Snowfall Valley

Snowfall Issue One: Without You
(The Ryan K. series)

“Court will now come to order!” The judge banged his gavel on the wooden desk before him. “Case number 24601, The People Versus Samuel James Kennedy the second on the charge of grave robbery, indecency and defiling a corpse. How do you plead, Mr. Kennedy?”

“Not guilty.” With that one word, the whole court room gasped and began talking rapidly. Who could possibly deny such a serious offense when the evidence was so clear? Especially the heir to the richest family in Snowfall Valley. “Please, hear me out before you judge me…” He continued and the court then went deathly silent. “I loved Ryan K., he was everything to me and when he died I could hear him call to me…He said it had turned so cold and that he could not breathe. I felt for him and I had to rescue him…” His lawyer put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head.

“Wait till they call you to the stand.” The lawyer whispered to him. At that moment, just like clockwork, the prosecution stood up to call their first witness.

“I’d like to call to the stand the accused; Samuel James Kennedy The Second!” The woman representing the people of Snowfall Valley glared coldly at Samuel, a look of pure loathing and detestation apparent in her sharp blue eyes, her brown curls were cut to chin length and out of her face, a no nonsense type. Samuel frowned; not the type of person Ryan would have wanted to represent him., but even though, Sam reminded himself to remain calm and classy, so he strode gallantly over to the bailiff to be sworn in.
“Samuel James Kennedy The Second, do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?” The Bailiff asked.
“Yes, I’ve nothing to hide.” Sam nodded, smiling pleasantly and walked towards the witness stand. “ Go on, miss, ask me anything, I’ll tell you no lies.” He smirked a little, raising one eyebrow.

“Samuel Kennedy, you were caught in the Kennedy family crypt with the corpse of Ryan K., YOUR STEP BROTHER, in your arms. What was that corpse doing there, Mr. Kennedy?” She asked, arms folded, light glinting off her small fashionable glasses.
“If he is indeed a corpse, then is it unusual for him to be in a crypt?” Sam asked, sitting back and folding his arms as well. Despite the seriousness of the case, there were a few laughs.
“Yes, but what was he doing in your arms.” She asked, trying not to fall into his trap and become angry, even so she spoke through clenched teeth, her face turning quite red.
“Experiencing the love he was deprived of when his life was cut tragically short.” Sam answered calmly, matching her stance to and furrowing his brow in grim confidence, he would not be cowed by this frigid husk of a woman.

“Explain in detail, Mr. Kennedy.” She snarled.

“Well, I don’t expect you to understand, miss. After all, if you knew love like I knew, perhaps you wouldn’t have such a stick up your ass all the time.” Sam said smoothly, leaning back in his chair.
“Your honor!” The lawyer was flustered.
“Mr. Kennedy, I will not have you turn my court into a circus. I will hold you in contempt, if you have any more snide comments, keep in mind I can send you to the chair.” The judge glared at Sam.
Sam sighed, leaning forward and resting his head on his hands. “Really, now? I was under the impression that this was a trial by jury…Oh well, I’ll forgive your slight oversight, no need to thank me for doing your job for you. At any rate, Ryan and I were in love from the time we were children. Infact, it all started like this:

I was playing soccer with my friends, Ryan was sitting on the bleachers, smiling at me and waving. When I wasn’t paying attention the ball was kicked past me up into the bleachers, moving so fast I could swear it would have caught fire. Ryan caught the ball and brought it down holding it out to me with that adorable smile on his face, a shy blush creeping across his nose and cheeks. I smiled back at him and asked if he’d like to play and after thinking it over for a moment, he agreed. However when I turned to kick the ball back into play, I heard the most awful sound, just a small crash but it tore through my heart. Ryan lay in a crumpled heap beside the field, his breathing was shallow and terribly labored, so I yelled for my friends to call an ambulance. As they ran off to find a phone, I screamed for help and within seconds, Ryan’s mother Helena came running as did my father, Samuel James Kennedy The First, Jim for short. They stayed by Ryan’s side till the ambulance arrived and as the paramedics strapped Ryan to a stretcher and carried him away, my father had always been interested in Ryan’s mother, but now was his chance. I knew that soon enough I’d be close enough to Ryan to watch over him night and day, a guardian angel of sorts.

After the doctors revived Ryan and ran several tests, they let him out on bed rest, they claimed he was anemic and asthmatic, how horrible for him, I knew I had to make him feel better and made a note of it. To his surprise, he returned to not his old broken down cabin, but my family’s exquisite mansion. His mother and my father were living together and planning their wedding. I’d seen him stealing glances at her before that day, but I guess seeing my father so concerned for the health of Helena’s child made her see things his way. And didn’t Helena deserve some good luck in her life? After all, it is common knowledge in our small town, that Ryan had been the result of date rape from the first man Helena ever loved when she was only sixteen, when Ryan was born, the doctors said he’d be dead before he was a year old as he was so weak and pale. Helena wouldn’t listen though, despite what had happened to her, she loved her baby and would do anything to make sure he’d live, rather than develop postpartum depression like many mothers in that situation, she saw Ryan as the silver lining in the cloud of every other aspect of her life. My father had been Helena’s therapist during that part of her life and after ten years of working with her, he’d developed feelings for the then twenty-six year old woman. This was wonderful news for me because now, two years later, I could be alone with my beautiful beloved; Ryan.
After the wedding, Ryan was back on his feet and healthy again, beautiful as any girl…It was time to make my move and show him what I felt. He was thirteen now, ready to enter into adult-hood, romance, experimentation…My God, he was beautiful. I walked into his room that night and sat on his bed, motioning that he should sit down too, he came forward nervously and sat down slowly. I turned him towards me and grasped his hands, kissing each of them softly. “Ryan…” I said, “I love you.” When those words left my lips, he gasped, eyes widening. “W…What?” He stammered, pulling away, I grabbed his wrists and pulled him closer, running my tongue over his lips, at first he refused, turning his head in that adorable shy manner of his, the way he begged “No, please Sammy, I don’t want this!” was oddly sensual. I put a finger to his lips, shaking my head, moving my hand to his cheek, looking into his pale blue eyes, offset so nicely by that ebon hair. His lips of palest rose were trembling as I leaned down and pressed my own firmer lips over them. His eyes widened and he was shaking, tears flowing down his face, but after a moment, he returned the gesture and was mine.

The next morning, he would wake up to the wilted roses I had left for him and my scent all over him and his bed. The letter I’d left for him to discover, beautiful and eloquent if I do say so myself. I could hear his sobs from the other room. No matter, he would soon know there was no escape from this feeling. He left his room to go downstairs for breakfast, I followed, smiling to myself. “Good morning, my love.” I held my arms outstretched for him, he simply walked past me, trembling and gripping his shoulders. I shook my head, youth is so adorable in its prime.
We arrived downstairs and our parents stared at us, asking how our nights were, I grinned and replied “perfect”, but Ryan, however, trembled with tears in his eyes, shaking his head.
“Ryan, what’s wrong, honey?” Helena asked, stepping forward and hugging her son. He returned her hug with love. I was envious, to be sure…But then I thought to myself, perhaps if Ryan and I could have a child, then he would love our child and I as much as his mother loved him.
“It…It’s nothing…I…I had a nightmare, that’s all.” Ryan’s gaze turned downward, head bowed, the picture of submission. Finally, he realized the love I felt for him. It was all coming together.

During one of our trysts, I grinned to him and said “You’re so beautiful, Ryan…I really find red to be your color.” He’d begun to bleed from hitting his shoulder on his night table during the encounter. “Did you know that most babies appear red when they are born? Imagine, a life growing inside you and the knowledge that there will soon be plenty of red, lovely crimsons, scarlet pools…A lovely vision, is it not?” I asked him.
“I…guess so…” He said softly, turning his head to the side. “May I please go to sleep now, Master?” He asked pleadingly.
“My name is Sam, not ‘Master’, love, and no; you may not go to bed until I’m finished.” I corrected him. He gave a soft whimper, but lay back and accepted it, I could swear he was struggling less, a definite improvement in our relationship.

The next night, Ryan had trouble resisting, he seemed weak, helpless, mindless. But one thing he was not was useless. He was still a warm body, just full of blood and fragile bones. He coughed up some blood that night, upon seeing those delicious red drops of passion, I leaned down and slowly licked them off. Ryan clearly felt odd about it, because he closed his eyes tightly and tried to turn away, I held him fast, though. He sniffled, tears welling in his eyes, I couldn’t bear to see him crying anymore, so I licked them away too, but he instead trembled and began to try resisting again.

We met like this every night until one night, when he was fifteen, he stopped moving, stopped resisting, stopped reciprocating. His last breath left his body as he lay there and he was gone. I panicked and dressed quickly, dressing him as well and pulling the covers up over him. In the morning, my father and stepmother found him there, blood dripping from those preciously soft pale lips, dry tears staining his pale face. I cried hardest at his funeral for I loved him more than anyone else. That evening could hear him calling to me, telling me how cold and dark it was. How the light was fading and the cold was settling in on his skin. I knew he needed me. He couldn’t bear to be without me even in death.

Without hesitation I rushed to the family vault where he was buried and smashed open his coffin, collecting his gorgeous form in my arms and laying him down right there in the tomb. It was romantic, the silence of death and tranquility. The mossy and ivy growing on the inside of the tomb were amazing, climbing over old coffins, dating all the way back to 1670. The oldest of the coffins were rotting and there were bones strewn about the cold, damp ground. It was so dark in that place with only the moonlight streaming in through blue stained glass. Ryan clearly couldn’t stay there, though. He didn’t like it, or so he told me himself.

As I previously stated, I couldn’t leave him there, so I brought him home with me. No one else could know or they’d put him back in that cold dark place, so I made my closet into a special room for him, putting a small love seat, a table and two chairs in. He lay flat on his back on the love seat most of the times, but he needed to eat, so I brought up all sorts of food and lovingly fed him. He could not chew or swallow anymore because of his condition, so I moved his jaw and tilted his head back for him.

I wanted to be closer to him, to be with him forever and so to do that I thought we should have a child, an idea I’d casually hinted in our conversation about shades of red. The problem was his physiology forbade that we could have one the usual way, so instead, I snuck into the hospital my family had donated so much time and money to. I crept slowly down to the sordid area of the hospital where abortions were performed and I took with me one [fetus] in a jar.

When I got home, I slit Ryan’s pallid stark white belly open, all his blood and no longer functioning organs lay still and cold in that beautiful place. I lapped at his blood a bit when an idea hit me. Not only should we have a baby, but I should eat his heart, so it would forever be mine. I ripped it out and bit in, not bothering to cook it. When I’d wolfed it down, I placed the contents of the jar inside. I then sewed it up and decided to take Ryan back to the tomb so we’d have some extra privacy to begin the delicate work ahead, however within less than an hour, police sirens sounded and the police stormed into the mausoleum and arrested me, placing Ryan back in that cold dark place. That place he begged to be freed from. He’ll be imprisoned there forever if I am put away. So please, judge leniently. I must save him.” Sam said smoothly, leaning back again, he was grinning as though he’d done nothing wrong.

Entire court was stunned silent, looks of disgust crossing their faces. Even the defense looked thunderstruck. The prosecution, however, was smirking at Samuel. “Well, Sammy,” She crooned in a falsely sweet voice. “It looks like you’ve admitted to statutory rape, grave robbery, defiling a corpse, theft of medical equipment- That fetus, I believe, was for bone marrow transplants or something to that affect.” A man in a white coat called her aside and handed her some results. She opened the manila folder and her smirk widened as though she’d just been given the world on a silver platter. “Add voluntary manslaughter to that list of charges! This autopsy showed that when Ryan struggled against you, you crushed his windpipe. He had asthma and was anemic as well, correct? If so then what you did to him was reckless endangerment. How do you plead to that, Mr. Kennedy?”

“I would never hurt Ryan. I loved him and he loved me.” Sam dismissed the prosecution’s words.
“He had bruises on his arms, neck and legs from being held down! He’d been forced!” The prosecution’s eyes burned back at him. “And it was that force that finally killed him!” The prosecuting attorney shouted.

Sam was finally quiet, that same calm still resonating around him, noted in a somewhat satisfied grin.
In the public audience, Helena was in tears. Not only for Sam, but for Ryan and for never questioning what went on behind closed doors late at night. But as is usual in the Snowfall Valley, odd things are overlooked. After all, strange things happen everyday.. I should know…I’ve been dead since that story began to develop.

After his testimony, Sam was dubbed legally insane, however he was put into a large cell of his own, not so much a cell as an apartment. Great medical experts wanted to see him in a natural habitat, to study him. This whole time, Sammy was calm and pleasant, watching as his things were brought in. The finer things in life, a wine rack with exotic, expensive varieties from the world’s best vineyards, he was served the finest meals, exotic delicacies of every kind and was given all the classic literature and music he could desire.

It happened that one day, about twenty years later, as he was enjoying a glass of Dom. Romane Conti 1997 and some fine cheddar aged fifteen years (in his opinion, the perfect length of time for such things) to the calming strains of Beethoven’s Symphony Number 9 in D Minor, that a young psychologist entered the basement room, standing just outside the plexiglass keeping Sammy from the rest of society.

“Mr. Kennedy, may I speak with you?” The young man said through the small holes in the sheet meant for communication.

Sammy looked up from his wine and his book, Thomas Harris’ ‘Hannibal’, a fine, fine book in Sammy’s opinion with an amazing main character whom Sammy idolized. “I suppose so, that is, if your conversation can keep me interested…” He stopped here to sip some wine. “Which I highly doubt it can, my friend.” Sammy regarded the man before him, a young man in his twenties with long black hair tied into a ponytail and oddly colored eyes, brown but almost orange. He wore a sloppily buttoned white shirt, a stained red tie and a pair of wrinkled black slacks. His shoes were terribly scuffed and couldn’t have cost more than thirty or forty dollars.

“Well…my name is Jack MacDougal and I’ve just graduated from Temple University’s psychiatric program and I’ve been told that you’re a very interesting case. I was also warned that you’re highly dangerous, but I’d like to get to know you….” Jack looked nervous, noticing the book, he tried to make conversation around that. “I’ve heard of that guy, he’s from those movies with Anthony Hopkinson!” Jack grinned with a nervous laugh.

“Those movies pale in comparison to the remarkable work of Thomas Harris. Is television all you young people nowadays watch? Foolish boy.” Sam waved his hand dismissively. “The door is behind you, I invite you to make use of it, my stupid friend.”

Jack blushed, he certainly didn’t consider himself stupid. For a minute he considered walking out and trying to find a new case, but he refused. He wouldn’t let an insult his grandmother would have used offend him enough to leave. He simply stood firm. “Mr. Kennedy, I’m not going to leave just because you’ve insulted me. Now, I’ve been told you are a murderer, a necrophile and something of a cannibal, is this true?”

“I did not kill my brother, I did have intercourse with his alleged corpse, however I am uncertain as to how dead he truly was, and I ate his heart only to be closer to him. I loved him.” Sam replied calmly.

“Er…I see…Well, er…. What happened if you didn’t kill him?” Jack asked, shifting uncomfortably.

“He just slipped away. His beautiful soul floated off like a butterfly in a tempest.” Sam shrugged.

“That’s beautiful, Mr. Kennedy.” Jack said. “Do you write poetry?”
“Not at all, but I read plenty of it.” Sam leaned back in his chair, folding his hands.
“Really? Are you a Poe fan?” Jack asked hopefully.
“Not at all, I find his work shallow and pedantic. It is puerile, whiny garbage in which he laments pathetically about the same thing over and over. I much prefer the works of William Shakespeare or Dante Aligheiri.” Sam laughed hollowly.

“Begging your pardon, Mr. Kennedy, but Shakespeare is—was—a play-write and Dante Aligheiri’s work is a fine example of epic poetry which is actually prose.” Jack spoke up, trying to hide his enthusiasm that he may know more than Sam Kennedy.

“Ah, but is Shakespeare’s work not poetic? And is epic poetry not still poetry when read to the soft, dulcet tones of a schop’s lyre?” Sam retorted, raising an eyebrow. This Jack boy had a personality, interesting.

“If you believe so…But Beowulf, an epic poem, is most definitely prose…” Jack replied meekly.

“No, wrong again, one may draw parallels to Shakespeare’s own poetic works, I draw your attention to the monster, Grendel, of Beowulf and the monster, Caliban, of The Tempest. Such similar creatures, very few things separate them. One being Caliban is considered a clown character in the works of Shakespeare along with Trinculo and Stefano, his compatriots. Grendel, however, is subject to most terrible angst as is shown in his own story, John Gardner’s Grendel, an excellent book, but one I haven’t found in my library here. Both, however, have childlike curiosity about the world around them and mothers who are considered witches, let us observe Grendel’s mother in the story of Beowulf, a seawitch and Sycorax, mother of Caliban, a witch who ruled an island surrounded by the roaring sea. They are similar.” Sam smirked.

“What you just said was a rambling, incoherent attempt at intellectually challenging me.” Jack sighed. “It made barely any sense and proved nothing but the fact that you are possibly insecure and have a need to feel superior.”

Sam laughed. “Clever boy, but I was, infact, attempting to make a point and that point is that you are incorrect.”
“But you’ve proved nothing!” Jack was losing his patience. Sam was enjoying this display, getting exactly what he wanted as always.
“Oh yes I have. Your reaction says it all, you are yet still a child.” Sam sneered.
“But you never said I was a child!” Jack whined, folding his arms.
“Yes, boy, cry and stamp your feet like a two-year-old, it amuses me greatly.” Sam smirked, chuckling darkly.
By now, Jack realized he was giving Sam exactly what he wanted and stopped for a moment, mentally counting to ten as his mother had always told him. He was calm now. “I see what you’re doing, Mr. Kennedy, you enjoy seeing me make a mockery of myself, don’t you?”
Sam snorted. “Perceptive, aren’t you, my boy. You’ve only just noticed this?”
Jack sighed. “Well, I think that’s enough for today, I will be to see you tomorrow, Sam.”
“I look forward to it, boy.” Sam inclined his head and returned to his book and his wine.
Meanwhile Jack was reviewing his notes on his recent visit to Sam Kennedy’s cell. The man was brilliant and charming, however he was definitely insane. His every word was completely poison, like the hiss of a snake and the way his eyes burned was almost painful. Just the thought of him made Jack wince and shudder convulsively. He smiled a bit listening to his own music in the background.
The trouble with schools is they always try to teach the wrong lesson, believe me; I’ve been kicked out of enough of them to know…They want you to become less callow, less shallow! But I say why invite stress in? Stop studying strife and learn to live the unexamined…life…
It was that song that got Jack through all the stress and trouble of medical school. He began to sing along a little while he began filing the notes away. It took almost five minutes to finish and when he was almost done, he felt his shoulder brush something and then heard a small crash. When he looked to the ground, he saw a photograph of a blonde haired girl with milky blind eyes sitting in a wheel chair with a blanket over her legs. His little sister; Ellen. Appropriately as he looked at the picture, the song played:
Oh Boq, I know why, it’s because I’m in this chair and you felt sorry for me, well isn’t that right?
Ellen was gone now, but when she was alive, she’d received many a pity date which ended in heartache and Jack was always the one there to cheer her up. He had secretly considered her a burden and sometimes wished she was gone, but when she died he was devastated. When all was said and done, he really did love Ellen. She was a wonderful person and he had, in many ways, been proud to be her brother. Perhaps, he thought, she wouldn’t have been a burden if he hadn’t made her one. He was the one who’d put all his focus on her, she’d never asked for that much attention. Jack sighed, there he was, psychoanalyzing himself again, occupational hazard, he supposed.

“I’d better take this with me.” He smiled, picking up the picture and placing it in his briefcase. Tomorrow he’d be visiting Sam Kennedy again and he needed all the support he could get.

“Back for more, I see?” Kennedy sneered the next afternoon when Jack stopped by again.
“Yes….Now, today I want to talk a little more about what happened with Ryan…First of all, why did you do what you did after he was dead?” Jack asked, cocking his head. He gripped the picture in his pocket tightly for strength.
“Hmm…Instead let’s talk about what you’re gripping so intently, Jack.” Sam grinned wickedly. “A metaphorical security blankey?” He taunted.
“N..No, just a picture…” Jack replied, blushing with embarrassment.
“A picture of what?” Sam sneered.
“My little sister… She was ill and died.” Jack said sadly.
“Pathetic. And you think I’m strange, carrying around such a picture is just pathetic, really.” He laughed nastily.
“Shut the hell up! You’re just bitter because your brains and sophistication couldn’t keep you out of prison!” Jack slammed the palm of his hand against the Plexiglas wall which separated him from Sam. “Just shut up, you bastard! Where do you get off talking to people that way!?”
“I do so love your little outbursts, Jack. Anyhow, I will answer your question since I caused in you such an upset.” Sam laughed mirthlessly. “Put it this way. Have you ever loved someone who never hurt you or harmed you or cared about how you looked or acted around them. Never refused? Never gave you the old ‘not tonight, honey, I have a headache’? Never laughed if you became flaccid halfway through?”
“No, because that’s like loving a mannequin, the things you mentioned are normal parts of a relationship, just because someone doesn’t ever do anything you don’t like or approve of doesn’t make them the perfect lover, infact it makes them less loveable because they have no quirks to keep you interested.” Jack responded honestly.
“Stupid boy, you’ve again missed my point completely.” Sam shook his head.
“I can see that I may very well never get though your thick, nastily superior skull, so I don’t think I should even bother anymore. Goodbye, Mr. Kennedy, it has certainly been a unique…pleasure (and I use that term loosely)…speaking to you.” Jack rolled his eyes, snapping his briefcase shut and walking away. As he left, Sam noticed the picture of Jack’s sister fall from his pocket.

“Guard.” He said later that day to the on duty orderly. “Pick up that picture, withdraw some money from my savings and send it along with a basket of the finest wines, cheeses and chocolates to a Mr. Jack MacDougal…” With that, he smirked, folding his hands and staring menacingly out of his cell.

There was a knock on Jack’s apartment door later that night, he opened it and looked out into the hall at the delivery woman who stood in the door.
“Delivery for Jack MacDougal.” She stated, holding out the clipboard. “Sign here.”
“Right, thank you.” Jack smiled politely signing for his package and handing it back to her.
She handed him the large package and he took it, walking inside. He grabbed a pair of scissors and opened it, taking out a large basket with a card attached. ‘It’s been a blast, Jack my boy, have fun and perhaps I’ll see you again in another life.’ Jack blinked, looking at the window. Suddenly a feeling hit him and clicked on the TV as fast as he could. The story reported an escape from the local asylum, an amazing escape they had said as there was no sign of breakage or forced exit from any of the locked doors in the facility. Only one cell was empty and that one belonged to Sammy Kennedy.