FAMILY AFFAIRS with Larry Lovehart

[littleredman]

New book.

FAMILY AFFAIRS with Larry Lovehart

Chapter One – a most unwelcome guest

As a very long, hot summer started to wane, and the skies grew darker much earlier, I quit my job at the pub.

The Duke, my rotten step-father had demanded that I apply for a part-time job in the area because he refused to let me sponge off him and his money for the rest of my life. I was happy to do it for the rest of HIS life and then just inherit everything he left me. Alas, he didn’t think on the same level that I did and set me up with a job in the pub. I didn’t mind it too much, but the long nights were most tiresome.

One particular night, the night before I quit, a stranger had entered the pub asking after me. I had pretended my name was Arthur and asked him what business a man such as himself had with Larry Lovehart. He was a thin fellow, dressed in a grey suit. He looked like the city type to me, but I didn’t ask what he did for a living. He did most of the talking and explained that he had been sent to the Residence after me.

Over the course of the evening I served him several drinks, and each time he asked me another question. My paranoia soon got the better of me and, after two shots of vodka; I decided he had been sent in to kill me. Perhaps, I remember thinking; he was a relative of one of my recent victims during the Dukes absence. My paranoid was even more heightened when he continued to stay seated even after the majority of other patrons had left. I decided it would probably be best if he was dead.

Even though I had not killed anyone since the Duke returned, I still had the great desire to do so. Although it was not as overwhelming an urge as it once was, it was still forever present. Like a long-lost love that lingers in the back of your mind; it doesn’t bother you all the time but it never really leaves you alone. This time, however, it was as though that long-lost fancy girl had walked in naked, strutted around for a while and winked at me. I was desperate to kill this man, but whether or not I thought he posed a true threat to me is debatable.

The local pub is a relatively small establishment, as not many residents are drinkers. Most of the people that live in the Residence either have no interest in drinking ale, or are too poor to afford any. It was once a wooden structure, but a bar-room brawl about twenty years ago ended with it being burned to the ground in a final blaze of alcohol fuelled glory. It was now built of solid stone, but had the same basic layout. The bar itself stretched right across the room, opposite the entrance. To the left and right of the front door there were three tables, each with four seats around them. Beyond them, against the walls and in the corners, there were seats built into the wall… for the face who likes to keep hidden.

Now, this stranger didn’t seem interested in keeping himself hidden. Far from it; he was sat right at the bar itself, firing questions at me about Larry Lovehart. I kept telling him I didn’t know the man, and had never heard the name, but I think he sensed that I was a liar. After all, anyone with even the tiniest knowledge regarding the Residence would know that Larry Lovehart was the son of the Duke, the man who sat right at the top of the hierarchy and was known by everyone in the township.

“I’m sorry, I just don’t know who the Hell you’re talking about, Sir, and I think you’ve had one too many,” I said to him, whilst cleaning a glass behind the bar. He looked at me funnily and nodded, standing up. Before he left he asked, “Do you know anywhere I can get a good nights sleep around here?”

I nodded my head. “The Blackhorne Inn will probably have some room, and they’ll cook you breakfast as well, if you’ve got the money.”

And with that he left, closing the door slowly behind him. I finished off my closing duties; making sure the bar was clear and all the stools were upright on their respective tables, ensuring that all the money had been safely secured in the vault, and finally making sure the front door was locked.

It wasn’t too cold that night, as I made my way across the courtyard and up to my quarters where Egmont sat reading. He usually waited up for me after work with a hot cup of coffee and a bedtime story. But on this night it wasn’t difficult to tell I was uneasy, and in no mood for silly stories and hot drinks.

“He bothered me,” I told Egmont, “Something about his way was off-putting, and it wasn’t just the way he asked after me. It was the fact he seemed here simply for me, like he had nothing or no one else on his mind at all. Why would someone only come to the Residence for me?”

That night I tried to sleep but just couldn’t. Egmont muttered something about me keeping him awake so I crawled out of bed and got dressed. Lit only by the pale moonlight I descended into the bowels of the Manor, and into the medicinal room. There, I took some of the things I required and left the building altogether.

Creeping silently through the quiet streets, I arrived at the Inn and crawled in through an open window downstairs.

Even though the moonlight tonight lit the room up quite considerably, I still had trouble navigating through the complex foyer that contained the information I needed. The entrance to the Inn reminded me of the post office. It was a small room, but full. There was a waiting area, which was home to the small window I entered through, several chairs adorned the area centred around a small table with some dirty cups, some still full of cold coffee. Then there was the open area, by the door, which only stretched about ten feet long and ten feet wide. On the other side of that, there was a small area dedicated to leaflets and newspapers for visitors to read.

Finally, opposite the door and in the centre of the room itself was the desk. This did not stretch across the entire length of the room, but rather intersected the two opposite ends in their centres. Although it looked pleasant in the cold blue of the moon, the colours used were quite sickening by the light of day.

It didn’t take me too long to find what I wanted, a book on the desk that contained the name of everyone staying in the Hotel and what room they occupied. I couldn’t remember the name of my little visitor but it was okay; fortunately only one person had checked into the Hotel today and his name was Benjamin Christmas, he was staying in room 4.

I sat down on the carpeted floor of the foyer and ensured I had everything required for this job before making my way upstairs. Obviously, I couldn’t risk turning the lights on and so relied purely on instinct, memory and whatever dim light I could find. The building wasn’t very large, and so the ascent and subsequent finding of the room didn’t take me very long.

The first tool I had prepared that was put to good use was the lock-pick. Although I wasn’t particularly masterful at the art of lock-picking, I had done it a couple of times before and didn’t find it too taxing. Fortunately, this instance followed suit and I was room in Benjamin Christmas’s bedroom.

He was lying in bed right in front of me, beneath a large window that faced the moon. The entire room was flooded in light blue moonlight, illuminating the character and his belongings by the side of his bed. I quietly rifled through his bag until I found some identification. He had used his real name to check in, and apparently he was a member of a private detective agency located in the White City. This made me think twice about what I planned on doing, but I decided to go along with it anyway. I continued searching in his bag and found a black handgun, the likes of which is completely alien to the Residence, and a small box full of bullets. There was also a picture of a young woman that looked oddly familiar to me. I pocketed the image and placed the gun and ammo into my bag, then stood before Benjamin Christmas who was lying above the sheets dressed only in a pair of boxer shorts.

I filled the syringe full of the chemical known fondly in the Residence as “Jack Knife Juice” because a serial killer had used it years earlier to paralyse his victims before killing them. On the spur of the moment before leaving my quarters tonight I had elected to recreate one of his most famous murders.

Before he had time to even move I had injected him with the entire syringe full of Jack Knife Juice, which caused instant paralysis. I turned him over onto his back, and watched his wide eyes flicker back and forth desperately in his head, as though his very soul was seeking refuge from his inevitable fate.

“I do not know why you are looking for me”, I whispered, moving out of the shadows and into the moonlight, “But your search ends tonight.”

I turned him back onto his stomach and sat myself on the back of his legs. Pulling a scalpel from my pack, I made a deep incision to the left of his spine, just below his neck and dragged the knife, which was very deep inside him, all the way down to his tail bone. I then brought it back around and trailed back up the other side of his spine creating an 0 shape around his backbone.

Then I proceeded to dig my fingers deep beneath the skin below his neck and pulled the entire strip away, in one powerful move. I peered round and noticed a single tear falling from his wide eyes, but it did not deter me in the slightest, and I moved on to the final section of my unnecessary operation. Taking a pair of strong, industrial pliers to the lowest of his vertebrae, I squeezed as hard as I could manage and eventually crushed a part of it and severed his spinal cord.

Finally, I smiled and reached deep inside his body. Then, I moved my feet up to my sides and grasped his spine as firmly as I could. Pulling my body up, I ripped his entire spine out of his body. It was difficult and painful for me, but I eventually managed it and threw it onto the floor next to me. Then I grabbed my things together and left quietly.

The next day I awoke feeling most satisfied with myself, as I had just committed my first murder since the return of the Duke. I decided it would be a good time to quit my job, and did so. Neither the Manager of the Pub, nor my Step-Father liked it, but I did so anyway.

“You cannot sit around all day and live at my expense,” shouted the Duke, “I am willing to pay for your education, I am even willing to send you to the City, but no, you refuse to do so. The only other alternative, in my eyes, is for you to have a decent job here in the Residence. If you cannot even do that… then what am I to do with you, my boy?”

“I don’t give a **** what you do with me, you senile old bastard,” I shrugged.
He gritted his teeth and shook his head in dismay, saying “Very well, be like that. But I guarantee that you’ll regret it. You can’t go through life living off my money and doing as please… if my words do not convince you then perhaps my actions will. Don’t push me that far,” and with that he left.

The manager of the Pub was not so disappointed with my decision. “Good riddance,” he had said, smiling and showing me the door, “You’re the worst worker I’ve had in my entire tenure here at the pub… now get out.”

I did as he asked and went to read in my Quarters. Egmont was fast asleep so I awoke him for fun, covering his face in cooking fat. He swore at me and went for a shower. “Don’t let me find any scales in the drain,” I shouted, and sat down to enjoy another chapter of Hanson Greenback’s autobiography. Hanson Greenback was a serial killer who lived in the White City, and wrote his own autobiography from within his prison cell. I considered myself one of his biggest fans and followers.

At that time I had been reading a chapter that detailed his murder of the owner of a book store in the White City. He had started by burning all of the books in the store, and then tormenting him with anonymous telephone calls and such. This went on for several weeks until Hanson severed the man’s hands as he slept. He survived, and was put under police protection for six months. The evening that the protection was removed, Hanson Greenback removed both of his hands as he slept. Another seven months worth of police protection ended with the removal of his head.

Smiling at the end of another chapter, I heard a large knock at my door. It was Maruc, my manservant. “What is it, you bastard?” I asked, “I’m trying to read!”

With his head hung low, he muttered something about someone at the door. I pressed him further, nervously, and it turned out there was a girl at the door for me. Assuming it would be Maria or another whore from the Residence, I went down quickly. However, I was shocked to discover that the girl from the photograph I had found in Benjamin Christmas’s was standing at the front door. “Who are you?” I asked. She was dressed in a white, long sleeved shirt and a long red skirt. I would have said she was attractive, but her face reminded me of Tabitha Marigold, a lonely old woman who was burned at the stake 100 years ago for being a witch.

“Do you not recognise me?” asked the girl, who had quite a loud voice for someone so small. “No, actually, I do not. Who the hell are you?” I asked, a little worried I’ll admit. “I sent a man into the town to find you, but he was found mutilated and murdered this morning…” she sighed.

“I’m sorry to hear that, but who are you? And why did you send a man to find me?” I asked, starting out sympathetically and ending angrily.

“I sent him to find you, Larry, because I wanted to know how you were and what you were doing! Larry, do you not recognise your own Sister?”
* * *

PS. Whilst I'm happy to receive comments on spelling, punctuation and grammer; I'm more interested in this one: "Or do you want comment and analysis concerning the content of your story - does the reader find the story interesting, does it flow well, do the elements of the story make sense, etc?" Thanks.

[jackokent]

Hi Litteredman

I don't think I'll ever get tired of reading about Larry (not sure if that's a good thing or not, or what it says about me).

This was a bit of a departure from your normal style at first I thought, far more descriptive or something. I didn't necessarily think you needed that much description, although I am sure others will disagree with me. As you know I like you're style as it is.

"The bar itself stretched right across the room, opposite the entrance. To the left and right of the front door there were three tables, each with four seats around them. Beyond them, against the walls and in the corners, there were seats built into the wall… for the face who likes to keep hidden." This, for me is an example of a description that didn't really add anything.

"Although I wasn’t particularly masterful at the art of lock-picking, I had done it a couple of times before and didn’t find it too taxing. Fortunately, this instance followed suit and I was room in Benjamin Christmas’s bedroom." second sentence felt a bit awkward.

Generally. with your style, I find it clips along really quickly and easily. Some para's for me are reall gems such as "I did as he asked and went to read in my Quarters. Egmont was fast asleep so I awoke him for fun, covering his face in cooking fat. He swore at me and went for a shower. “Don’t let me find any scales in the drain,” I shouted, and sat down to enjoy another chapter of Hanson Greenback’s autobiography. Hanson Greenback was a serial killer who lived in the White City, and wrote his own autobiography from within his prison cell. I considered myself one of his biggest fans and followers." This for me epitomises your style. It has me laughing out loud. These, completely absurd asides (such as his book reading), the interaction with Egmont, and the ridiculous names you make up, Benjamen Christmas, for me are all flashes of true brilliance.

In you're last post you asked for comments on the series (or book one) as a whole. I've gone back and read it all again (can't find part 2 by the way) and I really don't know what to say. I have no idea how you would market it and with the earlier stuff there is so much indescriminate killing, that doesn't really push the story along, it could potentially feel repetative for a reader. However, the story is developing much more now. I can't even imagine how it would look as a novel for instance, all I know is I would buy it instantly.