"Horror in Latvinqa"

A dark and mysterious crime story that I'm working on right now, set in a fictional country called Latvinqa where a savage serial killer is running rampid.

“Horror in Latvinqa:

“Murder is unique in that it abolishes the party it injures,
so that society must take the place of the victim
and on its behalf demand atonement
or grant forgiveness; it is the one crime
in which society has a direct interest”
~ W.H Auden 

 

8:15am, March 11, 2012

Silver Storm Ridge, Latvinqa  

           

            It was a rather chilly mid-march night in the quiet, coastal community of Silver Storm Ridge. The red and blue flashing lights of police cruisers and ambulance’s shone awkwardly as they fought through the thick blanket of low-laying clouds that engulfed the tiny village.

            “At this time the Shadow Islands Police Force does not know any details in regards to who is responsible for this utterly heinous and sadistic...murder....nor do we know why this young man has been killed. I would like to share with you now a poem that was recovered from the Deceased. The poem in entitled “Vengeance be to the Fallen”

“To the sun we fade acting in role grudgingly portrayed to fill the compliance to which our lives are laid.

And then to the shadows we stray, our truths and realities hidden away as the light dulls to grey, then succumbs to the security of black-illuminated day, it is but here we elect to play.

Frozen by the words once preached now fueled by the lies beseeched, a level of trust mortal enemies could not see reached, our unity upon an ocean could not be beached.

May vengeance be to the fallen, their names never soon forgotten, their souls hath been taken, but displayed upon a red bulletin.

And then to the shadows we stray, our truths and realities hidden away as the light dulls to grey, then succumbs to the security of black-illuminated day, it is but here we elect to play.”

 

Thank-you for your time, that is all the information we have at the moment, but I can promise you this...Evil has come upon us and stolen a very bright and promising life away, we will not rest until justice is brought to whoever is responsible for this unspeakable betrayal of human life!” The thirty-nine year old police sergeant Curt Waterz vowed to a crowd of nearly one hundred and fifty spectators, only a third of which were media during a press conference held close to the murder scene.

            The murder had taken place shortly before three thirty in the morning estimated rookie Forensic Anthropologist Maryland Taciturn, who was examining the many bruises on the young man’s shoulders. “Can you tell what caused his death, Maryland?” asked Curt Waterz coming back from the press conference with misty eyes and an obvious look of despair and mourning etched on his face. “No, not yet, sorry...but I can say what the cause of death is...Blunt force trauma to the back of the head which caused the skull to facture and compress.” “God, whoever did this must have a helluva lot of rage built up inside, to take a life in cold blood...like this it’s just...it’s just horrid. Thanks Doctor.” “The skull wasn’t fractured from close range! I don’t have the slightest clue what it could be, but your murder weapon is going to be something made of chain with a weighted ball at one end and some kind of curved blade at the other end.” “How can you tell?” “Look closely, you see the imprints around where the throat was slit? The design, it has to be from some sort of chain link, it’s going to be long to...possibly around eight to ten feet, hard to say exactly.”   

An hour and twenty minutes later Curt Waterz was back at his desk at the Major Crimes Unit’s wing of the Latvinqa Police Department’s head office in the capital city of Forrest of Vengeance. The time was now just after seven O’clock in the morning and Curt, a fourteen year veteran of the Police Department was reading and re-reading through the eerie poem that was pulled out of the victim’s coat pocket. “There’s something in this poem...but what? Something that tells who you are, puts a face to the rage, a name to the ill-gotten fame, a window into the soul...but what and where is it” he thought to himself. Then began thinking of how it could be possible in a village of merely one hundred people for someone to with that amount of rage and hatred as the killer must have had to go utterly and completely unnoticed. Furthermore, how it could be possible, despite the killing taking place in the middle of the night, for no one to hear something. It was the lack of suspicion and/or knowledge that troubled Curt the most. When the First Responders arrived on scene, they had mentioned that every window, mirror and reflective surface had been broken and shattered.

            The sudden ringing of Curt’s desktop telephone derailed his train of thought. “Hello, Srgt. Waterz of the Latvinqa Police Department’s Major Crimes Unit speaking, how may I help you?” Curt answered politely, not recognizing the number on the landline’s caller I.D. “Hello Srgt. It’s Doctor Taciturn calling from Silver Storm Ridge; I thought you should know we’ve identified the body.” “Good morning Maryland, hang on...that was fast.” Curt exclaimed, happy to finally have something concrete and factual that made sense. “Who is he?” he asked excitedly, but with a respectful amount of trepidation. “One Nayeli Kerosene, age eighteen. I spoke with his younger sister shortly after you left, she said their parents and older brothers are due back from Vindictum County tomorrow.” Maryland said professionally. “Hmm, interesting, thanks Maryland” Curt said hesitantly. “Oh quick question for you, did you get a chance to look at the poem that was found on Mr. Kerosene’s body?” “I did yes, why do you ask?” “I don’t know, I just got a gut feeling that there’s something to it, something in it will lend some type of clue to who this Monster is.” “Send it to my e-mail, I’ll get some of my officers to have a look at it again, maybe we’ll find something, ya never know right?”

 

****

March 14, 2012

11:10 am

Forrest of Vengeance City, Latvinqa

            It was a cool morning as twenty-four year old Sapphire Inglis awoke and found herself entangled tightly by her covers. She stretched and yawned almost inaudibly as she peered out of her bedroom window, eyeing the mysterious thick low-lying clouds that dropped visibility to nearly zero. Sapphire, just now realizing what time it was, quickly changed into a clean nurse’s outfit and went to check on her young patient, eight year old Fédéric St-Bloc before going downstairs.

“Good morning Fédéric” Sapphire said cheerfully, smiling to herself at how much her French had improved in the two years since being hired by the family to help look after their terminally ill youngest child. She was greeted by the youngster’s smile, although Sapphire could already tell that today was going to be a rough one. The young child’s spirits seemed to brighten up slightly when he saw Sapphire. “How’s my little warrior feeling today?” she asked, this time in English. “Not too good, but I’ll get better soon I know it!” The fighting spirit of the small child still astonished the rookie nurse and the rest of his French-Canadian family. Fallowing a quick examination of young Fédéric`s heartbeat and breathing, Sapphire made her way down to the first floor kitchen for a couple pieces of cold all dressed pizza left over from the night prior.

            “Ahhh, so the Nurse does awaken....rough night I should assume given the hour of day, no?” Reign St-Bloc exclaimed, sarcastically rubbing his light brown/dirty blonde hair. “Yeah, helluva fun night though, I needed a night out, guess we all do at some point, but hey, at least I came home alone right?” Sapphire shot back making the last part English and smiling cheekily. “Watch yourself young lady, you may just not much like where that road is heading” Reign replied in badly broken English and shaking his head as he sat back in his chair. Sapphire was about to start eating her second slice of pizza when she thought she saw something move outside, too hung-over to really care she kept eating. A couple minutes later both her and Reign saw the inhuman movement in the fog. The way the figure moved was so unnatural that it caused the two adults to cry out with fear and alarm. “By Devil’s name what was that?!?!?” Reign gasped in an in comprehendible mixture of poor English and fluent French. “Madam Isadora?” Sapphire suggested smoothly, sobering up quickly. “Impossible...listen my dear Inglis, Isadora is in her office giving a lesson.”

 

            Sapphire was a twenty-four year old native of Forrest of Vengeance City, Latvinqa, with highly attractive features accented dangerously by reddish-brown hair and dreamy greyish-green eyes. Her nights out rarely left her feeling as ill the fallowing morning as she was today. The adrenalin kick however, was enough to nix the throbbing headache and perpetual fatigue that comes as the aftermath of a night spent bouncing between clubs. Still though, there had to be a reasonable explanation for what she and the man standing frozen beside her had just seen...but what? Sapphire, by now had finally clued into the grand piano gently playing in the background meaning that Madam Isadora was accounted for inside the house. Eleven year old Luc-Martien, the family’s other son would still be at school on the other side of the city...how long had Madam Isadora`s lesson been going on for? Could the seemingly unexplainable figure Sapphire and Monsieur Reign have seen possibly be the parent of the young child taking the lesson?

Sapphire was a twenty-four year old native of Forrest of Vengeance City, Latvinqa, with highly attractive features accented dangerously by reddish-brown hair and dreamy greyish-green eyes. Her nights out rarely left her feeling as ill the fallowing morning as she was today. The adrenalin kick however, was enough to nix the throbbing headache and perpetual fatigue that comes as the aftermath of a night spent bouncing between clubs. Still though, there had to be a reasonable explanation for what she and the man standing frozen beside her had just seen...but what? Sapphire, by now had finally clued into the grand piano gently playing in the background meaning that Madam Isadora was accounted for inside the house. Eleven year old Luc-Martien, the family’s other son would still be at school on the other side of the city...how long had Madam Isadora`s lesson been going on for? Could the seemingly unexplainable figure Sapphire and Monsieur Reign have seen possibly be the parent of the young child taking the lesson?

“How...how long ha...has Madam Isadora been in her lesson for?” Sapphire inquired, struggling with the French dialect, her attention only partially married to the window in the kitchen. “Ten minutes I should assume to be a safe guess.” Just as Monsieur Reign finished his reply to the question, Sapphire turned and exploded into a full sprit toward the stairs. “Mademoiselle Inglis...please I beg of you not to run.” Monsieur Reign called after the sprinting Sapphire, who by now was standing at Fédéric’s bedside leaning over him, her eyes expertly scanning the machines in front of her on either side of the bed. “Something’s blocking his airway, but I can’t feel or see anything, call 911 NOW he NEEDS to get to the hospital!” Sapphire ordered her voice soothing and compassionate, yet fully in control and stern as she began CPR on the small unconscious eight year old. 

****

2:30 am March 15, 2012
Silver Storm Ridge, Shadow Island’s, Latvinqa  

Hannabrhal Shoarms, known by many simply as Hanab stood staring at a blank canvas perched on a slightly slanted easel with his paint laid out methodically at his left hip. He had been asked by Curt Waterz of the Major Crimes Unit if he would be interested in assisting the police in finding the cold blooded killer of Nayeli Kerosene. Hannabrhal’s paintings, Curt hoped, would provide a very much needed window into the mind of the killer, and Hanab was more than happy to give it a try. He finally gave up on attempting planning out his work and decided to let his hands lead the way beginning with a spider-web design on an oval mirror with a silhouette of what looked to be a fairly well built person standing in front. Next he wrapped the figure in chains, dripping with blood with the Latin word for “faceless” engraved on one of the links. He finished the somewhat disturbing piece with the reflection of a ghostly-looking apparition floating in the corner. Hannabrhal entitled the piece “Silent Night...and Deadly” with his signature and date printed neatly underneath. Impressed, though unsatisfied by the canvas now filled with dark black and red paint be moved it closer to the window to dry before laying down for a quick nap.

  Hanab had purposed to the love of his life, Maryland Taciturn a little more than a year ago after the two had become fast friends when Hanab was eleven. The two had moved to the Shadow Island’s had been transferred from the Aquila Petra-Diablo Canto Sin Alma Police Station in late April two years ago. Hannabrhal had rapidly become very well known in Silver Storm Ridge for his often controversial painted depictions of domestic abuse, war, and poverty and had even had some of his less graphic works bought and displayed in art galleries outside of Latvinqa.

 

He was awoken softly by Maryland gently rocking his left shoulder back and forth, “Hello honey, you’re home early.” Hannabrhal greeted his fiancé sleepily. “The funeral service for Mr. Kerosene is today, they’re asking for everyone to attend, a show of force to we’re not scared.” Maryland replied, her voice making it clear she did not agree with the head office’s decision. “Would you like me to come with you, you sound pretty shaken already?” Hanab asked, pulling Maryland close as she fought hard to hold back tears. “I want you to, but I’m still on duty, Curt wants a handful of us to go undercover in case that monster decides to show up.” Maryland whimpered as she let Hanab wipe her eyes. “Makes sense I suppose, good luck honey, stay strong.” Hannabrhal said as he hugged Maryland then let her go with a kiss. Maryland then walked into the bedroom the two twenty-something’s shared and shut the door while she changed into her dark blue fatigues and checked her make-up. Just as she was about to leave again, she heard Hannabrhal call out and ask what she thought the murder weapon was at the time of the savage slaying. Her slightly rushed reply recited what she had told Curt Waterz at the murder scene.

  Hanab couldn’t find a reason to why he had asked what the murder weapon was thought to be when Maryland sent him a text a few minutes later, but as he sat in his small apartment studio room watching the paint on his newest creation dry ever so slowly he began to scribble on a nearby paper. Twenty minutes later he had something that a Farmer in Feudal Japan might have used to cut down the crops with a long chain and a solid steel ball on the end of the chain. Intrigued, Hanab looked up and caught a side glimpse of the chains wrapped around the dark figure in his painting. After doing a quick mental check of what Maryland had said and realizing that the drawing in his hand was an exact match to everything his fiancé had described, Hannabrhal rushed over to the couple’s computer and fumbled as he urgently tried to type in “ancient farming tools” into the images section of the search engine but found nothing. Feeling dejected, Hanab decided to shower and head down to the funeral service alone.

  The funeral service was being held outdoors on a beautiful and clear day, the sun’s rays doing their best to mask the tears being shed. If the Latvinqa Police Department’s Head Office wanted a public show of force they defiantly got it, with the whole of Silver Storm Ridge coming out. The service was made to celebrate the short life of the fallen eighteen year old rather than honoring his untimely death.

Hannabrhal arrived at the cemetery just as the Preacher finished offering his condolences to the Kerosene family. Hanab gave Maryland a quick, loving peck on the cheek as he handed his fiancé the piece of paper with the Farmer’s tool drawing on it and whispered “get it around, not sure what it is but it could be something, I love you.” Maryland began passing the paper around discreetly, having to work hard to conceal her smile when she saw the potential murder weapon.

   The service went off without incident with nearly everyone having something to share, a funny story or childhood memories. When the service had concluded Hannabrhal leaned on the driver’s side door of his and Maryland’s classic Corvette Stingray while he waited for Maryland to finish up her shift. Ten minutes later Maryland came walking slowly, solemnly. “You know you look really, really beautiful in that suit baby.” Hanab said smoothly reaching in to give Maryland a kiss on the lips, missing as Maryland pulled back smiling apologetically.

   The short drive home was taken in mutual silence between the two mid-twenty lovers, broken only by the soft, almost inaudible music on the cars stereo. When Hannabrhal pulled into the driveway he looked over at his fiancé and taking her hand in his whispered quietly “you’ll find him, Latvinqa isn’t that big, I mean he can’t run forever.” “Yeah...it’s just...I don’t know...this...he’s not...It’s not going to just stop killing...it’s going to happen again and again until whoever it is, is caught.” Maryland admitted, now incapable of concealing her tears. “Maybe not, what makes you think there’s going to be more murders?” “Guess it’s just a gut feeling I have. There’s no actual evidence to suggest there will be any more, but the level of hate and lack of remorse that Nayeli was killed with...it can’t just simply begin and end with him.” Maryland managed to explain, choking between sobs as she struggled to regain her composer. Hannabrhal paused for a moment, letting Maryland’s words sink in before pulling her close as he undid his seatbelt and turned to face her. “It’s strange though, we recovered no physical evidence at the crime scene but yet you were able to come up with a drawing of what the murder weapon could be.” Maryland confessed. “You’re not saying they think I’m the murderer are you babe?” Hannabrhal replied slightly shocked. “No, everyone knows how amazing an artist you are, they’re just happy to finally have something at least decently solid to work with.” Maryland chuckled, back in control and accepting Hannabrhal’s kiss as the two walked inside.

Author's Note

I will continue to post more and more of this as I get more done, any and all comments, feedback, and critiszims will be taken into consideration. The poem entitled "Vengeance Be to the Fallen" is one of mine and is 100% original and of my own creation.