Category Archives: statuatory rape

Viruñas: Nightmares from an Unbleached Soul, AtoZ Blog Challenge

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V2020

NIGHTMARES FROM AN UNBLEACHED SOUL

Viruñas

Oye. Usted. Look at that handsome guy
Attractive and sexy, he almost makes you cry
That hombre guapo stirs up your pulse
You tramp around, a gata in heat
One look and you shiver everywhere.

You didn't really think this through
The look in his eyes a devilish glare
His smile is crooked, he licks his lips
Drawing you closer, he puts hands on your hips

Your scent is in the air, enticing
As he comes for you with stealth
You're taken by false charm
Insincere compliments as well

Flattered by his lying words
Flattered by his leer
Everything about him screams
"Sal de aquí! Get Out Of Here!"

Then he takes you, holds your arms
From crooked to enticing, enchanted by his smile
How beautiful a smile, enticed by his charm
But hidden underneath is something vile. 

As he leads you into a slow street dance
Notice no one's giving you a glance
You lean into him as you twirl around
Ask him his name as you give him yours.

A howl erupts from him, laughter you can't hear
The slow spins accelerates to rapido gyrates
He draws you tighter, chest to chest
"Viruñas," he says as he grabs your breast.

You want to fight him, you want to flee
But his mouth is on yours; it wobbles your knees
You can't stop kissing, you close your eyes
Tasting blood on tip of your tongue

Feeling something in you is pulling away
Thoughts you have start to decay
Nothing makes sense; a chaotic mess
You give up your last then tossed away

Viruñas is pleased; she had a tasty soul
Feeding the inferno within; it cries out for more
Putting on another handsome face, natty clothes
The good looking Diablo stalks his next prey 


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

In Columbian mythology,  Viruñas  (the Evil One), is considered a representation of Satan and appears as a handsome man who steals the souls of the people. He is a nightmare? Should I have included more Columbian language or leave it out entirely? Please let me know your thoughts in the comments below.

MUSICIANS, or people who know musicians, hear my call
I would love to find someone to collaborate with. Not every one of the 26 Lyrical Poems are winners, and most will need some tweaking. I would just love to hear some, or all of these, put to music.

My theme for this year’s AtoZ Blog Challenge is Nightmare from an Unbleached Soul. 26 Lyrical Poems throughout April, using the letters of the alphabet as our daily jumping-off point. If you want to find blogs that match your interests, check out the Master List.

Comments are always welcome. Why you like the work or don’t, helps me in honing what I love to do.

Thanks for stopping by.

GROPING: (Trigger Warning) Nightmares From An Unbleached Soul, AtoZ Blog Challenge

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Edited:

WARNING

This Post MAY trigger something in you, personal or not. The title should alert the readers, but it’s my fault for not even contemplating this message. 

I apologize to any reader who got hit in the gut. That was not my attention. More men should wake up and not think of only their “needs” and urges.  Their pain should be your shame. 

 

G2020

NIGHTMARES FROM AN UNBLEACHED SOUL

GROPING

 

It's assault! It's abuse!
You molest by your touch
You fondle my privates
It enhances your lust
Keep on going, you pig,
It's against my will.
Shit for brains,
I said NO!

Summoned to the office
Pushed against a bar
A car ride home
Some places you  control
In your sick little mind
To feel me up
It's your "due!" Hey!
But I said NO!

Gropefest commences
Why don't you hear the NO?
Hand over mouth
No one hears screams deep within my soul.
You think I want this?
Ha! Only in your dreams
Hey Shit for brains,
I said NO!

No one believes me
Most don't want to hear
A groper now but
Rape is in the air
Justice gets served, on the TV
Real life? Why won't they listen to me?
I said STOP!
I said NO!

It's sexual abuse, sexual assault
Get off on what you thrust up
It's the power that
You think you have over me
Molestation was when you pawed up and down
Keep your hands to yourself
Keep you dick in your pants
I said NO; I said STOP

No 
No
No
NO
NO
NO
NO

STOP!



 

Kaleidoscope In Her Eye: #AtoZ Blog Challenge

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A Car In The Woods: Chapter Nine

2019 AtoZ Blog Challenge

AtoZ2019K

KALEIDOSCOPE IN HER EYE

 

1967

Mouth agape, Samantha was stunned by what Lisa told her. Tied hands and feet, ass planted on the ground, her back thrust against the cooling VW Microbus, she had no options but to listen. Most everything she thought she knew about Lisa was a lie. She tried to run through memories of their sessions. Nothing stood out that sounded false, and there were the state and hospital records to back things up. She couldn’t understand how wrong she had been. Was still. Samantha’s confidence, already shaky at this point, crumbled even further.

Lisa went back into silence mode after she dropped the bomb. Testing? A glass-walled cell? Samantha was beyond puzzled. She hurt from the beating, the way the ride to this grove battered her along, and the fear she felt about her parents, then herself. It was all just too much.

Mocking laughter brought her attention back to the present. The slap that followed burned on her cheek, her head conking on the body of the VW. Anger welled up as she turned her head back to face Lisa.

“You went away for a bit, Dr. Sam. Isn’t that against your training as a psycho?” She grinned widely.

“Therapist. Psychotherapist,” Samantha spat out, immediately regretting that she let the other woman goad her like this.

“Yeah, yeah. Doesn’t really matter now, does it? So, where was I?” Lisa looked around the site, up to the sky, and turned back to Samantha. She cocked her head to the side. Waiting.

Dropping her gaze, Samantha reluctantly said: “Something about testing.”

“Oh, yeah.” She patted the ground around her, fidgeting a bit.

“Did you know I killed my first guy in this spot? Yes, this very spot. That never came up when we chatted. I think it was six or seven years ago. Yeah. Wasn’t like I meant to, really. Things just got a little out of hand. I wasn’t thinking very straight at that point. Dumped his body here. Blood was everywhere. Everywhere.”

Lisa’s voice faded, her eyes taking a glassy turn. Samantha waited. Moments passed before the narrative picked back up.

“I got back into my brand new car. The very first car I owned outright. Stupid but, again, wasn’t thinking very straight. My driving was just as crooked. Went too fast, hit a tree, and didn’t get much further after they got me.”

Silence.

“They?” Samantha couldn’t help herself from asking.

Lisa shook her head. The wrong looking smile returned to her face.

“Heh. I lied before, just a wee bit. There was no jail cell then. I was spirited away, but the jail? Nah. The glass cell, the rest? That’s what happened after I killed that guy, wrecked my car, and they snatched me up. Yeah, yeah. They. The guys. D Line. They were still controlled, then. Shame. We eventually had some wicked times together. Until it became my job to terminate D Line.”

Samantha bit back saying anything. Lisa went on.

“Boom. Bye Bye. That happened a few years ago. It’s funny in a way. I was their victim at first; in the end, they were my puppies. Rabid puppies, but still.”

Silence.

Lisa stood up, looking around again.

“What the hell is keeping them?”

Samantha continued staring at her.

“Yeah, I don’t know either,” she sighed, sitting again in the same spot. “After some time in the glass being gawked at the rounds of drugs began. Then the operations. More drugs. Physical work. Drugs. Sex. No Rock ‘n Roll. Heh. Things changed. Others got terminated. Weird shit went on in other labs, we heard.”

“My first task when I was deemed ready enough? They let me choose. Guess who I chose, Dr. Sam. Guess.”

“What are you talking about, Lisa. This doesn’t make sense.” Silence. “Lisa!”

This slap was harder than the first one.

“Stop calling me that. Stop. It’s not mine.” A long pause.  “Hey. You didn’t guess.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. NO! Please, no more hitting. I’ll…I’ll try a guess.”

Samantha raced through all the things she knew-thought she knew-about her assailant. One person stood out as a possibility. It was better to play this insipid game then more pain.

“Your father?”

“Bingo. Right on the nose. Oh, nose. Yours, not so good right now.” Lisa reached over with both hands, wrapping them around Samantha’s swollen snout, and quickly jerked it. Samantha screamed.

“There. Never going to be as pretty as it was. Better than the smooshed thing I left you with. So, yeah. Dad. Two years later, he was still a bastard. Had a new plaything, too. I snuck onto the estate, waited until they were done, and drove my knife a few times through and through. The plaything I took with me. She was next in line.”

“Estate?”

“Yeah. He was filthy and rich. I know. I know. You thought I was trailer trash. Wrong. You got so many things wrong. You couldn’t see straight.”

“I don’t know what to think anymore. Lisa, please…”

“I said don’t call me that. Lisa. Not my real name. The plaything. She was Lisa. Right now, I have no idea what she calls herself. Last time I heard my name was from Daddy’s dying lips.” She laughed. “I bet you’re dying to know what it is, aren’t you?”

Samantha just nodded.

“He blubbered ‘You. Doris, you bitch. You bitch. You’ and then he bled out. It was worth it, in the end.” A noise came from the ground behind her, close to the grouping of the trees. “Ah, finally, damn took their time.”

A fog-like dust storm began to fill the area. It grew dense, and a strong wind circled around, adding debris from the ground to the swirling. Doris/Lisa stood up and brought Samantha up with her. It was hard for her to stand. She was held up by the others hand pressing into her chest and wedged against the Microbus side.

A continuous barking sound began, coming from the middle of the twister. The wind died away and everything blown about landed on the ground. In the center was a car. Red, shiny. Doris/Lisa was humming; a Beach Boys song, but Samantha couldn’t concentrate enough to remember the title. What she saw in the car frightened her even more then she had been a second ago.

It was a dog. Huge. Barking like mad. Samantha was shaking. She had never seen such a malformed creature. Lisa/Doris began laughing.

“Girl! Girl! Oh, this is just the icing.” She walked towards the car and beast. There was nothing to keep Samantha upright. She fell face forward, the pain knocking her out for a few moments.

She came to quicker this time. Something had changed. Her legs. They were all pins and needles, but they weren’t tied anymore. As she tried to wake them up, the barking stopped and became a horrible growl. Then there was a scream. One long shattering scream.

Her arms were being lifted.

A soft voice spoke into her ear: “Shhh, sweetie. Relax, relax. You’ll be safe now.” Samantha was crying; the man who spoke was rubbing her hands and forearms, helping the circulation move along.

The wailing scream began to die down and went silent. The barking started up again, turning into a piercing howl.

He spoke again: “Sweetie, listen. The keys to the VW are on the driver’s seat. Give yourself a few minutes. Your feet and hands will thank you. Leave here. Don’t look back.”

Her tears stopped flowing. Testing, she slowly began to rise. It hurt, but she could do it. Leaning against the van, Samantha looked around. No man, no dog, no car. No Lisa. She hobbled over the grove, searching in vain. Nothing was there.

The hobble turned to mild limping to walking by the time she reached the VW Microbus. Getting inside was a bit of a problem, but Samantha did it. She closed the door, started the engine, and drove away.

The hospital was her first destination. Once inside the ER, the fussing over her began: her nose was reset, a cut on her head was stitched up, and the hospital staff swaddled her in bandages. They finally put Samantha in the same room as her mother. She’d have a scar on her head after smashing it on the side window, but she’d live. Her father had one broken leg as well as his left arm. Scar too. He’d live as well.

Someone had called the Sheriff. He arrived as they were all together, tears mingling from the three enough to create a tiny river of their own. He was shooed away by all three. He’d get his full statement in the morning. Samantha assured him it really was all over. Details would follow. He nodded, smiled, and left.

Everyone was released over the next two days. Recuperating at home didn’t sit well with any of them; they wound up at their clinic helping others while the staff buzzed around the three of them. Samantha finally relaxed. Her parents would be ok. They’d live.

She booked a flight for the next day after a very long cry fest with Vanessa. She hadn’t known what was going on and was worried sick. Diving into the work in the Haight kept her as sane as she could be.

Vanessa met Samantha at the gate. They fell into each other’s arms and didn’t let go until the next morning. Samantha was dragged around, moving in and out between the throngs of hippies, avoiding the police and the protestors. Vanessa showed her the best places, in her opinion, to eat, drink, and make merry. Sammy shared those opinions.

A day at the street clinic rejuvenated Samantha. She kept catching Vanessa looking at her, smiling. She smiled back, and then it was the next patient to be taken care of.

That night, they went to the park and grooved with everyone else listening to some freeform rock. Vanessa even got Samantha to drop a half tab of acid with her. They flew together, sailing under the stars, letting the music fill them as they danced, danced, danced. This was magic. Everything else blew away.

Samantha didn’t notice that a 1958 red Thunderbird had crept through the crowded street just beyond the park’s border. The horn honked once. Then it was gone.

 

Present Day

Some would say “Poor Doris.”

I wouldn’t.

She overstepped one time too many.

Her master’s voice took on a different meaning after that.

There was a car in the woods.

 

 

Juno Plummeting: #AtoZ Blog Challenge

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A Car In The Woods: Chapter Eight

2019 AtoZ Blog Challenge

AtoZ2019J Juno Plummeting

1967

Samantha woke with a coughing fit. Slow and sluggish, she was having trouble focusing. She was in pain. The pain grew as her attentiveness sharpened. There was a horrible taste in her mouth. Working her jaw amplified an abrasive texture against her face; something hard and gritty pressing into it. She coughed again, hawking out something moist. The pain in her nose hit her, hard. She was having problems trying to breathe. Samantha opened her eyes slowly, shutting them instantly. A blurry, swirling mass of color hurt her head. The pain was intense.

Samantha attempted to get up. An inner scream cut through her held back by firmly clenched teeth. Her hands were pressed against each other, pulled tightly behind her back. They wouldn’t budge. Her legs were in the same condition. Samantha forced herself to keep trying. Her body arched up, the struggle of forcing her extremities at the same time seized her. “Tied up. I’m tied up,” she finally realized. Slowly, so slowly, Samantha eased off the tension and further pain she was causing. The realization momentarily broke her.

Panic was starting to circulate.

A feeling of hopelessness began to slink through her. It wormed its way through, nibbling at Samantha’s essence. Life’s myriad of moments cascaded, flipping scenes too fast to catch and hold them. Birthday parties, heartaches, driving, being driven, dancing, vacations, school, more school, even more school.  Her first kiss. Mom and Dad. Grandma. Vanessa. Mom and Dad. MOM AND DAD!

She remembered. The car. Her parents were in the car. The crash. It all happened so fast. Someone is running towards her. The pain. Someone…Lisa. Lisa, running towards her. Her arm raised, fist hurtling forward. Awakening.

Thinking of Lisa brought her to her sessions, then her studies. Years of studying, training. What she needed to do flowed through her now. Distress tolerance skills. She grabbed onto the one that always helped her. Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. Counting breaths in, then out. Repeat. The repetition focused her. The focus calmed her.

Fear started working away at it.

A hard bump sent her up and down, the quickness too sudden. Her face hit the flooring, pain shooting through her nose all the way up through her skull. The groan she let out was met with a nasty little giggle.

“About time, Dr. Sam. Thought you’d never wake up. Hoped so, too. Really hoped.”

“Lisa?” The name was croaked out; followed by a series of coughs, each one an escalation of pain.

Silence. A Lisa silence; drawn out, taking her time in answering, or not, in all of their sessions.

“Yeah. Me.” In case you was wondering, we’re driving. Not sorry about that bump in the road. Anyways, we’re almost there.”

It took a moment to process. “Where is ‘There,’ Lisa?”

Silence, again.

“Lisa, please, talk to me. We’ve always found a way to talk things through.”

A barked laugh. Samantha hoped it would be followed by something more.

Silence.

A different tactic. “Lisa. Can you help me understand something?” She waited for a moment. “I have been going over our last enc…session. Can you tell me why my leaving affected you so?”

The horn on the car took a staccato beating. When it stopped, Lisa still said nothing.

“Lisa. My decision to move was nothing against you at all. Not one bit. You said I was trying to throw you away as others have. I wasn’t. I’m not. I wouldn’t leave until I had the right person to take over for me.” Nothing. “Lisa…”

“Stop saying my name,” Lisa growled. “Shut up already. Just shut up.”

The vehicle they were in drove on. Uncomfortable on so many levels, Samantha wanted to get up off the car floor. Asking for help did not seem like an option that would get her anywhere. She began rocking from side to side, finally forcing enough to roll her onto her side. Her back met a hard surface. It wasn’t comfortable, but at the moment the pain that lanced through kept her there.

Looking around, she saw why she had the space to move. She wasn’t in the back of a car. They were in the cabin of a VW Microbus. She knew what it was. Vanessa bought a used one in San Francisco, sending her over a dozen Polaroids, inside and out, with circles and arrows punctuated with exclamation points. Lisa didn’t own a VW. She drove a beat-up Dodge Dart; a hand me down of a hand me down.

“Soon. Soon,” Lisa quietly said.

Samantha was pretty sure Lisa wasn’t talking to her.

~~~

A quick right turn onto an even bumpier path. Lisa was doing a lot of weaving now; the jerky movements were sending small waves of pain through Samantha.  With some straining, Samantha could see a bit out of the windows at the top of the van. Trees. Lots and lots of trees.

The VW stopped, idling in place, then moved on at a crawling pace. The weaving continued, but not as ferociously. A “Yes!” was followed by the Microbus being turned off, brake set, and the opening and closing of the driver’s door. Samantha could barely see the top of Lisa’s head through the windshield. She was standing still, both hands behind her head, fingers knotted together. Samantha imagined that Lisa had her eyes closed, muttering a prayer, or a condemnation, to whatever brought them to these woods.

Looking around the cabin, hoping to find something that could help her, she wasn’t prepared for the wall she was leaning on to slide open. Samantha tumbled out onto the ground. She missed hitting her head on a pointy rock by inches. Her breath was knocked out of her for a moment. She looked around once she settled, and then up.

Lisa was standing over her, staring down. The meeting of their eyes was not a pleasant experience for Samantha. All of Lisa’s anger tells were on full show: the flexing in and out of her fingers; the clicking noise she made with her teeth; the angle she held her head, just off to the left; and her eyes, bulging more than she had ever seen before. Danger dangled off of Lisa. Danger and hatred.

Lisa bent over and lifted Samantha, grabbing her upper arms and pushing her backward, leaving her upright leaning against the VW. Taking two steps back, Lisa squatted down, facing Samantha. But, her eyes were moving all around, resting on one location, then another. Lisa was looking for something, and Samantha had no idea what it was. Fear shot up when Lisa locked eyes on her.

“Y’know, you haven’t asked once about your mom and dad. What does that say about you, Dr. Sam?” Lisa sat. “Mind elsewhere? Anyways, as I was putting you in the VW, I saw them both moving in their car, trying to get out, to get to you. I could tell by the blood on their faces they were hurting. Yet, they still tried to reach their darling.” She leaned in close. “And you can’t even ask about them.”

Sitting back up, Lisa continued: “Dr. Sam, you think you know everything. You’re a bit distant, did ya know that? A bit?” She snarled out another laugh. “You’re with me in the room when we meet, but not all the way. Something was occupying you. I felt you pulling away, and as it took you further and further, it made me angrier and angrier. Until you went the whole distance. You’re leaving. I don’t care about any other kooks you ‘take session’ with. You were leaving ME! People leave me all the time. Use me. Toss me aside. Drink makes some of it fuzz away; fucking and fighting take the rest. And then, you.”

Samantha was reeling. Lisa of the three-word sentences, the constant silences: this wasn’t what she expected. Not one bit. She was this wrong?

“Still got nothing? Let me fill you in on a couple of things. The gossip chain went around about how strong I was, getting the upper hand on the Sheriff and his men. Then slipping so fast out of their reach, and staying that way. I heard; practically no one knew me too well. Shades, a hat covering my hair, different clothing; they paid no attention to someone nursing a coffee or a beer.

Have you wondered, Dr. Sam? Miss Ph.D.? How could I do those things? Well, time I filled you in on some truths.”

Samantha stayed silent, listening.

“Not everything you ‘know’ about me is completely true. Yeah, I had one shitty young life. Won’t even call it a childhood. Nothing childlike about it. All that family stuff? True. But my juvie records? Even unsealed they weren’t telling the whole story.

See, my doings pissed off the wrong people. I screwed, then knocked some teeth out, of the wrong guy. I’m in a jail cell, fall asleep, and the next thing I know, I’m waking in a different cell. All glass walls and empty of anything ‘cept me. Empty of my clothes, too. Everything is dark outside of this cage. I screamed, pounded on the glass. Nothing. Not for a long while.

Then the testing began.”

~~~~~

Present Day

It wasn’t pretty, the testing.

It went on too long and way too far.

Lisa wasn’t the only test subject.

Lab 4 was brutal.

There was a car in the woods.

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

Author’s Note:

Hey.

I wasn’t planning to extend this one more day, but…taa daa…this story goes one more day. A story amidst the larger story theme.  Some, and only some, threads start getting pulled together. Some. Not all. Ramifications still need to ensue. Things still need to be discovered. Others may have to kick the bucket. We still have two weeks to go before all is laid out before you.

Shhh. It’s ok. Here’s a nice cup of tea and a plate of cookies.

Tomorrow is another day.

 

 

 

 

 

Cravings: #AtoZ Blog Challenge

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A Car In The Woods; Chapter Two

2019 AtoZ Blog Challenge

AtoZ2019C         CRAVINGS

 

1960

It was a nice day for a drive.

Doris was still giddy, breaking in her new Ford Falcon. It was a far cry from the family sedan that her father, grudgingly, had allowed her to occasionally drive while she was living at home. He always acquiesced.   She went away for college, their ties fraying further. After graduating Doris dove into working with a local theater company. It didn’t pay much, but that really wasn’t an issue for her.

Her grandmother, Beverly, left her a nice trust fund that partially kicked in at 21, fully at 25. Her father ruthlessly oversaw the trust.  The allotted monthly allowance allowed Doris her own small apartment, with enough left for food and other incidentals. But not for what she desired. She wanted her own car. To move around freely, not needing a favor from anyone. He initially refused. Doris was fed up; it took some brutal persuasion with her father to change that. A ruthless haggling session soon followed. Her father swore he was done with her.

Doris didn’t care. She owned a car!

The day she set out was cloud free, the sun’s rays beaming brightly along the countryside she was passing through. Her scarf kept her long brunette hair in place, letting the wind whip through open windows. Doris had no firm destination in mind beyond “go north.” The new interstate road was an easy choice; it wandered up and around, passing through towns both large and small. Close to three hours into her expedition, Doris saw a sign for a town she had never heard of. The road to it veered off to the left from the interstate.

Doris pulled over to the side of the road, the Falcon purring as it idled. “Go adventuring, or stay on the interstate” she murmured to herself. Looking at the car’s dashboard, Doris noticed that she’d need gas sooner than she had thought. Her stomach’s grumbling sealed the deal. Checking for traffic, Doris put her left arm out to signal she’d be making a left back onto the road. The arm stayed that way as Doris made a left onto Outlook Road.

Twenty-odd minutes later, Doris nosed the Falcon into a spot in front of the Outlook Diner. She had already filled the Falcon’s tank at the station on the edge of the town. Putting the car into Park, Doris pulled up the emergency brake and turned off the engine. The pings of the engine cooling down sounded at her back as she entered the diner.

The waitress behind the counter pointed to the overhead letter board menu and told her to sit anywhere she’d like; she’d be over to take her order in a jiffy. A couple of booths were available, as well as some of the counter seats. Doris walked to the back corner booth, sitting, so she had a view of the entire Diner. The waitress soon glided over with a steaming pot of coffee, reciting the day’s soup and special.

It wasn’t a hard choice for Doris. First, she declined the coffee. Then she ordered her usual.

“I’ll have a grilled cheese with tomato, please. Oh, and a Chocolate Malted.”

The waitress wrote it down, nodded, and melted away behind the counter.

Doris arranged, then rearranged, the silverware that had already been set. She was reading the placemat, every now and then glancing around, taking notice of the various people, their clothing, and catching bits of conversations around her. The food and drink shortly arrived. Doris took a long sip of her malted, closed her eyes slightly as the taste hit her tongue, and she let out a very satisfied “Ah!”

A laugh came from the counter area near her. Doris looked over, and her cheeks went pink. She had noticed him on one of her glances: young, around her age, she guessed; cute, by what she saw of his profile; clean white shirt and JEANS; but it was his hair that held her at first. She didn’t know anyone who still wore a Ducktail unless it was in the movies or on TV.

It didn’t matter. She felt it looked good on him.

Doris started to turn away, cheeks blooming red at that point when he walked over.

“Hey, sorry, wasn’t tryin’ to embarrass you. Just thought your ‘Ah’ and the look on your face was really cute.” Once he realized Doris wasn’t going to speak, he added: “Mind if I join you? I’m Al, by the way.”

Al stuck out his hand. Doris lightly returned his strong grasp and nodded for him to sit. Doris fidgeted a little, finally telling him her name. Questions followed, back and forth, the where and whys, a conversation blooming about all the sorts of things that revolved around two young people attracted to the other.

Doris never touched her grilled cheese with tomato. The malted was drained dry. Al had dared her to steal something from the table; they had progressed that far. She complied.

Offering to play tour guide, Al showed her all of the two places that were of any interest in Outlook. “But,” he said with a wink, “there’s this area…”

Nestled in a grove of trees way off the road, the car engine was cold, but the interior of the Falcon was anything but as the sun started to let the evening sky approach. The talking and laughing slowly turned to light kisses, gentle hugs, the stroking of hair. Al didn’t want his DT messed with, which only made Doris go in for the attack.

Which led to deeper kissing, some fondling on her part, then his. Doris’s heart was pumping fast. It matched the level she felt during her last altercation with her father. Her hands were moving along his arms, behind his neck, traveling down his back. She bit his lip. Tongues met.

Then Al, whose right hand had been on her breast, moved down to her leg and slowly caressed her skin, from knee to thigh, to…

Doris pushed Al away, hard enough that the window handle and armrest were crushing his side and ribs.  She yelled “DADDY NO!” while he yelped in pain as he was being pushed into the side of the door. Panting, the two of them eyed each other. Al tried to slide closer to her, only to receive the same treatment. A string of uncomplimentary words left his mouth.

Doris hauled back and broke his nose.

He was on her in a flash, slapping her hands away, slapping her face. Doris’s dress tore as she tried to again push him away, exposing just a glimpse of the swell of her left breast. Her head thumped against the car door, leaving her prone on the bench seat. Al tugged her down further. Doris’s skirt rode up her thighs. They struggled against the other.

Al knocked her left hand away. Doris had been trying to scratch him, again. Her hand landed on her pocketbook. She reached in, fumbled around, not knowing what…then, she remembered.

He dared her.

Doris grabbed the diner’s knife and fork, moving them so that the pointy ends were turned towards Al, and as her panties were pulled off, she struck.

Again. And again.

And again.

The seats were slippery enough, making it easy for Doris to pull Al out of the car. She left him on the ground, backed up the Falcon, and wobbly drove the car forward.

Except, it was full dark, and she didn’t have the presence of mind to turn on the headlights.  Cutting through the trees at 45 mph, the Falcon met a large Basswood head on.

The car was dead when she came to. Grabbing her bag, she staggered out of the Falcon, blood from a head cut running down to meet Al’s blood on her dress. She was just moving, moving, moving…

Until the silence of the woods gave way to a bone-numbing clicking sound.

 

Present Day

The next night, two teenagers were heading to Make Out Point.  They did what they went to do, started to drive off when the headlights caught the wreck of the Falcon. They both looked: no one was there, but there was blood inside. A lot of it.

The Sheriff and his deputies found nothing, again. Asking around, the waitress told them about the pretty girl and Al. She never mentioned that the silverware was missing from the table.

Sheriff John had had it. Nine people missing, presumed dead, in the last year and a half.

He was going to take early retirement after the weekend.

He never made it.

There was a car in the woods.

 

 

Soul On Fire: #FridayFictioneers

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stone-house

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.

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

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.

Julemo, The Most Excellent and Lamentable Tragedy

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man-and-woman-heterosexual-icon-hi

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.

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

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.

Tea and Soliciting (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: Red Canvas and Still Life in Scarlet

“Tea and Soliciting”

The Case Files of Inspector Khazarian Rovas

The trip to the abandoned brothel was not an easy one for any in the car. Rovas was driving, his eyes focused on the road ahead, with only glimpses given to the rear and side windows. Berrak had her arms folded across her chest. Gil, in the back, wished he was anyplace else.

Gil was intently staring out the side window when Berrak finally broke the silence with a deep sigh.

“You could have told me…the two of you.” She stared directly at Rovas. “I am your wife, Zarian, not a stranger or an acquaintance you have to keep secrets from.”

“I know.”

“You know, yet I’m just finding out my late brother had an illegitimate daughter, that I have a blood relation niece? You know?”

Rovas sighed as deeply as Berrak had. “I told you: your brother begged me not to tell you. He had kept tabs on Kristina through her mother, his…dalliance.  You and Eva were as close as sisters-in-law could be; Berk was deeply ashamed for what he did. He did not want you to think less of your big brother.

He came to me when Kristina went missing. Her mother knew of our family relationship; she pleaded with him to contact me. Kristina was gone for almost two full weeks by that point. Berk had a recent photo of her. I know you know the time frame. Both you and Eva were concerned about Berk’s distraction and angry outbursts. It would have ruined his marriage. He truly loved Eva.”

Berrak turned her head away, looking out the front window. “So you found her in a whore house.” She shifted around, so she could see both Zarian and Gil. “I couldn’t take anymore in the house. I needed to get out, to do something. Tell me the rest.” She paused. “Please.”

“Gil and I found Kristina in the attic bedroom, tied up like the other two girls and unconscious. She was alive: the killer hadn’t gotten to her yet. The coroner found GHB in all three of the victims. The madame, Lilly, had the least amount, which is most likely how she was able to make the 911 call. There was a tea service in each of the rooms; a main batch was still in the kitchen.”

“It tested positive for Liquid Ecstasy. It’s odorless but slightly salty. Enough sugar will cover that, and there was plenty of sugar in the tea mixture,” Gil added. “We think the killer bolted, not knowing how much information Lily had given to the 911 dispatcher. She probably would have been next, then Kristina.”

“And what of Kristina?”

“I had memorized the picture of the girl and had been looking for her, when I could, for a little over a year,” Rovas continued. “Berk was sick with worry. I had nothing to go on. When we came across her in the bedroom, I knew. My shock was pretty evident to Gil. I knew what I had to do.” He looked at Berrak. “I had to tell Gil. I was torn: duty versus familial oath.

Gil reluctantly agreed with me. We carried her downstairs and out the back, laying her out on a blanket in the back yard for a moment. Gil stayed with her. I went to talk to the officer for a moment, again stressing no one enter until the crime team arrived. I was moving my car, I told him, so that there would be easier access for the ME and crew. Gil and I took Kristina out to the car, cracked a window open a bit, and laid her out on the back seat.”

Rovas made a turn off the main road into a loosely packed residential area. The houses were old but well kept, for the most part. He made a left turn and pulled up in front of a two storied, a corner lot. The For Sale sign in the front yard looked old.

Gil got out of the car and opened the passenger door for Berrak. “It’s no wonder that the house is for sale. Who would want to live in a house with three murders?” she asked.

“And was a whore house,” Gil shook his head. Rovas had turned off the car and came to stand with them on the sidewalk.

“Berk was both ecstatic and upset. He was thrilled we found Kristina, but not where she was found, nor the realization of why she was there. Berk knew there had been some drug troubles, but not how much. The mother kept that news private until…Kristina was hooking to supply her habit, no pimp. Lily somehow found her-Kristina still hasn’t told me how-and offered her a safe place.”

“Where is she, then? What did you two do with her?” Tears had been floating down her cheeks. Berrak dabbed them away with a hand.

“She is with her mother in hiding. The killer was a John, but she had been told to stay in the attic that night by one of the other girls. The man had rough tastes, and the others were protective of Kristina due to her age and what she was like. The way Kristina talked, the others treated her like big sisters, and Lily had helped wean her off the more dangerous drugs she was doing when she ran away.”

Gil looked up at the top of the house as they all walked up the front path. “She didn’t get a look at him; didn’t know his name. Any fingerprints that we found came from the women in the house and a variety of different men, some who came up blank when we looked. The tea kettle and materials in the kitchen and the bedrooms: all were wiped clean. Only the fingerprints of the victims were there.”

Rovas had the lockbox code he had gotten from the realtor when the house went up for sale the first time. It hadn’t been changed. It unlocked and he opened the door for Berrak and Gil to enter. He followed and closed it.

None of them noticed the car that had been following them the entire way from the Rovas home. The man behind the wheel stared at the house, looked at their car, and then drove around the corner and down the block.

John Peters drove on. His boy was waiting.

*************************************************
“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 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.

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.

*************************************************
“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.

*************************************************
“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.