At nightfall, we assembled outside the rickety old fence. Fog rolled in and lightening flashed through the sky, making the house look even more ominous. I looked around at the small group that assembled, taking careful note of who was too scared to show up.
The gate creaked opened without being touched, the sound sending shivers up my spine. Taking that as our cue, the four of us entered the overgrown front yard slowly making our way up the front walk. Wind howled around us but on the air were the soft sounds of what almost sounded like violins. Joey screamed at the sound and ran all the way to his car and peeled off down the street.
The three of us surged forward, finally reaching the large wrap around porch. The wind had died down, yet the porch swing still rocked as if someone was in it. Jake stiffened next to me. From fear? From my nails digging into his arm? I wasn't sure, but was oddly comforted by the knowledge that I wasn't the only one freaking out.
Tim placed his hand on the front door and immediately pulled back. His fingers had turned bright red, as if they were burned. We could actually smell his singed flesh. Tim backed away from the door and us, breaking into a sprint when he hit the driveway.
Jake and I turned back to the door as the thing screeched opened. A light flickered in the room to the right of the foyer. Upon closer examination, a fire crackled in the library's fireplace. Rainbow prisms danced over the walls, reflections of the flames from the crystal glasses on the bar. The glasses were spotless, not at all covered with the fine layer of dust that coated the rest of the house. Next to the two glasses was a decanter of brandy.
Jake went over to the bar and poured himself a glass. He took a long swallow as I yelled for him not to drink. What the hell was he thinking? He laughed and brought me the glass. "You need this more than I do" he teased. As I opened my mouth to protest, he quickly poured the amber liquid down my throat.
The drink burned the whole way down but now pumped full with liquid courage, I was eager to explore. Jake poured another drink and we began to move around the house. The house was massive, full of dark and dusty old rooms. The floor boards groaned in protest at being walked upon for the first time in almost a century.
Jake darted up the long winding staircase, leaving me downstairs alone. A streak of light whizzed by me. I turned quickly to find its source, finding no logical explanation. Then the piano began to play hauntingly, though no one had touched its keys.
The alcohol-fueled courage faded and I screamed until my lungs felt they would burst. I raced through the narrow corridors and up the staircase. When I reached the landing, the old man was there, his face solemn as he pointed back toward the door. I charged forward, knowing the safer course was to turn back, but I desperate to find Jake.
I found him in what used to be the bedroom. He was staring so intently at the closet that he didn't hear me come in. I moved closer to see what had Jake so mesmerized. Inside the closet, glowing brilliantly was the old man swinging from the rafters, a thick rope around his neck. I was too terrified to scream and too scared to look away.
Jake's hand found my arm, breaking the trance. "Let's get the fuck out of here!" he urged. I let myself be dragged from the room. A massive boom rang through the house. The winding staircase collapsed, leaving us trapped upstairs...unless we wanted to jump 10 feet to the marble floor below.
A piece of thick parchment fell from nowhere, landing at our feet. It was a crudely drawn floor plan. Our position in the hallway was marked with a large red X. Arrows pointed us to what was hopefully the way out. We had no choice but to follow and hope it led us to safety.
The map led us back to the bedroom, to the closet where the ghost of the old man no longer hung. We pushed aside rows of coats, dresses and suits stinking of old moth balls. At the back of the closet was a tiny door. Jake tried the doorknob, finding it locked.
I felt the oddest sensation against my hand. When I opened my clenched fingers, a tiny silver key lay against my palm. Without hesitation, I shoved it into the lock and the door gave way. A second set of stairs lay behind the door. We raced down, expecting them to lead back to the main floor of the house and the exit.
Instead, we found ourselves in a tiny room, sparsely furnished. In fact, only 2 objects were inside - gold chest rested on top of a rickety looking table. The weight of the chest was causing the table to bow.
As Jake touched the chest, we were blinded by a flash of light. When our eyes adjusted, we found ourselves on the sidewalk outside the house, the chest at our feet now open. The chest was full of gold, jewels and other riches. And a note written in the old man's hand telling us that bravery should always be rewarded.
Jake continued to stare at the old man's fortune - now our fortune. I turned back to the house, catching a glimpse of the old man in the window. I swear the old man smiled just before the mansion went up in flames. True to form, the old man ended his last encounter with one hell of a surprise.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
The haunted house
On the outskirts of town, on the slope of a steep hill, stood the rickety old mansion. In its prime, the building was magnificent and was the site of lavish parties hosted by the town's wealthiest benefactor. He was eccentric but it was part of his charm.
Each year, he would host a Halloween party. Most of the town would turn out for the event, eager to participate in the festivities. The old man liked to surprise his guests. Long before fireworks were common, he had a fireworks display which mesmerized the town. Celebrities appeared unexpectedly. One year, he commissioned someone to ride through the party dressed as the headless horseman, terrifying his guests. The old man loved nothing more than seeing the delight on his guests faces.
Well, almost nothing more... Although he did enjoy the company, the parties, the surprises, he did it all for his wife. She was a plain woman, simple in her tastes and of humble origins. She was the old man's opposite in every way. Yet together they were a perfect match.
The wife fell ill in the summer of 1920 and died in late September. The townspeople didn't think the party would happen that year, but the invitations still came. Apparently, on her death bed, she told her husband to carry on the tradition and he always did exactly as she asked of him. The event lacked some of its usual luster and celebration without her there.
The old man's movements were marked with heavy sadness. When he disappeared early from the party, his guests though he was making arrangements for the surprise and eagerly speculated about what it could be.
There certainly was a surprise that year, but not the kind anyone was expecting. The old man was found, noose around his neck, swinging from the rafters.
Ever since that night, the house remained vacant. It fell into disrepair and, rumor had it, the old man's ghost still haunted the place. Sounds come from the house at night that no one could explain. The piano played though no one sat at it, the phantom pianist playing the same songs the old man would play for his wife when she was sick. Streaks of light appeared inside the house, though the electricity had long since been cut off. All the usual stories...
Over the years, stupid groups of kids tried returning to the house on Halloween so they could spend the night inside a real life haunted house. Most of the kids turned back before ever crossing the creaky porch. The ones who dared cross the threshold were never the same.
But these are just silly ghost stories. They can't be real. At least, that's what we thought.
I don't remember who had the brilliant idea that we should spend the night at the haunted mansion this year. But quickly the suggestion took on a life of its own and there was no stopping us. We packed our bags, fabricated stories to tell our families about where we'd be and waited impatiently for Halloween to come.
Check out the other Theme Thursday Halloween stories. I'll finish this story off on Halloween of course...
Each year, he would host a Halloween party. Most of the town would turn out for the event, eager to participate in the festivities. The old man liked to surprise his guests. Long before fireworks were common, he had a fireworks display which mesmerized the town. Celebrities appeared unexpectedly. One year, he commissioned someone to ride through the party dressed as the headless horseman, terrifying his guests. The old man loved nothing more than seeing the delight on his guests faces.
Well, almost nothing more... Although he did enjoy the company, the parties, the surprises, he did it all for his wife. She was a plain woman, simple in her tastes and of humble origins. She was the old man's opposite in every way. Yet together they were a perfect match.
The wife fell ill in the summer of 1920 and died in late September. The townspeople didn't think the party would happen that year, but the invitations still came. Apparently, on her death bed, she told her husband to carry on the tradition and he always did exactly as she asked of him. The event lacked some of its usual luster and celebration without her there.
The old man's movements were marked with heavy sadness. When he disappeared early from the party, his guests though he was making arrangements for the surprise and eagerly speculated about what it could be.
There certainly was a surprise that year, but not the kind anyone was expecting. The old man was found, noose around his neck, swinging from the rafters.
Ever since that night, the house remained vacant. It fell into disrepair and, rumor had it, the old man's ghost still haunted the place. Sounds come from the house at night that no one could explain. The piano played though no one sat at it, the phantom pianist playing the same songs the old man would play for his wife when she was sick. Streaks of light appeared inside the house, though the electricity had long since been cut off. All the usual stories...
Over the years, stupid groups of kids tried returning to the house on Halloween so they could spend the night inside a real life haunted house. Most of the kids turned back before ever crossing the creaky porch. The ones who dared cross the threshold were never the same.
But these are just silly ghost stories. They can't be real. At least, that's what we thought.
I don't remember who had the brilliant idea that we should spend the night at the haunted mansion this year. But quickly the suggestion took on a life of its own and there was no stopping us. We packed our bags, fabricated stories to tell our families about where we'd be and waited impatiently for Halloween to come.
Check out the other Theme Thursday Halloween stories. I'll finish this story off on Halloween of course...
I cannot go to school today...
"I cannot go to school today"
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
"I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry.
I'm going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I've counted sixteen chicken pox.
And there's one more - that's seventeen,
And don't you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut, my eyes are blue,
It might be the instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I'm sure that my left leg is broke.
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button's caving in.
My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,
My 'pendix pains each time it rains.
My toes are cold, my toes are numb,
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
Have a good one.
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
"I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry.
I'm going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I've counted sixteen chicken pox.
And there's one more - that's seventeen,
And don't you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut, my eyes are blue,
It might be the instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I'm sure that my left leg is broke.
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button's caving in.
My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,
My 'pendix pains each time it rains.
My toes are cold, my toes are numb,
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There's a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is ...
What? What's that? What's that you say?
You say today is .............. Saturday?
G'bye, I'm going out to play!"
Have a good one.
Monday, October 26, 2009
back on top
It was a dark and stormy night... The warriors were primed for battle, thirsty for revenge. And as we reached the sacred hunting ground, thunder crackled and the sky was suddenly alight. With a mighty boom, water rained down from the heavens, obscuring the warriors' vision. The battle would have to wait.
The next night we retraced our steps, once again returning to the familiar battlefield. The horn sounded, signifying the start of the battle and the 9 stormed the field...
I can't take the analogy any further. I didn't get home from the game until 3 this morning. I'm working off about 3 hours sleep right now and my brain is more than a little fuzzy. But what a game!
And in the end, the Yanks emerged victorious.
I could write about all the stupid drunk fans making fun of Vlad's HUGE ass... or the white trash guy running around with a blazing blue mohawk calling himself the rally monkey...or how my dad got an entire section to call the Angels "twinkies."
But a picture's worth a thousand words... And I think this one is priceless...
The next night we retraced our steps, once again returning to the familiar battlefield. The horn sounded, signifying the start of the battle and the 9 stormed the field...
I can't take the analogy any further. I didn't get home from the game until 3 this morning. I'm working off about 3 hours sleep right now and my brain is more than a little fuzzy. But what a game!
And in the end, the Yanks emerged victorious.
I could write about all the stupid drunk fans making fun of Vlad's HUGE ass... or the white trash guy running around with a blazing blue mohawk calling himself the rally monkey...or how my dad got an entire section to call the Angels "twinkies."
But a picture's worth a thousand words... And I think this one is priceless...
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
The Molly Pitcher
Mary pounded the steering wheel in frustration. The Turnpike was a
parking lot, nothing but a sea of brake lights. This kind of traffic
was uncharacteristic for the time of day.
She felt the strongest pull to get out of town this morning, just hop
in the car, crank some tunes and barrel down the highway. Mary was
going to head north into New England where the air would be crisp and
the leaves stunningly beautiful this time of year. But at the last
second, the car seemingly turned itself south, as if it knew where to
lead her.
The car, however, hadn’t moved in almost half an hour. Mary squinted,
trying to read the sign up ahead. The next rest stop was in half a
mile. Quickly calculating the exits in her head, she figured she was almost
at the Molly Pitcher. A smile came to her lips, as it always did when she
remembered…
They lay naked on the bed, still breathless, sweaty, and tangled together.
She propped herself up to get a better look at him, memorizing every
feature, the lazy way his hand trailed down her back, the electric jolt
his touch sent running through her spine. She loved these moments.
Hell, she loved him, even though she could never bring herself to say
the words. Trying to quell the rush of emotion that would only result
in an admission of her true feelings, she made some dumb crack about
whether he thought they would have met if he hadn’t slept with half her
floor in the dorm. She expected the obvious comeback – too many
drunken nights had resulted in Mary going home with a good number of
guys in his dorm.
Instead, his voice turned serious. He told her they absolutely would
have met - that if nothing else, one day they would have bumped into each
other at the Molly Pitcher and sparked up some hot affair. She
laughed, oddly touched. It became their joke.
She heard his voice so clearly now – "we’ll always have the Molly
Pitcher." As if some magnetic force was at play, her car maneuvered
onto the shoulder and bombed up the side of the road. Mary pulled into
a parking spot and scrambled out of the car.
She stepped inside, still unsure why she was there. Mary had the
oddest feeling that she was being watched as she moved across the floor
to the Starbucks counter. She paid for her latte and turned to head
back to her car.
Movement across the room caught her attention. She gasped, hardly
noticing when the coffee cup slipped from her fingers. He was staring
back at her, giving her that cocky grin that made her heart thump
wildly in her chest.
As they made their way toward each other, she smiled at the forces
which brought them together again...at the Molly Pitcher.
Check out the other Theme Thursday traffic stories... (For the record,
I don't know what the heck happened to the formatting of this post. But
I also can't figure out how to fix it...)
parking lot, nothing but a sea of brake lights. This kind of traffic
was uncharacteristic for the time of day.
She felt the strongest pull to get out of town this morning, just hop
in the car, crank some tunes and barrel down the highway. Mary was
going to head north into New England where the air would be crisp and
the leaves stunningly beautiful this time of year. But at the last
second, the car seemingly turned itself south, as if it knew where to
lead her.
The car, however, hadn’t moved in almost half an hour. Mary squinted,
trying to read the sign up ahead. The next rest stop was in half a
mile. Quickly calculating the exits in her head, she figured she was almost
at the Molly Pitcher. A smile came to her lips, as it always did when she
remembered…
They lay naked on the bed, still breathless, sweaty, and tangled together.
She propped herself up to get a better look at him, memorizing every
feature, the lazy way his hand trailed down her back, the electric jolt
his touch sent running through her spine. She loved these moments.
Hell, she loved him, even though she could never bring herself to say
the words. Trying to quell the rush of emotion that would only result
in an admission of her true feelings, she made some dumb crack about
whether he thought they would have met if he hadn’t slept with half her
floor in the dorm. She expected the obvious comeback – too many
drunken nights had resulted in Mary going home with a good number of
guys in his dorm.
Instead, his voice turned serious. He told her they absolutely would
have met - that if nothing else, one day they would have bumped into each
other at the Molly Pitcher and sparked up some hot affair. She
laughed, oddly touched. It became their joke.
She heard his voice so clearly now – "we’ll always have the Molly
Pitcher." As if some magnetic force was at play, her car maneuvered
onto the shoulder and bombed up the side of the road. Mary pulled into
a parking spot and scrambled out of the car.
She stepped inside, still unsure why she was there. Mary had the
oddest feeling that she was being watched as she moved across the floor
to the Starbucks counter. She paid for her latte and turned to head
back to her car.
Movement across the room caught her attention. She gasped, hardly
noticing when the coffee cup slipped from her fingers. He was staring
back at her, giving her that cocky grin that made her heart thump
wildly in her chest.
As they made their way toward each other, she smiled at the forces
which brought them together again...at the Molly Pitcher.
Check out the other Theme Thursday traffic stories... (For the record,
I don't know what the heck happened to the formatting of this post. But
I also can't figure out how to fix it...)
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Grrr...
I got nothing today…nothing but frustration. And now I’m going to vent. Welcome to bitching and moaning Tuesday…
So unless you and I chat on a regular basis in real life, you may be surprised to know that I’m something of a fucking medical mystery. And I can’t get a damn doctor to tell me what’s wrong. Hell, I can diagnose me better than these so called medical professionals. I’m a “doctor” of sorts, but not one that can refer myself to the right specialty so I can finally feel better. Fucking quacks. I hate them. I hate them all!
Joe fucking Girardi. What the hell is he thinking???? The Yanks lost the game last night not due to bad playing. They lost due to piss poor managing. What is with this “everybody gets a turn” mentality? It’s not little league Joe. I don’t care if the whole bench and bullpen get a shot at the victory. I want a win! You’re wasting our pitching staff on 1-2 at bats!
I’ve got a bet going with Matty over the outcome of the postseason. His Phillies better start sucking it up like the minor leaguers they are because I have no intention of losing this bet.
I was so sick last night that I could barely lift my head off the pillow. And yet, I still ended up putting Andrew to bed. Explain to me why when men are sick, the fucking world has to be put on hold for them until they feel better and when a woman is sick, she continues to do everything that has to be done, regardless of how lousy she feels?
And now I have to run and meet with a client… One who I’m sure is going to be thrilled at having to pay my hourly rate for his stupidity in not complying with the mechanics lien law and improperly glommed some poor guy’s dump truck. That’s right boys and girls. THIS is how I spend my afternoon.
Anyway… I feel so much better after getting that off my chest.
How was your day, dear?
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Climate Change
The teacher entered his classroom. The room had chalkboards that wrapped continuously around all 4 walls. He approached the front of the room and made two little hash marks on the blackboard about an inch apart. "That is how long man was on earth before he managed to screw up the planet."
The teacher then walked around the classroom drawing a long line around the entire blackboard. "And this is how long it'll take man to figure out how to fix what he did."
____________________________
My dad used to joke about people who move from to Florida to retire. "Who needs to move to Florida?" he asks. "With global warming, soon Jersey will be the new Florida."
_____________________________
I haven't heard these stories in year, but they immediately came to mind with this week's theme of "climate change." Two short and simple stories brought to you as part of Theme Thursday and Blog Action Day. (After writing 75 pages worth of briefs and the finale of my story - posted below - I'm fried.)
The teacher then walked around the classroom drawing a long line around the entire blackboard. "And this is how long it'll take man to figure out how to fix what he did."
____________________________
My dad used to joke about people who move from to Florida to retire. "Who needs to move to Florida?" he asks. "With global warming, soon Jersey will be the new Florida."
_____________________________
I haven't heard these stories in year, but they immediately came to mind with this week's theme of "climate change." Two short and simple stories brought to you as part of Theme Thursday and Blog Action Day. (After writing 75 pages worth of briefs and the finale of my story - posted below - I'm fried.)
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
When the past comes back to haunt you: part 7 (the finale)
Morning came too soon. Jim dressed in the suit his lawyer brought him and quickly glimpsed at himself in the mirror. Most of the bruises and cuts had faded, though there was still a particularly nasty one on his cheek. "It gives you character, " his lawyer had said before threatening to slap the entire police department with harassment and brutality charges.
Jim was cuffed, put in ankle shackles and transported to the courthouse. His lawyer was waiting for him at counsel table and glared at Jim's police escort as he removed the restraints. The courtroom was full of reporters. Most of the town had turned out for the trial. Jim could barely breathe as the judge climbed onto the bench and the courtroom was called to order.
Yeah...I could have stretched this one out even longer, but you guys kept harassing me to end it. Missed parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 or 6? This Thursday's Theme was "climate change." I'll do a real climate change post later...
Jim was cuffed, put in ankle shackles and transported to the courthouse. His lawyer was waiting for him at counsel table and glared at Jim's police escort as he removed the restraints. The courtroom was full of reporters. Most of the town had turned out for the trial. Jim could barely breathe as the judge climbed onto the bench and the courtroom was called to order.
Jim didn’t think it was a good sign when most of the members of the jury were parents, particularly parents of girls. He felt they were staring him down, already convinced of his guilt. The lawyer kept repeating “trust me” and, for whatever reason, Jim did.
The prosecutor’s opening made Jim shrink in his chair. Even he started to believe that the novel was a confession. Maybe when Jim blacked out the night of prom all those years ago it wasn’t from the bottle of Jack he’d consumed. Maybe it was his body’s defense mechanism, blocking out the horrible things the prosecutor said he did to Sara. As the prosecutor talked, Jim closed his eyes and saw himself doing exactly what was described.
A sharp jab of pain in his side brought him back to reality. Pay attention! She commanded silently.
Then it was her turn. Jim leaned back and found himself equally convinced by his lawyer’s opening – one of incompetent police work, shoddy investigation and corruption. The tale she spun was one of an innocent man, being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The more she talked, his confidence grew. He sat taller, breathed easier and the jury took notice.
The trial seemed to go on endlessly. The prosecutor paraded a litany of cops onto the stand. Half the town was called to testify about Sara, how wonderful she was, what a good heart she had, what a bright future, how it devastated her parents when she disappeared and no sign was found of her or her body. Jim struggled for composure, but shed quite a few tears listening to them talk about his Sara that way. Even his lawyer seemed touched by the outpouring of compassion for this girl no one had seen in almost 20 years.
Jim knew that the key witness for the prosecution was the medical examiner. He felt his attorney stiffen, primed for battle, when the ME took the stand. The prosecution scored some points with the jury on direct examination of the witness. Jim held his breath as his attorney rose for cross.
She didn’t waste any time going right for the jugular. “Isn’t it true, Mr. Smith, that your lab contaminated the DNA samples?” The use of “Mr.” instead of “Dr.” was a favorite jab of the defense bar, belittling an expert’s qualifications with one little word. The prosecutor objected immediately. “Withdrawn” the attorney said slyly.
“Dr. Smith,” she chided. “Your office neglected to maintain a proper chain of custody for the DNA samples, correct?”
“Your office failed to properly store the tissue samples at the temperature required by the regulations promulgated by your own office, correct?”
“Your technician failed to sterilize the microscope between examining tissue samples, correct?”
“You examined 100 tissue samples on June 4. Are you positive that you didn’t make a mistake recording the results? That your secretary correctly transcribed your notes? That your clerk properly identified each of the samples?”
Each question dealt a blow to the heart of the prosecution’s case.
“So, Doctor. How can you even be sure that the body the police discovered is that of Sara Goldwater?”
The doctor stammered. The attorney dove in for the kill. “Based on the shoddy work performed by your lab, that body can’t be positively identified by anyone! For all you know, I could be Sara.”
Jim gasped, knowing it to be true in that instant. The entire climate of the courtroom changed. Sara turned to him, eyes so full of love they brought tears to Jim's own. “I couldn’t let you be convicted for my murder.” Jim stared, stunned at the admission.
Sara turned to the judge. “Clearly, Your Honor, the charges must be dismissed. I am Sara Goldwater and, as you can see, I am very much alive.”
Sara turned to Jim, extending her hand. Jim’s own hands were shaking as he took hers and together they walked out of the courthouse, never to be heard from again.
The legend of Jim and Sara lives on, a story of faith, of hope and of a love that time, distance and circumstance could not destroy...
Yeah...I could have stretched this one out even longer, but you guys kept harassing me to end it. Missed parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 or 6? This Thursday's Theme was "climate change." I'll do a real climate change post later...
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
When the past comes back to haunt you: part 6
Jim was loaded back into the cruiser and closed his eyes during the ride back to the police station. This can't be happening to me. It was just a story! he thought desperately. He was confused when someone said his lawyer was waiting for him. Jim wasn't about to point out that he hadn't called a lawyer yet and silently followed the cop to the attorney meeting room.
Inside a woman nervously paced the floor, high heels clicking anxiously against the tile. She wore a black pinstripe suit and her raven hair in a stylishly short cut. The attorney whirled around at the sound of the door opening.
She was almost the most beautiful woman Jim had ever seen, second only to his Sara. Her skin was deeply tanned and he momentarily lost himself in her eyes. They were warm and brown. Then they turned hard as she glared at the cop.
"OUT!" Her voice was steely. "If you lay one more finger on my client, I'll have your badge!" She turned back to Jim, all smiles and concern.
Jim and his lawyer spent hours together every day preparing his defense. Jim never questioned how the attorney came to his aid, he was just so thankful for her.
A Grand Jury was empaneled. Despite his lawyer's advice, Jim insisted on testifying on his behalf, thinking that once he told his side of the story, they'd see it was just a story. The ramblings of a love sick, heart broken fool. Except Jim ended up making things worse and convinced every person in the room that he was guilty of murder. It took all of a minute for the Grand Jury to come back with its indictment.
Murder in the first degree. Jim was facing life in prison. Yet his lawyer kept telling him to trust her, that it would be okay. And for some strange reason, he believed her. Her tone was so concerned and genuine. She leaned in to him, placing her hand over his.
Jim couldn't help himself. He grabbed his lawyer's arms and pulled her the rest of the way to him. He lost himself in the moment, kissing her passionately. Soon they were on top of the table, limbs tangled together in a heated embrace. And there in the jail, though things seemed the bleakest for Jim, he felt alive for the first time since Sara disappeared.
The lawyer slid down from the table, still breathless, smoothing her skirt over her hips. "I always wondered what that would be like" she murmured quietly. When Jim looked at him quizzically, she gave him her sly smile. "It's kind of against the rules... The big 3 - always return the client's phone calls, don't steal the client's money and especially, don't fuck the clients." The attorney laughed heartily and helped Jim to his feet.
"Ready for tomorrow?" she asked. Jim's trial started in the morning. "Don't be nervous. You just have to sit there and look innocent. I do all the heavy lifting now."
Jim fell asleep with a smile on his face and his lawyers words in his ear. "Trust me."
Missed parts 1, 2, 3, 4 or 5? (Don't worry... The "whodunit" will be revealed soon...)
Inside a woman nervously paced the floor, high heels clicking anxiously against the tile. She wore a black pinstripe suit and her raven hair in a stylishly short cut. The attorney whirled around at the sound of the door opening.
She was almost the most beautiful woman Jim had ever seen, second only to his Sara. Her skin was deeply tanned and he momentarily lost himself in her eyes. They were warm and brown. Then they turned hard as she glared at the cop.
"OUT!" Her voice was steely. "If you lay one more finger on my client, I'll have your badge!" She turned back to Jim, all smiles and concern.
Jim and his lawyer spent hours together every day preparing his defense. Jim never questioned how the attorney came to his aid, he was just so thankful for her.
A Grand Jury was empaneled. Despite his lawyer's advice, Jim insisted on testifying on his behalf, thinking that once he told his side of the story, they'd see it was just a story. The ramblings of a love sick, heart broken fool. Except Jim ended up making things worse and convinced every person in the room that he was guilty of murder. It took all of a minute for the Grand Jury to come back with its indictment.
Murder in the first degree. Jim was facing life in prison. Yet his lawyer kept telling him to trust her, that it would be okay. And for some strange reason, he believed her. Her tone was so concerned and genuine. She leaned in to him, placing her hand over his.
Jim couldn't help himself. He grabbed his lawyer's arms and pulled her the rest of the way to him. He lost himself in the moment, kissing her passionately. Soon they were on top of the table, limbs tangled together in a heated embrace. And there in the jail, though things seemed the bleakest for Jim, he felt alive for the first time since Sara disappeared.
The lawyer slid down from the table, still breathless, smoothing her skirt over her hips. "I always wondered what that would be like" she murmured quietly. When Jim looked at him quizzically, she gave him her sly smile. "It's kind of against the rules... The big 3 - always return the client's phone calls, don't steal the client's money and especially, don't fuck the clients." The attorney laughed heartily and helped Jim to his feet.
"Ready for tomorrow?" she asked. Jim's trial started in the morning. "Don't be nervous. You just have to sit there and look innocent. I do all the heavy lifting now."
Jim fell asleep with a smile on his face and his lawyers words in his ear. "Trust me."
Missed parts 1, 2, 3, 4 or 5? (Don't worry... The "whodunit" will be revealed soon...)
Monday, October 12, 2009
When the past comes back to haunt you: part 5
Jim woke with a splitting headache. He blinked his eyes, which were almost swollen completely shut. He was no longer in the interrogation room, but could not identify his surroundings. His wrists ached and Jim saw his skin had been rubbed raw by some type of ligature. The same type of marks appeared on his neck.
Jim climbed down off the metal table gently, trying not to move too much too fast. Passing by a mirror, Jim gasped at his reflection. His body, naked from the waist up, was literally covered in bruises, scrapes and cuts. Every inch of his flesh burned as if it were on fire.
He began to take in more of his surroundings - the stainless steel tables, the rows of draws, the surgical tools. As his senses sharpened, Jim could smell death all around him. He was in the morgue.
Jim had never been claustrophobic, but the walls seemed to close in on him and he struggled to catch his breath. In desperation, he scanned the room for some way to escape. Jim spotted a tiny window high above the sink. He raced across the room, scrambled up onto the counter and threw open the window.
He drank in the fresh air greedily. Jim squeezed himself through the window, screaming in agony when his leg brushed against razor wire outside the building. He landed on his feet, trying to gain his bearings.
Suddenly, two arms came around him, forcing him to the ground. "You didn't think you'd get off that easy, did you?" the cop taunted.
"LAWYER!" Jim yelled. "I want a fucking lawyer! I know my rights!"
The cop sighed. "Better find yourself a good one. Clarence Darrow, Abe Lincoln and Johnny Cochran all rolled into one ain't gonna help you, asshole."
Missed parts 1, 2, 3 or 4?
Jim climbed down off the metal table gently, trying not to move too much too fast. Passing by a mirror, Jim gasped at his reflection. His body, naked from the waist up, was literally covered in bruises, scrapes and cuts. Every inch of his flesh burned as if it were on fire.
He began to take in more of his surroundings - the stainless steel tables, the rows of draws, the surgical tools. As his senses sharpened, Jim could smell death all around him. He was in the morgue.
Jim had never been claustrophobic, but the walls seemed to close in on him and he struggled to catch his breath. In desperation, he scanned the room for some way to escape. Jim spotted a tiny window high above the sink. He raced across the room, scrambled up onto the counter and threw open the window.
He drank in the fresh air greedily. Jim squeezed himself through the window, screaming in agony when his leg brushed against razor wire outside the building. He landed on his feet, trying to gain his bearings.
Suddenly, two arms came around him, forcing him to the ground. "You didn't think you'd get off that easy, did you?" the cop taunted.
"LAWYER!" Jim yelled. "I want a fucking lawyer! I know my rights!"
The cop sighed. "Better find yourself a good one. Clarence Darrow, Abe Lincoln and Johnny Cochran all rolled into one ain't gonna help you, asshole."
Missed parts 1, 2, 3 or 4?
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Almost perfect
Unless you've been living under a rock, you know the Yankees made it to the post-season and have been playing the Twins. Thanks to my dad's business trip this weekend, hubby and I were able to snag his tickets to Friday's night game.
What an amazing game!
The seats were great, but I'm the type of girl who thinks any seat inside the stadium is good. I don't need the Food Network cooking my dinner, but they did. And miraculously, I actually felt pretty good for most of the game. (That's a long story...one for another post)
The game was close, thanks to a number of bad calls by the umps, idiotic base running mistakes and plays that you'd only expect to see from little leaguers and the bad news bears. Yes, the Stadium went nuts when A-Rod finally did his job and came through when we needed him to. But the fans actually were louder when Molina got pulled from the game. I still don't know how the Yanks managed to get out of the 11th without letting any runs score and then came up big to pull ahead and win in the bottom of the inning.
Like I said, it was incredible. But something was very noticeably missing. Much as I love spending time with hubby, there's nothing like being at a ballgame with my dad.
The perfect game is spent in the Bronx, scorecard in my right hand, a dog in my left. And always seated next to me is my dad, rattling off baseball trivia and hurling insults at the players that crack up the section. Without him there, it's just not the same.
Almost perfect, but not quite right.
What an amazing game!
The seats were great, but I'm the type of girl who thinks any seat inside the stadium is good. I don't need the Food Network cooking my dinner, but they did. And miraculously, I actually felt pretty good for most of the game. (That's a long story...one for another post)
The game was close, thanks to a number of bad calls by the umps, idiotic base running mistakes and plays that you'd only expect to see from little leaguers and the bad news bears. Yes, the Stadium went nuts when A-Rod finally did his job and came through when we needed him to. But the fans actually were louder when Molina got pulled from the game. I still don't know how the Yanks managed to get out of the 11th without letting any runs score and then came up big to pull ahead and win in the bottom of the inning.
Like I said, it was incredible. But something was very noticeably missing. Much as I love spending time with hubby, there's nothing like being at a ballgame with my dad.
The perfect game is spent in the Bronx, scorecard in my right hand, a dog in my left. And always seated next to me is my dad, rattling off baseball trivia and hurling insults at the players that crack up the section. Without him there, it's just not the same.
Almost perfect, but not quite right.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
When the past comes back to haunt you: part 4
Jim squinted against the light. Images flew at him – Sara. Emerald eyes. Golden locks. Ruby red lips. Porcelain skin. Silvery dress. His goddess. His angel.
Jim was still woozy as he struggled for consciousness. Sara's house was a raging inferno. He rolled to the left just in time to miss a flaming piece of the roof as it crashed down next to him.
Wincing in pain, Jim struggled to his feet and stumbled to the car. He caught sight of his reflection in the window. His face was covered in a collection of bruises. From the soreness he felt on every inch of his body, Jim knew there would be more.
His laptop! The computer was undoubtedly destroyed by the flames. He was almost done with Sara's story, only needing to reveal the identity of her killer.
Sirens sounded in the distance and grew steadily louder. Four police cars and a fire truck arrived simultaneously. Jim paid no attention to the officers as they swarmed around him. Then one of the officers stepped forward - the one whose face haunted his memories from prom - and slammed him against the car.
Before he knew it, Jim was cuffed and in the backseat of the police cruiser heading down to the station. Jim was escorted to a tiny room with a couple folding chairs and a tiny table. Prominently placed in the middle of the table was Jim's laptop.
The cop pushed him down into the chair roughly. "Interesting story you have here. I particularly like the part where the body is buried under the old oak tree behind the school."
Jim cringed. The theory was his, unexplored by the police, who he taunted in the book for overlooking the obvious... The lover. His connection to the school. To Sara. That he would have buried her body outside the school, where he could see her body every day.
The cop leaned over the table so he was inches from Jim's nose. "The thing is, that's exactly where her body was found this afternoon." Jim's jaw dropped in shock. He was right? They found Sara's body? Was he right about the killer too?
"We found your collection. All those photos. All those items of Sara's. How long had you been stalking her?" the cop asked.
It was like the last piece of the puzzle slid into place and everything became crystal clear to Jim. "How long?" he asked sadly.
"How long? I'm going to put you away for the rest of your life asshole!" The cop answered back.
"No, you son of a bitch! How long had you been fucking Sara?" Jim spat out angrily.
Jim couldn't move fast enough to duck the cop's fist. It landed squarely on his jaw, knocking him backward out of the chair. Jim's head smacked the concrete floor and his world went black again.
(Yup...I'm stretching it out. One chapter left to go. Missed parts 1, 2 or 3? And check out the other Theme Thursday collections.)
Monday, October 5, 2009
When the past comes back to haunt you: part 3
Jim never thought it would be so easy to write a novel. Once he dove in, the story practically wrote itself. He edited constantly, wanting each word, each punctuation mark to be perfect. Sara deserved nothing less.
It was the first time he had been back here since that night. There was a knot in Jim’s stomach as he neared the place where he’d found Sara’s belongings so many years ago. He knew the exact spot and approached with hesitation. Jim was surprised to find a little memorial to Sara there. Even more shocking were the fresh flowers – stargazer lilies, Sara’s favorite.
Very few people knew that about her. She told everyone she liked roses. Not just ordinary roses - anyone could buy red or white ones. Purple long stem roses. They weren’t easy to find and they weren’t cheap, but if a guy wanted to get her attention, he would spring for those exact flowers.
Of course, if you really knew Sara, you also knew that was just a game - another hoop you’d have to jump through if you wanted to be with her. Jim, however, knowing her better than almost everyone, always skipped over the roses and went right for the stargazers. He grew them in his parents’ backyard when they were younger and every year for her birthday, he’d bring her a bouquet.
He only recognized himself in the photo because he had been there. Jim’s face had been obliterated, angrily scratched out of the picture. Who would have done this? he thought before turning the picture over in his hands. Jim’s blood ran cold at the sight of the words scribbled on the back in red: WATCH OUT OR YOU ARE NEXT. When Jim looked at the ground again, a single bullet lay there taunting him.
Jim ran back to his car, locking the doors quickly, wheels screeching loudly as he peeled out of the lot. He started driving for the local police station and then thought better of it. What if the cop was involved? What if the cop had killed her? No. He couldn’t go to the police.
He returned to Sara’s house, beginning to calm as soon as he reached the driveway. This place – her place – always had that affect on him. But as he made his away up the front walk, an ominous feeling came over him. A photograph, the same one which Jim found under the flowers down by the river, was held in place on the front door with a very large knife.
That was the last thing Jim remembered before his world went black.
(Check back tomorrow for the continuation of this story... Unless I decide to stretch it out and somehow work in the Theme Thursday "collection" theme...)
Sunday, October 4, 2009
When the past comes back to haunt you - part 2
Jim approached the house with trepidation. Though it had been over 15 years since he'd last been here, he still found the spare key hiding above the door frame. He opened the door and tentatively crossed the threshold.
It seemed strange to be entering this place after all these years. The last time he was here, Jim was a guest. Now he returned as its owner. Sara's parents died without ever knowing what happened to their daughter. Jim had kept in touch and they thought of him as the son they never had. They left Jim the house in their will and asked that he keep the place exactly as it was just in case Sara returned.
Jim climbed the stairs and entered her room, which looked exactly as it had when they were in high school. He placed his laptop down on the old wooden desk and then thought better of it. The mirror above the desk was covered with pictures of him and Sara. The two of them playing together as kids. Jim and Sara with their arms around each other at the beach. There was a picture from the year they dressed as Mark Anthony and Cleopatra for Halloween. Sara in her cheerleader uniform, smiling broadly on top of the pyramid. Sara's senior portrait. His breath caught when he saw the Polaroid of Sara before prom. Sara, Jim and a group of their friends had all met up for pictures in the backyard and rode to the dance in a limo together.
He walked over to her bed, full of pink pillows and lacy ruffles. The white teddy bear he won for her at the boardwalk when they were 13 lay in the corner of the bed. He picked up the bear, turning it over in his hands, gently fingering the heart stitched into the bear's arms. His skin brushed something that didn't belong - something cold and hard. Jim turned the heart over, surprised to see a small incision in the back. He reached inside and pulled out a silver chain. A diamond twinkled from the end of the chain.
He had suspected that Sara had been seeing someone before her disappearance. Someone older. Someone who was likely married. He couldn't exactly identify why he felt that way but Jim felt the diamond validated his hunch.
He lay back on her bed, staring at Sara's photos. Jim had to relive the night one more time before he started writing. He closed his eyes and let the memories from that night take over.
He saw himself, in his ill-fitting tuxedo. His date was a girl he'd long since forgotten, one who could never hope to compare to his Sara. Sara was there with the captain of the football team, a brainless jock who would look nice in pictures and who's parents had a beach house where they'd crash after prom. Their friends posed for pictures and then piled into the limo.
Sara reached under the seat and pulled out a large satchel. She reached inside and withdrew several flasks. She tossed one to Jim before opening her own and virtually inhaling its contents. Jim and Sara didn't notice when her date lit up, but the smell of pot was unmistakable.
In an uncharacteristic reaction, Sara commanded the driver stop the car and she forced her date out onto the street. The jock ran after the limo for a couple miles before Sara allowed the driver to pull over. He was breathless when he entered the limo. Sara lifted her dress and scrambled onto his lap in one smooth movement, kissing him passionately. It was all Jim could do not to be sick.
Jim's date left him shortly after they arrived. She caused quite a scene, screaming that she was tired of playing second fiddle to Sara. She railed at him, landing a few blows on his shoulders. Her parting shot was to inform Jim he had no shot with Sara. Then she turned on her heel, wiping tears from her eyes and let her girlfriends lead her to the bathroom.
His memories began getting hazy, obscured by time, booze and a little something Sara had slipped into the flasks for good measure... Jim relived his humiliation making his play for Sara's affections and being rejected. But watching the events as a spectator, he saw something he didn't notice that night. There was a man lurking in the shadows, following Sara's every moment, very carefully noting every word she said.
Jim strained his memory to remember more of this man. He was older, definitely not a student at the school. He wore all black, except for some nondescript shape which glinted from his chest when the light hit it just right. There was something vaguely familiar about him though...
Jim saw himself run from the dance, hopping into a friend's car who always left his doors unlocked and the key in the ignition. He watched as he discovered Sara's belongings and called the police. As the search for any sign of Sara again, Jim saw the stranger's face again and realized the shiny object on his chest was a badge.
Jim startled awake in a cold sweat. Struggling to regain his composure, he booted up his computer and began to write.
It seemed strange to be entering this place after all these years. The last time he was here, Jim was a guest. Now he returned as its owner. Sara's parents died without ever knowing what happened to their daughter. Jim had kept in touch and they thought of him as the son they never had. They left Jim the house in their will and asked that he keep the place exactly as it was just in case Sara returned.
Jim climbed the stairs and entered her room, which looked exactly as it had when they were in high school. He placed his laptop down on the old wooden desk and then thought better of it. The mirror above the desk was covered with pictures of him and Sara. The two of them playing together as kids. Jim and Sara with their arms around each other at the beach. There was a picture from the year they dressed as Mark Anthony and Cleopatra for Halloween. Sara in her cheerleader uniform, smiling broadly on top of the pyramid. Sara's senior portrait. His breath caught when he saw the Polaroid of Sara before prom. Sara, Jim and a group of their friends had all met up for pictures in the backyard and rode to the dance in a limo together.
He walked over to her bed, full of pink pillows and lacy ruffles. The white teddy bear he won for her at the boardwalk when they were 13 lay in the corner of the bed. He picked up the bear, turning it over in his hands, gently fingering the heart stitched into the bear's arms. His skin brushed something that didn't belong - something cold and hard. Jim turned the heart over, surprised to see a small incision in the back. He reached inside and pulled out a silver chain. A diamond twinkled from the end of the chain.
He had suspected that Sara had been seeing someone before her disappearance. Someone older. Someone who was likely married. He couldn't exactly identify why he felt that way but Jim felt the diamond validated his hunch.
He lay back on her bed, staring at Sara's photos. Jim had to relive the night one more time before he started writing. He closed his eyes and let the memories from that night take over.
He saw himself, in his ill-fitting tuxedo. His date was a girl he'd long since forgotten, one who could never hope to compare to his Sara. Sara was there with the captain of the football team, a brainless jock who would look nice in pictures and who's parents had a beach house where they'd crash after prom. Their friends posed for pictures and then piled into the limo.
Sara reached under the seat and pulled out a large satchel. She reached inside and withdrew several flasks. She tossed one to Jim before opening her own and virtually inhaling its contents. Jim and Sara didn't notice when her date lit up, but the smell of pot was unmistakable.
In an uncharacteristic reaction, Sara commanded the driver stop the car and she forced her date out onto the street. The jock ran after the limo for a couple miles before Sara allowed the driver to pull over. He was breathless when he entered the limo. Sara lifted her dress and scrambled onto his lap in one smooth movement, kissing him passionately. It was all Jim could do not to be sick.
Jim's date left him shortly after they arrived. She caused quite a scene, screaming that she was tired of playing second fiddle to Sara. She railed at him, landing a few blows on his shoulders. Her parting shot was to inform Jim he had no shot with Sara. Then she turned on her heel, wiping tears from her eyes and let her girlfriends lead her to the bathroom.
His memories began getting hazy, obscured by time, booze and a little something Sara had slipped into the flasks for good measure... Jim relived his humiliation making his play for Sara's affections and being rejected. But watching the events as a spectator, he saw something he didn't notice that night. There was a man lurking in the shadows, following Sara's every moment, very carefully noting every word she said.
Jim strained his memory to remember more of this man. He was older, definitely not a student at the school. He wore all black, except for some nondescript shape which glinted from his chest when the light hit it just right. There was something vaguely familiar about him though...
Jim saw himself run from the dance, hopping into a friend's car who always left his doors unlocked and the key in the ignition. He watched as he discovered Sara's belongings and called the police. As the search for any sign of Sara again, Jim saw the stranger's face again and realized the shiny object on his chest was a badge.
Jim startled awake in a cold sweat. Struggling to regain his composure, he booted up his computer and began to write.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
When the past comes back to haunt you
The bus slowed to a stop and Jim stepped out. It had been 15 years since he had returned to his hometown. It still looked exactly the same.
At the corner of Main and Park was the 7-11 where he hung out with friends during high school. Across the street was the pizza parlor who made the best deep dish pepperoni pie he'd ever tasted. Its green awning was still faded from the sun and torn in the corner. The Rusty Nail was still there, parking lot full of bikes even though it was 11 in the morning. He'd had his first beer in that tavern and gotten into his first fistfight in the men's room with a big biker who thought Jim had been hitting on his girlfriend. Jim lost the fight, but got his revenge - screwing the guy's girl in the backseat of his car.
A smile played on Jim's lips at the memory and quickly faded. Not all his memories of this place were good. The town had been struck by a terrible tragedy, one which seemingly froze it in place. Sara. Just thinking her name hit Jim like a ton of bricks. No one took her disappearance harder than him.
Sara had been his first love, though the feelings were unrequited. She was nothing short of amazing. Stunningly beautiful, she turned heads where ever she went. She was the head cheerleader, class president and a star on the stage. She was the kind of person who made you feel special just being in her presence. Sara volunteered at the local hospital and animal shelter. She was a waitress at her parent's restaurant to earn money for college, where she planned to major in acting. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that she would be discovered and make it big.
But all that changed the night of prom.
Sara had never looked better in her silver Donna Karan sheath. The silky fabric fell to the floor and her blond curls hung wildly around her shoulders. She looked like a goddess. Jim told her so when he tried to kiss her that night. Sara laughed and pushed him away, breaking his heart into a million pieces. He stormed out of the dance and awoke the next morning in his car, with a splitting headache and an empty bottle of Jack in his hand.
Forcing his bleary eyes to focus, he realized he was down by the river. He had a vague recollection of driving there the night before. Then the pain of Sara's rejection came rushing back. He flung open the car door and retched.
That was when he saw it. One of Sara's silver stilettos lay on the ground. He inched closer, finding it sitting in a pool of blood. Jim stared, completely transfixed, until something caught his attention, something sparkling from under a rock. It didn't take long to recognize Sara's necklace. She was never without it. Now it was broken into pieces and he knew, as surely as he knew his own name, that Sara was dead.
He broke into a sprint back to his car. He could barely dial 911 his hands shook so badly. The police came. They investigated. They searched for any sign of Sara. They found nothing. Sara became a missing person and they waited in vain for the ransom note Jim knew would never come.
Graduation was tinged with sadness. Sara would have been the valedictorian. Jim gave the commencement speech in her place. He left town the very next day. He planned to never return.
Jim went to college, studying criminology and journalism. He became a private investigator and wrote the crime beat for a paper in Miami. He was good - very good - at his chosen professions.
Though prom was ages ago, the events always haunted Jim. The police had long since given up on solving Sara's case. Jim began to investigate on his own. He used every connection available to him, prying into the details he knew the cops must have overlooked. Over time, a theory developed. One the police never explored. They would have dismissed it as the ramblings of a love sick madman, but in his heart, Jim knew he was on the right track.
Jim had always wanted to write a novel. He tried, many times, but the right story always escaped him. Until now. He came home to write her story.
At the corner of Main and Park was the 7-11 where he hung out with friends during high school. Across the street was the pizza parlor who made the best deep dish pepperoni pie he'd ever tasted. Its green awning was still faded from the sun and torn in the corner. The Rusty Nail was still there, parking lot full of bikes even though it was 11 in the morning. He'd had his first beer in that tavern and gotten into his first fistfight in the men's room with a big biker who thought Jim had been hitting on his girlfriend. Jim lost the fight, but got his revenge - screwing the guy's girl in the backseat of his car.
A smile played on Jim's lips at the memory and quickly faded. Not all his memories of this place were good. The town had been struck by a terrible tragedy, one which seemingly froze it in place. Sara. Just thinking her name hit Jim like a ton of bricks. No one took her disappearance harder than him.
Sara had been his first love, though the feelings were unrequited. She was nothing short of amazing. Stunningly beautiful, she turned heads where ever she went. She was the head cheerleader, class president and a star on the stage. She was the kind of person who made you feel special just being in her presence. Sara volunteered at the local hospital and animal shelter. She was a waitress at her parent's restaurant to earn money for college, where she planned to major in acting. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that she would be discovered and make it big.
But all that changed the night of prom.
Sara had never looked better in her silver Donna Karan sheath. The silky fabric fell to the floor and her blond curls hung wildly around her shoulders. She looked like a goddess. Jim told her so when he tried to kiss her that night. Sara laughed and pushed him away, breaking his heart into a million pieces. He stormed out of the dance and awoke the next morning in his car, with a splitting headache and an empty bottle of Jack in his hand.
Forcing his bleary eyes to focus, he realized he was down by the river. He had a vague recollection of driving there the night before. Then the pain of Sara's rejection came rushing back. He flung open the car door and retched.
That was when he saw it. One of Sara's silver stilettos lay on the ground. He inched closer, finding it sitting in a pool of blood. Jim stared, completely transfixed, until something caught his attention, something sparkling from under a rock. It didn't take long to recognize Sara's necklace. She was never without it. Now it was broken into pieces and he knew, as surely as he knew his own name, that Sara was dead.
He broke into a sprint back to his car. He could barely dial 911 his hands shook so badly. The police came. They investigated. They searched for any sign of Sara. They found nothing. Sara became a missing person and they waited in vain for the ransom note Jim knew would never come.
Graduation was tinged with sadness. Sara would have been the valedictorian. Jim gave the commencement speech in her place. He left town the very next day. He planned to never return.
Jim went to college, studying criminology and journalism. He became a private investigator and wrote the crime beat for a paper in Miami. He was good - very good - at his chosen professions.
Though prom was ages ago, the events always haunted Jim. The police had long since given up on solving Sara's case. Jim began to investigate on his own. He used every connection available to him, prying into the details he knew the cops must have overlooked. Over time, a theory developed. One the police never explored. They would have dismissed it as the ramblings of a love sick madman, but in his heart, Jim knew he was on the right track.
Jim had always wanted to write a novel. He tried, many times, but the right story always escaped him. Until now. He came home to write her story.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Breathe...
It's been a week. I've been walking on egg shells at work, afraid that if I stepped one toe out of line, my boss' wrath would rain down on me. Again.
I was saddled with an impossible assignment. I knew going in there was no law to answer his question. I also knew that answer wouldn't be good enough. I've spent over 30 hours trying to locate something that doesn't exist. I've read cases from across the country, law journal articles from little dinky law schools in the middle of nowhere. And the answer to the question is...there is no answer.
So I trudged down to the corner office with my six page memo, ready to have my head handed to me because I couldn't make the law be something it wasn't. He peppered me with questions about my research. I fired back answers.
He smiled.
I may not have found the answer, but I satisfied him with the depth and thoroughness of my research. I left his office feeling exhausted, but like the weight of the world had been lifted from my shoulders. I hadn't been joking when I left the house telling hubby "wish me luck. I hope I still have a job at the end of the day."
I left the office early, hitting the gym and finding myself more energized than I've felt in weeks. My face lit up as much as Andrew's when I picked him up tonight. For the first time in a long time, I left the office at the office and could devote my full and undivided attention to my family.
The line between personal and professional is so thin and so blurred these days. But as I look down at the little guy snoring away in my arms, I'm happy. At peace. And I breathe easy knowing these are the moments that truly matter.
I was saddled with an impossible assignment. I knew going in there was no law to answer his question. I also knew that answer wouldn't be good enough. I've spent over 30 hours trying to locate something that doesn't exist. I've read cases from across the country, law journal articles from little dinky law schools in the middle of nowhere. And the answer to the question is...there is no answer.
So I trudged down to the corner office with my six page memo, ready to have my head handed to me because I couldn't make the law be something it wasn't. He peppered me with questions about my research. I fired back answers.
He smiled.
I may not have found the answer, but I satisfied him with the depth and thoroughness of my research. I left his office feeling exhausted, but like the weight of the world had been lifted from my shoulders. I hadn't been joking when I left the house telling hubby "wish me luck. I hope I still have a job at the end of the day."
I left the office early, hitting the gym and finding myself more energized than I've felt in weeks. My face lit up as much as Andrew's when I picked him up tonight. For the first time in a long time, I left the office at the office and could devote my full and undivided attention to my family.
The line between personal and professional is so thin and so blurred these days. But as I look down at the little guy snoring away in my arms, I'm happy. At peace. And I breathe easy knowing these are the moments that truly matter.
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