Sample of BLACK CROW

 

 

PRELUDE.

 

There would be no reasoning.

It was redemption day.

He never thought this would happen, believing that his two nephews had died horrible deaths after being sold into slavery. He had imagined them being fondled, groomed and gang raped constantly by their peers. This had excited him no end! God the boys had brought him a small fortune with their fair skin and blond long hair! But now the impossible was happening. He was done for! His hands were covered with grass stains and he knew his trousers would be filthy and his white stockings ruined. ‘Samuel, please, we can work this out? Please listen to me; I only acted on behalf of that bitch and to impress Se .....’ For his troubles, he was kicked hard in his thick stomach. Mestor screamed and pounced away with the force. His attacker kicked out again and this time, Mestor was kicked up so high, he turned and landed on his back. He curled himself up into a ball. He dared to peek over his arm and shivered at the look of hate and determination on his nephew’s face. He was the Devil himself, come to take his due. There was no escape!

Mestor’s morning walk had taken him out to the furthest point of the grounds, where woodlands circled the estate. Spring bulbs such as beautiful hidden Lilly of the valleys and Snowdrops popped up their heads; however Mestor had no regard for their delicate state as he marched through and turning crushed them underfoot to get back to the main house, anxious now for his breakfast. He dabbed his sweating forehead with his white crisp cotton handkerchief.

The sun had not yet burned through the morning haze, and he knew that the Italian sun would explode and make this part of the world the most beautiful place on earth.He had commissioned the grounds to be beautifully landscaped with idyllic English woodland themes, and even had mock statues of imps and fairies spying out from the under growth. He wanted a world of magic and somewhere he could lose himself and forget how much he missed his home. His heart ached for the old House and Estates, and the wonderful gardens, the secret walks through the woodlands and how the manmade lakes sparkled so. But when he felt homesick he would remember the English weather and rain, and then smile to himself, he certainly did not miss that.His stomach groaned and he slapped his riding crop against his thigh. He had not been riding and carrying the crop was just habit. He was impatient to get on and so very hungry and when he was hungry, nothing else mattered.

‘Hello Uncle Mestor.’

‘My God man, coming up behind me like that,’ the porky man whirled on his heels. ‘For God’s sake!’ His voice became high pitched. Only then realising that the man had spoken to him in a well-spoken English accent. Mestor stumbled backwards, looking directly into the man’s eyes. He found his footing and started to back away. He was a fat man with height, who wobbled as he walked and always looked uncomfortable. His inner thighs would rub against each other and make him sore. He also had very small feet which were out of proportions for his height and weight.

He could not believe who stood before him!‘What the devil are you doing here?’ He felt flush and nerves set in. This could not be happening. This could not be so! Was it this? His brother’s ghost stood before him? He felt short of breath. Was this the Lord’s wrath hammering down now on him? The similarities in his brother Troy and this man were uncanny.‘Tying up loose ends.’ Came the smiled husky reply.

This was Mestor’s worst nightmare came true. He swallowed hard trying to find his voice. The man menacingly came towards him. ‘Samuel, yes, Samuel, it is you? Is it, after all this time?’ He pleaded as he backed away. He was a full gron man now.

His attacker lurched forward and Mestor was hit with a mighty punch, which collided with his double chin and lifted him off the floor. He hit the ground hard. He lay on the cushioning mildly damp grass and could not catch his breath. His crop fell away from his grasp. With basic survival instincts kicking in, he immediately turned on his stomach to crawl away. As he scrambled to get away, he felt his nephew behind him.The next kick winded him. The next one made him vomit and then it went hazy.

Samuel Mordesan did not flinch as he kicked and kicked his victim. The only thing that stopped him was pure exhaustion; he stopped and nearly staggered to keep himself up right. He breathed heavily.He was mad with rage and had waited a long time for justice. He had considered how he would kill his Uncle when he eventually found him as he had made his way to Italy. He had considered killing him quickly, getting it over with, but then he wanted him to suffer, so he would kill him slowly. He would torture him until he got bored. He would burn him alive or cut his tongue out and watching him bleed to death. A thousand and one thoughts crossed his mind, but he knew, just pure anger would take over, as it did when he finally caught sight of the man who had ruined his life. He had festered his anger for far too long, and after finding him, he could not describe the pleasure in releasing all that anger on the man who had wronged him and his brother.

Mestor had been waddling around, on his early morning walk. He could not remember a time when his Uncle had not taken a walk first thing. Samuel noticed that Mestor had gained even more weight and still dressed in the latest fashions. He had always been a vein man, so full of himself with good living and was clearly lapping up the fruits of his families’ fortunes. Samuel was sick to the stomach of the flamboyant and opulent way his Uncle lived and how he could have discarded him and his brother so easily. Nothing could stop the black hate which flowed through his every pore. His rage was intensified to a point where all time stood still. He was calculating and had no remorse. The man had wronged him and now he would die for everything that had befallen him and his family since that dreadful day all those years ago. He had been denied a father, denied a home, and denied his name.

Within minutes he had attacked him and Mestor was now on the floor crying like a girl. Slowly Samuel lowered himself and removed his dagger from the back of his belt. He leant down and pulled Mestor’s head towards him, gripping tightly into his hair. He cursed as Mestor pissed himself in fright. He swept a blade across Mestor’s neck, mocking him. Mestor's hand flew up to protect himself, but he was too weak. His nephew casually sat on top of him.Mestor could not move. He tried again to protect himself from him, but Samuel just laughed as he slapped his arms away?Samuel then lent across him and held his left arm down, and swept the blade across his wrist. A fountain of blood gushed out and squirted across both of them. Mestor screamed. Samuel then went to the other arm and casually slit the other wrist.

Mestor screamed and screamed. He screamed for mercy and the blood they shared, but Samuel was past caring. His eyes were black slits and his face set to such harshness.Mestor’s gaze became hazy and he found himself remembering how he had always thought that Samuel was a beautiful and wonderful child, and now as a grown man, so brilliantly forged by God. His thoughts drifted, and he laughed at the irony of it all, that a devil disguised as an angel had came to avenge all his wrongs.Samuel retreated and leant against a nearby tree and watched as Mestor’s life begun to ebb away. Mestor was desperately trying to keep his eyes open and say something, but there was too much blood and gore everywhere and frankly, Samuel did not give a damn for what this man wanted to say. He retrieved his dagger, and winking at the dying man, he proceeded to wipe both his bloodied hands and dagger across the dying man’s frock coat to clean them, and then replaced his dagger in his back belt. He noted that the material of Mestor’s coat was of pure royal blue silk, trimmed with lush pink velvet. It was now covered in grass, mud, blood, and gore, whilst his black silk pants were covered in the same, as well as his waste. It served him right, he thought. Death was never attractive!

‘You bastard,’ Mestor mouthed with tears in his eyes.‘Tell me something I don’t know.’ Samuel knew Mestor’s death would be soon now. He kept eye contact and whispered. ‘In the words of a great man I repeat, - you Mestor, are a fat pompous poof, who I despise and mark my words, this is not the end;’ Mestor remembered the words spoken to him before many, many years back. His mind’s eye took him to that day and it was as clear as if it were yesterday. Had he really thought he could get away with what he had done? ‘And in my words, this is NOW the end.’ Samuel choked through gritted teeth. He had not realised how emotional it would be. ‘God, I’m going to love remembering this. You pissing and shitting yourself and at deaths door, and me the Lord of all I see.’ Samuel swallowed and spread out his arms and found himself whirling around in triumph again and again. After a time, he slowed down and tutted at himself for twirling around like a child. He grunted in displeasure, but then laughed at the obscurity of it all. It was done. He needed to get home. He made to leave and then spared a thought for the dying man and still grinning in pleasure whispered over his shoulder; ‘Bye, bye.’