Vengeance: A Halloween Novella

Prologue

Halloween 2020

Vancouver, Canada

It's a clear evening in Vancouver, Canada. It had just poured rain an hour earlier, but it has since cleared up. A beautiful evening with a full Harvest moon shines overhead, lighting up everything below, from the bustling streets and small forests to the entire perimeter of the Rogers' Arena property.

Walking rapidly up to the massive complex is a dark figure with a light gray hoodie on with black compression pants. He pulls the hoodie over his head more as he quickens his pace, tossing glances behind him as he crosses a familiar street (The intersection of Pat Quinn Way and Pacific Boulevard).

He's got a purpose. An urgency.

He mutters to himself, snapping his head back to look before him and see where he is walking to. "Soon Elias Pettersson will see that I am the only TRUE one for him! I'll show him with a fancy dinner and...maybe an elegant band."

As he reaches the other side, he steps through a fresh rain puddle, splashing water onto the bottom of his pants. He doesn't mind it, pressing on.

One of the streetlights across the street, flickers as he walks by. A low rumble comes from the few cars left on the interstate over his head.

Almost there.

But he can sense that he isn't alone as he heads into the center of the plaza.

A few feet back is another dark figure, keeping pace with him. He's got a similar black hoodie with pants and a backwards hat on his head. The light gray hooded figure can't see colors in the darkness of the night - even the dim light being shed by the moon isn't enough to see by.

He's only a few feet from the base of the staircase that leads up to one of the main entrances of the arena, when he decides to halt in his pace and spin around. "Who's there?! What do you want?"

There is only the sound of the breeze. A chill rushes through his body, the hair on his arms, legs and neck standing on end, even with the hoodie on.

The other figure steps around the concrete pillar that is attached to the highway. As he emerges from the shadows at the far end of the plaza, he pushes back his hood to reveal a head full of luscious, wavy locks of light colored - definitely blond - hair. His eyes are rather dark in color, though shimmering under the dim moonlight that's cast between the highway and the grand building.

"I can't let you go in there!" the blond haired man shouts out, tapping his pocket.

There is something about this guy that is oddly familiar, but also unfamiliar at the same time. If there was only a little more lighting to see him...

The gray hooded man, shoves his hood back from his head. A scowl is imprinted on his face, unamused from having been disturbed from his mission. He has curly light brunette locks of hair with a ginger tint to them.

"Why is that?" the curly haired man snarls. "I have a VERY important mission to carry out!" He sharply runs a rough gloved hand through his curls. I don't have time to dilly dally like this with creepy strangers.

"I know what you're going to do. I know who you're here to see and I just can't allow that." the blond jams his hand into the pocket of his hoodie and then with a quick motion, whips out a silver pistol from inside.

Instinctively, the curly man throws his hands up in self-defense. "Now, now, let's not do something that we're going to later regret."

The blond aims the gun at the curly brunette and pulls back on the trigger. The click of it echoes around the plaza, slicing over the rumbles from the highway.

"You're going to shoot me for wanting to go out with Elias Pettersson?" the brunette snickers. "Take your best shot then. But I warn you--"

He is cut off by the thunderous crack of the gun going off. The bullet that had been nestled inside the barrel, waiting, ready to spring like a predator in the brush tracking prey, sails through the crisp night air.

It strikes its target, the brunette man, right in the chest where his heart is and nestles into place to cause its irreversible damage. Life halts at that moment. All the noises cease around him, morphing into a strange ringing noise that fills his ears.

"I will--" the curly haired brunette man continues to try and get out his message, though it is a sickening gasp. He staggers in place, clutching at his heart. His vision blurs over and he slumps down to his knees and then hits the pavement.

Blood pours out of the wound in his chest, staining the plaza.

The blond lowers the gun and dashes over to him, drawing his hoodie back over his head. He skids to a halt, standing over the curly brunette man that is bleeding out on the plaza pavement. He glances around and then drops down, placing his index and middle finger to the brunette's neck.

There's no pulse.

He jumps back up to his feet. "Sorry, this was for your own good as well as Petey's. You can't bother him anymore, Matthew Tkachuk."