Digital Proofer The Storm of Vengeance Authored by Osaama Shehzad 5.5" x 8.5" (13.97 x 21.59 cm) Black & White on White paper 230 pages ISBN-13: 9781499177671 THE STORM OF VENGEANCE ISBN-10: 1499177674 Please carefully review your Digital Proof download for formatting, grammar, and design issues that may need to be corrected. We recommend that you review your book three times, with each time focusing on a different aspect. 1 Check the format, including headers, footers, page numbers, spacing, table of contents, and index. osaama shehzad 2 Review any images or graphics and captions if applicable. 3 Read the book for grammatical errors and typos. Once you are satisfied with your review, you can approve your proof and move forward to the next step in the publishing process. To print this proof we recommend that you scale the PDF to fit the size of your printer paper. Copyright © 2014 Mohammad Osaama Bin Shehzad All rights reserved. ISBN: 1499177674 ISBN-13: 978-1499177671 This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, please delete and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without To my mother and brother for their never-ending written permission from the author, except in the case support and ever-green love of a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to any actual events or locales is entirely coincidental. Cover art by Oneeb Ahsan Malik. For more information: www.facebook.com/ozz.shehzad www.twitter.com/osaamashehzad The Storm of Vengeance CONTENTS 1 Nightmares 1 2 Hell Angel 8 3 A Good Neighbor 10 18 Exiled Past 154 4 A Flight to Home 18 19 Sandstorm in Glaciers 160 5 A Voyage of Revenge 21 20 Changing Tides 165 6 Divine Intervention 25 21 Mummy, Daddy 169 7 Surprising Welcome; Shocking News 33 22 Eulogy 182 8 Living the Past and the Future 38 23 The Storm of Vengeance 202 9 Night of Reckoning 46 Acknowledgments 223 10 Hell Hath Unleashed 55 11 The Kiss of Resurrection 66 12 The Last Sunset 91 13 Twenty Four Years Ago 105 14 Darkest Revelation 114 15 Letters of Doom 127 16 Shattered Dreams 136 17 Birth of the Devil 147 v The Storm of Vengeance Nightmares “Welcome to Parents Day.” Decorated with flowers, balloons, and cropped-out chart paper letters, the arena of Roots Montessori School welcomed the parents to the major event of the year. The stage was constantly disturbed by toddlers who were running and screaming in joy. The clock was ticking and performances were about to begin, and teachers ran after the children to gather them for a quick, final rehearsal. As it turned out, the kids were excited and ready, and it was the teachers who were in dire need of moral support. The sounds of incoming and outgoing feet from the stage made an unusual symphony that transported Dali back to his unfortunate memories of chaos and violence, and soon he lost track of time. Dali was brought back to present when the school counselor announced her welcoming speech, and the parents-day performances finally began. A cute, little girl, barely taller than an office work-table, approached the stage in a white frock with alluring dimples. Parents’ welcoming smiles failed to make an impression on her, and her eyes peered across the entire audience like a CCTV camera searching for intruders. While every other parent was wondering why the girl was confused and afraid, Dali knew he was witnessing the most vindictive and brave girl on this planet. Suddenly, the girl hung her head and began crying. While everyone was feeling pity for her, Dali was afraid. Slowly and silently, the girl lifted her face, and looked directly into Dali’s eyes, as if he was the only one witnessing her performance. Her eyes were not the medium of sight anymore but hatred, 1 The Storm of Vengeance revenge, and murder. Her eyes became a polygraph, extracting every lie and sin that Dali had ever committed. Dali knew that his time had come, and only a miracle from place and he was very much alive, Dali sighed in relief and God could save him. Divine intervention was now a fantasy rose from his bed to look for the time. to him. The wall-clock, which had belonged to the previous “He killed my papa. He is a bad… You. Are. A…” owner, had been quickly discarded by him even though it Without breaking her eye contact with Dali, the girl showed the correct time. Dali was not used to trust any screamed “monster” in anger and pulled a gun from behind other person (or his belongings). Natures’ gifts of love, her frock. The parents sensed the imminent peril, friendship, trust, and romance repelled him but he was engendering disarray among the audience. The girl, thankful for that. He moved towards the door and pulled however, stood still. Her hands did not shake, her eyes did out his pocket-watch from the black coat hanging by the not blink, and she kept staring into Dali’s eyes with door-knob. alarming hatred. She panted and her eyes got redder with “Ah, 5:03 am, like always,” Dali spoke in irregular every breath. tones and pitches while yawning. He always commenced The arena was now filled with chaos, but the his day with a 45-min workout followed by a 15-min cacophony of panic failed to reach Dali. His ears were shower. Workout contributed to his tall, 6”3, broad, immune to the misleading voices of fear and retreat. He deceiving –thin in appearance, however, muscular- body. was besieged by silence―a silence which was drawing out His face always glowed because of his silky hair and blue whatever emotions Dali was left with. Shadows were eyes. Dali’s voice had a power of expression. It could moving in on him, and he was now afraid of seclusion. express his everlasting, unshakable, and modest character to whomever he spoke with. He usually wore a dress shirt Knowing that his end has come, Dali whispered “I paired with jeans of contrasting color and a black leather am sorry” to the girl, and closed his eyes. Bang! A second jacket. If someone was to look down at his light-brown later, Dali’s white Italian tie was ejecting a pool of blood, leather shoes, he would have judged that Dali was a and he was no more in a sitting position. millionaire. (He was, but he stole those shoes from his last assignment). *** Nice shoes. I am sorry but they won’t accompany you in your grave. Dali relived the last night’s memory after Just like any other early morning, trepidation pulled watching them lying on his carpet. Dali out of his nightmare, and he woke up in fear. For the Dali’s favorite part of the day was preparing last four years, fate has deprived him of a goodnight sleep breakfast. He always held high regards for his food. His because of the horrors he battled against every night. beliefs in true, sincere, and immortal love only extended to Covered in sweat and panting heavily, Dali glanced it. It was his soul mate. Every morning and night, he tried around his surroundings -through his young and innocent blue eyes- to assure himself that it was just another 3 nightmare. When he realized that everything was in its 2 The Storm of Vengeance new styles with his food, providing a perfect combination of hot and spicy, sweet and sour satisfaction to himself. However, if anyone had noticed, they would have ignored Dali’s parents were rich, high profile social workers it because no one ever cared about Dali. (which he did not know until four years ago.) However, nature took away his parents’ love, when they were killed “Goodbye, misery. From now on, I will write my in a car blast. At that time, he had only been one year old, own fate.” Dali sighed happily, turning back to see his past and because there was no one else left to take care of him for one more time. It was not out of nostalgia that he turned (not even relatives), he was subjected to seventeen years of around for one final look. In this one last look, he wanted to torture by his foster family. frame the agonies of his last seventeen years, so that one day he could savor his fate and rejoice in his success by Dali’s life passed as a normal teenager’s until his recalling the torments he bore in the past. long awaited eighteenth birthday. He never wanted to explore life―he only wanted to escape from his. Therefore, Dali walked away from the house but before even on his eighteenth birthday, as soon as the clock ticked stepping off the curb, he observed a disparity on the street. midnight, he broke out of prison―his foster house). It was odd to see a luxurious limousine in the suburbs of Albuquerque. The limo was blocking the view of almost two-and-a-half houses behind it.