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.
======
Challenge #95
Slamming the metal bars of the cage, the killer planned his final journey. He laid out the eclectic collection of torture and vowed he would not renege on his promise.
In a timewarp of madness, he was transported to another time. He played the puppet as a toddler until the time where he took the strands. He felt it was his right, his destiny, and not a misappropriated piece of time. But, then did the mad really understand?
He ran the blade over the leather strap, over and over, with the precision of a perfected task. No matter how guarded, the killer knew, his final victim would know the nightmare that was the past.
Challenge #97
Detective Brett Connors wasn’t a fan of the holidays. Nana Connors, his only family, in the truest sense of the word, had been gone a few years now. Yet, for some reason, he was uncharacteristically happy this year. He didn’t even mind that he was in a mall, just weeks before Christmas.
He smiled as he watched antsy kids, tugging on their Mom’s hands, as they rushed to get in line to see Santa. He passed a table where a young girl, her tongue caught between her teeth, was carefully creating Christmas origami designs. She had a snowflake, holly and a really cute penguin.
“Hey, those are really good.”
Blue eyes sparkled like twinkling lights on a Christmas tree as a dimpled smile reached out and grabbed his heart.
“Thank you, sir. Want to try it?”
He might as well write a book on Egyptology.
“Thanks, sweetheart, but I’d rather buy one from an expert. How much are they?”
“Oh, they don’t cost anything. I just like to share them. Which one do you want?”
When’s the last time you heard a kid at Christmas giving away the chance for some money?
“I’ll take the blue star. It’ll remind me of your pretty blue eyes.”
She giggled as she felt her heart balloon with her first crush. Brett would have laughed, had he known. He thought he was more likely to be thought of as the scary ogre, a product of a child’s worst nightmare.
“Merry Christmas.”
“It is now.” Brett bent over and gave the innocent cheek a kiss of thanks, “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”
Brett meandered along the mall. Stopping in front of the display at the bookstore, Brett looked at a copy of Charles Dickens’ David Copperfield, a great example of the bildungsroman style Brett loved as a child.
The mall was decked out in all its aesthetically pleasing glitter, and Brett sighed with the memory of how much Nana’s eyes would brighten at Christmas time. He could almost smell the cookies cooling on their racks. She could have made a fortune on a franchise of those cookies. But, then she didn’t need the money.
“Merry Christmas, Nana. I love you,” Brett whispered.
He turned to walk down the slope into the food court. The cold, hard stare of evil damned him as he strolled along on his journey of another time.
Challenge #100
As Brett chowed down on his Food Court pizza, he wondered if the Lady Doc would consider his gift too extravagant. He wasn’t even sure why he bought the district’s shrink and profiler a gift.
The 1998 Clos des Goisses Brut champagne went for $250 a bottle. For most cops, calling the gift extravagant was an understatement. Thanks to a very generous inheritance from Nana Connors, Brett didn’t need to worry about money. Yet he still worked some of the most gruesome murders in the state. After 25 years as a homicide detective, Brett Connors didn’t know any other way. He simply accepted it as his life.
As if his thoughts conjured her up, Brett straightened in his chair, like a recalcitrant schoolboy, at the sight of the long-legged, Dr. Margaret Mary Sweeney across the mall. He silently cursed himself for the lasting effect the lady shrink had on him. She was trouble with a capital T.
He watched as a guy with unmitigated gall wrapped his arms around Maggie, lifting her off the floor in a huge embrace. Her face glowed with the joy of the season as she laughed and kissed the guy – on the lips, no less.
Brett watched as she grabbed the guy’s hand and dragged him over to an empty table. Removing her winter coat to reveal form-hugging jeans, Brett softly whistled between his teeth in admiration. Who knew what she had under that clinical white coat she always wore?
Deciding he had enough of this guy, Brett tossed the remains of his pizza, and took his 6 foot 4 inch frame over to their table.
“Hey, Doc, fancy meeting you here.”
Brett watched as the smile faded from Maggie’s lips and her green forest eyes blinked in surprise.
“Detective Connors, hello.”
“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” Brett all but sneered.
Maggie, uncharacteristically flustered, replied, “Oh, I’m sorry. This is my friend, Shane Arthur. Shane, this is Detective Brett Connors”
“Hey, buddy, nice to meet you. Why don’t you join us?”
Brett eased his tall body into the Food Court comedy for chairs and wondered if this guy was the yardstick the Doc used for what she found attractive.
“So, how do you know the Doc?”
“Oh, Maggie and I go way back. I guess you could say we met in a plethora of words,” he laughed, sharing a much too intimate glance with the Doc – at least to Brett’s way of thinking.
“Shane is an editing genius and the creator of the hot site, Creative Copy Challenge. Maybe you heard of it?”
Maggie smiled with an affectionate touch to Shane’s arm that had Brett’s eyes narrowing into blue ice chips of disdain.
“Never heard of it,” Brett grumbled.
“Maggie tends to exaggerate. It’s one of the reasons I love her so much. Look I promised the kids we would hit Sea World early. It was so good seeing you, Maggie.”
Brett watched the two exchange another hug and kiss. Kids? Married? Divorced?
“I am so glad I met you, Detective. Maggie has told me so much about you.”
Brett’s startled look caught Maggie’s quick blush.
“I hope to see you two again real soon. Happy holidays!”
Brett watched the swagger of a confident man as he walked away.
“Well, I hope you know that if it wasn’t for Shane, you wouldn’t even exist,” Maggie fumed, snapping her coat from the chair; she grabbed her belongings and stormed off in disgust.
“Now, what the hell does that mean?” Brett mused.
Author’s Note: Shane Arthur is the creator of Creative Copy Challenge and his great site got me started on this series. It hit the 100-mark challenge and this was just a nod of thanks to someone who has become a virtual friend. Thanks, Shane!
Leave a Reply