Okay Ladies and Gentlemen what you are about to see is the prologue for this story. Yes you may have read part of it before, but being that the rest is here I thought I would go ahead and update it. So here's to your enjoyment of the sweet world of confections!
On a television set inside a dirty store window a biography was playing for the passersby to view, “Many years ago Korrynia Aldys had a talent for making and selling the most luxurious chocolates that the world would ever know. In the course of her lifetime, Korrynia built a chocolate empire that spanned the globe. Today that empire exists in the dustbin of history as her family no longer produces what made it famous.
“In fact no one knows where the last of the famous Aldys family is or even what the family is up to today. Although there are rumors concerning one Cyril Aldys and his possible want to sell off all of his family’s chocolate plants…”
By and large this biography was ignored as most people couldn’t afford the flat and fluid screen on which it played.
The skies above the city were cloudy and dark grey. As the denizens of the city made their way around they knew it was going to rain. To most of the people the gloom in the sky was just another way to show the rough time they were going through. There were some people in the city that felt other wise and the vast majority of people would look at those dreamers and say they were either rich or fools. A nicer term to call the fools would have been dreamers. Such was the case of one such person walking down a desolate street with a look of determination in his bright blue eyes.
A young man with dark red hair walked slowly through the run down streets of the inner city. He was dressed in a pair of dark jeans that were somewhere in between a faded blue and washed black. He wore a simple faded green t-shirt and had a beat up pack slung across his back. There were no tags on his clothes – in fact everything he wore looked to be second hand. He was on the tall side. His height suited his lean wiry frame.
As he walked he looked around and shook his head sadly at the sights that greeted him. When he was halfway down the mostly deserted street he stopped in front of an empty building. In truth this one building while not as decrepit and bleak as the rest, was the primary reason that the boy was in the old manufacturing center of the city.
This building – with its large smoke stacks and heavy iron (locked) gates held some significance for the young man. In fact it held importance for anyone who was a chocoholic. This was the city’s first chocolate factory (and the nations oldest chocolate company) – Sweet Confections. And now it – like so many other buildings (and businesses) in the nation lay empty and in disarray.
Yes the nation was in a state of recession (some would call it a state of depression). It sometimes seemed to the young man that the poor state of the people would never end. This young man had grown up amidst the crime, poverty, and desperation of the lower classes and these daily sights had given him the determination to pull himself out of poverty and into a whole other world where success was the key to thriving and surviving. It was a harsh lesson for a man so young.
Yet even as the squalor of the lower classes endured some (if not all of the people) of them dreamed very big dreams. This young man did. His one goal in life was to become a Chocolatier. What he really would like to see was his name to rival that of the fames Aldys family. That would be a sign of true success for him. He wanted to create and market his own chocolates. Already he was making plans. For instance in his pack he carried a battered notebook with recipes for sweets. Now all he had to do was finish senior high school with a good enough GPA to receive a scholarship to one of the better business schools. After that maybe, just maybe he could follow his dream and bring his sweets into creation for the entire world to taste and judge. When that day came the young man would savor it.
As he stood staring and dreaming at the building the young man didn’t notice as he was approached by a gang of three men. None of the gang looked particularly nice and friendly – in fact every last one of them looked as though they were spoiling for a fight. Of the three men two of them were covered with tattoo’s (one of which was bald and the other had a long ponytail tied behind at the base of his neck) the third man had short hair, a scruffy beard and an eye patch over his right eye. If you looked closely at the last man you could see thin white scars coming from the top right and bottom left of the patch. With the red-headed young man not paying attention the three thuggish looking men took up positions around him. After a few moments the man with the eye patch cleared his throat.
The quiet sound got the young man’s attention with a visible start. Carefully he turned away from the gates of the factory to find himself surrounded by people who were most definitely not going to ask for sweets.
“What’s your name, boy,” demanded the man with the eye patch. His voice was rough and gravelly. It almost sounded like he wasn’t used to speaking.
Quietly the young man answered, “Regan.”
“You’re in the wrong part of town,” the man growled at him.
“I live just over the tracks, let me pass,” Regan quietly asked the man. It was obvious to him that the man with the eye patch was in charge of this little group.
“You’re too far away from home boy. There’s gonna be a toll.” One eye practically demanded.
“My name is Regan. Not Boy,” Regan answered stubbornly, “as for a toll I don’t have anything worth your trouble.”
“Then I guess you’ll just have to pay in blood,” the one eyed man growled with a nod of his head to the two tattooed men with him.
At that moment a middle aged man came from behind the tall weeds on the opposite side of the locked gate. In a clear stern voice he said, “That’ll be enough of that.” The gentleman had salt and pepper hair and sharp brown eyes. He was of medium height and carried a cane. He was dressed in a pair of dark blue jeans and a white top. A leather bomber jacket finished his ensemble. As he leaned on his can he appeared not to have a care in the entire world.
His sudden appearance caused all four men to jump. As he started Regan turned around to face this newcomer. But at the sight of the older man Regan gasped. This was a man that Regan recognized. This man could be none other than Cyril Aldys! In Regan’s view this man was a mountain of knowledge (not to mention his current savior from what could only be bodily harm).
“Or what old man,” growled one-eye.
“You really don’t want to know,” Cyril calmly replied, “Now off with you and leave this young man be.” The three thugs were showing great reluctance to leave so without a word Cyril pulled back the side of his jacket to reveal a small pistol. The sight of any sort of fire power caused the three men to flee quickly.
Cyril gave a small chuckle before turning his attention back to Regan. “Young man, you take this way home from school every day and every day you stop and stare at this factory. Why?”
“This isn’t just any factory sir. You know that. This is the factory with the most history in it in the world. This is your factory. This is Sweet Confections.” Regan said this with so much passion that Cyril gave him an extra second of thought before replying in a short manner.
“Yes, yes. I know all that. What I don’t know is why you go out of your way to look at this decrepit building five days a week,” Cyril replied testily.
“It’s called a dream Mr. Aldys. I’d like to be a Chocolatier one day and this building tells me that just about anything is possible,” Regan told Cyril confidently.
“You! Barely a boy out of school, think you know chocolate! That’s preposterous,” Cyril derided.
Cyril’s reaction was not unfamiliar to Regan. Most people derided such a fantastical dream. Normally Regan would ignore the naysayers. But this time he found he couldn’t. To this man he felt he had to prove himself. So without a word Regan opened his pack and pulled out a thick notebook that had obviously seen better days. Yet this was the most prized possession that Regan owned.
Regan looked at Cyril as he handed over his notebook and said, “I don’t pretend to know all about chocolates and confections but I do have a passion for them, Sir.”
Cyril looked at Regan curiously before accepting the notebook and walked away as silent as he had shown up.
Twenty minutes later found Regan standing in front of a decrepit house. Shingles were falling off the roof and the front picture window was boarded up. The three dingy grey cement steps leading up to the door were cracked and crumbling.
The sidewalk leading up to the steps was cracked and weeds were thick in the cracks. The yard itself was a cross between weed and patches of dirt.
It wasn’t much but this place was home to Regan.
Regan quickly walked the walk and into the house. The front room had a couch (which was missing a leg), a low coffee table, and a block of crates that were filled with books (all of which were had been purchased from a second hand book store). Regan sat his battered pack on the couch and made his way to the kitchen.
This was Regan’s favorite room in the house. It was a small kitchen will little counter space. There were two windows which would let the summer breeze in and the aromas out.
The walls and counter were a dingy yellow. The tile floor a grayish-white color.
Regan glanced at the fridge to find there was a note for him. As he read the note Regan smiled. It was from his mom. She had told him that there were a few new items in te cupboards for him to experiment with.
Looking at the packages and noticing their dented and generally beat-up appearance Regan knew his mom must have gotten them marked down – that was just fine by Regan. Just because the package was reduced or the items slightly out of date did not mean that the product within them was bad.
Grinning to himself Regan began pulling various ingredients from the cupboards and lining them up for easy access. Soon enough Regan was lost in his own world that consisted of taste, smell, and texture.
Regan was so absorbed in his world of sweets that he didn’t notice when his sister came home. And for him to miss the creak of an opening door as well as the muttered words of his sister was something. Regan was normally a good judge of when Morrigan was around. It was one of those twin things that the two were known for.
Morrigan sat and watched her twin. While both of them had dark red hairs and bright almost crystalline blue eyes that was about as far as the physical appearances matched. Neither of them were better than average students – unless it concerned their obsessions (as their mom fondly called their hobbies).
For Mori that hobby was plants and anything to do with them, and Regan’s hobby was sweets. It didn’t have to be chocolates so long as it was sweet Regan could concoct it.
Mori watched Regan at the stove for almost an hour. She watched as he added this ingredient or that and as he tasted to make sure one flavor wasn’t stronger than another. When Mori could watch no loner she quietly cleared her throat. Regan gave a slight start before turning around to face her.
Upon seeing his sister, Regan’s eyes lit up. “Mori,” he said softly, delight clear in his voice.
Mori grinned at her brother before asking, “What’s cooling in the pot, Regan?”
“Mom was able to get some canned pie filling on markdown so I decided to see what I could come up with,” Regan replied before asking, “Anything new with you?”
“I might be able to get some cuttings off the plants at school. Specifically the Hollyhock. That particular one should really make the backyard look neat,” Mori stated enthusiastically.
With a questioning look on his face Regan asked, “That’s the real tall one with the two toned blooms, tight?”
With a grin Mori nodded her head then asked, “Where’s your notebook?” Concern was plain in her voice.
Regan thought a moment before replying, “I ran into someone on the way home from school. I’m kinda hoping they’ll look me up.”
Mori shook her head before asking, “Who?”
“Cyril Aldys,” was Regan’s reply. Mori could hear the contained excitement and awe in her twin’s voice.
Mori searched her memory quickly and when she found the name her dark red eyebrows climbed into her hair line as she replied, “The owner of Sweet Confections?” Shock was evident in her voice. That would certainly be a person to have look at your recipes! Wow! Talk about luck being on your side (or more specifically Regan’s side).
