Mary was paranoid. Swift thought his mother might be suffering from early onset dementia. A woman in her forties should not have to face such a thing. Her fears had something to do with Albatross wanting to hurt her.
Albatross, the younger, had run a little mad since his father died bloody. Why would that be directed at Mary? Swift hated the man in a distant way. Albatross controlled Darkling Trail, better known as the Corp, and thus most of the world. Yet Swift did not know why the most powerful man on the planet would wish harm on his mother. The two had never met. Mary had to be insane.
So Swift thought until he entered the house that afternoon.
Mary lay on the floor in a pool of blood, clutching an outdated cell phone in her hand. One look told him she had been cut but they did not account for most of the crimson stained floor. No, the placement of the largest pools of red informed him his mother had been violated. Hot tears stung his eyes as he rushed to her. He told her to hold on. He would get her to a doctor.
“Shit on that. Get me to that chair.”
She spoke through a scream roughened throat. Her voice held a laugh despite her condition. Even in her moment of dying she would keep a brave face for her son. Swift was a good son, even if he was not the best human being. He did as he was told, but he argued.
“We need to get you to the hospital.”
“You know who controls them. Same man who sent thugs to do this. Shut up Johnathan. I have a story to tell and not much time.” Still she clung to the phone like a lifeline.
“What is it mama?”
Swift held back his tears, rage, burning lust for revenge as he watched his mother die. He saw her wrestle with everything inside, trying to come up with the words. There was so much that even thinking of it took too long. It robbed her of the ability to pass on much. When she knew she had wasted all but the last seconds she smiled at him and shook her head. Her breathing was labored, voice soft. Her arm drooped and the phone fell to the floor.
“You… don’t know half of it. Check… garage… gifts…. From him.” With that and two minutes difficult breathing she was gone.
Swift scooped up the phone once she was no more. He had never been allowed in the garage, not even after he was old enough to drive. Looking at the phone he saw she had a contact, labeled simply I.
I? Ian? Was she calling his father? The man who had abandoned them when Swift was too young to remember? Was that who these gifts were from? If so he did not want them.
Swift opened the door to the garage and met his destiny. Three things that would change his life waited. They called to his soul. Swift found he did want them. They would let him fight, let him avenge his mother. They might even give him a chance at freedom.
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