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!
Showing posts with label Dennis Raveley. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dennis Raveley. Show all posts
Wednesday, 18 July 2012
Friday, 15 June 2012
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.
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.
Monday, 11 June 2012
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.'
'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.'
Saturday, 9 June 2012
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.'
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.'
Thursday, 7 June 2012
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?'
'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?'
Tuesday, 8 May 2012
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.
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.
Wednesday, 2 May 2012
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.'
'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.'
Saturday, 28 April 2012
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.
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.
Wednesday, 25 April 2012
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.
'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.
Monday, 23 April 2012
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.
'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.
Saturday, 21 April 2012
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.
'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.
Wednesday, 18 April 2012
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.'
'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.'
Tuesday, 17 April 2012
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.
'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.
Saturday, 14 April 2012
Dennis Raveley - chapter 6
Dennis is in the library on the main floor, a room the size of half a basketball court minus the bleachers, looking over the library's worth of books, there are entries of renowned fiction authors Charles Dickens, Leo Tolstoy, William Faulkner, Jane Austen, and any other must-own authors of all books collected, though not necessarily read from volume to volume. There is also a fenced off collection of movies, filling as many bookshelves as the novels, and equally impressive. Addy explains that the movies section is off limits to all members of the Wyatt family, because it is the private sanctuary of Kendrick Wyatt, one of the world's biggest film bluff, who loves films so much to the extent of setting traps on the aisle. The section is armed with dangerous tripwires engineered by himself, and ever since Raymond had almost had his heart fried by electrocution trying to infiltrate Kenny's aisle, nobody has dared or bothered to venture there to do mess to his treasure, not that anyone other than Raymond would care to try again anytime.
Addy has left Dennis in the library, with the foreknowledge that he is a lover of books, and went on her way to find Raymond to drop the bazooka on his foot, after she has decided that a greater satisfaction will be gained if she is to violate him personally as to having Dennis do it.
'The Storm has arrived, oh the horror! The Storm has arrived!' Raymond's voice suddenly erupts from the hallway outside with heavy exaggeration and drama.
This startles Dennis to the point that he drops a hard copy of War and Peace, missing his left foot by two millimeters. He stares at the open doorway, where Raymond has just ran past, a moment ago, running in the direction of the main entrance. Dennis runs out of the library, and follows Raymond to the front of the mansion, where a solid stone fountain resides in the middle of the large pebbled pavement of the courtyard, and coming up the driveway through the woods where Dennis has also arrived from is a polished black car, driven with wobble, as if the driver is rather inexperienced behind the wheel. Addy is also in the courtyard, with the bazooka still at her side. She seems to have prepared for this arrival after leaving Dennis in the library. Raymond is now wild as an ape, jumping up and down, flapping his arms, running in circles, and laughing thoroughly, enjoying every minute of his own act. Dennis can do no better that observe befuddled as the car pulls to a halt, nearly crashing into the fountain, and the new arrival exits from the driver's door.
'Duh-duh-duh-DUH! The Storm arrives! Oh! The horror! Run, hide, take shelter, here comes the storm, oh how it terrifies me! It's the apocalypse! It's coming! Oh, the Horror!' Raymond utters a final scream, drops to his knees, then to the ground, and begins to laugh and roll.
The new arrival is a girl of fourteen, dressed in black, a pair of sunglasses perched atop a face of coolly defined features, black hair matching that of Addy's, and an air of sharp maturity exits the car with her. Addy holds up her left hand in a welcome gesture, and the girl returns the greeting in the same silent fashion. The girl walks up to Addy and they embrace; the girl almost lifts Addy out of her wheelchair, and she responds with such action as if she will actually get up.
Raymond quips another declaration, 'Oh the horror! The Storm has arrived, yes, it is so, ah my friend (to Dennis), so you have not taken my warning to heart and sought shelter? That is blatant misfortune, as you can see here, it is now too late, the Storm has arrived. Yes, Simone the Storm has arrived.' Raymond face-palms in a dramatic sulk.
'Oh shut up, Raymond!' The girl shouts. In sign language, she speaks to Addy for a moment, and Addy replies. She turns to look back at Raymond, standing next to Dennis, whom until that instant she did not notice. 'And just who are you?'
Dennis Raveley - chapter 5
'Look, what do you see?' Addy says through the talkie, coming to a halt at the railings of a patio overlooking the scenery of the back of the mansion. For as far as their eyes can travel, lush, dense pines cover the valley in a blanket, and in the distance, a thick line of suspended cable can be observed stretching across the horizon.
'It looks nicer when the sun's out.' Raymond says. On their way to the back, Raymond climbed through a window into a room that would most likely be a pantry and took a selection of breads before climbing back out. He is now munching on a croissant. Dennis has not started on his croissant yet; he is no longer hungry.
'I see...land.' Dennis says, not sure why Addy would ask him such a broad question.
'And this land you see is mine,' Addy replies, 'It also belongs to my brother Raymond (Raymond nods with claim to this statement while stuffing another croissant into his mouth), and the large extended family that I am a part of.' Addy finishes, scanning the landscape. 'This land, until those cable lines fifty acres away, is also yours.'
Dennis is taken by surprise.
'You see, your father is a very close friend of my family's. He has been employed by my family for several decades, and my family, as all good families should, honors the work of such a loyal man. Sharing is, simply put, caring. I understand that he's probably never told you about my family, and I don't wish to explain either, as it is an inconvenience, but my family does not withhold secrets to our next of kin, therefore if you do desire the such secrets, I won't withhold them from you.'
Dennis does not respond, he considers his position, which feels to be no position at all, and nods in agreement.
'Geez, have you gone mute like my sister? Raymond mused, 'You know, your lawyer impression scares me sometimes too.' He adds, directing a wink to Addy, who looks at him curtly.
'And you're the older sibling whose been to University.' She states in a matter-of-fact with heavy sarcasm, in sigh language.
'Yes, yes, so you're eight years junior but eight decades smarter, so you should go to university, that'll teach you to have a social life.' Raymond retorts.
'Did I ever tell you that I found fifty-seven errors in a university level mathematics textbook that was written by not one, but three, professors with PhD in calculus? I don't learn from education, education learns from me. And as for a social life, it is a rather harmful practice to braincells, so I am more than happy to refrain from taking such risks, not that it would resonate with you anyhow.'
'I thought Kenny found the textbook errors.'
'He found fifty, I checked and unearthed the additional seven.'
'Well, not that it would resonate with you, little sister, but the less of a supreme-prodigy you act like, the better chance you have hooking up with our man Dennis here. Who knows? You might even become a woman one day.'
Addy gives him the finger.
'Okay, okay, maybe I'm overextending my hypothesis, you probably won't make it that far, we'll see, but I'm starving, and I'm going back to the pantry, I'll see you, and you (points to Dennis and winks) after you get up to date on our family business, and Dennis, from the bottom of my heart, don't make moves on my dear sister yet just because you feel sorry for her, okay?' Raymond wanders off, laughing.
'If anyone can wander around all day, do nothing, and call himself king, that would have to be Ray.' Addy's voice says through the talkie, observing the valley. 'Your father helped my grandfather make quite a fortune in the trading business, and he's asked my family to take care of you for now, as he's currently on a long trip overseas with my father, I don't suppose you know his destinations.'
'Indeed I don't.' Dennis feels like speaking for the first time in his entire life.
'Me either, as you can clearly imagine from this emptiness of our mansion, my family won't be taking care of you any time soon, it's only going to be you, me, and Raymond. Looks to be that we shall be taking care of each other.'
'Sure, I suppose.' Dennis says with uncertainty, 'Is that it?'
'An explanation? Yes, that is all.'
'Was that so inconvenient?'
'You'll see.' Addy begins to steer her wheelchair away from the railings, towards the back main entrance of the mansion, 'And look, Ray has forgotten his bazooka here, let us remind him, and don't forget to drop it on his foot when you give it to him.'
Dennis is about to pick up the bazooka, when he remembers the croissant still clutched in his hand, just so happens, a gray pigeon lands on the railing and Dennis can guess what it is desiring, he tosses the croissant onto the pavement, and sure enough, the pigeon swoops down and begins to feast on its prize. Dennis picks up the bazooka, exhales under the weight, and walks after Addy.
'It looks nicer when the sun's out.' Raymond says. On their way to the back, Raymond climbed through a window into a room that would most likely be a pantry and took a selection of breads before climbing back out. He is now munching on a croissant. Dennis has not started on his croissant yet; he is no longer hungry.
'I see...land.' Dennis says, not sure why Addy would ask him such a broad question.
'And this land you see is mine,' Addy replies, 'It also belongs to my brother Raymond (Raymond nods with claim to this statement while stuffing another croissant into his mouth), and the large extended family that I am a part of.' Addy finishes, scanning the landscape. 'This land, until those cable lines fifty acres away, is also yours.'
Dennis is taken by surprise.
'You see, your father is a very close friend of my family's. He has been employed by my family for several decades, and my family, as all good families should, honors the work of such a loyal man. Sharing is, simply put, caring. I understand that he's probably never told you about my family, and I don't wish to explain either, as it is an inconvenience, but my family does not withhold secrets to our next of kin, therefore if you do desire the such secrets, I won't withhold them from you.'
Dennis does not respond, he considers his position, which feels to be no position at all, and nods in agreement.
'Geez, have you gone mute like my sister? Raymond mused, 'You know, your lawyer impression scares me sometimes too.' He adds, directing a wink to Addy, who looks at him curtly.
'And you're the older sibling whose been to University.' She states in a matter-of-fact with heavy sarcasm, in sigh language.
'Yes, yes, so you're eight years junior but eight decades smarter, so you should go to university, that'll teach you to have a social life.' Raymond retorts.
'Did I ever tell you that I found fifty-seven errors in a university level mathematics textbook that was written by not one, but three, professors with PhD in calculus? I don't learn from education, education learns from me. And as for a social life, it is a rather harmful practice to braincells, so I am more than happy to refrain from taking such risks, not that it would resonate with you anyhow.'
'I thought Kenny found the textbook errors.'
'He found fifty, I checked and unearthed the additional seven.'
'Well, not that it would resonate with you, little sister, but the less of a supreme-prodigy you act like, the better chance you have hooking up with our man Dennis here. Who knows? You might even become a woman one day.'
Addy gives him the finger.
'Okay, okay, maybe I'm overextending my hypothesis, you probably won't make it that far, we'll see, but I'm starving, and I'm going back to the pantry, I'll see you, and you (points to Dennis and winks) after you get up to date on our family business, and Dennis, from the bottom of my heart, don't make moves on my dear sister yet just because you feel sorry for her, okay?' Raymond wanders off, laughing.
'If anyone can wander around all day, do nothing, and call himself king, that would have to be Ray.' Addy's voice says through the talkie, observing the valley. 'Your father helped my grandfather make quite a fortune in the trading business, and he's asked my family to take care of you for now, as he's currently on a long trip overseas with my father, I don't suppose you know his destinations.'
'Indeed I don't.' Dennis feels like speaking for the first time in his entire life.
'Me either, as you can clearly imagine from this emptiness of our mansion, my family won't be taking care of you any time soon, it's only going to be you, me, and Raymond. Looks to be that we shall be taking care of each other.'
'Sure, I suppose.' Dennis says with uncertainty, 'Is that it?'
'An explanation? Yes, that is all.'
'Was that so inconvenient?'
'You'll see.' Addy begins to steer her wheelchair away from the railings, towards the back main entrance of the mansion, 'And look, Ray has forgotten his bazooka here, let us remind him, and don't forget to drop it on his foot when you give it to him.'
Dennis is about to pick up the bazooka, when he remembers the croissant still clutched in his hand, just so happens, a gray pigeon lands on the railing and Dennis can guess what it is desiring, he tosses the croissant onto the pavement, and sure enough, the pigeon swoops down and begins to feast on its prize. Dennis picks up the bazooka, exhales under the weight, and walks after Addy.
Saturday, 7 April 2012
Dennis Raveley - chapter 4
This second time, Dennis is not so lucky to avoid falling in surprise; he tumbles down an incline he thought wasn't there and rolls quite a while before coming to a stop on his bum. The lower ground Dennis finds himself sitting on rises a short distance towards the mansion, which is built on a low hill, and he is at the bottom of it.
'Did I surprise him that much?' The deeper voice speaks. Dennis does not rise to his feet, he sits there, letting the damp morning dew in the grass soak into his pants, and stares at the bazooka carried on the shoulder of the new arrival, a young man near his twenties. Though the expression he wears speaks otherwise of a much younger and less mature age; an expression of a mixture of bemusement and malice, topped with an air of arrogance found prevalent in upper class preps.
Addy motions with her hand to the rocket launcher perched on his shoulder, which until then he seems to take no notice of and has forgotten it is still there.
'Oh, this thing. I didn't know I carried it with me.'
Addy gives him a looks that asks, 'has your brain capacity reached a new low?'
'Just kidding, this thing is actually pretty heavy, I can't forget two sacks of flour on my shoulder right? I'm not that insensitive.'
Addy makes several rapid gestures with one hand. The young man nods in understanding. A grin split his face as if Addy had told him a joke that is particularly funny.
'Okay, okay, so I'm getting there, but I really have to show you this,' he refers to the bazooka, now holding it with two hands gripping each end, 'I found this in the dungeon, and believe it or not, I think it still works. It looks old but I bet it can take down president's car no problem.'
Addy points to Dennis, who has sat through the conversation without interrupting.
'Oh! Hey buddy, forgot you for a second there, sorry I startled you and all.' Saying this, the young man drops the bazooka which makes a clink upon contacting the pavement, he makes his way down in the incline and pulls Dennis to his feet without a moment of hesitation, he shakes Dennis' hand without letting go of it. 'I'm Raymond, you can call me Raymond Francis Allen Jackson Miles Wyatt.'
Dennis has a befuddled look on his face, even his gray eyes have lost their cool.
'Just kidding,' Raymond says with a wink, 'you can call me Ray or Mon, or Raymond, I have many names and I accept all of them.'
'I'm Dennis.' Dennis says.
'Ah, so that's your name! You know, I've been trying to recall it since this morning, Addy told me last night, but I soon forgot since I was busy indulging within myself.' Raymond walks Dennis back up the incline, and to the side entrance from where he had exited. Without an indication, Addy begins to propel her wheelchair forward, parallel to the wall, towards the back of the mansion. It is at this instant when Dennis realizes that Addy is in a wheelchair.
'Are you a cripple?' Dennis exclaims, forgetting that Addy is deaf, but she hears him anyways, for the laptop never closed on her lap, and he never did drop the talkie either, miraculously rather.
Addy takes the chair to a halt (Raymond and Dennis stop in their tracks also behind her), she types into the laptop. 'Is it too great a tragedy to be handicapped in two ways?' The supposed voice of Addy speaks.
'Believe me, I've tried many times to point that out to her. It does nothing for discouragement.' Raymond counsels solemnly.
'Wait,' Dennis turns to face Raymond, 'when I asked where am I, I thought I wasn't going to get an honest answer and it looks like you confirmed that when you surprised me down the hill.'
'That's correct, now we're talking business I see,' Raymond says, looking down on Dennis, who is a good head shorter than he.
'Yes, and I think if I can't know where I am, I deserve to know one thing.'
'And that is?' Raymond says, expecting the question.
'Do you people work for my father?'
'No,' the voice is not Raymond's, it comes from the talkie. Both Raymond and Dennis stares after the wheelchair, which has stopped again. Without turning back to look at Dennis, Addy types, 'on the contrary, he works for us.'
Dennis does not say a word.
'Come, Dennis, there is a lot to tell.' Addy's voice says. 'And Ray, you've forgotten your bazooka, if you will.'
'Did I surprise him that much?' The deeper voice speaks. Dennis does not rise to his feet, he sits there, letting the damp morning dew in the grass soak into his pants, and stares at the bazooka carried on the shoulder of the new arrival, a young man near his twenties. Though the expression he wears speaks otherwise of a much younger and less mature age; an expression of a mixture of bemusement and malice, topped with an air of arrogance found prevalent in upper class preps.
Addy motions with her hand to the rocket launcher perched on his shoulder, which until then he seems to take no notice of and has forgotten it is still there.
'Oh, this thing. I didn't know I carried it with me.'
Addy gives him a looks that asks, 'has your brain capacity reached a new low?'
'Just kidding, this thing is actually pretty heavy, I can't forget two sacks of flour on my shoulder right? I'm not that insensitive.'
Addy makes several rapid gestures with one hand. The young man nods in understanding. A grin split his face as if Addy had told him a joke that is particularly funny.
'Okay, okay, so I'm getting there, but I really have to show you this,' he refers to the bazooka, now holding it with two hands gripping each end, 'I found this in the dungeon, and believe it or not, I think it still works. It looks old but I bet it can take down president's car no problem.'
Addy points to Dennis, who has sat through the conversation without interrupting.
'Oh! Hey buddy, forgot you for a second there, sorry I startled you and all.' Saying this, the young man drops the bazooka which makes a clink upon contacting the pavement, he makes his way down in the incline and pulls Dennis to his feet without a moment of hesitation, he shakes Dennis' hand without letting go of it. 'I'm Raymond, you can call me Raymond Francis Allen Jackson Miles Wyatt.'
Dennis has a befuddled look on his face, even his gray eyes have lost their cool.
'Just kidding,' Raymond says with a wink, 'you can call me Ray or Mon, or Raymond, I have many names and I accept all of them.'
'I'm Dennis.' Dennis says.
'Ah, so that's your name! You know, I've been trying to recall it since this morning, Addy told me last night, but I soon forgot since I was busy indulging within myself.' Raymond walks Dennis back up the incline, and to the side entrance from where he had exited. Without an indication, Addy begins to propel her wheelchair forward, parallel to the wall, towards the back of the mansion. It is at this instant when Dennis realizes that Addy is in a wheelchair.
'Are you a cripple?' Dennis exclaims, forgetting that Addy is deaf, but she hears him anyways, for the laptop never closed on her lap, and he never did drop the talkie either, miraculously rather.
Addy takes the chair to a halt (Raymond and Dennis stop in their tracks also behind her), she types into the laptop. 'Is it too great a tragedy to be handicapped in two ways?' The supposed voice of Addy speaks.
'Believe me, I've tried many times to point that out to her. It does nothing for discouragement.' Raymond counsels solemnly.
'Wait,' Dennis turns to face Raymond, 'when I asked where am I, I thought I wasn't going to get an honest answer and it looks like you confirmed that when you surprised me down the hill.'
'That's correct, now we're talking business I see,' Raymond says, looking down on Dennis, who is a good head shorter than he.
'Yes, and I think if I can't know where I am, I deserve to know one thing.'
'And that is?' Raymond says, expecting the question.
'Do you people work for my father?'
'No,' the voice is not Raymond's, it comes from the talkie. Both Raymond and Dennis stares after the wheelchair, which has stopped again. Without turning back to look at Dennis, Addy types, 'on the contrary, he works for us.'
Dennis does not say a word.
'Come, Dennis, there is a lot to tell.' Addy's voice says. 'And Ray, you've forgotten your bazooka, if you will.'
Monday, 2 April 2012
Dennis Raveley - chapter 3
Dennis rights himself before falling on his bum just in time. In front of the doorway he had just exited from, there sits a girl of about eleven or twelve years of age, with black, curly hair tied in a bundle, a face to rival the color of a whitewashed wall, wearing what appears to be baggy pajamas, and sitting in a wheelchair.
'I know what you are thinking, but please refrain from saying it.' The voice speaks from the talkie. Dennis looks at it and them at the girl, and then back at the talkie. He continues to do so between these two subjects, not knowing which to focus on.
'Are you - how - is this you speaking?' Dennis finally manages to coax out, incoherently. The strangeness of this situation is much too odd for someone who has confined to the capacity of his own mind for the duration of his existence.
'Yes, but I am not speaking, I am typing, see this laptop?' Dennis notices the laptop in the girl's lap, into which she is typing at breakneck speed. 'It's all technicalities, what I type into this laptop transcribes into audio sound, and it's sent to the talkie you are holding.'
'You don't speak?'
The girl does not respond verbally, she raises her left hand and in rapid succession performed several gestures that spells I. A.M. D.E.A.F. S.O. I. C.A.N. N.O.T. T.A.L.K. This is of course all lost on Dennis, who does not understand sigh language. The girl repeats her sentence in the laptop, and Dennis hears it through the talkie. He nods to show his understanding, vaguely.
'Then how do you hear me?'
'Technicalities once again. The laptop transcribes your audio voice into word phrases, it's a bit more difficult with accented people, but it's a fortune that you are not one of them.' The voice says.
'I've never heard of such technologies.'
'And I've never heard of anyone who does, anyone outside my family.'
'And who is that family?' Dennis feels his suspicion retreating. The effect of a conversation in an empty setting - one that Dennis is thrust into so very abruptly - has a certain calming effect on Dennis, one such feeling he is familiar with.
'There are few names, and most don't know them.'
'What is your name? You know mine...and my credit card number, I should hope to know yours.'
'My name is Adelaide, Adelaide A.J. Wyatt, though I prefer Addy. Adelaide is a name I'll accept once I'm old and aged, and that won't be for a long time. You should call me just Addy.' The voice says.
'Um, you're still using a man's voice...'
'Very well, I shall change it.' A rapid click on the laptop, and a new voice spoke. 'Now does the voice sound any more adaptable to for you?' The voice is now high pitched, lyrical even, and in Dennis' unspoken opinion most fitting for Addy. Dennis lets out a spontaneous bit of smile
'Kenny designed this voice, to what he imagined my voice would be if I have a voice. I'll never hear it, but I trust him it's adequate.'
'And who's Kenny?'
'My repressed, fearful, and very miserable brother.'
'These are strong adjectives.'
'Not strong enough here.'
'Where is here? Though I won't hear a truthful answer I suspect.' Dennis says, confronting his gut instinct and half joking too.
'Your suspicion confirmed.' A deep voice speaks. Dennis turns around, and is startled to the point of falling, for the second time in a single morning.
'I know what you are thinking, but please refrain from saying it.' The voice speaks from the talkie. Dennis looks at it and them at the girl, and then back at the talkie. He continues to do so between these two subjects, not knowing which to focus on.
'Are you - how - is this you speaking?' Dennis finally manages to coax out, incoherently. The strangeness of this situation is much too odd for someone who has confined to the capacity of his own mind for the duration of his existence.
'Yes, but I am not speaking, I am typing, see this laptop?' Dennis notices the laptop in the girl's lap, into which she is typing at breakneck speed. 'It's all technicalities, what I type into this laptop transcribes into audio sound, and it's sent to the talkie you are holding.'
'You don't speak?'
The girl does not respond verbally, she raises her left hand and in rapid succession performed several gestures that spells I. A.M. D.E.A.F. S.O. I. C.A.N. N.O.T. T.A.L.K. This is of course all lost on Dennis, who does not understand sigh language. The girl repeats her sentence in the laptop, and Dennis hears it through the talkie. He nods to show his understanding, vaguely.
'Then how do you hear me?'
'Technicalities once again. The laptop transcribes your audio voice into word phrases, it's a bit more difficult with accented people, but it's a fortune that you are not one of them.' The voice says.
'I've never heard of such technologies.'
'And I've never heard of anyone who does, anyone outside my family.'
'And who is that family?' Dennis feels his suspicion retreating. The effect of a conversation in an empty setting - one that Dennis is thrust into so very abruptly - has a certain calming effect on Dennis, one such feeling he is familiar with.
'There are few names, and most don't know them.'
'What is your name? You know mine...and my credit card number, I should hope to know yours.'
'My name is Adelaide, Adelaide A.J. Wyatt, though I prefer Addy. Adelaide is a name I'll accept once I'm old and aged, and that won't be for a long time. You should call me just Addy.' The voice says.
'Um, you're still using a man's voice...'
'Very well, I shall change it.' A rapid click on the laptop, and a new voice spoke. 'Now does the voice sound any more adaptable to for you?' The voice is now high pitched, lyrical even, and in Dennis' unspoken opinion most fitting for Addy. Dennis lets out a spontaneous bit of smile
'Kenny designed this voice, to what he imagined my voice would be if I have a voice. I'll never hear it, but I trust him it's adequate.'
'And who's Kenny?'
'My repressed, fearful, and very miserable brother.'
'These are strong adjectives.'
'Not strong enough here.'
'Where is here? Though I won't hear a truthful answer I suspect.' Dennis says, confronting his gut instinct and half joking too.
'Your suspicion confirmed.' A deep voice speaks. Dennis turns around, and is startled to the point of falling, for the second time in a single morning.
Dennis Raveley - chapter 2
'Take off your blindfold, it's no longer necessary.' The voice says.
'Was it ever necessary in the first place?' Dennis muses.
'You have a very dangerous sense of humor, my friend.' The voice emits a chuckle.
'I'm your friend? Figures, I don't know your name. Do you know me?'
'You are Dennis Raveley, son of Harold Raveley, businessman, ex-mercenary, and trading manager for the company ETC. You are fifteen years of age, you are an only child, and the password of your bank account is 1984, which also happens to be your favorite novel. So it happens, I do know you.'
Dennis is taken aback. 'You...do...indeed, and I'm supposed to know you?' He quickly shakes off the now overwhelming feeling of paranoid suspicion growing inside him. Until that point, he does not know the quivering sense of chilliness in his gut; he has found the correct term.
'You can start, take off that blindfold, you don't need it.'
Dennis takes off the blindfold and takes a look around the room. His eyes does not need to adjust to the light in the room, for the light comes only from a dimly lit twenty watt lamp situated on the large oak desk which his chair is directly facing. The desk is bare except for the small lamp, and behind the desk is a huge red, leather backrest, the backrest of a swivel chair, its occupant concealed.
'Are you sitting there?'
'I am. Come and see.'
'Why don't you turn around?'
'My capability prevents me from doing so.'
'Are you a cripple?'
'Come and see.'
Dennis starts for the chair, slowing down when he reaches the desk, he pauses.
'Come forward, come on, you're not going to find the demented Tom Riddle seated in this chair, so hurry up."
Dennis chuckles, and reached over to turn the seat around. The backrest is bare.
He blinks, surprised. He looks down, and seated in the center of the chair is, sure enough, a walkie-talkie. The communicator is aged, gray in color, and resembles a brick. Surprisingly, it emits the sound of a voice with amazing clarity. Dennis picks it up.
'Hello?'
'Yes, I'm right here.' The voice chimes in from the speaker.
'How - I don't get it.' Dennis stammers; rather uncommon of him.
'Nothing but technicalities, this is a high definition talkie, very ideal for a convincing voice projection.'
'You're not actually in the room.' Dennis states, having not much else to think of to say.
'I'm not. You should know, revealing oneself too quickly to the guest establishes no trust, I would rather trust you to trust me instead.'
'What does that mean? You doped me just now.'
'Let's leave that to interpretation some other time. I have a series of instructions for you, if you choose to abide, follow them and we shall meet soon enough. If not, I won't stop you.'
'Alright, so what if I don't want to meet you? I changed my mind just now.'
'As I've said, I won't stop you, but I do not speak for any third party involved.'
'Third party?' Dennis repeats, considering his options, which seem very few.
'Do you wish to hear the instructions?'
'Yes, but just one more question, do you work for my father?'
'We'll find out soon enough, here's what you will do. Exit the room.'
Dennis exits the room and looks down both sides of the hall as though crossing traffic; he waits.
'Now, turn left and descend the main staircase, shouldn't be too hard to find.'
Dennis walks slowly down the left hall, glancing at the bare oak walls. The corridor has many doors indented on either side, he does not try the knobs of any; they all look to be locked. He arrives at the grand staircase.
'Go to the ground floor, and turn right. Go down that main hallway until you reach a door to the outside.'
Dennis follows these instructions, and soon find himself outside. His view is of a large field of weeds, ending where a tree line of dense growth begins. The entire field is the size of a football stadium. It gives off the exactly same feeling of emptiness in the mansion. Dennis has been here no more than a quarter hour, and he already feels isolated.
'Now, walk a few paces out into the field.' Dennis complies to this request.
'You've arrived, bravo.'
Dennis continues to star ahead, he sees no other human life.
'Are you here in person?' Dennis asks, skeptical.
'I am now.' The voice speaks. 'Turn around.' Dennis turns around, and nearly falls down in surprise.
'Was it ever necessary in the first place?' Dennis muses.
'You have a very dangerous sense of humor, my friend.' The voice emits a chuckle.
'I'm your friend? Figures, I don't know your name. Do you know me?'
'You are Dennis Raveley, son of Harold Raveley, businessman, ex-mercenary, and trading manager for the company ETC. You are fifteen years of age, you are an only child, and the password of your bank account is 1984, which also happens to be your favorite novel. So it happens, I do know you.'
Dennis is taken aback. 'You...do...indeed, and I'm supposed to know you?' He quickly shakes off the now overwhelming feeling of paranoid suspicion growing inside him. Until that point, he does not know the quivering sense of chilliness in his gut; he has found the correct term.
'You can start, take off that blindfold, you don't need it.'
Dennis takes off the blindfold and takes a look around the room. His eyes does not need to adjust to the light in the room, for the light comes only from a dimly lit twenty watt lamp situated on the large oak desk which his chair is directly facing. The desk is bare except for the small lamp, and behind the desk is a huge red, leather backrest, the backrest of a swivel chair, its occupant concealed.
'Are you sitting there?'
'I am. Come and see.'
'Why don't you turn around?'
'My capability prevents me from doing so.'
'Are you a cripple?'
'Come and see.'
Dennis starts for the chair, slowing down when he reaches the desk, he pauses.
'Come forward, come on, you're not going to find the demented Tom Riddle seated in this chair, so hurry up."
Dennis chuckles, and reached over to turn the seat around. The backrest is bare.
He blinks, surprised. He looks down, and seated in the center of the chair is, sure enough, a walkie-talkie. The communicator is aged, gray in color, and resembles a brick. Surprisingly, it emits the sound of a voice with amazing clarity. Dennis picks it up.
'Hello?'
'Yes, I'm right here.' The voice chimes in from the speaker.
'How - I don't get it.' Dennis stammers; rather uncommon of him.
'Nothing but technicalities, this is a high definition talkie, very ideal for a convincing voice projection.'
'You're not actually in the room.' Dennis states, having not much else to think of to say.
'I'm not. You should know, revealing oneself too quickly to the guest establishes no trust, I would rather trust you to trust me instead.'
'What does that mean? You doped me just now.'
'Let's leave that to interpretation some other time. I have a series of instructions for you, if you choose to abide, follow them and we shall meet soon enough. If not, I won't stop you.'
'Alright, so what if I don't want to meet you? I changed my mind just now.'
'As I've said, I won't stop you, but I do not speak for any third party involved.'
'Third party?' Dennis repeats, considering his options, which seem very few.
'Do you wish to hear the instructions?'
'Yes, but just one more question, do you work for my father?'
'We'll find out soon enough, here's what you will do. Exit the room.'
Dennis exits the room and looks down both sides of the hall as though crossing traffic; he waits.
'Now, turn left and descend the main staircase, shouldn't be too hard to find.'
Dennis walks slowly down the left hall, glancing at the bare oak walls. The corridor has many doors indented on either side, he does not try the knobs of any; they all look to be locked. He arrives at the grand staircase.
'Go to the ground floor, and turn right. Go down that main hallway until you reach a door to the outside.'
Dennis follows these instructions, and soon find himself outside. His view is of a large field of weeds, ending where a tree line of dense growth begins. The entire field is the size of a football stadium. It gives off the exactly same feeling of emptiness in the mansion. Dennis has been here no more than a quarter hour, and he already feels isolated.
'Now, walk a few paces out into the field.' Dennis complies to this request.
'You've arrived, bravo.'
Dennis continues to star ahead, he sees no other human life.
'Are you here in person?' Dennis asks, skeptical.
'I am now.' The voice speaks. 'Turn around.' Dennis turns around, and nearly falls down in surprise.
Wednesday, 28 March 2012
Dennis Raveley - chapter 1
I posted a bit of Wilby Lake a while back, and then suddenly something about the Hunger Games, and now this, to make a sincere confession, I'm rather disorganized when it comes to my imagination; an idea would occur, and the next day I would have no inspiration for that idea, but an inspiration for another idea. So I end up with more ideas than stories...well, I guess I'll be juggling a few stories all at once.
Anyways, beside the point. Onwards with the story!
The eyes of Dennis Raveley are a dark grayish color, they display an air of coolness; of forbidding; of calculating venom few humans in the world possess, it is a gift from nature, or perhaps a gift of the devil. Either way, those dark grayish eyes have emerged him the victor in numerous staring contests, against the bully of a new neighborhood, teachers, principals, cranky elderly citizens, police officers, and just about many more who crossed paths with him. This winning streak trained him not to look away when eyes lock; he may have never achieved such results intentionally, but he learned to use it to his advantage, he knows, the eyes speak the first word, if he looks long enough.
Behind those dark grayish eyes is a version of himself few are familiar with. He has yet to find himself reflected fully in those dark grayish eyes, like a swordsman who has yet to master his weapon. Somewhere in himself protected by those dark grayish eyes is a bemused youth who possess less seriousness than one would perceive upon sight; a lack of complete certainty and control; a sense for humor where least appropriate. He is in no hurry to adapt to the version of himself put forth by his looks, however, he may be ushered to confront his outside self much sooner than he envisioned.
Dennis can see himself reflected in the rear mirror of the slick black car gliding silently on the country road, the outside scenery nothing but a blur of heavy blue, indigo and pitch darkness with an occasional burst of yellow, distorted by the misty downpour smearing diagonally down the windows, drumming the windshield in a low hum. The driver, hunched over, wearing a dirt coloured trench coat steers the four-wheel drive without dialogue, as silent as the surrounding countryside in the wee hours of morning. Dennis does not want to make conversation, he is depraved of sleep and has been so since several hours prior, when he was woken up and put into this car, but there is much to ask and no one except the driver to propose these questions. So far, the inquisitions proved fruitless; the driver is either deaf or is trained so well to ignore his passengers, and only hit men of the mob receive such training.
'For the thirteenth time, where are we going?' Dennis asks, regarding his reflection in the rear view mirror, directing his dark grayish eyes at the driver, who does not meet his stare. He admires such people who ignores or answers at will, or on orders? They are disciplined, organic machinery. Dennis does not wish to be in the shoes of one such men, but he finds their composure impressive nevertheless.
'We are passing the third county, are you taking me to my father?' Only his father would arrange for a reunion as arcane as this, and Dennis has never gotten to figure out why, or cared enough to investigate deeply into the matter. He is content in his own thoughts, and now he is being depraved of them as his mind is occupied by the situation unravelling before him.
The car stops, and the driver exits the car as swiftly as the wind, he opens the back door at Dennis' side. Dennis only gazes for a moment, shrugs, and exits the car. As soon as Dennis is standing, the driver takes out a band of cloth from somewhere within his coat, and as suddenly, Dennis' vision is overlapped by darkness. The rain is pouring lightly, and the night is without disturbance, something tells Dennis that they are soon to arrive at their destination. With his sight now gone, the driver arranges Dennis carefully back into the backseat, gets in, and the car is off once again.
Dennis finds it very surprising that sleep comes to him sooner with a blindfold across his vision, listening to the light hum of the rain against metal and glass, and all this while he does not say a word. He dozes off soon enough.
When he wakes, he finds a hand on his shoulder, the hand of the driver, without doubt. He is led off the car, onto a ground of pebbles, and marches into the loom of a ceiling with the guidance of the hand. The floor is carpet, the light is dim but none reaches beneath his blindfold. Dennis marches with the driver, turning several bends, up several cases of stair, and through several doors. At his best guess, he would say that he is in the third level of the building, in the east wing of what feels to be an old, grand mansion.
Through one last door, and he is pressed into a cold, smooth leather seat, situated with back turned towards the entrance, in a study.
The driver leaves, and shuts the door quietly behind his departure.
'Have I arrived?' Dennis declares, he imagines what it would feel like to sit at this seat in fear, and not dry amusement; what he is feeling.
'Of course you've arrived. I'd tell you to take off that blindfold, but that would ruin many surprises. I hope you do like surprises.' The voice in reply is deep, masculine, yet not quite natural, as if spoken by an actor.
'Not much opinion on that.'
'Not much? Your journey here was pleasant? If I may assume.' The question is interrogative.
'It wasn't eventful.' A beat. 'Was the driver a deaf?'
'No, he isn't.'
'He didn't speak a word to me.'
'I believe you'd like to know why.'
'Exactly.'
'People such as that driver, they are paid to drive, not to speak.'
'Oh, I see...or rather, I hear.' Dennis gives sound a small hoot within himself, it appears his father is finally unveiling the curtain.
Anyways, beside the point. Onwards with the story!
The eyes of Dennis Raveley are a dark grayish color, they display an air of coolness; of forbidding; of calculating venom few humans in the world possess, it is a gift from nature, or perhaps a gift of the devil. Either way, those dark grayish eyes have emerged him the victor in numerous staring contests, against the bully of a new neighborhood, teachers, principals, cranky elderly citizens, police officers, and just about many more who crossed paths with him. This winning streak trained him not to look away when eyes lock; he may have never achieved such results intentionally, but he learned to use it to his advantage, he knows, the eyes speak the first word, if he looks long enough.
Behind those dark grayish eyes is a version of himself few are familiar with. He has yet to find himself reflected fully in those dark grayish eyes, like a swordsman who has yet to master his weapon. Somewhere in himself protected by those dark grayish eyes is a bemused youth who possess less seriousness than one would perceive upon sight; a lack of complete certainty and control; a sense for humor where least appropriate. He is in no hurry to adapt to the version of himself put forth by his looks, however, he may be ushered to confront his outside self much sooner than he envisioned.
Dennis can see himself reflected in the rear mirror of the slick black car gliding silently on the country road, the outside scenery nothing but a blur of heavy blue, indigo and pitch darkness with an occasional burst of yellow, distorted by the misty downpour smearing diagonally down the windows, drumming the windshield in a low hum. The driver, hunched over, wearing a dirt coloured trench coat steers the four-wheel drive without dialogue, as silent as the surrounding countryside in the wee hours of morning. Dennis does not want to make conversation, he is depraved of sleep and has been so since several hours prior, when he was woken up and put into this car, but there is much to ask and no one except the driver to propose these questions. So far, the inquisitions proved fruitless; the driver is either deaf or is trained so well to ignore his passengers, and only hit men of the mob receive such training.
'For the thirteenth time, where are we going?' Dennis asks, regarding his reflection in the rear view mirror, directing his dark grayish eyes at the driver, who does not meet his stare. He admires such people who ignores or answers at will, or on orders? They are disciplined, organic machinery. Dennis does not wish to be in the shoes of one such men, but he finds their composure impressive nevertheless.
'We are passing the third county, are you taking me to my father?' Only his father would arrange for a reunion as arcane as this, and Dennis has never gotten to figure out why, or cared enough to investigate deeply into the matter. He is content in his own thoughts, and now he is being depraved of them as his mind is occupied by the situation unravelling before him.
The car stops, and the driver exits the car as swiftly as the wind, he opens the back door at Dennis' side. Dennis only gazes for a moment, shrugs, and exits the car. As soon as Dennis is standing, the driver takes out a band of cloth from somewhere within his coat, and as suddenly, Dennis' vision is overlapped by darkness. The rain is pouring lightly, and the night is without disturbance, something tells Dennis that they are soon to arrive at their destination. With his sight now gone, the driver arranges Dennis carefully back into the backseat, gets in, and the car is off once again.
Dennis finds it very surprising that sleep comes to him sooner with a blindfold across his vision, listening to the light hum of the rain against metal and glass, and all this while he does not say a word. He dozes off soon enough.
When he wakes, he finds a hand on his shoulder, the hand of the driver, without doubt. He is led off the car, onto a ground of pebbles, and marches into the loom of a ceiling with the guidance of the hand. The floor is carpet, the light is dim but none reaches beneath his blindfold. Dennis marches with the driver, turning several bends, up several cases of stair, and through several doors. At his best guess, he would say that he is in the third level of the building, in the east wing of what feels to be an old, grand mansion.
Through one last door, and he is pressed into a cold, smooth leather seat, situated with back turned towards the entrance, in a study.
The driver leaves, and shuts the door quietly behind his departure.
'Have I arrived?' Dennis declares, he imagines what it would feel like to sit at this seat in fear, and not dry amusement; what he is feeling.
'Of course you've arrived. I'd tell you to take off that blindfold, but that would ruin many surprises. I hope you do like surprises.' The voice in reply is deep, masculine, yet not quite natural, as if spoken by an actor.
'Not much opinion on that.'
'Not much? Your journey here was pleasant? If I may assume.' The question is interrogative.
'It wasn't eventful.' A beat. 'Was the driver a deaf?'
'No, he isn't.'
'He didn't speak a word to me.'
'I believe you'd like to know why.'
'Exactly.'
'People such as that driver, they are paid to drive, not to speak.'
'Oh, I see...or rather, I hear.' Dennis gives sound a small hoot within himself, it appears his father is finally unveiling the curtain.
Thursday, 14 April 2011
Classic...
An add on to my previous post; try to start with short classics to read and save the long ones after you've mastered the short ones. Gosh, in this age when mainstream books flourish the market, it's hard to sit down with a classic bulk. What is a classic even? I'll tell you this, when I read and can not hope to make corrections to the material I am reading, that is when I am reading a work of far greater knowledge than what I possess, and that's classic enough for me. Basicaly, what I think defines a classic is a work not everyone can write, copy in a similar style, or digest in full understanding.
So, only read a classic if you have nothing better to read, and that is my truthful advice to you.
Think about the sentence above, read it again and think about it.
Get it?
So, only read a classic if you have nothing better to read, and that is my truthful advice to you.
Think about the sentence above, read it again and think about it.
Get it?
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