The Rise and Fall of John Rizzerio

By R. Richardsson

It started with a single phone call. I had been been passing through town, with no intentions of staying, when 'He' called. While I had never heard his voice, I knew that the voice belonged to the Dark Prince himself; Vlad Tepes III, Dracula!
He has her! I so desperately wanted to charge to her rescue but I knew that I alone would not have the strength. I would have to draw from all of my resources if I was going to stand against 'him' or 'his' children!
I pray to God that I have the strength to face 'him'. I just don't know if that's going to be enough...
-John Rizzerio
Join J.R. as he and his friends scramble to rescue his family from the clutches of evil.
Over the course of two separate weeks, each twenty years apart, John is forced into battle against creatures he lacks the strength to defeat.
Together, will he and his friends have what it takes to rescue his loved ones? Or will his growing self doubt bring his party down?
When faith is no more, one can only hope. But, hope is tough to hold onto when his own holy artifact, a Cross handed down to him by his grandfather, becomes twisted in a reflection of his own inner torment.

• Language: English
• Publisher: R. Richardsson
• Release date: Sep 5, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476007311

R. Richardsson

R. Richardsson began writing in the early nineties, but it wouldn't be until 2012 when he would complete and publish his first book; ‘The Rise and Fall of John Rizzerio’, Book 1 of the ‘Ballad of John Rizzerio’ trilogy. When not working at his part time job, he spends his days off working on his current project, as well as with his social media sites. A like for his author page on facebook, or a follow on twitter is the best way to keep up with what he is currently working on. Any of his remaining time is spent with his wife and four children, though he hopes to one day be able to sustain his family on his writing alone.

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The Rise and Fall of John Rizzerio

By: R. Richardsson

Illustrations By: Lars Nielsen

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012, R. Richardsson

Table of Contents

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

INTRODUCTION

I. NOW, THEN AND BACK AGAIN

II. …the Past.

III. THE CLOTHING STORE

IV. THE PRESENT

V. IN JOHN WE TRUST

Translation from Latin Vulgate to English

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This work is dedicated to my wife, whose love and support have kept me going all these years. She has given me four beautiful children and has spent many hours helping me to improve upon my writing, as well as many years improving upon myself. Hey Mama; Thanks for all the great memories! Can’t wait to make many more! I love you!

I would also like to acknowledge a very special thanks to Professor Lowe, who inspired me all those years ago. Thank you for all of your encouragement, without which I never would have written the beginnings to this story.

Special recognition and thanks go out to Louis Pecsi. If it weren’t for our friendship on Facebook, I might not have been reminded that it’s okay to exercise one’s creativity. Mine had lain dormant for far too long and seeing your work helped to return that ‘spark’.

Near the end of the list and certainly NOT because there is order to this; thank you mom for believing in me all these years. I may never have been the perfect son, but I have always been there. Love ya!

My heart also goes out to my cousin Lindsay and her husband Tom, whom without their introduction to the illustrator who worked with me on the cover, I would surely have settled for something for far less quality than what I have.

Finally, very special thanks go to my illustrator, whom without his outstanding work, I wouldn’t have the cover on the front of this book. With very little guidance, he was able to create the cover exactly how I had envisioned it.

INTRODUCTION

Three gruesome murders rock our state’s capital today leaving the community in a state of shock. The bodies of Greg Nelson, 23, Walt Boots McPherson, 56 and Don Skip" Donaldson were found at 2:57am in the old Moving and Storage warehouse, located just downtown off of Main and 1st. The bodies were reported to have been mutilated and completely drained…"

*click*

The man set the remote down on the table and exhaled softly while moving his hand up to his face. His middle finger and thumb rubbed the corners of his eyes, while his index finger gently massaged the center of his forehead.

It never fails… he mutters under his breath, …and with me being no closer than when I started.

Lowering his hand, he slowly stands and listens as his bones creak and pop beneath his skin. For a moment he doesn’t move as he contemplates each and every sound. The seconds tick away before he finally walks over to the only window in the room and his mind is elsewhere as he stares into the gloom beyond.

Quietly he admires his reflection in the glass. The light from the lamp is just bright enough that he can still detect a hint of youth in the features staring back at him. His face is rough and weathered, his skin tanned as if he had spent years working in the sun. Lines of worry cross his forehead, while those of laughter spread from his haunted eyes and tightly pursed lips.

His body, while well-toned and sharing the same darkened complexion, is battle scarred and worn. Various scars zigzag across his exposed skin, the history of some more serious than others.

Damn…

He balls his left hand into a fist and pounds it on the sill in frustration. The force of the blow is enough to rattle the window, momentarily distorting the view from outside, but he doesn’t seem to take notice.

He turns and crosses the room to grab his duster from the back of the chair he had earlier slung it across. It only takes him a moment more to grab his satchel and without a second glance he leaves the room.

If only he had looked back, he would have seen something that might have changed the outcome of things to come. If he had looked back he would have seen the glowing eyes that seemingly floated just outside of the window to his room, a room that was three stories above the ground floor.

I.

NOW, THEN AND BACK AGAIN

His phone buzzes silently from a pocket on the left side of his duster, its hum demanding his immediate attention. He mused silently to himself about how this particular phone hadn’t made a sound in years and thought back to the last time that he had answered a call from it.

It was in the early nineties when it last rang out and he knew that he could always count on ‘work’ at least three nights of the week when it did. This particular night it was dark and foggy when its call summoned him…

Hey John, I have anudda one for ya. Dis one’s a good one. Can ya meet me down at da dinah on 5th and James? I tink you’s gonna like dis one.

Yeah? What is it?

I can’t tell ya’s over the phone, yo. Just be dere in ten.

Once at the diner, he sat across from his friend who at the moment was fidgeting with the napkin dispenser.

Ya’s never know who’s had der grubs on dese tings. Gotta get da next one out or you’s gonna get what dey had, if ya know what I mean.

The irony of his statement catches John’s attention as Nick grabs the napkin with his fingers and removes it before taking a new one.

Yeah, yeah… Listen, I’m not here to talk about germs Nicky, what do you have for me?

Nick looks at him shrewdly and sets the dispenser down before answering; But in a sense, we’s gotta be talking ‘bout da germs, ya feel me? He pauses for effect before continuing; Lookit, dere’s dis clothing store, a’ight? In it’s dese two jobbers, been working da front for who’s really in charge.

Uh huh, so how many?

Dat’s what I’m getting at. Der’s dese two jobbers working da front, but in da back is where it’s goin down. I been keeping my eyes on it, yo? And every night, der’s dis van dat pulls in da dock and…

Nick looks at him expectantly, as if waiting for something. The last word he spoke trails off as if he might have forgotten what to say next. However, having done this before, John knows what to expect.

This ought to take care of the rest, don’t you think, John asks as he slides an envelope across the table. Now get on with it.

A’ight man! Be cool, yo? Nick takes the envelope, folds it in half and quickly stuffs it inside of his jacket. As I was sayin, dis van pulls in da dock and each night anuda person comes out da back. But dat’s not just it. Dey go in, but dey ne’er leave. Ya feelin me?

John shakes his head in amusement and smiles with one side of his mouth. Nick’s way of speaking always had this effect on him. It was always this way when talking with him, as he was usually so hopped up on coke (or some other thing that he had recently snorted) that he sounded like he had a perpetual cold.

Nick catches the movement and retorts defensively; Nah, fo’ real! I watch ‘em e’ry night and dey go in but da only ting dat comes out is dose bags!

Wait, what? What bags?

It’s like I be tellin’ you. Dese people come out da back and dey load da van with dese bags – big black ones dat’s tied up on da top!

A look of concentration forms John’s next expression as he says; Now you need to be very specific about how you answer this next question Nick, you understand? What you say next might save my life. How many ‘jobbers’ have you seen here. Just the two, or…?

Jobber is their term for those people that ‘they’ tricked into protecting them while ‘they’ did their business. There were always false promises made to them, usually the one that promised them into their business, but it was always the same. They only used them until the jobber had outlived his or her usefulness.

Nick answered him and of course the answer was still two. John thanked him, bought him a meal and left him to eat while he got ready to scout this place out for himself.

He watched the place for three days, and true to Nick’s word, there were two people always visible in the store. What Nick hadn’t noticed is that sometimes when the bags were being loaded into the van, sometimes they leaked. He knew what it was that leaked from them almost immediately. It was blood.

John’s thoughts snapped back to the present where his phone continued to vibrate in his pocket. He answered it and a familiar voice spoke out on the other end, but it wasn’t Nick. Not this time. Nick had been dead for nearly twenty years.

The voice was deep and emotionless as it spoke. Long time, John… You don’t call or write. You don’t visit… I’m beginning to think that you don’t want to be friends with me anymore. Emotionlessly the voice chuckles, the sound causing a chill to run down his spine. When he(it) next speaks, his (its) voice is suddenly full of power and influence.

I think it would be in your best interest to give up this silly hunt of yours, John, the voice says ominously, or I will be forced to do to you what I have done to everyone you have ever cared for. You think you are the hunter, but I have hunted your kind for longer than your pathetic blood-line has even existed.

John tries to focus. He tries to hold onto his will, but that of the speaker is just too great. The very sound of his(its) voiced oozed with power and bent his will to what he(it) wanted from him. The speaker wanted him to listen.

"When your great-grandfather first came to me, he wielded your God against me. He startled me. Oh yes, John, you might like to think that he even defeated me, but what you weak-minded worms don’t realize is that I am Eternal! I am Forever!"

The speaker paused for a moment as if to recollect his(its) thoughts. John used this brief repose to battle against the other’s will, using every ounce of his own to move his right hand towards the respective pocket in his duster.

"The next time he came John, I was waiting. I’ll never forget the look in his eyes as I watched the life slip from them, the look of denial as he realized I had taken from him his piece of the paradise due the righteous. Pious fool! I gave it to him John and you know what he did with it?!"

Of course John knew, but he was powerless to speak. The only thing he could focus on was the object in his pocket. If he could just touch it he could end this madness.

"I hadn’t known then about his son, but if only! If only I had known, I assure you, we wouldn’t be having this conversation John! You wouldn’t even exist! Ah, but that wouldn’t have been much fun, would it? You never would have trained with him… I never would have had the opportunity to taste your bloodline, would have I? There’s a brief moment of silence on the other end before; Oh, but how sweet your mother’s was! She cursed your father’s name when she died, John. She renounced your God!" Again the cruel sound of his voice as he laughed mechanically into the phone.

He could just feel it at the end of his fingertips, just a little more!

The speaker paused again, and when he(it) next spoke John was shaken to his core. I’m coming for you Johnny boy. But before I do, I’m going to pay my respects to your wife and son. That is, of course, unless you want to end this silly game of cat and mouse right now? Surrender to me John. Give yourself to me. I promise I’ll make it quick.

His hand grasped the object,