Pen Truth Contributor
The book heavy in his hand, pages crisp. As the pages are turned, a deafening crackle breaks the silence of the room. Heavy breath as line by line his right finger scrolls down the pages. Lips moving as he reads. Sweat forms on his upper lip. Name by name his heart beat quickens. His finger comes to rest at the name he had been looking for. He lets out a long groaning sigh. “Yes. 1432 Brentwood Terrace.”
11:30pm. The phone begins ringing. An awkward hand reaches out from under the plaid comforter. Groping for the phone on the night stand, the receiver falls to the floor. “Tom. Tom. Are you there?” Finally reaching the receiver, a sleepy voice answers. “Yeah, what’s up?” The voice on the phone replies, “Tom. You have to get your butt down here.” Looking for the clock, Tom complains “Do you know what time it is? It’s 11:30.” The crass voice on the other end of the phone replies. “Look Tom, we just discovered number two.” Now fully awake, Tom focuses on the matter at hand. “Give me the address and I’ll be right there.” The voice on the phone gives Tom the information, 1432 Brentwood Terrace.
“Detective. Come in. Glad you could make it.”: a voice calls out sarcastically as Detective White appears in the door way to the small bedroom. “You were never good at sarcasm Bob.” Tom replies. “Who decorated the place?” Looking around. Patterns of blood spattered the walls as if a modern abstractionist had tried to create a masterpiece in red. In the corner a bloody body lies slumped in a freakish pose. Tom asks; “A friend of yours Bob?” Moving toward Detective White, Captain Robert “Bob” Franklin begins filling Tom in on the details.”
Copyright 2010