Post by Awesome Stick Labor on Nov 9, 2017 3:38:00 GMT
James Gilmore was all alone, back at the scene of one of the worst days of his life.
The air was cold, the wind blowing hard at times, and the Islander alum...was truly in a world of shit.
It was no day to be at the beach.
He paced around the confines of his privately-owned white sand escape, eyes bloodshot as he heard cackles of laughter coming in from all sides. The laughter became more pronounced as James paced back and forth, frightened beyond any capacity for rational thinking.
"One, two..."
A distinct, creepy voice can be heard singing a rather familiar "lullaby" as Gilmore stood still, paralyzed and helpless to fend himself as the skies began to darken.
"Three, four--better shut your door..."
Frozen in terror, Gilmore could move nothing else save for his head as he peered upon the ever-darkening sky, the voice becoming louder by the second.
"Five, six--grab your crucifix..."
"Seven, eight--gonna stay up late..."
It was now pitch black. The only thing that was lit up was the back of James' villa as he shook his head, praying that this was nothing more than a dream, a childhood nightmare in every sense of the word.
"Nine, ten..."
The voices stopped, the aura was one of fear. James stood completely still, the winds leveling into an eerie calm, a stillness that he didn't like all too well. Without any sort of warning whatsoever...
BANG!
...a single gunshot pierced the back of his spinal column, and James Gilmore found himself lying in a pool of his own blood, face-first in his own beachhead. He was in too much pain to notice a grotesque, Satanic-looking figure standing tall above him. It had Lindsey Grawn's looks, her uncle Ricky's voice, and even more terrifying, its right hand had the famous knife-glove from a certain film franchise...yet on its left hand was a Colt .45--the same one used by James Gilmore's would-be assassin two weeks ago.
The last thing the Islander alum ever heard as the figure's Freddy Krueger-esque voice cackling with glee in a manner that would make Robert Englund's performances look like child's play.
"Never trust a Grawn again, BITCH! AAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!"
The creature fired one last shot. Gilmore's demise was swift and painless...
BANG!!!
...and then, there was silence. Pure, unadulterated silence.
"Mr. Gilmore? ... Mr. Gilmore? ... Mr. Gilmore ... are you awake...?"
=============
November 8, 2017 - 4:30 PM
Two weeks after the incident...
"Mr. Gilmore?," a soothing voice called out as James Gilmore shot up from his bed, flustered as all get-out.
He hadn't had a nightmare like that in a very, very long time. Yet on this somewhat damp afternoon, the Islander alum found himself breathing heavily as he quickly rose from a long nap, unaware that he had a guest visiting him. "James...it's me, Abby. I'm the one investigating your case," the CCPD's resident Goth-girl detective and single mother of one, sporting a blue dress with matching sapphire heels, ID'd herself, flanked by James' bodyguard Mikhail.
"Are you okay?," she asked, watching closely as James slagged away to a bathroom mirror.
"Holy shit...!," Gilmore exclaimed as he gazed upon the sight of his frazzled hair and bloodshot eyes.
"You don't look too well," Abby quipped with a slight chuckle.
"Nah I don't. Had a daydream that took a freaky detour," he said. Indeed, this vision he had was much worse than the one he had featuring a demonic figure portraying Gene Wilder's iconic Williy Wonka, the vision that saw him going on the infamous chocolate factory boat ride through the psychedelic tunnel. James, however, wasn't there to talk about the worst nightmare he ever had. He had a case to discuss, and he immediately went back to the business at hand. "But ya wanted to know about Katherine...right?," he asked with a gravelly voice.
"Mikhail told me everything so you wouldn't have to worry," Faulkner responded. It made Gilmore smile, knowing just how trustworthy and dependable Mikhail Federov truly was to him.
Deep within his conscience however, James knew of only one indisputable fact--Katherine McFly, Fiona's mother, had no beef with him to begin with, that she couldn't have possibly hired someone to whack him because she didn't believe in the phrase "guilt by association."
"Katherine ain't the one ya should go after. She ain't got nothin' against me," James intoned, prompting Abby to perk up her right brow in curiosity. Yet as he continued to dwell upon the nightmare he had, it hurt him more and more to think that said vision was, indeed, nothing but the truth. Yet the signs were all there, like pieces of a puzzle coming together.
Lindsey Grawn had unplugged James from his chat with his old flame, Yulia Malakova, out of spite for the fact that he was talking to her--seeing it was a way of tightening the screws.
She had left the villa's front door unlocked in the middle of a Category 4 hurricane--which Gilmore laughed about back then yet, in the present day, realized that it was no accident.
She had failed to collect on a bounty on his wrestling colleague, handed down by a foreign terrorist sympathizer--even though her justification was giving James a place to retire.
As for Lindsey's uncle Ricky? He was supposed to work with him on his wrestling...yet it only made his career worse than what it already was.
Slowly but surely, it all began to make sense to James Gilmore...and it all began to sink in. He felt hurt and betrayed by the Grawns. He trusted them, looked up to them...all without ever imagining the day when they both would turn against him.
Yet he needed visual proof, not just circumstances.
James whispered the theoretical pieces of his puzzle to Abby, who simply nodded her head. She understood what he was dealing with, and she wanted to help in any way she could.
"It's possible. It make take a little time to set your idea into motion, but...yes. I think you're right."
TO BE CONTINUED...
The air was cold, the wind blowing hard at times, and the Islander alum...was truly in a world of shit.
It was no day to be at the beach.
He paced around the confines of his privately-owned white sand escape, eyes bloodshot as he heard cackles of laughter coming in from all sides. The laughter became more pronounced as James paced back and forth, frightened beyond any capacity for rational thinking.
"One, two..."
A distinct, creepy voice can be heard singing a rather familiar "lullaby" as Gilmore stood still, paralyzed and helpless to fend himself as the skies began to darken.
"Three, four--better shut your door..."
Frozen in terror, Gilmore could move nothing else save for his head as he peered upon the ever-darkening sky, the voice becoming louder by the second.
"Five, six--grab your crucifix..."
"Seven, eight--gonna stay up late..."
It was now pitch black. The only thing that was lit up was the back of James' villa as he shook his head, praying that this was nothing more than a dream, a childhood nightmare in every sense of the word.
"Nine, ten..."
The voices stopped, the aura was one of fear. James stood completely still, the winds leveling into an eerie calm, a stillness that he didn't like all too well. Without any sort of warning whatsoever...
BANG!
...a single gunshot pierced the back of his spinal column, and James Gilmore found himself lying in a pool of his own blood, face-first in his own beachhead. He was in too much pain to notice a grotesque, Satanic-looking figure standing tall above him. It had Lindsey Grawn's looks, her uncle Ricky's voice, and even more terrifying, its right hand had the famous knife-glove from a certain film franchise...yet on its left hand was a Colt .45--the same one used by James Gilmore's would-be assassin two weeks ago.
The last thing the Islander alum ever heard as the figure's Freddy Krueger-esque voice cackling with glee in a manner that would make Robert Englund's performances look like child's play.
"Never trust a Grawn again, BITCH! AAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!"
The creature fired one last shot. Gilmore's demise was swift and painless...
BANG!!!
...and then, there was silence. Pure, unadulterated silence.
"Mr. Gilmore? ... Mr. Gilmore? ... Mr. Gilmore ... are you awake...?"
=============
November 8, 2017 - 4:30 PM
Two weeks after the incident...
"Mr. Gilmore?," a soothing voice called out as James Gilmore shot up from his bed, flustered as all get-out.
He hadn't had a nightmare like that in a very, very long time. Yet on this somewhat damp afternoon, the Islander alum found himself breathing heavily as he quickly rose from a long nap, unaware that he had a guest visiting him. "James...it's me, Abby. I'm the one investigating your case," the CCPD's resident Goth-girl detective and single mother of one, sporting a blue dress with matching sapphire heels, ID'd herself, flanked by James' bodyguard Mikhail.
"Are you okay?," she asked, watching closely as James slagged away to a bathroom mirror.
"Holy shit...!," Gilmore exclaimed as he gazed upon the sight of his frazzled hair and bloodshot eyes.
"You don't look too well," Abby quipped with a slight chuckle.
"Nah I don't. Had a daydream that took a freaky detour," he said. Indeed, this vision he had was much worse than the one he had featuring a demonic figure portraying Gene Wilder's iconic Williy Wonka, the vision that saw him going on the infamous chocolate factory boat ride through the psychedelic tunnel. James, however, wasn't there to talk about the worst nightmare he ever had. He had a case to discuss, and he immediately went back to the business at hand. "But ya wanted to know about Katherine...right?," he asked with a gravelly voice.
"Mikhail told me everything so you wouldn't have to worry," Faulkner responded. It made Gilmore smile, knowing just how trustworthy and dependable Mikhail Federov truly was to him.
Deep within his conscience however, James knew of only one indisputable fact--Katherine McFly, Fiona's mother, had no beef with him to begin with, that she couldn't have possibly hired someone to whack him because she didn't believe in the phrase "guilt by association."
"Katherine ain't the one ya should go after. She ain't got nothin' against me," James intoned, prompting Abby to perk up her right brow in curiosity. Yet as he continued to dwell upon the nightmare he had, it hurt him more and more to think that said vision was, indeed, nothing but the truth. Yet the signs were all there, like pieces of a puzzle coming together.
Lindsey Grawn had unplugged James from his chat with his old flame, Yulia Malakova, out of spite for the fact that he was talking to her--seeing it was a way of tightening the screws.
She had left the villa's front door unlocked in the middle of a Category 4 hurricane--which Gilmore laughed about back then yet, in the present day, realized that it was no accident.
She had failed to collect on a bounty on his wrestling colleague, handed down by a foreign terrorist sympathizer--even though her justification was giving James a place to retire.
As for Lindsey's uncle Ricky? He was supposed to work with him on his wrestling...yet it only made his career worse than what it already was.
Slowly but surely, it all began to make sense to James Gilmore...and it all began to sink in. He felt hurt and betrayed by the Grawns. He trusted them, looked up to them...all without ever imagining the day when they both would turn against him.
Yet he needed visual proof, not just circumstances.
James whispered the theoretical pieces of his puzzle to Abby, who simply nodded her head. She understood what he was dealing with, and she wanted to help in any way she could.
"It's possible. It make take a little time to set your idea into motion, but...yes. I think you're right."
TO BE CONTINUED...
Well howdy there pardner.