Yesterday was the kick off for NaNo but I didn’t write a word.
I had a visitation to go to for the father of my oldest friend. And the night before there was a death in my chosen Family. Thursday was a horrifically painful day all the way around. But since the one most closely affected with the death is writing and we were challenging each other, (with some serious boasts all around *laughs*) I began today. At 5:45 am. With some serious violence.
Prologue goal: Kill off the COO of Asian Commerce for S. C. Enterprises.
Warning: Serious lack of editing. Don’t hold it against me. If you’ve got The Boyfriend on hand, THAT you can hold against me.
Masaru Miyagi was a tall Japanese man standing around 5’10”, it was a natural fact that he cultivated in order to appear intimidating. He dressed in business suits and most often wore the pants and shirt even when he was at home. He was always well groomed, nothing seemed to faze him. The man never relaxed. And right now he was fuming and looked like a wild man. He had run his fingers through his hair so many times it was standing on end, his tie had been loosened fractionally and his shirt was rumbled.
“How can S.C. Enterprises be so big! And what do you mean you failed to find the man who owns it? It is Christmas for those Western heathens! He should be at home with his family.” He jabbed the cigar he was waving around in the direction of the man on his knees in front of his desk.
Haru pressed his palms together at his chest and bent low. “Please forgive me Miyagi-san but he does not appear to have a home.”
“A man with no home! Impossible!” Masaru said several swear words in English and paced as he thought. He gnashed on the end of his cigar until it was a pulp. He paused at the western wall of his office. He fingered the ancient katana and smiled with satisfaction as he heard clothing rustle. When he had turned around Haru was prostrated on the floor, arms stretched along his sides, forehead pressed to the floor.
Masaru indulged himself in the extreme supplication before he appeared to relent. “Oh get up, that behavior is beneath you. I have a new plan.”
Haru rose to his feet, bowing once more from the waist. His arms were pressed to his side and he bent just shy of forty-five degrees. “Domo arigato Miyagi-san. How may I be of service to you?”
“In Sacramento, California, there exists a man named Eugene Van Massenhoven.” Masaru stumbled a little over the Dutch name. “He is the Chief Operations Officer for the Asian commerce portion of SCE. Kill him.”
Haru did not look surprised by this command. “Is there any particular way you would like the man to die?”
“Hmmm… Now that you mention it, there is…” Miyagi detailed the plan.
On December Twenty-fifth, Mr Van Massenhoven’s in-laws arrived at their daughter’s home to a grisly scene. The lights were all on in the house but no one was opening the door. The chimney had a faint trail of smoke and through the window, his father-in-law could see just a hint of his daughter’s head sitting at the dining room table. He could not imagine why the would not open the door to his wife’s insistent bell ringing.
Keith bashed the door in and a sickening smell rolled out. The two of them gagged and Mary sat down on the porch swing with her glove covered hand over her nose and mouth as she dialed 911. Keith ran in held his breath until his eyes watered. What he saw when he hit the dining room would give him nightmares for years to come.
Tied at the head of the table was his daughter. She was strapped into her chair with her body supported by ropes around her shoulders. Her eyes had been taped open and they stared unseeingly at the horrific mess on the table. The eldest child was tied and taped similarly. Their throats had been slit and their clothing was stained red with blood. It was obvious that some of their blood was part of the scene on the table.
That’s what had Keith’s attention riveted next, despite his will. Laid out on the table, tied spread-eagled, was Eugene. He had been eviscerated, his guts spread out over the table, portions of them on his daughter Caity’s pretty white, red and gold Christmas dishes. The annual table setting had been placed in the center of Eugene’s empty body cavity. Eugene’s mouth was frozen open in what looked like a scream of pain.
It was only when Keith managed to tear his eyes away from the body that he noticed slack ropes from the place his granddaughter usually sat at. He took in a deep breath, gagging again on the smell of shit, vomit and blood, and called for his granddaughter. “Kirsten! Kirsty! It’s Grampa! Where are you?” He looked under the table and went into the kitchen calling for her.
It took several minutes before he heard a small movement from the downstairs bathroom. It was a three piece bathroom between the garage and kitchen, across from the pantry. The little girl had wedged herself into the cabinet beneath the sink.
Keith crouched down and opened the cabinet door. He used the pet named she’d earned at birth when her brother couldn’t say Kirsten. “Kissy, come out. It’s Grampa. It’s safe now I promise.” He could hear the sirens now.
As soon as the door opened, he got squirted in the face with body was. “Argh!” He grabbed blindly for a towel. “Kissy! It’s Grampa. You’re safe, it’s okay.” It would never be okay again but right now, it was as right as it could be, his favourite little girl was alive. He would mourn his daughter the rest of his life but at least he had something of her left.
“Grampa?” The petite six year old peered carefully out of the cabinet. As soon as she identified him she launched herself at him. “Grampa!”
That was the last word she said for a month.
It took the police several attempts to get into the dining room. Even the most experienced of detectives among them kept retching when he approached the room. The medical examiner’s office finally had to smear the upper lip of the crime scene guys with Vick’s Vapour Rub and stuck filtering masks over their faces so they could go in and take the photos of the bodies.
Several days passed before the news of SCE’s COO of Asian Commerce reached the owner of the company.
Prologue goal: Success.
Off to pack for the weekend and clean the place up. I still have some writing to do for the day but I’m feeling good about it.