Tennis racket over my shoulder and strutting like a peacock, gloating to Miss Lloyd over my win, I pushed the curtain aside to be met with a most horrifying sight.
Blood was splattered up and down the divan, my mother draped in gore at its base. A gun shot wound to the head had sprayed bone fragments and brain matter all over the scary portrait of my great grandfather, and namesake, that hung above her on the wall.
It is difficult to write this without doubling over in anguish and sorrow, but for posterity I keep this account, that future generations may judge me right in my actions.
I dropped the tennis racket and ran to the divan, just as Miss Lloyd took in the scene and screaming, fainted. I quickly ran to her and felt her pulse. It was slow, but steady and I lifted her placed here on a chaise longue in the parlour across the hall.
I returned to the drawing room and analysed the situation, with as much reason as I could muster. The afternoon tea lay unmolested and I shuddered to think of my mother as she daintily placed a cube of sugar in her cup only to be tossed to the floor and ravaged. My father's glass of scotch and soda was overturned and stained the Persian rug beneath his armchair. There was blood on the chair, but my father was neither in it nor within the confines of the drawing room. I looked around and suddenly came upon a trail of blood traveling over the threshold into the east hallway.
I followed it into my father's study, through the study and into the library. I found his aged person, twisted and broken, bloodstained and dying beneath a curio cabinet on the west wall of the library.
His white shirt and yellow cardigan were saturated with blood and his white hair was matted with the stuff, revealing a blow to the head by some blunt object. He was clutching his chest, blood flowing through his fingers from some unseen wound, but was still breathing and I went to him and comforted him in his death throes.
He turned to me and muttered a few strained words,
'The cabinet, my boy...'
He trailed off and went limp, tears welling in my eyes and wrath boiling in my soul. I've yet to determine what in that cabinet was so important, but I did have it and its contents put in a vault later that day. I called Special Agent Clark from the D.A.P.D. Homicide in Durem and he arrived with a crew and medical examiner.
However, I had no time to remain, for I had several urgent appointments across town and though it pained me to leave them I made way to my private offices to make those appointments and to cancel all my engagements for the following week.
At half past two a gentleman arrived, by the name of Edward Griffiths, who had telephoned earlier that day with what he described as unquestionably important information on the Trust. Griffiths―a clerk at the Bank of Gambino―warned me that the Trust had been depleted in toto.
'What?' I said, in disbelief.
'The account has been emptied, sir, and as I was looking over the books this morning, I noticed that there is no record of a withdrawal. I came as soon as I could, for fear that Mr Bond―your father―had made an under-the-table transaction, and I thought you should be informed since you are his son and a member of the board.'
'My father is dead, Mr Griffiths, he was shot and killed this morning,' I said with sombre tone.
The gentleman removed his hat and with astonishment replied, 'I am very sorry, sir... shall I be going?'
'No, no, not yet... I should like to ask you to investigate the matter further. 43,000,000,000 G does not just disappear. You will report any information to my secretary, who will report to me.'
'Certainly, sir, whatever I can do.'
Mr Griffiths left and I buried my face in my hands. Mother was dead. Father was dead. I was financially ruined. The Board of Trustees would have me hanging on a gibbet when they discovered that they were all penniless. What could happen to improve my day?
Suddenly I heard glass shatter as a hefty stone was heaved through my office window. It hit and chipped a bust of Aristophanes and tumbled to the floor.
I went to it and took from it a piece of notepaper that had been tied on with twine. It read,
As the tower fell,
so shall you,
look to the clock,
when the bell rings two.
Terrified, I fled. Not only my offices, but Bond Manor, Durem, and life as I had been accustomed. I took the five thousand something gold coins in the vault above my office mantelpiece. I packed a portmanteau with several pair of light casual, unpretentious sets of clothing and went to the train station.
At the train station I made a call at a pay phone to an old friend of my father's in the under-the-radar town of Barton, who assured me that he could have a small discreet residence, with basic furnishing ready by that afternoon. He gave me the postal code, 093696, Number 34, also known as Harcourt Havens.
I got on the train, which was otherwise empty... a good sign that I was not to be followed and sitting down fell asleep.
I awoke at some point during the journey and found and copy of Barton's daily newspaper. I read a long opinion piece on 'The Animated,' a phenomenon which had recently been affecting us all, but which had spared those of us who could afford to be spared.
As the train screeched to a halt, a man named... a fellow named Frank, I believe it was―I swear I'd seen him coming out of G-Corp many weeks ago―explained to me the use of rings and their absolute necessity. I thanked him and was gifted a ring that could focus the power of the sun into a beam, the solar ray ring. It has been of great use to me and I have since then charged in significantly.
I must say though, that I have never regretted coming to Barton more, almost as soon as I got off the train I was forced to climb through the sewers to get to ground level, because the shuttle tunnels were filled with Gambsters and Peelungers and the Station above had been sealed off.
But, I haven't the energy to detail all that happened from four o'clock until eleven o'clock that night, I will mentioned that I have―in the past two days―met a whirlwind of Animated; performed a reconnaissance mission against gnomes, intercepted a gnomish courier, besieged and eventually defeated a core group of lawn gnome officers and their steroid-pumped general; splatted Gambsters for Nicu; sneezed at fluff over at Rancho de Bill; led a party almost to the door of a vampire's castle and killed an OMGWTF (which is exactly what it sounds like); visited Katsumi (though I am withholding my services until I'm a bit more experienced); and helped in drudgery on Bill's farm.
I have throughout been very lucky to have had my old Barton friend, Michi, who has helped me to realise that I should serve best as a healer, and I am working toward obtaining the
Medic and Angel sets of rings.
My parents murder is still actively occupying my mind, but I am, for all intents and purposes, distracted by what is a most unusual infestation and my new life in Barton. Hopefully, I will someday be able to restore my family's name and fortune and bring down the blackguard that took all that I held dear.
The day of vengeance will come.
