InsaneJournal

RP: Maria?
Date and Time: February 2, 2008 - late morning
Characters: Marcus Flint, Various NPC's
Location: Somewhere in the Voodoo Islands
Private/Public: Private
Rating: R
Warnings: Drug references, Violent Imagery, Language
Summary: Marcus visits his other muggle home and discovers something disturbing.
Completion: Complete



He grimaced as he stepped down from the plane onto the tarmac of the landing strip. Sitting for as long as the journey was to his Carribean hideaway made his knees ache, though he knew a swig of pain potion would help that. Marcus reached into the pocket of his jacket and brought out the silver cigarette case, taking out one of his cigarillos and lit it with a wordless spell. Ferdinand, his pilot, grinned as he stepped around the front of the plane with Marcus' meager bit of luggage.

"Glad to get your feet on the ground?" he asked Marcus in Spanish.

Marcus smiled. If only the man knew how it was to fly on just the narrow handle of a broom. However, he went along with his pilot's assumptions.

"I was never one to enjoy the skies, like yourself," Marcus told him, his own words in the Spanish that was native to the country.

Ferdinand laughed, and nodded while he handed Marcus his satchel. "Enjoy your stay sir. The car is already waiting for you."

Marcus clapped Ferdinand on the shoulder in thank you. "See you Monday then." Without haste, Marcus began to walk towards the jeep that was parked for him to use. Unlike most wizards, Marcus had learned how to drive after spending as much time as he had in the muggle world. He loved it. He loved the sound of the engine and the speed. Unfortunately, because of the area he was now in, the roads weren't conducive for speed as they were not paved. Marcus could see the dirt road that reached the tarmac already as he threw his satchel into the back of the jeep, then swung a denim clad leg through the window of the fused door and climbed inside.

He had built this little airstrip when he began to import the drugs his people made on the little patch of land. Marcus had bought the land after his self-imposed exile from England, and it was through his real estate venture that he had met Vianca. He sighed ruefully at the image of the beautiful Latina who had briefly captured his heart - and who had also birthed his son. She had died in the hospital from a brain aneurysm shortly after. Maria, her mother, had told Marcus it was benevolent of Damballa to allow her daughter to see her son before she was taken into the afterlife. Marcus smiled as the image of Maria came into his head - a short, portly woman who epitomized what it was to be a dutiful and loving grandmother, though eccentric when it came to matters of spirituality and magic.

Vianca had been a muggle, but her mother, Maria, practiced Voudu. For that, Marcus and Maria got along fabulously and her beliefs allowed him to be frank and forthright with his own abilities - though not entirely so. Maria considered him to be filled with Damballa's true spirit, which amused Marcus to no end, but he respected her beliefs a great deal. Maria had taken on the responsibility of raising his son when he had to go back to England. She knew Marcus was loathe to leave his son behind and also knew it was necessary. Besides, he was the last piece of her daughter that lived on the Earth and Maria cherished the boy more than a grandmother could ever have.

Marcus flicked the ash off his cigarillo out the window as he drove along the bumpy, winding dirt road. He brought the cigarillo to his mouth and drew deep, the smoke curling in his lungs before he exhaled. It had rained recently, and the dirt had really turned into a pasty, reddish mud. The jeep's wheels struck a pothole filled with dirty water, causing the liquid to splash up and hit the low hanging leaves of the bracken that lined the road.

He had smelled the fire's acrid smoke before he had even reached the superlab which was the heart of Marcus' drug operation. Marcus' heart leaped fearfully in his chest and he sped up as much as possible on the dangerous road. The lab was uphill, and the road was steep and slippery. It was fortunate that Marcus didn't flip his jeep as he recklessly drove it up the slope, the tires squelching and spinning in the mud. He didn't feel the wards as he approached, and Marcus felt a sense of dread overtake him.

Wizards.

Marcus' lab and the landing strip had been carefully hidden from the muggles and their authorities by several different wards and spells. A former Auror, who was now dead, had cast the wards for Marcus and for the past near 10 years they had done their job well. Marcus had also been very careful not to have his wizarding life and his muggle life blur together in the Carribean, save for around Maria and even then it was simple things like lighting candles wandlessly.

Someone had been here. Someone who knew how to throw down wards. Someone who really knew who Marcus was.

The clearing which the lab had stood came into view but the series of metal covered structures no longer stood. The flames had since been extinguished, but ash and skeletal burnt structure remained and the nose stinging scent of chemicals lingered in the air. Marcus drew his wand, his senses ready but he knew whoever had been here was long gone. Leaving the jeep still running, Marcus walked slowly to the fire ravaged area, looking to his left and right constantly. When he reached ten feet in front of one burned down structure - the holding shack where the product had been stored - Marcus saw a lifeless lump on the ground. He hurried to it, and when he did he realized it was Miguel - his cooker.

"Mierda," Marcus swore, knowing the man was dead. However, seconds after he had pulled the man to lie face up instead of on his side, Marcus saw the bullet wounds that ripped through the man's chest and he froze. It was as if ice cold water had been poured over his shoulders and down his back. Whoever was here used a gun instead of a wand to kill the man - making everything look like a muggle conflict.

"Tu maldita madre!" Motherfucker!

Millions of dollars in methylenedioxymethamphetamine tablets - or ecstasy, as it was known on the street - had gone up in smoke. In anger Marcus kicked a nearby smoking pillar, the wood reduced to blackened carbon. He swore violently as he surveyed the damage, kicking apart fallen wood and metal. It would set back his profits for the year considerably, not to mention that he now had to find a way to make good on a few contracts he had with some dealers. Marcus was considered the big man - the one who produced the drugs. If the big man couldn't make good on his deals, then they would go elsewhere - but not before causing trouble first.

Pulling himself away from the ruins, Marcus went back to the body of Miguel and patted the man down. Miguel was always armed, and now it seemed his gun was gone. As Marcus disturbed the body, his discovered a piece of paper under Miguel's hand. Frowning, Marcus lifted the dead man's hand and picked up the mud smeared paper - discovering it was not paper but a photo. He turned it around - and his heart stopped.

It was a picture of Marcus.

With his son.

"No..."

The image of his Casa came into Marcus' head and clutching the photograph in his hand, Marcus turned and apparated.

The door had been kicked in, and bullet marks flecked the wood. Inside was the remnants of chaos. Marcus cast detection spells but no sign of life was found.

"Maria?!" Marcus shouted, his wand in his hand and fear in his heart. Pray gods she wasn't home. Her and the boy. But, there was no answer. "Maria are you here?" he asked in Spanish, his own voice sounding high and frantic to his ears. Who's doing this? Why? Where is everyone?

He found Maria in the kitchen. A pool of blood covered the tiles under her head, her throat slit with the kitchen knife she was using to chop onions. Remnants of what looked to have been dinner preparations lay on the counter, and Marcus knew that this had happened not too long ago.

"Oh gods...no. Gods - ALEJANDRO?!"

He called his son's name in fear, running through the house and trailing Maria's blood that had painted itself on the bottoms of his shoes. Over and over he called, but there was no answer and images of the little boy, dead and broken filled Marcus' head as his breath sobbed in and out of his throat. "Alejandro, please...it's your father! Answer Daddy," Marcus cried, kicking open doors to rooms and closets but not finding his son.

Going through the entire house from top to bottom, it became clear that Alejandro was no where to be found. Gritting his teeth, not feeling the frightened tears that washed down his face Marcus clenched his fingers into his hair.

"Where are you?" he whispered brokenly, remembering the satchel in the jeep which had carried his son's birthday present. Marcus ran back outside, looking for footprints but none save for the ones outside of the house could be found. No footprints in the mud leading and leaving the grounds. It was as if the perpetrators had come in from the sky and left in the same manner. But Marcus knew why he couldn't find any footprints and the thought caused him to be violently ill as he regurgitated the meager breakfast he had eaten on the plane. They had apparated here - killing Maria and taking his son.

Kneeling in the mud, the legs of his denims ruined, it had begun to rain again and Marcus let the cool water wash away the sick from his mouth. His fingers clenched into the dirt and grass, pulling up clumps which he threw across the grounds in fury.

"Tráigame detrás mi hijo!!" he screamed into the air, raising up his hands in supplication.

Bring me back my son.