Chapter 2 - "The Crime Scene"

The six men stood in a circle. Police lights shown in blue and red. The red couldn’t really be detected, though, since they were already in the Red District, where all lights were red. This was where Billy Shumpert lived. Well, two blocks away, actually. And right here in the alley outside his work, was the crime scene he was standing at. Billy couldn’t believe the shit that had just happened. And now here he was covered in blood. He was so high on E, however, that rather than screaming in shock over the events that just transpired he found himself fixated on the bloody ooze that was staining his white tank top. He looked around to the other five gay men who had somehow found themselves in the same predicament as himself. And all having a different reaction. He looked at the two crying, the one in absolute stone cold shock, the one who’s eyes darted back and forth at the police and holding his arms out wide like an eagle, and the short Bulgarian one who was laughing hysterically. That dude had balls!

Tyler Monroe couldn’t stop hyperventilating. He looked at Caviat Tumar who was also crying, but for different reasons. Caviat’s $2,000 Marc Jacobs peacock blue trenchcoat was now a deep indigo of blood. Funny, how tears could be created by such different emotions, and the reactions of the six men, so profoundly different. Tyler kept thinking how he could have gotten in this mess. He was from the Blue District, the district of art, music, performance…not murder. Life was supposed to be about creating fantastical pop spectacles, not horrorific realities. He should have never come to the Red District. He should have stayed in the studio burning the midnight oil with his assistant and friend, Al. God, what would she think right now? Let’s face it, Tyler knew how to get into self-inflicted trouble. But this was ridiculous. More tears poured out as Tyler heaved his first wail of agony.

Caviat: Would you shut the fuck up!


Caviat Tumar hissed. This stupid bitch had gotten him into this mess and now here he was crying like a little baby. Okay, Caviat was crying as well...but for completely different reasons. No dry cleaning would be able to fix his outfit or his accessories. He was wearing almost $25,000 in luxury items. Items that could now go into one of the heaping trash cans in this God forsaken alley in the trashiest area of Casillas. The Red district. A place of sex, drugs, and murder. It may have been next door to the Purple district, where Caviat lived, but it couldn’t have been further in Caviat’s mind. Class vs. Trash. Known as the district full of “spirit”, the Purple District was really known as the Financial area. Basically, where business people worked and anyone rich and famous lived. Caviat wasn’t famous yet, but rich, well, he was certainly getting there. Funny how fame can turn into infamy so quickly. As he listened to Tyler’s bawling and the Eastern European guy’s laughing, Caviat started to consider the predicament he was in. This certainly was going to take a bigger chunk out of his social life then the court cases he endured for the ridiculous traffic violation he was so wrongly accused of in the Purple district. Even though Casillas was a place where more minorities felt welcome, the Purple district was still known as the district of old money. And although both of his parents were wealthy, Caviat’s ebony-colored skin continued to perpetuate racial profiling. He looked over at the slutty white boy who was fixated on the blood on his shirt. Obviously, the boy didn’t seem too bothered that his Sarget Mart’s $2.00 wife beater was trashed.  Instead he was more focused on the intricate stains the blood was making on the tank. Probably a druggie. Hell, the boy was probably from the Red District even. He was kind of cute, though, in his own wide-eyed way.

Bronsen Kirkland held out his hands wide. Isn’t that what you were supposed to do when getting arrested? He’d been arrested before, but this was totally different. When you get arrested in big groups for standing up for your rights or in a few cases, the cops crashing the party you were at, it’s totally different than finding yourself covered in someone else’s blood. Bronsen was smart, though, as he realized here he was yet again, not alone. There were five other guys who could easily be blamed, and blamed a lot worse than anything Bronsen had done. Or at least be caught doing. He’d seen enough murder mystery movies to know that the quiet guy never got thrown in the slammer, unless the quiet guy had a serial killer’s mind or an obsession with his mother. Nope, no obsession with his mother. His mother was a nice Filipino woman whom he loved dearly, but certainly didn’t feel any Oedipus Rex love for her. Or maybe it was hateful revenge towards his father that made Bronsen crazy. Nah, his father, a simple African-American retired military guy didn’t provide enough ammunition for Bronsen to hate. Bronsen didn’t hate anyone, really. Therefore, Bronsen was not crazy. How could he be crazy? He kept to himself at the dispensary. Growing the green stuff! Once illegal, he was constantly paranoid of getting caught, but now, in Casillas, he had a stable, “legal” job. Maybe even one that would yield a family someday. A cute little shaggy-haired skater blond boy like the one who worked at the nearbye convenience store. Someday, maybe they’d shack up together and have cute little blonde blasian babies.

Fuck! Why am I thinking about babies when I’m gonna get my ass thrown in prison for murder. A murder I should not even be involved in. And why the fuck is that Russian dude laughing like a crazy mofo...cute bubble butt though...Ugh. Mind on what’s at hand. Mind on what’s at hand!

Vincent Arnelliano was the last person who should be in this circle. The newest to Casillas by just a few days, Vincent with his best friend, a fruit fly named Bella, had just moved to the sunny Yellow District, the beach area that was really the only place in Casillas that ever really got a lot of sun. Not that different from his hometown in geography, but very different in terms of acceptance. Being gay was just not okay in Vincent’s family’s town, or church. But Vincent would never have dreamed this is where he would end up. He knew adventures lay ahead in Casillas and had always secretly desired visiting the Red District, but the thought was to maybe go into a bar and be slutty (hell at worst, lose his virginity), not covered in blood at a murder scene. Bella would be freaking out right now. On that note, where was Bella? And why did Vincent’s head hurt so bad?

Did I get hit over the head? Why am I even here? Ugh…oh, right. I’ve been smoking weed for the first time in my life. That will do it!

But who knew that smoking a little pot would put Vincent smack dab in the middle of a crime scene. A gruesome one at that, and now his best friend…was gone?

Oh my God, is it Bella’s blood that I’m wearing right now?

As fast as Vincent’s mind was racing, his body was stone cold still. A lot more still than the other five guys in their varying degrees of trauma. What would his sweet Filipino parents back home say now? Going to the Red district and involved in a murder. STDs were the least of this innocent boy’s issues. And seriously where was Bella? With her gone, would there be anyway Vincent would survive this ordeal?

Marko Dimetar couldn’t stop laughing. This shit was so funny. Here he was covered in red oozy blood while the amateur dudes next to him were like a tableau of farce. There was the coked-out, shaved-head kid (obviously lived in the district), the fashionable crying queen who in a different circumstance would probably be interesting to talk to about Art, but in this setting he was annoying as hell; the prissy black dude who was more concerned with his clothes being ruined than the fact that he would be going to prison for life; the tall, quiet, Asian kid. Marko couldn’t tell if he was wetting his pants for his mommy or if he was too stoned to even know where he was; and finally, the weird dude. He looked so friggin nervous like he was going insane in his mind or something.

Not sure what his race is? Black…maybe Samoan? Who the fuck cares. These guys are all shittin’ their pants over this.

Funny enough, the weird guy seemed like the one most likely to be Marko’s friend. How did these guys even get here? And not just in the alley…but in the Red district. To Marko, the Red district was his second home. It’s where he did his evening business, as well as his pleasure. The strip clubs, casinos, and the likes were stomping grounds for Marko. Hell, even though young, this certainly wasn’t the first murder he’d been involved in. But what it was, was the first time six completely different gay men had all been involved in one. Most of whom had never even laid eyes on each other until tonight. Marko should have stayed in the Orange District. He should not have gotten off work at the hospital. He should not have driven to the Red District to get into trouble. But in the end, trouble was still what he was getting into. It was so crazy…the events of the night. So crazy…that you just had to laugh at the whole thing. And Marko did!

Police 1: I said stop moving! I need everyone to shut the hell up. All of you need to stay exactly where you are. You are all under arrest for being at the crime scene. Until we can figure out what the hell is going on, you are all being questioned for murder.

Police 2: Do we know where the body is?

Marko: What body?

Police 1: Shut up!

Police 2: The body who’s blood you’re soaked in, Asshole!

Marko: You ain’t gonna find no stinkin’ body, Pigs!

With that, Marko dropped to the ground, laughing hysterically, as the police moved towards him. Marko threw his hands up higher in fits of laughter, scaring the officers, and causing them to shoot at him for moving. New blood now splattered on the five remaining men standing still with their arms up in the air.

The laughing finally stopped.

Chapter 1 - "Introduction"

The city of Casillas had gotten it’s Italian name from a famous soccer player who had ruled over the new city after the infamous Earthquake of ’15 had shattered much of the original city. With his strong sense of leadership, he led the people to rebuild, creating a much more eco-friendly, futuristic city than had ever been seen before in the United States. Most impressive in this new city was the lights. From space and beyond, Casillas shown much brighter than Las Vegas ever had. Solar power electricity in every color of the rainbow orbited the bright hues, even hitting nearby cities. For example one neighboring city always had a blue tinge to it at night where another had a permanent orange glow.

Casillas itself was split into different districts based on what color shown the brightest. And to keep it simple, the 6 districts were called the color it represented. ROYGBIV had never had never been so useful (although Indigo and Violet were used for one color: the Purple district). And yet the city itself was fairly small, so that the colors mixed together depending on what street you were on. A small city did not mean a small population however. People from all over the world came to see what all the hub-bub of the lights were about. As disasterous as the earthquake was, Casillas now rivaled New York and L.A. as the place where everyone wanted to be. Especially, the artists, dancers, performers…basically the GAYS. I mean let’s face it, they adopted the Rainbow flag years befor Casillas was ever even created. Frederico Cassillas himself was openly gay and since he pretty much created the city with the help of many surviving donors, he made a decree that the city would be a place where ANYONE could live, worship, and marry. Many of the U.S. laws were not taken into consideration when Casillas was built, based on the fact that a new world was meant to be a better world. One built from love and not hate. Marijuana prohibition ended and was freely smoked out in the open; prostitution was legal; and homosexuality was no longer a social taboo. Of course there were naysayers and right-wing conservative religious groups who were also welcome to live in Casillas. But for the first time in U.S. history, these groups were a minority. Many of whom had either died in the earthquake or rejected God after they felt He had destroyed their world and didn’t rescue them to salvation.

Yes, Casillas was a city of opportunity; a city of freedom; and a city of renewal. However, when many people of different ethnic groups, social backgrounds, and separate beliefs come together, all is not perfect. And Casillas was far from perfect. Casillas was a city inhabited with Sin. Deep, dark, secrets lay in the minds of the people who lived there. No different than the ones that lay in your mind right now…but this is the story of a mystery doused in sin. How six individuals from the six different districts came together on one night, found by police standing in a circle… covered in blood. Who’s blood? Well, that’s where the mystery starts. None were innocent and yet some were more guilty than others. What events happened to lead up to this tragic scene of blood and death. And who were these men? I call them THE SINNERS.