Fallen Song Chapters 2 & 3
Fallen Song Chapters 2 & 3
The following material is under copyright, any redistribution or unauthorized reproduction of this work is prohibited without consent.
Chapter 2“If you are without judgment, then who are you but a sheep?” -Eliza BetaSo now, you know. I am on the side of justice. My steel-bladed tomahawk is the ender of torment, bringing retribution for the lost and alone. They will not find the bodies, they do not exist. I knew what to do. I've spent plenty time on crime scene clean-up crews, so the aftermath is not an issue. Think of me as the wielder; regard my weapon as the enlightened one. It breathes, it thinks, and it is alive.There I have done it. I let the cat out of the bag. The blade sings. This is how I know that it serves justice. A wrong righted. The more evil or despicable the slain the more beautiful the song, a simple equation. I call my ally “Fallen Song,” But I did not name it that... The blade has magical properties and is supernatural. A weapon smith forged it in the time of ancient Rome. Did you think a Native American made it? I know. A logical guess based on what you know so far, but irrevocably off the mark. No, it is much more. Who knows how many have fallen, how many have tasted its steel as a final farewell, after it clove straight through their skull to their gullet, the song radiating as they fell?The scarlet droplets signify the promise of a new tomorrow. Timeless beauty exists in each stream of blood as it spreads… the final crimson shadow of a vile perpetrator’s life. I have watched evil drain away in an instant. Before I kill an evildoer my sentiment is always the same, “Farewell fucker, you should have lived a much kinder, peaceful existence.” They no longer exist. I know that you might be thinking; who am I to be judge, jury and executioner? I am unimportant, right now. Keep in mind that there is a higher purpose to fulfill. I, along with my trusty instrument of justice protect innocents who would otherwise not be saved. The men and women who choose to victimize the helpless for their satisfaction are no less than guilty. They have been tried and sentenced to death. The judicial system has become a mockery. The fucked live on and the beautiful die.I, Thomas Van Pelt am the scales of justice and Fallen Song is my gavel. Before I settle on a course of action that ends a life, I take great pains to prove the perpetrator’s guilt. I require unwavering proof. Seldom have I ever caught them in the act, but I have followed suspects to obtain confirmations of guilt. Scott Deets was one of them, and it was through my involvement with him that awareness came to my troubled mind.
Chapter 3
“Even the foulest of all souls was created somewhere.” -Eliza Beta
Scott Deets was a diminutive fellow at 5’ 1”. He weighed in at around 135 pounds. His eyes were like slits across his face, dividing his forehead. This came along with a ghastly jaw line. His cold, dark obsidian pupils stared straight through me. His very presence filled me with a foreboding that could not be easily explained away. It is plausible that Deets would have made anyone feel as I did the first time I shook his hand, as if they had just greeted a monster. It was like having Joseph Himmler over for tea. It was most unsettling to say the least. On a chance Wednesday afternoon in February 2002, I had the unfortunate opportunity to meet Deets.I was riding along with my fiancée Tanya. She worked as a Missing Person’s Detective on day shift. I was a forensic crime scene detective on swing shift. Some days the only way I could see her was to ride shotgun, so there we were.As per any February Wednesday in Seattle, the rain was almost frozen, and coming down in near perfect streams. As the water pelted us, we rushed into a coffee bistro for a short break. We sat there in relative warmth, aside from our drenched clothing, discussing the eleven-year-old girl who had disappeared 54 hours earlier. Her name was Tanya Williams. For obvious reasons, my fiancée found that coincidence just enough of a reason to have become already personally involved with the case. Fifty-Four Hours. 54. From my perspective, I knew this could end up and probably would end up becoming my case. Soon I would get a call, and then I would be in some forsaken place, searching the rain-soaked or frozen area where they discovered poor little Miss Williams. I continued wondering if I would find any shred of evidence whatsoever of the assailant’s whereabouts or identity.Tanya was saying that the mother was with her daughter. She never should have let the young girl ride the bus back to Beacon Hill on her own. Beacon Hill was not too great of a place for a girl to be alone. She was certain some meth-head had abducted Tanya Williams. She spoke as if some tweaker was in the middle of raping Miss Williams that instant. I could hear tense frustration in Tanya’s voice and I felt claustrophobic in my desire to help the child. Tanya was going on and on about how meth was an epidemic, and how irresponsible the mother was... I stopped her mid-sentence, and asked where they were, and why did the mother send young Miss Williams home alone?“She was at the Office of Support Enforcement on First Street. Apparently there was a discrepancy in her payments.” Tanya hesitated then added, “They were waiting for almost two hours, and Tanya had homework so the mother, Ann Williams, let her go wait for the bus.” I looked at her and said the words that led to that sicko Deets, “Office of Child Support, huh? A lot of angry men hang out in that place. I would not be surprised if one of them really wanted to hurt somebody after that shit. Maybe we should ask the workers there if anyone who was in the office Monday fits the disturbed, angry type I’m talking about?”“You are one clever bastard, aren't you? Tanya said, and with that, we stood up, and faced the rain. Circumstances aside, it felt good to be with Tanya. Her proximity filled me with serenity, despite my lack of sleep. We pulled up to the meter and went inside. The fate of that son of a bitch Deets and Tanya Williams was already starting to unfold.I waited nearby while my fiancée made her inquiries; questions, so many questions. Asking the ones that matter most is subjective. Sometimes it the big questions that lead to the meat in a case, other times it is that tiny insignificant question. The one you ignore, the one that you think is stupid, inconsequential, that solves the riddle and unravels the truth.The obvious queries floated by, “How long were the Williams' waiting here? Did they say anything that seemed unusual?” The rhetoric was going nowhere. I was growing tired of the exchange, and coffee was doing nothing to stave of my inevitable crash. Having not slept through two shifts of work and fearing my impatience, I asked Tanya if I could ask a question. She agreed to give me a shot, having exhausted her ideas.The receptionist was a long-faced, heavyset African-American woman in her mid to late fifties, named Doreen. She looked on with an indifferent, “Don’t fuck with me white-bread” expression on her face.The question dropped from my lips weightlessly, like a cloud of cigar smoke, effortless, but heavy; “Doreen, aside from Miss Williams’ disappearance, what was the single most disturbing thing about your workday on Monday?” “You know,” Doreen, offered, “I am glad you asked me that question. It was that beady eyed little freak, Scott Deets.” I swear to Jesus that prick only comes here to torment me.” There it was, the suspect revealed. As Tanya quizzed Doreen about Deets, the case started to build a foundation. It did not take long to put together enough of a framework for us to move forward, and to seek Scott Deets out in person. Deets had been there that day, as he had been every Monday for the last few weeks. He made everyone who worked in the office nervous. He always spoke smoothly, confidently, while his eyes bore through their skulls. Apparently Deets was full of animosity, angry at a system that charged him copious denominations of money for child support. The support was for his 14-year-old daughter, Deets’ checks were garnished, without any hope of ever seeing her.Scott Deets was doing the usual, trying to demand the address of his ex-wife so he could subpoena her with visitation papers. I remember thinking, “How much of a slime-ball would a lawyer need to be to represent such a prick?” Doreen and her supervisor, Mark Young, told Deets to leave, or they would have the police come and cart his ass off to jail. The timing could not have been worse for Tanya Williams. They sent Deets out the door less than two minutes after her. We did more digging into Deets.Scott Deets was a maggot. He had been raping his daughter for years. He’d kept on brutalizing her, all the while telling her that if she told anyone he would kill her. First, he would start with her mother, a registered nurse who was currently working at a family practice in order to keep a low profile. Deets told the girl that if she told anyone, he would slowly cut pieces off her mother until she died… while he made young Tanya watch. Scott Deets was such a charming asshole.The prosecuting attorney did not have a choice but to let Deets go, due to some glitches in the chain of evidence. He was trying to build a case, but after their initial statements, both the mother and the daughter had repealed the statements all together, claiming they falsified them. Everyone knew Deets was guilty, but they were having fits trying to pin him down. The prosecutor used testimony from the health care workers under subpoena to help hang enough guilt on Deets, in an attempt to keep him from walking away altogether. It had all gone round and round without resolution. The case was like a roller coaster, but in the end, Deets agreed to register as a sex offender, community service, and two years of probation. He was a free man, free to keep on harming people.In my heart of hearts, I was full of fear for the young girl. The very idea of going to sleep became a distant memory. I was sick inside, I just knew. I knew that unspeakable suffering had come to Tanya Williams. I was not convinced that Deets would kill her. He had raped his daughter for years, years. That took dedication. It took purpose. Without her around, he had lost that purpose. No, she was most likely alive, however maybe not for long. Maybe she was already dead in her soul. Had Deets already sucked away the marrow of Tanya’s character? Either way, it could not be undone. I could not bring her life back and I could not save her soul. If Deets was truly the monster I had come to believe he was, I would perform a scarlet symphony with Fallen Song. I would damn him for eternity. Along with my trusty implement of justice, I would provide closure.Our route took us from First Street to First Avenue South. Upon leaving the Office of Support Enforcement, we set off for an unassuming car dealership in Burien, oddly enough on Burien’s First Avenue. This was where we met Deets. He worked as a lube technician in the service area. His boss answered some of our questions, but apparently was quite unaware that Scott Deets was a registered sex offender, or about the custody disagreements. This told me one thing; we were dealing with a person who was a master at concealing information, which in this case might have cost Tanya William’s her life.We walked over to the lube station, where I caught my first glimpse of Deets. He was standing apart from three of his co-workers, who were apparently on a lunch break. The devil had a cigarette cradled in his hand. His jutting pointed jaw was angular. It gave him the appearance of a demon, I kid you not. When I saw the fucker my stomach dropped six feet. Obviously the sight of Deets had a similar effect on my girl, because she let out a tiny gasp when she saw him.His eyes were the worst… they had this diabolical glint in them that chilled me to the bone. His stature was inconsequential; he was not a large man. It was his eyes, looking into them was like looking into the eyes of the worst of the worst. Ted Bundy eyes, demonic eyes, evil eyes.If looking at him did not convince me, shaking his hand did. Tanya still seemed shaken and was a bit off her game. This was unusual to say the least… she was not easily intimidated. Tanya did not introduce us at first, as she always did before. Uncharacteristically, she went pale. Therefore, in her stead, I offered my hand, “Scott Deets?” and pausing slightly, “I am Thomas Van Pelt, from the CSI division, and this is Tanya Richardson from missing persons. We’re sorry to take up your time, but we would like to ask you a couple questions.”Deets took my hand and a chill radiated throughout my body like a shockwave. It was like touching pure evil. I felt smothered by his blackness, as if I was lost in a fog for a moment, and then he let go of my hand and it was gone again. He saw. He felt my fear and a slight sparkle in his eye, only for an instant, told me this was his one true love; fear. Despite the cold, I felt a trickle of sweat roll down the back of my neck. Without a doubt this was the guy, case nearly solved. It does not take a rocket scientist to figure out what came next. Deets deftly avoided all our questions like a politician on the campaign trail. Yeah, he’d seen the girl and her mother. He went home took a shower and went bowling for his Monday night match at a local bowling alley. There were five people who could vouch for his whereabouts all night long. Deets’ alibi was nearly flawless, with only a one-hour window in between work and bowling. The absence was explained away by virtue of his going home for a shower and a quick sandwich before his night out. Scott Deets had been bowling until one in the morning… air-fucking-tight, wham-bam thank you ma’am. He had gotten off work for lunch, just as we had arrived. Deets looked at us and said, “My lunch hour is just about up, so if don’t you have any more questions, I would like to run and get a burger.”“No problem, Mr. Deets, thank-you for your time.” Tanya replied. Without a word he turned and walked away. That’s when I saw it, the hole in his story. That’s when I knew for sure. I knew without a doubt. I just needed to prove it. Deets owned a white panel van, the type that blends in, like a plumber’s van. No windows on the sides, dark tint in front. He’d kept her in there. I knew this without a doubt. She’d been bound and gagged, unconscious, drugged or dead, but that is what he did. He’d hidden her in the van and then when he could get away with it, he moved her.I gathered my resolve and began to mentally prepare myself for what would soon follow. I felt eager to hear the symphony that would mark the end of Scott Deets’ madness. Do you like Fallen Song so far? Then come by and like my Facebook page today: www.facebook.com/pages/Donny-Swords-A... And click the link below to get your copy!: http://www.amazon.com/Fallen-Song-Stygia--Volume-ebook/dp/B00CWTQM68/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1378336512&sr=8-1&keywords=Fallen+Song
The following material is under copyright, any redistribution or unauthorized reproduction of this work is prohibited without consent.
Chapter 2“If you are without judgment, then who are you but a sheep?” -Eliza BetaSo now, you know. I am on the side of justice. My steel-bladed tomahawk is the ender of torment, bringing retribution for the lost and alone. They will not find the bodies, they do not exist. I knew what to do. I've spent plenty time on crime scene clean-up crews, so the aftermath is not an issue. Think of me as the wielder; regard my weapon as the enlightened one. It breathes, it thinks, and it is alive.There I have done it. I let the cat out of the bag. The blade sings. This is how I know that it serves justice. A wrong righted. The more evil or despicable the slain the more beautiful the song, a simple equation. I call my ally “Fallen Song,” But I did not name it that... The blade has magical properties and is supernatural. A weapon smith forged it in the time of ancient Rome. Did you think a Native American made it? I know. A logical guess based on what you know so far, but irrevocably off the mark. No, it is much more. Who knows how many have fallen, how many have tasted its steel as a final farewell, after it clove straight through their skull to their gullet, the song radiating as they fell?The scarlet droplets signify the promise of a new tomorrow. Timeless beauty exists in each stream of blood as it spreads… the final crimson shadow of a vile perpetrator’s life. I have watched evil drain away in an instant. Before I kill an evildoer my sentiment is always the same, “Farewell fucker, you should have lived a much kinder, peaceful existence.” They no longer exist. I know that you might be thinking; who am I to be judge, jury and executioner? I am unimportant, right now. Keep in mind that there is a higher purpose to fulfill. I, along with my trusty instrument of justice protect innocents who would otherwise not be saved. The men and women who choose to victimize the helpless for their satisfaction are no less than guilty. They have been tried and sentenced to death. The judicial system has become a mockery. The fucked live on and the beautiful die.I, Thomas Van Pelt am the scales of justice and Fallen Song is my gavel. Before I settle on a course of action that ends a life, I take great pains to prove the perpetrator’s guilt. I require unwavering proof. Seldom have I ever caught them in the act, but I have followed suspects to obtain confirmations of guilt. Scott Deets was one of them, and it was through my involvement with him that awareness came to my troubled mind.
Chapter 3
“Even the foulest of all souls was created somewhere.” -Eliza Beta
Scott Deets was a diminutive fellow at 5’ 1”. He weighed in at around 135 pounds. His eyes were like slits across his face, dividing his forehead. This came along with a ghastly jaw line. His cold, dark obsidian pupils stared straight through me. His very presence filled me with a foreboding that could not be easily explained away. It is plausible that Deets would have made anyone feel as I did the first time I shook his hand, as if they had just greeted a monster. It was like having Joseph Himmler over for tea. It was most unsettling to say the least. On a chance Wednesday afternoon in February 2002, I had the unfortunate opportunity to meet Deets.I was riding along with my fiancée Tanya. She worked as a Missing Person’s Detective on day shift. I was a forensic crime scene detective on swing shift. Some days the only way I could see her was to ride shotgun, so there we were.As per any February Wednesday in Seattle, the rain was almost frozen, and coming down in near perfect streams. As the water pelted us, we rushed into a coffee bistro for a short break. We sat there in relative warmth, aside from our drenched clothing, discussing the eleven-year-old girl who had disappeared 54 hours earlier. Her name was Tanya Williams. For obvious reasons, my fiancée found that coincidence just enough of a reason to have become already personally involved with the case. Fifty-Four Hours. 54. From my perspective, I knew this could end up and probably would end up becoming my case. Soon I would get a call, and then I would be in some forsaken place, searching the rain-soaked or frozen area where they discovered poor little Miss Williams. I continued wondering if I would find any shred of evidence whatsoever of the assailant’s whereabouts or identity.Tanya was saying that the mother was with her daughter. She never should have let the young girl ride the bus back to Beacon Hill on her own. Beacon Hill was not too great of a place for a girl to be alone. She was certain some meth-head had abducted Tanya Williams. She spoke as if some tweaker was in the middle of raping Miss Williams that instant. I could hear tense frustration in Tanya’s voice and I felt claustrophobic in my desire to help the child. Tanya was going on and on about how meth was an epidemic, and how irresponsible the mother was... I stopped her mid-sentence, and asked where they were, and why did the mother send young Miss Williams home alone?“She was at the Office of Support Enforcement on First Street. Apparently there was a discrepancy in her payments.” Tanya hesitated then added, “They were waiting for almost two hours, and Tanya had homework so the mother, Ann Williams, let her go wait for the bus.” I looked at her and said the words that led to that sicko Deets, “Office of Child Support, huh? A lot of angry men hang out in that place. I would not be surprised if one of them really wanted to hurt somebody after that shit. Maybe we should ask the workers there if anyone who was in the office Monday fits the disturbed, angry type I’m talking about?”“You are one clever bastard, aren't you? Tanya said, and with that, we stood up, and faced the rain. Circumstances aside, it felt good to be with Tanya. Her proximity filled me with serenity, despite my lack of sleep. We pulled up to the meter and went inside. The fate of that son of a bitch Deets and Tanya Williams was already starting to unfold.I waited nearby while my fiancée made her inquiries; questions, so many questions. Asking the ones that matter most is subjective. Sometimes it the big questions that lead to the meat in a case, other times it is that tiny insignificant question. The one you ignore, the one that you think is stupid, inconsequential, that solves the riddle and unravels the truth.The obvious queries floated by, “How long were the Williams' waiting here? Did they say anything that seemed unusual?” The rhetoric was going nowhere. I was growing tired of the exchange, and coffee was doing nothing to stave of my inevitable crash. Having not slept through two shifts of work and fearing my impatience, I asked Tanya if I could ask a question. She agreed to give me a shot, having exhausted her ideas.The receptionist was a long-faced, heavyset African-American woman in her mid to late fifties, named Doreen. She looked on with an indifferent, “Don’t fuck with me white-bread” expression on her face.The question dropped from my lips weightlessly, like a cloud of cigar smoke, effortless, but heavy; “Doreen, aside from Miss Williams’ disappearance, what was the single most disturbing thing about your workday on Monday?” “You know,” Doreen, offered, “I am glad you asked me that question. It was that beady eyed little freak, Scott Deets.” I swear to Jesus that prick only comes here to torment me.” There it was, the suspect revealed. As Tanya quizzed Doreen about Deets, the case started to build a foundation. It did not take long to put together enough of a framework for us to move forward, and to seek Scott Deets out in person. Deets had been there that day, as he had been every Monday for the last few weeks. He made everyone who worked in the office nervous. He always spoke smoothly, confidently, while his eyes bore through their skulls. Apparently Deets was full of animosity, angry at a system that charged him copious denominations of money for child support. The support was for his 14-year-old daughter, Deets’ checks were garnished, without any hope of ever seeing her.Scott Deets was doing the usual, trying to demand the address of his ex-wife so he could subpoena her with visitation papers. I remember thinking, “How much of a slime-ball would a lawyer need to be to represent such a prick?” Doreen and her supervisor, Mark Young, told Deets to leave, or they would have the police come and cart his ass off to jail. The timing could not have been worse for Tanya Williams. They sent Deets out the door less than two minutes after her. We did more digging into Deets.Scott Deets was a maggot. He had been raping his daughter for years. He’d kept on brutalizing her, all the while telling her that if she told anyone he would kill her. First, he would start with her mother, a registered nurse who was currently working at a family practice in order to keep a low profile. Deets told the girl that if she told anyone, he would slowly cut pieces off her mother until she died… while he made young Tanya watch. Scott Deets was such a charming asshole.The prosecuting attorney did not have a choice but to let Deets go, due to some glitches in the chain of evidence. He was trying to build a case, but after their initial statements, both the mother and the daughter had repealed the statements all together, claiming they falsified them. Everyone knew Deets was guilty, but they were having fits trying to pin him down. The prosecutor used testimony from the health care workers under subpoena to help hang enough guilt on Deets, in an attempt to keep him from walking away altogether. It had all gone round and round without resolution. The case was like a roller coaster, but in the end, Deets agreed to register as a sex offender, community service, and two years of probation. He was a free man, free to keep on harming people.In my heart of hearts, I was full of fear for the young girl. The very idea of going to sleep became a distant memory. I was sick inside, I just knew. I knew that unspeakable suffering had come to Tanya Williams. I was not convinced that Deets would kill her. He had raped his daughter for years, years. That took dedication. It took purpose. Without her around, he had lost that purpose. No, she was most likely alive, however maybe not for long. Maybe she was already dead in her soul. Had Deets already sucked away the marrow of Tanya’s character? Either way, it could not be undone. I could not bring her life back and I could not save her soul. If Deets was truly the monster I had come to believe he was, I would perform a scarlet symphony with Fallen Song. I would damn him for eternity. Along with my trusty implement of justice, I would provide closure.Our route took us from First Street to First Avenue South. Upon leaving the Office of Support Enforcement, we set off for an unassuming car dealership in Burien, oddly enough on Burien’s First Avenue. This was where we met Deets. He worked as a lube technician in the service area. His boss answered some of our questions, but apparently was quite unaware that Scott Deets was a registered sex offender, or about the custody disagreements. This told me one thing; we were dealing with a person who was a master at concealing information, which in this case might have cost Tanya William’s her life.We walked over to the lube station, where I caught my first glimpse of Deets. He was standing apart from three of his co-workers, who were apparently on a lunch break. The devil had a cigarette cradled in his hand. His jutting pointed jaw was angular. It gave him the appearance of a demon, I kid you not. When I saw the fucker my stomach dropped six feet. Obviously the sight of Deets had a similar effect on my girl, because she let out a tiny gasp when she saw him.His eyes were the worst… they had this diabolical glint in them that chilled me to the bone. His stature was inconsequential; he was not a large man. It was his eyes, looking into them was like looking into the eyes of the worst of the worst. Ted Bundy eyes, demonic eyes, evil eyes.If looking at him did not convince me, shaking his hand did. Tanya still seemed shaken and was a bit off her game. This was unusual to say the least… she was not easily intimidated. Tanya did not introduce us at first, as she always did before. Uncharacteristically, she went pale. Therefore, in her stead, I offered my hand, “Scott Deets?” and pausing slightly, “I am Thomas Van Pelt, from the CSI division, and this is Tanya Richardson from missing persons. We’re sorry to take up your time, but we would like to ask you a couple questions.”Deets took my hand and a chill radiated throughout my body like a shockwave. It was like touching pure evil. I felt smothered by his blackness, as if I was lost in a fog for a moment, and then he let go of my hand and it was gone again. He saw. He felt my fear and a slight sparkle in his eye, only for an instant, told me this was his one true love; fear. Despite the cold, I felt a trickle of sweat roll down the back of my neck. Without a doubt this was the guy, case nearly solved. It does not take a rocket scientist to figure out what came next. Deets deftly avoided all our questions like a politician on the campaign trail. Yeah, he’d seen the girl and her mother. He went home took a shower and went bowling for his Monday night match at a local bowling alley. There were five people who could vouch for his whereabouts all night long. Deets’ alibi was nearly flawless, with only a one-hour window in between work and bowling. The absence was explained away by virtue of his going home for a shower and a quick sandwich before his night out. Scott Deets had been bowling until one in the morning… air-fucking-tight, wham-bam thank you ma’am. He had gotten off work for lunch, just as we had arrived. Deets looked at us and said, “My lunch hour is just about up, so if don’t you have any more questions, I would like to run and get a burger.”“No problem, Mr. Deets, thank-you for your time.” Tanya replied. Without a word he turned and walked away. That’s when I saw it, the hole in his story. That’s when I knew for sure. I knew without a doubt. I just needed to prove it. Deets owned a white panel van, the type that blends in, like a plumber’s van. No windows on the sides, dark tint in front. He’d kept her in there. I knew this without a doubt. She’d been bound and gagged, unconscious, drugged or dead, but that is what he did. He’d hidden her in the van and then when he could get away with it, he moved her.I gathered my resolve and began to mentally prepare myself for what would soon follow. I felt eager to hear the symphony that would mark the end of Scott Deets’ madness. Do you like Fallen Song so far? Then come by and like my Facebook page today: www.facebook.com/pages/Donny-Swords-A... And click the link below to get your copy!: http://www.amazon.com/Fallen-Song-Stygia--Volume-ebook/dp/B00CWTQM68/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1378336512&sr=8-1&keywords=Fallen+Song
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