On a peaceful evening in the late 18th century a judge's wife was murdered. Her baby girl was kidnapped and disposed of later on. The judge mourns their loss but strides on with unwavering devotion. At least, that is what the newspapers say...
Gen...
Their man was gone from the mansion. It was time to move. The two shadows had been hiding on the terrain, but now moved closer to the house. Under the falling snow's cover, they managed to get close to the chapel without being seen. The chapel was quiet; no sound came out of it while the two men entered. A scream was heard and then two quick shots. Silence. Blood scattered over a painting of Saint Anne, slowly dripping towards the ground. The two men left the building, each carrying an unmoving body.
(The following is an extract of the personal diary of federal judge Thomas Stuart) 12/06/1772, America, Colorado
It's been two days since someone broke into my grounds and murdered my wife and my five year old daughter. They took the bodies and left a massacre. I know who did it. After all, he had left his trademark, one of the victims' eyes. I have always known from the beginning that working with that psychopath would have consequences. Working with people with abilities always does. But I never would have thought... They are going to pay. I am going to hunt down every single person that was involved and they were going to pay. Starting with that thief he had planted in my house, to findout my wife's routine and then aid in her murder. The dirty rat had already confessed his part in the plan and told me everything about the person he knew to be behind this. I am aware that he couldn't have been a part of the murder,as I had him shadowed that day. But still. He had been part of it. I could still hear his screams. The funeral is being planned for the day after tomorrow and I know I have to accept that they are dead, but the letter didn't come as a surprise. The demands are outrageous and no normal person would have even considered them. I am going to oblige.
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(The following is an extract of a diary, found in the personal belongings of a convict) 12/15/1772 America, Colorado
The meeting is in a few minutes. I noticed that the other two are starting to get nervous, and that they keep looking at each other, secretly. I don't suspect them to run out on me, but I never worked with them before. As such, I do not really trust them. After all, they are criminals. And I guess it is normal to be nervous when dealing with something as delicate as this. Messing with a judge is never without risk and had I not approached them, had my plan not been convincing, they would never have dared to. It was not that they are cowards. They were just not suicidal. Attempting this without a failsafe plan would have been pure idiocy. But I knew that everything would work perfectly. I knew. After all the plan was already in motion, and up till now, nothing had gone wrong. The girl had not made problems yet, just sat in a corner, crying and murmuring to herself. I guess I could get her to stop doing that, tell her she would be alright. But where would be the fun in that? Sometimes, one had to enjoy the tiny things in life, like sorrow and despair. I watched the Irish guy. The way he glances at his russian partner and then over to me. He seemed nervous and exhausted. I don't care why, his personal problems don't have any place here and if I even developed the start of the feeling that he won't pull through, I will have to dispose of him. I don't know how his partner would react. They really are an odd couple, a Russian and an Irishman. The short time we have worked together, they fought more than my terrible parents, back in the days. And my parents had fought a lot. Before my father died and left me with that bitch that is. Not that he had much choice in the matter, but still. Anyway, the meet is going to happen soon, at least if that prick even cared. But my information suggested that he cared, if not about his wife, at least about his daughter. Not like I could do something about his wife. That had to happen. He had to know I would kill if provoked.
(The following is the retelling of the events by federal judge Stuart) 12/15/1772 America, Colorado
As asked in the letter I filled out ten pardons. I did it reluctantly, even though I knew he would not get away. I also contacted the sheriff and requested his and the deputies' help, in capturing the criminals. The meeting took place outside of a small town near my home, with its popular forest entrance named Elwood forest. I was going to get my daughter back and then bring that bastard to justice.
I was welcomed by two men, both wearing bland masks. They checked me for weapons and then told me to follow them. While we walked deeper into the woods, the taller man didn't utter a single word but his smaller partner easily made up for that. He complained to the taller one in Russian. And even though I didn't understand a single word, the angry glares they kept sending me spoke volumes of who they were talking about. I didn't even try to guess what I had done to them. I just tried to memorize everything they did and tried to guess things about them. All information had the potential of being the one to capture them later. After a bit of walking we came upon a clearing. My daughter was sitting there, crying quietly, but looking healthy and well fed. I was a bit scared that they would harm her. That would have looked terrible on the next family portray. And in the newspaper articles that were sure to follow this ordeal. I thought, that they would surely help my reputation. I was already able to see the headlines "Brave daughter of judge escapes vicious kidnappers". And I would have been the grateful father that had gone through terrible times. That would help me in court, at least for a while. Next to my daughter stood the third man, the one I knew. He looked exactly as I remembered him. Wearing a dark long coat, his right eye covered by a worn eye patch. The man I suspected of being behind all this. So I was right. I knew our partnership had been a mistake. But at least I had gotten a lot of money out of it. And now my wife was dead. The man had smiled, a cruel, degrading smile. He put his smoke out and raised one eyebrow. I took a calming breath, risked my whole career and handed the pardons to the man who had kidnapped my daughter and murdered my wife. He counted them silently and then leisurely gave them to the tall silent guy. That guy exchanged one last look with the loud one and then left the clearing. The man, still standing next to my daughter, put a hand on her shoulder. When I took a step towards them, the man stopped me with a look. He tilted his head, not taking his eyes of me. Slowly he removed his second hand from his coats pocket, revealing a small handgun. I tried to make myself fear for my daughter but couldn't bring myself to do it. I sighed. It would have looked better had she survived, but I guess the sheriff was too far behind to still rescue her. The girl whimpered when the man moved his hand into her hair and forced her to look at me. He raised his gun. Fired. The girl fell. Blood splattered everywhere.
At the end, we only managed to arrest the leader. The pardons were lost, my daughter dead. And I had to fake being devastated at not even getting to bury my daughter's body, since the loud guy took it with him when he left the woods, god knows why. Nobody told me how he got out and I didn't care. I had business to attend to.
