Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Blood Red Storm ❯ The Beginning of the End ( Chapter 5 )

The Beginning of the End

 

Calen was beyond pissed off. Never in his life, prior to living with his father, had he felt such anger. He felt like he could make Ortonse's head explode if he focused hard enough.

 

“That's enough moping, Cal.” Ortonse walked into the library, knowing his only, legitimate, child would be sulking with a book.

 

“What do you want, Father?” Calen overcame the acid that wanted to show its presence in his words and closed his paperback.

 

“For you to stop being ridiculous.” Ortonse poured himself a glass of sherry before flopping down gracefully onto a chair across from Calen. His hair was a bit thinner, but still held a blonde luster to its chin-length shag, he had a slouch to his 6'3” figure, and was a twiggy man, but he knew he looked damn good for being sixty-four. A barely noticeable narrowing of his light blue eyes was all the evidence one could see of his waning patience. “I don't understand what you're carrying on about.”

 

Calen was not afraid of this man. He was from outside of Aquaria, and contrary to what his father thought, he was not God. “Those people had a right to be there. What you did was beyond wrong.”

 

Recalling the events of the afternoon made him sick. While nothing happened without Ortonse's knowledge, some things still attempted to be done without his say-so. Calen had been sixteen, happily living a life with his doting mother, and shockingly naïve when the Worthington Tragedy had occurred. He remembered watching the events unfold in his Chinese class after his teacher had turned on the TV. It was an awful day. Many people had relatives over there, and it quickly became chaos. The mayhem tripled when the building had been completely demolished. Hours later the man behind the attack revealed himself. Calen instantly felt nauseous, discreetly leaving the campus as everyone listened to Ortonse Fisher's address to the island. Thank God no one had ever met his father before!

 

Nothing had been done in retaliation, something that greatly shocked Calen. Of course, no matter where you went in Aquaria, if you weren't of the elite, you hated Ortonse Fisher. However, no one tried to make him answer for the crimes he was responsible for. No one could get to him. Ortonse had them all under his iron control. Andre Tatou had been suspected of helping with him being untouchable. Later it became no doubt in the city of Pearl's mind his involvement, when Tatou was appointed head trainer and overlooked the guards that now prowled the streets, which made the celebration in the streets upon hearing of the retired general's murder not surprising to Calen. The man was hated and had a bodyguard now and again for important functions. Another thing that Calen was not surprised of was his father's reaction to the city's glee.

 

Three years in the making, this was to be the day the Worthington Memorial was unveiled. The small park with a wall-sized plaque that featured the names of people lost in the explosion was not located at the actual site. Humanitarians with deep pockets did not want what they had helped build be on land belonging to Ortonse. Because it was not on his property, he could do nothing about it, not that he was against it. Ortonse didn't really care what the people did as long as they stayed out of his way.

 

However, that changed when Pearl had celebrated Tatou's murder. Andre was a moron who let his passions get the better of him, but he had had his uses, uses that Ortonse was far from finished with. Whoever made Andre into their living pin cushion had set his plans back extensively. Today was the man's funeral. Ortonse watched from the tinted windows of his stretched limousine all of the smiling faces of Pearl's everyday workers. So they were happy one of his had gotten mutilated? Well, he would just have to remind everyone that while he still was not any closer to finding his colleague's killer, he was still in control of them.

 

Calen had been made to go to the funeral. He hadn't known the man and he was killed before he arrived in town, so he of course argued with his father about the arrangement. Feeling like a child, he had been escorted to the limo, after dressing in his already pressed black suit, and made to sit beside Kit. While Kit was inappropriately cheerful the whole ride there, Calen glared at his smirking father. Throughout the speeches and priest's words of praise for the dead man's life, Calen couldn't help but want to gag. It was all a bunch of bullshit. Andre Tatou was better off dead and he was glad someone finally had the balls and strategy to do it. Looking up during one of the many exaggerated tales of Andre's remarkable life, Calen found his father glaring at him.

 

On the way back to the mansion, Ortonse smiled as he gave the driver an address to stop at. Once there, Ortonse and Kit readily got out, leaving Calen wary but following. What he saw made his heart ache. The press not covering Tatou's funeral were there, along with what looked like close to one thousand other people. Of course Calen knew what was going on, he only read about the memorial yesterday but made himself a reminder to go later and pay his respects. Worthington Memorial was a park that had taken time to perfect. Paths for bikes and leisure strolls stretched throughout the twelve acres. A playground was built around the large wall that featured the names of those killed, those that had helped during the crisis, and the men and women who generously paid for the memorial.

 

Calen scanned over the crowd not yet taking notice of them and had to fight a small smile. The expression was inappropriate, he knew, even through his giddiness. Standing back from the platform where the speakers were, propped against a tree with hands in his slacks - looking as cool as he had the other day - was the man that had saved him from his possible demise. Calen had only a moment to study him when his father began walking through the sea of people, Kit right beside him. He, of course, stayed away.

 

Calen felt the warm waves of nausea and embarrassment wash over him as he recalled the way his father, the man he despised with all of his being, walked by the people he controlled as if they were pets, stock animals. The governor stopped his speech as Ortonse regally stepped onto the stage and let him take the silver scissors from his suddenly weak grip. The ribbon was not to be cut this day, perhaps not any day. This plot of land, Ortonse told the crowds, was to be seized for financial reasons. Until further notice, the Worthington Memorial Park was closed to the public. With a small smile, Ortonse left the way he came, no one daring to touch him. Calen had waited for a few minutes after, watching the angry faces, heartbroken faces, of the city. Before he could gather enough will to be in the same space as his father, Calen saw the redheaded man in the same position, dark eyes taking everything in.

 

“The people who were practically having a parade in honor of Andre's death were most likely there at the opening,” Ortonse broke Calen's musings. He sat back farther into his plush chair and sipped more of his sherry. “Pearl is forgetting who runs things.”

 

Seeing that he was not going to get any more of a conversation out of him, Ortonse rolled his eyes and stood with an exaggerated sigh. Calen ignored him as he puttered around irately with his glass and decanter, slamming the liquor cabinet was the only real sign that he had angered the man.

 

Ortonse stalked out of the room, he had more important things to see to other than his son. “I want you to feel welcome here, Cal, but remember this; you work for me. I call the shots and I will not take insolence from even you.” He turned back to his only child, hand on the door knob and icy smile in place, “It would be wise of you to turn in early, a big day tomorrow for you.”

 

Calen shook his head and placed his book on the table. Already his father's world was exhausting him. He had had nothing to do with the events of today or of the bloody past, yet he felt responsible. All of those people…Calen wasn't so naïve to think his father wouldn't do something like that again. How long before his hands were really soaked with Pearl's already flowing blood?

 

* * * * *

 

Nice weather never lasted long in Aquaria. Calen shivered on the stone bench, burrowing deeper into his black wool coat. It was fortunate for him he was used to cold. However, it seemed worse on the island. If he guessed, he would assume it was because this place was a nightmare, adding to the grayness, the cold bitterness of a seemingly endless winter. He looked up, tossing the pebble he had picked up in the beginning of his walk, and read another column of names from the shining surface of the thick, polished marble.

 

“This place is closed to the public.”

 

Calen looked over his shoulder and this time did not stifle the small grin from gracing his features. His dark red hair was down today, blowing over his shoulders and giving him a disheveled appeal with his chic suit.

 

“What's your name?” He had to give the face burned into his memory the permanent fixture that only a name could give.

 

He looked surprised for a moment, and perhaps Calen was being rude and not following polite procedure when addressing a stranger, but he needed to get more personal information this go-around. If he had a problem he could deal with it, after all, he spoke first. The man studied him for a few more minutes, nothing showing in his features. Finally he cleared his throat and sat down on the other end of the bench.

 

“Gale O'Kirk.”

 

Calen nodded, thinking over the name. It was usually feminine; however, gale meant a fierce wind. The name suited him. “Calen Fisher,” he held out his hand for a shake. Gale's gloved grip was firm and stiff. Calen felt below nothing under his scrutinizing gaze.

 

“The son of Ortonse Fisher should not be alone, or in Fallen Greenwich without some form of protection.”

 

Calen resisted wilting at his tone and a sad smile found his lips. “Nobody knows, aside from my father's colleagues that I'm related to him. You too, I guess.” Calen turned to look his conversation companion over. “How is it you know?”

 

Gale shrugged, crossing his legs as he found a more comfortable position on the stone slab he was sitting on. “As chief editor of The Pearl, nothing is hard to find out.”

 

“The press should have already been here yesterday. Are you still looking around for a story?”

 

“No, a man can pay his respects, regardless of some fascist's rules,” the snarl made Calen flinch. “Why are you here?”

 

Calen eased as Gale's voice softened and he bowed his head to stare at the dead grass at his feet. “I wished to pay my respects, as well.” He flinched again at the bitter laugh his words aroused.

 

“How interesting,” Gale drawled, feeling his anger rise. He has no right, Sean. You don't need Ortonse's brat son's pity! “Fisher's newly arrived son takes time out of the family's sadistic schedule to visit the flashy new memorial. That is a story worth reading.”

 

“Print whatever you like,” Calen spat. “It pains me greatly to be related to that man.”

 

“Sure it does. In a week you'll be torturing vagrants and eating kittens like the old demon that spawned you.”

 

“I am not like him,” Calen snarled. This man knew nothing about him. How dare he judge him?

 

Gale studied him more, seemingly reassessing him before standing. “Give it time, boy. Within a month that soul of yours will be just as tainted.”

 

“Never,” Calen's eyes burned but he refused to let the man get to him. His father was his only weak spot. “I hate this place.”

 

Gale stopped walking away as he heard the whisper. Looking back, he found Calen staring at the wall, face dark and pained.

 

“Everyone is too fucking scared and weak to do nothing but complain. I wish I would have been here to see the people celebrate Andre's death, the sick bastard. Whoever killed him,” Calen licked his lips before speaking what had been on his mind since he had arrived. “I hope they aren't finished yet.” Calen jumped as a hand was suddenly on his shoulder, hot breath ghosting over his ear.

 

“If you really think that, don't waste anymore time and come to this address two nights from now, after midnight.”

 

With trembling hands, Calen looked at the slip of paper Gale had shoved in his grip before he left. He couldn't explain the rush of excitement that flooded through him with those parting words.