*This is the first 700 words to Patriarch. It is in an early stage of editing. So this is a really rough, really bad stuff here. If you are brave: continue.
A white van turned the corner, making Steopa jump back onto the curb. The car that the van had cut off, swerved and hit their horn. Steopa reached back and laid his hand on Rebecka's shoulder.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
Rebecka patted his large hand. “You were nearly run over, not me.”
He turned his head to watch the white van as it drove away from them. He took Rebecka's hand and walked down the street, following the van. People moved out of his way as he began to pick up his pace. His statue, all seven feet, would make anyone want to avoid being run down by him. But the people on the street did not see him.
Steopa and Rebecka had blurred. Shadows covered both of them as they stayed on the white van's path. Its path was erratic. Turning down one street, then another. The darkened windows had piqued his attention. A shroud covered the van. Someone in that van wanted to die.
The van rode low to the ground. So low that if it hit a large bump, it would get stuck. The blackened windows did not allow anyone to see how many people were inside. From the interior you could feel, before you heard, the heavy bass lines echoing from a hip hop song.
Steopa strained to hear, over the bass and engine, the heartbeats of the occupants. He heard three. The strongest, a steady beat, with a slight irregularity, almost drowned out the other two. Those beats were fast. Two of the occupants were frightened.
The van slowed down. Steopa paused on the street. He pulled out a hair tie from his overcoat's pocket and tied his long black hair back. Rebecka motioned with her head to across the street.
Across the street, a group of seven men, all wearing the same shade of red, watched the van roll pass. The van turned down another street and the group of men followed it. Steopa raised his eyebrow. Rebecka grinned.
Steopa faded into the shadows, Rebecka did the same. They jumped across the street, then followed the men. The van turned into a parking lot of an old factory. It drove through a set of open double doors and shut off its engine. The music still echoed. The group walked into the same building. Two of them turned around and shut the double doors behind them.
Steopa looked up. The factory had four floors. The third floor, set back a little ways from the edge of the building, had the most windows. Most of them were broken, at one time it may have been the only light source in the building.
He jumped and landed on the small ledge around the windows. Rebecka joined him. He leaned over the empty window frame and studied the scene below. The van had pulled into the middle of the factory floor. The group of men surrounded it. One of them walked up to the driver's side door.
Rebecka put her arm through the empty window pane, then pulled it back. Steopa gave her a single nod. Even if a place was abandoned, it didn't mean they could walk inside. This old factory did not have the barrier. Nothing would stop them from entering.
“It is abandoned.” He whispered.
“You never know,” she said.
The driver got out of the van. Unlike the other men in the factory, the driver wore a suit coat over blue jeans. The one that had walked up to the van and the driver walked over to the large side door. They were engaged in an animated conversation.
Steopa could hear parts of the conversation. They discussed a payment. Money, exchanged hands. The driver opened the side door. Steopa grabbed Rebecka as she lunged forward.
The children were bound and gagged on the floor of the van. Steopa growled. Each of the men grabbed one of them and pulled the children out. Two of the red hooded men came forward and took the children.
Rebecka pried Steopa's fingers off her arm. Steopa grabbed her wrist. Rebecka glared at him. Steopa whispered. “Wait.”
“When I come back, get the children.” Steopa jumped down to the ground.