Broken Shadows E-Book

Jani Ojala

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 587

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

The 2030s are here. A new decade commences for the casts of The Coleman Stories, Overbite and Oulunsalo Fiction. Old world's magics, that allowed life's delicate balance to exist for a moonage, revolt against mankind's excess. Sammy Sieppi's boss, Sandking has a recluse younger brother Maskmaker, whom has stolen the answer to one of life's quintessential questions: "what happens after we die?". The Absolution-Spear's foul abuse in the hands of the Marston dynasty, gets Shotimamimu the dream-owl talking, only unto the chosen few who can see him upon appearance. While this is going on, an experimental life-force declares hunting-season in the Siberian region of Yakutia, Russia. A force so grand-standingly unstoppabe, people have no choice but to try to understand and work around Nair, lest they become prey to him. Nothing will stop the six-meter wolf. Markus Leinonen goes for his first overseas trip with a friend, leaving Tiia alone with an owl in her dreams. Viktor has bought back Ouluinsalo, and is set in his ways running the town... until Ivan calls him about a beast in the East. The final Colemans are still looking for a place in the world that'll have them. Sammy SIeppi comes back from prison and his boss is now an old, legacy-obsessed man ruling New York's post-apocalyptic world of organized crime from a lonely castle. The Soisalo-family are set in their ways and best-selling author Petri wants to discover new horizon in the West. Eemeli Kangas' owl-dreams get merged with those of a woman living in the same town and the two discover a life-changing truth about a clan of astral seers that operate from a place man cannot tread. As life goes on and a new era commences, awareness of Maskmaker forces folk to ask some difficult questions about their lives. His demeaning life-story about a perpetual second place to a brother that has claimed his place as King... has driven the 66-year-old Marston-brother into a life of monstrous abuse. Of existential proportions. As long as the blade in his necklace has a pulse, the ink will never dry from his curated stories.

Leseprobe

Special thanks:

The visually talented and well-behaved, well-educated gentleman Santeri Kinnunen. You beast.

Your contribution to this cover-art is just as appreciated as were your contributions to my previous books Ylipurema (2015) and Helicopters (2019).

My brother Mika for a read-thru in this book’s editingphases.

Your notes are just as appreciated as were those to my previous books The Coleman Stories (2020) and Overbite: Notes of a Summer in Captivity (2021).

A greentext-story posted by [anonymous] on 4chan’s ”innawoods autism thread” 12/12/18 at 13:41:41.

Youtuber Fascinating Horror for their video ”A History of Falls Into The Grand Canyon”.

”Man feared time, yet time fears the pyramids.”

—Egyptian Proverb

RETURNING CHARACTERS

Alexander Coleman

(The Coleman Stories)

Sanna Coleman

(The Coleman Stories)

Eemeli Kangas

(The Coleman Stories)

Petri Soisalo

(Overbite)

Sami ”Sammy” Sieppi

(Overbite)

Niina Soisalo

(Overbite)

Matti Lehto

(Overbite)

Aki Wallin

(Overbite)

Samuli Leinonen

(Oulunsalo Fiction)

Viktor Ekholm

(Oulunsalo Fiction)

Tiia Leinonen

(Oulunsalo Fiction)

Markus Leinonen

(Oulunsalo Fiction)

CONTENTS

Foreword – a quote from Donovan

Act 1:

Old Glass

Forestside

,

a story I wrote when I was 11

Act 2:

No York

Act 3:

The Heart of the Sun

Act 4:

Nevada Sunrise

Epilogue

Foreword

”The continent of Atlantis was an island Which lay before the great flood In the area we now call the Atlantic Ocean So great an area of land That from her Western shores Those beautiful sailors journeyed To the South and the North Americas with ease In their ships with painted sails To the East Africa was her neighbor Across a short strait of sea miles

The great Egyptian age is but a remnant of the Atlantean culture The antediluvian kings colonised the world All the Gods who play in the mythological dramas In all legends from all lands were from fair Atlantis

Knowing her fate Atlantis sent out ships to all corners of the Earth On board were the Twelve The poet, the physician, the farmer, the scientist, the magician And the other so-called Gods of our legends Though Gods they were And as the elders of our time choose to remain blind Let us recjoice and let us sing And dance and ring in The New Hail Atlantis!”

—Donovan, Atlantis (Barabajagal, 1969)

Act 1

Old Glass

Chapter 1

Release Date, Pt. 1

(Petri Soisalo, Niina Soisalo, Aki Wallin, Matti Lehto, Travis

”Maskmaker” Marston)

~

June 2014, 16 years before present

Petri Soisalo tapped a waiter on his elbow, as he was walking by. Glasses of all sorts were clinging around him, and chatter muffled down to a mere abrasive ambiance.

He could see the embarrassment rise on the face of this man – whom he remembered to be the one named Tiitus. Tiitus was one of the servers they’d hired for this book-release-party. I still kinda grasp at the reality that I’m having a book-releaseparty. Not where I anticipated to be after all the shit last year. This waiter had a face Petri remembered for some odd reason. Tiitus quickly turned to look back, at Petri, the man of the evening, whom a caterer had no right to go on ignoring like that. Wheelchair or no wheelchair.

— ”Never mind the fucking courtesies”, Petri addressed Tiitus with a familiarity, but a dash of assertiveness which he tried to keep graceful. ”Just give me whatever you got that’s strong on that plate. They’re about to call me up on stage.”

Through emerging stage-fright, Petri made his next attempt at a winding and cycling glance across the room. The sounds of glasses clinking against one another, got a face to it as he looked out to a scattered crowd. This beautiful near-shore loft at Oulu City, was packed with a guests wearing their best and acting their chirpiest. There was no way around it. Petri was scared.

I’m as mentally prepared for this as I’ll ever be, he noted to himself internally and got re-concentrated, starting to make the first movements towards the small stage that had been propped up right in the center of the living room’s back-wall. So behind it there could be a presentable sea-side view, and people could take presentable photos of me, looking presentable. This evening is also about the publication-scratch. Half of these guests are here for a job. I wonder if I’ll ever be this important again…

Somehow, in the year since the Sundberg-disaster ended, Petri Soisalo and his family had become a big deal, but no one was as big of a deal as was Petri’s book, My Fight.

Petri regretted giving it that title. Playing off of a not-sopresentable historic figure’s controversial material for the sake of getting reactions was a childish thing to do. This he admitted to himself every night. But with judge Ojala giving away the title so quick to the press…

…ah, what am I thinking about this shit again for? It’s happened, people seem to like it. They seem to think it’s a charming title, even if I’ve already gone back on it in my mind. Focus now, Petri!

Aki Wallin was standing at the left end of the stage, with his eyes wandering so fast it was apparent they were trying to keep up with streams of thoughts. As soon as he saw Petri approaching the wheelchair-ramp on the left edge of the stage, however, all that stopped and it looked like he’d been awakened.

A fast tap was given on the shoulder of Niina Soisalo, Petri’s sister, standing idly by Aki’s left side, looking pretty as ever and presenting her engagement-ring. Just as Aki rushed in to help Petri up a ramp which he knows fucking well I can do myself, Niina went up on the stage to perform a mic-check:

— ”Alright, ladies and gentlemen, the star of the evening, my little brother, Petri!” Niina said the first things she could think of as audience-members turned to look at her. How adequately formal was that? Petri saw that she was satisfied with how her sentence turned out.

Next, she giggled at the thought. This amused Petri, brings me home…

The scattered crowd gathered, all paying attention to Petri Soisalo, rolling his last three feet toward the mic which Niina lowered for him before quickly and unnoticeably escaping from stage.

— ”Thanks, sis. Sissy.” Petri said, only now downing the shot of cognac Tiitus had served for him.

He exhaled, got his mouth warm enough to say some words, reached for a backpack behind his chair, and continued:

— Although I don’t know why you’d call me the star of anything. I’m not gonna pretend that the critical reception of My Fight hasn’t been overwhelmingly flattering, but the book is all that matters here. The book is the star tonight.

Leaving the audience to chew on the words, Petri lifted up the pocket-size paperback-book with a black matte-covering, reading the words ”MY FIGHT: The Summer of Chains” in bold, contrasting the author’s name in small letters at the bottom. Uproaring applause filled the room after the guests had all seen that was the end of the first bit he was gonna say, and standing behind Petri’s back, Aki was giving him a particularly attentive stare.

Niina couldn’t help but notice the stare, as Petri was using this moment of shared amusement among the crowd, to think of the next thing to say that would suit the situation.

Later that night, Petri rolled between two little groups and took a deliberate break for a breath, unnoticeably, in the meantime. Just trying to make the night most comfortable, scanning through the crowds, participating in short exchanges with the guests. One guest in particular, an older man by the name of Rafael, had been interesting to talk with. Petri was sitting in a four-person crowd with Rafael, Aki Wallin and a fourth companion he couldn’t be bothered to remember the name of.

— ”Yeah, what can I tell ya, he’s always had his issues,” Rafael explained to Petri, who still hadn’t paid enough mind to notice Aki’s eyes being locked on him again

— ”Petri”, he heard a subdued voice of a familiar man calling upon him, speaking right beside his left ear.

He turned to look, and it was none other than Matti Lehto, a friend from a year ago, and a fellow survivor of the Sundberg-disasters.

— ”What is it?” Petri inquired of Matti – turning all his attention to his friend like nobody else was there.

— It’s Niina… She’s not feeling well, had a little too much. You mind if we wrapped it up for tonight, would you?

”As long as this beautiful boy can stay out here for the rest of the night!” Petri said, shoving the black paperback into Matti’s palms, feeling a little bit chipper from the drinks himself; only now catching himself in that drift. ”Nah, but seriously, I have to leave the guests with some parting words and tell them it’s alright that they freeload out here for the rest of the evening. Don’t I?”

— Yeah, I guess it’s customary of you.

Scanning the crowd who’re actively enjoying themselves, and hearing the glasses clink once again – this time along with some forks poking at plates as well, and a significantly bigger amount of people sitting at the long table in the frontal area of the great room – Petri finally landed his gaze on Aki.

— What’re you staring at?

Back at home later that night, Matti and Niina were getting familiar on the white, leather living room couch while Petri had rolled into his own bedroom inside the house, keeping real quiet.

The floor of the room was full of space for walking, with decor seemingly splitting into patterns, depending on the wall. Framed pictures of Petri’s mother and uncle Jorma had the biggest positions of prominence. The pictures came in a contained A4 sheet-size. Anything more would have been a little too much, too attention-splitting for acquaintances that’d come by here, Petri knew. Just as well, any less would’ve been insufficient, given how important these people were. How important they continue to be… Right in the middle of that wall was a necklace hanging from a nail. It was a piece of jewelry whose sentimental value had surpassed its’ worth in currency, years ago. It always caught Petri’s eye, when he scanned the room with his eyes, just like now…

Petri placed both of his hands on the arm-rests of his chair – in a moment wherein he wasn’t sure what was guiding him, but its’ voice rang loud within. He wasn’t gonna stop.

Stretching his arms out to their full capacity of straightening and the little extra inches beyond, which you only just reach when you reallyreallytry, Petri tried to get the muscles below the buttock-area to play ball. He was trying to get his legs to work. He realized he was doing this.

After realizing this, this quickly became the only thing he was concentrated on. He reached, reached and reached. Reached with his arms to find more length in them, reached for muscles that’d been idle, that cut off at a point which he knew his scar would separate. Below the scar, he found a feeling. Oh my God!

That feeling translated instantly into courage, and Petri put all his might into leaning his body forward with this new strength in the arms – not into a position that’d make him liable to falling forward, but just the right amount.

I haven’t been crippled for that long. I still remember how you need to move in order to stand up.

Just as that thought passed his decisive mind, and he made the push to get up on his own two legs, he fell down on the moss-green carpet’s long hairs, his face barely avoiding impact with the long hairs of it.

Niina’s breasts were too large for Matti’s hands to take a full grasp of, but his hands enjoyed looking for that closure or enclosure way more than the goal of achieving it. Every time he touched her there, felt more familiar yet at the same time more like an adventure. He brought his head closer, and heard an anonymous satisfied sound from Niina, with words he didn’t really have to decipher for them to land. Niina felt the heat. She couldn’t resist pushing up her hips a little bit, as a physical response.

Under covers, Matti was in the process of rolling his tongue Niina’s roughly upward-placed nipple, as he heard a scream from the next room – the bedroom, where Petri-

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA I CAN’T TAKE THIS ANYMORE!

Niina slipped her shirt – tucked loosely around her neck until this point – over her body quick, fast and in a hurry, leaving Matti to narrowly escape and pull his head out of there before she dressed up.

Before Matti could muster the next thought, Niina was already sprinting into Petri’s room. Matti followed, and just as he came in through the door, and saw what was happening, he saw Niina holding Petri’s head on her lap, him bawling like no tomorrow. Petri’s crying was desperate, he looked completely, utterly hopeless as he gasped for breath in a hyperventilating storm.

A tremendous sadness at just the sight of this, fell down upon Matti. He turned to walk away slowly, and felt empty inside… fucking god. What a life.

Aki Wallin aimlessly wandered around his two-room apartment’s living room which didn’t offer that much of a diversity in scenery after the first twelve rounds he’d taken ’round it.

Fuck this, said he upon gazing on that black matte-covered book. My Fight, it said in orange writing. Damn this guy has a pair. He’s just gonna-- fuck it, let’s read.

So Aki opened the book, starting to read.

Seven hours later as it was still bright outside, Aki sat down on a white chair, letting his index-finger idly rest upon his short beard. He’s been preening it during a previous chapter whose vivid descriptions had shaken him – particularly memorable; maybe the whole highlight of this book. This guy’s really got a way of throwing you into a scene. Never saw that in Petri. Actually I never saw all that much in Petri. Yet here he is.

He flipped the page of the book to the next one, and saw that chapter 30 had ended. That’s a beautifully round number to end it on. Take a break, I mean. I think this whole thing minus the epilogues and such was about forty chapters.

Before Aki even noticed it, his phone was in his hand, said hand actively dialing Petri’s digits. He let it ring, looking at a clock he’d check every now and then – more scarsely, as of recent – over his right shoulder to see how far he had to go. Gonna be up with the same eyes as yesterday all day, but that’s fine by me. I’m prepared for that.

Petri answered the phone:

— What is it?

— I just sat up all night reading your book. You’re fucking amazing, Petri. You got a long career ahead of you. And I don’t say this a lot to people. I read a lot of books, and I seem to hate more of them than I like.

— That… wow, thanks. I’m sorry, I’m still a little bit sleepy since it’s 6am and all.

Do you wanna come over and talk?

— ”…Fine.” Petri answered after what came off as serious contemplation. ”I’ve got nothing to do all day. We should get to planning that new program and shit.”

Aki didn’t say anything.

— ”I’ll hop into the shower and see you in an hour, alright?” He heard Petri say.

He still didn’t say anything

Five minutes past seven in the morning, the doorbell chimed and Aki got up – having relocated himself in front of the computer, where he was proofwriting some statistics from a sheet of squared paper. His handwriting looked like a blue version of Times New Roman. He had no problem calling his handwriting perfect. He’d put in the hours to practice it; in his mind it deserved to be recognized as such. Writing it clean on a Word-document was just customary, he thought. I try to get all my job-documents looking official like that.

An image of a print shop’s main room flashed before Aki’s eyes as he walked the last five steps to come get the door. Like a flashback it came, and like a flashback it went. He looked back into the living room, askingly into its emptiness, while his left hand reached to pull down the lock, and his right hand to open the door.

He turned his head, saw Petri, greeted him and got a greeting back, then looked mindingly as he rolled past a threshold.

Aki had made it his business instantly, after buying this apartment from its’ previous owner, to level down that threshold. He’d known it had to be right away, fast enough for charity-hating Petri not to notice that he’d gotten it done just for him and when he visits.

As Petri made a quick detour to Aki’s bedroom – casually, without speaking anything, remembering to wipe sand from his left eye as he rolled – and around the pool-table, Aki started physically leading the way to the living room; the way he knows how to. Natural leader, that man… I still haven’t forgotten from the time Sundbergs hunted us like dogs. The kitchen – really just a corner of the living-area, but a cozy one – was filled with the sound of brewing coffee.

— ”See”, Petri finally said, rolling now behind his friend. ”I knew not to make coffee at home. I knew you’d have some.”

— You didn’t drink coffee last summer, am I right?

— Nah, I did now and then but not habitually. Now I just want to wake up to every day as fast as possible. Keep a steady routine, now that I can’t work a regular job and have to be the one to make it happen.

— I love what this writing-stuff has done for you. Was gonna call it a hobby, but that status remains to be undetermined, right?

— Well my agent said that the sales of the exclusive deals from last night’s party already gave me a better monthly paycheck than I would’ve gotten if I was working at some factory.

— So you got a contract and all?

— ”I do, yeah.” Petri said, helping himself to a cup of coffee.

Fuck I’m lucky these counters of the kitchen are low enough for Petri to reach. That was something I was not willing to renovate. Too fucking expensive, even I got my limits.

The printer in Aki’s living room made a screeching sound behind his back. The old thing--

Aki couldn’t breathe.

He fell down. Collapsing into himself, in that state Petri looked at him and with helpless, wide eyes, looked but took only a second to make the call to take his phone out of his pocket and start dialing.

— ”No don’t do that!” Aki exclaimed to his friend, right as the first bit of decent breath came from somewhere.

— What’s going on? Are you having a panic attack? Sorry, I read about this stuff and I know I shouldn’t ask many questions to make it worse.

Aki was already sitting on the ground. Once again he was unresponsive. This time Petri saw through that. He’s not telling me something.

— What’s on your mind? Is Gabriel still--

— No, fuck that grimy little psychopath! He’s not had an impact on my breathing for a long time now!

— Please don’t suffer by yourself, Aki. If you’re having panic attacks you should confine in me. You’re my personal trainer; I can return the favor some times.

— I never told you or Niina, Matti or Sami about this, but before I had that accounting job where I met Veikko and all that shit… I was living in America.

— Why? Why you choose not to disclose that to anyone?

— I don’t fucking-- there’s things I was involved in there; things that happened.

— ”Is there something I don’t know?” Petri asked, concerned. He’d rolled close enough to Aki to get his scent into the mixture of air he was breathing. ”I’ve been wondering this in my time alone, thinking about last summer and things around it. It was all fucking crazy and we’re all incredibly lucky to have survived it. Most people we know didn’t.

— Now with your book, that story will never die. Me, you, your sister and her man, and Sami, won’t have to be the only ones who live with it. That know every step of it.

Petri smiled at Aki, offering his hand. Aki took it into his, and used it as aid to get back up on his legs.

Aki walked to the white chair he’d previously occupied, in front of the living room table where My Fight – one quarter from being read – sat.

Petri stopped his chair opposite-sides to Aki, and put his coffee-mug down on the table. There, noticing that Aki was still thinking about the next thing to say, he opted to taking his first drink of the morning instead of interrupting.

— Look at you… that angular build of your jaw, how that hair’s matured into a darker shade as if some wisdom from the heavens has been bestowed to you, for this mission you’re embarking on. You’ve grown into yourself. You’ve found your destiny. That sick fuck had no right to put you in that chair.

— I’ve found peace with Gabriel Sundberg and my memories of him. Him and his brothers can keep resting in their unmarked graves and we’ll keep swimming.

— Maybe it’s time for me to stop swimming.

— The fuck are you talking about, Aki?

Aki didn’t answer. Instead he got up from his seat with as much quickness a he’d landed on it with, a moment ago. He walked fateful steps to the other side of the living room, where that printer had made its sound.

He turned the thing off, got into the kitchen, fixed himself a cup – this morning’s second serving – and stopped there to look at Petri, and tell him a story:

— I came back to Finland after something happened that concisely informed me of the culture of casual violence in that whole fucking country. I had exchanged to there for college, and since it was so nice living out in that backwoods Nevadatown, I decided not to come back at all. Somehow speaking English came easier to me, flowed off my tongue, allowed me to get creative and explore my true self.

— You’re really in a mood this morning, Aki. You describe everything so thoroughly.

— I can stop. Anyway, the year after I graduated, when I stayed in America as a young man without his parents anywhere around, I worked some odd jobs. The oddest one was at a snake-farm at the edge of the desert. It was a really small business, the guys who were running it were incest kids but I let all that be. What consenting adults do behind closed doors and all that. One day a guy in a black trench coat, meaning business, came out to the farm and when Julius – my boss – came to ask him what his business was, he took two sawed-off shotguns out of his pockets with the same dead-set eyes he’d walked in with. I was fixing this tractor, this real old piece of shit. Hated the heat there. Get in line, the trenchcoat-man told all of us, and by this point I hadn’t even seen his cannons. Sure as shit did when I looked over, though.

Aki drew in breath – just noticed I’ve neglected to do that for a while – and continued with the same distance in his voice:

— He shot our whole row clean. Julius and his sister-wife, and the third boss that came there. Pow, pow, pow, pow. I was second to the left – he began shooting from the right side – and for some god-forgiven reason, I was the only one he missed. He had to reload after shooting those four shots and hitting three. I ran behind the main barn of the place. It was the one we were standing in front of. The fuckhead got a motorcycle from somewhere that I had never fucking seen before, and with the first thing I could get started – Julius’ pickup – I got chased by that fucking creep in black across the desert for two hours. Two hours, hiding behind sand-dunes and big rocks and doing donuts around parking-lots just to get away from that killer’s sight. Ended up so lost I had to sleep on the ground that night. I was lucky I’d paid some real attention whenever people told me about desert-survival before that. I had to drink my own piss next morning.

Petri was stunned at the story. He didn’t doubt Aki, and the way he was saying this, and the way he was looking into me… not for one second. But it took him aback. He noticed Aki’s distant look was straying further and further away with every emerging second spent in silence, and felt inclined to ask something:

— Why have you never told us about that? Have you told anyone?

— Being with you guys, helping you when you were at your most desperate, was destiny. For a long time since my wife died back here in Finland, and I got to know Veikko and Gabriel Sundberg, I had felt robbed of that.

— Robbed of destiny?

— I’ve felt so empty inside ever since I saw the face of that trenchcoat-man. Never found out who he was; I know you were gonna ask that. He just up and vanished. I’ve never seen him since that. It’s the reason I take the risks I take. You might think I was just born brave or something, but I just… I just don’t believe anything in life makes sense if you’re not living to protect somebody, to at least some capacity.

— That’s a demanding way to live. What about expressing yourself?

— My destiny is over. I’m prolonging the inevitable by staying here on this earth.

— You’re not!

Aki reached for the top-drawer below the counter on which the half-full coffee pot sat.

— ”What are you doing?” Petri asked him, but to no avail.

8 in the morning Niina and Matti were up on their legs, both searching for notes or other details like that in Petri’s room – the emptiness of which they had run into a while ago.

Nothing was there that was out of the ordinary, besides the music box playing a swinging affair of a Frank Sinatra song.

Matti was taken in by this motion of the music. He walked to the counter on which the music box stood and looked at the number it displayed. 21, it said, and on top was a blue jewelcase CD that said ”SINATRA, nothing but the best”. The chairman of the board smiled on the blue album-cover.

”I’ll make it anywhere!

It’s up to you, New York!

New York!”

— ”A little concern, maybe?” Niina requested to Matti, in a snapping kind of way that I’m used to with her.

— ”He’s just out somewhere. He’s a grown man.” Matti said, sounding uninterested admittedly; but really I’m just thinking about this beautiful music. Where does Petri find all this music? Why does he think of listening to Sinatra while making notes for his next book?

— ”That’s uncle Jorma’s old boombox, did you know that?” Matti heard Niina ask a question in a tone that was more welcoming that he’d previously accounted for, going over a couple of possible outcomes of how this could happen and go down. Where is the guy anyway? Probably just catching the paper. His sister’s probably gonna feel silly if that’s all he’s doing. Still, who takes thirty minutes to get a newspaper?

Fuck, I need my morning coke.

The front door was opened and Niina almost sprinted. Matti was still looking at that CD, it’s back-cover this time. He caught himself remembering most of these songs by name. My Way, Somethin’ Stupid, Girl From Ipanema, It was a Very Good Year, That’s Life. So many evergreens, what a great singer! I should listen to him more.

”Look what the cat dragged to the vestibule!” Matti heard Niina say, just as she came to the hallway. Vestibule? Why do we call it that? If we’re gonna call that room a fancy name why not ”the first room” or something?

Matti’s idle thoughts got interrupted by Niina screaming. Now it was his turn for a sprint.

— ”What’s happening?” Matti asked with serious urgency while looking at Niina, who cried and held Petri in the first room, without making a sound.

Petri had blood over his jacket-collar. The more Matti looked at the sight, the more unreal it felt.

— ”Aki killed himself.” Petri said to Matti, with the volume he could muster. ”He shot himself. Shot himself in the--”

Petri cried uncontrollably with his sister.

He’s dead.

HELSINKI

Travis Marston walked into a prison’s visiting booth. His appearance stood out from rest of the room. An unflatteringly groomed man well-into his middle-age. He was dressed in a long-helmed black trenchcoat, dark-blue jeans, with an arch in his back, sporting a black fedora to finish off the combo, along with some shoes from a past decade that had been repaired by hand.

Straight ahead he looked, having sat down and whilst tapping a steady rhythm on a glass-coated table’s surface with his fingers, as soon as he’d sat. He saw his guy there, on the other side of glass, wearing all orange. He’d waited for his guy. There was no hurry for the old man. The world’s already been built.

— ”How’s our guy?” Travis asked the man, but only after seeing that he’d gotten a comfortable enough position on his chair.

— He’s getting in the right mindset. Kept a long speech to something, I dunno, probably his wife’s picture.

— Really? That sounds celebratory.

— Oh yeah, he gotten real deep. All that did come to me were these walls. These walls and this place. Prison. Prisoner.

The man in orange obviously thought the world of how hilarious this could be for Travis, but Travis’ straight face nonverbally expressed to the inmate that he didn’t know Travis at all.

— ”Should’ve been a poet instead of a con artist.” Marston said to the younger man.

— Should I give Niskanen some greetings from you or something?

— I do not pay for you to do that, do I? Just keep your eye on him. Has Tapani been here to visit him?

— Just today, yeah.

— ”Wow. They really plan out their annual visits to exact time-tables. I like the precision.” Travis was pensively contemplating.

The man in orange was growing disturbed by how Travis seemed to constantly be looking beyond his eyes. He was about to pipe in, but then saw Travis stand up.

— ”You’ll have your money on your cantine next Monday.” Travis said to his informant-convict, almost spitefully, as he put the phone back in its holder. This meeting was over.

He turned around, got a slight smile on his face, which he didn’t let stay there for too long, so as to not draw attention. Following that moment was a sensation around his neck. He felt the necklace on his neck, vibrate. Sturdy old thing. The jewel tucked below his shirt was cold against his chest, but this piece of ice was something he’d learned to act comfortable with. More than comfortable. I’m at a stage in my life where it feels like it’s a part of me.

He felt it with his hands just to be sure.

It was indeed what he thought it was.

New story commences… New masks abound…

Chapter 2

Sammy

(Sami Sieppi, Samuli Leinonen)

~

June 2030; present.

It is the honorable man’s thing to do. Thing the dew. Thee honoraubleau. Fuck!

45-year-old Sami Sieppi sat on a nice, light-blue leathercoated window-seat in an airplane. Why he thought of it as nice, was really just down to its’ surface having exhibited his body-warmth and giving it back to him in a comforting way, which is the gist of why a bed, for example, is comfortable. The idea of sleeping at one point or several, during this flight, was not far from his mind. Attempting to pop open a soda-can with his left hand, which I’ve mastered years ago, fucking mind you!, and scanning his social media-feeds with his right… Sami was catching a calmness from the air. Didn’t seem like a lot of people afraid of flying, sitting around here.

He gave up on his quest for multitasking quickly, and laid his phone down on a little black table. It was hot from the sun. Planes sit there parked all day, long days, and this summer has been relentlessly hot despite it not even being July yet.

Fuck it, declared Sami internally – he was putting conscious effort not to speak what he thought loudly, because there’s people here in business-class. He turned both his hands to the Coca-Cola-task, and popped it open in an instant, drawing a quick look from a lady his age, a couple seats left. She quickly looked back ahead at her tablet’s screen, and Sami pretended not to notice.

Sami was taking his sip from the can, just as he got a call. He put the drink down right as he saw the name.

His brother was calling him.

— ”How’s the flight? Any turbulence yet?” Samuli Leinonen asked his older brother Sami.

— Always turbulence in my life, brother. What, they let you out on recess? You’re not supposed to be calling me at this hour.

— It’s Auvinen’s day.

— Oh! He’s always a nice guy.

— Yeah, he knew that today was the fifteenth anniversary of Tapani’s death. Literally just wanted to do something nice for me for that reason, bless his heart.

— Man, from what you told me that Tapani was so much of everything. He really took care of you back when I was running around and didn’t really…

— Let’s not start singing that song again, Sami. You know that me and Sakari are all the better for you taking all the heat first, going through all your shit as the eldest.

— Damn it, that’s right! Sakari’s out there in America on a conference-trip. I might get to see him too. …If I do though I gotta keep a low profile, I know he’s not amazingly proud of both his big brothers being jailbirds.

— Don’t see anyone before you see Cliff and Charlie. God knows they’ve cut ties with people for less than moving to another continent without announcing it.

— Mom needed help back here.

— ”…Let’s just not sing that song either.” Samuli said, kind of shrugging off the sentiment, as well as the earnestness Sami spoke it with.

He never understood why I’m so dedicated to helping ma. But he said it himself; he and Sakari never had the turbulence in their lives as kids that I did. They never had to be bailed out by ma again and again, constantly. I did. I owe hundreds of lives to that woman.

— I should call mom too.

— ”Listen” Samuli ignored what his brother said. ”Why were you so quiet this last week? I know when you get like that, something’s going on. Please don’t tell me you got yourself into trouble before even getting out.”

— There’s always turbulence, brother. Listen, I should call mama before this signal wears all-the-way off. You’re not coming off all the way clear anymore either.

— Alright, yeah, do that. I gotta call Tiia too. Hey, before you go! Did you know Markus is coming to the states too?

— ”Markus? What’s he doing there?” Sami was confused but vividly remembered the freckled face of that nephew of his.

— Him and his friend HP got something set up, some Hip Hop concert at Madison Square. I guess. Tiia knows, I’m gonna call her.

— Alright, I’ll talk to you again.

— And Sami…

— ”What?” Asked Sami, with a roll of the eyes, looking ahead.

— Don’t get in over your head. If those people have changed over there, you know you gotta…

I can’t stand it. Don’t do this to yourself, Samuli. Don’t become the caretaker. You gotta take care of yourself over there--

— …You know you gotta be the one that blends back in over there. With Sandman and everybody. They’ve been doing their thing, and you’ve been away for five years. Seriously, so many guys who go to jail make that same mistake. They start expecting extra-respect and extra-things and being too eager and just end up stepping on everybody’s toes.

— Life isn’t the same as The Sopranos, Samuli. I’ll be fine. Me and Charlie talked for months about me making this move before I did it, and Curtis was hella supportive. Not to mention me continuing to kick up, with the protection-shit we had going on inside. You know all this, Samuli.

The little brother was without an answer to this one from the big brother. Had ran out of advice. He was worried, in a way only family-members know to be for me. I’ll be alright, Samuli, please trust me. I can’t convince him. He’s got to arrive at it on his own.

— ”You know what I remembered on my drive here to the airport?” Sami changed to a new topic – hopefully less loaded.

— Well what?

— I had that place in Maikkula that I’d swindled myself into, right? When I came here to see ma? Well anyway I was walking there. What made this significant and why I probably remember it now is that I had spent a good time that day thinking about the fact of being bilingual. You know, like, I’d lived in America for six or seven years by that point so I was just wondering if I was an all-out American by now, how would I view all the same things that I’m viewing now, you know?

— What, in the Sam Harris-sense or some Doors of Perception-shit?

— No not that deep. Just… I don’t know what’s the best way to explain it. Okay, yeah, the thought occurred to me when I was walking through an underpass. On the road above the underpass, I saw a little van on it. A Haverinen-van, a white one with blue writing on it if I’m not wrong.

— Yeah?

— Below the company name, it read puolestasi / on your behalf. And my mind got fixated on that and how it could be viewed as an error. Isn’t it ”in your behalf”? Well I was so curious that I googled it right away after passing that overpass, I found out that I was actually the one that was wrong, but that’s where it started, on that walk. And I was only starting my walk when I saw that van, and googled that stuff. Every look at a road-sign that read something, anything, was accompanied with a kind of internal narration. It’s hard to explain. Of how strange and weird this one would feel if I was someone originally from somewhere where they spoke a different language.

— ”I mean I guess.” Samuli said on the other side of the line, audibly bored by the details. I can hear he’s getting more comfortable. Gotta let him off the hook soon though, he really needs to talk to Tiia today. And I need to stop staring at that woman’s hair, this is the fifth time already.

Samuli’d been having a thoughtful pause, but continued:

— I went to Norway a couple of times and the road-signs there appeared like a bunch of fucking gibberish to me.

— Yeah, but here’s the best part of this story: I had to come back through the same underpass on by way back to the crib, from the walk. I saw a graffiti, written in green spray-paint, that said RIPULI with a heart underneath it. That was when I remembered that Finnish is still my wonderful native language. I remembered who I am.

Samuli laughed. Sami had a giggle at the ending of the story, too, but made it quick.

— Listen, I gotta call mom right now. I’ll try to figure out the cheapest international calls when I get settled down in New York. Maybe I’ll start using Facebook again.

— Alright, bye.

Sami was all-business as he looked away from the woman with long brown hair, and down at his phone again. Checking its’ contacts, the first one on the alphabetical list, A-Saara was dialed.

— Mom? Yeah, how are you doing with your boy moving away again?

NEW YORK

Sammy Sieppi walked down a Brooklyn-street. It was a beautiful day, sun beat down. Things that Saara Sieppi had said the previous day, were rolling through Sammy’s idle mind amidst sunshine. He hung on to every word his mother had said, despite not remembering portions. Maybe thirty percent. Their conversation had circulated around the psychedelic Rock bands Sammy’s grandmother used to go crazy for, that she’d put Saara to sleep with when she was a wee child.

Sammy had just listened to some Blues Magoos on his way to the parking-hall where he’d have to leave his Mercedes before taking this walk. Parking here is impossible, and I like walking a little ways anyway… being free to smell the air whenever I please.

— ”Stuck-up kike cunt!” He was interrupted by a growl-y voice behind him.

Sammy turned around, to see the source of that voice and saw a street-dwelling bum with a red-and-black flannel shirt open, showing a hairy chest. The man was stumbling up, and Sammy walked back a step to meet with him.

— Quite the assumption there, old man.

— Old man my ass! Just wait ’till I get up from here in this corner. Imma show you how someone struggling isn’t just something to arrogantly walk past. Just stand here--

— ”--I’ll stand here and wait, don’t worry.” Sammy interrupted the bum, his confidence maybe stern enough to be intimidating to somebody that hadn’t already made up his mind – let’s just see what happens.

His eyes turned left after a sudden noise of a door opening nearby, occurred. The bum looked that way, too.

A bald man exited a shop on the side of that street. Cliff Mason, Sammy’s younger buddy, Sammy recognized him to be. Cliff walked with posture practiced and pitch-perfect enough to carry an entire businesslike presence with it. He wore a black tux and a tie with dark shade of red. With small, round eyes that somehow served as a point of contrast to make every other detail of his muscular physique and other domineering aspects of his body-language and presentation, stand out even further.

To Sammy, however, Cliff just looked like he’d aged a lot since the last time they saw each other. Cliff was an enforcer working for Sandman, a very successful one at that. Sammy remembered him vividly as a young man, who was all-business whenever he talked to Sammy, and always came off respectable despite being reasonably younger than Charlie Ek, Sammy’s best friend this side of the pond. The pond? We don’t say that here…

What’s Cliff doing on this street? This one used to belong to the Chinee way back when. Sammy thought to himself, only now remembering the bum.

He turned his head again, to look at where the bum was a moment ago. Nowhere to be seen. He’d started running away as soon as he saw Cliff.

Sammy turned to look at Cliff again, and saw a warm, friendly smile form on the 30-something man’s face as he approached.

— ”Son of a fucking uncle-fucking bitch, you’re out!” Cliff said cheerfully, taking a hug from Sammy who couldn’t resist a smile himself.

As the embrace was performed by each present party, Cliff maintained his hold of Sammy’s each shoulder with those large paws he had for hands. He backed a step away from Sammy, and looked him up and down, hands still on the shoulders.

— ”Those fucks in whateverland couldn’t hold you! I knew it!” Cliff beamed with utter glee.

Sammy smiled at the cliché, having expected that from Cliff. Cliff Mason – at least back when Sammy was still talking to him every day – had belonged to a subsection of Curtis Marston’s organization, one that specifically handled muscling. None of the muscle-crews had attained names before, but Cliff liked nicknames, so he’d started calling himself and his whole crew The Footmen. Sammy and Sandman – their boss – always found the name to be meaningful. The more prospectively thinking Charlie Ek found it to have a poetic meaning, which I’m trying to remember right now. A name for the entirety of the crew, practically speaking, would keep it’s individual members more anonymous, as with enough hits for Sandman the Boss, as well as successful collections from local businessowners, Cliff’s crew only needed to be known as The Footmen. Anybody could get their door kicked in by The Footmen. The risk of that was less of a pleasant option than just paying up whatever it was that you happened to owe.

Sammy still remembered the fear Footmen used to inspire in a mortal man. He was just looking at Cliff now, though.

— ”Didn’t that coffee shop belong to Yi-Xhin or whatever his name was?” Sammy asked.

Cliff could only look at Sammy. The outdated-ness of that question seemed to amuse and offend him at the same time.

— Jesus Christ, you’ve been away for a long time. Four fucking years we’ve had an office there. Come in, quick. Charlie’s there, I know he can’t wait to see you.

— ”Here he is.” Cliff said to Sammy as the two entered a waiting-room. ”He’s not been able to look at his paperworkshit all day, since you told us you’re coming.”

Sammy had walked alongside Cliff, to two glass doors. On the other side of each closed glass-plate was a desk with quiet shade of brown, in front of it sitting Charlie Ek, Sammy’s best friend from back in the day.

Looking at Charlie, Sammy’s aging-shock was more downbeat. Less shocking and more gradual and perpetually inevitable with men my age, aging. It figures. To Sammy, Charlie looked more or less like the same old Charlie. Dressed in his black tux, with a richer head of brown hair than before, and a look to it’s composition like he’d finally started combing it. Something about Ek’s hairstyle spoke to Sammy. It looked plain – like a style a man will keep 365 days a year – but also a good attentionpoint to help realize the businesslike, high-status look of this man great mind and great businessman – good head for numbers, Charlie always had even when he was doing streetlevel shit. Sammy learned a lot from Charlie. Back after Charlie killed Gabriel Sundberg, and Sammy had to move out here, the man brought him in and vouched for him in front of Sandman, despite only faintly knowing Sammy. I got a good feeling about you, and I pride myself on people-knowledge, Sammy remembered the exact words as he and Charlie were getting ready to meet Mr. Marston for the first time ever. All of this, and Charlie was also a father of six. Sammy couldn’t help but look at him admiringly during these first glances at him and his aging.

Sammy and Charlie never really needed to talk in order to understand each other, and yet they did. Almost every single day. No matter the distance. This, Sammy thought about a lot. This time was gonna be no different. How long have I been standing here?

Charlie and Cliff came up more or less together, despite Cliff being younger than Charlie by something like five years. Six and a half, if I’m not mistaken. No, I--

— ”Alright”, said Cliff to Sammy, breaking his stream.

Sammy threw a look towards Cliff, and saw him undo the two buttons of the tuxedo that were holding it closed. Cliff inhaled deep and exhaled with a smile, with his white undershirt now exposed along with the entire body of the red tie.

With said smile, Cliff walked into Charlie’s office, leading the way for Sammy.

Before both of his feet could enter the room, Sammy heard a screech of a chair, accompanied by Charlie Ek saying to him, ”Sammy!”

Sammy couldn’t escape his thoughtful daze. All of these places and scenes, they looked familiar but distant. He’d been away from them so long, and the reality of that silently crashed while Charlie stood up to come and give him a friendly embrace.

Sammy took two steps forward, leaving Cliff behind to inspect, and hugged Charlie Ek just as affectionately as Charlie did him.

— ”Wow…” Sammy quickly muttered after spending a couple of moments in that friendly embrace. He cleared his throat.

”This… I’ve been away for so long.”

— ”Is it all slowly coming back to ya, huh?” Charlie immediately understood.

Sammy quickly hugged Charlie again. As a thank you. It was an emotional moment.

— ”Hey, what kinda shit is that!” Said Cliff, jumping into the hug himself, from Charlie’s right; from Sammy’s left.

Just then, the sunlight reflecting from a glass-plated paintingframe on the desk, struck Sammy in the eye. He was the first to let go of the group-hug, and his old friends followed.

Cheer was in the air. That old feeling – like I belong – was back.

— ”So where’s Sandman?” Sammy went to business because I don’t know what else to do. ”Is there any possibility I can get to see him?”

— ”Sure there is.” Charlie said; convincingly, but sounding like had a but coming. ”But not today.”

— ”What do you mean? Where is he?” Sammy inquired, wondering if he’d just repeated the same question. I can’t keep constantly asking questions from these guys. They’re gonna suspect some--

— ”In one of his moods, that’s where he is.” Cliff said.

— What do you mean?

— ”Eh, he gets these days.” Charlie took on the expositionrole. ”These days when he won’t come out of his office to talk to anybody.”

— ”It’s probably all that shit we had to do. You know. It figures.” Cliff commented.

— ”Yeah it was quite the takeover.” Sammy commented. Good. That wasn’t a question. No constant questions. I really gotta make that a rule. ”I couldn’t be there for all of it. I hope he still understands that. I had to go away.”

— ”You and your brother, let me tell ya.” Cliff scoffed – playful tone through it all. ”I’ll never understand fucking voluntarily doing time.”

— ”Yeah, but what’s the harm in that? I heard Samuli was about to get popped back in Finland if he didn’t make that confession.” Charlie weighed in.

Sammy listened to this. He was getting more explicitly anxious, thinking about what to do with his hands. In the pockets is gonna be a little too casual. He turned to look back at Cliff’s open white shirt and red tie, like at a layout for troubled eyes; like a painting.

— ”Yeah and I guess no one from those crews over there got pinched because of him, so he didn’t snitch even on accident.” Cliff joined in the thinking-out-loud. ”I mean it’s been fucking fourteen years. I think everyone can be sure nobody was ratted out by Samuli.”

— ”Yeah well, the attitudes he got in jail definitely didn’t reflect that kinda open-mindedness.” Sami commented.

— ”Well, fuck them.” Cliff answered. ”You did the right thing going there and looking out for your brother. He’s not in any trouble there now, since you got out, right?”

— Nah, he just reads all day.

Cliff gave a short and polite laugh as a response to that. — Please, give him my love next time you talk to him.

— ”I will. So what about Sandman? Why’s he like that?”

Sammy couldn’t help his curiosity about his mysterious boss.

— ”I dunno.” Charlie said with a shrug of his shoulders, returning to his seat from a moment ago. ”He looks at his family’s old writings and memorabilia more and more often. Talks a lot about how much it sucks that he can’t have kids and the heirloom is about to be given to Marvin whenever the day comes for him.”

— He sounded strong as a bull last time I talked to him. He’s not sick, is he?

— ”In the head, maybe.” Cliff commented.

Charlie looked Cliff in the eyes, saying ”shut up” as loudly as one can without words, with nothing but a stare.

— ”And he’s called Sandking now. He’s gonna insist upon it whenever the two of you will talk.” Charlie told Sammy.

— Well that much is due I guess. Who else is gonna challenge him calling himself royalty, after he took over the whole East Coast in the 2020s, right?

HELSINKI

Samuli Leinonen was sleeping in his cold grey box of a prison-cell. Or at least trying to get some sleep. Maybe I should call mom. I dunno, it’s been so long. She would probably like to come visit me, get some reassurance that I’m alright and nobody’s beating me up on a daily basis now that Sammy went back to America.

He fell asleep as soon as those thoughts left his cranium.

He was walking in Times Square, New York. Or at least inside the vision of it that he had from watching TV.

The blue foil-resembling wrappings of this mint Mentos stick really were protesting his efforts. You only get those good ones every other time you decide to treat yourself to fifteen of these pastilles. Yeah, I’ve counted how much there is in each tube. What regular eater doesn’t?

”These suck after a cigarette, though.” He was speaking to himself. ”Glad I’m not doing that anymore.”

As Samuli lit up his cigarette, his downward-fixed sight was caught, along with al his attention, by a hawk-like screech from the sky. He turned up to look.

Sami was walking behind him, and huge flashes of sun’s light in just the right position, poked into the tissue of Samuli’s right eye like a pin, only lasting less than half a second. Then, having noticed himself stopping, he looked on ahead. Down on his field-of-vision, was Sami, coming closer to give a hug. Up from him was an eagle-owl, the size of a small person, diving from the sky to make an attack.

Samuli’s scream got left inside the walls of his mouth, and it was too late. The ferocious bird turned around to face Sami Sieppi from the front, poking out both of his eyes and leaving a vane scream in the air. Then like a dragon it took flight.

”My brother’s blind!”

Who’s that screaming from the sky?

Samuli’s eyes popped open and half his body shook, as he woke from his dream. He made a few pats to his left, knowing that a cell phone was somewhere on the edge of that bunk. That bunk. I’ve slept in this shit for fifteen years and I still call it a bunk. It’ll never be a bed to me. Just as those thoughts had completed their ringing up inside Samuli’s head, his phone made the sound signaling a rejected call.

— ”Cunt.” He loudly muttered. He’d really needed to get that connection.

Someone sleeping on the top bunk turned, mumbled something incoherent and found a stillness in their breath again, all in very quickly occurring moments. The darkness of the cell along with the entirety of the block it was situated in, struck Samuli but he had no time to think about that now. He knew who to call next.

The following call was answered quicker. Oh yeah, it’s business-hours in America. At some point in all this, Samuli had realized that it’s hours away from morning, now, because this is just the degree of silence and random side-noises that exists from 3 to 4 in the night.

— ”Is this Samuli the brother?” An old man’s voice asked, sounding fully alert and with a bombastic presence about it. The way old people always answer their phone calls. Somehow being dominant is ingrained into them.

— This is.

— What’s your business, then?

— ”Hold up,” Samuli quickly said, getting half-up to lean on his left elbow, pressed against the mattress. ”I got the right number, right? This is Sandman?”

— ”It’s Sandking these days.” Curtis ”Sandking” Marston insisted.

— Right, okay… Sorry about that, sir.

— No problem. What’s your business? Do you wanna ask about Sammy? Because I haven’t seen him yet.

— It’s… Uh, I’m sorry, Sandking?

— Yeah. The name wasn’t my idea exactly. I kinda liked the playfulness of Sandman more. But you know how names are.

How they change.

— ”Gonna take a while for me to get used to calling you that.” Samuli said, giving his eyes a rub. He gave up in terms of sleep; the last vision was too much to continue from, without giving himself a day first.

— A lot of people are getting used to calling me that. It’s not often that a 100-year-old criminal organization gets knocked down off its’ axis and taken over by the greatest underground empire ever built. If your brother is gonna be safe anywhere, Samuli, it’ll be here, with me.

Chapter 3

Alex

(Alexander Coleman, Markus Leinonen)

~

”Strawberries, cherries and an angel’s kiss in spring

My summer wine is really made from all these things”.

Helsinki Airport’s waiting-lounge was half-packed with passengers. Walking along a hallway between two rows of seats was 11-year-old Alexander Coleman. He made his way slow and calm, scanning every new corner he came to viewingdistance from. He’d lost his mother.

The music’s rhythm-section warming the passengers’ into a mood fitting