I mentioned on my writer’s Facebook Page (please like me on the left there) that I’d post up this short story I dabbled with a while back and had completely forgotten about. When I re-read the piece, I was strangely pleased with it. A tweak or two later and voila! I also had a play around with Word’s publishing layout (Mac version) which was super friendly but, as far as my limited techno skills go, you can’t copy and paste without losing the text! This is a rough version of my cover design; good enough for now. In the future I hope to epublish In Her Blood along with a few other short stories I have waiting in my archives. At present the novel-in-progress takes precedence, which may mean a bit of a wait. But here is the first ‘short’ for your consumption. The following is single-spaced and three pages long. Thanks for stopping by. (Unfortunately the formatting for posts wants to double space and left align whenever I tab or enter. Hope it’s not too distracting.)
***
Detective Senior Sergeant Roy Healey flew out the door as if someone had thrown him out. He bent forward and emptied his stomach on the wooden deck, then wiped his mouth and staggered around before taking a few deep breaths to settle his pounding heart.
Roy dropped onto the stairs and peered down the road, searching for his partner, James. The street was empty and eerily quiet. Less than an hour ago they had cordoned off the streets and captured Marsh. No one had bothered to check the basement till now. Roy got out his cell phone and called James’ number but hung up after two rings. He needed a few more minutes to rid his thoughts of the evil he’d just come across – an entire family wiped out in the most gruesome manner. It was the second killing in three months. He had no words to describe it. Roy was a seasoned police officer, but the scene would leave a permanent scar in his brain, no matter how much counseling they would put him through. He immediately thought of his kid. Fifteen years old, the same age as the two slaughtered girls back inside. Shaking his head, he ran his fingers through his hair then glanced at his watch. Lizzie would be home from school by now. He punched her number on his cell phone.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Hi. I’ll be home a bit late tonight. Is it OK if we go out for dinner or I could pick up takeaways?”
“Are you OK, Dad? You sound a bit funny.”
He felt the tremor in his hands and cleared his throat. “I’m fine.”
“I can tell when you’re not.”
He kept forgetting she was smarter and more perceptive than most fifteen year olds.
“I’m working on a heavy case.”
“Well, that explains it. I suppose you don’t want to talk to me about it?”
In spite of himself, he managed to smile because they had one house rule above all rules. His work was left at work. End of discussion. He was aware of her dream job – a forensic or police psychologist, and she was always testing him.
“Dad?”
“When you’re older, OK?”
She sighed on purpose. “Can we go get a steak somewhere? I feel like a juicy sirloin.”
“Are you kidding me?”
Roy was a vegetarian. Years ago before joining the police force he was a firefighter. He had seen bodies burnt to a crisp, and the smell had put an end to his meat-eating days. Lizzie liked to tease him. She was laughing now, a laugh that sounded like wind charms – melodic, resonating and sweet. It always soothed his shattered nerves, and also reminded him too much of Lizzie’s mother, Sam. Three years ago they had lost her – wife, mother, and a detective sergeant killed in the line of duty. Sam had been shot three times during a major drug raid.
“All right,” said Lizzie. “ We’ll get a salad somewhere. Your pick, Dad.”
“I’ll be home around seven-ish. Are you doing your homework?”
He could hear the television blaring in the background.
“No homework on a Friday, remember?”
“What are you watching?”
“Don’t worry Dad. It’s not as if I’m watching SoHo.”
There had been a month’s free trial to encourage viewers to purchase the new Sky Television channel. But after realizing the majority of those shows were violent and restricted, he let the special offer go.
“Dad, are you there? Can Shelley come over for company?”
Roy got up quickly when he saw his partner striding towards him.
“Sure she can. Don’t forget to dead bolt the doors.”
“Yes, Dad.”
“I better go. I’ll see you later.”
James recoiled when he saw the regurgitated toastie splattered on the deck. “I could’ve got you a club sandwich, Roy.”
“Don’t go in there yet!”
“Why? What’ve you found?”
Roy gave his partner a quick run-down, warning him about the scene he was about to encounter. The worst family massacre he’d ever seen.
While James wrinkled his nose and stepped inside, Roy called up the Inspector, the rest of the squad, a pathologist and forensics team, photographers, all the experts he could think of. This was going to be bigger than that last case, and he wasn’t leaving any stone unturned. He would ensure their investigation was thorough and correct, with no holes for a defense lawyer and his team to blow apart. Dean Brian Marsh would go to hell.
As soon as he finished calling them in, Roy’s cell phone buzzed back at him. “Inspector?”
“We’ve got a problem.”
“What?”
“Marsh just got away. Escaped!”
“What?!”
“The police van was in an accident and somehow he got away.”
Roy started cursing. “How … when did this happen?”
The Inspector filled him in with details and everything that he said went right through Roy like a blast of cold wind.
“Roy? Are you there?”
“My daughter, Ellory! Marsh knows where I live!”
“I’ll get a patrol car round … “
Roy cut off the Inspector and hit his home number. He held his breath. It rang three times, four times, five … “Come on Lizzie. Pick up, pick up.” It rang ten times before he called her cell phone. By this time his heart was back beating like a jack hammer. He walked in circles, clawing his fingers through his hair. “Come on Lizzie. Come on.” When her answering service came on he left a scrambled message as he bolted towards his car.
Behind him, Roy heard James stumbling out the door, swearing. He turned to see him leaning against the wall, a hand pressed to his mouth. But Roy dived into his vehicle, fish-tailed the car out of there and shot down the road with his siren screaming.
He drove at high-speed, overtaking dangerously. He had to wipe the blood and gore images from his mind before it would drive him blind and he crashed the car into an oncoming vehicle. His jaw was clenched and the tighter he gripped the steering the whiter his knuckles became.
It took him fifteen minutes to reach his street, the longest fifteen minutes he had ever experienced. His continued attempts to contact Lizzie had failed. Did she remember to dead bolt the front door? Did she remember where he kept his Glock? Did she remember how to use it? Of course she did. For the past year, since the growing rise in serious crimes and the recent pursuit of Marsh, he’d taken her to his parents’ farm, where he’d taught her the mechanics of a pistol, how to use it responsibly and store it safely, and above all, how to shoot with a steady arm and a sharp eye. She was good, very good. No, excellent.
Before he took the next corner, he turned off his siren and lights. He could see his house in the distance.
Roy rolled the car up onto the wide berm silently; there were already two patrol cars in the driveway. He noted they were empty and two doors were left wide open, not always a good sign. He scanned the place for crouching officers, armed to the hilt, surrounding his property, but he saw nothing.
Roy withdrew his Glock and slid out of the driver’s seat.
When he reached the front door, he found it unlocked. He felt his throat constrict and held his breath.
Arms raised and gun poised, he entered the house.
Approaching the kitchen, he heard muffled voices. It was followed by his daughter’s unmistakable ring of laughter. Before Roy could lower his gun or do anything, a voice boomed out behind him, “PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPON, NOW!”
The laughter and voices stopped, and there was an instant scrambling noise.
Roy placed his gun on the floor slowly.
“Keep your hands up and turn around. Then kick your gun towards me.”
Roy came face to face with a uniformed police officer. He was pointing a Taser at him. Totally relieved, Roy said, “I’m … “
“Dad! What are you doing here?”
Roy swiveled round and there she was, in one piece, and unharmed. He felt the weight of the world leave him while Lizzie folded her arms and gave him the daggers.
“Uh, well, I was …”
“I know where we keep the pistol,” she whispered up close. Then standing back she added in a loud voice, “These guys were here like in seconds. Apparently they made up some big lie about coming round for dinner.”
Roy delivered his daughter a sheepish grin.
The officer behind him lowered his Taser and three other officers fell into view and were lowering their own weapons. They looked at each other, failing to suppress their grins.
“Sir,” said one of the officers. “Can I have a word in private?”
“If it’s about that Marsh guy,” said Lizzie, “I’ll find out sooner or later.”
“Um, sir?”
Roy sighed and said to the officer-in-charge, “It’s all right. Like Lizzie said, she’ll find out sooner or later.”
“Just like Sam, sir?”
“Just like her Mum,” said Roy with a mix of fear and pride.
“You’ll be pleased to know sir, Ellory called just before you got here. They’ve recaptured Marsh.”
Copyright (c) Joanne P. Ganley, 2012
), especially if the words roll off the tongue and the process is enjoyable.
