Shakers and Shadows

Chapter 1: Jonas

The air was thick with silence. It was the kind of silence that can only be reached after a tumultuous  noise, the kind of silence that is almost unbelievable after the cacophony which preceded it. The kind of silence that is almost audible, loud and rumbling. The only sound that one could have possibly heard was an occasional hissing, like a snake, or in this case a thousand tiny flames dying away. The flames were surrounded by smoke- thick, dark smog, blinding to the eye and vicious to the lungs. It swirled among the flames, cloaking everything within it in mystery. And out of this smoke came a boy. Stumbling he appeared, breaking through the hazy curtain of fumes, blinking as he emerged from the darkness of the dense cloud into the breaking light, and though it was a dull, grey day late in the evening it was far lighter than the hell he had stepped out of. His face was streamed with dirt, soot and tears. His hair was still singeing. His clothes were burned and in tatters. He climbed out of the rubble of his home, turned and surveyed the wreckage of his life. His name was Jonas, and someone had just murdered his entire family.

The bomb had hit Jonas' family home halfway through dinner. They were all as usual sat around the big wooden dining table in the front room. His younger sister was picking at her food nervously, pushing it around the plate. His mother was half-perched on her seat, eating but at the same time trembling to get up and fetch seconds, or clear plates, or fill glasses. His father had eaten less of his dinner; he had arrived late from work and hadn't changed out of his formal outdoor clothes, his suit, shirt and tie. He worked in the city and they lived several miles away, in a rapidly waning area of countryside, in what Jonas referred to as the middle of nowhere and so it often took his father a long time to get home, traffic being what it was: dense, difficult and often gridlocked. They often had their meals late so it didn't affect the rest of the family- in fact they were all quite content, quite secure in their little lives. In fact, Jonas' father was just asking him to pass the salt when those lives were crushed with a flash of light and an explosion.

Jonas stumbled away from the charring ruins, half-dazed and confused, blurry-eyed, barely understanding what had happened and how, not even beginning to conceive why it had happened. He sat down on the ground shakily and put his head between his knees. His stomach automatically heaved and he threw up his mother's dinner. He looked up, wiped his mouth and felt slightly better, more alert and awake at least. His eyes cleared and focused on the familiar sight of the older than old oak tree that he had climbed innumerable times when he was younger. Without thinking, he swung his head round to where years of familiarity told him his house would be. When he took in the rubble, it finally hit him. Scrambling to unsteady feet, he ran back into the carnage. The smoke was clearing and the little flames were dying out. The bomb's effects were devastating. Almost the whole of the house had collapsed, most of the walls and the roof reduced to nothing but rubble. Here and there he could see an charred relic of his former life; the coat hanger in the hall had somehow managed to remain intact, though it was scorched and twisted out of shape, parts of his father's cherished old clock lay here and there, warped by the heat. A line of flickering cinders led his way to the front room of the house. He didn't want to go back there, as he knew what lay there. When he woke up after the bomb, his first instinct was to pull himself out of the carnage, but after he had freed himself he searched for his family. He'd found all three of them, and quickly. His mother and sister he found together. They must have grabbed each other when the bomb went off, though he doesn't remember. His father had been blown to the back of the room. On seeing them all there, silent in death, with the explosion still roaring in his ears and his eyes and lungs rapidly filling with smoke, he gagged in revulsion and fled, needing to get away from the choking fumes.
But now he knew that he had to go back there. He couldn't leave them there. He had to pull their bodies out of the wreckage as soon as possible. Fuelled by grief and a need to act, he quickly carried out the gruesome task though he was aching all over and his leg felt as though he might have received a serious sprain. He had gotten off so luckily, he thought. A sprained leg, a couple of cuts and bruises. The rest of his family were dead. Sitting down on the singed grass next to his wrecked home, in front of the bodies, he put his head in his hands and wept.

Some hours later, when the sun was firmly set, Jonas had calmed down somewhat, though he hadn't regained his capacity for abstract thought, his mind still hazy with grief. Perhaps if he had been fully aware of his surroundings he would have noticed the large dark shape that pulled up and became visible as a black van. He might have noticed the doors opening, and the two shadowed men approaching the ruins of his house. As it was, he only heard them when they started laughing.
A loud bark of laughter snapped him out of his reverie. Instinctively, he scrambled away from the bodies he had been guarding and hid behind a large portion of wall that had been blown away from the house, fully alert now, his whole body trembling in fear, though he didn't know why. The laugh sounded so ugly to his raw ears. He was very lucky to have had that instinctive response, because if the two men knew he was still alive, they would have very quickly rectified the situation.
From his hiding place, Jonas could see that the two men were standing just in front of what was his house. They were bathed in shadow and it was an especially dark night. There were no street lights. He could see that one man was tall and thin, the other short and stockier. They both wore wide-brimmed, trilby-style hats.
The short man stopped laughing suddenly and raised his hand, a sign for the other man to stop. The tall man's laughter died away instantly. He spoke, and Jonas heard a voice that he would remember all of his life.
"It is done, then." His voice was low, rasping and malicious with a precise, clipped accent. It sent shivers up Jonas' spine.
The tall man nodded. "It looks that way." He glanced around and Jonas knew he had spotted the careful line of bodies, large to small, his father, mother and sister. "There they are, boss."
The two men walked over to where Jonas had reverently laid his family. "Three of them. I thought there were four," said the short man.
"There were," said his companion, puzzled. "Shriver, his wife and the two kids. They were all in the house, we were sure of it."
The short man nudged Jonas' sister with the point of his shoe, and Jonas held in a cry of anger and bit his lip. "You sure there were two kids? You sure the other was in the house?"
The tall man, who Jonas had by now worked out was working for the other scratched his head. "I'm sure of it boss. We've had surveillance on the house all night, and Shriver definitely had a son."
The short man eyed the scene with a look of sudden distaste. "Then you need to find the little creep, and fast. He needs to be dealt with. Your orders were to get rid of the whole family and I don't think I want to pay you until you've done it."
The tall man sniffed and scuffed his shoe on the charred ground. "He's just a kid, boss. I thought Shriver was the main target? I don't really have to graft looking for a runaway nipper do I?"
The short man turned and though it was dark, Jonas could have sworn he saw the man's eyes flash. "Any member of that family is a threat to me. I want them all eradicated. When I ask for something to be done, I expect you to do it, otherwise there will be consequences. Do I make myself clear?"
The other man gulped, perhaps fearing that look in the short man's eyes as much as Jonas did. "Yes, boss. Sorry boss. I didn't mean to question your requests or anything, Sir. I was just making sure I knew what you wanted. I'll find the boy as soon as I can."
The short man turned away from Jonas' family and the destroyed house. "Good man. Get these bodies removed too, I don't want the force to find anything here. I want it to be a mystery. It's good exercise for them, you know," he looked up into the sky, scratching his ear. "We don't want them to get too complacent. Can't let them think they run the place."
"Yes, sir."
The short man looked at the still body of Jonas' father. "Do you know how long I've wanted to see this exact sight, my friend? It's almost a bitter-sweet feeling."
The tall man looked up briefly. "He's been troubling you for a while, boss."
The short man glanced at his associate and smiled, a cruel, twisting smile. "I'll see you back in the city, then. I think I'll walk a short way. The night air is very pleasing, don't you think?"
His colleague nodded absent-mindedly, his mind already on the tasks set to him. "Oh yes, sir. Enjoy your night." He walked back to the black van and gestured to a number of other unrecognisable men in black to come and help him clear up the evidence of their murders.
Jonas could only watch as the short, shadowed man walked away from the scene and out of his life, leaving disaster in his wake.