Chained Fury

New Life, New York

After the murder of Ruby, I was forced to move out of London, under the forces of the law. They sought me as a threat to the city, and would put me in the county jail for all I cared. I believed the jail was a filthy place, and I refused to die in that certain circumstance. So, I moved out of London, out of London, and set out in one of the most not-so large cities at the time, New York.

Yes, New York may sound big and bold with traffic, cars beeping and millions of tourists year round by today, but back in the 1860's, it wasn't as bustling and booming as it is today. The buildings looked ramshackled, torn down, and under construction. There were some building however that have been built. A zoo was in progress of being built and rehabilitated, a coffee shop just went in business, and there were millions of markets selling clothes (the industry for cotton had been BOOMING at the time I had moved to New York), hats and other novelty items on the streets. I rented out a tiny apartment, and moved into there.

Life in New York wasn't as eventful as life in London, so I decided to spice it up a bit. You know where this is heading. I was going to start my first murder in New York, but it took a little while to get used to my surroundings before I could even murder a damn person in this horrible damned place.

There was one person I had grown quite accustomed to in New York, and that was my neighbor who lived in the apartment next to me, Randy. Randy had been living in New York from the time he was born, and was a husband and father of two. He wasn't as crazy as he was by the time I've really gotten to know him, but he was a medium alcholic. By medium, I mean he never drank too little, he never drank too much, he was just... In the middle... But that progresses later on in the story.

Randy had raised two young boys, one aged 12 and one aged 8. He loved the boys, and his wife very much. And his wife kind of wished they had a girl, but Randy usually laughed it off with a wave of his hand. "Ain't no way in Sam Hell we're getting a girl", he'd always says to his wife, " We got two handsome young men right here, isn't that enough to be proud of?"

Me and Randy got along well together. He would often lighten up when I asked for advice about moving, or finding anything for common necessities in New York. He would often ask if I wanted a beer, but I declined. I'd much prefer water, and he would give just that. Randy was a plump, jolly fellow who was mysterious as he was witty.

One day, I'd asked him what would happen if a murder were to happen around here. Randy dismissed the subject with a wave of his hand.

"Listen 'ere Woodrow, you don't have to worry about murderin' a damn person in New York. Heck, if you murder one, two or millions of folks, I'd betcha they'd wouldn't even fuckin' care... Heh.. Go all out.."

As if he'd knew I was a murderer or something... What a prick... And a smart prick, too...