Soulless Chronicals: 6 Ft Under.

Necrotics Pt. 1

Our story opens in a small Wisconsin town....Tick....Tock...Tick...Tock.

The drone clicking of the grandfather clock was all that could be heard in the darkness, its consistent toll of time was left to be desired, as there were two things that seemed inevitable; that time would continue on, and Hawthorne was to be forgotten. Left in this cell that would ultimately become his grave. Hawthorne did all he could to remain calm, while giving extra effort to keep his sanity after spending the last two days in the darkness, while his ears drowned in the screams of the fellow detained and having no way silence them. Silence slowly came through as the last one lost their voice, and with this silence Hawthorne could think clearly. He had positioned himself with his hands in front of himself for days now, but when he brushed his sweat from his head he heard a sound a pin drop.Not exactly a pin in reality, but a lockpick he forgot he his in his length of his hair. The movement after all the time pulled it loose, and having gained possession of this lockpick from the floor he picked his cuffs. The his hands free he felt his wrists, and dubbed the pain away giving feeling into his fingers. The cell door was a new fashion electric operated, bullet proof glass door, and after a vigilant search there was no kink in its making. Like the others he laid on the bed awaiting the slow death to come. He knew he could last for another week, his sink was running and it was slowly draining drains giving him the ability to drink.

Looking into the mirror, his tired golden eyes stared back he found himself staring back. It was a moment to wonder was he really there. Alive?...or is this hell? He saw his long black hair was drapped to his side, hiding his shaven sides. His face was layered in a stubble save for the goatee that grew in thick. His tanned skin looked out of place against the bleached white walls. Turning away from the mirror, Hawthorne thought about the door that held his cell, and walked over to it's key hole with a fixated look in his eyes. Humming Dixie Hawthorne fiddled with the lock pick between his fingers and thought back to the moments that brought him to Hell. Not in jail, not in prison, but purgatorial hell for those arrested for a crime. Falsely accused crime, dug up and planned by someone who wished him Hell, and sadly Hawthorne felt he was getting exactly what that bastard dreamed.

<<<Flashback:Three Days Earlier>>>Born in New Orleans, Hawthorne Remey LaVeau was the only child of Of Harrison Remington and Janet LeVeau. Named after his Grandfather -motherside, and his father-Remey, he was hoped to have a bright future better than his parents. Growing up in the bayou, Hawthorne was taught the life off the land, fishing hunting, survival preparation, from his father, and his mother taught him the finer points of cooking, medicinal healing, and the family voodoo. Life was not hard, but there was no easy road for him, and though his parents never got to where they wanted they filled the cracks with love and kept him alive.One ungodly day both parents were killed in a tragic automobile accident, driving home from the store, and Hawthorne was sent upstate to live with his next of kin. Though this family was well educated, treated him well he felt the urge to act out, and it would always stem from his anger built up from his parents death. Hawthorne quickly learned he had the knack for being a romanticized thief, there was nothing he couldn't do, and this lead to a lot of crime. Through out his young life, the heat always licked against him, but he was never touched by the flames, never caught because of his calculative mind, and this made him untouchable. As it would come from time, eventually the things he stole would be passed through different fence-members and this caused a altercation with one gang, and gave him a deal of enemies. This moment, whether pity or grand in one eyes or another caused a whole calendar year, of cat and mouse between them."Psychologically Savvy...this paper goes on to speak of your psychological studies," The officer said slamming a file of papers down. "Its pleasing to know that we've finally caught you, for someone so ahead of us, finally caught proves that the good guys always win." "...How did you stay faceless this whole time....a name on the streets..." His partner attempted to push for an answer, failing as a bad cop."Send back the therapist he was at least more pleasant to speak to, and knowledgeable." Hawthorne said feeling aggravated, "He'll have all these answers for you."