February 19,
1974
Haly's Circus. A place where families and friends came for
show and stayed for the laughs. We traveled from city to city to do what we did
best. I worked here ever since I was 4. Trapeze artist. Ran in the family
business. Today we put on the last show in Queensville. 5-night spectacular.
Had my fun, but I can’t wait for it to be over. My first solo today. Nervous but anxious. Would love to make my parents
proud. Live up to their name. The Flying Graysons, we were called. Jon
“Gliding” Grayson and “The Marvelous” Maggie Grayson. They said I’d earn my title tonight. I hope
they are right.
Ringmaster: Ladies and Gentleman, Boys and Girls, I have the
prestigious honor of welcoming to the stage; The Flying Graysons!”
My parents ran out into the welcoming cheers. They were to
do their 15 minute act. Then my 3 minute solo. Then our Grand Finale. I climbed
the ladder to the nearest balcony. Looked toward them. Saw them prepare. Such
role models, even as my goofy loveable parents. I gazed at the props. They were
going to do the infamous “Grayson Star Press”; Dad swings and back flips into
the air while Mom swings and grabs him with her legs, swinging back to safety
on her balcony. I looked at the cables connecting to my mom’s trapeze. They ran
toward a wooden pole. But something was odd. The cord shook vigorously even
though no one touched them in sight. I went to check it out. Then I saw it. Two
men, buff and wearing all black, tampering with the cord. They looked at me.
Evil intentions in their eyes. I ran as fast as I could. Knew they were
following. I heard the last thing I ever
could at that moment. The horn that signaled the act would begin. I looked as I
ran. My father let go of his trapeze and went soaring. My mom went in for the
save. Then her cord snapped. She plummeted to the ground with the trapeze, my
father followed her. I barely heard the gasps leading into dead silence. Needed
sanctuary. Now. Bolted out nearest exit.
Knew they were still on my trail. Headed out into alley. I tripped. Fell and
turned as a chemical truck swerved. It
hit the side of the ally. Sprung a leak. Waste sprayed into my eyes. Everything
faded out slowly to my screams of agony.
June 17,
2011
Now
Grayson: So, let me make sure I have this right.
I spoke loud enough
for the court to hear. Pushed up my crimson shades. Looked at the faded echo of
the defendant’s lawyer. The man raped and abducted a 14 year old girl. Convict’s
named Kenny Trynn. Sicko with a smug
look on his face. His lawyer, Peter Kerry, is one of the dirtiest sons of a
bitch there is.
Grayson: You tell me,
in front of this entire courtroom, under oath, that you did not rape Kelly
Caraway, on the date of May 26, in Davidson Hotel Room 114, where
witnesses SAW you take her into the room claiming she was your daughter, and
the only evidence you have to prove otherwise is your word…
Kerry: Objection, this man is just provoking my client…
Grayson: You’re provoking me, Kerry! I ought to…
The judge pounds her gavel.
Judge: Mr. Grayson! Please proceed! Objection is …
She was interrupted. A gun shot rattled in the room. Blood
splattered upon her cheek. Kenny’s grin
was replaced with a gaunt face that slammed on the wooden counter. Blood
dripped out of the bullet wound in his skull. The man that shot him was
identified as Austin Caraway. Kelly’s father. Security apprehended him almost immediately.
Judge: *Pounds Gavel* I order this trial to be postponed
until the 25 of July. Court dismissed.
Matthew Richard
Grayson’s Apartment
19255 S. Hines Ave.
Hell’s Haven, New
York
I sat at my desk at my office. Reviewing the same old
files. “The Death of the Flying Graysons”. Still remember that night. How I became “blind”
and developed super sonic hearing. I have dedicated my life to avenging my parents’
death. I can’t find a good lead. All
links to potential crime syndicates can’t be validated. I wipe the sweat off my
forehead. Must have gone through 6 dozen crime reports tonight.
*Knock Knock*
Grayson: Come in Harvey.
The door swings open. Harvey Nelson. Best friend since the
incident at Queensville. Phenomenal detective. One of the few cops I actually
still have respect for. He’s had my back ever since I became a lawyer. And
being friends with a detective has its, privileges.
Nelson: How did you---wait never mind. I got mail.
He plunks down a flash drive on my desk.
Nelson: I had to do a check on the Caraway house. Managed to
pull out some files you’ll find interesting.
After scavenging around the files, I took out the flash
drive.
Nelson: Looks like Caraway has been visiting Fisk
Enterprises on more than 1 occasion, almost as much as that scumbag lawyer,
Peter Kerry”
Grayson: *Rubs his chin* and the emails?
Nelson: Validate that Austin Caraway is actually responsible
for the rape of his daughter, that it was a setup to kill off Kenny Trynn. AND embarrass
Kerry.
Grayson: And the return email is norkd17@fiske.com?
Nelson: Well, “Fiske” sounds a lot like Fisk Enterprises to
me, but hey I’m just the Detective here.
Grayson: Harvey,
would you mind if I kept this flash drive for awhile?
Nelson: *sighs* Go Ahead. I’m heading back to my place
tonight. Don’t do anything stupid.
Harvey left. I swung the chair around and walked over to the
closet.
Grayson: *to himself* Harvey, Harvey, Harvey.
I opened the closet to reveal the only secret I’ve kept from
my long time best friend. The garb of the Crusader of himself...
Grayson: Why on Earth would you think I do that?
Nightdevil.
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