Help... please...
Ten-year-old Clarke gathered his remaining strength to whisper those words in the cold night. It might seem that any caring person would step in to help a distressed child, but on Stone Canyon Road in Bel Air, the wealthy residents often act as though they were ghosts, preferring to die rather than be seen outside their mansions.
As Clarke, overwhelmed with despair and clinging to the fragile hope of kindness and salvation, prayed for a Good Samaritan to appear and rescue him, he caught a glimpse of the men responsible for destroying his night, his life, and his future.
"Mom... Dad..." he cried like any boy his age would
"What do I do? Where do I go?"
In tears, Clarke asked absurdly to his parents that had left him to the mercy of cruelty. The two men were closing in on him, their expressions making it clear they wouldn't hesitate to send him to join his parents in the afterlife.
Just as Clarke dropped his shoulders losing all hope, his tear-filled eyes darted to a slightly loose sewer entrance opposite him and his hope for survival was ignited.
Ignoring his fear, Clarke quickly found a hooked stick, shifted the manhole cover, and lowered himself feet-first. He sat on the edge and grabbed the rim. He then felt for the metal ladder rungs and climbed down slowly, his fragile hands gripping the cold, slimy rungs wet from condensation, algae, and drips. His shoes slipped on the greasy metal but he held on to the metal rungs for stamina and continued climbing down the ladder. Once he was low enough, he dropped the last few feet directly into the shallow knee-deep water. He quickly pulled the cover back into place from below using the hooked stick to hide his entry.
Darkness swallowed him instantly once the cover was on as only faint streetlight filtered through the vent holes. Echoes of dripping water, deep scurrying sounds, his own breathing loud and the distant traffic sounds could be heard in every corner of the sewer. The smell hit him hard, overwhelming at first, he ignored all these and crawled along the side ledges to avoid the deep spots. Finally, he found a pipe behind which he curled up so as not to be seen.
Arms wrapped around his little frame, trembling as he tried to disappear into his own skin. He remained deathly still, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird while his senses tracked the heavy, rhythmic footsteps of the men drawing closer.
A few minutes passed in silence with no notable cause for alarm. Just as he was about to let his guard down, the manhole cover shook violently and he flinched in fear. An ordinary observer might have blamed a passing car but he knew better. On this private stretch road, hours of total silence were the norm so he could only pray that the two men standing on the manhole cover didn't suspect his presence inside the sewer.
Clarke could hear faint voices coming from above the sewer but due to the distance, he couldn't make out what they were saying. He moved away from the pipe where he hid and moved closer to the feet of the ladder so he could hear clearly.
"Who do you think that little child was?" he heard one of the men ask.
"That motherfucker still hinders us even in death," the other man sneered ignoring the first guy's question.
"Will you call the boss and tell him?" the first guy asked.
"What threat could a little boy pose… Ahhhh shit, I'm so frustrated," he heard the second guy cursed under his breath.
"Call the boss first! He has to know—I'm not dying for a little boy!" the first guy said urgently.
It was quiet for some time until Clarke heard the second guy call the mentioned 'Boss'.
"Boss, the job's done, but there's a problem... There's a kid. A boy, he looked really young."
A pause followed.
"We didn't see him at first, Boss."
"The wife suddenly shouted 'run' and a small figure bolted."
"I'm sorry, Boss," he stammered. "Florida… Florida suddenly shouted at someone to run," the guy said, his voice trembling as if he had said something wrong.
"We couldn't chase him immediately, Boss. We still had to search for the papers, and his parents… they weren't helping matters. They held our legs, trying to buy the kid time. We had to finish them off completely without asking for where the papers were located. The boy was long gone by the time we were done."
"We're looking for him boss."
"No boss, we checked everywhere. There is no proof of his existence—pictures, certificates, names. Nothing."
"The papers and the parts are secured. The ring included."
…
"Understood, Boss," the first guy said in respect after a long pause.
"Hey Dan. Let's go." he heard the first man say immediately he dropped the call.
"What did the boss say?" The so called Dan asked expectantly.
"To retreat…. Since there's no proof of his existence. We can't just pick up every little boy we see on the road. Can we?"
"Oh?"
"Shocking, isn't it? Who knew the boss wouldn't care about the boy"
"Or… he wants to find the proof first," he heard the guy called Dan speak speculatively.
"Well, that sounds like the boss's problem not ours. Let's go Dan," the first guy said in annoyance.
Retreating steps followed after the conversation and Clarke finally heaved a sigh of relief.
•••
From the throat of the dark sewer came the sound of soft, broken sobbing from a little boy curled up in the dark, cradling the corpse of his entire world.
One night changed everything, made him lose everything. Even though he didn't witness his parents breathing their last. He had seen his mother's eyes flicker with hope for it to all be a dream. His father, who exuded power had been rendered powerless. A sight he never thought he would see in a million years.
His parents were gone. His warmth was gone. His compassion was starting to fade away.
What remained was a child drained out until only rage lived inside his ribs. A boy already sharpening his rage into weapons to wield against those who broke him.
He has tasted despair and sorrow.
He tasted death and death tasted him back.
Now those who came for him will beg him to come for them instead.
•••
Thin rays of sunlight filtered through the vents, landing squarely on Clarke's vacant stare. He didn't flinch or turn away just as death didn't flinch before it attacked his parents. He stared into the space.
His eyes were void of emotions, his heart was void of feelings.
The initial flood of tears had dried up leaving his eyes drained of moisture. He had lost the will to mourn further and forgotten the very art of crying.
Clarke spent the night reminiscing about his parents. Their happy faces when they finally see him after days apart. His father's laugh echoing against the wall while his mother's hands reach out to cup his face checking for any signs of tiredness and hunger.
"Clarke baby, we're home," he remembered his mum calling out, announcing their arrival as they stepped into the mansion after two long weeks away.
"Mum! Dad!" Clarke exclaimed with happiness plastered on his face. He ran out of his room as fast as lightning, hugging his parents.
"I missed you so much," he declared as he hugged both his parents, his little frame disappearing completely between their protective embrace as he finally relaxed after the long wait.
"We missed you too Lomi," his parents answered cheerfully while rubbing his hair.
"Don't call me Lomi ahhh. It's been ages, the name doesn't even fit my size again. Besides, I'm a big boy now," Clarke pouted looking up at his parents.
"Ten years, twenty years… you will forever be our Lomi," his mother said affectionately.
"Well Lomi, now that we're here let's make the most of it," Sam, his father declared as he scooped Clarke up carrying him to their room.
"Anything fun happened during the week my boy?" Sam asked in curiosity.
Clarke's face lit up and his tongue loosened as he recounted everything that happened in their absence, laughter echoing throughout the room.
"Run! baby, run!" his brain reminded him of that moment completely drowning his happy memories.
"Mom? Dad?" Clarke said in confusion as his parents were drowned in blood. His mom was bleeding from her feet and wrists. His dad was bleeding from every part of his body.
His mum's finger was cut off with her wedding ring and he could see one of his father's ear on the floor as he stared in horror.
"Just run baby! Sam shouted with the little strength left in him. He raised two of his finger hinting at something that little Clarke has been taught all his life.
Immediately Clarke saw the fingers, he just knew. He dashed out, running with full speed, not daring to look back.
This memory will stay with him forever.
•••
Clarke arrived at Edenvale Psychiatric Hospital without clothes only having his underwear on. The security approached him.
"Hey boy, what are you doing here, why are you naked?"
"Where are your parents?" The security man asked worryingly but Clarke didn't answer. He just stood there looking at the building.
The security left him to bring a nurse outside. The nurse arrived and they kept asking Clarke questions but he did respond.
"I need treatment," Clarke stated, his eyes locked onto the building completely shocking the two standing before him.
The nurse didn't question him further. She just took his hand.
"Come with me," the nurse said, pulling Clarke into the building.
Clarke looked back at where he stood as he took the first calculated step toward his revenge.
For the next ten years, he would be hidden from the world in this place.
He is the game master. Everyone is his pawn in this game.
He has just moved a piece on his chessboard. The opening move in his game of revenge.
This is the beginning.