House Bound

You'll Rise Again

A Report

       Sean shook out his cramping hands, rolling his shoulders back as he reinserted the lock picking tools for the fifth time. He hoped a slight change in position might cause the door to magically spring open, but he doubted it.

       This really wasn't his thing, and for the billionth time, he wished with all of his soul that he had his younger brothers with him. Luke would have breezed through the lock in seconds, grinning at us while he did it.

       He wished he'd appreciated them more, learnt more from them, protected them better than he had. He found himself wishing for a lot of things lately.

       But if he still had his brothers, he wouldn't be here right now, anyway. 

       Owen's foot started tapping against the old wooden boards of the front deck, growing more and more impatient at each failed attempt.

       Unlike Sean, Owen didn't dare conjure up thoughts of his brothers. He couldn't bear to dwell on it. Instead, his sole focus was on maintaining his fury, and wrapping each condemning piece of evidence and enraging conversation from the past week around his mind like a shield. As long as he focused on their mission, he still had a purpose.

       He would have revenge, and that started tonight.

       Owen put a hand on Sean's shoulder, then reached down and grabbed his arm and pulled him up and out of the way, ignoring the questions his brother aimed at him and the useless tools he waved indignantly in his direction. They both knew this wasn't getting them anywhere any time soon, and as far as Owen was concerned, time had well and truly run out. 

       Owen braced himself, took a firm step forward and lifted his dominant leg in a powerful strike against the door, driving his heel into the keyhole. He channelled all of his grief and rage, every ounce of strength, and watched with a small amount of satisfaction as the door burst inward. The entire house seemed to shudder under the impact before emitting an eerie groaning noise as it slowly settled again.

       It would be nice to think that his anger carried enough fuel to empower him to crush his enemies with similar ease, but Owen could admit that the destruction before him was likely more a case of second-rate workmanship and a lack of upkeep around the decrepit looking home.

       It would take more effort to dispose of those who'd wronged his family, but he didn't mind that. No, he almost relished the idea.

       Owen found himself revelling in the release of having finally found an outlet. As much as he needed the distraction of blind fury, it was exhausting to maintain, yet he was empty without it. Owen craved that destructive outlet, and tonight he would take relief from his grief by systematically tearing apart everything that stood in his way. He would rip apart the man who lived in this house with his bare hands, and nothing could convince him it would be wrong to do so. Even Sean, ever the voice of reason, had nothing to say against his plans. Nothing would stop him until either he had torn everything apart, or his hands no longer worked.

      It had been a surprise, to say the least, when Victor's laptop starting beeping the night after the funeral. Logging on, Owen had discovered an alert indicating a significant transaction of funds into two of the accounts they had flagged at the start of their Ashley Waters mission. Millions of dollars between the two, untraceable as far as they could tell - only Victor's skills had made it this transparent, and it made Sean's heart swell with pride in his brother, while Owen was already spiralling deeper into darkness as he pondered the implications.