Carson Stone

The Drunken Man, the Sunken Man

"Carson Stone is the worst kind of drunk- constant and unpredictable. He ranges from deadly violence to complete complacency, and every time he takes a drink, people must wonder which Carson will appear."

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Carson Stone didn't kill Mr. Black.

Moments before he heard shrieks outside, he was shaking through all of his things trying to find his key. He was up an hour looking for this key and couldn't locate it for the world. But this happened often- losing things, for he's a drunk. This key was his world. You see, this is the key to his 2000 Audi A6. A car now totaled and destroyed, Carson had no plans of leaving, not that he physically could anyway.
He finds it impossible to get behind the vehicle again after what happened last year. These were the same car keys that he used to drive the night that his younger brother, Ryan, became a vegetable. He was currently in a coma.

Carson, a man who was finally getting on his feet- was simultaneously reduced to a drunken homeless man. Desperate to partner with some big time business men to invest in research on his brothers condition, without success- Carson began drinking. After reaching out to Delilah Black (a man his brother once mentioned he had once been a close assistant for) in desperation, Carson didn't get a response until days ago, when he learned he was invited to come to this celebration with the promise of freedom from his misery. That freedom? Carson could now never know.

That old man was dead as a door nail.

Carson:

I'm too sober for this.

After learning someone murdered Mr. Black in his manor, panic erupts. Fingers are pointed in every direction and my agitation grows even stronger now than when I first learned that I'd have to spend the night with these random people.
But then again, where in the hell else was I supposed to go? What else was I to do?

I glance at the clock on the wall that reads just minutes after 12. There has to be a bar around here somewhere.
Pushing through the chaos, my eyes scan over dozens of the fifty guests.
Some older, some younger. Some odd, some odder.

The voices within the crowd grows louder as chaos ensues and as I see the freaks attempt to approach me- I damn near lose it. I gotta get away. I couldn't control it. I needed control.

Struggling to manage my urges, my pulse begins to run faster than I can keep up. Slow down..
Instead of giving into my anger, I contract my fists as tight as possible- until I feel my nails pierce through my skin.

"Ah, there she goes", I say to myself, relieved. I finally spot the bar.

I sink into the bar stool after pulling three random bottles from behind the counter. Looking at the labels, I notice that two are Wild Turkey and the other says Old Crow. Bourbon. Whiskey. Right up my alley.

As I take the Wild Turkey to the head I notice two girls in the garden. Squinting, I remember them from the day before, just a few hours ago. One was annoyingly energetic and the other was his niece. Ah, Grey and Margaret.

Suddenly my light is blocked by a figure to my left. I look up, in awe.

"Ryan?", I ask quietly.

Couldn't be. I wasn't THAT drunk. Not yet.
He looked at me, oddly, but shrugged it off.

He had light hair like Ryan, was also about the same height. Hell, him ignoring me even reminded me of how Ryan used to whenever I went on about our mom. If he saw me now, he'd hate me. He'd hate me for becoming just like her. He'd hate me even more for becoming like her because of him. He'd hate me.