his gaze upward and, in between halogen blinding lights, saw nothing but darkness. The sky was overcast, with not even a glimmer of moon glow. A slight feeling of coming rain was in the air.


Garrison breathed deep and sighed.


The best kind of night


Part of the dead, dark streets gloom fled all of a sudden as a vehicle closed in on Garrison from behind. It's headlights cast his shadow long before him causing it's edges to sharpen as it drew near.


The vehicle slowed to a stop as it pulled along side of him.
It was a police cruiser. It's passenger window began to lower.


Who will I be dealing with tonight?

“Mr. Calvert” Came a voice from inside the cars dark interior.


“Mr. Connley.” Garrison returned with a grin.


Most of the police force of Shiloh did not appreciate Garrisons night time wandering, and they tended, whenever the had an opportunity, to give him a hard time. A couple of the officers, however, did not and this was one of them; Mr. John Connley.


Officer Connley was, at seventeen years older than Garrison, forty years old. If you asked Garrison, or most anybody in the community, he was the best officer of the lot. He was also the only black man on the Shiloh police force. This combination of praise and being a minority, didn't help his fellow officers like him any better. It would not be correct to say that racism was a problem, per SE, but there was certainly some sort of underlying tension due to his being black.


He and Garrison had hit it off about a year prior. Garrison Calvert could not care any less about his race, but he did like Officer Connley's attitude. The feeling was mutual.


The dome light in the squad car came on.

“What in God's name are you doing out tonight? It's gonna be stormin' in about a hour, hour and a half.”


“I thought it felt like rain. Well, maybe I'll head home before it hits.”


John laughed lightly, “Yeah, maybe. More likely you'll get sidetracked trying to save the world and get soaked”


“You never know...”


“You headin' over to Willow Creek?” Connley asked pointedly.


Garrison directed his gaze across the empty streets, pondering what exactly he was going to do. Usually he had some sort of feeling of direction; where he he wanted to be going, what he wanted to do; Not tonight, though.


“Ah, I don't know. I'm just walkin' right now. Sniffin' the air.”


Officer Connley shook his head, “Your a strange man, you know that?”


“Yeah, I think I do sometimes. Oh, I'll be seeing you at church tomorrow, by the way. I'm finally gonna make it.”


John nodded, “'bout time. You've been putting me off for two months”. He smiled, “We'll, be glad to have you.”


“I'm looking forward to it” Justin laughed, “I'll also be interested in seeing how many looks I get”.


John grinned, “Not as many as you may think”.


Turning the cars inside light off, John let off the brake. The car crept forward.


“I'm going home Mr. Calvert. Have a good night.”


“'night Mr. Connley. Tell Hannah I said 'hi'.”


Garrison began to turn and walk away, when John's voice came from the dark cruiser, through it's partially closed window, “Don't get shot”


The window closed completely and the car moved passed him, turning right on to Second Street. Then it was gone.


***




Garrison nodded in agreement with his own thoughts as he walked down Sully Ave.


Connley's one of the best guys in town. I need to get together with him more.


He sighed.


He felt aimless, unsure. He shrugged inwardly and kept walking. He'd enjoy the night air even if nothing was getting accomplished.


Upon reaching the intersection of Sully and Fourth St. he took a right. There was a construction/renovation job in progress at the old Reynold's Apartment building that he figured he would take a gander at.


Five minutes later Garrison was gazing at the tallest building in Shiloh from two blocks away. It stood at a less than gargantuan eight stories tall, but it was by far the most overshadowing structure around. It looked formidable, reared up taller than all the rest, standing stoically as the clock neared the witching hour.
The apartments had been built forty years ago, but for reasons that Garrison could only guess, it hadn't panned out for the owner. The couple of blocks surrounding the apartments complex turned, if not downright seedy, then certainly less than classy. A couple of tacky, grungy little shops opened up along side already empty buildings. The feelings that this couple of city blocks gave off was of desertion and grime. The apartment building itself wasn't kept up any better then the other buildings, and over the years it became a place where the more squalid of tenants could get cheap housing.


That is until recently.


Over the last three months this whole part of town had changed drastically. A new owner had taken the reigns of the Reynold building and was fixing it up. Whoever he or she was had also managed to purchase much of the surrounding property, effectively bulldozing undesirable buildings and beginning new construction in their place. From Garrisons vantage point he could make out a garden on either side of the apartment building, plants and blooming flowers, along with multiple statues and even a large fountain, could be seen behind the fence that cordoned off the job site.


Garrison looked on as the construction continued through the night. Large spotlights lit up the work sight, and the sound of tools and men at work drifted and echoed along the empty, late night street. There was a lot of progress being made here. A lot of new, clean construction made of good red brick and shiny steel, with marble statues scattered about for good measure.


He shook his head. There was something foreboding about all this change.


Or, maybe your turning into a crotchety old man...


He turned away, heading back the direction that he came.


Garrison looked at his watch as he headed back down Fourth St. It was twenty after twelve. Unlike normal he felt no inclination to head towards Willow Creek, which was his default destination if nothing else felt 'right'. He gave another inward shrug and continued to walk.


He passed shops, and hair dressers, and diners all long closed for he night. The only local still accepting patrons was Johnny's Tavern and Grill. It was still awake, and would be for another few hours at least.


Garrison looked at the blue neon sign, the outline of a mug of bear and steak. He recalled, back when he was sixteen, cursing a young waiter for not giving him a beer.


Yes, sir. You were an idiot. He thought as he walked on by.


A block later there was a squat, single layer parking garage. It had entrances on Fourth St., Fifth ST., as well as on Pine Ave. Garrison was just considering cutting through the sparsely lit garage when he heard muffled voices.


He checked his pace.


“...little bitch...” was all he could make out.


Garrisons eyebrows shot up and he crept quickly towards the entrance.


About twenty yards away, with their back turned to him, a young man and woman shuffled quickly towards a lone car. The girls head was bowed and the guy, with muffled vehemence, delivered curses upon curses into her ear as they went along. Every so often he would blurt out some form of abuse louder than the rest, which was all Garrison could really catch.


“... stupid... bitch”
“...fu...whore...”


Garrison stood watching the scene, confused. He wanted to help people. That's why he was out and about when all decent people were already hitting the sack; he was looking for UN-decent people to help; to love.


This scenario was difficult though. He was a stranger to these people and it wasn't his place to step in and keep some jerk from calling his girl vile names. Garrison forced him self to look away. He was just about to leave when he heard a loud collision, and short burst of a cry.


He jerked his gaze back toward the two and he saw that the girl had been shoved up against the car. She had stumbled, collapsing against the passenger side front tire. The young ma'ns voice rose, letting Garrison hear every word.


“Get your, whore-bitch piece of shit self in the damn car. Now!”


He back handed her across the face.


“Hey!” Garrison shouted, because nothing else came to him, “Don't do that!”


Sort of lame, Garrison.


He began to fast walk toward them.


The man turned, eyes registering his surprise; but only for a moment. He double slapped the side of the car with his palm, and then, locking eyes with Garrison, stooped down and slugged the girl in the gut.


Aw, come on...


The drivers side door opened and a man stepped out. Garrison slowed for half a beat.
The man that exited the car gave off the aura of one that liked to push people around. He was a big guy; a solid guy, not massive like a body builder material, but formidable to say the least. His posture seem to shout that he liked to brawl whenever the opportunity presented itself.


Well, call me Mr. Opportunity...


He stood about five eleven, slightly shorter that Garry, and probably weighed in about two hundred. He threw his head back, and without a word, or even a facial expression, he closed in quickly.


It's been a long time. Wow, it's been a while. How long has it been? Four years? Five?
The man shot out his left arm and grabbed the front of Garrison shirt, trying to hold him in place. He cocked a right punch, and barked it off, aiming to take Garry's head off. Garrison jerked away hard, stepping back with his right leg. As the man's punch came flying in Garrison parried it with his left hand, and then struck hard, twisting his body into the punch, with his right. The assailant's head snapped backwards hard.


Garry raised his right hand to guard his face, and launch a round house body punch to the guys blindside ribs. He let out a short grunt. Garrison shoved him hard in the back, and as he stumbled, trying to regain his balance, he forward snapped kicked him from behind straight up between his legs. The man sucked in air, and stumbled. Garrison drew back and swung a round house punch to the mans temple.


The first blow sent the man to his knees.


The second to all fours.


With the third, the lights went out, and he collapsed to the garage floor, dead to world.


Garrison took a deep breath.


Yeah, I guess I still got it, but is that a good thing?


A blur came in from the side.


Garry instinctively leaped away, raising his forearms to protect his chest and face.


A flaring, sharp, searing pain torn into both forearms, and Garrison made a sound, a half grunt and half embarrassing squeal. He looked up to see the guy who had struck the girl standing not five feet away from him, a stiletto in his hand.


Garrison shirt sleeves began to turn red.


The man leaped forward again, slashing. Garrison, raising his arms, and stepping, leaping, and leaning backward avoided the slashes.


If you don't do something he is about to freakin' skin you!


He squared him up as the slash came in in from the left. Garrison, as opposed to dodging, jumped into the attack, using his left arm to block the knife hand.


The man was caught flat footed, and surprised. Garrison, his left hand trying to grab the wrist of the blocked knife hand, struck with an elbow to the face. The man let out a grunt and then wrenched away hard, slashing wildly and slicing Garrisons hand in his retreat.


They both raised their eyes to each other, locked in a stare. The man took one step, and lunged with the knife.


Garrison had seen it coming a mile away.


He side stepped to the left, parrying the blade to the inside, while grabbing the the hand at the wrist. He swung a hard right hook, making solid contact on his attackers face. Using his right hand, Garrison grabbed the top of this attackers knife hand, completely arresting his use of the blade. Twisting, he turned and pushing toward his assailant, forcing the caught arm to curl back towards him.


The mans balance was put into question.


Garry shoved hard, toppling the attacker, causing him to crash hard to the asphalt. He followed the man to the ground landing with his knee in the guys gut.


He heaved, the air wrenched from his lungs.


Finish it... no time to be nice. Give him something to remember...


Garrison brought an over the top fist down upon his attackers face, which lay flush with the ground. The sound was sickeningly dull.


One, two, three, four blows.


By the last strike the man had been rendered totally senseless. He laying with closed eyes and a bleeding face, instinctively trying to curl into a ball. His breathing was came quick, shallow, and laborious.






Garrison stood up straight, taking inventory of the past... well, it felt like about a hour, but it was probably no more then sixty seconds. He wasn't a violent guy. He used to be, but not any more. His glance bounced from one prostate, neutralized attacker, to the other. He gritted his teeth in anger.


I didn't want this! I want to help, not hurt!


He swore under his breath, anger getting the better of him.


Suddenly a recollection came to mind.


The girl!


Garrison turned to find that she had managed to make it to her feet. Doubled over, her hands were on her knees and she was sucking air in, hard.


“Uhm... are you... alright?” Garrison asked haltingly, unsure as to what to do.


The girl never made a move.


“Hey...uhm....” He started, but nothing else came.


The girl raised her head with a snap, and Garrison took a step back. Her eyes were wild like a hunted beast, like a rabid, cornered animal. They held both rage and fear.


“Damn you! Damn you! Damn you!” She screamed in a shrill voice as she launched herself at him.


Her fingernails went straight for his eyes and he barely jerked away before she could claw them out. Red gouged out trails, streaked down the side of his face. He grabbed her wrists and held her firm.


“Calm down... I'm trying help!” He shouted almost pleadingly.


She tore herself from him and collapsed against the car.


“Get away from me! I'm dead because of you you stupid shit! Get away from me!”


“I'm sorry... I don't....” Garrison tried to salvage this horrific turn of events.


“Get away!” She screamed, louder and more horrifying than before.


“Ok! Ok! I'm gone! I'm sorry!” Garrison threw his palms up, in a disarming, non nonplussed manner, “I'm sorry...”


He turned his back and walked quickly towards the exit he had entered through. He felt like he wanted to cry.


You messed this up... somehow...


As he turned the corner he heard the disgusting, dull sound of a body, a skull, being smashed against something hard. He turned on his heels and looked back.


The girl was staggering. She whimpered, sobs shaking her from head to toe. Suddenly she walked up to one of the support pylon, reared her head back, and smashed it into the concrete.


“Stop! Stop!” Garrison cried, running back towards her, but it was to late.


The young woman had struck her head against the support thrice more by the time Garrison reached her. She collapsed at his feet and lay, semi conscious, eyes fluttering in a haze.


He stood in a type of stupor himself. Horrified by his surroundings.
He looked at the unconscious attackers. He looked at the prostrate body of the girl who had just abused herself. He looked himself up and down, realizing for the first time how much blood had soaked his clothes, and spilled upon the garage floor.


Oh, God, what do I do? God... God...


He shook himself, and began to search the trash on the ground. He saw it; a gum wrapper.


Garrison grabbed the old, crinkled piece of paper and, taking a pen out of his pocket, wrote his phone number on it. He knelt beside the girls and whispered in her ear.


“I don't know if you can understand a word I'm saying, but I hope you can. I was trying to help you. I still want to help you. I get the feeling whoever these guys are, they wont want you to have my number, so I wrote on this paper and I am putting it in the sole of your shoe. Call me, if you want my help. I'll do whatever I can... God bless...”


Garrison slid one of her shoes off and put the paper inside.


He stood up slowly and paused, gazing around him again. He shook his head in disbelief as he began walking toward the exit. Suddenly, he felt like he didn't want to go out the way he came in. He paused only for a moment, and then, with a sudden inspiration, turned and bolted towards the far exit that let out on Fifth street. As he turned the corner, leaving the garage, he glanced back. A squad car was pulling into the garage.

Olly Buckle
February 19th, 2012, 07:54 AM
Garrison Calvert was having a less than comfortable dinner with his sister Kristen, and her boyfriend Mark. Amigo's Mexican Grill in Shiloh was the agreed to locale, and as far as the food, it was as good as always. When it came to the three people sitting in the corner booth, trying to be nice, however, things were somewhat more shaky; at least as far as Garrison and Mark were concerned.


Conversations are flowing things, and the give and take at their particular table seemed to hit a dam one moment, leaving them in silence, only to burst and become a rough torrent the next. The torrents helped Garrison to see that any attempts on his part to help his relationship with his sisters boyfriend, wasn't (Plural needed) getting anywhere.


Mark had just left to go to the restroom.


“I'm glad you two are getting along” Kristen said with a slight smile, locking eyes with Garrison.


He return the smile.


“Yeah, well, I mean... I can tell he really doesn't care for me, but he's at least trying to put on a good show. Good for him.”


Kristen's smile faded. She had no response.


Ten seconds slowly passed.


Mark slid in next to her, interrupting the awkward moment. (more than a moment) He glanced back and forth between them as if divining what had just been said. He took the initiative.


“Ah, it was locked. I'll hold it till we're home, and I'll probably live to tell about it. But anyway, what do you say Gary? Camping next Friday?”


Even though he had plans, Garrison wasn't opposed to going. He honest to God wished that everything was becoming easier between the three of them; that things were going back, in some ways, like they used to be, and such an outing would be comfortable, enjoyable. He wished that Mark would let inconsequential matters fall into the dust, and be forgotten.


Doubtful. Very doubtful. How long will he let stuff bother him? Forever? Probably...


Garrison shook his head slightly, “Nah, man, I can't make it.”


Marks eyes grew even harder as he diverted his gaze. He nodded sharply.


“Well, maybe some other time” he said with a voice that betrayed bitterness.
Garrison ignored it; the tone of voice and the shadows peeking out from behind (missing word) shifting gaze.


“That'd be great. I really do want to, but I just can't this week.” Garrison paused and smiled, trying to find something to say, wanting to avoid sounding apologetic and guilty. He really did have plans.


He made his tone light, “Anyway, where are you guys camping at?”


The was a moment of silence before Kristen picked (up?) the ball and ran with it.
“Mark found a place he thinks'll be great. It's somewhere outside of town, towards Brison. Where is at again?” She asked Mark, trying to get him back in the conversation.


“Ah, I found this little bridge by as dirt road about three miles out of town. I figured that we could park there, then hike a few miles. Get good and away from everything, ya know?”


Garrison nodded, “You guys'll have to tell me how it is.”


“It'd be great just to get out there... I feel like (Missing word) need to. It'll be nice. It'll sound nice, out there... I think” Mark said, ignoring Garrisons comment. His words were odd, and haltingly given. Garrison gave him with a quizzical look.


A silent few second followed.


Mark, seeming to realize that his last comments sounded odd, shook himself from some hidden revery, revere and smiled, “I love the camping.”


Kristen looked as though she wanted to speak, but then didn't. Mark looked down at the table.


The waitress brought the check and with a friendly good night, along with a request for any requests, she dropped it in the center (centre) of the table. Mark and Garrison both reached for it at the same time. Garrison grabbed it first.


“I got it.” He said with an upbeat tone. An attempt to disarm.


Their eyes met for a long moments, (Plural?) and emotions were conveyed in a simply (simple,) efficient manner, without the slightest doubt as to what the one (Each) was feeling. Garrison was trying to be nice. Mark wanted to jump across the table and smash him in the face.


Mark smiled a forced, twisted smile. He rose from his seat, grumbling quietly, sarcastically, as he headed for the exit.
“I bet you do. I bet you do. Thank you Garrison, thanks so much.”






****


As Garrison left the restaurant he kicked himself.


Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. How did you not see that would make him livid? Stupid!




It was all so ridiculous, though, so how could more absurd situations not follow?


Money! People go as crazy as an out house rat over money!
Garrison and Kristen's parents were dead. They had both passed on within a two year period, three years prior. Kenneth Calvert had died from injuries received on (in) an on the job accident, and their mother, Susan Calvert, committed suicide seven hundred and thirty days later.


Their fathers death hadn't really matter (ed) all that much, at least in the beginning. Slowly but surely, however, as many times happens, death caused the birth of certain metaphysical consideration; At least in Garrison. If Kristen had a similar experience, she never let on.


Garrison had reached out to his mother, but to no success. They had never been close, in much the same way he had never been close to his father. She wouldn't let him come to her then and in the end she had deteriorated at a quick and steady pace. One night Garrison found her on the floor; A pain killer overdose. Yet again, if this had any effect on Kristen it was not apparent.


The immediate reason for Kristen's apathy, without calling up a myriad of issues from years gone by, was Mark. Their parents loathed the guy. Two years before her fathers death she had moved out of their house, and in with Mark. The fight was astonishingly brutal and violent; chaotic and hateful on a grand scale. The result was that Kenneth and Susan Calvert declared that they did not have, nor had they ever had, a daughter. She was written out of every aspect of their life. This is where the problems between Mark and Garrison, if not began, did indeed find their outlet.


The real problem was that, after his fathers death, Garrison had become religious.
Call it finding Jesus. Call it finding solace. Call it fleeing into the arms of faith because you fear your own mortality. Whatever you decide to classify it as, after Kenneth Calvert died, his son became a Christian. Mark declared him to be a 'religious asshole' and for the most part kicked him to the curb.
His mother hadn't liked it either. She hadn't wanted to hear, or know about it. In the end, though, she didn't make too much of a fuss. At least he wasn't like Kristen. Indeed, in spite of her humanism, she had to admit he was a better kid than he had been. He was her sole beneficiary, as she had been for his father.


They hadn't been rich, but neither were they poor; and when Susan Calvert died two years later she left Garrison with a reasonable mortgage, three vehicles, and nice pile of cash. The dept(debt) had been easily paid off with life insurance money and all, from a fiscal vantage, Garrison Calvert was in great shape. Indeed, much to the rage of Mark Hull, Garrison had came away “pretty damn good”, as he had stated more than once.


Mark worked an eight to five job, and lived in a mediocre little apartment. He drove a ten year old truck, and he never ate out on his lunch breaks. Yet, here was Garrison rolling in it. It was for these reasons that anything to do with money, such as the check at dinner, was a possible launch point for Mark's wrath.


Yeah, came out pretty good, didn't I Mark? Parents died while living like a couple of reprobates, but how about that? Don't I have some money!?






***


Garrison sighed as he walked down the dark street towards his car. He always liked to park in out of the way places, especially when he knew that he'd be out late. Garrison was a night owl in the highest order, and it was during the dark hours that he found himself in the highways and byways of Shiloh, Brison, and occasionally Hixon City.


He walked past his car as the cold air moved slowly, the street lights giving him sporadic glimpses into the gloom. Garrison smiled a sad smile.


Little idiot you were, weren't you Garrison? Well, lets go see if we can repay some of our 'fool dept' (debt) tonight...


Garrison turned down a shadowed alley, old three story brick building on either side, looking for those other late night prowlers who perhaps need some help; like he once did.




***


Garrison looked at his watch as he crossed the black asphalt of Third St., turning his steps onto Sully Ave. It was ten after eleven. He turned his gaze upward in between halogen blinding (lights?) and saw nothing but darkness. The sky was overcast, with not even a glimmer of moon glow. A slight feeling of coming rain was in the air.


Garrison breathed deep and sighed.


The best kind of night


Part of the dead, dark streets (street's) gloom fled all of a sudden as a vehicle closed in on Garrison from behind. It's headlights cast his shadow long before him causing it's edges to sharpen as it drew near.


The vehicle slowed to a stop as it pulled along side of him.
It was a police cruiser. It's passenger window began to lower.


Who will I be dealing with tonight?

“Mr. Calvert” Came a voice from inside the cars dark interior.


“Mr. Connley.” Garrison returned with a grin.


Most of the police force of Shiloh did not appreciate Garrisons night time wandering, and they tended, whenever the had an opportunity, to give him a hard time. A couple of the officers, however, did not and this was one of them; Mr. John Connley.


Officer Connley was, at seventeen years older than Garrison, forty years old. If you asked Garrison, or most anybody in the community, he was the best officer of the lot. He was also the only black man on the Shiloh police force. This combination of praise and being a minority, didn't help his fellow officers like him any better. It would not be correct to say that racism was a problem, per SE, but there was certainly some sort of underlying tension due to his being black.


He and Garrison had hit it off about a year prior. Garrison Calvert could not care any less about his race, but he did like Officer Connley's attitude. The feeling was mutual.


The dome light in the squad car came on.

“What in God's name are you doing out tonight? It's gonna be stormin' in about a hour, hour and a half.”


“I thought it felt like rain. Well, maybe I'll head home before it hits.”


John laughed lightly, “Yeah, maybe. More likely you'll get sidetracked trying to save the world and get soaked”


“You never know...”


“You headin' over to Willow Creek?” Connley asked pointedly.


Garrison directed his gaze across the empty streets, pondering what exactly he was going to do. Usually he had some sort of feeling of direction; where he he wanted to be going, what he wanted to do; Not tonight, though.


“Ah, I don't know. I'm just walkin' right now. Sniffin' the air.”


Officer Connley shook his head, “Your a strange man, you know that?”


“Yeah, I think I do sometimes. Oh, I'll be seeing you at church tomorrow, by the way. I'm finally gonna make it.”


John nodded, “'bout time. You've been putting me off for two months”. He smiled, “We'll, be glad to have you.”


“I'm looking forward to it” Justin laughed, “I'll also be interested in seeing how many looks I get”.


John grinned, “Not as many as you may think”.


Turning the cars inside light off, John let off the break. (brake) The car crept forward.


“I'm going home Mr. Calvert. Have a good night.”


“'night Mr. Connley. Tell Hannah I said 'hi'.”


Garrison began to turn and walk away, when John's voice came from the dark cruiser, through it's partially closed window, “Don't get shot”


The window closed completely and the car moved passed him, turning right on to Second Street. Then it was gone.


***




Garrison nodded in agreement with his own thoughts as he walked down Sully Ave.


Connley's one of the best guys in town. I need to get together with him more.


He sighed.


He felt aimless, unsure. He shrugged inwardly and kept walking. He'd enjoy the night air even if nothing was getting accomplished.


Upon reaching the intersection of Sully and Fourth St. he took a right. There was a construction/renovation job in progress at the old Reynold's Apartment building that he figured he would take a gander at.


Five minutes later Garrison was gazing at the tallest building in Shiloh from two blocks away. It stood at a less than gargantuan eight stories tall, but it was by far the most overshadowing structure around. It looked formidable, reared up taller than all the rest, standing stoically as the clock neared the witching hour.
The apartments had been built forty years ago, but for reasons that Garrison could only guess, it hadn't panned out for the owner. The couple of blocks surrounding the apartments complex turned, if not downright seedy, then certainly less than classy. A couple of tacky, grungy little shops opened up along side already empty buildings. The feelings that this couple of city blocks gave off was of desertion and grime. The apartment building itself wasn't kept up any better then the other buildings, and over the years it became a place where the more squalid of tenants could get cheap housing.


That is until recently.


Over the last three months this whole part of town had changed drastically. A new owner had taken the reigns of the Reynold building and was fixing it up. Whoever he or she was had also managed to purchase much of the surrounding property, effectively bulldozing undesirable buildings and beginning new construction in their place. From Garrisons vantage point he could make out a garden on either side of the apartment building, plants and blooming flowers, along with multiple statues and even a large fountain, could be seen behind the fence that cordoned off the job site.


Garrison looked on as the construction continued through the night. Large spotlights lit up the work sight, and the sound of tools and men at work drifted and echoed along the empty, late night street. There was a lot of progress being done (made) here. A lot of new, clean construction made of good red brick and shinny (shiny) steel, with marble statues scattered (about?) for (Good?) measure.


He shook his head. There was something foreboding about all this change.


Or, maybe your turning into a crotchety old man...


He turned away, heading back the direction that he came.


Garrison looked at his watch as he headed back down Fourth St. It was twenty after twelve. Unlike normal he felt no inclination to head towards Willow Creek, which was his default destination if nothing else felt 'right'. He gave another inward shrug and continued to walk.


He passed shops, and hair dressers, and diners all long closed for he night. The only local still accepting patrons was Johnny's Tavern and Grill. It was still awake, and would be for another few hours at least.


Garrison looked at the blue neon sign, the outline of a mug of bear and steak. He recalled, back when he was sixteen, cursing a young waiter for not giving him a beer.


Yes, sir. You were an idiot. He thought as he walked on by.


A block later there was a squat, single layer parking garage. It had entrances on Fourth St., Fifth ST., as well as on Pine Ave. Garrison was just considering cutting through the sparsely lit garage when he heard muffled voices.


He checked his pace.


“...little bitch...” was all he could make out.


Garrisons eyebrows shot up and he crept quickly towards the entrance.


About twenty yards away, with their back turned to him, shuffled a young man and woman quickly towards a lone car. (Word order, 'shuffled towards')The girls head was bowed and the guy, with muffled vehemence, delivered curses upon curses into her ear as they went along. Every so often he would blurt out some form of abuse louder than the rest, which was all Garrison could really catch.


“... stupid... bitch”
“...fu...whore...”


Garrison stood watching the scene, confused. He wanted to help people. That's why he was out and about when all decent people were already hitting the sack; he was looking for UN-decent people to help; to love.


This scenario was difficult though. He was a stranger to these people and it wasn't his place to step in and keep some jerk from calling his girl vile names. Garrison forced him self to look away. He was just about to leave when he heard a loud collision, and short burst of a cry.


He jerked his gaze back toward the two and he saw that the girl had been shoved up against the car. She had stumbled, collapsing against the passenger side front tire. The young mans (man's) voice rose, letting Garrison hear ever (y) word.


“Get your, whore-bitch piece of shit self in the damn car. Now!”


He back handed her across the face.


“Hey!” Garrison shouted, because nothing else came to him, “Don't do that!”


Sort of lame, Garrison.


He began to fast walk toward them.


The man turned, eyes registering his surprise; but only for a moment. He double slapped the side of the car with his palm, and then, locking eyes with Garrison, stooped down and slugged the girl in the gut.


Aw, come on...


The drivers side door opened and a man stepped out. Garrison slowed for half a beat.
The man that exited the car gave off the aura of one that liked (to) push people around. He was a big guy; a solid guy, not massive like a body builder material, but formidable to say the least. His posture seem to shout that he liked to brawl whenever the opportunity presented itself.


Well, call me Mr. Opportunity...


He stood about five eleven, slightly shorter that Garry, and probably weighed in about two hundred. He threw his head back, and without a word, or even a facial expression, he closed in quickly.


It's been a long time. Wow, it's been a while. How long has it been? Four years? Five?
The man shot out his left arm and grabbed the front of Garrison shirt, trying to hold him in place. He cocked a right punch, and barked it off, aiming to take Garry's head off. Garrison jerked away hard, stepping back with his right leg. As the mans (man's) punch came flying in Garrison parried it with his left hand, and then struck hard, twisting his body into the punch, with his right. The assailant ('s) head snapped backwards hard.


Garry raised his right hand to guard his face, and launch a round house body punch to the guys blindside ribs. He let out a short grunt. Garrison shoved him hard in the back, and as he stumbled, trying to regain his balance, he forward snapped kicked him from behind straight up between his legs. The man sucked in air, and stumbled. Garrison drew back and swung a round house punch to the mans temple.


The first blow sent the man to his knees.


The second to all fours.


With the third, the lights went out, and he collapsed to the garage floor, dead to world.


Garrison took a deep breath.


Yeah, I guess I still got it, but is that a good thing?


A blur came in from the side.


Garry instinctively leaped away, raising his forearms to protect his chest and face.


A flaring, sharp, searing pain torn into both forearms, and Garrison (made?) a sound, (a) half grunted-half embarrassing squeal. He looked up to see the guy who had struck the girl standing not five feet away from him, a stiletto in his hand.


Garrison shirt sleeves began to turn red.


The man leaped forward again, slashing. Garrison, raising his arms, and stepping, leaping, and leaning backward avoided the slashes.


If you don't do something he is about to freakin' skin you!


He squared him up as the slash came in in from the left. Garrison, as opposed to dodging, jumped into the attack, using his left arm to block the knife hand.


The man was caught flat footed, and surprised. Garrison, his left hand trying to grab the wrist of the blocked knife hand, struck with an elbow to the face. The man let out a grunt and then wrenched away hard, slashing wildly and slicing Garrisons hand in his retread.(? retreat?)


They both raised their eyes to each other, locked in a stare. The man took one step, and lunged with the knife.


Garrison had seen it coming a mile away.


He side stepped to the left, parring (parrying) the blade to the inside, while grabbing the the hand at the wrist. He swung a hard right hook, making solid contact on his attackers face. Using his right hand, Garrison grabbed the top of this attackers knife hand, completely arresting his use of the blade. Twisting, he turned and pushing toward his assailant, forcing the caught arm to curl back towards him.


The mans balance was put into question.


Garry shoved hard, toppling the attacker, causing him to crash hard to the asphalt. He followed the man to the ground landing with his knee in the guys gut.


He heaved, the air wrenched from his lunges. (lungs)


Finish it... no time to be nice. Give him something to remember...


Garrison brought an over the top fist down upon his attackers face, which lay flush with the ground. The sound was sickeningly dull.


One, two, three, four blows.


By the last strike the man had been rendered totally senseless. He laying with closed eyes and a bleeding face, instinctively trying to curl into a ball. His breathing was came quick, shallow, and laborious.






Garrison stood up straight, taking inventory of the past... well, it felt like about a hour, but it was probably no more then sixty seconds. He wasn't a violent guy. He used to be, but not any more. His glance bounced from one prostate, neutralized attacker, to the other. He gritted his teeth in anger.


I didn't want this! I want to help, not hurt! (speech commas "--")


He swore under his breath, anger getting the better of him.


Suddenly a recollection came to mind.


The girl!


Garrison turned to find that she had managed to make it to her feet. Doubled over, her hands were on her knees and she was sucking air in, hard.


“Uhm... are you... alright?” Garrison asked haltingly, unsure as to what to do.


The girl never made a move.


“Hey...uhm....” He started, but nothing else came.


The girl raised her head with a snap, and Garrison took a step back. Her eyes were wild like a hunted beast, like a rabid, cornered animal. They held both rage and fear.


“Damn you! Damn you! Damn you!” She screamed in a shrill voice as she launched herself hat him.


Her fingernails went straight for his eyes and he barley (barely) jerked away before she could claw them out. Red gouged out trails, streaked down the side of his face. He grabbed her wrists and held her firm.


“Calm down... I'm trying help!” He shouted almost pleadingly.


She tore herself from him and collapsed against the car.


“Get away from me! I'm dead because of you you stupid shit! Get away from me!”


“I'm sorry... I don't....” Garrison tried to salvage this horrific turn of events.


“Get away!” She screamed, louder and more horrifying than before.


“Ok! Ok! I'm gone! I'm sorry!” Garrison threw his palms up, in a disarming, non nonplussed manner, “I'm sorry...”


He turned his back and walked quickly towards the exist (exit) he had entered through. He felt like he wanted to cry.


You messed this up... somehow...


As he turned the corner he heard the disgusting, dull sound of a body, a skull, being smashed against something hard. He turned on his heels and looked back.


The girl was staggering. She whimpered, sobs shaking her from head to toe. Suddenly she walked up to one of the support pylon, rared (reared?) her head back, and smashed it into the concrete.


“Stop! Stop!” Garrison cried, running back towards her, but it was to late.


The young woman had struck her head against the support thrice more by the time Garrison reached her. She collapsed at his feet and lay, semi conscious, eyes fluttering in a haze.


He stood in a type of stupor himself. Horrified by his surroundings.
He looked at the unconscious attackers. He looked at the prostrate body of the girl that (who) had just abused herself. He looked himself up and down, realizing for the first time how much blood had soaked his clothes, and spilled upon the garage floor.


Oh, God, what do I do? God... God...


He shook himself, and began to search the trash on the ground. He saw it; a gum wrapper.


Garrison grabbed the old, crinkled piece of paper and, taking a pen out of his pocket, wrote his phone number on it. He knelt beside the girls and whispered in her ear.


“I don't know if you can understand a word I'm saying, but I hope you can. I was trying to help you. I still want to help you. I get the feeling whoever these guys are, they wont want you to have my number, so I wrote on this paper and I am putting it in the sole of your shoe. Call me, if you want my help. I'll do whatever I can... God bless...”


Garrison slid one of her shoes off and put the paper inside.


He stood up slowly and paused, gazing around him again. He shook his head in disbelief as he began walking toward the exit. Suddenly, he felt like he didn't want to go out the way he came in. He paused only for a moment, and then, with a sudden inspiration, turned and bolted towards the far exit that let out on Fifth street. As he turned the corner, leaving the garage, he glanced back. A squad car was pulling into the garage.


A lot of simple errors, especially in the exciting bits, try a careful, calm read through before you post next time, and do you have 'spell check' turned on?

FrameOfDust
February 19th, 2012, 10:13 PM
I will correct this soon. Thanks for spotting all these mistakes. Yes, i do indeed have the spell check turned on. If you will notice, I believe, all the errors are words that were put in place incorrectly. They are spelled correctly just not the right word. I really don't know who I did that so much, but I will correct it. Thanks.

Olly Buckle
February 19th, 2012, 11:21 PM
You are most welcome.
You are right, all the spellings are things like break/brake where both words mean something, spell check really doesn't help there does it? It amused me a bit that the mistakes got more in the exciting fight scenes when you were obviously getting involved, I find myself doing the same sort of thing.

FrameOfDust
February 20th, 2012, 04:39 AM
I just finished revising it. There were a couple words that weren't misspelling or wrong words, just different spellings because I live across the big pond. Also, I will try to read over my writing more slowly from now on. I was wondering, though, if you find the story itself interesting. I know there isn't much to it as of now, but any opinion would be appreciated.

Olly Buckle
February 20th, 2012, 09:59 AM
It is not my sort of story, but that is a personal thing. I am not keen on the idea of vigilantes, I think that may be partly living in a different country. There are aspects of America, displayed in things such as the right to bear arms, which positively encourage the individual to use personal judgement and accept personal responsibility for things I see as being social decisions. I believe in the rule of law, the same rules applying to all regardless of anything, and my concept of justice is the best outcome possible for everyone, victim, perpetrator and the wider society, not simply elevating the good guys and putting down the bad ones. So you see my opinion in this respect is probably not all that valuable to you. On an objective level after all a story line like that of 'Kill Bill' makes a smash hit, I simply would not bother going to see it, on the other hand a story line like 'Brave New World' would appeal to me greatly because it makes me question and think, but how many people would bother with it if they had not been presented with it in class? Maybe that is harsh, let's just say I can't imagine anyone making it into a best selling, box office smash.

The story line is fine, I am simply the wrong person to appreciate it. You have a conflict between the brother and boyfriend, creating and resolving such conflicts is not easy, but it is certainly the stuff of a good story. Then there is a hero who has ideals, and a history that means he can cope. He faces potential conflict with the forces of law and order as well as with gangsters, and a female interest and some pathos in the woman victim. All good stuff.
My only reservation is with their attitude towards their parents, anybody only gets one set of parents in life. I have met people who would be well justified in hating their parents, in fact have expressed such feelings to me, but were still shattered when they died. Our parents are our connection to our past and childhood, and the importance of that becomes clear when they die, your characters seem too casual about it.

Keep questioning, keep writing, best of luck.