by Aray Brown
Next Of Kin
Blood Is Thicker Than Water
by
Aray Brown
All rights reserved
© Aray Brown 2015
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted, downloaded, distributed, reverse engineered or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrievable system, in any form or by any means, including photocopying and recording, whether electronic and mechanical now known or hereinafter invented without written permission from Aray S Brown.
This novel is a work of fiction, and except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Contact the author:
www.twitter.com/araybrown
www.google.com/+AraySBrownAuthor
[email protected]
I dedicate this book to Clarence E Watkins, the best grandfather in the world. The memories I had with you I will cherish forever. Thank you for being a constant father figure in my life.
Acknowledgements
First and foremost I want to give all glory to God for giving me this amazing gift and the opportunity to share it with the world. Secondly, I thank my family and friends for always showing support and my beta readers for helping me shape my book into what it is today. Your tireless efforts have not gone unnoticed. To my favorite niece who aided me in one of the pivotal scenes, this is your book too.
In closing, I thank All Authors Graphic Design for creating my book cover.
Enjoy.
1.
October 10, 2016
The weather report proclaimed this as one of the coldest days of the season. A gush of wind whistled in the air, mimicking a daunting tune as armadas of leaves blew in the wind—disclosing the unseen—a creepy old abandoned warehouse that hadn’t been touched in years. It had born witness to enough murders to last a lifetime. The floors were rotted and the windows were boarded up. It had fallen apart and was on the verge of being revamped into a railroad station. Several scraps, aluminum siding and graffiti were all that adorned it.
A thunderous noise filled the soulless hovel that had surrounded them.
Medina Price watched Jordyss’s eyes roll back in her head, taking in a final breath, studying her as if she was a science experiment. What happened next would remain a mystery for years to come. Even to her. It started with a bang, and ended with her brains splattered all over the floor.
Price turned her gaze to the man whose untimely death was anything but an accident, smiled at the thought.
The man’s name wasn’t important but the information he had was. Price made the man suffer just like he made them, taking great pleasure, all while holding nothing back—anger coursing through her veins— driving her to the absolute edge. Whoever the man was, he knew the answer to the question plaguing Medina her entire life—the question that kept her up most nights.
Price still remembered it like it was yesterday. The blaring of police sirens—the smell of fresh blood on her cold wretched body—the ghastly sound of a .357 Magnum, fired at close range, leaving traces of gunpowder.
Price spent a chunk of her life trying to forget. Been in therapy more times than she could count, but there were things she couldn’t block out no matter how desperate. Some things Price was doomed to repeat. Sometimes the way to let go of the dead is to put someone else in their place.
Price stood over the lifeless body, the killing machine in hand; morbidity took over her face, initiating a metamorphosis. Price’s eyes changed—dark, cold and menacing. Her face took a form all its own.
It was either her or me, and I wasn’t ready to die yet. Not again.
A secluded lake near the woods proved to be a place where Price could dispose of the remains, weighing it down with cement blocks, dumping it in with the toxins of the reservoir. The cadaver descended deeper and deeper. She tossed a single black rose. It was her way of mourning the damned. Price had more respect for the dead than the living. Finding fascination with tortured souls and rotting skeletons, she had come to revere them. She thought it was beautifully poetic how each one of them died. Price carved a K in each one of the victims, sending a message to anyone who was fortunate enough to discover them. It would be a message no one will forget. A message that would make the people of this town remember.
The people she’s killed. The bodies she’s buried. The old Medina would be ashamed. But the new her was dawning. Holding someone’s life in the palm of her hands, Price never felt more powerful, thus believing that everyone was guilty until declared innocent. Little by little, Price felt herself slipping away, becoming someone else. Someone she’d never been before; Dark, fearless even. Cold and emotionless.
Fifteen minutes later she stood in the bathroom of the studio apartment in Linden Heights. It wasn’t much to look at but it had personality. She didn’t have much furniture, just a mattress and a folding table, but she didn’t need much. It was home, at least for now. Price eyed her reflection, wearing a bullet wound like it was a badge of honor, snarling at the notion that Jordyss got one last shot before her demise. It triggered something; scenes from her sordid past controlled her train of thought, playing like a broken record in her head.
The yellow police tape cornering the room off—the flash of the camera as the photographer captured a woman’s murdered body—the thick trail of black blood leading up to it—a man’s devilish grin.
In a fit of rage, Price rammed her fist through the glass, noticed the blood dripping from her knuckles onto the Parquet floor, looking at it as if it was insignificant. Then peeked directly into the shattered fragments and spied on something she didn’t want to see, or someone.
I don’t know who I am anymore. Can’t remember the last time I saw her alive. I’ve got enough blood on my hands to start a fucking blood bank. I don’t know what happens. Half the time it’s a complete blur. It’s getting harder to tell me apart from the familiars. The closer I get to finishing this, the further I get from the person I used to be. The further I get from what’s real.
* * * *
Price walked into the mortuary, emotionally unaware of the troubles that befell, biting her lower lip to keep from grinning. The grief stricken detective led the way, the robust sound of his shoes setting the tone with every step. Jordyss’s father would arrive shortly.
“Thanks for coming. She put you as her contact in case of emergency. It wasn’t easy to track you down.” The detective said, fishing for an explanation.
“Apparently it was.” Price stated, mumbling under her breath, showing disdain for something that was less than trivial. It was no mystery that she didn’t want to be found.
“Before we go in I must warn you, the chemicals from the pond had some pretty bad effects. When my men got there, some of the body parts were dissolved.” He halted, blocking the passageway.
“This is what was left.” He finished, hesitantly opening the door.
They entered the room. It was cold and unsettling, enough to make anyone’s skin crawl. Price secretly relished the odor of formaldehyde filling the air, reveling in the horror as the mortician unveiled the grotesque figure that once was beautiful. She eyed it blankly, showing no signs of remorse.
“Is this her?” The detective inquired.
“I’m sure if you fix her up it’ll look like her, if that’s what you’re driving at. Are we done here?
This place gives me the creeps.” Price lied, smirking behind his back.
The detective escorted Price out of the morgue, slipping her a card in the hopes she would call him if ever in need of a shoulder. Truth be told he wasn’t just another cop, a friend of the family more or less, but that was all in the past and now she reduced the man to a mere acquaintance. After the infamous death of her mother, nothing awaited Price but darkness and isolation, thus cutting anyone who was closet off at the knees and suffering in silence.
“Dina!” the chief cried out, anxiously running up, trying to place her. She was a seasoned meddlesome officer whose career was on the brink of retirement, menopause settling in, and the mother of her former comrade.
“How do you know my name?”
“It’s on the form.”
“Oh.”
“Why don’t you stay? I’m sure your friends would like to see you.”
“I don’t have any and I don’t plan on sticking around.”
“You must be pretty upset, huh?”
“People die all the time. Why should I get upset over something that happens naturally?” Price replied—giving the chief a piercing stare, she hopped in the car and put in it drive. Price saw her in the rearview mirror as she roared away; the screeching of the wheels woke her up from some deep deliberation.
How strange. Should I know her? Is there something I’m missing?
The chief shook her head in disbelief, shrugging it off like normal. Pretty soon it wouldn’t be her problem anymore.
Price pulled up to the penitentiary, marveling at its dark shabby presence. She grew up hating these places, vowing not to be caught dead in here, visiting or otherwise. No matter how much Price wanted to turn back, this was unavoidable. A man was unjustifiably sentenced to life in prison and needless to say she felt partly responsible.
She rifled through the purse in search of her favorite brand of cigarettes. Price always smoked Newport.
Price stumbled upon a vintage wedding photograph of her parents, looking at it fondly, admiring the baby bump. Way before this ever happened. Way before this could ever happen. Who would have thought it would turn out this way? This was indeed a simpler time when things were less chaotic.
2.
March 20, 1993
Medina’s grandparents hadn’t approved of the arrangement and saw Alex as a no account bum who was unworthy. Marrying someone below their class was unheard of by the socialites they ran with. Zoe was born with a silver spoon in her mouth and Alex was a working stiff. They had nothing in common but each other.
Alexander Price stood in front of the mirror, decked out in a Ralph Lauren tux, nervously tying his tie, practiced saying his I Do’s, taking breaths in-between. What some described as a decent guy, others called him a mess. He was a little of both. Maybe more of a mess than anyone ever realized.
“I can do this.” Alex adjusted his cummerbund. His thoughts had begun to consume him. Thoughts about marriage and being a father. He worried he would put his kids through the same hell he endured at the hands of his father.
“I can do this.”
Alex was a lieutenant who got demoted to beat cop on a bribery charge—two hundred dollar bribe as part of a corruption sting. He accepted a plea bargain; twenty hours of community service.
He always knew he was out of her league. They ran in completely different circles. Zoe had come from old money while he worked for everything he got.
The door swung open, disrupting his ritual—a dark form approached, greeted him smugly. This was something the man was all too familiar with.
“Was I this bad?” The man said.
“You were worse.” Alex replied, wiping beads of sweat off his brow.
“I never thought I would live to see this. Is this for real or am I being punked?” He replied.
“If you are then this is one bad joke. Things change. It happens to the best of us.” Alex added.
“You sure you want to do this?” He inquired.
“Would I be here if I wasn’t?”
“So, ready to walk The Green Mile?” He joked, patted him on the back.
“Give me a minute.” Alex said.
“Alright, just don’t keep The Warden waiting.”
Analyzing himself in the mirror, Alex saw everything clearly for the first time and didn’t like what he saw. He then grabbed a secret stash of cocaine from the left breast pocket and took four hits—just to take the edge off—or so he thought.
Alex had been in rehab but couldn’t stay clean. No one knew he had fallen off the wagon. Even made promises he would only use it when needed, that he wouldn’t lose control again, but it had a hold on him that just wouldn’t let go. The same kind of hold whiskey had on his father.
Alex came from a broken home. His mother was a housewife; his father devoted his entire life to The Force. After work he would spend nights at a nearby bar, looking for answers at the bottom of a glass, taking his frustrations out on them. A few fist fights, several bruises, broken ribs.
There was one night in particular that shook him to core. It haunted him to this day.
Everyone has their own demons to face. And that was the beginning of many to come.
Alex ogled the wristwatch, loosened his tie, flashed a quick smile and headed out of the room towards the chapel.
The church pews were adorned with her favorite flower. Lavender tea roses. With a smidgen of baby’s breath… bridesmaids in… ice blue dresses… groomsmen in… white tuxedos… The bride wore a Taffeta V –neck princess shaped wedding gown. The color: Champagne.
Zoe never looked more beautiful. She wasn’t hiding anything, from anyone. She wasn’t daddy’s little pubescent girl anymore. It was the wedding to end all weddings. Her parents spared no expense when it came to their only child. It was a full house.
An elated Zoe stared at her pregnant belly, ran hands over it, envisioning the fetuses growing inside her. She sensed them kick for the first time, pondered if the right decision was made on whether to keep her secret hidden or broadcast it in plain view. Before Alex, there was Darius, a man her parents was in favor of and enthused to call son. Unfortunately nothing else was appealing but his good looks and charm. Despite his infidelities, he became everything she despised.
“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Raising the veil, Alex scoped her face, ended it with a sweet, gentle kiss. Zoe beamed from ear to ear, rubbing the lipstick off his lips.
She married the man she loved, and that love conceived two children she was more than ready for, which would come to be a surprise for the groom.
Without warning, Zoe received a sharp pain in the pit of her stomach to such a degree that it increased and became more constant, detecting the splotch of blood on the bottom of the dress. Then the blood on the floor. She didn’t want to admit it but she was frantic, tried to keep her wits about her in the act of the bridal party scurrying to a nearby hospital, whereas twenty of her closet family and friends soon followed.
Subsequent to the orderlies rushing her to the O.R., they sat in the waiting room ten minutes later, for two hours, aimed to keep busy so they wouldn’t think about the one thing that had been on their minds since they got there.
Alex hysterically paced up and down the hall, reasoned with himself for not being with her. He was on his third cup of coffee.
“I don’t understand why they haven’t told us anything yet?!”Alex asked, frustrated with himself, with the doctors, even with her. They sat their sights on him, pleading him to calm down.
“I’m going to the cafeteria. Does anybody want anything?” He paused.
“And silence, great. Try not to talk about me too bad when I’m gone.” Alex concluded.
Alex walked down the corridor, peering through the window of the operating room, viewed the blood—there was so much blood that tears streamed down his face. Memories of her entered his mind. A flood of emotions came running to him all at onc
e. He barged in the presumably locked door, demanding to know the prognosis. Coffee and cigarettes were all that fueled him.
“Please tell me what’s happening to her.” Alex begged.
“You shouldn’t be in here.” The surgeon enforced.
“Is she going to be okay?” Alex inquired.
“Get him out of here!” Another surgeon yelled. The nurse accompanied him outside.
“I need to know what’s going on with my wife!” Alex said, enraged.
“We’re doing everything we can for her. Your wife is in good hands.” The nurse said, reassuringly as she went back inside and locked the door.
Feeling defeated, Alex sauntered into the men's room and made sure the stalls were empty, took in his image and shoved half a gram of cocaine up his nose. He didn't want to feel like this anymore, as a matter of fact he wanted to feel numb. She can't die! She can't leave me! He thought.
Alex indulged in one last look and saw an older disheveled version of himself. Alex started to hear things—the sound of his father’s voice echoing in his mind—at different periods of his life. Look at you; you’re a fucking disgrace to the uniform. Like father like son. You're a fucking bum. She knows it, I know it and your mother knows it. Like father like son.