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“Mother is the name for God on the lips and
hearts of all children.”
Eric Draven, The Crow
The spin of blue police lights
reflected off the leaves and dark houses of the neighborhood long before the
light blue house came into sight. As Everett led the two cars
to a stop along the street, the whirlwind of police activity was instantly
intimidating. Behind the wheel, Everett watched the
police coming in and out, the forensics van already in the driveway. Around the property, a small crowd of
neighbors and onlookers watched intrusively, kept at bay by the line of
yellow police tape.
It was a large house, two and a
half stories, with a large patio along the back. A row of freshly planted trees in the front
and a well-loved garden along the side added to the Rockwellian feel of the
place. “Leave the arms,” Everett said, sliding
Sunstorm out from it’s hidden place in his trench coat. He stuffed the sword in the space between
the seat and the door and got out, the others with him. He looked to the other car as Roland and
Ledger got out, calling “Leave the arms.”
Ledger nodded and they wall started to discretely hide their weapons.
Everett and Sydney led the charge
through the crowd of on-lookers to the edge of the crime scene. He stopped cold as the paramedics brought
out a black body bag on a stretcher, taking it to the ambulance. “Franklin!”
Sydney
shouted. He turned to see Morgan’s
brother sitting on the stoop of the house.
At the sound of Sydney’s voice,
the young man, with light brown hair and an innocent look in his eyes, stood
and rushed over. “Oh thank god!” he
cried, nearly colliding with Sydney. The two hugged over the police tape, Franklin balling into
her arms. “She’s dead!”
“Who’s dead?” Everett asked, mindful of the crowd around
them.
“She’s dead!” he cried again to Sydney.
“Franklin,”
Everett said louder, carefully shaking Franklin’s
shoulder. “Who’s dead?”
“Sir!” Everett
turned as a police officer shined a flashlight into his eyes. Everett’s
hand went up to block the light, but it did little. “Do you people know this man?” the officer
asked, coming towards Everett and the others.
“Yeah, we’re old friend,” Ledger
answered in his place from the center of the crowd of knights. “What’s going on?”
The police officer lowered his
flashlight, his bulletproof vest bulging out.
“There was a homicide,” he decided to share, the word making Franklin cry
louder. “I’m afraid Samantha
Brandywyne was found dead by both her step-sons. We’re trying to locate her other son,
Morgan Brandywyne, now.” He looked
Everett and the others up and down. “Do you have any idea where he might be?”
Everett was frozen. He looked back to the ambulance as it drove
off, everything dawning on him. “How
did she die?” he asked quietly.
“Sir,” the officer said. “We need to find Morgan Brandywyne.”
“How did she die?” Everett barked, fury
boiling up inside of him.
The police officer hesitated. “It would appear that she was assaulted,”
he said. “Probably with a long blade,
like a knife.”
“He said it was the Blue Knights,”
Franklin said
through his tearful sobs. Everett and
the police officer both turned as the whole crowd, knights and civilians
alike, listened in. “Morgan, he and I
arrived at the same time. We went
inside and she was…she was…and Morgan…His eyes just went all…cold and
distant. He said the Blue Knights did
it.”
“No way!” Donovan yelled.
Everett
motioned for him to calm down, then turned back to Franklin.
“Where is Morgan now?”
“I don’t know,” Franklin sobbed. “He just, stumbled out, got in his car, and
drove off. He’s out there, somewhere,”
he said with a glance at the nighttime.
“And he’s lost it. He’s
completely lost it.”
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