Blood Sister

By J.K. Denny

Blood Sister is an action packed story about two best friends, who as children made a promise that was sealed with blood to be together forever. However, they didn't realize that their pact would indeed keep them together forever, even through death.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.K. Denny
• Release date: Dec 5, 2009
• ISBN: 9780977224036

J.K. Denny

J.K. Denny takes pride in creating stories that excites the reader’s imagination.

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Blood Sister Copyright © 2009 by J.K. Denny

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All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976,

no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in

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without the prior written permission of the publisher.

JD Entertainment

First eBook Edition: December 2009

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity

of real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Summary: Blood Sister is an action packed story about two best friends, who as children, made a promise that was sealed with blood to be together forever. Little did they know that their pact would indeed keep them together, even through death.

ISBN# 978-0-9772240-2-9

Blood Sister is a complete work of fiction.

Printed in the United States of America

One

I’m on my way to go kill some very bad people. I’ve never killed anyone before, so I’m kind of nervous. But the way the last few days have gone, I’m ready for anything. I’m dressed like something out of a Matrix movie, driving down Michigan Avenue in a stolen BMW with a ten-gauge across my lap and a bullet in my abdomen. Why am I doing this? Well, I’ve always believed in the saying that blood is thicker than water. Family’s supposed to be more important than friends. But sometimes you have to make exceptions.

There was this girl, Johnny Sturlacky, I knew growing-up. She was my best friend. We lived next door to each other in a low-income housing project outside of Detroit. The type of neighborhood most educated people stayed away from. There we learned how to take things that weren’t ours and keep them for ourselves, bear false witness, covet, and basically violate all the other Ten Commandments. We also learned how to love and fight and had the audacity to call it life.

Johnny was the type of girl who didn’t put on make-up or wear girly clothes. She liked to wear high-tops, jeans, and a t-shirt and fight like a boy. She was tough, conniving, and pretty all at the same time.

We met when I was four years old. I remember sitting in the middle of my living room rolling a big ole Tonka truck back and forth across the carpet. I got it that Christmas from Santa Claus. Sounds of engine revs and climbing over tough rocks bubbled from my lips. When suddenly, I stopped, looked up, and felt the sting of a tiny fist knock the slobber right out of my mouth. It was then that our roles in life were defined: she was the leader and I was the follower. We were best friends from that day on. Until my mother and her fiancé dragged me away to Orlando, Florida and I had to leave Johnny alone to grow up in a world where you really needed a best friend to help you cope with life on the streets.

I hadn’t seen or heard from Johnny in twenty years until a few nights ago when I received a letter slipped under my front door. A letter that reminded me of a promise I once made to her.

One night in December 1984, two weeks after my twelfth birthday, Johnny and I became more than water. We made a blood pact with each other to be best friends forever, no matter how far away we were, or how mad at each other we could be. The pact signified that whenever one of us needed something, the other would always be there throughout our entire lifetime, like family. I cared deeply about my friendship with Johnny. She was my best friend and always would be, no matter what. I loved when we were together and when we weren’t, I felt empty. She was a part of my soul. I’d do anything for her, but sometimes I was afraid because she was a bit too fearless for me. I worried about the outcome of things as she fed off of my fears. Maybe that’s why we’re still so close—because I was afraid of everything and she didn’t blink when it came to taking action. If it weren’t for her, I would have never known what it was like to have a backbone. I vividly remember the night we made the ultimate bond.

Detroit, MI. 1984

Ouch! I jerked my finger away from the candlelight and shoved the tip of it into my dry mouth.

Mark Mathews! Johnny loved saying my full name when she was irritated with me. You’re such a baby! She raised her finger up to the light of the candle that was supported by melted wax on top of an old McDonald’s kid’s plate, which bore the scene of the Hamburglar carrying a sack full of hamburgers.

Placing the point of a sewing needle against her fingertip, Johnny punctured her skin, without flinching, allowing a small drop of blood to bubble at the edge of her fingernail. I scrunched my eyes low when I saw the blood. We were sitting Indian style in the middle of my bedroom floor. My mother’s annual Christmas Eve party was raging downstairs.

Now come on, we have to touch blood, Johnny insisted, grabbing my wrist and pulling it toward her.

Ouch! I cried once more. Do you have to be so bossy?

Yeah, I’m a girl. That’s what we do. She arrogantly smiled.

I knew that smile all too well. It was the smile that said I’m in control. It also said I’m freaking nuts and if you cross my path, there will be hell to pay. I did as she insisted, as always. I stretched out my innocent finger. She grabbed it and squeezed my small digit until another drop of blood surfaced. Pressing her bloody fingertip against mine, she said, From this day forward we are no longer best friends. We are more than that, we are blood-brothers.

Don’t you mean blood-brother and sister? I asked.

Johnny’s eyes glazed over with impatience. Fine, she whispered.

When the ritual was over she rose to her knees, and leaning over the candle, gently kissed me on the mouth. Looking into my eyes, she whispered, We’ll be together forever.

It wasn’t the first time we had kissed; however, it would be the last.

*****

Before the letter, my life was pretty normal. I cleaned and pulled teeth for a living. I ate lunch everyday at noon. I went home and drank. No too much, only one small glass of Dewar’s on the rocks. I like the flavor of Scottish whiskey, and its quick buzz helps me deal with my wife. I’m married to a woman who really doesn’t like me that much and I eventually caught her cheating. I’ll get more into that when the time comes. Until then, I’ll start with me and Johnny and why I’m on my way to go splatter someone’s head across a car factory floor.

Two

6 Days Ago

The night the letter arrived was a dark and stormy night, hot and humid like most storms were in central Florida. I know, cliché right, but really it was. It was my 32nd birthday and Jill, my wife, and I were supposed to go out to dinner with Bob and Linda. Bob’s a senior partner at the Marks and Marks civil law firm Jill practices at, while Linda, Bob’s wife, was quickly becoming an alcoholic. No surprise there. Anyone married to boring Bob would have to be. Jill’s office is about two miles down from my dental practice outside of Orlando. We try to meet halfway between our offices two or three days a week for lunch at a small cafe in a strip mall. But most times Jill’s too busy with work, so I usually have lunch at the office with my receptionist, Mary Goldsmith. Her husband passed away three months ago from prostate cancer, so she’s a bit lonely. Mary’s a good conversationalist, but she complains quite a bit, and she pretty much hates Jill. Why? In her mind, Jill fancies expensive clothes and jewelry; lives to impress others; and is pretty much selfish, judgmental, and arrogant, among other things. Mary can smell her personality like a dead rat trapped within the drywall of a small house from a mile away. Plus, I like it when Mary compliments me on my boyish good looks. She says my dark brown hair, with eyes to match, make her wish that she was forty years younger so that she could steal me away from a tyrant like Jill. It kind of creeps me out, but at the same time I’m flattered.

Jill and I met in college. We both attended the University of Florida. She was a great gal when we were dating. She seemed to be interested in the things I said and the theories I had about life. She loved to hang out with my friends. But it wasn't her charming personality that caught my attention; it was her dark hair and brown almond eyes that drew me in like a snake hypnotizing its prey. She seemed to change shortly after we were married and then really did a one-eighty when she landed the job at Marks and Marks. Maybe it was the promise of a glamorous lawyer’s life that infiltrated her mind. I suppose her dreams of high society were always there, but I just chose not to see it. I mean, she was beautiful.

Over time we no longer talked in bed, had marital relations, or ate dinner at the table. She usually worked late and on the weekends, so I spent most of my time down in the basement. I call it my bat cave and decorated it with a 62 flat-screen television and a state-of-the-art sound system. It’s where I go to drink my whiskey and listen to my classic rock albums, like Led Zeppelin (my favorite), Journey, and The Doors, while dreaming about a better wife...excuse me, I mean life. Jill says she doesn’t like that type" of music. She considers herself more refined and will only listen to classical music while drinking expensive wine. Plus, I keep the basement disheveled and unclean to keep her out. Jill’s a neat freak and if anything in the house is out of place, there’s always hell to pay. But she leaves the cave alone.

That night I had just stepped out of the shower. I took a short one because lighting was striking every few minutes. I’ve heard about people getting electrocuted in the shower during an electrical storm, so I didn’t spend the extra ten minutes soaking in the hot water. And I wanted to get down to the bat cave and have a couple of whiskeys before I had to put up with Bob’s look-at-me-and-how-successful-I-am conversations.

On my way downstairs, I stopped and peeked out of the front window. I could hardly see the neighbors’ cars parked across the street the rain was coming down so hard. I thought it would be best to give Jill a ring and learn when she was heading home. I wanted to tell her to be careful, too.

Hello, she said grimly. I got the feeling the caller I.D had prepared her for my voice.

Hey sweetie, just wanted to know when I could expect you home?

Why? You have company? Jill was always so paranoid and petty.

No, I was a little worried about you driving in this storm. I wanted to make sure you’d be okay.

I’m fine. Bob and I are going to stay at the office until the storm lets up.

Bob? I paused and took a breath.

"Oh, Mark, he’s my boss. We’re trying to finish putting this case together by tomorrow. Linda’s meeting us at the office and then we’re all coming by to pick you up." I could tell she was irritated with having to explain everything.

Alright then, just give me a ring when you’re on your way.

Fine, she mumbled.

I love you.

She paused and hung up the phone.

I was halfway down the basement stairs when I thought I heard someone knocking at the front door. I wasn’t sure if it was the cracking of lighting or the wind causing the screen door to fly open and then slam shut, so I waited. But then I heard it again. Thinking it odd that someone would be out during such a fierce storm, I quickly ran back up to see if they might need help. When I reached the living room, the front door was wide open and there was a thick white envelope lying on the hardwood floor. I looked back outside to see if someone was out there.

The street was empty.

A little freaked out, I searched the house to make sure no one was hiding in a closet with a blunt object waiting to strike me as I picked up the letter.

But the house was thug-free.

The envelope was soaking wet and fell apart as I opened it. A smudged line written in ink on the font of the letter read: To Mark from . . . My heart beat a little faster. I couldn’t decipher who it was from, and something about the storm, the letter, my door being wide open,