I started the Death and the Detective series from the writing prompts challenges at Creative Copy Challenge. The words in bold are the writing prompts from the challenge.
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Challenge #71
Wasn’t it sweet irony how alive he felt? A soft wind stirred the dust surrounding the lifeless body into a dreary cloud of gloom. Many thought him mad. He thought he was God.
He felt the power surge through his body and closed his eyes to witness his own mirage of pleasure. He smiled to think how well he planned. While the cops bumbled along, trying to solve the puzzle piece he left with the first victim, he had moved on.
Soon he could sleep a blissful sleep. But first, he must tackle the task at hand. Opening his eyes, he slowly moved to the frozen relic of beauty left behind. His tendency was to move swiftly, but he took a moment.
“Welcome to the moment of truth, “ he whispered. “Too bad you won’t be witnessing my glory.”
Challenge #73
Maggie gasped awake in sudden awareness. What was that? She struggled for clarity through the depth of darkness surrounding her.
It sounded like a thud, like something dropped. But what? More than a little afraid to pop out of bed to investigate, Maggie waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness.
The rhythmic ticking of her wall clock produced an ominous sound as its pendulum swung slowly back and forth.
Carefully placing one foot on the chilled linoleum floor, Maggie reached for her robe. She wasn’t fond of the idea of looking out, but knew she had to if she wanted any more sleep that night.
Maggie chided herself for being such a hysteric. She lived in a gated community and the balcony was on the second floor of her tri-level. It was probably just a dream – a very real-feeling dream.
And then she heard it. Okay, maybe a smidgen of hysteria was in order. It had the eerie sound of a madman’s giggle, followed by a strange intonation she could not define.
Scrambling away from the sliding glass door, Maggie’s body shook from the helpless feeling of one so alone. She jumped in fear at the sound of a car engine igniting and the slap of headlights across the darkened room.
She sat frozen in the middle of her bed, her breath rasping in search of air. Was he gone? Was the madman gone? Much later, she would wonder in retrospect how she had known he was mad.
Challenge #75
Maggie listened to the fading sound of the car driving away from the complex. She wouldn’t be having any sleepy dreams tonight. With her heart pounding, she slowly approached the sliding glass door on her bedroom’s balcony.
She didn’t know why she was so frightened. There was no way to ascend to the second floor without a long ladder. That’s what her brain told her, but the fear left an acidic, coppery taste in her mouth. Her pulse raced like her worse case of sugar high.
Reaching out trembling fingers, Maggie pushed one long slat of the blinds aside, desperately trying to retain some form of dignity as she grasped the front of her nightshirt. It was so dark. The light from the parking lot did little to illuminate the night. Bolstering her courage, Maggie felt her breath contract into a strangled hold.
She reached for the door, releasing the outdated latch. She’d have to replace that – soon. The door groaned in an agonizing comment on the early morning hour. Maggie’s best estimate was it was around 3 AM.
“Get a hold of yourself,” Maggie chided herself.
Why was she so frightened? She was a strong woman. Her friends called her the original Lone Ranger.
Sliding the heavy door along its track, Maggie shivered with the chill from the fall ocean air.
She stumbled back, gasping as her eyes landed on the sightless mass that was once a woman.
“Oh my God, oh my God.”
The blinds crashed through the opening, as if their long-fingered reach would pull the body in from the cold. With tears streaming, Maggie felt hysteria snatching at the vision captured in an eternal vault of horror, now pressed into the recesses of her soul.
“911. What is your emergency?”
Challenge #77
She was afraid to close her eyes. Maggie feared the grisly sight would do a slow crawl from its banished depth, once more taking center stage. But, she was so weary – mind, body and soul-weary.
The adrenaline rush of the last several hours had gone, leaving her feeling very vulnerable – definitely not what she needed when confronting Detective Brett Connors.
The chaos of the early morning had slowed to the silent beat of the red flashing lights of some of Encinitas’ finest. It was all so surreal.
Maggie’s body automatically tensed as she heard the familiar deep cadence of the detective’s voice that signaled his return. She raised troubled green eyes, desperately fighting fatigue and finding his blue answering response.
“Doc, let’s go over it one more time.”
“Just what good do you think that will do,” Maggie sighed, “the poor woman will not be any less dead, Detective.”
“You know how it works, Doc. If you want us out of your hair, let’s go through it again.”
“If that’s what it takes. What do you want to know?”
“Start with what woke you up.”
Brett watched Maggie struggle to pull on her professional cloak of armor. He didn’t know why he found it so damn stimulating.
“I heard a loud noise – a thump. I wasn’t sure if it was a dream or if I actually heard something outside.”
“What did you do next?”
“I decided to wait to see if I heard it again. Then I saw the car lights flash across the bedroom.”
“What time was that?”
“I don’t know –my guess is maybe 2:30, 3:00. I couldn’t bring myself to turn on the light.”
Brett watched her brow wrinkle in concentration and had an almost irresistible urge to smooth it away with a soft kiss. Oh for God’s sake, this obsession had to stop.
“I walked over to the blinds and looked out. It was so dark. When my eyes adjusted, I saw, “ her voice hitched with a soft gasp. Brett watched her ribcage rise with her deep breath as she started again.
“I saw what I thought was a bag of trash. I thought it was kids, pulling some kind of prank by throwing junk on my balcony.”
Her eyes narrowed with wet remembrance of the total lack of dignity for the vessel that once held a precious life. Trying to emerge from misery’s strong hold, Maggie finished the story with the flat tone of a clinical report.
Her steep shift in tone had Brett admiring her ability to pull herself together – under the most trying of circumstances. After all, it’s not every day you get a corpse of a woman with no eyes dumped on your balcony.
“Anything else, Detective?”
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