The Assassinator Narratives - chapter 1

Mr. English

 

For one week in a district newspaper of the City, an advertisement appeared in the classified section that also advertised for hookers, drugs at reduced prices and black market merchandise. It's not like the newspaper is legally allowed to advertise these things, well, not the drugs at reduced prices part anyway, it's just that the Chief of Police Aaron Copland's police department is so understaffed, underfunded and underpaid that they can't possibly care about what's being advertised in the newspapers. These policemen, grizzled old veterans or rookies from out of Police Academy alike know that this is beyond their control. In a city plagued by crooks and their crooked colleagues in City Hall, the only thing law enforcement can do is play by the rules of these crooks and pretend everything is under control - their control - which in reality it's not, but who cares about reality?
For one week it was there, one little advertisement, two columns in width, written in Courier New, black and white, and one telephone number at the very bottom:

Are you skilled with a firearm or weapon of melee? 

Do you have a special set of skills that make you dangerous? 

Have you an amoral or immoral conscience? 

Have you ever killed a person? 

If not, are you willing to kill a person? 

Do you want to be an employed “Assassinator”? 

If your answer is yes to any of the above questions, please contact Mr. English by pay phone at the number below…

After one week, the advertisement disappeared. Not many people in the district where the newspaper ran answered to this advertisement despite the high unemployment rate; people were either indifferent to the sinister advertisement and the job it pertained, or they were instead seeking a job working directly for one of the many organized crime syndicates operating in this particular district, and had no interest in a job working for a wet work organization that works for the organized crime syndicates. On Monday evening following the week the advertisement came and disappeared, at one of the piers in the City harbor, Rebekah Wyler and her companion Miranda Isaacman were waiting for Mr. English to finish interviewing Gerard Narrator, the first candidate.
Nobody knows Mr. English’s first name. People usually assume it’s an ancient name in the likes of Archibald or Bartholomew or Ezekiel, names hardly anyone knows are names now days.
Nobody also knows that Mr. English in his advanced age is still a virgin. Sure he experienced the brief flings with relationships in his teenage years like all teenagers do no matter what era human history is in, but none of those flings resulted in him ever losing his virginity. And after his teenage years of what could have been golden opportunity, he entered the very professional trade of the Assassinator and dedicated his full self to the trade, so he had neither time nor need for relationships, and thus remained a virgin all his life up to now.
Mr. English had given vague instructions to each of the callers. They were to arrive at the warehouse on their assigned time and wait for him. That was it. Rebekah was the second caller Mr. English received when the job listing was published. She had called on behalf of Miranda too since Miranda is her life-long companion and she always drags her life-long companion into whatever she was up to. That was the deal they made – to drag each other into whatever each one of them had gotten themselves into – when they were two kids in an orphanage. The deal stuck.
Gerard went into his interview known to Rebekah as Gerard, and came out as Narrato. According to him, no one’s ever called him by his first name and no one ever did call him that. Rebekah was already impatient that Narrator took too long and gave him a look that frightened and baffled him for the rest of their time knowing each other. Though Narrator was slow during the interview, he was hired on the spot, without him realizing it. Mr. English didn’t have to interview Rebekah for a long time. Miranda only had to wait two minutes before it was her turn. She didn’t have much to say, and the girls were hired on the spot, in five minutes flat, just as Arliss Stanton, the next candidate showed up after participating in a drunken bar fight.
Next, Howard Fast arrived, nervous and five minutes earlier than he should, and after him was Ruslan Brockovitch, five minutes later than instructed, and then the last candidate woke up from the garbage pile where he had been sleeping since Narrator’s interview and strolled into the warehouse. Homeless drifter Boris Krazynski was the final candidate.
Before they start working professionally, all Assassinators undergo a month of training to learn the way of the Assassinator, much like a modernized, commercialized version of the way of the Ninja.
Mr. English instructed the seven candidates he interviewed that evening at that warehouse at the same spot he had trained Assassinators at ever since he arrived at the city many years ago. At the end of that month, the last thing he had to tell now-professional Assassinators Rebekah, Miranda, Arliss, Howard, Ruslan, Boris and Narrator were the rules of the way of the Assassinator. There are five rules.
The first rule about being an assassinator, brief pause by Mr. English, speaking in his elegant monotone, is you don’t assassinate children.
Yeah, does that include teenagers? Said Rebekah, bored.
The second rule about being an assassinator, another brief pause, is you don’t assassinate women.
Pfft, he didn’t even answer my question. Rebekah said loudly, under her breath. Miranda shushed her. Miranda is a quiet, soft-spoken girl who rarely talks to anyone except Rebekah.
Unless, of course, if the woman in question is a bitch, then the second rule does not apply, this remark caught everyone off guard, even Boris looked up from his staring at the pebbles embedded in the pavement of the old abandoned lot this was taking place in.
Aren’t you talking about every woman in the world? Arliss the ugly, tough-talking thug hollered gleefully.
Fuck you, misogynist! Rebekah hollered back.
What are you gonna do about it, bitch? You wanna go?
Woah, don’t fight now, listen to the rules, Mr. English doesn’t repeat them, Gabriel O’Brien said, stepping between Arliss and Rebekah, who had both stepped out of line and were within an arm’s reach of each other’s neck. Gabriel is a neat, clean-shaven Assassinator veteran, but he usually helps out Mr. English and rarely goes out on a job.
The third rule about being an assassinator, brief pause as predicted, is you don’t assassinate a person you are not assigned to assassinate, in which case it will be considered murder and you will be charged for murder should you be arrested.
Rebekah and Arliss had stepped back in the line of the seven graduate Assassinators. Arliss was disappointed he didn’t get to fight Rebekh; he could even have tried to tear her top off which would have made his day or even his whole week. Arliss has a sick mind.
By the way, nobody had anything to say about rule number three.
The fourth rule about being an assassinator…
Can’t he just shorten his sentences already? We don’t need the rules numbered for us. Rebekah interrupted and Mr. English stopped speaking. She signed dramatically. Miranda quietly shushed her again. Mr. English resumed speaking.
…is as an assassinator, you must accept all assignments from all clients, without exception, unless refusal to take part in the assignment is a directive from the Assassinator commissioner, who if you don’t already know is myself.
The seventh person in line, timid, rural runaway Howard was writing each of the given rules down in a small notepad. Arliss, who was standing next to him, thought it would be amusing to knock the notepad out of Howard’s hand, which he did.
Howard blinked in surprise and bent down, hand stretched, to retrieve his notepad. Arliss stomped the heel of his boot onto Howard’s hand as it closed around the fallen notepad. Howard cried out and collapsed in a heap.
Rebekah meanwhile had come up behind Arliss. She tapped him on the shoulder. As Arliss turned around to the source of his interruption from making Howard’s life miserable, Rebekah socked him across the face with Boris’ trash picker – which she borrowed from his for the moment without asking – and when Arliss did not fall to the ground unconscious because of his thick skull, Rebekah cracked another blow to his temple, and Arliss was knocked out cold. Boris snatched his trash picker from Rebekah and stuffed it back into his burlap sack which contained all his possessions.
Look what you did. Now he isn’t going to hear all the rules, Gabriel said, shaking his head in disappointment. He stood on the right side of Mr. English, dressed in the same impeccable attires. In his pockets he always keeps packets of hand sanitizer and a spray tin of breath freshener.
Don’t worry, nobody gives a shit, Rebekah said, and gave him a wink. Feeling accomplished, she returned to her spot in the line.
Howard stood back up, massaging his injured hand with his other one. He took a step away from the unconscious form of Arliss, muttered thanks to Rebekah which she didn’t hear and pocketed his notepad, having no more courage to take down the rules.
The fifth rule about being an assassinator is as an assassinator, you are to never assassinate other assassinators. This also goes against the way of the assassinator and is punishable by assassination.
Ooh, what a tongue-twister, the suave, courageous, handsome Ruslan remarked in his suave, courageous, handsome accent. He winked at Rebekah, who replied with a smirk.
That will be all, and also, will one of you be so kind to tell Mr. Stanton the rules he had missed after he was knocked unconscious by Miss. Wyler. That will be greatly appreciated on my part. Now, I hereby declare you seven, Mr. Brockotivch, Mr. Fast, Miss. Isaacman, Miss. Wyler, Mr. Stanton, and Mr. Narrator members of the Assassinators brethren.
I’ll be taking you to our lodgings. Gabriel spoke up, follow me to the van.
When Narrator looked back to where Mr. English had been standing a moment before, he had vanished. Narrator scratched his head in puzzlement.
The other Assassinators were leaving the lot. Narrator hurried to catch up. Gabriel’s van was parked beneath the power lines far out in the marshlands to the west. They were at the outskirts of the City’s industrial zone.
This was the graduation of the assassinators-in-training; they were now assassinators-in-working. The unceremonious ceremony took place on the vast overgrown lot of a factory that once manufactured automobiles residing abandoned in the industrial section of the City on a fine, cloudless day. The sun was shining, and a light breeze accompanied the cooling weather, stirring up trash and fallen leaves in the City’s roads, announcing the coming of winter (always a source of sorrow for the City’s large homeless population; an average of two percent of them freeze to death in the streets each winter).

A Something New

Here is a little bit of a spark of creativity I had around two weeks ago after watching some clips from the Sin City movie and thought, "Gee, it would be cool if I could write something like that." So I did, and what I wrote probably doesn't make any sense to you right now.
After that spark of inspiration, I've gotten around to jotting down some ideas for an extremely complex narrative that has something to do with what I wrote that day, here it is:

The room is black and white and completely square. The whitest part of the room is the single light blub dangling from the ceiling, right center of the black and white room. Technically, this is the brightest part of the room, but for the sake of a graphical novel setting, we’ll reduce the colors to simply black and white and all the gray areas in between. The blackest part of the room are the dark corners of the room, which, for some reason of trick lighting, aren’t illuminated by the bare light bulb even though nothing really obscured them from the light source. The second blackest part of the room is the suave young man with the shiny white sunglasses sitting comfortably, or as comfortably as he can in an old, five-dollar plastic lawn chair (this is indoors; the lawn chair is not in its correct setting). His entire form, shrouded in pitch black (this is despite him sitting right under the light of the bare light bulb) except the glowing white lenses of his sunglasses, is relaxed, leaned into the backrest of the plastic lawn chair, his heads pillowing the back of his head of neatly trimmed black hair. The lighting in the room is so ridiculous and defying of the laws of science that nothing of this young man’s features (which are presumably handsome enough to charm members of both sexes) can be distinguished under the darn lighting; he is simply a shadow of himself, his form only slightly blacker than his background, one of the four walls of the room.

For Stanton, he is having a lot of trouble trying to separate the shadow of the young man from the shadow of the background, since he is shortsighted. Stanton is also a young man, albeit a less handsome looking one, and somehow that warranted him the favor of the room’s lighting, unfortunately. Since his form is not completely shrouded in blackness, he can actually be described; he has quite a mean face, narrow beady eyes, a buzz-cut, and no small quantity of knife/glass/fingernail scars all across his visage. The only damper on this mean street-fighter’s face has to the explosion of acne stretching diagonally from Stanton’s right temple to his left cheek, concentrated around his nose area which made the face extremely undesirable for any parts of the body of anyone else to touch. Even hookers didn’t want to kiss Stanton’s face unless he pays them a bonus. People either get acne or they get freckles, rarely both; Stanton always envied people who get freckles, freckles can be attractive, acne, however, cannot.

I've always wanted to write something in the style of Catch-22, a book I read and admired greatly for the density of its narrative and its endlessly broad vocabulary. I'm no Joseph Heller, and I'll never be Joseph Heller, but I've finally been inspired with an idea that has enough characters to write a story that will make even my own head swim (exactly what Catch-22 did). If you want to see more on this story, or if you have suggestions about where I can take this story to, by all means tell me. Thanks!

G!

Time For Some Uplift

In the wake of bad things happening,
I like to listen to sad music,
And think sad thoughts,
Because it's easy to become pessimistic,
When bad things happen.

After the gloom and the negativity,
I like to dream that one day,
Everyone will have a share of happiness,
Everyone will have fulfillment,
And no one will feel pain,
Then everyone will say to everyone else,
"It's wonderful to be human."

This dream, I'm sure,
Is dreamed by many,
And it's an unlikely dream,
If there ever is one.
But I like to keep dreaming,
And believe in the unlikely,
Because some dreams,
Even pipe dreams,
Are worth believing in.

Facebook Smackdown

Transcribed by G!

As a Facebook user, I have come across numerous arguments taking place on the comment section of wall posts, here is a long example of one such arguments regarding a current event. All names have been changed because I did not ask for the consent of the participants of this argument to publish their comments, and therefore do not have the right to use their real names (I wouldn't have done that anyway).
The participants are represented by letters A through I, in-text reference to any of the participants by other participants are are enclosed in [], as well as third persons mentioned who did not participate in the argument
Insults that may reveal the occupation of any participants are generalized and stated as [insult]
Spelling and grammar are not changed from their original text.
I am posting this as an experimentation in short story writing, no ill intent whatsoever.
Overview:
The first argument occurs between participants B and D, the second the major argument occurs between A (the creator of the post) and F. E and G are frequent commentators to the argument and E briefly argues against A in a developing third argument before the post is terminated. C, H and I are onlooking commentators.

Original post:
A: If anyone wants some good debate practice, I recommend the first electoral debate which airs tonight between Romney and Obama.

Comments:
B: I call Romney
C: As of 10:09 pm on CBC, 75% for Obama, 19% for Romney, 6% unsure.
B: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO...well there goes america's economy
D: [B] ur a racist
B: how, just because I don't support Obama I'm a racist?
D: wanna debate whether ur a racist or not?
E: Hm....That will be a great debate for sure. I'm for Obama,but wouldn't debate on it.
C: "Republican", not "racist", would be a better adjective, now that you can debate about.
B: Obama had a 1.3 billion dollar debt for 2011...thats bad leadership
D: were not talking about whether obamas bad or not, were talking about whether ur a racist or not. [B] get ur head in the game
B: Im not a racist
D: u support hitler, your argument is invalid
B: I do NOT support hitler
D: i clearly remember what u said last year
E: Oh,yes. I do,and I bet at least 5 people could remember what he said about Hitler in our maths class,[makes a joke about B's name]
D: ^[E]'s killer chirps
B: I said hitler was a good leader not a good person and i have never once in my life said i support him
D: does a good leader cause millions of deaths?
B: no a good leader is able to take a country from a depression to ruling half of europe. A bad person kills millions of people. The two statements are not intertwined...plus when stalin took over he killed anyone that did not support him, does that make him a bad leader? NOPE. Stalin like hitler is a bad person but a good and effective leader.
D: so theyre proficient leaders. not good. good means pleasing and approved of. do u find hitler pleasing? u probably do, coz ur a racist
E: Um. From what I see, A trait for great leader, in many cases, is the leader who achieve those by avoiding as much deaths and disadvantages(that are handed down to the minority or disadvantaged) and achieve greatness to his/her nation.
A: [B], you told me and [other person] we were Hitler's mistakes. I'm not even Jewish asshole.
E: [A]. Which [other person]?[#1]  [#2] or [#3]?
A: [#1]
E: Oh,I see.
F: I am 100% advocating the Chicago School of Economics, but Romney is obviously the worst of two evils in this case.
E: Support your reason why Romney is obviously the worse of the two evils.
F: Look, as a basic principle, the best government in a modern, liberal state is a limited government. While some intervention can be beneficial in the case of an oligarchical market, socially intrusive policies are almost guaranteed to backfire by a) coercing people to adopt certain mindsets or b) inciting insurgence. Alas, Romney's social policy is too invested in wombs to not be coercive and morally patronising...the role of the government is not to impose moral agendas. Romney wants to metamorphose it into some male-privilegesque, white-supremacist, non-secular vision of his personal ethics.
E: I see why. So,if that's so,then would Romney's conservative policies will try to force people into certain moral agendas that he (or the Tea Party) likes/believes in,which would basically force the people to follow and leave the others who are deprived and disadvantaged?
E: *believes in,and will force the people
F: Since he is planning to enforce some of his beliefs legally, yes...there's so many factors into why limiting freedoms is wrong, ranging from justice, to role of the gvt, to homogenisation and its sociopolitical repercussions to potential civil disobedience.
E: Absolutely. Those will,from what see, threaten the nation and its people indirectly or directly,as well as dividing and oppressing the different social and racial groups.
From what I've read from a French novelist,diversity and speciality is an integral part of survival.
A: But [F], you speak of why government needs to have a smaller and less apparent role. yet, are you not aware it is a traditionally republican standpoint for less government?
G: clearly Romney was better prepared
A: Also [E], are you actually using Voltaire? Also, diversity and specialty are not exactly Voltaire's key focus. Have you actually read his works...also [F] are you not aware that Romney isn't allowed to just go off and force his beliefs because he wants too? They have this thing called the constitution and this other thing called congress.
G: the country is ran by congress, not presidents
A: Exactly
F: No, a republican government is in fact more socially intrusive than a liberal one, which is a point I raised a few comments before. Additionally, knowing that Romney's legislation is potentially going to get congress seats in the prospect of his election, his proposed laws that restrict abortion (coercive: fact) and grant rapists parental rights (coercive: fact) become a looming possibility...Romney's economic policy is also not centred around the actual principle of a free market but, in fact, aims to fortify this gross misrepresentation of actual skill in the face of wealth. Whoever thinks investing money in coprorations in an attempt to generate jobs in an economy that is home to some of the world's most profitable businesses will change the market landscape, rather than aggrandise this fabricated inequality is a contemptible thinker. Markets create jobs and those are fired mostly by the average consumer, rather than corporations.
G: unlike Canada, in the US, presidential election is separate from the house and the senate...personally, i think neither Obama nor Romney should be the president
F: House and Senate members of the same political party basically follow the same agenda, so my point stands.
G: what do you mean? obama is a democrat and yet there are more republicans in the house of reps
E: [A]. It wasn't from Voltaire.
A: Well actually no they don't [F]. If you had any understanding of American politics
F: Please enlighten me on how they never ,IN PRACTICE, have followed a common agenda.
A: Ahhh I see. So basically you are generalizing. If you had ANY knowledge of American politics you would realize that congressmen do not necesarilly vote on party agenda, instead on Lobbyist intervention, and personal beliefs. It isnt like Canada where everyone follows a straight line. Also how can you tell what happens at the next congressional election? Also your insinuation that all Republicans are for legal rape, and religious intolerance, is exceptionally offensive to me. As I am a republican who is for abortion, religious tolerance, and a free enterprise based economy...and one more point, Fay you may be a great debater. There is no doubt about it. But you know nothing about how the world works, and yet you like to pretend you do.
F: If you had any idea of how the world works, or the guile behind it, you would not be disregarding the past practical manifestations of this example. Nobody mandates that party members have a shared agenda, yet they do - because there are political forces such as donations driving politicians' actions and because THE MAIN STATES THAT WOULD ELECT MITT ROMNEY ALSO CONTRIBUTE THE MAJORITY OF CONSERVATIVES IN THE CONGRESS & SENATE, HENCE ENSURING THAT THE MAJORITY HAVE SIMILAR AGENDAS. When you learn how to differentiate between how things theoretically and practically work please comment on my knowledge of not just how a tiny pocket of politics called "American Politics", but also THE WORLD works...you sound libertarian, NOT CONSERVATIVE to me. I am also a libertarian, which is why I am not a Republican.
A: No [F], I am a Republican through and through. I am simply stating that you should not go on pretending you have an actual understand of American Politics, and do not call then a "tiny pocket". If you had any world knowledge you would understand that what will be happening in America is one of the single most important elections in the coming decade. Now here is the thing. You have an exceptionally large vocabulary, which it appears you attempt to hide behind. As anyone who can understand what your are saying would understand that it is senseless gibberish that is basically repeating the same thing over and over again...you are a drone, If I may say. You have no understanding of what you are actually saying, you only understand how to convey your ever impressive vocabulary. Which in life, as much as you may hope, will get you 0 friends
F: [A], I put forward two very functional arguments on why your ideology rarely works. I guess though, I am anything, if you may say.
A: Honestly I am quite sick of this asinine conversation. So I shall resort to my default response. Quiet yourself [insults F]
F: Oh dear, liberty and justice embodied have spoken. Lo and behold how they abstain from casual contradiction like few before.
A: Go fuck yourself.
F: Shhh, it shall all be alright...calm down.
A: I'll reiterate. Go fuck yourself, also get off my post.
F: Reconsider why you are so insistent on berating ME rather than my argument and CALM DOWN BRENTHEN, DAMN.
A: Let me reestablish my position. Go fuck yourself.
H: Y'all ball so hard.
G: Ye shall cease your dispute.
H: Everyone calm down or I will be forced to get involved. And then dat shit cray.
G: my comment has been eaten alive! i shall demand justice! 
A: Oooohhhh [H], he so Cray cray!!! He fuk shit up in da ghetto! He one badasss muttha fucka
E: Um...Sorry to disrupt but,I'll read a part of the Introduction Sheet that we received during the meeting:
'Debating Etiquette'. 3. "....Refrain from using any type of name-calling or insulting during the debate."
4."Conform to the standards of formal speech practiced in debating by eliminating colloquialisms,slang and swear-words from your vocabulary during the debate."
A: [E]. Fuck off.
E: Oh,really? It's you who should calm down! You weren't following the basic etiquettes that are necessary in debating! You kept asking [F] to f**k off,saying that she'll have 0 friends,calling her [insult] (even though she is),which wasn't an appropriate title.
A: [E], you seem to be confused. This isn't a debate. Did you not know that? Did you miss the memo? So why don't you stop playing the people's advocate and instead, go with my saying of the day. Go fuck yourself. Don't you have some girls to stalk [E]?
I: hm, now this is getting personal.
A: Yep.

--post terminated--

Strong Beliefs

Strong beliefs are
The root of passion,
The fire of motivation,
The force of action.

Strong beliefs are also
The source of hate,
The carrier of intolerance,
The face of discrimination.

Pick a side
And sooner or later,
You find yourself
Standing on the same side
All along.

Dream Love Poem

By G!

For Mr. Romance Never Dies, among other aliases.

What overrides rationality, stability, sanity,
Which one tells oneself one must carry,
Carry for the sake that what is not so,
Hopefully will become.

A love one weaves for oneself,
With tentative care, and boggling obsession;
Like a seamless sweater for the cold harsh night,
The clothe is of no help, but might become of help.

So one takes a chance with chance,
To hold worry and reality at bay,
To hope that what is dreamed,
Might come to fruition and blossom.

When dreams held steadily on,
Become a want to come true,
One might want to check on a thought;
Are you in love, or in love with the idea of love?

The Riddle of the Gate

by G!

Everyone has a gate;
This gate waits
For someone to let in.

The gate is not too tall,
Not too forbidding,
Not a wall.

If a person wants to,
They can look through
Another person's gate,
In passing, or with intent.

And if they like what they see,
They might even return,
To witness the wonderful things,
Behind this other person's gate.

And if they really like what they see,
They might even stay by the gate,
Hoping it will open to let them in,
So they can be closer
With the wonderful things behind the gate.

Everyone's gate is different,
Yet they are all alike.
They all open eventually,
But timing is the difference.
Some gates are later bloomers.

My own gate has not let anyone in yet.
When I ask my gate now
Whether it wants to open,
For a good visitor has arrived.
It says,
'I'm sturdy. Wait for it.'

I hope my good visitor won't mind,
That my gate is stubborn.
It prefers to stay closed,
So the dear visitor and I
Can have something to lean against,
When we converse across my gate.

About Dennis...

I have been writing the story of Dennis Raveley on this blog for some time, and since when I started, the novel developed into something slightly different (and hopefully better) from what I had in mind originally, so I've decided to do a rewrite, starting from chapter one, on a new blog!
Here is the link to this new blog that will begin to produce a revised version of the story of Dennis Raveley very soon:

http://dennisraveley.blogspot.ca/

To all who read the first draft so far, I sincerely thank you all for simply reading it. As you might have realized, I've not posted something for a while after that unusual chapter 18. From now on, this blog will be dedicated to my infrequent poems, occasional ranting and the tossing around of ideas and topics. The novel posts will be moved to that blog, link above.
The revised novel will still feature the events from the version here (Raymond will still have a bazooka dropped on his foot), it will keep the title, the characters will be unchanged, the only difference may be that the pacing of the new version will slow down considerably.
I hope you will enjoy reading the story so far a second time, and find it even more enjoyable.

G!

Oh yeah! I changed my template!

Searching For the Finishing Line

by G!

I am searching, and searching for the finishing line,
I've searched for only a while; I have some more time.
This line I'm searching for, it is difficult to find,
Most do not bother, for they think it's in the right mind.
This line I search for, it is not written,
Nor is it touchable, spoken or directions given.
This line I search for, a path leads to it,
But other paths overlap, cross and cover it.
This line I search for, I may never reach,
It's like a mirage, out of my physical reach.
This line I search for, few have searched for it,
And fewer even have succeeded, to ever find it.
You may think I'm crazy, to search for such a line,
But it's worth searching for, when life spans such short time.
I'm happy to have my heart's desire as my guide,
I think it's life's purpose, just don't ask me why.

Dennis Raveley - chapter 18

Several thousand miles away from the cabin where Dennis is looking over the family tree while the rest of his new-found family argues about the legitimacy of the material around him, a meeting between two men is taking place in a locked room.
The room is part of a larger steel and cement complex that rents facilities for three hundred dollars a month, a rather cheap price in times of an economic crisis. The room is walled by tones of gray, and the dimensions of the prism are hard to distinguish by anyone short of a twenty-twenty vision. An iron table is placed right center of the room, which is almost perfectly cube shaped. Two plastic seat chairs are positioned opposite each other and on these two chairs sits the two men, both are in neat, black two-piece suits, but other than that, they are vastly different in appearance.
The man sitting on the chair facing west is in his forties, lines crisscross his deeply agitated face. On closer examination, it may be interpreted that he is a family man, married only once, and has been faithful for the most part. This man, named Mr. Vernon, is trying to explain an important situation to his companion, the figure seated facing east.
Mr. Vernon's counterpart is much younger, in his late twenties, though his face suggests a depth of character wise beyond his years. This man's most prominent feature is a disengaged frown, his natural facial pose; an expression he displays at the moment. In a keen gaze, this man may be perceived to be single, intelligent, subtle, and all-knowing, all prominent features of a man who works behind the stage, wielding the strings of a manipulator.
Mr. Vernon has just finished making a point, it will now be shot down by the younger man.
'The principle you must understand, my good colleague, is that you can serve only one of two masters, one of them you must travel far and away to reach, the other, quite frankly, is already in you.' The younger man's voice is a raspy, often eerie sound, it is the voice of a chain-smoker, but all his close associates know he doesn't smoke, it is as if the maker has destined this peculiarity to the young man to mark his identity.
Mr. Vernon is about to interrupt, the younger man cuts him off.
'Now, let me finish, it's a matter of convenience to decide which master you should serve, but if you're willing to go out of your way to serve the faraway master, be my guest, I won't stop you, I can't stop you, everyone is entitled to free-will, as the master made it so, but how do you suppose your other master will think of this deed?' The younger man raised his eyebrows.
Mr. Vernon is growing increasingly uneasy, he is meddling with his fingers, perspiration clings to his forehead, he drums up the courage to speak again.
'He will protect me.' He utters. In the face of such pressure, Mr. Vernon is confronting the manipulator with diligence, though that is quickly fading away.
'He? How should we know it is a he? Is it incorrect to call he an it? And not to mention, your new master is not surprisingly absent, in this world at least.' The younger man raises his hands, as if to embrace Mr. Vernon from across the small table.
'He is omniscient.' Mr. Vernon corrects.
'It's a He again! It's always a He! Why is that? You do not know either, I see. Anyway, we go back to the present question, what will your other master think of this, shall we say, change of heart?'
'The Lord is my shepherd!' Mr. Vernon shouts hysterically.
'Ah, the famous phrase, but only in the next life, Mr. Vernon, only in the next life.' The younger man gets up from his chair to stretch and simultaneously, the only door, almost obscured by the dull, identical color to the wall opens and a young woman enters. She shares many similar features with the young man, namely the identical natural frown.
'Chelsea's here, let's crack open the briefcase.' She announces with a flat, mildly bored voice a quip lighter than the young man's raspy one, but nevertheless desaturated of any cheerfulness.
'Right on time.' The young man checks his watch and says, then to Mr. Vernon, 'stand over there where the plastic sheet is spread, close your eyes.'
'No! You're mad! You're irrational!' Mr. Vernon shouts wildly, he forgets that he is still seated in his chair.
'No, no, you've misunderstood me, I'm only bringing you closer to the end of your journey, it will save you the walking distance.' The young man produces a silenced pistol from the inside of his jacket. 'And about your entire family, you can count on me too, you won't have to wait for them, I promise.' Before Mr. Vernon can run for the exit, the young man raises the weapon and shoots him, point blank, the bullet enters Mr. Vernon's forehead in a clean shot, almost bloodless. Mr. Vernon slumps forward onto the table.
'More blood on your hands than in most people's bodies.' Isla remarks.
'Spilling blood is only good as there's a good reason behind it.' Brian replies.
'All reasons, even no reason is a good reason to people in various degrees of depravity.' Isla smiles pitifully.
'That is the flaw of human philosophy.' Brian returns the pitiful smile.
It is unaccustomed in the old times for the command of an echelon to conduct executions themselves. They leave henchmen to do the so-called 'dirty work', but it is only through expressing violence oneself that satisfaction and reason can suffice, such is the principle of the infamous Wyatt twin-command, as they are dubbed.
Brian and Isla walk out of the room briskly and closes the door behind them. The light shuts off, and for now Mr. Vernon's body rests - hopefully in peace - in a temporary morgue of a room.

Dennis Raveley - chapter 17

'What?' Dennis says, surprised as ever.
'You heard me, I may be smart, but not so smart as to track down a potential long-lost brother. That's my prodigal kid sister's interest.' Jerry shrugs and rubs his hands, 'I wish my vio is here with me, I can really use some Mark Isham to clam down, I still have a bit of adrenaline in me, I think I'm going to go outside and shoot at some trees to get rid of it.' He makes a motion to get up.
'Wait, what are you saying? I don't understand.' Dennis puts on his bewildered facial expression, he gets up too from his chair.
'I'm not so acquainted with my sister's ploy either, she just told me to expect a guest she sent for and then you came along, it takes a fool not to recognize your resemblance to me, a greater fool to not recognize the attitude. I didn't know you until I saw you at the Spacescrapper.' Jerry says, quite nonchalantly. 'I expect they will arrive here in...about now.'
Kenny jumps into view from the corridor at the far side of the living room, a rifle aimed shoulder level at Jerry and Dennis, shouting, 'Hands up!'
Jerry raises his hand and joins them at the back of his head, not surprised. 'Ah, perfect timing.'
'The door was kicked in!' Kenny exclaimed, lowering the rifle to his side.
'Yes, I did forget to ask Raymond for the keys, and better put, yes, he did forget to give it to me.' Jerry says, indicating that it is not his fault. 'Plus, entering through the window is completely below me.' Kenny's expression is a mixture between relief and rapidly blooming annoyance. Jerry begins to laugh, as Karla enters with Addy leaned against her.
'You,' Karla says, pointing at Dennis, 'go outside and bring the chair in.' She commands. As Dennis turns towards the door to fulfill this order, Karla calls out after him, 'And the rest of the bags too!'
Dennis complies and goes outside to retrieve Addy's wheelchair, puzzled and feeling unimportant, as he had been all his life, mostly.
When he returns, sitting in the wheelchair itself with the two duffel bags stacked on him and wheeling into the living room, Kenny is urgently communicating with Addy in sign language, Jerry walks over to retrieve the bag with his viola in it, and Karla yells for Dennis to get out of the wheelchair.
Jerry unearths the viola and bowl from his bag, tunes it, and begins to play a light melody in flats.
'Will you stop that, now is not the time for fiddle music.' Karla shakes her head, telling Jerry.
'Alright, fine! I'll go in the other room.' Jerry leaves for the bedroom door.
'Not now! You're part of this too!' Karla says.
Thoroughly annoyed, Jerry puts down his instrument. 'If by this family map that Herman went through all that trouble dying to send us we happen to not be related, I'll violate and stab you personally with my bowl.' Jerry says curtly with a touch of humor; Karla does not find this funny.
'It's called a family tree.' Karla adds, giving Jerry a defiant look.
'In all the differences between me and Raymond, you're certainly one thing that we both share a common opinion on.' Jerry begins to say, 'On of these days...'
'I have the tree here! Shall we proceed?' Kenny says, loudly. The argument comes to an end.
'In this family, Ken-Ken, throwing insults at cousins is I believe a tradition.' Jerry retorts, but nobody adds anything to that. Jerry and Dennis join Karla and Addy at the table, as Kenny unfolds a large, yellowed sheet of paper. The paper takes up the entire surface of the table, it is a family tree of seven generations of the Wyatt family, the name written in cursive at the top left-hand corner.
'So only Addy has seen this up til now?' Jerry asks, letting out a whistle.
'Yes, and Herman claimed it is completely accurate.' Karla says.
'Look, all our names are down in the seventh row, and look at that, if it isn't Dennis!' Jerry points to the name in between the boxes containing the names Jerry and Adelaide, sure enough, there is Dennis' name, it is unboxed. Below Jerry's name, in smaller fonts is the name Jerome in brackets, followed by a question mark. 'Well look at that, even I don't know if my name condensed or given.' Jerry continues to scan the bottom portion page, he speaks again, 'Wait a minute, it says here I'm your brother,' He looks at Dennis, who can offer no consolation or explanation himself. Their and Addy's lines are stemed from Harold and Irene, not Raymond and Chelsea's parents Karen and Gregory.
'You're not Karen and Gregory's children either,' Karla notes, and then she notices another peculiarity, 'And where's Kenny?'
Addy silently pointed to the right-hand edge of the page, Kenny's name is there, it is boxed, but not connected with any of the other names of the family tree.
'You're adopted?' Jerry asks, puzzled.
Kenny is speechless too.
Addy tugs Kenny's shirt, he looks at her and asks, 'Did Herman really say this is legitimate?'
Addy speaks in sign language. Karla translates, 'It is, but it's supposed to be unfinished.'

Dennis Raveley - chapter 16

Half an hour later, Jerry and Dennis are flying over a densely forested, mountainous countryside enveloped by a layer of thick fog, the sky has turned from a mild orange to gray, and the helicopter is dropping altitude. Jerry still has not answered Dennis' question, he only said, 'I don't know the entire ploy either.'
The helicopter stops in midair above a clearing in the forest, and begins to lower itself towards the landing pad below marked only by a circle of white, obscure paint thirty meters in diameter. It's a miracle the pilot manages to see the landing site midst all the gray and fog of the site. Steadily, it touches ground and the propellers stop.
Jerry and Dennis gets off the helicopter and Jerry walks without looking back, the helicopter takes off again and is soon consumed by the fog. Dennis sees the helicopter off and follows Jerry.
Not far from the landing pad there is a log cabin constructed of dark woods, it stands aged but well maintained in contrast to the wild surroundings, and has gotten a new coat of paint recently. Jerry climbs up to the porch and opens the wooden front door with a horizontal kick to the handle. 'I forgot to ask Raymond for the keys.' He says, and goes in without hesitation.
Dennis has no time to express his opinion on the peculiarity of this situation, he simply follows Jerry into the cabin.
The interior, from Dennis' point of view, is a cool, shaded place. All the furniture are the same color as the walls that made the cabin; there is no dust. Jerry opens the blinds of a window in the small living room, letting in a slight beam of colorless brightness, diluting the cabin's darkness. He does nothing else to better the condition of the cabin.
Jerry sits back on a lawn chair, and says, 'You know, there's a strong possibility that we're related.'
'How so?' Dennis asks, unsure whether he should agree or disagree.
'For instance, we both have dark hair, and Addy too, I think we three ought to be siblings.'
'I'm not surprised.' Dennis says, he takes a seat opposite Jerry.
'How so?' Jerry repeats Dennis' earlier question.
'My mother told me a few times that I have at least one other sibling, but she wasn't very sure of that either.'
'There you go! Another similarity between us two.' Jerry leans in closer, 'Here's the question, have you ever felt a lack of feeling?'
'You mean a lack of feeling towards other people?' Dennis asks.
'Towards even the most intimate of your relations.'
'Yes, I think so.' Dennis is thinking back on the many times he's been sent to the principal's office at a number of schools for lacking friendliness and companionship, apparently it is viewed by the teachers as a form of hostility. He finds that very amusing.
'Then we are definitely related, and since we are, we ought to acquaint each other with the peculiar story of our lives, here's the deal, you will tell me your history, and I will exchange with mine, and shed some light on the Wyatt family. Though that will not directly answer the question 'what's going on?', alright?' Jerry looks to be positioning himself for an interrogation.
'I guess there isn't an option two anyways.' Dennis says to himself.
This is the history of Dennis Raveley (according to him):
Dennis was born on a cold October morning, he has no memories of his childhood other than being alone for prolonged periods of time during his youth. Without the company of any toys, he was taught to read plenty instead. Dennis' mother is named Irene, who married his father, named Harold Raveley, and as far as Dennis can remember, Harold was never there. Growing up, Dennis was cared for by a nanny, often for weeks on end, because he was told that both his mother and father held important positions in a large business corporation, and had no time for him. This explanation was satisfactory for Dennis, who never needed much caring for. When he was seven years old, his mother quit her job rather suddenly and took up another of less ambition, so she could be closer to him. This change lasted for two years, when Irene became ill and passed away. Before she died, Irene told Dennis that his father Harold will one day appear and explain everything to him when he could understand, and that he should wait for the day when a car will pick him up and take him to somewhere far away; that will be the day. Dennis thought it was a fairly good fairytale at the time, so he committed it to memory. Irene also told him that he wasn't the 'only one', so the thought of having a sibling or two was also something to look forward to that day when Harold comes (though he did not know how it was possible). Dennis was left in the care of social services, because reportedly he had no relatives. All this time, Harold did not show up. The next six years of his life were spent in several foster homes, and that was that, until the fairytale came true...sort of.
Jerry does not ask for elaborations during this narration other than to tell Dennis to continue when he stops to expect a question that does not come. Next, he tells his story:
Jerry had always been identified as a member of the Wyatt, a rich 'bedrock' family spanning several generations. He is the fifth of seven siblings in this order; Brian, Isla, Chelsea, Raymond, Jerry, Kenny, and Addy. They are the children of Karen and Gregory Wyatt, who has since divorced the family and is believed to be remarried. Karen Wyatt went missing when Jerry was eight years of age, and a competitor of the Wyatt family, the McMurphy family was believed to have taken part in the disappearance. Jerry rarely sees his eldest brother and sister (the twins), who are always abroad and busy managing the family's fortunes. Early on in his life, Jerry understood that because his family are powerful people, they have many enemies and are frequent targets of assassination attempts, such as the one by which Addy became paralyzed. Jerry does not go into detail about the precise trade of his family, though he does say it is not entirely legal in international law, nor is it moral by standards of humanity. Jerry grew up as part of the younger five of the seven Wyatt siblings, learning self-defense and methods of fighting along with Chelsea and Raymond as training for events of assassinations, and discovered their shared musicality thanks to Raymond. Soon, the Nuts Strings Quintet was formed. The assassination attempt today, Jerry explains, is the first that's happened while the siblings are in disguise, which is a sign that certain secrets are being leaked, and certain enemies are on the offense.
'You did answer the 'what's going on?' question,' Dennis points out, 'Addy told me as I arrived at your mansion that my father works for your family. Your family must run a huge corporation, if assassins are worth it.' Jerry nods.
'Further questions?' Jerry raises an eyebrow.
'Did my father Harold send for me to be picked up?'
'No actually, Addy did.'

Dennis Raveley - chapter 15

The helicopter hovers across the gray afternoon sky, without sound coming from the spinning propellers. Jerry is wiping the blood away from his hands and cleaning the gun in the process. He looks out of the window now and then, apparently at nothing, a while later, Jerry fixes his gaze on Dennis.
'You didn't expect people to shed that much blood when they get shot, did you?.' Jerry starts off. Dennis meets his gaze with puzzlement.
'That's what I thought when Addy took the bullet, it was a direct hit in the spine, for a target-missed shot, the fellow couldn't have nailed it better.' Jerry continues to work away at the gun, 'You know what, I'll tell you that story, we got the next thirty minutes.' He checks his watch as he speaks.
'So one fine afternoon when I was twelve years old and addicted to Dungeons and Dragons, there was a garden party at the villa (I'll show you the place someday), a lot of people where invited and pretty much all the men were in two piece suits and all the women in cocktail dresses. Unlike Ray, I had neither the hormones nor the curiosity to hide under a table and peak at some woman's underwear, so I stayed indoors most of that time and played away with my little screen. Occasionally I would look out the window to see when the guests would be leaving, but no such luck, not during my span of patience they weren't. And then my sister found me all isolated and alone so she forced me to go outside and greet the guests. The moment I walked out onto the porch one of the guys standing at the far side of the garden pulled a long stick (what I thought it was) from behind his back and to my astonishment, his stick made a loud crack. You can guess he forgot to put the silencer on, that would have been more professional, but every time whoever tries to kill one of us siblings they always send amateurs, as if they're executing the children of a common smuggler. Everyone was surprised, they ducked and some of the more heroic gentlemen leaped and body-slammed the women (it was the comic highlight of the event, even as serious as this was). I ducked too, because I recognize the sound of a rifle when I hear it, the sound was exactly like the one you'll hear right before a duck falls out of the sky with a bullet in it. The only person who didn't hear anything was Addy, as you can guess. Sitting alone, working on a Rubik's cube, back turned, being born deaf does have its shortcomings.'
Dennis finds the story familiar, but the manner by which Jerry tells it he finds rather disturbing.
'That amateur hit man who acted first (yes, there were quite a few of them) missed his shot completely. He was aiming at my sis, who was ushering me out, but by what the circumstances suggest, he probably took out the guns a couple seconds too early, and his aim was disastrous, thirty degrees lower than target, at least, it would have been a good story to laugh about among hit men, if it had gotten out (it didn't).' Jerry is finished cleaning the gun, he puts it on a tray beside him and is silent for a few moments.
'And that's that, my little sister took a bullet for my big sister, I was a contender too, but bullets don't like to hit me, experience proved my theory correct. It is true, the enemy's bullets avoid certain individuals because those people have valiance and virtue to protect them, others, such as myself, we're too immoral for mortal weapons to penetrate.' Jerry rubs his palms together and says,
'After that episode, Addy got her wheelchair. It was odd, no other person was harmed that day, they were either killed or not, not a scratch or done for, the fight was brief. All the perpetrators being dead made it more difficult to track down the poor fool who ordered it on the orders of the real mastermind who will never be known. My brother suspects it's McMurphy's doing, but that was never proven and McMurphy's no fool to admit it outright. The suspicion still holds and one day my brother hopes to see McMurphy executed before his eyes, with him gone, there will be one less player of the world. Anyways, we did track down the relatives of those hit men, who had been informed that their son or father or cousin or sibling died in a motor accident. To send a warning to all the other hit men operating in the world, we told the families what actually happened, whether they believed it or not, and then we executed them, every member of every family, not that the mastermind could care less, just for kicks.' Jerry is about finished with the tale.
'One other thing, I went up to the body of that hit man who fired first after the shooting and saw that his head, though half gone, still had sweat clinging to the surviving half, so indeed he was amateur and nervous, I couldn't blame him, he made an unfitting assassin.'
'What about everyone else?' Dennis asks.
'Everyone who?' Jerry replies.
'Raymond and Kenny and Addy and Chelsea and Karla, did we leave them behind?'
'Of course not,' Jerry chuckles, 'They went by car, Raymond just wanted you to have a safer ride so he chartered the heli, but the real reason is, you might not like Chelsea's stunt driving.'
'Stunt driving?' Dennis repeats.
'Yes, very nauseating, that's coming from personal experience too. By the way, did you see whether Raymond brought along the bazooka he said he would bring?'
'I didn't see, I was blindfolded.'
'Oh right!' Jerry acknowledges this with a nod, 'I don't remember details like that, it's a flaw I've never gotten around to fixing.'
A phone starts to ring. The pilot picks it up (unhooking it from the hood of the chopper) and gives it to Jerry without a word exchange, Jerry puts it to his ear. After listening for some time, he tells Dennis with the receiver still held to his face, 'I was right, Ray did bring along that bazooka he found. It was a spectacular sight, he reports, the old thing still works and the missile isn't that bad. It blew a car twenty feet into the air and into a roadside shop. The chase it done, I guess we'll wait for them there.'
Dennis takes a deep breath, he asks Jerry, 'Can I ask you a general question?'
Jerry hangs up without saying a goodbye, he gives the receiver back to the pilot. 'Ask away.'
Dennis waits for a beat, and then he says, 'What's going on?'

Dennis Raveley - chapter 14

The opera theater is a short drive from the Spacescrapper, and the journey there is undertaken in an empty milk truck that reeks of dairy products, Dennis does not know why, and the journey is silent. Strangely  no one has anything to say after the performance in the atrium, as if a mute has been imposed on the troop.
The roomy truck comes to a halt, and Dennis is led into a building he presumes to be the theater through the back entrance. Some hallways and staircases later, Dennis is guided into a small room and his blindfold is taken off. The room is dimly lit by a single twenty watt incandescent bulb, still Dennis rubs his eyes adjusting to the light source. The blindfold has been so tightly wound around his head there is now a red crease on the skin where the fold left its mark. The person who guided Dennis to this room is revealed to be Kenny.
'There's a wall of glass behind those curtains at the far side of the room, you have the crow's nest, you can see everything there is to see.' Kenny says, and pulls open the curtained wall to reveal a single panel of glass giving view to the entire theater, the stage to the left down below, and the first, second, and third floors of the seating, the box perches on the opposite end, and the ceiling catwalk which is at level with the room Dennis and Kenny are in.
'Why here?' Dennis asks, taking in the view.
'It will get crowded down below, and the oxygen not as pure.' Kenny smiles and heads towards the exit, before closing the door, he says, 'If anything happens, don't go anywhere, one of us will come and get you, you can count on that.' His head disappears behind the door and it shuts with a click.
Dennis sees that a chair has been proved for him, he sits down and stares below to the ground of the theater, which is quickly filling up with people in suits and dresses, all in black. He expects an orchestra to accompany the Wyatt siblings, but instead, when the audience is fully seated and the lights dimmed, the quintet enters alone in single file, dressed in an assortment of black and white semi-formal clothing, with Jerry pushing Addy on her wheelchair to her position next to Raymond. Their instruments are readied, and they begin to play. Dennis does not hear anything.
At first he thinks there is some trouble with the microphone, or perhaps they are only air-bowing. Both possibilities are proven false when a thorough search of the room unearthed no microphones or speakers, and when the audience, in their genuine astonishment and delight (despite most having attended the quintet's concerts before), begin to sway to the intoxicating melody. Dennis is puzzled that he is unable to hear the music, it is even more puzzling for him to come up with an explanation of why.
Dennis decides to concentrate on the quintet and their movements. At the fiftieth bar of the fifth piece, the audience gasped and held hands over their gaping mouths, Dennis does not understand this collective action, until he sees with some squinting that Raymond and Kenny seem to be conversing with each other as they each continue to bow vigorously. Soon, Jerry and then Chelsea joins what appears to be a full verbal conversation taking place simultaneously with the performance of their instruments. In another instant, Dennis follows Kenny's movements as he stops playing upon completion of a segment and carries his instrument offstage, waving goodbye to the audience before exiting. Then, Jerry packs and makes his exit, followed by Chelsea, wheeling Addy off stage with her, she comes back to haul off the bass, and Raymond is the only player left, standing alone with the spotlight trained on his now solo performance, like a musician auditioning for a seat in an orchestra. Raymond seems to not be aware of everything around him, swaying slightly to his own bowing, performing to a dumbfounded audience.
Raymond continues to play for a little while, enjoying his moment alone. Chelsea reappears at the fringe of the curtains in the same moment a man dressed in a black trench coat runs up the central aisle towards the stage, the barrel of a rifle appears at the curtain, and the man speeding up the aisle is shot a direct hit to the head, spilling red brain matter in a meter radius. Pandemonium breaks out, people duck, and then they rise, and being to run wildly, Raymond stops playing.
Someone from within the huge flurry of black that is the audience fires a shot, Raymond leaps in a dodge and lands sideways, tossing his violin in midair towards the curtains, a hand appears and catches the violin in flight, Chelsea appears fully from the cover of the curtain and returns fire, Raymond rolls his way from the open stage, an automatic machine gun fires from somewhere else within the fleeing masses, Chelsea ducks out of the way, bullets rip across the backdrop curtains and punch holes into the wooden flooring, a man jumps onto the stage, a long saber in hand, another join him, this man has a hatchet.
Raymond suddenly bursts from the side entrance waving a microphone stand, whacking the man with the hatchet in the side, the other man swings his saber, Raymond ducks and thrusts the end of his weapon into the man's knees, cracking them, the hatchet man gets back up, he is shot in the chest by Chelsea, reentering the stage, who fires several rounds into the audience, hitting several fleeing individuals in the backs, Raymond stomps the saber man's neck, and he is still. Chelsea drags Raymond from the stage, they flee as another volley of shots assaulted the stage.
Then Dennis sees a man on the catwalk, coming towards his window, an aimed shotgun in his hands. The door bursts open, Jerry rushes in, firing into the glass past Dennis (who runs into the ground for cover), which shatters, the man with the shotgun fires into the room as he walks unperturbed towards the perch room. The shotgun slug peppers into the wall near the door, Jerry fires furiously and empties the magazine in seconds, the man with the shotgun is hit, he goes down. Jerry throws down the pistol and takes out another from his dress suit.
Jerry takes Dennis' hand, 'Time to rush!' he says. When they come to the end of the hallway, the assailant around the corner is surprised when Jerry is the first to press a fully loaded barrel against his chest and fire a single bullet that tunnels through his flesh in straight trajectory before exiting from the back. Dennis does not get a second chance to observe the slumped man that Jerry has just killed before being pulled away.
There is a helicopter waiting in air on the roof of the theater.

Dennis Raveley - chapter 13

Behind Jerry, who is leaning against the doorway, appears Chelsea Wyatt, an impassive looking young woman in her early twenties, blond, athletic, with a hardly-noticeable face that displays obscurity. The appearance of Raymond and company does not enlighten her either.
'If I'm not mistaken, I believe my idiot brother is standing at the door.' She says.
'Are you ever mistaken?' Jerry adds, turning back to Raymond, 'You did come earlier than I expected, what's the hurry?'
'The hurry, as I've implied, is Dennis here.' Raymond pats Dennis on the shoulder, the blindfold still obstructing his sight. Jerry picks up his hand and shakes it, loosely.
'Right person in the wrong place at the wrong time, my young friend, I shake your hand with pity.' Jerry says.
'Now, Kenny and Addy are waiting downstairs in the atrium. I booked the space for the next hour and our luggage are waiting there, have you guys packed up?' Raymond is on a row.
'How can we? I had no idea you are coming.' Jerry said, 'You only look like that when it's performing time, so I assume you're planning to get us away using a gig?' His is the voice of a skeptic, though not without a hint of the laid-back attitude which defines him as a closely related younger brother to Raymond, except his hair is black, his brow is fashioned in a permanent semi-scowl, his expression withered even at the fresh age of seventeen, and his face pale like Addy's.
'Exactly my words, as a matter of fact, I believe I've arrived at such sudden non-notice, that if I had just startled you, whoever those suckers in black rovers are probably aren't aware this conversation is taking place right now.' Raymond says in a single breath. 'So stuff your bags and let's get a move on, we got a gig to attend.'
'Alright, alright, Mon, I've taken part in stranger diversions.' Jerry strolls off into the suite and Raymond enters, Chelsea smacks him on the head to remind him of his irrationality, and goes into the washroom to change out of her bathrobe. Dennis is left standing at the door unguided, now swinging shut, as Raymond goes off to find a jar of gummy bears.
Chelsea reappears, having changed into a T-shirt and shorts in an astonishing short period of time, and to Dennis, she says, 'Don't say a word, good to meet you.' Dennis can do nothing else but comply.
A few lengthy minutes later, Jerry charges out of the hotel suite, hauling a buckling leather suitcase and does not look back, Chelsea follows in a smaller carry-on, looking back in a vapid goodbye, and Raymond brings up the rear, guiding Dennis back to the elevators, and down to the atrium where Kenny and Addy are waiting with the strings.
'And before we leave, I'd like to give Dennis here a private show right here just because I can, any objections?' Raymond declares.
'None whatsoever, oh hail concertmaster.' Jerry replies, annoyed, and takes out a viola from the case that belongs to him. Chelsea unzips a full size double bass from the largest case, Kenny with his cello and hands Addy her red violin, while Raymond unearths his personal violin from his luggage (it came without a case) amongst clothing items. They tune as unison. Dennis is still without sight, and a shiver courses down his body as his ears are met with the sound of five strings in harmonic pitch.
'Alright people, go nuts.' Raymond announces the beginning of a short piece they've all memorised long ago, performed without flaw, and Dennis feels not so exhilarated since the time he went parachuting.
It is over in no time yet all the time in the world, Raymond asks shortly after the concluding fermata, 'So Dennis my friend, how many violins did you hear?'
'It sounded like...fifty, each. How many are you?'
'Two.'
'It sounded like a full orchestra of strings!'
'And that, is why we're so famous.' Raymond says, acknowledging his immaculate skill, 'Wait 'till the gig.'

Dennis Raveley - chapter 12

Dennis is jostled awake by the percussion of landing wheels hitting the runway. The plane has delivered its passengers to the mainland oversea. Off the coastline are dotted countless islands and isles of light brown and gray, the larger islands are roost to small villas and mansions, and the mainland is masked by a continuous coastline metropolis, it is impossible to tell the natural boundaries where the ocean meets land had once been.
Raymond enters the cabin to declare, 'Rise and shine! We've arrived!' Dennis sits up and looks out one of the windows to sunlight streaming through the portholes.
'Did I sleep through the whole way?'
'You did, without noise too, that's a very desirable quality in a man, I say.' Raymond winks at Dennis, and makes his exit.
Dennis gets up slowly, and sits for a prolonged period of time in the cabin, staring out the very same porthole. In the airfield, Dennis can see Raymond unloading several small bags of cargo from the hold, among them are three cases that contain a violin or viola, a larger case with a cello enclosed, and a case of similar shape that is a good head taller than Raymond, the double bass. Also being unloaded are three black duffel bags, and finally, a military case. The plane's captain helps Raymond load these packages onto a limousine, and Dennis takes that as a sign that they are continuing on their way.
Just as he expects, Kenny puts the blindfold on Dennis as he is about to get into the limousine, and his vision is blackened, before he gets a good sense of bearing about the surroundings. Raymond , Kenny and Addy are in the compartment when the engine starts.
'Is Karla not riding with us?' Kenny asks.
'Nope, you need a break too, Kenny, she'll meet us again, unfortunately, at the opera house.' Raymond replies, grinning from ear to ear. 'And in addition, Dennis has to meet Jerry and Chelsea, you know Karla doesn't like Jerry very much, that's another reason why she isn't coming with us.'
'Not to mention his poems.' Kenny says.
'Too skeptical.'
'Too hopeless.'
'Too gruesome.'
'Too much chaos.'
'Too much love for death and suffering.'
'If Hannibal Lecter were a poet, he would write such materials as Jerry writes them.' Kenny concludes. They high five each other.
'Is she going to drive there herself.' Kenny asks, suddenly with the thought.
'She insisted.' Raymond replies with nonchalance. 'And the car is platinum-plated, even if a BMW T-bones her, that BMW is going straight to heaven.'
'Alright.' Kenny says, 'What piece are we performing?'
'A good piece, tweaked with some personal fixation by yours truly, you'll love it, trust me.' Raymond turns to look at Dennis, who is sitting still next to him.
'Before we do anything of that sort though, we're taking you to meet my siblings Jerry and Chelsea, and we'll show you the almighty power of the Nuts.'
'He means our ensemble.' Kenny adds.
'Why's it called the Nuts Strings Quintet?' Dennis asks.
'Don't ask me, Raymond came up with that one when he was fifteen years old.' Kenny says with a shrug.
'With Support from Jerry if I remember correctly.' Raymond counters, 'We needed something that grabs for attention instantly, not to mention, the nut is my favorite part of a strings instrument.'
'Not to mention also, the innuendo it portrays.'
'That fact happens to be completely accidental in terms of the English language.' Raymond concludes the conversation debate.

The limousine pulls up the long and elegant driveway to the Spacescraper hotel, a two hundred floor tall structure, the second most tallest in the world. 'We own a penthouse suite here.' Raymond explains, 'Sometimes the oxygen is so pure up there it can make your lungs feel brand new.'
They take a lengthy elevator ride to the top floor, Dennis still blindfolded. They are next in a dimly lit corridor, and Raymond takes Dennis' hand, guiding him to a double door at the end of the short hallway. The bell rings.
'Well, well, well, what an unpleasant surprise, how good to see the impending doom of the entire family fall upon us at this dark hour, what an absolute surprise.' The voice of Jerry Wyatt makes his appearance, full of wit, sarcasm, and the embodiment of outright malice. 'It's not about time you show up.'
'Yes, glad to see you too, Jerry, we have with us a guest I may introduce here, Dennis Raveley.' Raymond announces.

Dennis Raveley - chapter 11

'Have you heard? The Bushkin Brothers' company got chapter 11.' Raymond says to Kenny, they are playing chess aboard the plane in flight, Karla is watching. Addy is napping some distance away, in sitting position, on the couch. Dennis is still snoozing in the room nearest the cockpit.
'Bankrupt already? They've only had the company for...what was it? Half a century?' Karla replies. 'Not even one generation.'
'Well, I heard from Leo that it was the son's fault.' Raymond replies, chewing on a handful of Almonds.
'Oh? So who has the company now?' Karla asks, her brow tightens.
'Slimy old McMurphy got ahead of us, or else that would have been fifty billions worth of dollars straight into our hands. It's almost possible McMurphy planned the whole thing all along.'
'You think he's behind the attack on the isle too?' Karla says, 'And why are you still so laid back about this matter? Even you understood how serious this is.'
'I'm not laid back, simply assessing my situation calmly. Oh wait, I've completely forgotten about the steak! Bring it here!' Raymond declares. Karla sighs and brings a hand to her face in a facepalm. The flight captain, while the plane is in autopilot, quickly enters the cabin and delivers the steak on a platter.
'Thank you.' Raymond takes the platter and digs in.
'Checkmate.' Kenny says quietly. Moving his queen to sever the last escape route for Raymond's white king.
'You're finished.' Karla says to Raymond, who takes a look at the board, steak sauce dripping off his chin.
'Do you prefer suicide, or death by the bishop, the queen, or the castle?' Kenny says, another systematic win for him.
Raymond doesn't think twice before tipping over his king. 'I die with honor.' Raymond says, winks, laughs, and strides towards the kitchen cabin to finish his steak. 'Oh yeah, and I have it all planned out here.' He takes a folded sheet of paper from his pants pocket and lays it on the table. 'Still wondering why I don't worry?' He leaves the sentence hanging.
Kenny opens up the piece of paper. On it is scrawled the simple plan.
'We use our guise.' Kenny reads, 'That's all he has to say.' He puts down the piece of paper, these words he read out are the only words written on the page, in huge handwriting. 'What a surprise, I already know that.' He sighs and rubs his eyes.
'You do that a lot, you know.' Karla says, starting off a new conversation.
'I'm going to get new lenses soon, these ones are falling short. Five generations and no one but me ends up with bad eyesight, now that's pure work of the devil in the genes.'
Karla laughs, 'What about me? Am I not part of the family? Don't I have four eyes too?'
Kenny smiles, 'All depends on your definition of family, and by your definition, that makes two of us.' They slap each other a high five. 'But, I still have the shortest sight, and that title is mine to keep.' He puts on his glasses. 'Care to see Alien with me?'
'What? You want to see Alien while this situation is going on?' Karla gives him an incredulous look.
'Raymond has a plan right here, and if the Wyatt wants Raymond to learn, I'm happy to let him learn. This mission will be carried out with Raymond in the lead.' Kenny says, shrugs.
'You do understand that among your siblings Raymond would rank below last place when it comes to spearheading a plot, right?' Karla says.
'That's why the Wyatt wants him to learn.' Kenny says, 'So what's it going to be then, eh? Alien, or other?'
'I'll pass, I have to snooze. And why don't you ever call your brother by his name? I've asked you that exact question endless times.'
'How do you know I'm referring to my eldest brother, and not my eldest sister?'
'I don't know, I've never met either of them, I guess it's because...maybe your brother sounds more like the person running the show?'
'Good point, he does. I'll show you our complete family portrait one day.' Kenny says, 'But right now, I have to see Alien, since we're only halfway there and I hate to waste a good two hours.'
'Do you never sleep when you travel?' Karla says skeptically.
'Never in flight.' Kenny smiles, and exits the room.
Karla looks over at Addy, peaceful in her sleep, in one of those rare times out of her wheelchair, still sitting, of course. Outside, light fills the atmosphere, and if it isn't for the burden carried in the cargo hold, these passengers can very well be traveling through the heavens.

Dennis Raveley - chapter 10

Dennis is not sitting in the same compartment as the rest of the Wyatts for the duration of the ride, he feels rather alone. The van stops when Dennis is thirty-five away from reaching three thousand, he found the pass-time of counting to himself. After all, he sees only darkness, and hears nothing. he tried only once to take the blindfold and earmuffs off, only to find the knots that ties his blindfold and which also connects to the muffs unsolvable. Suddenly a hand touches his face, he flinches. The earmuffs are removed in so little time with such precision Dennis is absolutely bewildered.
'Hello Dennis, pleasant trip so far?' Raymond's voice speaks.
'I've nearly counted to three thousand.' Dennis replies.
'Ah, I do that too back when I had to wear a fold to every destination by van. Tell you what, I'm going to give you this.' Raymond presses something into his hand. An MP3.
'An MP3?' Dennis feels for confirmation, he is still blindfolded.
'Yes, it's Kenny's, the muffs can come off now, you can thank me for that, and the MP3.'
'Well, thank you.'
'You're more than welcome. Karla insisted she drive so we might arrive at the airport a little later, say ten minutes, and it's an hour's more drive.' Raymond says, he turns the MP3 on.
'I'll set the music to all songs and you can hear all that's on Kenny playlist, but be warned, there's so much John Williams, Alfred Newman, Jerry Goldsmith, John Barry, Howard Shore and God knows what other movie composers you'll get sick of it after half an hour, give or take. Unless of course, you're as big a film bluff as Kenny.'
'Probably not, but I like movies.'
'Alright, I'll tell Kenny to test your devotion sometime.'
'Okay....why have you stopped by the way?'
'Oh, it's a...bathroom break.' Raymond says. In the background, a noisy truck's engine can he heard starting and romping away.
'Can I go too?'
'Hold it 'till later, the washrooms here are a nasty space, you don't want to walk into one without an eye to see, on the other hand, not seeing is better.'
'Okay.' Dennis plugs the high-definition earphones into his ears, he does not recognize the first song until the one minute mark, when he identifies it as the theme music of Alien. By then, Raymond has exited the compartment and shut the door, the van has started moving again, and Dennis does not want to go to the washroom at all, he simply asked because he finds it odd that at a rest stop - if that's where they were at - he should hear the sound of rifle shots, in the time frame his ears are not muffed.
The music flows on, and several songs are quite good that Dennis fumbles with the buttons to replay them a few times. He reaches the E.T. theme song when the van grinds to a halt, the door to the compartment opens, and Raymond's hand reaches out, he voices announces, 'we've arrived!'
Dennis is lead, still without sight, towards the warm currents emitting from a small ultra-sonic jet, he can tell it is an open airfield and the time is already the early hours of a new day. Dennis feels fatigue creeping upwards from his joints. He yawns.
Raymond carries Dennis up the rest of the way and up the removable stairway to the interior of the plane. Dennis is already asleep, so Raymond puts him on a couch, and drapes a tablecloth over him. The jet has yet to fire up the heaters and the interior of the plane is chilly. Raymond whispers to Kenny, who enters behind him, 'I've always wanted a little brother like him.'
'And you know what Jerry would say to that.' Kenny replies.
'He'll say yeah, but you got me and Kenny instead, feel like carrying one of us up that plane?'
'Ha, good one.' Kenny, 'You know I'll say?'
'What?'
'Why don't you be a gentlebro and carry Addy up here too?'
'Geez! Am I my siblings' foot soldier?' Raymond gives Kenny an incredulous look.
'Quite.'
'Geez! Gotta be a slave on my own private jet! Now that's fair.!'
'It's ours too, and don't forget, Addy purchased it.'
'And I should also not forget, Karla bugged Addy into paying for it.' Raymond leans in a little closer, 'By the way, tell me, what do you find so intriguing in Karla that makes you come out of your cave?' Raymond looks towards the runway pavement, Addy, Karla, and the Driver are saying final goodbyes and making further arrangements.
Kenny is silent, he sighs, 'Ray, you're making a very dangerous guess right now.'
'I don't guess, I know.'
'In that case, you know very little indeed.' Kenny walks in the direction of the cockpit without another word.
'I don't guess, Kenny, I know! I'm your brother, what do I know that you don't about yourself?'
Karla has pushed Addy's chair to the stairway now, and Raymond sighs deeply. He strolls down to the pavement, bows his head, and declares, 'Raymond your servant at your service my dear sister.'
Addy smiles, amused, and Karla crosses her arms, 'Took you long enough!' She says.

Dennis Raveley - chapter 9

Thirty seconds after Raymond charged out of the room, Dennis realizes that Raymond wasn't joking. Addy and Karla had left right after Raymond, and now Kenny is the only other person in the dining hall. Kenny, unperturbed, continues to scribble into a notepad.
'Wait, where are they going?'
'It's been decided, that Raymond is going to perform a small gig overseas.' Kenny says.
'A gig, you mean a concert performance?' Dennis asks.
'Not quite as large as a concert, merely five performers, a strings quintet.' Kenny continues, 'And Raymond's the concert master, as I'm sure he's told you.'
'Of a strings quintet?'
'He could concert the world's ten finest orchestras in one symphony if he wants to, but knowing that as a fact is good enough for him. He's that famous anyways.'
'I've never heard of a Raymond Wyatt in the music scene.'
'Ever heard of the Nuts Strings Quintet?'
'Yeah! The second greatest instrumental group in the world, what about it?'
'Raymond's in it, and correction, the Nuts Strings Quintet is actually the finest instrumental group in the world, but I paid the Guinness Book of World Records to put us in second place.'
'What do you mean?'
'Geniuses all learn to keep obscure over their career, earlier or later. On the Wikipedia page of the Nuts Strings Quintet, you find the names of the five siblings who founded the group, Clarissa, Reinhold, Jackson, Kenneth, and Alma Woodward, do you find the resemblance?'
'The same initials, Reinhold Woodward is Raymond Wyatt.'
'Yes, it's one of the oldest tricks in the book, Clarissa is Chelsea, Jackson is Jerry, Alma is Addy - what, are you surprised? - and Kenneth is me.'
'So what was all that about?'
'All what?'
'All that, why did Raymond charge out of the room like...like...'
'Like James Bond always does when the villain's threat becomes apparent?' Kenny completes his sentence.
'Exactly.'
'Do you want to hear a long story or a short condensation?'
'I prefer the details.'
'You don't have much of a choice, here's what I'll lay out: my older siblings Chelsea and Jerry (you'll meet them shortly, I promise) are overseas, on a vacation sort of deal. Raymond stays behind because he is too famous there, I stay behind because I'm busy, and Addy stays behind because she hates traveling and because Karla drops by pretty much at her will and if Addy's not here Raymond might get some ideas of his own.'
'Karla dropped a bazooka on his foot.'
'Good thing she did.' Kenny nods in acknowledgment, 'So Chelsea and Jerry got into a bit of trouble with the cops overseas (the news I got a few hours ago), a couple of people got injured, and they can't leave unless we go ourselves and bail them out, in the meantime, Raymond wants to do a small gig while we're there.'
'And who's Herman?' Dennis asks; that's the last bit of information he had heard from the conversation.
'Well, well, well, you have keen ears, I'm feeling a morsel of envy here, keen ears are most useful.' Kenny finishes his writing on the notepad, 'Herman's our agent, our estranged agent, to be precise. Come on, I believe the car is waiting.'
Kenny leads Dennis to the main entrance, where a large van is parked on the driveway, the Driver at the wheel. Everyone else is already in the van. Kenny produces a blindfold and earmuffs from his pocket.
'Why the blindfold, again?' Dennis sighs, not surprised though.
'You see, hear, and speak no evil.' Kenny says, seemingly at random, 'Just a quote from a Wes Craven movie, take it as a surprise.'
'I've barely arrived here.' Dennis looks back towards the mansion, feeling lost.
'This is how people of power navigate life, we're the wind, we shall never know our place.' Kenny smirks, 'Do you get the reference?'
'I have one last question.'
'Is it a question regarding fine films?'
'Close enough, what do you play?'
'In the quintet? I play the cello, the reason being, there's less emotional range to figure out.'
'Good point.' Dennis says, and finds his vision blackened out for the second time in twenty four hours, this time, he hears nothing either.

Dennis Raveley - chapter 8

Eventually, Dennis gets back up and goes back to the library, he stays there, thinking, until the Driver comes to the main entrance, knocks, and enters, holding the talkie Addy had used to talk to him on a platter.
'I guess you don't talk at all, do you?' Dennis says, without intent.
The Driver remains impassive. He is still wearing the very same trench coat, and his eyes never meet with Dennis. He gives the talkie to Dennis.
'Dennis! My friend. It is dinner time and we are dining on steak, yes, raw steak my friend, so prepare your stomach, and follow my instructions.' The voice this time is undoubtedly Raymond's.
'Alright then,' Dennis can not think of anything else to say, 'How is the state of your foot?'
'Ah, rather ugly. You see, two sacks of flour is not quite the same when it is iron, a large portion of it has gone rather purplish, which, as you probably do know, signifies considerable hemorrhage under the skin.'
'I see.'
'You have a good visual sense of intelligence then, now, enough chitchat, I want you to come to the grand dining room at once, so I may have a support flank for this evening's continued sparring.'
'Okay.' Dennis says, rubbing his head where the hardcover War and Peace had hit him.
Dennis enters the grand dining room, which is the size of a small backyard, and finds Raymond already seated on the far end, Addy with her wheelchair parked on the left side, and directly opposite her is Karla. Raymond's one foot is stationed onto a second chair, under a large icepack.
Dennis hesitates at the door before entering. Addy greets him with a raised hand and a slight smile, Karla stares at him from the corner of her eyes, and Raymond is not looking up at tall; he appears to be reading.
Dennis sits down on the other chair next to Raymond, and discovers that he is reading sheet music, very complex sheet music. Raymond catches him staring.
'Do you play?' Raymond asks, in the first serious tone Dennis has heard at all since he met him.
'The guitar, what do you play?'
'Depends, how much do you want to know?'
'I don't know, give me everything.'
'Alphabetically, the accordion, the bass, the cello, the fiddle, the harp, the horn, the saxophone, the snare, the trumpet, the tuba, the viola, the violin, and the xylophone. But violin's my specialty, I'm a concert master.'
'And that's also the only thing he can brag about.' Karla says from down the long table.
'So you're a prodigy.'
'Of course I am, and Karl, that's not the only thing I can brag about, when it comes to sharpshooting, I can beat you any day -" Raymond is interrupted, his shifted gaze directs everyone to a new arrival standing in the doorway, a slim, lean, brown-haired, weary-eyed teenager in a dark plaid shirt and very loose, very gray jeans that might be mistaken for sweatpants. Unlike a popular fashion trend these days, his shirt is tucked into his pants, which are quite high themselves. Though his appearance is vastly different from both Raymond and Addy, the atmosphere he carries clearly defines him as a member of the Wyatt family.
'Kenny! What brings you to dinner?' Raymond asks with bemusement. Addy and Karla, on the other hand, seems to recognize the appearance of Kendrick Wyatt as the harbinger of an event much more urgent.
'Certainly not the steak.' Kenny replies, and rubs his eyes under thick, heavy-framed compact lenses.
'Oh? Of course, the last time you had steak the tablecloths had to be detoxified by professionals, certainly not that. So what can it be?' Raymond toys with the question, intent on not divulging into the subject matter Kenny came to bring, 'Is it the loneliness of spending every hour in the garage? Is it the wine that made you tap dance on the dinner table last time you came by? Is it, oh, good heavens! Is it Karla?'
'No, no, and no to your uneducated hypothesis respectively, Ray, I've come bearing news.' Kenny sighs as he says this, though not as deeply as he would have had Karla not be present at this time.
'Go ahead, what is it?' Karla cuts off Raymond's next remark, and asks.
'Jerry sent a message, I've just received it on the W.I.C., he can't come back on the schedule, things have been compromised.'
'How so?' Karla answers.
'Chelsea did meet up with Herman, but there was an intervention by a third party, so Chelsea fled to the isle. Jerry said they were pursued and now they're searching off the mainland, they're trapped on the isle.'
'Where are they?' Raymond suddenly speaks, he is now very serious, his expression speaks only concern.
'At the Spacescrapper.' Kenny replies, he walks over and slides a map across the table to Raymond.
'And they can't get off the island by private transport?'
'Unlikely, the yacht house was bombed, three agents missing, one dead, found in the canal, execution-style.'
'I'll alert the W., tell the seaplane to head for the isle in twelve hours.'
'You're in charge, Ray.' Kenny nods, 'Is everyone coming?'
'You bet.'
'Wait a minute,' Kenny turns to Dennis, picks his hands up, and shakes them, 'I'm Kenny of the Wyatt family, you're Dennis Raveley, good to meet you, your father is a great man.'
'Thanks...and good to meet you too.' Dennis says.
'We're about the same age, I see, good, this calls for an elaboration, though not now, not today, very well, carry on.' These last words are for Raymond.
'Alright, it's set. Everybody, pack your bags, take up arms, we're going overseas!' Raymond charges out of the room supported by a cane, his head reappears a few moments later, 'Take the steak onto the plane, my hunger is yet quenched.'

Dennis Raveley - chapter 7

'This, my jealous enemy, is Dennis, Dennis Raveley.' Raymond replies before Dennis can open his mouth to comment that a fourteen year old girl can not legally drive an automobile.
'Raveley? What kind of a name is that? I've never heard of it.' The Girl crosses her arms, skeptical.
'Good question!' Raymond brings a hand up to his chin, 'I've never thought about that.'
'Of course you've never thought about that. I have relatively low expectations for inept, stupid morons such as you, Raymond.' The Girl replies.
'Excuse me, an IQ of 115 is considered near genius. I would respect that number if I were you, and I do shudder at the mere thought of taking your place.' Raymond counters, with a devilish grin on his face. Clearly, he believes age is at his advantage in this sparring.
'And divide that number by two is the amount of IQ you actually use,' says the Girl, 'on the bright side, you're just at borderline deficiency, at least you're not a total retard by professional standard.'
'Well, I'll have you know that I can -' Raymond is unable to finish his thought, or rather, the Girl does not let him finish it, she picks up the bazooka leaning against Addy wheelchair, strides up to Raymond and Dennis in an astonishingly quick manner, and drops the bazooka onto Raymond's foot, which do happen to be unprotected, in sandals.
'Yeooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooh!' Raymond screeches, like a cat who got bitten on the tail by a dog. He has thought, of all things, that the last thing the Girl would do is come over and drop the bazooka on his foot. He has guessed wrong that age is at his advantage in this sparring. Dennis winces, equally caught by surprise, and would hate to be in Raymond's shoes at that moment, literally.
Raymond, with his face flushed as a ripe tomato, stumbles off, hopping on one foot back into the mansion.
'So, I've found out your name through that neanderthal and I've wasted enough time on the doormat, I'm Karla Simone by the way, French descent. Karla shakes Dennis' hand. 'By the way, what kind of surname is Raveley? I've never heard of it, and I don't think it connects to any name off the bat either.'
'Well, my grandparents were called Raven and Connelley, and they refused to settle in term of my dad's name by a coin toss or the gender, so they created a portmanteau surname, and it became Raveley.'
'Ah, a portmanteau, and what were the ancestries of your grandparents?'
'I don't know.'
'What do you think?'
'I admit, I don't put too much thought into that.'
'Hum, disappointing, I'd have thought someone who look as striking as you do would actually be as intelligent. Your hair is dark brown, and your eyes, wow, I don't think I've seen eyes quite as gray as yours, I 'd say you're part Irish, it matches the skin and the looks too.' Karla keeps his gaze locked on Dennis during this assessment, who returns the gaze unperturbed.
'Is this a staring contest?' Karla declares, not bothered by Dennis' stare, she has the intellect to match Dennis' dark grayish eyes. Dennis decides to withdraw from the challenge, he shifts gaze.
'Looks like I won. Listen, since you're at the house of the Wyatt family, especially under the same roof as my dear friend Addy, I do hope you have good reason to be here.'
'Good reason? I don't quite know why I'm here myself.' Dennis is beginning to find the inquisitive questions a bit too invasive.
'Another great disappointment, you seem lacking somewhat, are you aware of that?' 
'Am I? Am I really? You know something, I don't quite understand you either, I thought underage people aren't supposed to be driving a car.'
'Oh? Are you really so dull? I am perfectly trained well to drive, ask the driver. Driver!' Karla shouts.
The Driver, the very same who has driven Dennis here, steps out of the car.
'Am I a capable driver?' Karla says to the Driver.
The Driver nods, gets back in, and drives the car away towards the garages.
'There you go, and don't say anything about what the law says, I know perfectly well and I know to whom it applies to. Oh, and what's that you're holding?' Karla reaches over and grabs a thick volume Dennis does not realize he is holding, 'ah, War and Peace is it? How many times have you read it?'
'Once.' Dennis says dryly.
Karla looks at him in a way that communicates serious disappointment, suddenly she raises the book with both hands, and whacks Dennis on the head, who falls down upon impact.
'I've read it three times.' Karla says, and walks off into the mansion, pushing Addy's wheelchair along.
Dennis is very not ready to get back up from the pavement, he lies there, and realizes that Karla took the book too. 'What's the point of reading it three times?' He says to himself mournfully, rubbing his head.