"Before Nightfall: the Beginning of the Ebon Phoenix, Part II"
I woke that night from the same dream I’d been having off and on for ten years. I was driving back to my home to bury my parents when I saw the raging inferno that had been my hometown. Something arose from the flames and ash and came down all around me. Surrounded by fire but not burning, surrounded by darkness but not afraid. The ... thing ... had given me strength and purpose. I was to go forward, to seek out the ones who had done this, and to get its - and my - revenge.
And every time he had awoken in this way, Don would find himself unable to return to sleep. Andrew Stawarski - his friend, cook, and personal caretaker - came to check up on him, as Andy often did, and knew immediately what Don had seen. “Brighton again, Homes?”
After the death of his loved ones, Andy was the only one who still called Don by anything other than a formal name. “Yeah, Andy. I know there’s really nothing I can do about it, but I almost feel as though something keeps calling to me, wanting me to seek revenge for what was done.
“But I’m no fighter, Andy. I know a few techniques I’ve picked up over the years, but I’m a far cry from the most capable man on the planet to do such a thing.”
Andy shrugged. “I think you’re just telling yourself this to keep from trying. My father died at a young age, and if it had happened under circumstances like that, I would have wanted revenge. It’s easy to understand...”
“But I don’t believe in ‘revenge’!” Don growled.
“Perhaps you should start with believing in yourself, first,” Andy said, walking back to his room. “Maybe the rest will follow.”
Andy had been the kick in Don’s backside for the last leg of his lifetime. Much later, when looking back on his years, Don would become firmly convinced that, were it not for Andy’s not-at-all-subtle approach to motivating him, he probably wouldn’t have had the strength or conviction to get up each day. It’s awfully difficult to get up every morning when you find yourself sick of keeping up appearances, being a respected civic leader, and know, deep down inside, that there is no one on this planet who will love you unconditionally, because some sick, malicious entity decided your whole family needed to die. Luckily, it never quite got to the point where Andy needed to install electroshock therapy devices in Don’s bed to get him “properly motivated” to get moving, though Don had heard rumor of Andy’s cattle prod collection.
Don's unique story had seen world-wide publicity, and therefore, he’d had his fair share of people coming to the mansion, pretending to be long-lost fifth cousins or great nephews or something, claiming to have “survived the massacre” and to be his next-of-kin and heir to the new Ford empire. Andy was quite used to dealing with these phoneys, and took twisted delight in threatening to release the dogs. Andy also never told Don of these encounters, because it would reminded his boss that he no longer had anyone to call family. However, today would prove both of them wrong.
The bell rang, and Andy answered it. That much went according to routine. A young blond teenaged boy stood there, wearing a modest suit and bearing a confused look and a worried grin. “Uncle Donnie?” the boy asked, staring quizzically at Andy.
Andy took a step back with a finger held up to the boy. There was something strange about this, but Andy couldn’t remember what it was, nor why this encounter struck him as odd. “One second,” he trailed off, looking just as curiously at the boy as the boy had at him.
“Don?” Andy asked over the intercom.
“Yes?” the voice answered.
“Would you come to the front door, please?”
A few minutes later, Don stood in the entry hall, looking as confused as Andy. “Who is it?” he asked, looking past his butler to the closed front door.
Andy cleared his throat and paused before choosing his words carefully. “You said that no one but your family and people from your hometown call you ‘Donnie,’ right?”
“Yeah. Why, what’s wrong?”
“There’s a young gentleman at the door, looking for ‘Uncle Donnie.’”
“You’re shitting me.”
Andy shook his head. “Go talk to him yourself.”
Don opened the door, staring slack-jawed into a face he’d not seen in ages. “Uncle Donnie?” the face asked again, even more worried and perplexed than before.
“Charles? Charles Danyael Lemp?” Don’s voice cracked and croaked a bit, choking as he spoke the words. “Is it really you?”
The boy seemed to smile for the first time since Andy had seen him. “Yes! Yes, it’s me, uncle Donnie!” Don threw his arms open and embraced the young man.
“What are you doing in Charleston?” Don asked.
“I’m coming to school here, at Eastern Illinois University, this fall! I’m going to go for my education degree. I’m going to teach, like Mom!”
Don just chuckled. “How is your mother?”
Charles sighed and looked down. “Not good.”
“You want to come in and talk about it, Charles?”
All he could do was nod. “Andy, would you get my ‘nephew’ here a drink, and join us in the sitting room? I think we have a lot of catching up to do.”
*
Charles explained that he was getting almost a full free ride through college because his mother had been a teacher as well as becoming a cancer victim. Elisa, once Lemp and now Crockett again, had been needing proper treatment for months, and she had finally broken down to ask for help. With Don being the unofficial godfather to her children, and at one time having been thought to be the actual father by hospital staff, as well as her “adopted” brother, she hoped he would help a woman who’d raised two boys on a teacher’s salary.
“She didn’t need to go to such great lengths to ask for help, Charles,” Don finally said, after letting his “nephew” speak his piece. “A simple phone call and I would have opened a whole hospital wing in her name, private care and all.”
He laughed and shook his head, filling the house with the most genuine noise it had heard in a long time. “Exactly. That’s why she sent me here with a sob story. She doesn’t want special treatment, just regular treatment. She wants it to be quiet, unimportant, and completely media-free.” He paused to sip some of Andy’s sweetened lemonade tea. “She didn’t want cameras on her, 24/7, broadcasting the life struggles of someone in the life of Don Ford. That, and she doesn’t want to exist in your shadow.” He laughed again.
“Fair enough,” Don said, taking a swig of the drink himself. “So, you just want me to check her in, quietly, and make sure she gets the help she needs while you go to school. What about Trina or Xavior?”
“Mom left Trina a few years ago. Kept saying, ‘if I had wanted a man, I would have gotten married ... again.’” He snickered. “And Xavior is at school right now. High school starts a little earlier than college.”
“So, you’re living in Charleston now?”
He nodded. “Moved back to Illinois after Grandma died and Mom left Trina. Moved here when she ran out of money.”
“Good. I can have my secret enforcers watch you while you sleep. Make sure you and your brother don’t start shit in my city.” Charles spit his drink, barely making it into his glass. “Just kidding,” Don said, smirking, “but I would like to make sure you and yours are all right.”
Charles coughed a few times to clear his throat after the joke, then nodded. “Thanks, Uncle Donnie. I’m sure Mom would appreciate that.”
“I’ll phone one of my workers and have her take your mom to the hospital. That way, we spare unwanted publicity. Hey, Andy? Would you get me the phone, please?”
Andy returned, bearing the cordless phone on a silver tray. Don shook his head as he took it off the tray. “Thanks for the theatrics, Andy, but Charles doesn’t need a display of my propriety. They don’t care how loaded I am, as long as I can get things done.”
Don took the phone and dialed the security post at FordTech Enterprises. “Hey, Gavin? Can I ask a favor?”
“Not right now, sir. I’m afraid something’s happened. The plant manager’s been trying to call you all afternoon. There’s been a break-in, sir.”
“What happened?”
“The prototype Ebbing Feedback Suit is missing.”
And every time he had awoken in this way, Don would find himself unable to return to sleep. Andrew Stawarski - his friend, cook, and personal caretaker - came to check up on him, as Andy often did, and knew immediately what Don had seen. “Brighton again, Homes?”
After the death of his loved ones, Andy was the only one who still called Don by anything other than a formal name. “Yeah, Andy. I know there’s really nothing I can do about it, but I almost feel as though something keeps calling to me, wanting me to seek revenge for what was done.
“But I’m no fighter, Andy. I know a few techniques I’ve picked up over the years, but I’m a far cry from the most capable man on the planet to do such a thing.”
Andy shrugged. “I think you’re just telling yourself this to keep from trying. My father died at a young age, and if it had happened under circumstances like that, I would have wanted revenge. It’s easy to understand...”
“But I don’t believe in ‘revenge’!” Don growled.
“Perhaps you should start with believing in yourself, first,” Andy said, walking back to his room. “Maybe the rest will follow.”
Andy had been the kick in Don’s backside for the last leg of his lifetime. Much later, when looking back on his years, Don would become firmly convinced that, were it not for Andy’s not-at-all-subtle approach to motivating him, he probably wouldn’t have had the strength or conviction to get up each day. It’s awfully difficult to get up every morning when you find yourself sick of keeping up appearances, being a respected civic leader, and know, deep down inside, that there is no one on this planet who will love you unconditionally, because some sick, malicious entity decided your whole family needed to die. Luckily, it never quite got to the point where Andy needed to install electroshock therapy devices in Don’s bed to get him “properly motivated” to get moving, though Don had heard rumor of Andy’s cattle prod collection.
Don's unique story had seen world-wide publicity, and therefore, he’d had his fair share of people coming to the mansion, pretending to be long-lost fifth cousins or great nephews or something, claiming to have “survived the massacre” and to be his next-of-kin and heir to the new Ford empire. Andy was quite used to dealing with these phoneys, and took twisted delight in threatening to release the dogs. Andy also never told Don of these encounters, because it would reminded his boss that he no longer had anyone to call family. However, today would prove both of them wrong.
The bell rang, and Andy answered it. That much went according to routine. A young blond teenaged boy stood there, wearing a modest suit and bearing a confused look and a worried grin. “Uncle Donnie?” the boy asked, staring quizzically at Andy.
Andy took a step back with a finger held up to the boy. There was something strange about this, but Andy couldn’t remember what it was, nor why this encounter struck him as odd. “One second,” he trailed off, looking just as curiously at the boy as the boy had at him.
“Don?” Andy asked over the intercom.
“Yes?” the voice answered.
“Would you come to the front door, please?”
A few minutes later, Don stood in the entry hall, looking as confused as Andy. “Who is it?” he asked, looking past his butler to the closed front door.
Andy cleared his throat and paused before choosing his words carefully. “You said that no one but your family and people from your hometown call you ‘Donnie,’ right?”
“Yeah. Why, what’s wrong?”
“There’s a young gentleman at the door, looking for ‘Uncle Donnie.’”
“You’re shitting me.”
Andy shook his head. “Go talk to him yourself.”
Don opened the door, staring slack-jawed into a face he’d not seen in ages. “Uncle Donnie?” the face asked again, even more worried and perplexed than before.
“Charles? Charles Danyael Lemp?” Don’s voice cracked and croaked a bit, choking as he spoke the words. “Is it really you?”
The boy seemed to smile for the first time since Andy had seen him. “Yes! Yes, it’s me, uncle Donnie!” Don threw his arms open and embraced the young man.
“What are you doing in Charleston?” Don asked.
“I’m coming to school here, at Eastern Illinois University, this fall! I’m going to go for my education degree. I’m going to teach, like Mom!”
Don just chuckled. “How is your mother?”
Charles sighed and looked down. “Not good.”
“You want to come in and talk about it, Charles?”
All he could do was nod. “Andy, would you get my ‘nephew’ here a drink, and join us in the sitting room? I think we have a lot of catching up to do.”
*
Charles explained that he was getting almost a full free ride through college because his mother had been a teacher as well as becoming a cancer victim. Elisa, once Lemp and now Crockett again, had been needing proper treatment for months, and she had finally broken down to ask for help. With Don being the unofficial godfather to her children, and at one time having been thought to be the actual father by hospital staff, as well as her “adopted” brother, she hoped he would help a woman who’d raised two boys on a teacher’s salary.
“She didn’t need to go to such great lengths to ask for help, Charles,” Don finally said, after letting his “nephew” speak his piece. “A simple phone call and I would have opened a whole hospital wing in her name, private care and all.”
He laughed and shook his head, filling the house with the most genuine noise it had heard in a long time. “Exactly. That’s why she sent me here with a sob story. She doesn’t want special treatment, just regular treatment. She wants it to be quiet, unimportant, and completely media-free.” He paused to sip some of Andy’s sweetened lemonade tea. “She didn’t want cameras on her, 24/7, broadcasting the life struggles of someone in the life of Don Ford. That, and she doesn’t want to exist in your shadow.” He laughed again.
“Fair enough,” Don said, taking a swig of the drink himself. “So, you just want me to check her in, quietly, and make sure she gets the help she needs while you go to school. What about Trina or Xavior?”
“Mom left Trina a few years ago. Kept saying, ‘if I had wanted a man, I would have gotten married ... again.’” He snickered. “And Xavior is at school right now. High school starts a little earlier than college.”
“So, you’re living in Charleston now?”
He nodded. “Moved back to Illinois after Grandma died and Mom left Trina. Moved here when she ran out of money.”
“Good. I can have my secret enforcers watch you while you sleep. Make sure you and your brother don’t start shit in my city.” Charles spit his drink, barely making it into his glass. “Just kidding,” Don said, smirking, “but I would like to make sure you and yours are all right.”
Charles coughed a few times to clear his throat after the joke, then nodded. “Thanks, Uncle Donnie. I’m sure Mom would appreciate that.”
“I’ll phone one of my workers and have her take your mom to the hospital. That way, we spare unwanted publicity. Hey, Andy? Would you get me the phone, please?”
Andy returned, bearing the cordless phone on a silver tray. Don shook his head as he took it off the tray. “Thanks for the theatrics, Andy, but Charles doesn’t need a display of my propriety. They don’t care how loaded I am, as long as I can get things done.”
Don took the phone and dialed the security post at FordTech Enterprises. “Hey, Gavin? Can I ask a favor?”
“Not right now, sir. I’m afraid something’s happened. The plant manager’s been trying to call you all afternoon. There’s been a break-in, sir.”
“What happened?”
“The prototype Ebbing Feedback Suit is missing.”