welcome to crvboy - Destiny of Time by Black Heart

The rushed sound of tinkling filtered through the warm night breeze. A dark figure stumbled madly through a forest of massive stone columns. The brightly colored red and blue hews of which where barely noticeable by the flickering light of a hand held torch.

The soft repetitive clacking of leather soled sandals against the stone floor abruptly ceased as a rush of wind carrying a mortal howl billowed the hanging lapis dyed linens and caused the torch in the figures grip to flicker menacingly.

The unseen figure hastily altered its course, no longer rushing straight down the darkened hallway before him. Instead he veered to his right down another hallway, before he broke out in a terrified run from the source of the horrid cry.

"Wake up." A ghostly voice whispered breathlessly in the blackness.

The face of a boy slowly emerged from the fog of nothingness. The face was easily recognizable, even with out its share of time in years and gold gilt.

"We must go." The horse translucent voice pleaded as another scream reverberated off the stonewalls, and along the corridors.

The young boy dutifully complied. Quickly dressing the two turned to make their leave of the bedchamber only to be frozen in place with fear.

"Have you ever seen blue burn?"

Susan woke with a start, her chest constricted in fear and covered in a cold sweat. It took her a moment to realize where she was. The haunting dream clutching her senses in a strangle hold, even after having occurred nightly for years.

Now fully awake she found herself in the familiar confines of her own apartment living room. The small room was washed in the flickering sterile blue glow from the television. The screen of which danced with images of the American flag as Ray Charles sang in the background.

Her teenage son lay sprawled out in the recliner on the opposite side of the room. Susan often watched him sleep when the reoccurring dream stole her slumber. It was these moments that she found herself wondering what he dreamt about in the still of night, what things brought the innocent smile to his sleeping lips.

As she watched him sleep peacefully she reminisced on the events in her life since the accident that almost claimed her life. She was now a pensioner that had struggled for two long years learning to walk again, a feat that still requires the use of a cane on certain days.

She battled through a bout of depression when the N.O.P.D. brass decided to retire her outright; they didn't even let her try to return to the job, a fact that only served to make her bitter when she dwelled on it. So she filled the empty days Chris spent in school writing pulp detective novels.

Pulitzer Prize material they weren't and most likely never would be, leaning instead toward the mass market. The heroic, yet slightly unbelievable lead detective matched against a cunningly brilliant and equally psychotic criminal. She would also toss in the usual cast of assorted weirdoes to try and cover her criminal's trail, but he was always caught in the end.

Even though what she considered her own villain, had escaped her in real life. Maybe the novels were some sort of attempt to make good on the terrible mistake that transpired in that alleyway over a decade ago. The case that has long since haunted her in sleep and wake; was officially closed not long after her accident. She had asked why thousands of times before receiving the old 'not enough resources' line.

He was officially listed as dead, even though no body was ever recovered and her repeated claims that she had seen him and his assailant alive and well in that alley way. They refused to believe her though, taking the approach that the whole scenario was cooked up by her brain as she laid in a coma for days.

They had almost succeeded in convincing her that was the case. If it wasn't for the dreams, they stubbornly reinforced her version of the events that day. the same ones that had plagued her every resting moment since.

The same ghostly face greeted her whenever she closed her eyes to block out the world. The brilliant deep blue sapphire eyes appeared in the darkness. Reminding her of what she had let go. It was that reason that she began looking into the case again. Pouring over her notes seemed to be the only thing that kept the ghosts at bay.

She had read and reread her notes a million times. Often late at night she would find herself staring endlessly at a worn photocopy of Caleb. Looking for something, anything she could have missed the first thousand times. Yet the answers she sought eluded her masterfully.

Her obsession had led her in every direction until it was exhausted, including the history of New Orleans. It was while looking into the torrid reputation of the city's long defunct legalized brothel district Storyville that she saw a familiar face gazing back at her.

The photograph was in poor condition, scratched and faded but even through the grainy sepia toned finish the eyes stood out. Just as enigmatic in the brownish tint as they were in that small alley. The picture and its occupant scared Susan to the point where she walked away, and stayed away for two years. Until those bothersome dreams drug her back almost kicking and screaming.

The story surrounding the photograph was that the young man pictured had saved the only son of a well to do Creole family. The 9-year-old boy had thought it would be fun and adventurous to swim away from the banks of the river. The fun turned to terror as the child learned first hand about the treacherous undertow the river was famous for.

The story however was conflicted on his name, citing two different names Demitrius and Colin. All that was known of the young mans background was that he had been a rescued servant from the blaze at the LaLaurie house. The article neglected to mention the history of 1140 Royale, but it was surely whispered knowledge anyhow.

Faced with the daunting task of searching endlessly through birth and death records for a person with the first name of either Demitrius or Colin, She opted instead to look into the family of the boy he saved. Jean Pierre Beauvois.

Perhaps if the family was still alive a member could shed insight into the mysterious person that haunted her every second. As luck would have it The Beauvois family was still alive and well, but all attempts at a meeting were either ignored or handled through a family attorney. That was until one of the family members agreed to talk.

As overjoyed with the meeting, that would take place in less then 10 hours. Its setting perplexed her however. They were meeting in the offices of the family's legal representative, downtown. She couldn't understand why the family was being so standoffish, but she knew it was suspicious.

Susan grudgingly pulled her self from the comfort of the couch, willing herself to cross the apartment and flick the power button on the Monitor that sat on her desk. If the ghosts wouldn't let her sleep the night away, perhaps exercising one more demon would. Not only that her publisher would be overjoyed to have a book ahead of schedule for once.

"......And in other news. The French Quarter has been overrun in a flock of Black Birds. The swarm of winged creatures arrived around midnight last night. Despite the best efforts of animal control this morning they show no signs of leaving any time soon." The bubbly brunette spoke to an unseen audience as an implanted square of video played over her right shoulder.

She rapidly disappeared from the screen as they broke to a taped montage of people trying to scatter the feathered scavengers from stoops and balconies.

Susan's head rose slowly from the hard desktop where it had fallen only a few hours before. Her son Chris had already awoke and was racing out of the kitchen with a half eaten toaster pastry hanging from his mouth.

"Oh honey, I'm sorry." She said groggily pulling herself from the desk chair. "Give me a second and Ill drive you to school."

"Ma', don't worry about it." He said pulling the pastry from his mouth and placing a sticky sugar sweet kiss on her cheek. "Ill catch the bus, you looked like you had a rough night. So I figured Id leave you sleep."

"Are you sure?" She began to protest.

"I'm already gone Ma'." He said giving her a smile before he pulled open the door. "I'll see you tonight; love ya and good luck on that interview or whatever."

With that he was out the door, and she was off to shower and get ready for her meeting.

Caleb stood in the tepid morning air, clad in only a pair of boxers. The cigarette burned easily in his fingers. He rested his weight on the wrought iron balcony railing Watching the serene tendrils of smoke waft their way toward the heavens,. All around him were the ruckus screeching cries of thousands of crows.

But his keen attention wasn't as focused on the tendrils of smoke as it appeared to be. In the distance was where his gaze lay engulfed. As many crows that were lounging where ever they could find a place to set, twice as many swirled, wings flapping, bodies colliding, in a terrifying twister of flesh.

One last drag of the cigarette after which, it was flung effortlessly to the street below. Only to be stalked and captured by no less then three of the loud birds. Caleb took one more look at the spectacle before making his retreat through the antique French doors that kept the quarter at bay.

He made his way to the large king bed and the billowing red comforter that seemingly swallowed its inhabitant. Caleb's arms fell precariously on the voluptuous bed spread, careful not to land on any unseen limbs buried with in. His trek continued until he spied a fleshy cheek buried with in the deep red jacquard print fabric.

Demitri's eyes slid open grudgingly as he became of the weight that cocooned him in the heavy duvet. He turned his head and looked up at his captor.

"Morning." Demitri said as he stifled a yawn.

"You need to see this." The content grin Caleb wore as he snuck up on Demitri faded as he spoke.

"What?" Demitri asked as he pulled himself up.

As he maneuvered out of the bed his cheek brushed nonchalantly against Caleb's. A passing moment of contact that wasn't lost to the two them. But it was ignored all the same.

"Outside, on the balcony." Caleb spoke, somewhat distantly as his hand absently stroked his cheek.

Demitri made his way to the small wrought iron encased veranda. Its weathered railings almost masked with a growth of ivy. The sight that met him as he stepped out was one that he had scene before. Black birds everywhere. Wings fluttering and flapping as if they were trying to shake something the eye couldn't see.

He too noticed the cloud of birds off in the horizon. So far, they resembled more a swarm of summer gnats rather then the large blackbirds they were. Packed so tightly the fought for what little room there was. Beaks gnashing against flesh wings pummeling one another.

When one of them would fall from the heavens, it appeared more like the invisible strings that had held them precariously aloft hand snapped under the pressure. During its precarious fall it would take one or two more of the swarming birds as it plummeted towards the earth.

Demitri stepped back from the railing.

"Have I ever told you the story of the crows?" Demitri asked as he returned to the hotel room.

"I don't think so why?" Caleb looked up from the edge of the bed where he was seated.

"The legend says that the souls of the damned, in order to escape the devils grasp, would clutch the tail feathers of the blackbird so they would soar above his reach. The birds in turn would flock to the nearest demon and try to shake the soul free. That's why you see a blackbird hop a few times before it finally takes flight" Demitri finished as he sat on the mattress next to Caleb