Category Archives: kidnapping

Soul On Fire: #FridayFictioneers

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PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Soul On Fire

Karen knelt over the cooling body of her abuser. Last of the nine. She and Val had dug through the earthen floor together. Dug deep through the adobe layer until exhausted; dug until they found the gravel and rock base. Until they found stones large enough to be a weapon. If they had the strength.

Val didn’t.

When he finally opened the door he was startled by Val’s body at the entrance, where Karen had laid her out. The heavy rocks she wielded did their job.

Taking his cell, she stepped outside, smiled, breathed deeply, and cried.

She called 911.

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Author’s Note: The title comes from a quote that I like:

The most powerful weapon on Earth is the human soul on fire~~~ Ferdinand Foch

It’s #Friday Fictioneers prompt time, as always created and hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields on her blog, Addicted To Purple.

The rules are simple if you’d like to do this:

    1. Use the photo on Addicted to Purple as your prompt (goes up on Wednesday).
    2. Write a 100 word story, complete with beginning, middle, and end.
    3. Make every word count.
    4. It is proper etiquette to give the contributor of the photo credit.
  1. Add the InLinkz button (below) so your readers can find the dozens of other bloggers who have taken up this challenge.

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Orangutan Space

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1-thefutureofs

Orangutan Space

The DTGA Pongo maneuvered through space in their combat-proven zig-zag swinging style, trying to outrun the R.O.c.K.’s that were heading their way. If even one hit the ship they were finished. Alpha Leader 1 scrunched on the command deck, giving orders to all stations in quick, short Long Calls His pack blew up three, but the fourth one was still hanging on their tail. It was getting too close for comfort.

He looked around, proud of the assemblage of Bornean and Sumatran tribes. They worked well together even though he had been warned the mixing would not work. He was glad that his superiors in DTGA were wrong. He wanted to bring his space boat home and rub their faces in the mud. Taunt him? “They don’t know the meaning of taunt,” he kept to himself.

Beta Follower 1 and 2 were at the weapons relay, trying to get a fix on the last Rapacious Omni Combative Killer. They were both chittering away, trying out by the book plans at first and finally got down to what works: Pantsing the Controls. They were good at it, and AL1 gave them space to prove it. He just needed them to make something work, and fast.

“Bring Lens Hood Rear, increase to Pi magnification. Put it on the big screen,” he barked out, still focussed on his two weapons masters and the screen above their shaggy heads.

The Opticals brightened the images he was looking for. Yes, the Panthera ORBShips were hanging back; they were recharging their weapons. “Speed level TT. NOW! Optics: set focus to normal.”

The thrust sent the crews hair up and back as the Pongo leaped to obey.

“We got it,” came, in unison, from BF 1& 2. BF1 corrected a Pathfinder while BF 2 fired their own version of the enemies R.O.c.K.’s. Their Howl Boom was flung at the R.O.c.K. in climb mode, then did a dead drop onto the incoming death behind them.

They all watched the HB blast the R.O.c.K. into pebble size pieces. Gamma Pilot 1 avoided the rubble, knowing it could still do damage to the Pongo. All the tension dropped when Ze, GP1,  announced their safety. Much chest bumps and playful taps ensued. Al1 was tempted to order Ze to flip the ship and face the two Panthera class OrbShips and giving the go to BF1 & BF2 to power up their weapons. His mission was not that; it was just bad juju that they encountered the enemy.

“AL1,” the Gamma Pilot asked. “Original destination, or…” knowing what they all wanted: take out the two Pantera ships.

“No ‘or’, Ze. Back to base. Original directive. Get us back, but all eyes on hiding spots. They caught us this time. I don’t want a second.”

“Understood,” the Gamma Pilot responded. Ze set the controls and they zipped towards base.

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

The AL1 was back in his nest, having turned over command to AL2. His mate, Fear of Fire, was cuddling him after a rigorous session. Their uniforms were on the floor and they rested seven HandSpans above the mess.

He was on the point of falling asleep until he heard her say his name.

“Person of the Forest…” She was swirling her fingers through his massive chest hair.

“Hmmm?”

“We have to make a decision before we get to base.”

“FoF, we’ve talked about this before. I can not go back to Taiga with you. My position is too important, the mission is too important.” He turned over to look at her. “I would like you to stay, be a full member on this boat.”

She removed her hand from his chest.”I have no place among the crew. A Fracture Explorer would be useless on Pongo. I study the soil of the planets we go to.  I’ve had to broaden my knowledge into liquids of the world, and what effects the winds have on all of this” She raised her hand between them, stopping him from interrupting. “Yes, I know, I can do my job of worlds you visit or get abducted to, rescue as many alien races you can when their sun is its death throes. But in between? There is nothing for me to do past analyzing my samples and recording them. There is so much time you are in space, flying here and there, fighting the Pantera fleet or just wandering aimlessly.”

“I don’t wander…”

“Yes, you do.

There was an uncomfortable silence that lasted a second too long.

“I like wandering, ok? It’s in my nature. Pongo is my home, this crew has become my family.” He paused. “I would like for us to be family.”

She sighed. He sighed. It was going to be a long cycle off.

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

Time passed slowly on their way back. FoF moved back into her nest, for now, and Person had other things to contend with. A restlessness that had been a small thing, that he thought he had shut down, started to become a mess. As AL1, he had to control the situation and shut it down. Fast.

He was waiting for the three Arbitrators to arrive at the Discussion Module. He kept sighing & grimacing while he sat there. This was what the superiors at the DTG were antsy about. He had gotten his way by a squeaky inch. The mixture of the three groupings of their people was a global challenge that he wanted to win. Finally getting permission, he assembled the best at their jobs, no matter what they were: the Fringed, male and female, and the Unfringed. Ze fell into that group and was lusted over by the some of the Fringed groups, and taunted…hell…hated by the rest.

Each grouping held 1/3 of the crew population. The Zir third originally stuck together, fearful of the bias that had gone on for so long on Taiga. Shunned, the closed minded resorting to violence whenever they thought they were safe, Zir became their own crusade. He remembered the many slogans that incited some riots: “Armed Unhinged, You Can’t Toss Us Aside” was the most incendiary. Things got hot for a bit, then cooled down as real discourse began. It ended with Zir truly becoming part of the whole. A ban on the violence took a little bit more to creep into the empty-headed. The repercussions harsh.

Things changed. At least on the outside.

The three arrived together, late, but together. That was a hopeful sign, he thought. He put the part of him that was Person of the Forest and resumed his role as the AL1 for the meeting. Nodded at the AL1, and the Fringed representatives Long Called for him. The Unfringed represntative  did not say anything: the two Fringe waited. The tension rose in the room, but The Unfringed Zir finally let a lackluster “Hoot.”AL1 sighed. This was going to be a long meeting.

Until the Klaxon went ballistic.

“Fire in the Cargo Hold. Fire. This is not a drill. The Cargo Hold is losing pressure. Repeat: Fire. Cargo Hold. Pressure Loss.” The ships’ AI was at her loudest, not trusting the crew to respond with the urgency. AL1 heard her like this at the worse of times.

“Acknowledged, GALDI+!3. Normal level, please. Contact all non-responders to leave their level. AL1 out.”

Bolting out of his platform, AL1 got on the emergency wave. “Damage Control. Every one of you! To the hold. NOW!”

As he raced through Pongo, one thought hit him: did Ze miss part of the Orb that we exploded? Too much time had passed, but, if he thought it, he could bet his last piece of fruit that other Fringed thought so as well.

The mess could turn uglier. Might. Would. He wished he could have gotten the meeting started at least. He hoped there would be time after this became controlled.

He hooted if anyone was in his way in the corridors. Fixing the problem in the hold was the paramount priority. He’ll see what can be accomplished after that, hoping things did not escalate.

If it did, and Ze or another Unfringed had a paw in this, his superiors at the DTG-the Don’t Tough Ground-would roast him alive.

Letting out a huge sigh, AL1 raced as fast as he could to get to the hold.

If this wasn’t an accident,” he thought, “then who set it?”

To Be Continued?

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Author’s Note:

1) The To Be Continued? is really up to the readers. I mainly get comments and likes on the drabbles from another prompt challenge, Friday Fictioneers. My other posts, close to nothing. If it’s critical feedback, I’m open for it. Can’t improve (if it needs it) if no one brings it up. It also helps make writing worthwhile. So, do you want to see the next chapter of Orangutan Space, please let me know. Thanks.

2) So, a pondering on Tweeter led me to the above story. Even though it was a ponder, I saw it as a prompt challenge. In David’s words:

Thought for the day: the world could do with more genre fiction. Imagine: orangutan detective noir; orangutan steampunk; orangutan space opera. The world would, I suggest, be a happier place,

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(This wasn’t the inital photo prompt. I just liked it.)

3) It also fit another prompt from Fiction Can Be Fun, the shared website that David and Debs write alongside each other.

Here are the rules from Fiction Can Be Fun, if you want to take their prompt challenge:

Write about a colony on another planet or in space. Bonus points for building in the theme of the classical elements (earth, wind, fire, water) and/or for approaching it from the perspective of an alien species. The photo above is also a prompt piece to use or not use.

500-1,000 words
Deadline: 2pm on Friday 10th August 2018

A reminder to new readers/writers, please post on your own site and add a link in the comments section below. If you don’t have your own blog or similar outlet, do send us your story via the contact form on the About page and we’ll post for you, with an appropriate by-line.

 

Julemo, The Most Excellent and Lamentable Tragedy

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Julemo, The Most Excellent and Lamentable Tragedy

A prompt from A Creative PTSD Gal

...Some shall be pardon’d, and some punished:
For never was a story of more wo

Whoa. Hold on. Two kids, in the throes of their first lust love, just offed themselves. Their pining for each other hurled a monkey wrench into a powder keg mess, and boom it went off. Four confirmed Main Players died beyond these two, with enough blood on the streets, steps, terraces, and food stalls, that suggest there were a lot more (names not important to the larger issue) who fell down dead: damn kindred kept taking and hiding their deceased. Poor mojo on their famial name if the numbers were known by the populace.

Now, neither head of the two bloodlines were respected or even liked. They held their positions due to fear, the potential of favors bestowed, and the rest who care to be seen with the ones who are being seen without their even trying to be seen. They are a headache on the populace, if not to that last sentence. It’s no wonder their wives cloistered themselves with knitting, other crafty projects, wine, and “hey, is that a codpiece or are you happy to see me?”

No matter, for they all become even more bit players than they had already been. Well, except for the best friend. And the brother. But, this isn’t about them.

The once hot-to-trot teens were wheeled away. Unbeknownst to all the other players involved, not to the building where their bodies were supposed to be prepared for the funeral process. A bit of misdirection brought them to a place that, if alive, they would have killed themselves before willingly entering. Well, again, they were dead, so there was really nothing they could do.

Some of the gas buildup inside of them started to waft out, perfuming the surrounding area. Merc would have enjoyed that, gotten a great big chuckle out of it, and made a bon mot that all his friends would have laughed at, praising his scatological wit, whether they got it or not.

Friar Lawrence waved away the awful smell that started to fill up his small cell. He was lambasting himself for the way everything had unfolded. The friar knew he was culpable as an instigator, sticking his nose so far up the problems of the two households that…well, the picture in his head was enough to cause him the willies. He gave himself some satisfaction that he had nothing to do with Romeo meeting Juliet nor for the two of them falling in lust love with each other.  Just pretty much everything else that ended in their endings. He had a plan to fix things, no matter that Mother church would condem him to Heck for what he was about to do.

He knew a guy who knew a woman who knew a group of people who said they knew things no one else on Earth knew. Two of that group had been waiting in the friar’s cell. They had done their preperations already, and by the time friar and the corpses (later to become the name of a Punk band, circa 1972) arrived, the two men were five sheets to the wind, having found Lawrence’s holy wine stash.

The Friar, after admonishing the pair, needed their help in transferring the bodies to the prepared circle on the floor. Closing his eyes, he performed the sign of the cross, prayiing that he was not overstepping the will of the church and the savior or, well, not as badly as others might judge him. He uncovered the two; first Romeo (“Look at that…” was hushed by an elbow in the ribs by one of the men), and then Juliet (they both whistled their approval).

Candles were lit, ewe blood was tinkled around, and an undercurrent of chanting proceeded. Finally, Friar Lawrence came to the section he most dreaded: he would either succeed or epicically fail. He hoped to make things right, and only if he went through with this…if only he went through with this..if only…

The taller of the two sidemen gave the friar a shove. “Go on, mate. We ‘avent got all day. Go on with your self. ” The other man, who had been nodding off, came to, enough to agree. “Go on,” he slurred.

Friar Lawrence went on. He rushed through the Latin chants, stumbled over the sections that were complete gibberish to him, but was assured it was all right. Once the ritual words were complet, he said:

“These two, whose fate death doth stole, left this earthly plane too soon, too soon. I beseech the one on whom I call to make things right. Make them live, again, so that they may be together, as one.”

With that, a poof of a cloud enveloped the cell, with a stench that made Lawrence wish for flatulence again. Once the cloud settled, a ghastly, oozing, smirking demon, on the smallish size, appeared.

“Really? That’s what you want, what you went through, what you will suffer the eternity of damnation for? Really? For these two?”

Trembling, Friar Lawrence fell to his knees. The taller of the two men just sat down; his friend fell over, snoring.

“Yes,” he quivered. “Yes, yes, yes. My suffering is nothing compared to what these two suffered. Please. Make them live, so they may live as one.”

The demon (whose name I dare not write on pain of pain), looked at the two on the floor. His eyes passed over Juliet’s form, but with Romeo, he spent a lot of time…contemplating. The friar shivered even more, noticing a tumescence he wished he’d never had noticed.

The demon announced: “OK, as you wish.” With that, he snapped his clawed phalanges, and another foul-smelling cloud encircled the square cell. Friar Lawrence keeled over, dead; the tall man slung his passed out partner over his shoulder and was out the door before one could say “Bob’s your uncle,” which he was, but…

When the fogginess in the cell faded to nothing, it took the demon with it.
A stirring came from within the circle.

A painful groan caused eyes to pop open, followed by more groans as the aches and pains of death were shook off upon standing. There was a stretching of limbs, a rolling out of the muscles. Looking around this familiar room, it came that no one was in attendance when there should have been many servants around. Standing in place for a long, stiff time, perplexed, the bright rays of the sun were eventually replaced by crystal clear moonlight as it streamed through the small windo-nee-hole in the wall.

Hands began exploring, feeling what was known but also unknown. Panic soon set in, followed by a flailing  of appendages, hair being pulled this way and that, and a frenzied carrening around the room.  Finally, exhausted, a large plop! on the ex-friars sleeping pallot was felt in great pain. Huge moist sobs ensued.

The star-crossed lovers were, as that damnable friar (in reality, now) asked as he asked for.  Alive, but as one.

Only one.

Combined as one.

One body. One set of hands. One heart. Even death would not part them now.

Knowing he/she/they could not stay, they threw on one of the hated robes that Lawrence had left lying around, which, truth be told, needed a thorough washing.

They realized they could not be called Juliet nor Romeo anymore. That started up a quick arguement. Neither won. They were somewhat something wholey new. The idea came to combine names, somehow; neither one of them could agree who came up with the thought first, which started up another quick arguement with themselves.

Romiet didn’t sound right at all. They were in agreement on that. A few other configurations were considered and abandoned. Fred didn’t work at all for them. With resignation, Julemo was the best of all possiblities.

They crept out of the cell, vowing that the only time they would ever return would be to cause its destruction.  Easing on down the road, it was tough going in the beginning.  As they got the rhythm of their gait in check, they made their plans. Julemo knew if any of their kinsmen found them, they would face death, again.

Julemo fled, under the fairest stars in all the heaven.

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Author’s note:

Jo at A Creative PTSD Gal was one of the writers/bloggers I fell upon (sorry for the bruising) during the AtoZ Blog Challenge. I enjoyed her work and visa versa. Like others, I found a prompt on her blog that actually was a contest, which was the least of it. I liked the picture prompt and that led to Hence, The Exorcists.

Jo had been following another blog that dropped a lot of prompts and then dropped dropping said prompts from their pages. I also had not won the prize from Jo’s contest, but she sent me an email with three potential prompts:

  • The main character is trying to quit smoking and the medication that she is using to help shows her the evil within someone she thought she knew since childhood.
  • The world just survived an apocalyptic event (your choice) and your character has to team up with the one person they hate to survive. 
  • It was not your normal Romeo and Juliet tale. The star-crossed lovers aren’t kept apart by their family but rather an unforeseen paranormal being.

Obviously, I took the last one, tweaked it, and Bob’s your uncle. I left it open-ended because, who knows? Why? I don’t know. Third base.

Hope you liked it. Please check out her blog for stories, doodles, and a lot more.

Muirhouse: The Abysmal Dollhouse (AtoZ Blog Challenge)

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** New Readers to this challenge: This is a serialized, continuous work. Please start with the first piece, Abysmally Yours. The AtoZ Blog Challenge began April 1st; ends April 30th. Thank you.

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Muirhouse

The Abysmal Dollhouse

The dollhouse was in the style of a Classic Colonial. Two floors, plus attic with peaked gables. A second story wrap-around porch was accented by a finely detailed iron railing, the parquet wood flooring glistening. A stone walkway led to a stone staircase, a few steps to the stone portico in place before the red colored front door. The house, itself, was painted red, with white accented shutters and moldings. Spacious, elegant for its time, a dream house by manys’ standards.

Mrs. Harris hated the house. Hated everything that transpired within. Hated what went on behind closed doors, what transgressions that were out in the open. Hated the people that had moved through the rooms. Hated what had been locked up, out back. The only thing she didn’t hate was herself. Mrs. Harris was furious, and that fury bound her to the house; from the house to this replica. That, she did not know. She just hated the house.

The back room, where the maids were supposed to have made their bed, had been converted into a chapel. Mrs. Harris was on her knees on the padded kneeler, eyes closed, head bowed. She wore, as always her large silver cross that stood out against her all black dress. Her hair, tightly bunned, was covered in a black shawl. No frills, no lace, no adornments other than the cross.

Finished, she rose and commenced her prowl of the premises. Up the back stairs, the ones the maids took to Mr. Harris’s bedroom, or he to theirs, she took at an even pace. At the top was her iron rod. She picked it up, as always. Down the hall she went, stopping at his door.

Grasping the doorknob, she remembered back to the findings. One she chased, through the hall to the screen door that led to the wrap-around landing. She had raised her rod, as she had to do again and again to this ghastly servent in her duties, and by bringing it down in her distress caused the blow that caved in the side of the maid’s head and sent her tumbling over the side. The blood stain on the stone steps below never was completely washed away.

Grasping the doorknob, she remembered another maid, but this one her husband intervened, grabbing the rod and forcing her from the room. He never allowed his wife to be alone with this one, hiring a male servant to watch over her: she was with child. Mr. Harris’s, and he was damned if his wife would cause further harm. “Not while I am alive. Not while this is my house!” he bellowed.

Mrs. Harris backed away from the door, her hand clasping the knob until it escaped out of her grasp. She meandered then, in and out of rooms, up to the attic, back down to the landing, looking. Searching.

More than a few times she felt something pulling at her. The feeling would be faint and off in a distance. She would find herself rushing to stand at one of the windows, looking out and up. A hunger roused itself and willfully slipped out of her lips: “Mine, mine, mine.” Repeated until the force subsided, the silence of the house and her heart returning.

She went down the main stairway, passing by the words written in dried brownish-black. “Die Jack…ha ha ha” had lost its feeling long before. That was after the child had been born, the child that wasn’t right in its head. The child that grew to like playing with knives. The child she “cared” for after its mother met with an unfortunate accident after Mr. Harris suddenly…went away.

Dragged to the chapel by Mrs. Harris twice a day, every day, the child was whipped until it understood it needed to be quiet while she prayed. Dragged to the back of the house, the child was chained to the stone housing of the woodshed. The child, whose mother read of a wonderland, before her accident, had no further schooling beyond what was experienced in the chapel.

Every day, at 4:00 p.m., Mrs. Harris would leave the house and bring it its food. She would look down at it while it wolfed what she served. Speaking of religion, of release, of abstracts that went well over the child’s’ head and heart, Mrs. Harris droned daily.

For three days a month, all in a row, every month, instead of food at 4:00 p.m., Mrs. Harris brought out a very sharp knife from the kitchen. At first, the child would whimper as it knew what was coming; the cuts, slowly delivered but not deep. Three each day, for three days. The child eventually fell into the pattern, knowing that it would be fed, again, after the cutting stopped. For the time being.

The child grew.

One day, it broke free. Entering the house through the kitchen back door, frightened and wary, the child saw something shining on a counter by a screened in window that looked out at the woodshed. His eyes danced over it: the knife, the knife, the knife. He took time glaring at it, breathing in short sharp bursts, until finally taking it in hand he raised it up high.

The light filtered from outside filtered through the screen and the window’s glass. It refracted, the glare causing a vertical and horizontal like that intersected. As the no longer child looked, he saw what looked like the silver cross that the woman always wore. The sight frightened him. Trembling, he fled the house, knife still in hand.

He ran, he ran, he ran.

At 3:45 p.m., Mrs. Harris walked into the kitchen, ready to dole out the child’s meal. She immediately saw her knife was missing. Looking over the counter, she glanced outside and noticed something else was missing. “Good,” she said to herself.

She had hated the child as she had hated the house and everything it was about.

Locking the kitchen door, she waited until it was 4:00 p.m. As she was leaving the room, on the way to her chapel, she felt something pulling at her, from a distance.

Walking to the front room, past the staircase, Mrs. Harris waited at the picture window, looking out and up, and heard herself saying “Mine, mine, mine.”

To be continued…

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The AtoZ Blog Challenge

During the month of April, 2018, the challenge requires that we write 26 posts, starting with the letter A on April 1st (yes, it’s not an April Fool’s Day joke) and ending with Z on Monday, April 30th. A week or so later, there will be a reflection post that will wrap up this experience, for me as well as my readers.

*I’ve decided to reblog past Abysmal Dollhouse stories on Sundays since we’re not required to write those days. The reblog will not correspond to any specific letter. Just thought you might enjoy some of the previous entries that I’m fond of.

The Monte Cristo Homestead in Junee, Australia, inspired this piece. It is supposed to be the most haunted house in Australia, with a fairly ghastly background. I hope I did it justice here, taking some of the backgrounds and weaving it to suit this series.

Muir, by the way, means “moor” in Scotish. Just kinda fit.

Zenith of All Things (A to Z Blog Challenge)

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**To start from the very beginning: From the Case Files of Inspector Khazarian Rovas

**To read the first parts of this story line:  X-Folders and Yesterday’s Sorrows

Zenith

“Zenith of All Things”

The Case Files of Inspector Khazarian Rovas

Khazarian Rovas, ex police Inspector, awoke in the hospital with a splitting headache, woozy and disoriented for a moment. Knowing only he was laying down, Rovas raised his head. Bad move, as more pain shot through his head. Putting his head back down was almost as painful as when he raised it. The room was dark, the only light in the room was either emanating from the machinery near his head or seeping in from outside his room. Looking the other way he saw Berrak, sleeping, in a chair.

He coughed when he tried to call her name. She woke and immediately came to his side.

“Hi,” she said, running a hand through his hair on the left side. She saw him wince and moved her hand. “Would you like some water?”

Zarian nodded. He sipped some, started coughing again, drank some more. Berrak put it down and moved the chair closer. She left the room only to return with a nurse a few moments later. Berrak refused to leave as the nurse brought in her cart and  turned on all the lights. She took all his vitals down, entered everything into her computer, and asked her questions. She didn’t stay any longer than she had to, which suited both Zarian and Berrak.

Berrak walked over to the light switches, turning all but the light by the bathroom off. Closing the door, she sat down and took Zarian’s hand.

“Obviously I got hurt, but I don’t remember how.”

“What do you remember?”

“Peters had a knife up to one of the children’s throat. He nicked her with it. Is she all right?”

“Yes she is. They all are,” she squeezed his hand.

“Good. Peters put down his knife, picked up his rifle, and aimed it at me. He lost seconds when he tossed…”

“Aemilie. She’s 13.”

“He tossed Aemilie away and brought the rifle up. He knew the recoil: one handed and nothing to brace with, he’d have little to no chance. As it is, he got off two shots before I beaned him.

I had that moment between the tossing the girl and his training his sites on me to barely dodge the first bullet. As I went down I reached for a fairly hefty crystal candy dish…could I have some more water?”

Berrak brought the straw to his lips. He motioned it away after a few sips.

“I tossed the dish as hard as I could. It hit him in the chest with a satisfying thud. Peters staggered. I got to him as fast as I could, going for his knife. I turned…I turned…dammit, I don’t know what happened next.”

“I do, Zarian. The mother, Mrs. Frasier, told us what happened. She was cringing on the couch, trying to protect her children with her body, but she saw you throw her dish at Peters. Mrs. Frasier -Caroline- said as you grabbed the knife and turned, Peters fired one more time. He…clipped you on the side of the head, there.”

“Ah, that’s why the pain there.”

“Yes. It was a nasty looking wound. I thought you were dead when the police let me in. So much blood.” Berrak stopped, took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“And…?”

“And you fell, knife in both hands. You fell down on Peters, driving the knife into his chest. The police found you on top of him, blood all over the floor. Yes, before you ask, he’s dead.”

She brought his hand up to her lips and kissed it. He moved it out of her grip and cupped her face, sliding his thumb over her chin, her mouth.

“It’s over, Berrak. I wished he could have stood trial and rotted in jail, but…it’s over.”

She nodded, closing her eyes as his hand cupped her cheek.

She stayed all night by his side.

*****

EPILOGUE

Many hospital visitors later, they both returned home. Gil and Jill had organized a small “Welcome Home” party. Rovas was not a fan of surprise parties, but this one he tolerated with grace. Jill had brought Sara, her daughter. Tina, who had nicely recovered from her ordeal with Peters, brought a date.  Chief Inspector Oliver Dole was there, with his wife, as well as other friends from the force. Even Maggie and Pearl, who kept refusing the people food the others tried to slip her. Maggie allowed Pearl her treats. He was content with this crowd, but then the doorbell rang one more time.

The Palmonts arrived, all three children in tow. Berrak had gone to the door, ushered them in, and called Rovas over. They gathered around him, the parents shaking his hand. He got hugs from both Janice and April. The three of them shared some tears; the girls hugged Berrak as well, then went into the living room: they had noticed Sara.

Rovas’s arm was tugged on. It was Gerald. He beckoned to him with his finger. Rovas stooped down a little. Gerald went close to his ear, saying, almost in a whisper:”Thank you for stopping…him.” Rovas got another hug. He returned this just as fiercely.

Rovas sat on the couch, a cup of perfect coffee in his hand, made by Berrak, of course. Dole came over. He was congratulating and chastising him in the same breath, until his wife smacked him on the arm and made him promise to behave. This brought a round of laughs from all, more so from those who worked with him daily. Rovas was glad, later, that he kept to his promise.

Gil, with Jill in hand, came over and sat with Rovas. Berrak was talking with Tina and her plus one, Samuel. They went over to join Zarian.

As they sat, Gil hit himself in the head, smiling. “Oh, I can’t believe I didn’t…well, yes I can. It’s not like nothing else has been happening.”

“What, Gil?” asked Rovas.

Gil turned and looked at Tina. “I think we’ve found the man who killed…um…your friends,” he said, pointedly not looking at Samuel.

“He knows, Gil.” She took Samuel’s’ hands in hers. “Go on.”

“Well, while Inspector…um…Zarian,” he changed after a look from Rovas. “While he was recuperating, one of my inquiries into this Vic character came to my desk. In one of the books we found from the…woman of the house…there were numerous booking for a VG. So, I started searches for anyone named Vic or Victor with a surname starting with G. I finally got a hit, and I think it’s him. It took long enough, but…”

“And…?” Berrak asked, pushing Gil along.

“If this is the guy, his name is Victor Gilbride. I found him in the mental ward. Scarily, he was in the same high level ward that Peters had escaped from.” Gil shook his head.

“Victor had been in another…house…when he was arrested. He was with two girls and got rough with them. He left teeth marks, pretty bad ones, on one of the girls. They screamed, he was getting more violent, the madame threw the door open and tassed him.”

“Good for her. I wish Lily had one.”

“Yes, well, once he was in police custody, Victor went a little bat crazy.”

Everyone groaned.

“Yes, well…when they searched his home, they found more equipment like was left at the scene of the murders. Victor didn’t confess so much as relished his telling of why he did such a disgusting thing.”

“Gil, he drank the blood?” Rovas asked.

“Yes, and he got good and sick from it. Victor really thought he was a vampire- wait, I know, but according to the docs this is a syndrome. He was planning to do it again, he said. His biting was a kind of foreplay for him. The madame said she knew he did it, but it had been more restrained before that night.”

“Oh. Oh…wow. I just…I’m not really sure how I feel, Gil. Thank you.” Tina got up, nudged Jill slightly, and gave Gil a hug. She went back to sit by Samuel. “He’s not on the streets. Wow.”

They all smiled and relaxed.

The evening wound up early. Everyone knew Zarian needed his rest. They didn’t linger very long. He got many hugs and pats on the back, and some kisses on the cheek from Jill, Tina, and Janice, the oldest of the Palmont girls. Gerald stood in the doorway, looked him in the eye, and waved. Rovas waved back.

Alone, the two settled on their couch.

“I will clean up tomorrow, Zarian. I’m tired, and I know you are as well. It’s in your eyes.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “All this horror is done with, now. I think I could sleep for a week.”

Zarian stroked her hair, closing his eyes, relaxing with her on the couch.

“Come,” she said after waking up from dozing off. “Bed time, for both of us.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too. Let’s go up.”

He took her hand as they both levered themselves off the couch. She turned off the light in the room and made their way to the stairs. Rovas stopped for a moment, looking into his darkened study, out the window.

Rovas noticed a silhouette of a man briskly walking away from their house, down the street, hands in his pockets, head cast down, fading down the street horizon.

He smiled, looked at Berrak, and headed upstairs for some much needed sleep.

The End

*************************************************

Well, that’s it…for now? I’m not sure if I’ll return to this or not. There are a few other story lines I like (Devil’s Diary; The Kitsune Mochi; The Abysmal Dollhouse) that I’d like to re-explore, as well as an idea for a novel that has been floating around the vast emptiness of my mind, one that sets foot in the urban paranormal vein. I need a couple of days off of just vegging. Then…we’ll see.

I’m supposed to have a Reflection Post up sometime in May, say the Masters of the A to Z. I will get to that, and announce the date as soon as I firm it down.
There is still plenty of time to check out blogs from the A to Z Blog Challenge. Click on the banner below. It will take you to their home page. Or, click HERE to go to the A to Z Challenge list.

As to the Blogging from A to Z challenge, I’ll let the words of Arlee Bird (founder of said challenge) tell you what this is all about:

The brainchild of Arlee Bird, at Tossing it Out, the A to Z Challenge is posting every day in April except Sundays (we get those off for good behavior.) And since there are 26 days, that matches the 26 letters of the alphabet. On April 1, blog about something that begins with the letter “A.” April 2 is “B,” April 4 is “C,” and so on. You can use a theme for the month or go random – just as long as it matches the letter of the alphabet for the day.

The A to Z Challenge is a great way to get into the blogging habit and make new friends.

Thank you for coming by. I hope you’ve enjoyed this series, mistakes and all. As I said awhile back, I consider this my “First Draft”, which kinda sorta means I might pull this out and rework it a bit down the road.

Anyone want to be my editor? Beta Reader? Cannoli maker?

Comments, likes, and outpouring of love and gratitude is always welcome.  🙂

 

Yesterday’s Sorrows (A to Z Blog Challenge)

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**To start from the very beginning: From the Case Files of Inspector Khazarian Rovas

**To read the first parts of this story line: Venus Ascending , Witch’s Moon, and X-Folders

Yesterday

“Yesterday’s Sorrows”

The Case Files of Inspector Khazarian Rovas

The manhunt for John Peters continued. Fresh from the attempted second kidnapping of a prior victim, his attack on Sargent Detective Gil Katsaros and ex-Inspector Rovas and his wife drove the police in a wide search to bring him to justice…one way or the other. That escalated by his next crimes.

A family who had not been heard from in five days, were found, brutalized, in their home. A friend of the wife’s had come round, not hearing from her after she didn’t show up to a play date with the youngest children. She peeked in a window, saw the place in shambles, and called the police. All five were found dead; John Peters’ fingerprints were found all over the house, and on the murder weapon, a kitchen knife.

He had a hiding place and lost it. Police presence was out in full force. Gil was taken off the case, forced to receive protection, which he fought until Rovas fed him back his own words of caution from weeks ago. Berrak was uneasy: both glad and bothered by being so closely guarded. The Palmont family was put into a safe house under heavy rotation. Tina, who had undergone two more operations due to complications from being shot, was finally on the mend. She, too, had police watching. She was never left alone in her hospital room.

There were no other sightings, which worried them all. Gil called in favors to keep him updated; Rovas discretely doing the same. The three of them met often, adding information to their wall as it came in. Berrak was busy online, researching anything that related to Peters, his family, and the families he had affected. Every now and then the three of them would pick over the other open case folders left in the study, doing research both by phone or computer. But no chasing down any ideas or leads. Not then. Capturing Peters was of utmost concern.

Rovas and Berrak were brainstorming in the study while Gil busied making the coffee for them. He had insisted, and Berrak gave in, knowing he wanted the privacy to talk with Jill on the phone. He eventually came in with three mugs, balancing them and burning some fingers in the process.

“We have a tray,” Berrak softly scolded while Gil blew on his fingers.

Rovas’ attention was on the information tacked on the wall and written on the white board. He was trying to fathom any pattern of Peters. He was considered a loose canon by those he kept in touch with on the force. The destruction at the family vacation house, the attempt on Gerald Palmont, the shooting at Tina’s apartment…yes, a loose canon. But, there was something…

“Damn!” he slammed his fist down on the table, drawing Berrak’s and Gil’s instant attention. “There. The families.” He got up, stepping up to the victims list they had made. “Besides the police deaths he caused in the bombing, and his attempts on us…the families. The Palmont’s: three children. This latest atrocity: three children.”

“Oh…the three girls that were traced back to him before…” Berrak clenched her fists.

Gil got on the phone. Once he was connected to Chief Inspector Dole, he put them on speaker phone.

“Dole, Rovas here. We may have a pattern that I know you’re not perusing at the moment…”

*****

The search for families with three children went from a 25 mile radius to 50, officially. Rovas and Berrak bought a laptop and Gil brought over his. Jill helped out from her home when she could. They made lists of their find, which went beyond the 50 mile search, but discarded them one by one as Gil made “official” calls to the schools, seeing if those children had all been absent, and for more than one or two days.

During one call, he held up his hand to the others. All they heard were “yes, yes” or “Are you sure?” with a final “Yes, alert the police. Now.” while he scribbled information down on paper. “Three children, again two girls and a boy. Third day they haven’t shown up; one teacher reported she was having trouble reaching the parents on their in school reporting system. It hadn’t been picked up on anyone’s radar.”

Berrak and Rovas stood up at the same time.

“Gil,” Rovas said, “would you mind distracting our minders outside?”

He smiled. “With pleasure. Now, how will I meet you?”

They formed a plan.

*****

They pulled up near a barricade forty minutes later. Police car lights dotted the area. Gil went up to the officer standing duty, identified himself and pointing out the Rovas’. After a short conversation, he rushed back to them.

“Inspector…Peters is asking for you, well, the three of us, but specifically for you. He,” Gil took a look at Berrak and then continued, “he killed the father and tossed him out an upper window. Said he’d gut the kids and let the mother watch.”

The police officer letting them through after he had called in that they were there. They made their way to the commander in charge and introduced themselves. He reluctantly went over the details, more to Gil, but firmly aware of Rovas’s presence.

“He has a gas mask, he claims. Curtains are drawn; any shadowy figures are always of two close together. No secure shot. The only communication we’ve had with this guy is he wants you, really badly.” He pointed his finger at Rovas. He nodded back.

“Then, let’s give him what he wants.”

“Zarian! No.”

He looked at his wife. “The children,” was all he said.

With tears falling she fell into his arms.

All attempts to change his mind failed. All Gil could say, at the end point, was “I have faith in you.”

No more needed to be said.

*****

Rovas was in the living room. He took everything in: Peters with a knife the throat of a young teenage girl, her hands tied in front of her, mouth gagged. The mother and two other children were also tied up and gagged, sitting together on a couch. He noticed a rifle-an M82, he wasn’t surprised to see-resting just off to the right side of where Peters stood. His eyes took in the area around him as he walked into the room, his hands up to show he was not carrying.

They stood starting at one another. Peters blinked first. Rovas moved a step closer.

“Well. I’m here. Let the children and their mother go.”

Rovas noticed Peters knife arm was tense, an indentation against the girls throat that drew a thin line of blood. She was shaking, her face a mask of pain. “Stop moving,” Peters growled. Rovas felt it was as much for him as it was the girl. He stopped.

Peters held onto the girl with his left hand while he put the knife down behind him. He reached down to pick up the rifle, bringing it level with Rovas’ middle. Rovas knew what was next.

Peters’ tossed the girl to the floor and brought the riffle up.

Outside, they heard two shots ring out.

“Zarian!” Berrak cried out. Gil and the commander had to restrain her.

“We have to go in. We have to go in,” she insisted.

They heard one more shot.

*************************************************
“The Case Files of Inspector Khazarian Rovas” is my theme for this year. Cold case files for the good inspector to delve into, trying to make sense &/or solve. As this has progressed, it’s become something more for me. I wasn’t planning to do such a connected story line, but it’s the way it has worded out for me. I hope you’ve been enjoying this, mistakes and all.

As to the Blogging from A to Z challenge, I’ll let the words of Arlee Bird (founder of said challenge) tell you what this is all about:

The brainchild of Arlee Bird, at Tossing it Out, the A to Z Challenge is posting every day in April except Sundays (we get those off for good behavior.) And since there are 26 days, that matches the 26 letters of the alphabet. On April 1, blog about something that begins with the letter “A.” April 2 is “B,” April 4 is “C,” and so on. You can use a theme for the month or go random – just as long as it matches the letter of the alphabet for the day.

The A to Z Challenge is a great way to get into the blogging habit and make new friends.

So, one more post. I was late with this one. Life happens. The final post, the Z, is supposed to end on Saturday, April 30th. I’m going to take a short break and get to the last part of this story and post before Midnight, so it ends on time.

Comments and such are always welcome. I hope you enjoy the stories.

Please click on the below pic/badge. It’ll take you to the A to Z home page; from there, click on the top link to find the other bloggers who took the challenge. I’m sure you’ll find something enjoyable to read.

Unbridled Fury (A to Z Blog Challenge)

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**To start from the very beginning: From the Case Files of Inspector Khazarian Rovas

**The first parts of this story line: Red Canvas, Still Life in Scarlet, and Tea and Soliciting

Unbrideled

“Unbridled Fury”

The Case Files of Inspector Khazarian Rovas

Berrak was in the back seat of the car while Gil drove. Khazarian at first insisted she sit up front, but she refused three times. He had tried to join her in the back, but she wanted the space, as much space three people in a sedan could afford. Rovas sat up front, drumming his fingers on the door rest. She needed to think.

The house offered nothing new to any of them. No clues, which no one expected, but especially no new insight. It was frustrating to her on so many levels. She understood why Zarian kept the secret of her late brother’s child, Kristina the product of an affair Berk had had while still married to Eva. She was mad at Berk and upset with Zarian, with feelings of anguish for a niece she did not know until that day she had.

Gil’s phone rang. Rovas clicked it on and held it up for Gil to hear. “Could you hold on,” Gil’s face whitened, “Sir, put it on speaker.” Rovas did. “OK, please repeat what you said. Inspector Rovas is in the car with me.”

Gil put his foot down on the pedal while Chief Inspector Dole grudgingly, Rovas heard in his voice, said: “John Peters tried to kidnap the Palmont boy again. The boy’s father is on his way to the hospital; Mr. Palmont had picked Gerald up from school. Peters was waiting by the car with a gun. He tried to snatch the boy but Mr. Palmont rushed him. The gun went off in the melee. Gerald broke free and ran to the school as the school guard and other parents were running towards the scene. Peters fled.”

“We’re on our way back,” Rovas told Dole. “How bad is it for the father?”

“Not good, I’m afraid. A lot of blood loss, but one of the parents on the scene was an EMT. She was able to help until the ambulance showed.”

“What school again?” Gil asked. After the Chief Inspector read off the information again Rovas hung up. “Damn,” Gil muttered.

“What, Gil?” Berrak asked, still leaning over the front seat, her arm around her husband.

“The EMT. I’ll bet you it was Jill. Her daughter goes to that school. I knew the Palmont’s moved for protection, but I didn’t know which schools.”

The car flew on the road. Inside, all three were alone in their thoughts.

*****

After checking the scene at the school, Rovas wanted to go to the hospital to talk with Mr. Palmont. Jill was there when they arrived; she was with her daughter, Sara, and Mrs. Palmont and her children. Gil went over to them, getting a hug from Jill and a “mooommmm” from Sara. Rovas and Berrak briefly spoke with Mr. Palmont, then checked in with Janice and April. Gerald was curled up in a knot and pressed against his mother. She shook her head: it was not the time for questioning.

Gil said he would follow as Rovas and Berrak went to find Mr. Palmont. Berrak stopped outside of the room, holding onto her husband’s arm.

“When this is done, I want you to promise me something.”

He nodded.

“I want to meet Kristina.”

“Berrak, I don’t think…”

“That is the problem: in this instance, you weren’t thinking. I want…no, I will meet with Kristina.”

Rovas looked at her, arguing within himself. Looking in her eyes, he could only nod.

They went into the room hand in hand.
*************************************************
“The Case Files of Inspector Khazarian Rovas” is my theme for this year. Cold case files for the good inspector to delve into, trying to make sense &/or solve. As this has progressed, it’s become something more for me. I wasn’t planning to do such a connected story line, but it’s the way it has worded out for me. I hope you’ve been enjoying this, mistakes and all.

As to the Blogging from A to Z challenge, I’ll let the words of Arlee Bird (founder of said challenge) tell you what this is all about:

The brainchild of Arlee Bird, at Tossing it Out, the A to Z Challenge is posting every day in April except Sundays (we get those off for good behavior.) And since there are 26 days, that matches the 26 letters of the alphabet. On April 1, blog about something that begins with the letter “A.” April 2 is “B,” April 4 is “C,” and so on. You can use a theme for the month or go random – just as long as it matches the letter of the alphabet for the day.

The A to Z Challenge is a great way to get into the blogging habit and make new friends.

So, join me (and the over 1600 other blogs involved) starting on Friday, April 1, 2016 and ending on Saturday, April 30th. Comments and such are always welcome. I hope you enjoy the stories.

Perhaps the Dog (A to Z Blog Challenge)

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**To start from the very beginning: From the Case Files of Inspector Khazarian Rovas

** To read the first part of this story line: Offending Elm

Perhaps

“Perhaps the Dog”

The Case Files of Inspector Khazarian Rovas

Pearl, the yellow Labrador cadaver dog, was brought in. A fairly new addition to the police force, Pearl was acquired in the last months of Inspector Rovas’ service. He and Sargent Detective Gil Katsaros had worked with Pearl and her K-9 handler, Officer Maggie Trabold, previously. They were rewarded with good results  from each interaction. It was Berrak who had brought up the idea, remembering Zarian remarking on the dog’s prowess. Officer Maggie allowed Pearl to get to know Berrak on the drive over to Haley’s Woods, but once on the scene of the crime, Pearl was all business.

Along with her missing teeth there was little to no soft tissue left for any identifier of the victim. The ME at the time postulated that she would have been in the tree approximately for a month before discovery. Rovas wished, as so many times in the last few years, that the advancements in crime detection today were available decades ago. How many more cases would have been closed quicker. If only.

They had used some of their K-9 troops when the body was first discovered nineteen years ago. Rovas had hoped to find any scent of the person or persons who shoved the body into the tree cavity. The search dogs followed a trail that led a little bit away from the Elm, due north.  The dogs stopped just about ten feet away from the tree. The scent went no further in any direction.

Rovas, Berrak, and Gil followed Officer Maggie and Pearl into the grove of trees. Rovas gave the yellow taffeta to Pearl’s handler. Gil had signed it out of police storage in the hopes there would be something the dog could work with.  Officer Maggie got down on one knee and offered the material to Pearl. She sniffed it, picked her head up, then sniffed some more. The officer got up in time as Pearl started to drag her towards an Elm tree.

Pearl had an extremely sensitive nose, which had been noted early on in her training. She honed in on the Elm tree as she pulled Officer Maggie to it. “This is the tree where the body was found?”

“Yes,” Rovas answered. He was pleasantly surprised at this turn, skeptical at first due to the length of time involved. Berrak had done her research before presenting the idea to him. Some cadaver dogs could find a scent even up to thirty years old. Gil was harder to convince, but he went along the day after he had dinner with EMT Jill.

Maggie helped Pearl up a bit towards the space in the tree trunk. Pearl dove her head in as best as she could, came up with her head swiveling, and then again she thrust her snout into the tree opening. Officer Maggie eased her down and took off Pearl’s leash.

She started at the tree, walking around it a few times, but then veering off towards the north. Rovas, Gil, and Berrak were various degrees of pleased at this. Berrak hoped Pearl could lead them further along, and she was clutching her husband’s hand when Pearl led off in another direction, this time to the east of the copse. She wound up at another grouping of trees and snuffled along the ground. She came back to one spot again and again until she just stopped and looked at Officer Maggie.

Both Rovas and Gil muttered “Damn!” It took a few seconds for Berrak to also utter “Damn.”

Gil went back to the vehicles and retrieved spades and electric lanterns from his and Officer Maggie’s car trunk. The four of them took turns digging where Pearl “told” them to dig. Rovas was livid while he dug. The previous search turned up blank, no hint there could be another body in the vicinity. Pearl was bred to find the dead, human dead, and of that he was sure that was what they were going to find. “Damn!” he said a few times more with each shovel full of the disturbed earth.

Berrak was the one who found the human skull. In unison, with spades and hands, they brought up the skeletal remains of a body. Gil went back to his car to call for transport. The sun was setting, so Rovas and the officer turned on the lanterns. Berrak had been gently cleaning away dirt clumps on the body, careful not to cause any damage. She looked up at Rovas and held up some metal on a chain.

“Zarian, look. Dog tags.”

She got up as he brought a lantern over, with Officer Maggie and Pearl following. He turned it over, cleaning the dirt out of the grooves as best he could.

“Hmmm….there’s his social security number, blood type B, name…,” he wiped away more, “David…Sosenko. And…huh.”

“What, Zarian?”

“Berrak, what does that look like to you?”

She examined it closely. “An H. I’m pretty sure, in this light, it’s an H.”

Gil had arrived back while they were examining the tags. “H is for his religion. H for Hebrew.”

“He’s Jewish, um, was Jewish,” she said.

“Yes, it appears so,” Rovas responded. Turning the tags over in his hands, Rovas felt they finally had an important piece to this puzzle.

*************************************************
“The Case Files of Inspector Khazarian Rovas” is my theme for this year. Cold case files for the good inspector to delve into, trying to make sense &/or solve. My plan is to use a variety of genres within this overarching theme to allow me to play and, of course, challenge myself. Some cases might bleed into another case. Most will be stand alone. We’ll see, won’t we?

As to the Blogging from A to Z challenge, I’ll let the words of Arlee Bird (founder of said challenge) tell you what this is all about:

The brainchild of Arlee Bird, at Tossing it Out, the A to Z Challenge is posting every day in April except Sundays (we get those off for good behavior.) And since there are 26 days, that matches the 26 letters of the alphabet. On April 1, blog about something that begins with the letter “A.” April 2 is “B,” April 4 is “C,” and so on. You can use a theme for the month or go random – just as long as it matches the letter of the alphabet for the day.

The A to Z Challenge is a great way to get into the blogging habit and make new friends.

So, join me (and the over 1700 other blogs involved) starting on Friday, April 1, 2016 and ending on Saturday, April 30th. Comments and such are always welcome. I hope you enjoy the stories.

Mental Challenges (A to Z Blog Challenge)

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**To start from the very beginning: From the Case Files of Inspector Khazarian Rovas

Mental

“Mental Challenges”

The Case Files of Inspector Khazarian Rovas

Weeks after the fact, John Peters’ escape, en route from mental ward to jail, was still making news. Details kept leaking out, and the press were merciless with the police force by this point. They were too lax, inept. Criminally inept. His break out left one guard dead, shot with his own gun. Another guard was still in critical condition. The search for John Peters was growing cold, and the news was starting to focus in other directions, until something horrible was discovered: other bodies had been found, buried in the back yard of a home where Peters had previously lived.

The Palmont children also became news again. Janice, the oldest child, had tried to kill herself after the grisly discovery of other victims. Her parents had done their best to restrict any news filtering into their home, but…it happened. She had been sneaking  onto the internet, well after everyone went to bed, ever since Peters escaped. Police presence around their house now doubled, spilling over to the hospital while she was in recovery.

Chief Inspector Dole, Rovas’ old boss, insisted on keeping the Rovas house, and especially Berrak, under surveillance. After rebuffing Sargent Detective Gil Katsaros entreaties for the third time in as many weeks, the Chief Inspector made an unprecedented official appearance at their home. With Berrak present, Dole got Rovas to reconsider, after an hour of persuasion. It came down to, in Rovas’ mind, keeping Berrak as safe as possible. Hours after the Chief Inspector left, Gil showed up.

“You didn’t have to sic Dole on me, you know.” Rovas scowl at Gil had little effect. He drank the coffee Berrak laid out before him quietly.

“Yes, I did. You were being stubborn. Sadly, you are not an Inspector anymore, Inspector, Sir.” His smile was grim. “How many others have you insisted that surveillance was for their safety?”

Rovas was silent. Berrak patted his shoulder and sat down with them.

“You should have taken the Chief Inspector position when it was offered to you,” Gil said, pointing with his cup.

“Not that again, Gil. I wanted to solve cases, not send others out to do that for me. I’m not the political animal Dole is.”

Berrak broke in: “Gil, what about the other bodies that were found?”

“Initial reports indicate all three were girls. The ME estimates that they were all in their early teens, maybe younger. She had to do more tests for further determination. No infants, thank god. A search for any place Peters lived previously is undergoing. The ME knows that filing her report is her first priority.”

“Any luck with getting his military file opened?,” Rovas asked. “We know he was dishonorably discharged, but not the why. Although, I’m afraid we all can think of what he might have done, given this…pattern of his.”

“The military has been fighting us, but adding in the new bodies, even not confirmed they were his kills…I think we won’t have as much trouble getting his file unsealed.”

Through the evening the three went over every bit of information they had. Gil left close to midnight. Rovas sat in his chair, looking out his window, lights out in the room.

“You should come to bed, Zarian. Nothing we can do at this moment.”

“I’ll be up soon. Promise.”

She gave him a kiss and went upstairs. Rovas stayed in his study, falling asleep in his chair.

He was awakened at 7:14 in the morning by a call from Gil.

“John Peters father finally opened up. I was almost at my house when the station alerted me. I rushed over, called Mr. Peters back…I don’t think we will need the military files opened, except for trial when we catch him. I was on the phone with him for quite awhile. I know you wish I called you sooner, but…well, there was nothing we could do at that point. We gathered our information and set our plans.”

“He most likely molested other children on a tour of duty,” Rovas offered. “It probably would have been a political nightmare if they outright arrested him. That assumes there was no murder involved.”

Gil was quiet for only a second. “Pretty much right on the nose. It was a case of She said/He said, but in this case it was underage girls, two of them, according to the father. He said his son took the discharge since neither side could bring it to court, and he was getting hassled by members of his troop. Of course, he lied. Mr. Peters said he didn’t want to believe any of this about his son, but with the other bodies…”

“He had no choice. Hard to admit your child is a monster.”

“One more thing: we may have a lead to where Peters could be. There is a family vacation house under the mother’s maiden name. She inherited it before they were married and never changed the title. He was hesitant about mentioning it.”

“Where?”

“A few hours drive, up the coast line,” Gil was rustling paper in the background. “We’ve been coordinating with the law in that jurisdiction. They’re waiting until we get there to move in on the house. I have room in my car. Coming along?”

“I wouldn’t miss it, as long as Dole doesn’t interfere.”

“Good.  I’ll be right over.”

Rovas hung up the phone. He started to get Berrak, but briefly hesitated. He wanted to keep her safe, yet he knew she would not stand being left behind. With a sigh, he went upstairs to their bedroom. She was already awake.

“News?”

“Yes. Let’s get dressed. We may have a lead on Peters.”

She hustled out of bed, gave him a hug, and went to wash up.

Rovas thought this was too easy, but it was all they had to go on…for the moment.

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“The Case Files of Inspector Khazarian Rovas” is my theme for this year. Cold case files for the good inspector to delve into, trying to make sense &/or solve. My plan is to use a variety of genres within this overarching theme to allow me to play and, of course, challenge myself. Some cases might bleed into another case. Most will be stand alone. We’ll see, won’t we?

As to the Blogging from A to Z challenge, I’ll let the words of Arlee Bird (founder of said challenge) tell you what this is all about:

The brainchild of Arlee Bird, at Tossing it Out, the A to Z Challenge is posting every day in April except Sundays (we get those off for good behavior.) And since there are 26 days, that matches the 26 letters of the alphabet. On April 1, blog about something that begins with the letter “A.” April 2 is “B,” April 4 is “C,” and so on. You can use a theme for the month or go random – just as long as it matches the letter of the alphabet for the day.

The A to Z Challenge is a great way to get into the blogging habit and make new friends.

So, join me (and the over 1800 other blogs involved) starting on Friday, April 1, 2016 and ending on Saturday, April 30th. Comments and such are always welcome. I hope you enjoy the stories.

Inquiries (A to Z Blog Challenge)

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**To start from the beginning: From the Case Files of Inspector Khazarian Rovas

Impulsive2

“Inquiries”

The Case Files of Inspector Khazarian Rovas

The tiny caskets were lowered into the earth. The entire Palmont family was there; Gerald was holding both his parents hands, while Janice and April held each other, slightly apart from their mother and father. Berrak was standing off to the side, towards the back, while others gathered around, the first to the grave site trying to touch or hug the girls. Most still didn’t understand Janice and April’s avoidance at the chapel: here, the rebuffs left nothing to misunderstanding.

As the mourners were leaving in small clumps, Berrak gathered herself to join them. She noticed that Janice was staring at her. Neither of them moved for a moment, Janice did a small wave to Berrak, then looked to her parents, then to April. Berrak caught her eyes one more time. She nodded and left.

Khazarian had stayed at home. He felt that he had done all he could do for the girls. The case closed. The funeral, in his opinion, was for them to come together again as a family. He was not part of that process. Berrak disagreed, so she went while sat at his desk, looking over the notes he was adding to the Palmont children’s file. Plus, the file notes about their abductor/rapist, John Peters. Sargent Detective Gil Katsaros had called early in the morning, bringing him up to speed on the proceedings.

John Peters was ex-military, a fact Berrak fathomed by the way Peters held himself while they were in his kitchen. “His posture was stiff, and he clasped his hands tightly about his back,” she said. “I’d be surprised if he didn’t have a military background.” She was right, of course. Each turn of events with his wife left an ever growing sense of respect for her, even with a high regard to begin with.

What he was loathe to tell her was that Peters’ lawyer had him plead not guilty, by way of PTSD. An insanity plea. Khazarian shook his head when Gil told him, this, noting the anger in Gil’s voice over the phone. At this point, Peters was locked up in a secure mental ward, undergoing psychiatric examination to either support or deny any of this. His military file was sealed. Both of them were extremely curious about that, but there was no way they could get that information. It would be on the shoulders of the prosecutor.

There had nothing in their data system about Peters. He had no arrests, no outstanding tickets, and nothing more than an expired meter ticket from three years prior. Bank statements came up clean. There was nothing that outwardly appeared unusual.

That is what gnawed at Rovas. Psychopaths walked among them, he knew all too well.

Rovas completed updating the files, copying down all that the Sargent Detective shared with him. He had a light bite and returned to the study, looking over the files to other cases on the desk. Berrak returned soon after.

“How was it?”

“Dreary. Dreadful. A funeral.” She sat facing him. “Why is it worse when it’s children?” Pausing, not waiting for an answer. “I know, I know. I know all of the usual reasons, the life ahead never happening. This…this was just compounded by what Janice and April-and Gerald-went through.”

Khazarian got up, knelt in front of her, and gave her a hug. He held her until she stopped crying. She gave him a kiss. He patted her back and returned to his chair.

“Zarian, got your shirt wet,” she said as she wiped her face dry with a tissue.

“It’s not the first time. If that is the worst…”

“I know.” Berrak took in the stack of folders on the desk, noticing one was open, some of the papers flipped over. “Is that…”

“No. The Palmont case is closed. I’ll tell you later about what I gathered from Gil about John Peters.” They both involuntarily twitched at that name, he in his shoulder, she in her face. “This file, well, this one does not involve any children.”

He pushed it over to her. Berrak took it, turned it right side up, and began to read.

“Really? Lacing marijuana with Heroin? Why is this…oh. Five deaths.” Looking up, she continued. “Obviously, you didn’t find the one, or ones, who did this. Do you think we could find something after…” she checked “…seven years?”

“Read on,” Rovas answered.

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“The Case Files of Inspector Khazarian Rovas” is my theme for this year. Cold case files for the good inspector to delve into, trying to make sense &/or solve. My plan is to use a variety of genres within this overarching theme to allow me to play and, of course, challenge myself. Some cases might bleed into another case. Most will be stand alone. We’ll see, won’t we?

As to the Blogging from A to Z challenge, I’ll let the words of Arlee Bird (founder of said challenge) tell you what this is all about:

The brainchild of Arlee Bird, at Tossing it Out, the A to Z Challenge is posting every day in April except Sundays (we get those off for good behavior.) And since there are 26 days, that matches the 26 letters of the alphabet. On April 1, blog about something that begins with the letter “A.” April 2 is “B,” April 4 is “C,” and so on. You can use a theme for the month or go random – just as long as it matches the letter of the alphabet for the day.

The A to Z Challenge is a great way to get into the blogging habit and make new friends.

So, join me (and the over 1800 other blogs involved) starting on Friday, April 1, 2016 and ending on Saturday, April 30th. Comments and such are always welcome. I hope you enjoy the stories.