The Woman, the Boy, and the Elder

Lucy Deville is having one Hell of a night after her shift as a Detective in the crime ridden city of Shadmont. Even when she's off duty, Lucy finds her fair share of trouble brewing.

1

The Woman, The Boy, and The Elder

The sky is a luminescent black, glowing with the lights from the deep reflections of the city, and steadily weeping. It was always raining in Shadmont; a large city with an even larger reputation. Like any other night it taps on the store windows and the wind knocks on the doors. Red and blue lights from the police vehicles reflect off the glass and back on Lucy’s face, for even though the shops will not answer the rain no one here ever sleeps. Between the screams and the sirens, you could not afford to sleep here; at least not restfully. Lucy knew this deep in her mind, after all you learn these things when you have worked the force for five long years.

The rain pools on the sidewalk and splashes under her feet, an audible thump from her boots with every step. Lucy sighs, her wet jeans gripping her long legs, butt, and waist tighter, her thighs rubbing together as she walked. If only I bought clothes that weren’t a size smaller, Lucy thinks, but her pride was too great. Her body is built well--with wide hips and a 38C-cup bust--and she worked hard to maintain her figure, frequently using the department's rec room every other day to keep herself in shape for her demanding job. She worked even harder to earn her respect from her fellow men on the force, having achieved a detective position in those few years.

Lucy steps onto a nearby stoop to escape the rain. The sign above the awning read “Louis’ Pizzeria”, a hole-in-the-wall place but Lucy swore they have the best pizza in the city. She reaches up and wrings out her burgundy hair--the kind you could tell was from a bottle but was well done and taken care of with color treatments--before tying it back up into a tight ponytail. Reaching into her pocket she pulls out a folded, leather wrapped, cigarette case. A flame was embezzled on one side, the other side adoring an ample sized, diamond cut, ruby. Typically she would wait until she got home for a smoke but maybe it would waste a few minutes and give her a chance to relax while she attempted to wait out the weather. Lucy pulls out her Zippo and flicks it open, lighting up her cigarette and flicks it closed with a click. She takes that first drag, inhaling deeply so it would stay lit, then exhaling through her nose.

“What a f*****g drag,” she mumbles under breath, ignoring the pun, though deliberately using it to lighten her mood. “Let’s not drive in today. The walking will do you some good. It’s a nice day,” she says sarcastically. “It was a nice day.”

Lucy leans against the wall, taking a puff here and there. Closing her bright, amber colored, eyes, she was attempting to listen to the city over the steady downpour of rain. In the distance she could make out the sounds of glass shattering, dogs barking and various music from the bars who were just starting business for the evening. She finishes her cigarette after roughly ten minutes, no sign of the rain slowing down anytime soon. With little hesitation she steps down from the stoop and continues down Shady Street.

Heading down the block, Lucy turns the corner onto Hellion Street. The whole block is illuminated with just the faintest glow from the only working street lamp half a block down. A few cars were parked along the sidewalk; An old muddy station wagon of indeterminable make with no plate, a newer, white, Dodge Charger and an older, swamp green, Honda Civic--both with shattered windows, glass littering the street below and the seats within--and a gold, tricked out, Chevy Caprice that was missing all four tires. Yet another faint sigh escapes her lips, knowing the reports that may await in the morning, if anyone called them in, for the damages and thefts. Glancing back the way she’s heading, Lucy could make out two silhouettes conversing in the dark. She lowers her arms, making it easier to reach her Glock if needed, as she walks slowly towards them. It wasn’t unusual to see people out on the streets at night, but it usually wasn’t for any legal reasons.

As Lucy approaches the two figures, she recognizes one of them. A young man, sixteen years old, dressed in a black and red striped hoodie with blue cargo pants. He was a local in the neighborhood and Lucy knew his mother very well.

“Dante, boy what are you doing out here? It’s a quarter to midnight,” Lucy exclaims when she was about twenty feet away from them. Both men jump, obviously startled by her presence. Lucy was just barely able to make out the other man in the dark. He was tall with acid washed jeans and wearing an all black hoodie, but she could still see his face. Couldn’t be more than twenty-one with stubble, like he hadn’t shaved in weeks, and an X-shaped scar above his right eye, a mark affiliated with the Cross Town Boys. “Does your mother even know you’re out here,” Lucy asked, returning her attention to Dante.

“O-oh Lucy, um, we were just…” Dante’s Italian accent made it a little difficult to understand him but tonight he was struggling to speak. He struggled because he knew Lucy worked for the police and that made him nervous.

“We were just minding our own business, and I’d suggest you take the hint, sweet cheeks,” The unknown man interrupts. His voice was nasally with a cocky Jersey accent, like he had been around the block before. He had just never been around her block.

“You know that’s funny, I don’t remember asking you a damn thing,” Lucy snaps back, her gaze like fire, “But seeing as how you need some attention, why don’t you tell me your name, creep?”

“Look, lady, I don’t know who you think you are, but I’d start walking if I were you. This has nothing to do with you, and it’d be a shame if you got hurt.” The man places his hand on Lucy’s shoulder. Dante took a step back and Lucy glances at his arm. His sleeve was pulled high enough Lucy could make out the faintest image of a tattoo of a playing card on fire. The word “Ace” written underneath.

Lucy quickly grabs his wrist, twisting his arm around and pinning him to a vehicle parked on the street. She pulls out her badge and presses it to his face. “It’s not ‘lady’, it’s detective. Detective Deville and I think your name is Ace. I also think you’re petty, drug dealing, scum and that you’ve been peddling your s**t in my city.” Lucy turns her attention back over to Dante, who is watching wide eyed behind her, his hands nervously playing with the drawstrings of his hood. Lucy c***s her head towards Grace Street with a gaze that demanded Dante leave, who sprints away without any hesitation.

Lucy takes Ace and places both of his hands on the car and spreads his legs as she begins to slowly frisk him, starting at his feet. She finds a bag of cocaine tucked into his sock and slips it into her jeans. She makes her way up to his pockets, finding nothing but his wallet and a wad of crumpled bills in his right front pocket. Lucy finishes her search finding only one other bag with about three grams of marijuana in his coat pocket, which she also slipped into her jeans. Lucy pulls Ace’s hands behind his back, pulling out her handcuffs. “You’re under arrest for possession of narcotics with intent to sell. You have the right to remain silent…”

“This is bullshit, you planted that on me, man,” Ace protests before Lucy pushes his head onto the top of the car.

“...anything you say can, and will, be used against you in a court of law.” And I’d suggest you shut your mouth. “You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one shall be appointed to you. Do you understand these rights as I have explained them to you?” Lucy lifts him off the car and turns him to face her. He grins and spits on her shirt.

“Yeah yeah, I got it. I must say though, you’re a good looking pig. Good enough to eat.” Ace says with a snort, still grinning. Lucy brings up her knee and it connect with his stomach. With a grunt, he drops to the ground. “Abusive b***h,” he mutters, drawing his attention back to her before leaning back against the car door.

“Let’s add assaulting a police officer to your list of charges while we’re at it.” Lucy rolls her eyes and steps out of the rain, under the canopy of the storefront they were in front of. She pulls her phone out, never taking her eyes off Ace.

“Hello? Hey, Wesley. I got a live one here. Caught the punk trying to peddle drugs to a minor on my walk back home. Think you could send someone over to pick him up?”

“Wow, Lucy, never take a break do ya?” Wesley says, with sarcastic surprise. “You’re in luck though, I happen to be out and about this evening. Where you guys at?”

“Currently sitting at the corner of Hellion and Grace. About a half a block west of the church.” Lucy still keeping her gaze on Ace but briefly glancing down the road towards the old, dilapidated, church building.

“Oh you mean old Saint John’s place? Yeah I can be there in, le’say, 20 minutes?” Replies Wesley, turning his Crown Victoria over.

“Wesley, you’re a cop. Drive like one.” Lucy hangs up and phone and stares down Ace. She watches him sit in the rain, staring her down with dark eyes. With a slight smirk she pulls out her cigarette case and lights up another cigarette, flicking her Zippo closed with a clank. “So what’s your deal, huh?” She asks. “You know, off the record. Did daddy beat you? Mommy make you play in the other room while she turned tricks with her dealers?”

“F**k you, ya self righteous b***h. I ain’t gotta explain nothing. You d’know know s**t about me or my life.” Ace lays his head back against the car door, the rain bouncing off his face. “Why, that the reason you’re a c**t?”

No, my mom was raped and murdered while I slept in the other room. Lucy takes a long drag off her cigarette. “No, just thought I’d figure out why you’re a little b***h.” She smirks, exhaling through her nose.

“One should not judge another, lest they be judged in return…” An elderly voice cut through rain and the tension. It was almost like Ian McKellen and Patrick Stewart had a love child. Calm but firm, sophisticated and wise. Lucy’s gaze darts to the street corner as she steps away from the wall.

“Shadmont Police, show yourself!” Lucy calls out, her left hand by her Glock and still holding her cigarette in the right. An older gentleman steps out from around the corner and turns to face her. He was wearing a long brown coat, fully buttoned up and holding an umbrella above his head. His face showed he kept himself in good health, with bright amber eyes behind rounded glasses and a trimmed beard, white as snow.

“Now, Lucy, I don’t want or need any trouble,” The old man states, “I just couldn’t help overhearing such a delightful conversation of emasculation and defamation.”

Lucy throws the other half of her cigarette into the rain. “How do you know my name?” She demands.

“I’m not surprised you don’t remember, you were so young when we met. Two years old, perhaps?” The old man smiles. “You know, you’ve grown up well and accomplished so much.” He takes a step towards her. “Dare I say, your mother would be proud.”

“Enough of your ramblings, old man. Who are you?” Lucy exclaims becoming irritated but also slightly uncomfortable.

“It’s not me you should be currently worried about. Good hunting.” The old man says, grinning now as he turns back the way he came.

Lucy appears confused then quickly looks over her shoulder. She saw that Ace was no longer sitting by the car but was instead turning the corner at the other end of the street. Muttering obscenities under her breath, she takes off down Hellion, turning the corner onto Shady Street to follow him. She looks down the street but saw nothing but a few cars, trees and an empty street under a couple neon signs. Ace had already disappeared.

“Damn it, you’ve got to be kidding me.” Lucy huffs and turns back to face down Hellion and sees the old man was no longer there. “This night just sucks.” She turns her head up, feeling the rain on her face. Times like these she could really let her mind go, but not tonight. Not now. With another huff she pulls out her sidearm and begins walking down Shady Street, looking for her perp.

Having walked up and down Shady Street looking for Ace, Lucy heads back down Hellion and steps under the awning where she made the first call to Wesley. She checks the time and glances back up just in time to see Wesley’s cruiser pulling up. He steps out of the car, leaning against the door and the roof. He brushes his unkempt mop of hair from his face. “Lucy, how’s it goin’?” Wesley asks, his jaw smacking from his gum. He was looking around as he stepped onto the sidewalk. “Yo, I thought you said you caught some dirtbag with drugs out here?”

“Stuff it, Weasel.” Lucy mocked. She sighs and steps towards him, putting her phone back into her pocket. “The little prick got away. Somebody...” She pauses, thinking of the old man. “Somebody distracted me long enough for the perp to get to his feet and he made a run for it. It shouldn’t be too hard to find him. I mean, he still has my cuffs on him and I’m sure he’s part of the Cross Town Boys.” She crosses her arms, standing a foot away from him.

“Ah jeez. You mean I came over here for nothin’?” He nudged her arm, a stupid grin crossing his face. “But Cross Town, huh? He might go see, ah what’s his name? Skully?”

“Yeah, I’m sure of it. That boy’s a wiz when it comes to locks and s**t and he helps anyone willing to pay for his services.” She chuckles looking down Grace Street towards the church, pulling the baggy of coke out of her pocket but leaving the weed. “If you’re desperate for something to do you could always take the evidence back with you to storage, since you’re clearly bored.” Lucy chuckles and tosses the baggy of cocaine to Wesley as she turns and starts walking down towards the church. “Don’t do anything with that I wouldn’t do with it. I’m going to turn in for the night now.” She threw her hand up, giving Wesley a wave goodbye.

“Ahh I knew you were cold. Fine I’ll take this back in for you but this better be all of it. Don’t forget what happened last time you got caught withholding evidence, Detective!” He yells down the road to her, making his way around to the driver door. Open the door to his cruiser, he glances back down the road, following her swaying hips. “Dumb broad,” He mutters, climbing back in his cruiser and pulling off.

Lucy makes her way down Grace Street, seeing the lights of Wesley’s cruiser fading as he leaves for the precinct. She places her hands behind her head and tries to let her mind wander, hoping to forget the old man and her blunder. She glances around and sees the old St. John’s church. As she passes by she eyes it and the new sign out front which read:

FUTURE HOME OF THE

DELIVERANCE CATHOLIC CHURCH

FATHER ADAM O’BRIEN

Father O’Brien? I haven’t seen him since my school days. She thought as she continues making her way home, focusing back ahead of herself. This night blows. The hell was that old guy’s deal? And he gave ‘Ace’, she mocks, a chance to flee custody. Reaching down she pulls the little bag of marijuana from her pocket. At least it wasn’t a total loss. She brings the bag to her nose and takes a sniff. Purple Haze. Lucy shoves the bag back into her pocket as she approaches her apartment building. She steps up to the door, pulling out her keys.

“I’m surprised he got away from you.” A familiar voice calls from behind Lucy. She spins around to see the old man standing there. “You’re better than that,” He says as Lucy’s eyes narrowed.

“What, are you stalking me? Just who the hell are you?” Lucy demands, her patience wearing thin.

“My name is Joseph Nightmane. I’m an old acquaintance of your mothers.”

“Night...mane? My mother?” Lucy grips her head, images flashing through her mind. She was a child again, no more than six. She wakes up, a piercing scream jolting her dreams and she makes her way out of her room and down stairs. As she turns into the living room she sees her mother’s bloodied corpse lying on the floor. Her nightgown stained with blood around her crotch and the neckline, no doubt from the gaping hole where her throat used to be, and her normally amber eyes grey and glossy. Lucy tries to scream but can’t, her voice stolen. A figure in black stands over her mother and turns but his face is obscured from memory, only his eyes burned into Lucy’s memory because they flickered orange and red like fire. He grins and steps towards her, each step leaving a footstep shaped fire in it’s wake, which spread like the carpet behind in was soaked in accelerant.

Lucy opens her eyes and stares Nightmane down, his amber eyes glowing from behind his glasses. Lucy could still see the fire even with her eyes open and could feel a sharp pain spreading through her being.

“You feel that, child? That pain and suffering. That was what your mother felt during her last moments. Moments she spent trying to protect you.” Nightmane steps closer to Lucy, his tone deepening. “The fact you can feel that means the time is coming.”

“The time is coming? What the hell did you do to me? Make sense, damn you!” Lucy snaps before clenching her head and eyes tighter, the hallucinations becoming horrifically vivid, almost as if she were still six and in that room.

“Your destiny awaits Lucy Deville. Should you choose to ignore it, the world around you will become a living embodiment of what Hell truly is. I have the answers. When you’re ready for them, you will find me.” All at once the hallucinations ceased. Lucy stood up straight and opens her eyes to see Nightmane had vanished. With little hesitation Lucy opens the door to her apartment building and quickly closes it behind her. With a heavy sigh she makes her way upstairs to her apartment and slumps against the door.

“I’m so f*****g over today.” Lucy, shakily, makes her way to her bedroom and empties her pockets, tossing the bag of weed onto her nightstand, beside her queen mattress. She removes her badge and gun before striping from her wet clothes which hit the floor with a squishy plop. She unclasps her bra and it falls as well. She makes her way into the bathroom, the light of the night shining through her blinds and painting stripes onto her bare flesh. She walks back out carrying a towel, drying the water off her body and wrapping up her hair before changing into a pair of flannel lounge pants and a Judas Priest t-shirt.

Grabbing the weed she makes her way back into the living room and slumps into the faded purple sofa, turning on the small lamp on the side table before pulling a bong from between it and the sofa. She grinds up some weed and packs the bowl of the pipe. She reaches for her stereo remote and turns it on, the system taking up most of the wall in front of her with all the accessories she’s bought, Jimi Hendrix’s’ cover of “All Along the Watchtower” playing. She grabs her black Bic lighter--superstitious of the curse of the white lighter--and takes her first hit. With her exhale, she drifted off into peace.

Author's Note

Again this is a work in progress. This is now the third revision of this chapter. (I keep finding flaws and continuity errors as I expand the story) All feedback is welcome and much appreciated in the development of this novel.

Reviews

[Sanhorsey]

I like your writing. It is easy to understand and flows well, though I think at times it is a bit too detailed. A little editing could o it some good, but otherwise a big CLAP for you.
'Lucy introduces his stomach to her knee and he drops to the ground.' I found this sentence a bit odd. I think something like, Lucy slams her knee into his stomach would sound better but of course, you are the writer so it is your choice.
Keep up the good work!

[Bryan Webb]

Thank you for your feedback, it's much appreciated.
I've looked over that one line and still haven't found the best way to put it(It's one of the few I can't be happy with) but my writing is always up for revisions and edits. This is actually the second draft of the first chapter and it's about to get third revise sometime today before I begin the third chapter(the second is finished and up for review)
As for the detail I just can't bring myself to edit down. The revision of the first chapter actually added ALOT of detail because I felt it was too little--and I still do, honestly--and I draw much inspiration from Stephen King whose noted for his eye of detail.
I thank you again, you've given me much to sit and think on as I go through and revise and you've helped with my confidence as a writer. Please feel free to review other works and continue with the feedback, it's all graciously accepted.