Anyway, this began as a short story, but it grew into something larger. I've been posting this on a few review sites, fleshing it out and such. I have people looking at grammar specifically, but I don't mind if you guys want to take a stab at the grammar too. I don't know if I'm actually going to write a book on this. I have an idea for the entire novel, and this would be the prologue. If I did write it, I wouldn't be working on it for a number of years from now.
So what do you guys think? Good atmosphere/setting? Character seem interesting enough? What about writing style? I normally write in third person, this is my first done in first. And do you think it's 'publishing worthy?' Again, if I do actually consider looking for a publisher with this, it wouldn't be for some time.
Btw, let me know what you think about the rating. I'm guessing PG-13...? What do you feel?
Anyway, here it is!
Vengeance
Revenge. Most of us look at it with mild thought; but how many know what it can do for you? How many know the pleasures of revenge? How many know the tragedies of revenge? No one does – with the exception of me.
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Looking at the past – what it was, and how it was – I can see each piece placing itself carefully into the cracks. At the time, I hadn’t. And I wish I had, for it might have had come useful in the times to follow.
The ever so small ring of a telephone reached my ears. It was late, and I couldn’t help but ask myself who would be calling at such an hour. Everyone in the building had left, so there was truly no one to be contacted. I let the call pass, not thinking of the consequences. Besides, I still had a large amount of work to tend to. Minutes past as I continued my treacherous work. The phone rang again. Of course, I was foolish at the time, and couldn’t peer into the future to see what fate had in store for me. I wish I had picked up the phone, but I didn’t. Minutes now turned into hours, each evading my senses, trickling by ever so quickly. It came again. And this time, I couldn’t help but finally settle the matter.
The building I worked in was one of a large mass. Thus, often being a center piece for jealousy, something which my boss was extremely proud of. And who could blame him? It was constantly busy, people running in and out like ants busy at work, bringing what was perhaps the large income of any business in all of London. Here, a person felt at home in his small cubicle. As for myself, I had a vast office instead of such a small space, giving me more comfort than most. But such was not the case on that night. Like all nights, every light was off, the hallways were deserted, and a creepy and eerie feeling spread itself in and out every room of the office. I couldn’t help but feel that cold chill as I rushed to that ringing phone, hidden deeply somewhere in the labyrinth of cubicles. I found it, and not a moment too soon. Taking the phone into my hand, I began to speak.
“Hello, who is this?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Il est moi.” The voice was silky and comforting, but clearly dripping with evil. I knew the voice, however. I knew it far too well.
“Pomme,” I replied.
“Le péché original.” He replied.
I bowed my head. I knew what was coming next.
“You have sinned tonight.” His voice was still silky and cunning, even though each word he breathed had a strong French curve.
“Forgive me, Maître.”
The one called Maître scoffed. “Forgive you? You have ignored me more than once! Have you forgotten our deal so early?”
My heart beat fast. “No! I promise, it will not happen again. Désolé.”
“You must be punished,” He continued. “But not now. No, I have an important commission for you.”
“Yes, Maître?”
“You will find, on the steps of your office building, another envelope. You know what to do.”
I nodded my head. I had no choice but to accept. Such was the price when you make deals with devils.
“I will be prompt.”
“You must be quicker than prompt!” He spat. “You have already upset me once, don’t do it again! Serpent.”
“L'arbre interdit,” I replied. The phone call ended, and I was left with yet another mission of misery and death. But who would die tonight? Who else had made dealings with The Master, Maître?
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Madame Cinnie was widely known throughout all of London. The catch to her fame was that she could never quite be found. No one knew where she was as she didn’t have a set home. Instead, she jumped from resort to resort, staying in one lavish hotel one night and a different the next. She had few friends because of this, but it didn’t matter too much to her anyway. So long as she knew everyone had their eyes on her, she was okay with who she was. And indeed, everyone did have their eyes on her. Not only did her unusual act of migration earn her fame, but her beauty did as well. No one could escape the glamorous shine of her golden hair. It was perfectly tidy and straight at the top, but by the time the bottoms of her hair reached her shoulders, it was curled and pert. She often wore beauty gowns – her preference being white, and her scarlet lips stuck out on her pale and delicate French face.
Few people had the chance to talk to Miss Cinnie. I was one of the lucky few. Unfortunately, our meetings had to be under rather damp circumstances. I was the deliverer, and she was the one who was accepting what I brought. And what I brought was her beauty. Few people could have the luck, fortune, fame and stunning appearance as she had. In fact, it was nearly inhuman. But, once you make deals with devils, you often forfeited your humanity, just as both I and Madame Cinnie had done.
The night was languid as I walked out of the dark office building. Not a car flashed through the street that stood in front of me. The only signs of life were I and a stray black cat on the other side of the street. We stared at each other for a few moments, eyes locked. I broke the connection as I bent to the ground to pick up a peculiar package from off the ground. It was a black envelope. A single name was printed across the top of the package. It had been written in silver ink that radiated in the moonlight.
Cinnie
I nodded, accepting the name. It meant nothing good, but the black envelopes never did. I then looked back on the ground. A black card now sat where the envelope had moments before. I reached for it and read the silver inscription on it.
Mandeville
I stuffed the card into my coat pocket and began towards my car. I wrestled the keys out from my pocket and unlocked the door. No sooner had I taken my seat when I felt the hairs on my neck prickle. Someone was watching me. I twisted my head over the seat, looking through the back window to find the same stray cat staring blankly at me.
It suddenly became clear to me that I was being evaluated by the Master. There wasn’t a single thread of doubt in my mind that I would meet the cat at my destination. I nodded at the animal. It blinked back.
My destination was the area of Central London, to be broad, that is. I was particularly interested in finding my way to Marylebone where I would come across the Mandeville hotel, Madame Cinnie’s current choice of residence. I directed myself to Kings Cross Station and from there, the St. Pancras railway station. The station was enveloped between Kings Cross and the British Library. I paid the toll to park my car in the garage, but I had no intention of riding the train. The hotel was hardly over two miles from where I was. It would be suitable for me to walk the rest of the way, especially considering that all the parking areas surrounding the hotel were those of other resorts and theatres that were either closed at the late hour or refusing to accept any one but visitors to their attraction.
I parked my car and left its security. Of course, the cat was there, its eyes never leaving my own as I began out of the garage. I found myself outside on a sidewalk soon enough. Things here seemed to be at a quicker pace, much to my liking. I hated the feeling of being left alone with the cat.
I kept a good pace all the while, allowing myself to stay a lengthy distance from the animal. I rubbed shoulders with a few people passing by. No one protested to these accidents as the night was far too late to do such.
I finally reached the Mandeville, greeted by its café brick walls, framed by white wood. It was settled at the corner of the street. I had never paid too much attention to it before. Of all the times I had driven by, I had never glanced at the Victorian architecture of the building. It was longer than it was taller and as I rounded the corner, I found that I still had a lengthy distance before I reached the main entrance of the resort. I trotted up the short stair way, two white pillars on both sides, until I pushed my way through the glass doors. The atmosphere inside was nothing short of beautiful. Tremendous black vases were nested on each side of the lobby, leading up to the front desk which was composed of glass. I was greeted there by the receptionist.
“Welcome to the Mandeville Hotel, how may I be of service to you tonight?” The woman asked with an attentive smile. Her short and brown hair was warm and inviting in contrast to the muffled black cat, which I had already forgotten at that time. “If I could please have your name, I can get you settled before it gets later and you may be able to wake up in time for breakfast tomorrow in the deVille restaurant.”
I saw her pull up the reservations on the screen of her computer.
“I haven’t made a reservation.”
She bit her lip, contemplating in her mind how to say that I would have to leave then. I spared her the thought.
“I’m not here to stay the night. I’m actually here to see Madame Cinnie.” I smiled, trying to return the polite manner.
She frowned. “Miss Cinnie is not quartered here tonight. I’m sorry.” She began to fumble with the computer, acting as if she had business to do there. She obviously didn’t, she was merely trying to avoid my gaze.
“I know she’s here,” I said, sighing as I did such. I hated to press her any further. It seemed a betrayal to her kindness. “Just call her up and tell her that the Deliverer is here. If she declines than I shall be on my way.”
She gave me a very peculiar look. Painted across her face were uncertainty and a lust for more information. She was starving to know just who I was and how I could know that Miss Cinnie was here. She carefully reached for the phone on the desk. She cautiously pressed the number on the phone and then pressed it to her mouth.
“Hello, Miss Cinnie. I’m sorry for calling so early, especially when you asked for no interruptions,” she quickly glanced at me from the corner of her eye. “There is a deliverer here to see you. Should I send him up or have him leave?” I made out the reply from the telephone. “Okay then, he’ll be right up.” She placed the phone onto the receiver and then nodded. “You’re a lucky man to be rubbing elbows with someone like her.” The receptionist smiled and then pointed me to the elevator as she gave me the room number.
The elevator began to pull me skyward. I could feel a very minute thump below my feet as I passed each floor. The ride was rather short, but it felt like the never ending wait of going over the first hill of a roller coaster. Like how many prepare themselves for the frightening ride, I was preparing myself for my final meeting with Miss Cinnie. I patted the envelope which was snuggled underneath my jacket, reassuring myself that it was still there. I then thought of what was happening to the sweet receptionist. I knew that someone – I didn’t know who, I never did – was wiping her mind to my visit. I felt as if I had deceived her.
I finally reached the eighth floor and soon the room of Madame Cinnie. I quickly knocked three times on the door. I didn’t have to wait long at all. She was prompt in answering and even more delighted to see me.
“Oh monsieur!” She cried as she grabbed my face and dabbed a short kiss on each cheek. The moment she let go of my face, I began to massage the areas she had grabbed. “Please, come in.” She beckoned me inside, her French accent ringing throughout the room.
I entered, quickly finding myself in a very cozy surrounding. I began to assimilate every detail. The large bed was draped in a solid color of majestic gold. The wall which the bed was pressed against was a dark brown color. The other walls were very light gold, appropriate accents to the bed. A few chairs were spread out and placed in small openings between dressers and tables and to the very far end were two large windows arrayed over with dark café curtains.
“I’ve decided that I really love this hotel! It’s one of my favorites; I may come back next week!” She was awfully excited to share this with me. It didn’t help to make me feel any better.
“Madame, I really can’t stay. Je suis désolé.”
She made an odd gesture with her hand as if she were shooing the comment away. “I must tell you of my trip! It has been weeks since we last visited. I was in America last week. It was beautiful! Las Vegas has some extraordinary hotels – some are so exotic that London doesn’t even compare!”
“I’m sure it doesn’t,” I said, trying to rush through. “But I have an envelope….”
“That can wait for the moment. I must show you some of the pictures!” Before I could protest, she rushed to the nightstand and pulled off an iPod from its dock. She loaded it and began flashing all sorts of photographs of the magnificent resorts.
“I think I will visit America again in a few months. I want to try somewhere else next time…. Perhaps New York City or Phoenix.” She continued through dozens of glamorous snapshots. I had t admit that some of the images were awing. One was next to a large mass of water. Its entry way was dominated by a large and uprising wall which held detailed images of planes flying into the sky. Another had a large tower that reminded me of Big Ben and one even had a large and colorful tent-like structure in front of it. It seemed that the possibilities in America were endless.
“And I would love to visit Mexico while I am there as well!” She exclaimed, eyes bright with joy and adventure.
It was torture.
I was already going to feel guilty as it was.
I saved myself the misery and quickly pulled out the charcoal envelope and placed it on her lap. She stared at it for a few moments, saying nothing.
“I-I’m sorry, Madame.” I apologized even though it was not my place to do such.
“It’s not red….” She observed. “It is… It is black.”
“Oui,”
Her hands trembled as she carefully opened the package. As she did such, she looked up at me, tears beginning to well in her eyes. I turned away; I couldn’t bear to stand it.
“No…. no…. no….” She continued to repeat it, each time it pounded against the temples of my head, a never ending pain of misery and guilt.
A black pistol slipped out from the envelope.
“There was still so much I wanted to do…. Pourquoi moi?” She began to cry even more. I could hear each tear drop hit her lap as the realization sunk in.
“We are all bound to death when we make deals with devils,” I quietly explained. “Your time has come, and you must now pay back your debt. I am sorry.”
“Please…. Please, there must be some other way!” She didn’t realize it, but her hand was slowly grasping onto the gun. “I haven’t even made arrangements for my fortune! My family will want to know what has become of me!”
I sighed. “Your wealth will go to Maître. It has always been his, and you know that. Tomorrow morning, I expect that everyone will know what happened to you. Most of those who fulfill their debts are reported as taking their own lives. Very sparingly do we see it blamed for homicide. I was never here, Madame. I am very sorry.” A tear trickled down from the corner of my eye as I saw her subconsciously placed the barrel of the pistol against her skull.
I began my way out when I heard the sobs. She wouldn’t stop crying, neither could I. I didn’t bother to turn around. All I said was, “It has been a pleasure getting to know you Madame Cinnie. I wish you the best of luck in the life here after.” I said it to not only comfort her, but to comfort me as well. We both knew that she wouldn’t be exalting into heaven. Her destination was the outer darkness, as part of her debt.
“Were you ever happy with your deal, Monsieur?” She asked her final question.
I stood at my place, my hand on the doorknob. “No…. I think we all learn that devils can only make evil and not happiness. What of you, Madame?”
“Only temporary happiness, if it was even that. I suppose it was nothing more than a simulation of what I could have had. I now wonder whether it was worth my salvation.”
I didn’t reply to the statement that had flooded my own thoughts so many times. I didn’t say anything at all, actually. I walked out and shut the door behind me, giving her last few moments to herself.
It is impossible to describe the feeling that I felt as I left the hotel. I had met with the sensation so many times before that some may have said that I should have been desensitized from it. Others before me would often tell me that I would get used to it, but I never did, and I wished I could.
There is nothing pleasant in telling a person that they’re time is finished in this life. The weight of it drags you into a never ending abyss of guilt, although it never truly was my fault for the deaths. It was their own for making the deal with Maître. Yet it still tortured me inside, clawing at my consciousness. I supposed that it was part of my deal with Maître.
As I turned the corner of the street that the hotel was nested upon, I was yet again in the midst of a good few amount of people. I hadn’t walked very far when I heard it. The lone gun shot from the hotel itself. I wasn’t the only one to hear either. Those around me momentarily stopped in their tracks and looked up to the sky as if the answers to their questions were painted in the stars. I stopped as well, in respect for the life that had just been taken, closing my eyes to mourn her fictitious bliss.
When I opened my eyes I saw the black cat standing in front of me, eyes upon my own, curious to know my thoughts. Inside my head, I smiled. The one place the devil could not penetrate was my lone haven of thoughts. I knew that he would love to get inside though. He would want to know of my sympathy for those he killed. But if he knew, I wouldn’t be alive.
“What are you thinking, monsieur?” The world around me suddenly came to a halt. The people who had been curious of the gun shot suddenly did not move. The only movements were those of the blinking of the cat’s eyes and the calm and peaceful movement of its tail. When it spoke to me, its mouth did not move. Instead, I could hear the question in my own head.
“I am not thinking anything, Maître.” I kept my face straight. He had hundreds of years experience in reading the faces of people. He would be able to spot a lie on my face from the slightest wrinkle.
“Why is it that I do not believe you?” The cat’s eyes turned to slits, as if he were glaring at me, trying to break the barrier between him and my conscience. “Everyone thinks something. Everyone always thinks something. Even I think something. Do you know what it is that I am thinking?”
“I do not.”
The ends of the cat’s mouth curled. It was a rather frightening and devilish smile. “I am thinking,” he began, “that you have taken a bite from the Pomme.”
“I have not sinned, my lord.”
“Vous êtes couché!” The cat hissed. “You ignored my calls earlier, and I can see the guilt of being the Deliverer in your face!” The Cat got up from its seat and began to cautiously circle me. “You are lucky to have been given the chance to live, monsieur. Have you forgotten so soon that your fate could have been the black envelope as well?”
“No, Maître. I shall never forget your generosity.”
“Yet you feel sympathetic towards those who must pay their debts! You will be punished now.”
“Maître, I assure you that I have not-“
The cat hissed, anger and fury in its eyes. “You have answered back to me! You know better than to do such! I have no choice but to make you the Mentor.”
I took a step back. I could no longer hold back my emotions inside. They were all very clear upon my face. It delighted him to see my worry and fear.
“H-how long do I have?” I stuttered.
“Until the Deliverer has been taught enough to carry on the job. You shall meet her in a few moments. Serpent.”
I blinked.
When my eyes opened, I found my self in a new surrounding. The white London light surrounded the area. The sidewalks were bustling full of people. The chaos on the streets reminded me of my work. The feeling of being late to work sunk into my soul. I checked the time on my wrist watch. It was ten in the morning, and I was late.
I was about to call into my office when a hand suddenly shoved itself in front of me. I looked at its owner. Her neat and straight scarlet hair was no longer than her shoulders, a rather bright contrast to her pale yet perfect skin. Her chocolate eyes were warm yet unknowing.
“Hello, sir. My name is Innya Adams. I am the Deliverer and I was asked to give you this. Are you the Mentor?” She wrestled a rosy envelope out of her black purse. She smiled as she handed it to me, clearly oblivious to what it was and what she would be doing as the Deliverer.
My advice would be to break this up into two chunks. More people will be willing to review it then.
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