FINALLY DECEMBER SIXTH THE BIG DAY HERE IS MY NOVEL:
Carpe Diem:
The Travis Reddick Story
By: Gavin Price
Acknowledgements:
The first war letter that you read was an actual letter from the 1940s. Though it has been altered only by the addition of a couple words, I would like the reader to acknowledge it's authenticity. It's addition to the story's original purpose was mainly to lengthen it, but the knowledge that comes from reading the letter can help people. The story of Travis' friends demise and arrest is also a true stories that was in the news and everything, so take these things seriously. But the purpose of this section that you are reading at this time is to lengthen the book as well, because, be honest, who reads the acknowledgements?
If you actually do read this, then I will take the time to acknowledge the person that mainly made this whole story possible; Dayle Payne. If it wasn't for her, I most likely would not have written this book, so she is either to thank or to blame. It is her fault that I have gone through all this stress to make a novel, when this really turned out to be a short story, a quick read if you will. Ironic, at the maturity level of this story, you would have imagined it to be one of those dumb, boringly long ones. This one is only dumb and boring.
To lengthen this story more, I would also like to thank either Robert or Joseph Gagnon, I do not remember who's fault it is that I started writing, but it was because of a birthday present related to writing that one of them got me when I was about four. Yeah, thanks a lot.
This book is dedicated in loving memory of Casey Calvert.
THE CRYPTS
The fire will burn the most darkest souls,
The bullets will pierce the most painful holes.
The glass will cut your broken feet,
As you and your maker prepare to meet.
The money is stolen while the lights go down,
The police catch a glance and just turn around.
There are many posers out there but we are the only one,
We are the true Crypts, got a problem? Ask my gun.
The skin will split under the knife,
If you mess with us you will lose your life.
You will cry, you will plead though we don't like to kill,
But if necessary it will be done with strong will.
We've got many a soul that have done dirty deeds,
And we steal all we want, more than that of our needs.
We don't wear bandanas and have little greeting,
We don't tell everyone and don't have stupid meetings.
There are many posers out there but we are the only one,
We are the true Crypts, got a problem? Ask my gun.
Part One:
Entering The Crypts
Chapter One:
The rows of liquor lined the dark, unlit walls, Heinekin, Smirnoff, Jagermeister. Travis made a mental note to take more than the money on this trip. He usually called these "trips" 'short hauls', but there was nothing short about the man that in a little less than fifteen minutes would be unlocking the dark store, turning on the lights to find himself cleaned out. The lottery ticket dispenser on the floor, broken glass, and the florescent lights smashed and mangled along with the lone video camera up in the top left corner of the store. It was an old store, one of the last remaining old liquor stores left in Wasaga, and his gang, known only as The Crypts, with four of his, as normal people call “friends”, had been waiting to “haul” it for almost a month.
Ryan had thought of it. An older trouble maker that Travis has known most of his life, Ryan always knew what to do to make a quick buck. His hair was rather long and greasy, a little bit shorter than shoulder length,and he tended to dress in loose, sometimes flamboyant clothing.
Eli had then planned it. He had just recently befriended Travis enough to join The Crypts, though through some little “tasks”, and if it was not for originally being friends with another The Crypts member, Nick, he would never have joined.
Nick was the drunk of the group. Almost every group had one. It was not that he was always wasted or stoned, fortunately he had a very high tolerance level, it was just that to him parties came before “hauls”, which more than once had almost gotten him kicked out of The Crypts.
That leaves the fourth member yet to be described: Sean, a hyper-active friend of Travis for a couple years, often breaks laws as well but not to Travis' extreme.
The light turned on earlier than expected. A siren droned on at an estimated two kilometers away. The lights in some of the neighboring houses lighted up. Who would have guessed, the old Wasaga Liquor Store had a silent alarm.
The guys knew what to do. More than once had this happened during a haul. Travis cursed to himself silently, grabbed a drink, and burst out the back door. He had the knowledge of “if you hear the siren, book it”. His brother, Karl, had learned that the hard way. He had broken into a gas station back in his home town of Toronto, and when the police were alarmed he tried to get as much money as he could before leaving, thinking he could get out before the police got there. And he almost made it, almost being the operative word. Almost meaning he did not; Travis lived by this: “if your there, your there, if your almost, your square.”
But Nick did not have that knowledge. Being the drunk in the group and robbing a liquor store, he naturally wanted to stay just a “little” bit longer. While the rest of the gang ditched the store, Nick tried to grab a twenty-four pack and some cigs.
He got his stuff and then pushed his tall, long legs to the maximum to get the hell out of the store. The police were in the block now. He booked it to where the van was parked, but then stopped dead in the tracks when he realized it was gone.
Travis had left without him.
Three Weeks Earlier
Nick walked up the stone path to Travis' house, a silent shadow slowly trailing behind him. “Hurry up,” Nick said. “We don't want to keep him waiting.”
The shadow nodded. “OK,” he said. “Its just, I'm nervous, all you ever say about him is who he's fought or where he's robbed-”
“Casey, shut up.”
The two stopped at the house, a small, dark raised ranch in solitude almost a kilometer away from the road. It was a warm October evening, and the winds were blowing around the leaves on the ground. In the distance, Casey could hear children laughing and playing, oblivious of what was going on.
Somewhere someone was dying. Somewhere someone was dealing. And here, near the laughing children, someone was about to be introduced to a killer.
Nick knocked on the door. Travis had lived off of student well-fare for almost a year until he dropped out of high-school and somehow “acquired” this new property. “Life is a monopoly game,” he always said. “And I get the boardwalk every time.” Nick had to admit, in whatever way he got this house, it did not turn out so bad. The door swung open. Casey expected to see someone, but no one was there.
“Piece of junk door,” Nick muttered, and walked on inside. It was roomy and dusty, a large flight of stairs covered by a red carpet of some sort leading to the second story, and to your immediate right was the kitchen. In it, sharpening knives, was Travis.
“We have company,” Nick announced. Casey looked at the ground.
“Well,” Travis said. “Are you going to look at me or not?” He laughed. Casey looked up. Up close Travis did not look all that bad, just your normal juvenile delinquent. He had the normal 18 year old scruff, a slight beer belly forming, not complimenting his large, muscular bulk of a body. Casey looked around, taking note of all the empty or shattered beer bottles, and quickly smelt Travis' breath. He was sober.
“Seize the day. Casey is it? Seize the day or die with regret. My brother told me that. Guess what?” Travis paused for suspense. “My brother is dead. He seized the day and he died. He got jumped in jail, put up a damn good fight too. But he did not make it. The infirmaries there suck.” Casey was confused. Why was Travis telling him this? “What I am getting at is, I'm not going to be your savior all the time. If you need a solid, I'll help you out, but I'm not going to risk my life for you. I don't do that.” Casey just nodded. “Good,” Travis hopped up onto the counter. Sitting down he asked, “You drink?”
Ryan and Sean were playing the drinking game “I Never” when Casey , Nick, and Travis walked in the den. They stopped when they spotted Casey . “Who's that?” Ryan asked.
Casey looked at Travis and waited. Finally, figuring out that Travis was waiting for him, he said, “I'm Casey , a friend of Nick's. I'm wanting to join The Crypts.” Sean snorted.
“Yeah right,” he jeered. “No one else joins us, we have already more than enough people.”
“And some pompous ones might be leaving soon if they don't shut their mouths. Besides, Casey, for the sake of your life, but mostly mine, you are no longer known as Casey. You will be now known as Eli,” Travis said. “Now it's not guaranteed that Eli will be staying with us,” he paused. “But, if he passes some 'tasks' that I have thought up, we might be having ourselves a new member of the family, and if anyone does not like that, take it up with me.”
Eli stopped smiling when Travis mentioned the “tasks”. “What kind of tasks are they?” he asked, quieter than normal.
This time it was Travis who smiled. “I have a guy named Derek who I need taken care of. Some squirt from upstate who's spreading rumours about me, and I don't like it a bit.” The devious grin on Travis' face grew larger as the words sunk into Eli. After a few moments Eli started to understand what Travis wanted.
“You want me to kill him, don't you?” he asked.
“Kill him, hot dog! I was thinking more along the lines of vandalism, something illegal he'll report. But I like the way you think, so maybe a good beating will follow my originally planned proceedings.” Travis clapped his hands enthusiastically. “I've arranged a meeting for him to be at the little diner by the waterfront on Monday. His car will most likely be the most expensive one there, and I want you to total it. Snip the gas lines, take out the catalytic converter, rip off the fan belt, anything you can in time, but your goal is to overcome the cost of the car in your destruction. Once Derek comes outside, I want you to bring him for a swim in the lake. Bring him dangerously near a motor boat or something. I want him to pay for those rumours.” And with that, Travis spun around on his heel and went back into the kitchen, leaving Eli awkwardly alone with the rest of the gang.
Ryan pulled up next to Derek's Civic at the diner three days later. “This is where I let you off, pal.” He told Eli. “I'll be watching at a distance, but if something goes wrong, its no skin off my knuckles.” Eli looked confused. “If you get caught I'm bailing, you idiot,” Ryan explained.
“Oh,” is all Eli said, and he got out of the car. As he slammed the door, Ryan pointed out a short, stocky man inside.
“That's Derek,” he said. “He's only twenty three, so he still got his strength. Good luck, man,” and then he peeled out of the parking lot. Time to get to work, Eli thought, as he felt the switchblade in his pocket. He walked behind the car, then dropped as if tying his shoe. When he saw that the cost was clear, he crawled underneath.
In awe he looked at the car's bottom, not knowing what anything that he saw was. “Just snip whatever you can,” Travis had told him, so he began cutting whatever he could. By the time Derek came out of the diner, wires of all sorts were hanging down on Eli. He could hear Derek rummaging through his pockets for his keys, then putting the key in the lock on the door. Derek grunted as he opened the door. At that point his phone went off.
“Hello?” he said. “Who is this?” Eli's heart skipped a beat as he looked for the gas line that he forgot to cut. “Ryan? I don't know any Ryan's.” Eli smiled, Ryan had saved him some time. But it might not be enough. “I'm sorry, you have the wrong number,” Derek said, and hung up the phone. He got in the car.
It's now or never, Eli thought, bite the bullet. He took a final guess at a rather thick wire and cut it just in time. The car sputtered and spit gas into his face, but it refused to start. “What the-?” Derek moaned. “Piece of crap car, not again.” Eli smiled. I don't think this has happened before, pal, he said to himself.
When Derek stepped out of the car, Eli grabbed his legs and pulled them, causing Derek to fall directly onto his face. Eli rolled out from underneath the car and grabbed him. He was unconscious. He picked him up and, through a struggle, got him to a dock by the water. By then, Derek was starting to regain consciousness, and went against Eli. Unfortunately for both of them, that sent the pair reeling into the water.
Eli landed on top of Derek, pushing him deeper into the water. Derek grabbed Eli's left leg tightly, pulling him down under the water with him. They both got a mouthful of water, and were loosing air rapidly. Eli kicked Derek in the face with his right leg, something rather uncomfortable to do underwater, and his grip loosened enough for Eli to kick free and swim back up to the surface before the possible bursting of his lungs. He reached the dock and gasped for air, looking around for Derek. He was nowhere.
“Oh my god,” Eli said. “I just killed him!”
Ryan drove off.
Chapter Two:
Eli shivered as he stood in front of Travis' house. It was not from the cold, even though his clothes were still damp. It was the fear that Travis would be upset with him for killing Derek. Eli had gone less than three kilometers away from the waterfront when he heard the sirens. Ryan had called the police.
And now Eli was standing in front of the dark house that less than a week ago he had stood before, waiting to see what Travis would be like. It's weird how much life seems to repeat itself once you start causing trouble. Before Eli had gathered the courage to go knock on the musty door in front of him, Travis opened it. He had a grim look on his face, but he did not seem mad.
“You killed him.”
“I lost him.”
“Which means he's dead.”
“Which means he isn't here.”
“He'll come after you,” Travis said. “If he got a good enough look at you and remembers your face he will come and try to kill you, and I told you, I'm not going to save you.”
“I killed him.”
“Now that's what I like to hear, now come inside and get some dry clothes on.”
After receiving his new clothes, and some cider that was laced with something, Eli was shown his new room.
“Your life before this is gone,” Sean said. “You were just a dumb white kid, now you're something. So forget it.” This pep talk did not seem to brighten up the grey room that Eli would have to call home. There was a cot, a small window that fit perfectly with the small television, probably one of Travis' first stolen goods, and a poster of some movie involving mobsters and rock music.
“Can I brighten it up a little?” Eli asked. “Like, get some posters or something?”
“There's only one rule for that.”
“What?” Eli asked.
“Whatever it is that you want to put in this room,” Sean said. “It has to be stolen, or we will destroy it in front of you, no matter what it is. You bring your mother here, we'll kill her in front of you. You got that?”
“Yeah.” Eli muttered. “Whatever.” He was sick of being treated like the new guy that was not worth anything. He just killed a man! He deserved some respect.
Sean must have been able to read his mind because he said, “Killing someone does not make you a man. Being a man is being able to not be killed yourself,” and then he walked out of the room. Eli sat down on the bed. This was going to be tough.
* * *
“Your next task to do is a rather simple one,” Travis said the next morning. “I don't think there is anyway you can kill someone doing this.” He smiled. “There's a car that I like at the dealership downtown. Its in a glass case outside. I've already examined it, the glass will be breakable. I just need you to shoot it down. I'll get you a sawed off shotgun or something fancy like that, and I need you to get the car to me.”
“I don't know how to hot-wire cars,” Eli said.
“You don't need to,” Travis said. “I told you, just get the car to me. The rest is up to you.” It took Eli a second to realize this mission was to see if he could hold his own.
“I get it, man.”
“Good,” Travis said, smiling. “Because once I find out the glass is broken, I'm calling the cops on your tail.” He spun around on one heel and went down into the basement. A minute later he came back up with a package. “don't open it until you get to the dealership.”
Eli drove up to the dealership, Travis could see him through the binoculars. “So, he's honest,” he told Ryan. The package that Travis gave Eli was a bomb. Not a fancy, movie like bomb, just a remote controlled one, enough to kill a man but still something easily homemade. Ryan grimaced, unhappy that he did not get to see Eli blown into bits.
“Yeah, he's honest,” he said with a scowl.
“It'll help us.”
“Yeah...” Ryan got up and went back into the car. “Screw this, I'm bored. Toss me the keys so I can listen to the radio.”
“You don't want to see it unfold?” Travis asked.
“At this point, it's all the same.”
Down at the dealership, Eli was sweating bullets. He had opened the package and it looked like a bomb. What did Travis want him to do with it? Was he planning to kill him after he got the car, or even before that? I don't want to do this anymore, he thought to himself, but he knew Travis would go after him if he did not.
He waited until there was no more people outside and then pulled out the gun. He had to figure out how to get the car to Travis'. It was on a ramp, the tires locked from the emergency brake inside. A truck with a trailer hitched to it drove by. Perfect timing, Eli thought, and threw the bomb at it.
Since it was a remote controlled bomb, nothing happened, but the driver of the truck was upset and ready to bust some heads. He jumped out of the car and came over to Eli, fists clenched. Eli nailed him in the head with the shotgun, then went to the truck. He drove it up to the car ramp, amazed that no one had seen the little freak-show.
But somewhere, somehow somebody did. He could hear the sirens only a couple kilometers away. He grabbed the gun from beside him, cocked it, aimed it, and pulled the trigger at the glass. At first nothing happened, there was just a gaping hole, but then, as if it were a cartoon, all the glass crumbled.
Eli's next task was to get in the car and get it rolled down onto the trailer. That was not too difficult, somehow through all of the action the driver's side window got blown out, and Eli just unlocked the car and got in. He pulled the emergency brake and rolled down onto the trailer. At this point in time, the police were almost in the block. Eli jumped out and ran to the truck, started it and peeled out of the dealership in perfect synchronization to when the police came into view.
At the angle that he drove off, they couldn't see him. He had escaped.
Back with Travis, Ryan got the report. “A little excitement now, eh?” Travis asked.
“I guess,” Ryan said, but he was smiling.
Travis met Eli at the driveway to the house. “Alls I asked for was the car, not a truck. Not bad, a little extra credit,” he said.
Eli smiled. “So what's my prize?”
“Your prize?” Travis asked. “You get a party.” And that was all the planning that went into it, but surprisingly about thirty people showed.
“Quad kegger!” Nick yelled over the music. “Steal trucks more often, man!” No longer was he considered the little kid, to be politically correct now he was “man”. Eli smiled thinking about that logic.
“Your lost in thought!” Sean came up and yelled. “Loosen up, live a little. I hear someone brought Absinth!”
“They think Picasso was on Absinth,” Eli said.
“Shut up, you nerd, and have some fun,” Sean said, and walked away.
Now, politically, he was “nerd.”
“I have good news, Eli,” Travis said, walking into Eli's room that Sunday. “I had originally planned things so that you would have one more task to do, but, based on your performance on the last one, I think it would be fine to let this one slide.” Travis smiled. “Welcome to The Crypts.”
Eli smiled, he had been waiting for this. It was two days ago that they had the party, and he was just waiting for Travis to make his move. And now he had, and Eli was officially a member of the gang. But it did not make him feel any different, because all along he had been part of the gang. The only feeling he had was a slight bit of disappointment, the exciting part was over.
“In less than a month you killed a man, stole two cars, and drank your first illegalized liquor. How do you feel?” Travis asked with a grin.
“From the Absinth? Still sick,” Eli grimaced.
“No, stupid, in your accomplishments,” to Travis, stupid was a term of endearment.
“I'm part of your gang, of course I feel great,” Eli said, the first time he had said something contradictory to Travis. Travis' grin faded only slightly, and if Eli hadn't been paying attention he wouldn't have even noticed it, but that was all, and soon enough he was alone in his room again.
The next couple of days went by uneventful, Ryan went away for a week, Nick brought home a girl, and all the guys only got to do was scare her off, breaking the vow that they would, indeed, kill her if she wasn't stolen.
“Technically, I did steal something from her,” Nick said with a smile. All the guys moaned and threw stuff at him. “What, I stole her wallet, jeez!”
But that was all the excitement, and soon the end of October came and it was November. Wasaga was usually a relatively warm place, but fall had reared its ugly head and even the beach was below freezing. It wasn't much better when Eli went to Vancouver, but when he got back there had been some changes.
Ryan had left The Crypts.
Chapter Three:
Eli was first alerted by Sean, who warned him not to go inside the house. “You really don't wanna go in there man, Travis is going bonkers.”
“Why?” Eli asked.
“Well, apparently when Ryan came back from Ontario they had a little scuffle, and if my sources are correct, Ryan left the gang,” Sean replied.
“Are your sources the bits and pieces of yelling you can hear?” asked Eli, turning his back to the house.
“Yeah, well they are reliable sources no matter what, so-” he was cut off by a small radio being thrown out of the second story window. It crashed to the ground beside them.
“Wow,” Eli said.
“Yeah, I know, he's crazy!” Sean cried.
“No, not that, I said 'wow' because that was a nice radio.” Sean sighed and walked away in exasperation. “It was!” Eli yelled back, and laughed. He smile quickly turned to a frown. These guys have no sense of humour, he thought to himself, and headed towards the pool house. Like he said earlier, Travis made out nice with the house.
That night at around eight or so Eli figured it would be safe to go back inside the house. Not that the pool house wasn't nice, but he figured Travis would need some company. But when he got inside, he found out that Travis had company of his own, of the alcohol kind. He was passed out on the floor when Eli walked in, so he just left him there and went upstairs to watch the television.
The next morning Travis wasn't at the house, so it was a relaxing day for Eli, Sean, and Nick. They did almost absolutely nothing, zip, nada, nothing at all but watch the television and drink. “Reminds me of the year I went to high school,” Sean said with a laugh.
“You only went to high school for a year, dude?” Nick asked, taking a swig from his stolen flask.
“I went all four years,” Eli said. “But I didn't graduate. The day of the graduation ceremony my father died, he had lung cancer.” Those words hung in the air.
“I know a dude that had testicular cancer once,” Sean said.
“What happened to him,” Eli asked, still slightly upset by thinking about his father.
“I don't remember,” Sean said. Eli sighed. “But he was a pretty cool kid, a couple piercings, pretty fit, could get any girl that he wanted.” Now Sean sighed. “Then I joined the army for a year, moved back here to Wasaga and never talked to any of my old friends from Quebec again.”
“I know how you feel man, when I lived in Montreal, I had the coolest friends ever,” Nick said. “Then, it all went to crap when I moved here, man.”
“What are we doing guys?” Eli asked. “When we're older, in our thirties, forties, fifties, what will happen when we ask ourselves where our lives went? What will we have to say? 'Tell me stories about when you were a kid, Grandpa,' our grandchildren will ask us and all we would have to tell them is, 'I drank and I was in a gang,' is that what you want?” Eli thought that was a pretty good little talk, but by judging the looks on the faces of the rest of the gang apparently it wasn't.
“You do know that you don't have to be in this gang if you don't want to,” Nick said, taking a swig from the flask again.
“I am not saying that I do not want to be here, I'm just saying, where is this in the long run?” Eli asked.
“Screw you, you pansy,” Nick said, and taking his drink he left the room.
That night Eli grabbed his messenger bag from underneath his bed, the only part of his old life he had left that the gang didn't end up destroying. He carefully slid out a manila folder and opened it, revealing an old letter from his great grandfather to the family from World War One. His great grandfather had died before Eli was born, but he was said to be a happy-go-lucky kind of person. Eli opened the letter and started reading:
Sunday, Dec. 19th
Dear Everybody,
Many more letters have arrived during the last two days including many Christmas cards. I have only about 10 cards that someone sent with literature but I will not be able to answer the others. I hope they will understand. Mar's V-mail of Dec. 5 was the latest, but Papa's airmails of Dec. 4 and Dec. 2nd also arrived. Also, Hannah's letter of Nov. 19. I was very sorry to hear of her misfortune and admired her spirit of resignation to God's Will. Also, tell Catherine I'll be praying for her. Often times I sit down to write I subconsciously think of writing to Mama. It is hard to believe she is not living amongst you, but in heaven. So many things have happened this past year that I sometimes get confused and this may be evident in my letters. I hope everyone will excuse me for not writing to them. Papa's idea of sending carbon copies was certainly wonderful.
There are over 100 letters on my desk now waiting to be answered – mostly from relatives of the boys who have been evacuated. Fortunately I saw many of them in New Caledonia and can tell them just how they are and where they are. This censorship business causes so much useless worry. Men who were just “nicked” in action, hardly worse than a mosquito bite, and were never evacuated, yet their relatives receive the same official telegram “wounded in action”. Besides, their people, as you also, may believe that we are making ever now beachhead in the Pacific, which you read about in the papers. I told the boys at Masses today to write and tell their people that we are do for a rest soon and will go to a rear are – censorship or no censorship. The stain and war of nerves has been tougher on those at home then on us during all these months, and it is about time they received a relief from undue worry. The regiment is all together now except for small outposts. However, they are not close enough to attend one Mass- so I had to three as XXX usual. Kach mass was delayed nearly an hour because of confessions. We will have Midnight Mass and I asked them to offer their communions for those at home. They have been praying so hard for us – we must reciprocate in full for all the heroes are not on the battlefields. Mar is a shining example, and I hope she and Spud are together by this time. Tell Spud that Sgt. Mallory XXXX did not receive his commission – in fact Sgt. O'Brian was the only one from our regiment that did – while the 169th and 103rd had about 20 enlisted men commissioned. It was just another case of Army injustice. While we are fighting on Arundel for 40 days they were back on Munds and even the Ruses whore they had the opportunity and the time to write recommendations. I spoke to Gen. Wing and Ross about that and we hope to have a few more of the boys who deserved this honor the most, receive their commissions. Many of our non-coms lead their companies for weeks at a time – and just this week we received a out 20 and Lts. direct from from the slates to teach them jungle warfare. They will probably demand that we Chaplains return to the harvard Chaplains school soon that we learn how to be a Chaplain. That should be enough griping for one letter – but I agree with Jimmy that there are many reasons why we must pray for a hasty termination of this war. But there are other things that make us happy – and those pictures of Rosemary rate very high amongst them. Papa, Mar and John also look very well. John looks like a real workingmen on the home front – there are a good many like him who are doing their part for victory, that no one hears about, but are essential, for we would not get far out here without them.
I sure miss the sweet, old Ontario sunset at night, but I guess I will just have to wait for my time to either come home or come to God, because as much as it hurts me to say this and all of you family to hear it, death has been on my mind. What if something happens? But, I have already said too much, just forget this and have some of Pa's famous cherry pie for me, OK?
Love to all for ever and always,
Johnny
P.S. Glad to know Fr. Statk's address. Gen. Blondy Saunders took good care of him and he deserved it.
Eli smiled as he read the last line. Sounds like Johnny was in a little gang-like time himself, even back in the 1940s. What an innovator.
* * *
Travis came back the next day. “Before Ryan left,” he said to Eli. “He had thought of robbing the old Wasaga Liquor Store down by the beach.” He stretched and scratched his head. “I want you to plan it, and we hit in three days.” Eli could tell that Travis was drunk, but he didn't want to get him upset so he agreed. That night he drove down to the liqour store to map it out.
“This will be fun,” he said to himself with a smile. He looked in one of the windows for video cameras. He could only see one, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. In fact, it proved to be very good for him. All he had to do was figure out the pattern in the movement of the camera and he would be all set, because then he would be able to figure out how to get to the camera before it looked at him, and then he would be able to destroy it.
“OK,” he said to himself. “It turns every six seconds. Perfect.” And driving home, he even hummed to himself a little jingle that he wrote right there on the spot. This whole gang buisiness is kind of fun, he thought to himself.
The rows of liquor lined the dark, unlit walls, Heinekin, Smirnoff, Jagermeister. Travis made a mental note to take more than the money on this trip. The light turned on earlier than expected. A siren droned on at an estimated two kilometers away. The lights in some of the neighboring houses lit up. Travis cursed to himself silently, grabbed a drink, and burst out the back door. Nick naturally wanted to stay just a “little” bit longer. While the rest of the gang ditched the store, he tried to grab a twenty-four pack and some cigs. He got his stuff and then pushed his tall, long legs to the maximum to get the hell out of the store. The police were in the block now. He booked it to where the van was parked, but then stopped dead in the tracks when he realized it was gone.
Who could have predicted it? Travis had left without him. No surprise there.
Eli turned the news on as soon as the gang reached the house. After a slow, painful moment of waiting, live coverage came on, showing two large, burly police officers forcing Nick into a police cruiser. One of them came up to the camera to speak. “This is a message for all of you troublesome punks out there, thinking you can get away with any damn thing you want. You will get caught, and when you see this police cruiser, you better haul yourself out of wherever in god's name you are, or you will end up just like this little punk in jail.”
Eli lowered his head in shame. If it wasn't for Nick he would have never been part of The Crypts, and now he was the one that was taking the fall. Eli looked up. The screen said that the scene he was viewing was being taped live. With an idea, Eli jumped up, and headed out the door.
When Eli got to the old Wasaga Liquor Store, there was still three cruisers left outside, while the officers were inside investigating. Eli took out his old switchblade knife from his pocket, and crept up to one of the cruisers. He made a slight incision in one of the front tires, then walked nonchalantly back to his car and started waiting.
About twenty minutes later, the police cruisers pulled out of the parking lot,but they didn't even make it out of the block when the tire on Eli's rigged car popped. The officer driving it groaned and got out, while the other two officers waited in their own cruisers. “The damn glass popped my tire, I'll need to get a ride back to the station with one of you two,” he yelled. One of the officers acknowledged his plea and within less than five minutes they were gone, leaving the lone cruiser there for the time being.
It's payback time, Eli said to himself as he pulled the baseball bat that he had brought off of the passenger seat. He walked up to the cruiser, and with all the anger of the past month bottled up inside, he swung the baseball bat at the cruiser's windshield. After that, all hell broke loose. As Eli was destroying the police cruiser, a couple local kids came and helped. When all was said and done, Eli got on the radio. “Yo, is this the Wasaga Town Police Department?” he asked.
“Yes this is, may I ask who is speaking?” the person working the radio said, his voice a little uneasy. By the slight shaking that Eli could detect in his voice, the man had an idea on what had happened.
“You left a cruiser here by the beach. You want us to call up a tow truck to come pick up this bad boy? I don't think it will make it to the station,” Eli said with a smirk. “Or you going to try to catch all us 'punks' first?”
“Oh shit.”
When the police got there no one was around to blame. Everyone that participated was nicely situated quietly with a knife, waiting for the right time, to strike the cruisers again.
After all the destruction of that day, it was nice for the gang to relax a little bit for the next week, everyone was hanging low. The news of the robbery was spreading as fast as a bad smell, and soon everyone in Wasaga knew about it. There were rumours on what had happened, such as a couple Mexicans without any jobs broke in for money and items to sell on the street, or someone was drunk and “needed” just a little bit more. But the most accurate one was the one started by an unknown source, and it was so accurate that it chilled the gang a little bit. No member had told anyone, so where did the story come from? The rumour was that a new member to a local gang had been trying to prove himself, so he mapped out the store and did all the dirty detailing work, then purposely left a member of the gang behind.
Who spread that rumour? Was it Nick, upset that he had been left behind? Or was it Ryan, planning to sabotage The Crypts? Thoughts like these ran through the heads of every member of the gang, afraid that their identities would be discovered. Even Travis was a little worried, but he tried hard not to show it. His worry grew even more when he received a package in the mail from, once again, and unknown source.
There was a picture was of Eli, looking through the window of the old Wasaga Liquor Store, planning out the break-in, his brow furrowed in frustration. Then there was a picture of the actual robbery taking place, Nick eyeing the liquor on the walls. The last picture was blank, but on the back had a note: “Put in the video tape and lock your doors if you know what's best for you.”
Travis immediately got worried and ran over to the doors to lock them. He locked the front, back, side, and patio doors, then started getting to work on the windows when Eli came down. “What's going on?” he asked tiredly.
“I can't explain,” Travis responded hastily. “Just put in that tape and see what it is.” Eli immediately obeyed, sensing the urgency in Travis's voice. Once he got the television to the right station, he called to Travis and they both came and looked at the screen. And there they were, staring right back at themselves. The view changed and they could see the entire den that they were in. The view changed again, and again, and again.
They were being watched. And someone had them on tape.
Chapter Four:
Tuesday, November 30th,
Dear Everybody,
I am sincerely sorry that I could not respond to the letter about Pa's death, and I just want you all to know that I was not running away from my feelings like I had done earlier on by joining the war. Trust me, I will never make that mistake again, because this has been the deepest level of hell that I believe any man has ever – or will ever – go through. My friend Dan from Jersey is in the infirmary as we speak and we do not know if he is going to make it. It is always a sad thing when somebody dies, and I suppose that ties in to what everyone at the homestead is dealing with right now. I hope that didn't come out as cruel, I sincerely do, and if it did I might pass the blame on the XXX for giving us at the camp such stress. It really is difficult to fight knowing it means you have to either kill or be killed.
But enough of that, I am responding to letters from home, not griping. It is amazing that Sue finally had her baby, and I can't wait to finally see it. I bet she looks just like her mother. I will be waiting until the day that her daughter finally asks about what other relatives she has, Sue always told me that she would tell her children marvelous stories about when we were younger, and I will hold her to it. And tell Samantha that if she finally marries Benjamin, I, myself, will personally pay for the wedding in our nice hometown of XXXXX, cake and all. It'll be the celebration of a life time for us to all remember until we pass on.
Kristofer had sent me a letter earlier on in the year that I had put off replying to, and I am sure that you all are aware of what I am referring to. When he got caught by the Mounties it was perhaps God's way of telling him that he isn't a little boy anymore, that he is a man and he has to act like one, so maybe it all worked out for the better. Everything happens for a reason. Let me know when he gets out.
Also, tell Little Timmy that I am amazingly proud of him for learning his literature, and let Betty know that she is raising a wonderful young man. In a couple years, when he turns ten, maybe we can put him to work on the old farm, he always loved to do man's work. It made him feel grown up. But Timmy, if you read this, which I am sure you are capable of doing now, my only advice is savor being a child while you can, because once you are an adult there is no turning back. When you get to my age, it is war, disease, disappointment, and taxes. Life on the battlefront. Whatever happened yesterday, forget it, it is done, it is over, it happened yesterday. Forget all the things in the world that rile you up every now and again, be it a person, a relationship, your looks, anything. And if you think about it, tomorrow never really comes. You have to live in the moment that you are in if you want to succeed in life. If anything, I hope to pass down this knowledge.
Love,
Johnny.
P.S. Remember: Citizenship, romance, actual, and preparation. Live by that and you will be fine. You can easily remember it by CRAP.
Eli laughed, as he usually did when reading the old war letters from his good, old great grandfather. Now Eli's great grandfather was a very high-class gentleman, but that didn't stop him from cracking a joke to brighten up even the darkest situations in each of his letters. Eli just wished some of the guys from The Crypts could be like that without being drunk. But some wishes never come true, and he knew that. But he also wished, that someday, maybe Travis would “risk his life” or “be a savior” for Eli, just so he could feel that it was all worth it.
The sun rose up as it does every morning. Eli rolled out of bed, stretched and went down to the den. When he got there, there was Travis, passed out on the floor, the entire den ripped apart in search of the cameras. Eli just stepped around him, picked up a full beer bottle and took a swig. Tomorrow never comes, he told himself, tomorrow never comes.
And for Nick, it didn't.
The news came that night. Nick had gotten drunk and got into a fight at a biker bar, and was unconscious in the hospital. He was still unconscious when Sean and Eli showed up. Travis refused to go, he didn't want anyone to “see” him. And the man that died that night didn't get a chance to, so Travis had gotten his wish. Wish's sometimes do come true, you just have to be careful with what you wish for. When Eli walked in the door he knew that the fight had been bad. Nick's face was all bandaged up and there were doctors bustling around, taking blood samples and just doing whatever they could do to keep Nick alive. Sean and Eli slept in the hospitals lobby all night just to get the news in the morning that Nick had died, peacefully, in his sleep.
Eli thought back on his first time at he had come to The Crypts. It was thanks to Nick. And now, here he was, in the hospital, next to his friend who was dead, unable to think of anything to say but, “Thank you.”
When Sean and Eli got home, Travis had news for them. Sean didn't stick around to listen, he went into the kitchen to get himself a drink. But Eli stuck around to hear what Travis had to say. “It's a terrible thing,” Travis said. “When someone that was close to you dies. But we have to stay strong, get new members, The Crypts is falling apart, man.” He was mentioning Ryan and Nick. “But think about it this way, if we fall apart during a haul, then we are officially screwed. My friend Andrew and a couple of his girl friends were recently 'mugging' people on the streets for their money, in broad daylight. My friend's under 18, so he isn't going to jail, but we can't screw up like that man, because we will go to jail.” He sighed as the words sunk in to Eli. “It was a wicked violent chain of events,” he continued. “And I do not want that to be what The Crypts has to come to.” Eli gave Travis a look for the first time in his life, offended that he would say something like that.
“I killed a man,” Eli said.
“No you didn't. He is not dead.” Eli face dropped.
“He's not dead?” he asked, his voice quavering.
“No you idiot, why do you think Ryan left?” Travis said harshly.
“Then it might have been him that sent us the video. This is what he wants, us at each other's throats. He might be watching now.”
Thursday, January 5th,
Dear Family and Friends of Johnny XXXXX,
It is regrettable for me to announced that your loved one has been wounded in battle. Due to all of the men that have been injured, it is not nearly possible to send out a telegraph to every family of each wounded soldier, so we are hoping that this letter will be sufficient. We know that being told that one of your loved ones has been wounded in war is one of the scariest things imaginable, but Johnny is in the infirmary and should be recovering shortly.
With deepest regards,
Gen. Blondy Saunders
Part Two
War Letters/
The Day Is Seized With The Breath of a Man
Chapter Five:
Wednesday, May 16th,
Dear Everyone,
As you all are aware I was “wounded in action” a couple months ago, and due to that I was unable to write. It wasn't all that bad compared to other things, but as you read the next part I advise that you are sitting down.
My sources are other men that were fighting with me, so I am not all that sure how accurate this is, but somehow, somewhere, sometime something exploded, and sent scalding and sharp shrapnel into my left leg, rendering me paralyzed in that leg. I have been trying some therapy for it, because I am one of the many in the family left handed, but it does not seem to be getting much better.
It is hard for me to be away from home this long, and due to my injury I have to stay and do some service of some kind because I did not fill out my originally planned attendance time, which will result in me being away from home for about five more months, but I do not believe that I will be fighting, and with God's help that five months will pass in a flash and I will be home to my warm, loving family. I sure am upset at missing the holidays, but by the time I get back it will be about time for good old Hallow's Eve, so I wouldn't have missed that much for this year. I will get a new country's view on approaching the summer, which I expect will be grand. I have already gotten one new view in Vietnam, but I overheard Blondy talking about shipping me back to the States to do some work there. I will still be far away from Canada, but at least I will not be half-way across the world anymore.
I have time, please send more letters, and I love you all,
Johnny.
Tuesday, June 5th,
Dear Everyone,
More letters from home are arriving each week, and it warms me and kills me inside every night reading them. It is very hard for me to keep my spirits high, because through my injuries and movement, I have left the chaplains and lost my bible, so God is only with me in spirit, but I am certain that He will protect me to His greatest capability. Words do not seem to spill from this pen anymore, as the war has hardened my soul and blackened my eyes. I am not the same man I was two years ago. Maybe it was the recent loss of General Saunders, which I have not told you about, or maybe it was my “wounded in action” scare, but I wish to go home and never talk again about these damn XXXX and all of their damn tricks. They are the opponents, I am aware, but I have had enough of these mind games.
As for the recent loss of General Blondy Saunders, no one is aware of where is body may be. But it is certain that he is dead, and it hurts me to talk about it. He left me a note, a poem if you will, the week before his death:
AT WAR:
The sun will rise like it always does,
And wipe away our tears.
And we will fight beyond because,
We are filled with fears.
And to be a man we must lose our hands,
And use bullets and fire.
We wish for this dark hell to end,
That is our one desire.
But for some it is gone before the time,
The time that the fights have been won.
Some are in hell or on Cloud Nine,
Soon alive will be left none.
But the war will go on as man fills with hate,
And bullets and fire and anger.
Peace has long gone it is already to late,
For Mother Peace, we can not save her.
The sun will set as it always does,
And create our tears.
And we will dream the worst dreams because
We are filled with fears.
And to be a man we must use our hands
And swallow the poison inside.
And think of all our summer plans,
We'd have if we survived.
But we do not, the war rages on in time,
The time that the fights have been won.
Some are in hell and watch the wine,
Burn the throats of our sons.
But the war will go on as man fills with hate,
And bullets and fire and anger.
Peace has long gone it is already to late,
For Mother Peace, we can not save her.
And it is indeed true, we can not save her.
Love always,
Johnny.
Wednesday, June 13th,
Story So Far
The rows of liquor lined the dark, unlit walls, Heinekin, Smirnoff, Jagermeister. Travis made a mental note to take more than the money on this trip. He called these "trips" 'short hauls', but there was nothing short about the man that in a little less than fifteen minutes would be unlocking the dark stores, turning on the lights to find himself cleaned out. The lottery ticket dispenser already on the floor, broken glass, and the florescent lights smashed and mangled along with the lone video camera up in the top left corner of the store. It was an old store, one of the last remaining old liquor stores left in Wasaga, and his gang, known only as Anex, with four of his, as normal people call “friends”, had been waiting to “haul” it for almost a month.
Ryan thought of it. An older trouble maker that Travis has known most of his life, Ryan always knew what to do to make a quick buck. His hair was rather long and greasy, a little bit shorter than shoulder length,and he tended to dress in loose, sometimes flamboyant clothing.
Eli planned it. He just recently befriended Travis enough to join Anex, though through some little “tasks”, and if it wasn't for originally being friends with another Anex member, Nick, he would never have joined.
Nick was the drunk of the group. Every group had one. It wasn't that he was always piss-drunk or stoned, he had very high tolerance, it was just that parties came before “hauls”, which more than once had almost gotten him kicked out of Anex.
That leaves the fourth member yet to be described: Sean, a hyper-active friend of Travis for a couple years, often breaks laws as well but not to Travis' extreme.
The light turned on earlier than expected. A siren droned on at an estimated two miles away. The lights in the neighboring houses lighted up. Who would have guessed, the old Wasaga Liquor Store had a silent alarm.
The guys knew what to do. More than once had this happened during a haul. Travis cursed to himself, grabbed a drink, and burst out the back door. He had the knowledge of “if you hear the siren, book it”. His brother, Karl, had learned that the hard way. He had broken into a gas station in Toronto, and when the police were alarmed he tried to get as much money as he could, thinking he could get out before the pigs got there. And he almost made it, almost being the operative word. Almost meaning not; Travis lived by this: “if your there, your there, if your almost, your square.”
Nick didn't have that knowledge. Being the drunk in the group and robbing a liquor store, he naturally wanted to stay a “little” bit longer. While the rest of the gang ditched the store, Nick tried to grab a twenty-four pack and some cigs.
He got his stuff and then pushed his tall, long legs to the maximum to get the hell out of the store. The police were in the block now. He booked it to where the van was parked, but then stopped dead in the tracks when he realized it was gone.
Travis had left without him.
Three Weeks Earlier
Nick walked up the stone path to Travis' house, a silent shadow slowly trailing behind him. “Hurry up,” Nick said. “We don't want to keep him waiting.”
The shadow nodded. “Ok,” he said. “Its just, I'm nervous, all you ever say about him is who he's fought or where he's robbed-”
“Eli, shut up.”
The two stopped at the house, a small, dark raised ranch in solitude almost a kilometer away from the road. It was a warm October evening, and the winds were blowing around the leaves on the ground. In the distance, Eli could hear children laughing and playing, oblivious of what was going on.
Somewhere someone was dying. Somewhere someone was dealing. And here, near the laughing children, someone was about to be introduced to a killer.
Nick knocked on the door. Travis had lived off of student well-fare for almost a year until he dropped out of high-school and somehow “acquired” this new property. “Life is a monopoly game,” he always said. “And I get the boardwalk every time.” Nick had to admit, in whatever way he got this house, it didn't turn out so bad. The door swung open. Eli expected to see someone, but no one was there.
“Piece of junk door,” Nick muttered, and walked on inside. It was roomy and dusty, a large flight of stairs covered by a red carpet of some sort leading to the second story, and to your immediate right was the kitchen. In it, sharpening knives, was Travis.
“We have company,” Nick announced. Eli looked at the ground.
“Well,” Travis said. “You gonna look at me or not?” Eli looked up. Up close Travis didn't look all that bad, just your normal juvenile delinquent. He had the normal scruff, a slight beer belly forming, not complimenting his large, muscular bulk of a body. Eli looked around, taking note of all the empty or shattered beer bottles, and quickly smelt Travis' breath. He was sober.
“Seize the day, Eli is it? Seize the day or die regretting the time that you have lost. My brother told me that. Guess what?” Travis paused for suspense. “My brother is dead. He seized the day and he died. He got jumped in jail, put up a damn good fight too. But he didn't make it. The infirmaries there suck.” Eli was confused. Why was Travis telling him this? “What I am getting at is, I'm not going to be your savior all the time. If you need a solid, I'll help you out, but I'm not gonna risk my life for you. I don't do that."
October 16th
The opening scene to my novel is going to be the character, Travis, and his gang robbing a convienience or liquor store in wasaga, canada. What i might put in as a description would be like "the rows of liquor lined the dark, unlit walls, heinekin, smirnoff, jagermeifter. travis made a mental note to take more than the money on this trip. he called these "trips" 'short hauls', but there was nothing short about the man that in a little less than fifteen minutes would be unlocking the dark stores, turning on the lights to find himself cleaned out. The lottery ticket dispenser already on the floor, broken glass, and the florescent lights smashed and mangled along with the lone video camera up in the top left corner of the store."
October 15th
My "novels" change, ergo i cannot determine what i want my reader to feel. If it is a depressing story, then i want the reader to be sad, if it is a stupid story, then i want the reader to be wondering "what the heck is this guy talking about?" I want the reader to want to talk about the "novel" that i wrote, i want them to enjoy it and share it so i get popular. Yea, i dont care if they even read it, i just want people to talk about me, not anyone else, everyone else just wastes air.
October 11th
I woke up from my dreams of being friend's with Bob the Builder, little talking tractors still dancing in my head, to find my pot belly pig (i think thats what their called) standing on me. Seeing as my pig weighed about four hundred pounds, it was quite a task for me to try not to die. But, I did it, and eventually i got the pig off of me. His name was Ronaldo the Pig, and i had never heard him talk. I will tell you that much right now. But as i got his fat lardness off of me, he spoke to me in a french accent. "Bob the Builder! Can we do it? Yes we can!" No, i am lying he did not say that. He said oink. The reason i am telling you this is because this prompt is politically incorrect, because animals can indeed talk, but in their own way. Why, when i was only five i had a conversation with a mocking bird. The conversation lasted about two days (no joke, i literally did not do ANYTHING else for two days) but then the conversation ended ubruptly one sunny summer day when the mockingbird drowned and died.
October 10th
I walked into the house and flung my bag on the floor. School was over for the day and I needed something to eat. I meow to my cat and he cries back, hungry as well, but I'm not in the mood to feed him just yet. I go into my room to go on the computer real quick to check my email before I make something to eat. On my bed is a little bundle. I don't remember putting it there, but then again maybe I just tossed it real quick before running out to the bus. I check my email, nothing new today, and then go back to the kitchen and turn on the oven. Mini pizzas, I say to myself, the world's greatest invention.
I go back to the bundle. It is wrapped in brown paper, and held together by little strings. I get some scissors and cut them. I throw the scissors in the air and try to catch them but I miss, and they hit the package. Something goes off and my room is soon engulfed in flames.
I'm not very smart, that is the first thing that I will tell you. I should have known that something bad was in the package, in this case a bomb, and I shouldn't have opened it. Every kid says bombs are cool. Well, they are not, because my first thought was, oh no, my pizza!
Dear Everyone,
Think about life like this. I know the past year has been bitter-sweet, so maybe this could help you get by. After reading your scriptures before bed, please read this and think about me:
There was a time and place where everything was good. Glorious fruit grew and no one went hungry. Flowers were in bloom throughout the year, through winter and fall, summer and spring. There were meadows full of dandelions and cool, shallow springs, and there was almost always a deer or two.
Trees were numerous and grew up into the sky. Hundreds of birds sang joyfully, soaking up the warm, yellow sun, while ducks quacked in the ponds and squirrels chattered crossly at one another.
Down below the trees on the soft green grass, a mother raccoon was giving her offspring the grand tour of the forest. The baby raccoon’s eyes widened as he gazed up at the fluffy white clouds floating lazily in the sky. The wise old forest sloth clung to his branch and smiled sleepily at the young raccoon.
Not very far away, a new tiger cub was born. It was as playful as a puppy but gentle as a kitten, and destined to rule one day.
A couple of kilometers away were The Grand Falls. The Grand Falls consisted of clear, sparkling, smooth water that fell down a height of seventy feet into a rock-less reservoir where animals from all around came when they were thirsty.
During the winter, contests were held on the frozen water before the Falls. The seals and penguins came from the Poles on either sides of the world to show their trade and newborns slipped and sled across the ice.
The reservoir, however, always remained tropical and unfrozen for the thirsty traveler.
There were no cars nor buildings to block out the sun, no buses or trains to pollute the earth. Everything was at peace, healthy and strong.
There was no gluttony but also no disciplinary consequence. Everything had its place. At night the stars shown like jewels, floating millions of miles away. Every creature of the forest gathered to gaze in harmony with wonder at the world outside of theirs. And in the morning, it would all start again…
I love all of you, please, do not forget that. I am having one last week in battle. There is a high chance that I will make it through, but if I do not, I love you. I am only saying this because I am nervous; I have made it so far, I do not want to screw it up now.
Sincerely,
Jonathon.
Monday, July 18th,
Dear Everyone,
I have been deported and it is my second night here in the battlefields, but I am here and I am alive and that is all that matters. I am not one of the many sad souls that have lost their lives to protect this country, and that leads me to my point. People that do not support the war have good points, but people against the war should burn in Hell. Many people die in these wars to create a safe environment for you people to live in, and the people that do not appreciate that might as well be killed themselves. I am sorry, maybe I am still just moody because of the death of General Blondey, but I need you all to think of the people that have died to protect you and pray for their souls and their families. Because it isn't as small of a world as you think. In fact, it is very, very large. So now it is my time to let you go, and I know that these past couple of letters haven't covered much but just me complaining and adding short stories or poems, but I have one more thing that I would like to share with you guys:
Take the souls and let them in,
We come from Heaven but Hell to sin.
Remember that secrets don't make friends.
They just tie all of it into the ends.
July 22th,
Dear Family of Jonathon XXXXX,
It is with our deepest regrets that we have to write this. Today is probably the worst day of our lives. Jonathon passed away in the infirmary last night, due to wounds that he received in battle. In hindsight, I believe that I should not have assigned him this last week of fighting, and I am deeply sorry. The funeral will be in XXXXXX in four days, I wish you would attend.
Jonathon was one of our best men, and I am sorry, from the bottom of my heart, that he had to die.
Sincerely,
Fr. Statk
Chapter Six
Eli put away the war letters with a single tear in his eye right as Travis walked in the door. "What's the problem, man?" Travis asked, with sincere curiosity.
"Just reading some old letters from dead relatives," Eli said, the tear gone. He didn't want to look like a wimp in front of Travis.
"Yeah, I know how that hurts. I lost my pop back when I was in highschool." Travis replied softly.
"How?" Eli asked, immediately regretting it, but Travis didn't seem to mind.
"It was the night of my biggest basketball game," he said. Eli was a little confused. Travis was an athelete? "I could hear the hearts pounding inside the baggy old uniforms," he continued. "This was our last game in the state division, and we were up against Mason High School. Mason was undefeated champions the past three years, and my school, Manning, had not yet won one. Instead, the past three years we dropped out from playing Mason. But not this year, this year Manning had Smash on their team." Travis sighed.
"My friends have been calling me Smash since middle school. When I was eleven I started playing center on the school team, and I would smash the ball through the net. I was tall for an eleven year old, almost five foot five, and I could reach the nets and slam the ball into the next grade." Eli looked at Travis. He was about five-eleven, maybe six feet. Maybe the alcohol shortened him.
"By the time I was thirteen I was playing for the eighth grade team, one grade above me. I could run, dunk, and dribble, and above all, school the other players. When it was time for games, though, Coach always made me sit on the sidelines."
"But now, against Mason, I was playing full game. Mason wasn’t from the hood, like my boys. We grew up on streets that almost every day had a dead body in the gutter. You had to be tough to survive, and we were tough. My man, Trip, was on my team. Me and him grew up together. He had been adopted by two ladies, both white, and lived with them across the street from me. Both his moms got killed by a drive-by though, and Trip came to live with us." Eli wanted to ask if Trip was still alive, but he chose not to.
"The living situation didn’t last long though. Trip had great game, his nickname was pretty inaccurate, but he went off running his mouth. His aunt ended up moving down to the hood to live with him and keep him out of trouble."
"Now, at the game, he was ready to foul his ass so much his aunt would be ashamed. The only way to beat Mason is to foul them and make it look like they did it, or to get fouled. But that was before Smash entered the show." Travis had a far away look on his face, trying to remember.
"Mason got the ball first I think, and their center, Mick, started down the court. I showed him who he was dealing with and brought the ball back. He was two steps behind me when I went for the jumper in the key and swished it. The crowd loved it. I looked back at Mick’s face. I saw anger and surprise, and maybe even some respect. I smiled and shook my finger at him. The crowd was still yelling. If they liked this, they’ll love what’s coming. Mason naturally started with the ball, but Trip stole it and passed it to me. I played with their power forward’s mind, and then laid the ball up. We were up by four, with six minutes left. Though we had the lead, the game wasn’t over yet." The game seemed to be going awfully quick, Eli thought, but thats what a drunken memory can do to you.
"Mason scored next with Mick throwing a three pointer. That ticked me off and I went smash on him. I slammed that ball so hard it thought it got hit by a truck. After that it was six to three, with four minutes left."
"Trip fouled the point guard, Andy, and the brother made both free shots. It was five to six, our ball with two minutes left in the first half. I figured out a play in my head that only consisted of me, and got ready. Because Mason scored, our team got possession of the ball, and Trip passed it to me. My plan was starting to work." Eli laughed inside. Good old selfish Travis.
"I stalled for about a minute, until I could see thirty seconds left on the scoreboard. At that point I unleashed my mad agility skills and ran up to the hoop. With ten seconds left, I planted on foot on the ground and pushed off, turning as I did. Mick was a half-step behind me, but that was enough."
"Everything seemed to be frozen as I went through the air. I looked at the clock. Five seconds. I turned my head ever so slightly. I wasn’t going to make it. I twisted my body as much as I could, finished my three hundred sixty degree turn, and smashed the ball through the net. That sucker let out a yelp of surprise as it went through so fast, but no one hear because the crowd’s cheer and yells were deafening. I made it." The story seemed pretty far-fetched, but judging by the look on Travis' face it was true.
"I dropped down and looked at Mick. When he saw me he looked away. He knew what he had coming for him. The second half wasn’t as exciting as the first. For the first part of it Mason kept fighting, but towards the end the realized it was worthless. We ended the game at 41-25, us."
"I kept hearing praise from everyone, and it felt good. My little buzz wore off though when I couldn’t find my moms or my pop. I knew something must have happened, or they would have been here. They wouldn’t have missed the last game, against Mason even! Not for their life, and my moms made sure of that. She wasn’t the kind of person to be late." Now worry was coming back to Travis' eyes as he remembered that fateful night.
"As I rushed out of the locker room, the knot in my stomach grew tighter as I thought of all the possibilities of things that could have happened. At first I though they might have found my stash of Scotch under my bed, but then I realized something worse must have happened. I started jogging."
"It was a little bit cold out, but I was used to worse. The winter when I was five we didn’t have any heating because pops had blown his money on booze. It was mad cold, so this was nothing. As I neared my house I saw a bunch of commotion. There was flashing lights, police sirens, and shouts in the air. I broke out into a sprint and ran towards the group of people. I pushed my way through to find my pops on the ground next to my moms. Her eyes were closed, and her hand was to her chest. I noticed she was bleeding. I punched out a passerby viewing the scene with their morbid pleasure and ran to pops. Pops was bawling his eyes out, but when I came over Moms opened hers." Eli started fidgiting in his seat, but not enough to make Travis stop telling his story.
"They were glassed over. I didn’t know if it was from the pain or if she had been hitting the bottle, but I didn’t care. I looked at her chest, behind her bloody hand and I could see the bullet hole. It was amazing to see all those people standing there watching and not one paramedic doing a damn thing. I got down on my knees and felt something like crunching glass. I picked up a syringe. 'Don’t do it,” she whispers softly. 'Don’t do it, don’t deal it. It’ll be the death of you.' As he says that he smiles, then his eyes close for good." Travis seemed far away still, then he blinked, and his tough guy act came back. He patted Eli on the back. "I haven't talked to my father since, but just deal with it, that's what I did," He winked at Eli. "And look how successful I turned out."
Chapter Seven
“Christmas time. The most wonderful time in the year for everyone but Jews,” Travis said with a laugh as he dragged the tree to the car. “Merry Christmas, merry freaking Christmas, how you like me now you little Sheni? Huh? Well, I know that I am enjoying myself, right out of my freaking socks. Yes sir, this is so much fun I wish I was dead. Breaking my back dragging this tree that I did not steal, because I was in the freaking holiday spirit, and it cost me twenty bucks. Yep, I should have gone to America for this, but no, I stayed here in Wasaga, with a measly one dollar being one dollar here, and now I wasted twenty dollars when I could have only spent eighteen if I went to Vermont.”
It was Christmas time, and everyone was in at least some kind of holiday spirit, be it even bitterness for having a slight waste of two dollars. Eli, himself, was having a great time picking out the tree and watching Travis mumble and grumble bringing it to the car. “Merry Christmas to all the Jews in the world. I live in Canada, why am I not a Jew? Huh? Stereotype myself, thanks a lot Santa, this is all your fault. You want to add the 'n' in Santa to the end instead? Huh? Well that spells Satan.” It was indeed a jolly time of year, even for gang members, and it was highly entertaining for Eli and Sean to watch Travis complain about the season.
“Silver dollars, silver dollars, bring out your money to waste this Christmas.” It was even funnier to watch him sing. “We wish you a crappy Christmas, we wish you a crappy Christmas, it is such a shitty Christmas I can not wait till next year.” The gang itself had fallen to three members, but that did not stop Eli from insisting that they should go out and celebrate the season.
“You happy, Eli? You happy that you made me spend all of this money on your freaking Jew tree that will die in a month? Huh? You better be happy this sucker cost me twenty friggin' bucks, I do not do this for everybody, you got that?” Travis said, hoisting the tree up on the roof of the car.
“Shut up, Travis,” Eli said jokingly. And, either because of the season or his new relationship with Travis, he got away with it too. And it made him feel good, in a weird sort of way, that now he and Travis were close like this. Somehow, it made him feel like a man.
But even through the car ride home, Travis stayed in his “spirit”. “I do not understand this Christmas business at all. This fat man comes into children's houses, gives them toys and then eats their food? How do you know this fat jerk isn't stealing from them too? And everyone says Hanukkah is the Jewish Christmas, easy for you to say you Jew! It has nothing to do with getting junk from a fat man who's only friends are animals and that winter wizard guy. Yes sir, I have seen those movies, and that is one messed up man! He looks different every time! And how come, on the streets, 'Santa' is begging for change with just his suit and a freaking bell? And you turn the corner, and there he is again? Oh, but don't get your Santa's mixed up,” he said. “This Jew hater is now a little thinner, or fatter, or has glasses or no beard. Which brings me to another point; where are the Jews in this picture? He excluded them! Santa is freaking racist,” and with that he hit the car radio and started blaring Christmas music. “Merry freaking Christmas, merry freaking Christmas to all!”
* * *
Once the tree was up, even Travis couldn't deny its beauty. For a gang tree, it actually had turned out pretty good. There were lights strung on it, tinsel, little glass bulbs, and instead of a star, Travis duct taped a pistol to the top of the tree, just so it didn't look too pretty.
“You know, despite all of the wasteful spending that I did today, I think the tree turned out pretty nice,” Travis said. “Even a Jew would find it attractive, even though that isn't really saying anything.”
And that was their Christmas. There were no presents, there was no celebration, it was only the tree, cookies, spiked eggnog and television movies. They watched green men save the Christmas that they ruined, they watched a young child shoot his eye out, they even watched an unrated Santa's Wishlist with Wasaga's own Cassi Suxxx. But despite the Christmas spirit running out too early, it was Eli's first as a member of The Crypt's, and it was one that he wanted to remember.
Eli watched the snow fall down and thought about all that he had gone through in the past couple of months, and how odd it had all been. First he joined The Crypt's, then Ryan had left, then Nick had died. Everything was happening. Everything was going wrong. But maybe things were going for the better. God has a conscious plan, such as death and life, and it was set in motion. It was too late for Eli to leave The Crypt's now. He would never go back to being Casey, the young boy that came to Travis months ago. Soon, he would be a man. Soon, he would be fulfilled.
The snow fell and melted. And just like life, it kept falling aimlessly.
Now it was December 31st, and Travis had brought Eli to a New Years Eve party in Toronto. There was music in the air, and booze in the bellies. Everyone was enjoying themselves, counting down until the new year. No one was looking for penance, if anything people were sinning on purpose, but nobody cared and nobody wanted to care. Even Eli loosened up and had a couple drinks, while Sean and Travis got hammered. Apparently Eli was the one that was driving home.
“You know what I find interesting?” Travis asked Eli at one point of the party. “Proven studies show that at least one person dies a second. So just imagine you are with someone dying, imagine they are sick. Stay with them for a couple seconds, then tap your foot, and they are dead. It makes you feel like God, kinda,” Travis said with a laugh.
“Your sick,” Eli said, and walked away. Normally a move like that would have cost Eli, but Travis' drink must have been laced with something, because he just sauntered off to the next group of people.
Towards the end of the party, Eli and Travis were drinking near a group of punks that were talking about street racing. “Oh yea,” one of them said. “I just got a new cold air intake, got my nitrous oxide running and I could take on anybody.”
“Oh really?” Travis asked, stepping inside the group. “I bet you five grand that I'd be able to beat your little Tonka into next week.”
“Excuse me,” the punk that was talking said, dropping his drink. Unlike most movies, the party didn't get quieter at that point. If anything, it got louder. “I wont bet the five grand, but lets say we go pink slip, eh? Whoever loses loses their car.”
“I know what it means,” Travis said, irritated. “But, I don't want your car. If you lose, I want you and your gang of fags to leave Wasaga and never come back.” The punk was ready to bust some heads, but the thought of a possible new car calmed him down.
“Your on,” he said. As he went to shake Travis' hand, before any contact was made, he spun around and walked out towards the streets.
“What a prick,” Travis said.
Less than twenty minutes later both Travis and the punk, known as Logan, were in their cars and ready to go. The race was around the block two times, whoever wins gets their prize, be it a car or privacy. Logan was racing a 1967 Ford Mustang GT, while Travis was in a seemingly grocery-getter type of car, a 1982 Mazda Protegé. Eli was in the passenger seat as Travis sat tapping on the wheel of his car, maybe a little nervous about his hasty decision to race Logan. “Don't worry, man,” Eli said. “If you lose, I will just steal you another one.” This pep talk seemed to help Travis, and within no time the race was being counted down to.
“Five,” some girl from the party yelled as people started leaving the party and heading to the streets. “Four, three, two-” she continued.
“Here we go,” Travis said.
“Bite the bullet,” Eli agreed.
“One!” the girl yelled. The race was off. Travis slammed on the gas and peeled out of the starting area, not too far behind Logan, who stupidly had use his nitrous oxide in the first five seconds.
“Look at this idiot,” he said. “He thinks he can take on the Protegé? Not this baby.” And as they rounded the first corner, Travis drifted and bumped Logan's back right tire, sending his spinning, almost out of control. And then Travis used his nitrous oxide, and took the lead, leaving Logan in the dust. Travis was looking behind him to see if he could find Logan in the smoke, but as he did that he hit a rock, or a shoe, something, and swerved off of the road onto the sidewalk. Unfortunately, a man was jogging on the sidewalk, and within the split second that Travis had to swerve back onto the road, the man was hit by the car.
There was a thump and a sickening crunch, such as if someone had dropped a carton of eggs off of a roof, and Travis immediately forgot about the race, and slammed on the brakes as fast as he could. He hopped out of the blood smeared car and ran towards the lifeless lump of a body in the middle of the road.
The man's neck was bent in an awkward position, and blood was pouring from his mouth. His eyes were bloodshot and rolled back in his head, and several of his teeth were either knocked out or lodged in his lip. His arm was dangling, the bones no longer attached, and his shoes were lost somewhere. Maybe if Travis wasn't going so fast the accident wouldn't have been so bad, but there was blood smeared all over the sidewalk, and running out of a gash in the side of the man's head. He was most certainly dead.
From all of the blood, it was hard to see the man's features, but for Travis, it was easy enough. “No,” he said, tears in his eyes. “Dad.”
* * *
“This is your fault!” Travis yelled to Logan as he came driving slowly over to the scene. “You made me kill my father!”
“How is it my fault,” Travis asked, upset but not loud. He looked like he was about to puke.
“If it wasn't for your gay street racer gang I would have never done this!”
“If it wasn't for you bruised ego you would have never done this, don't blame me!” Logan yelled back.
All the anger that Travis had ever had, and the bitter-sweet relationship he had with his dad ending, it all hit home and Travis snapped. Eli didn't know where he got it, but Travis pulled out a pistol and shot Logan in the chest.
The blood squirted out of the wound, and Logan dropped to his knees. His eyes were wide from both the pain and surprise. He gripped his chest and the blood poured over his hands. He started shivering, knowing that his road was coming to an end, and with his final breath he said, “You are the worst cousin ever.”
Chapter Eight
Something wrong happened, they could feel it in the air. The remaining two members of the gang left the house as soon as possible. No words were spoken, they both knew what was happening from the smoke in the air. The crackling of the wood told the story, the sad story of the house. Such a beautiful house, such history, going down in flames. Soon the police would come. They would find Travis, and bits and pieces of his life burnt inside of the house. It was over, The Crypts was over. Travis had gone down with the house. It had to happen like this.
Ryan had left, and that was bad enough. He had betrayed The Crypts, he had helped Derek, forcing Travis to go against his word and risk his life for Eli. A part of the roof caved in, fire burst through the newly opened hole, devouring the oxygen and growing larger. It was only Eli that knew what had happened. Sean was asleep when it had happened and Nick was dead. The Crypts just fell apart.
Eli and Travis had been in the den, talking about the loves of their life. After Travis' recent freak show, he had been in deep sadness and only talked to Eli. And when they did talk, it was always deep, sad conversations. These conversations had been reoccurring lately. Travis brought up Mary Jane, his fiancee. She died, pregnant, in a car accident. The driver was Derek, Mary Jane was cheating on Travis with him. Travis had figured it out and slashed the tires of Derek's car, indirectly causing the crash. Derek hadn't been spreading rumours about Travis, Travis just wanted him dead. And Eli almost granted Travis' wish too.
But Derek was smart enough to swim away after the encounter at the waterfront, make it seem like he had died. He later contacted Ryan, threatened to kill his family if he did not help him. Ryan had not been going on a trip, he was with Derek. He got the location of Travis' house, the time that he'd be sleeping, everything about him. And then Derek came.
The glass broke as he had fired the first shot. Both Eli and Travis jumped to the ground instinctively, waiting for more shots. But what they got was a Molotov cocktail, lit, thrown into the house. The flames burnt Travis' face, sealed his left eye shut, but Eli was safe. Eli always was safe, Travis had planned everything to go down safely for him. The only problem was he did not expect it to end like this.
The den was burning now, flames bouncing and crackling everywhere. Travis' burn didn't seem to hurt him, but already it was blistering from the intensity of the heat. “Come on!” Travis had yelled, leading Eli through the flames to the basement. In the basement there was a small bomb shelter dug out, filled with firearms. There were many extravagant different weapons, but Travis picked out a solitary pistol and trudged up the stairs. Maybe it was because he had been blinded by the fire, maybe it was his pride that he only picked a pistol, but Eli did not have time to think about that and he ran back up the stairs into the flames.
“Come out you coward!” Travis yelled into the fire that now engulfed most of the bottom floor of the house. Laughter sounded as Derek stepped through a wall of flames, a single pistol in his hands as well.
“So this is how you wanted it to go down?” he asked Travis, smirking.
“You killed Mary Jane!” Travis yelled back.
“No, that's where you are wrong, you killed her and you aren't man enough to admit it, so now, in this position, you have two choices; die a liar, or man up and die proud.”
The words that Sean had spoken to him the first night at the house rang in Eli's ears; “Killing someone does not make you a man. Being a man is being able to not be killed yourself.” No, Eli thought. What makes you a man is to stick up for those you love, and through all of this, Travis had lived up to that. But what had Eli done? He had been the little rag doll, the entertainment boy for the rest of the gang. Now is where he had to make the choice. Be a man, or watch his friend die one.
Derek hadn't seen Eli, so he silently crept back to the bomb shelter and pulled out an AK-47. This ought to kill him, he thought, climbing back up the stairs. Derek and Travis were having a stare off now, waiting to see who would pull the trigger first. As Eli pulled the gun back enough to shoot, Derek's finger twitched, not enough to alarm Travis, but just enough to set off the flame inside the gun, burning the gun powder and sending the bullet straight through Travis' chest. The blood poured out, fueling the fire more, ending Travis' life. His white shirt was now entirely red, and as wet as if he had swam in it. Eli did not think, he just pulled the trigger and let loose a full round into Derek, filling his anatomy with lead and hate. Eli dropped the gun as Derek fell into the flames and ran over to Travis, whose last ragged breathes breathed out, “You are a man.” But Eli had taken his eyes off of Derek, thinking that, of course, he was dead.
Two Years Later:
Eli and Sean walk silently up to the grave with Gavin, Travis' son. Mary Jane may have died, but scientifically proven Travis' son survived the crash. Not Derek's son. Travis'. They looked at the grave quietly, until Eli started talking, his voice shaking, “Two years ago today, you risked your life for vengeance, saved mine, and died a man. One of the men you trusted led you to your death, but I hope you can still live on in our hearts with trust in us.”
The man that led to Travis' death walked up behind the group. “I'm sorry,” he said. And walking away, head hung, Ryan looked less like a man, not even a killer, but an excuse for a being. But he had just earned himself some respect.
Because to be a man, it isn't who you kill, or even what you leave behind. It is pride that sums you up, and on that day, as well as the same one two years ago, three men came out of their shells, and it took betrayal and two deaths for it to happen.. But one man did not get what he deserved. The antagonist, the killer, never dies easily. Somehow Derek got away, and now, it was his turn to be killed. Did he have a bullet proof vest on? Was he that much of a wimp that he needed one? But it had saved him in the end.
Blood was shed from many people in the time since Eli had joined The Crypts. So much death in such little time. Eli counted to five, then tapped his foot. “Bam,” he said. “Someone is dead.”
The End
“Killing someone does not make you a man. Being a man is being able to not be killed yourself.”
Comments (7)
kaitlyn said
at 2:46 pm on Oct 16, 2007
some how im suprised that oyu now all of those drinks! =] but i cant wait to read your novle it sounds like its going to be veryyyy interesting =]
DP said
at 2:49 pm on Oct 16, 2007
Good start Josh! I think that you have some ideas that will work well. One question: Is it a newer or older store? Are your protagonists really daring (robbing a shiny bright new store?) or more measured (old junky place, easier to hit?) Just a thought!
maira said
at 2:56 pm on Oct 17, 2007
good work on ur writing!
Kaitlin said
at 2:58 pm on Oct 17, 2007
wow amazing.
D Payne said
at 10:28 am on Oct 30, 2007
Josh and pals: As you can see. I have deleted all comments that don't directly relate to Josh's writing. Please make sure that your comments are specific to the writing that he posts. This is not the forum for other conversations. Thank you.
shelbie said
at 3:57 pm on Dec 6, 2007
omg. i love ur writing stytle. it is amazing. im one of those people who actually read the aknowledgements. I loved how u incorperated the historical-like letters. they added a sense of reality to the writing i guess you would say. I LOVED IT!
catlyn said
at 4:03 pm on Dec 6, 2007
i agree with what cassie told me about ur story! it is realy good. i am usually against the whole gang thing but i like ur story! its kool!
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