Name: Groveland Carter
Nickname: Grove
Age: Twenties.
Relationship Status: Single, probably not looking.
Hair Color: Brown
Eye Color: Brown
Gender: Male
Species: Human
Appearance: See either the picture or link please
History: Straight From a somewhat religious Family, Grove's always rebelled since his younger days, skipping school, and ultimately aligning with the juvenille crowd in Putnam. Not even his own daddy could contain him. When he was in his late teens, he met the woman whom would become the mother of his son, though, with his stint in the slammer, it put a strain on the relationship. While in prison, he reflected on things he'd done wrong and ultimately wanted to do right by his son. When being released, Grove returned to Putnam, a changed man, determined to put his son's needs ahead of his own.
Family: Darlene(Mother) Son(Five) Father(Deceased)
Personality: Hot-headed, Protective, Has a Foul mouth. Guilty.
Ultimate Goals: To see that his son survives the plague.
Location: Putnam. Homeland.
Occupation: Former Convict, planned on searching For work.
Intelligence Level: Grove's a pretty smart man but he seems to either make decisions which he regrets later on or Falls in with a bad crowd. This was pretty much during his younger years.
Weapons: Baseball Bat. Double-Barrel Shotgun. Pistol.
An Hour Before All Hell Breaks Loose:
Reflection, that's all he really had time to do, being where he was all things considered. Think about what he could've done differently, said, or even gone about it another way entirely but when it came down to the real matter, he wouldn't change anything.
Not where his flesh came concerned, the best part of him walked this world at exactly five years old.
He may have made a lot of mistakes in his lifetime but being a good father wasn't one. Only real decent thing he'd done, no matter where the road lead him.
And that same devotion brought him to his current predicament, jail, since noon. Honestly, he had all the time in the world to think. Not totally arrested, no, that wouldn't look good on his record especially when he'd just gotten out of a three year prison sentence only yesterday. Hadn't been home a full twenty-four hours before this trouble started.
A fine mess...
More messed up than anything.
Royally.
Groveland Carter shifted on the most uncomfortable cot he'd ever slept on. The ground was better suited. He turned upon his back, dark brown thin eyes stared at the darkened ceiling of his cell. He'd spent many times here as a teenager, nothing changed, place could do for an overhaul. The ceiling still chipped away after all these years. Pathetic.
His brown wavy hair, fell away from his forehead as he soon stretched those muscular arms up, folding them underneath his head, to take the place of the pillow that should have been there. Grove judged it to be maybe eight or nine, the small barred window, nearest to his left, not only held a view of the blackened starry sky, he could still smell the food from the diner next door.
Closing time ran at promptly midnight, the smell of cherry pie always, as long as he could remember, lingered in the air meaning the night cook worked. His home town. It, too, never changed, nor some of the people.
He was restless. He'd need a stiff drink, to wash away the bitterness and because, well, he wanted one.
Grove shut his eyes.
What the hell?
How long was he going to be here?
At the sound of footsteps hitting against the tile, he shrugged sleep aside once more opening his eyes. The cell across his own private one remained empty, mostly all were minus the few containing repeat offenders.
He sat up throwing his faded blue jean covered legs over the side. Leather craftsman boots covered his feet. Grove wore his old man's army green long sleeve jacket over a worn gray tank top, practically all he owned at the moment. Hopefully he'd get a chance to make a call, to his mama, see how his kid was, he didn't even get to see whether his witch of an ex took em. Her jerk of a boyfriend he assaulted, to be thrown in here, didn't matter, only his kid.
The footsteps drew closer, closer, familiar, the near miss in the stepping due to injury.
The sheriff.
Friend of his old man since the days in Nam.
To Grove, a bother.
His head hung low, the footsteps stopped right in front of his cell. With minimal overhead light, he still could see the figure standing before him, when he looked up. He rubbed his face, waiting, to hear it.
"Your daddy is rollin' over in his grave now." Came the stern masculine voice oozed in disapproval.
Yep, there it was.
Grove sighed. "You don't even want to know my side?" He shook his head.
"I know your side," Sheriff Dawkins responded swiftly. The tall, a bit on the plump side, man with close cropped brownish gray hair looked particularly pissed. Unshaven, he was wearing the typical brown collared work shirt over black slacks. Pinned to his right breast pocket, along with other honorary medals, lied his sheriff's badge, directly over his name tag.
"Just out of prison yesterday," Dawkins went on. "Your mama ain't even prepared a decent home coming meal, your butt is behind bars, for assault."
Grove rolled his eyes.
"Is this how it's going to be? In and out? What about that kid of yours, going to have to visit his daddy in the slammer? What example are you setting for him?"
"You don't know crap, what I did, was to protect my son. Your lucky I didn't tear him a new a new one, he shoved my kid, I saw it." Fire burned in Grove's eyes. The sheriff frowned, he said nothing, allowing the younger male to continue. "Shoved him in a rage to reach my ex, she probably would've ended up in the hospital. I know he's beating her and yet she stays. Screw her, she wants her life to be about that, so be it. My kid is my responsibility."
Dawkins interrupted. "I figured as much," He sounded defeated. "I can't do anything unless she comes forward."
"Fat chance, she's in love with the guy, like I said, screw her. When it concerns my kid, it concerns me," Grove meant every word he said. "If he lays a hand on my son again I will kill him, period."
"Do you have any idea what you are saying?" The sheriff demanded. "I am an officer of the law, you can't be saying stuff like that. Threatening someone."
"I'm not threatening 'someone', I am threatening a prick, pretend you didn't hear it, if it makes you feel any better."
Dawkins shook his head. "You're insane, do you want to be sent to prison again? You won't help anyone then let alone your kid."
"One less moron in the world."
The sheriff frowned. "Cool down, you hear me? Just cool down. You just got back into town, your mama has your son so don't worry," He informed the other, Grove relaxed. "After the incident Shelly went with her boyfriend, not sure where, Darlene, besides from cursing me out, said the kid was left behind."
"That miserable....." Grove rubbed his face. "And I'm the one thrown in here, ah, gotta love Putnam's justice system."
"You were the only one throwing punches, I'm surprised he didn't press charges."
Grove abandoned the cot, he cracked his bruised knuckles. "Look, are you here to guilt trip me about all the messed up crap I've done? I'm not perfect, like my old man, never will be. I can only do what I'm capable of doing but know this, no one is going to hurt the best thing I have in this world. No one. I don't give a damn what anyone says or thinks."
"Okay, okay..." Dawkins shook his head. "Don't go getting into trouble, I've got enough to deal with without you stirring up things here in Putnam, having your mama cursing at me...go to her house and stay there," He fumbled with his keys. "Figure out what you're going to do with your kid."
Grove looked at him. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying," Dawkins wiggled the keys around until he found the one desired. "Your daddy and me and your mama go way back, Darlene would have my butt if I reported anything that might affect you, go home, enjoy the rest of your evening, that's what I'm saying and I don't mean hanging with those friends, looking for the prick you assaulted either." The sheriff opened Grove's cell watching him. The younger man stepped out putting his hands in his jeans pocket. He smiled a crooked grin.
"Thanks Dawkins, I will remember to vote for you in re-election."
The elder man shook his head. "Get out of here before I change my mind, it's pretty late to be asking Darlene to come down here, how you plan on getting there?"
Grove walked down the hallway. "Same car, mama picked me up in, my car, you forgot to let me get at the time so I guess I'm walking." More keys dangled behind him, he stopped, turned around in time to catch some car keys. Oh really?
"I love my car," Warned the sheriff. "Bring it back in the morning, pronto."
"Right," Grove waved the keys in the air. "Thanks old timer." Ignoring the grunt behind, he took off in a jog, through the actual police station where bodies were at a minimal. Strange.
"Hey!" Carey, a young officer, searching a messy, paper-riddled desk, called out, he and Grove went to high school together. "Dawkins let you out?"
"Yeah, I'm heading to my mama's, to see my kid."
"Okay, when you get settled, we have to have a party," Blue eyes went from Grove's behind him, where Dawkins now stood. "Of course, strictly legal...ahem." The blonde coughed.
"Where is everyone?" Grove asked.
"Got crap going on outside town, the border," Dawkins explained. "We are working, despite what you think, oh, it's the 67 red Chevy impala, remember."
"Hell yes." Grove said his goodbyes to the two men and the police station shortly afterwards, stepping out into the night air, something didn't feel right. He stood on the police steps, lit up by the overhead light, staring at the dwindled parking lot, some police cruisers occupied it, the red impala was parked a great distance away.
He could not shake the feeling something was going to happen, it made him worry about his kid, and the anxiety to make sure he was okay. Grove made his way to the impala he'd stolen in his late teens. Went on a joyride with some friends, those wonderful days. Dawkins put a bit of work into it, from what he could tell. Sliding in the passenger's seat, his brown eyes witnessed two cars speeding down the main road, into town, from something? And near the police station...
He heard that engine roar to life when putting the key in the ignition. He backed up, pulled away.
His mother lived in Putnam, still, a little on the outskirts. He wished he had a phone, to call her, let her know he was coming but he figured she'd call Dawkins, only reason she wasn't at the station, he told her not to be. She had seen him enough, behind bars, unable to do anything. He drove down the quiet road, beyond Hank's Mill, every male and their daddy worked there, he'd see about some work. Had a kid to support.
Grove used one hand to drive, the other rubbed at his tired eyes. He turned down Cora road, a shortcut, through the woodlands road. He would be there in ten minutes.
The woodlands overlooked northern Putnam, atop a gradually slope upward, all around the two lane road lied tall trees. The Chevy's headlights paved the way for him.
"Damn, I need a drink." He muttered. A small one. Closing his eyes for a second, he opened them at the loud honking.
What the hell....
Looking in the rear view mirror, all Grove could see were bright headlights, coming up close. He swerved on the side.
"What the hell is your problem?" The angry yell never reached the truck as it barreled down the otherwise darkened road. Shaking his head, he went to pull out, not seeing another car, headlights broken coming up. The impact knocked into Dawkins impala sending it spinning in a 360 turn, Grove cursed, just what he needed. Holding the wheel, he felt the vehicle turn over, flipping once, remaining on the flipped side. The windshield shattered glass onto the road. Luckily, he'd put on his seat belt prior, his head snapped back to the seat. Dawkins would be pissed. One headlight busted out and soon all movement began to stop.
"Damn." The former convict spat. Blood ran down his nose, who the hell? He hadn't seen another car, why didn't they have on headlights or honk? He stilled his thoughts hearing crying, a baby.
"I'm coming..." His bloody hand, cut on loose glass, tugged at the seat belt. With the child's crying he heard a voice, a female's. Drained.
"...What's..happening? Let the stew...warm, your daddy will be home."
Grove listened. "Are you okay? The baby? Hold on, don't move."
"Daddy's home...home."
"You probably got a concussion, keep talking sugar. Stay awake." Grove fumbled with the seat belt until hearing a car door slam, the crying child screamed then silence followed. Something dropped on the gravel, the female, she threw up skewered blood. His heart stopped. He managed to pry himself loose from the seat belt, dropping onto his stomach, he could see her, the woman. Shaking.
"Mam?" He called.
She stopped shaking, looking at him, the darkness hid the mess of blood and flesh caked around her face. Her body.
"Sweetheart...is your baby okay?"
She didn't answer him. Instead, the female was on her feet, running at the impala, trying to get inside.
"Damn it!" Grove eased back, his foot kicking at the passenger's side of the glass. She was crazed.
What the hell?
More importantly...
Was that flesh hanging from her bloody mouth, where was the baby?
