First off, thank you to all of you for your emails and sweet comments and for checking on me and my family. We're doing about as well as can be expected. I'm exhausted and would love to curl up in a ball for a month, but that's not really an option.
I'm in the middle of about three different stories but have no motivation to finish any of them. And I really have no idea what to write about. So I'm going to do something unusual on this blog. I'm actually going to write about me. Novel concept, right?
Yes. I recognize the irony here, having a blog and rarely blogging about myself. But I play my cards pretty close to my chest. I always have. I hate interviews where they ask you "tell me about yourself." I realize this is the softball of all interview questions. But I can't stand it. If you want to know something, ask. I'm honest. Well, about most things.
I never confessed what I really got in freshman nutrition class. Ten years later, I'll admit that I got a fucking D+ in that class. I thought it would be easy. I mean, how hard can the damn food pyramid be? But that class was HARD! Plus my TA hated me. She kept calling me Jaime Robyn. The only person who calls me that is my mother when I'm in trouble. So I very politely asked the bitch to stop and she refused to call me anything else. I stopped going to our TA sessions after that...on the first day. Think that had something to do with my grade? NAH!
Okay. Secret's out. That wasn't too painful.
Speaking of college...I miss it. I think my dad was secretly proud of the fact that I had a rather awful collection of fake IDs. I got so busted at a bar in DC. I had this Alabama license. It was terrible, but no one in Maryland knew what a real one looked like... Anyway, I present my license confidently to the bouncer who looks at it and smirks. "Dothan, huh? Dothan, Alabama?" I laughed and said, "What's wrong with that, city boy? Never hear of the place?"
He pulled me aside, lowered his voice. "Honey," he drawled. "You wanna see what a real license looks like." I thought he was bluffing. Turns out Mr. big city boy was actually from Dothan! But he still let me in and gave me the hot pink bracelet which let me drink for the night. He thought I had suffered enough having to pay for that awful ID.
Now that we're on the subject of carding, have you ever been carded at a MOVIE? I have. THREE times. It's so embarrassing. I look young. I'm told one day I'll like it. Today ain't that day. Nor was I particularly amused when I was carded to see "the craft" the day I got my license. I was thoroughly pissed when I was carded to see "american pie" - the week after my 21st birthday. And I could not contain my contempt for the pimple faced jerk working his first job who demanded my license before selling me a ticket to..."Not another teen movie." (I was 23, in my second year of law school and Concord isn't exactly the booming metropolis of excitement when you need a break from studying at 8 at night so don't judge my taste in movies)
Law school was a ton of work, but also fun. Yeah, I'm sick like that. I got to play in the school's criminal law clinic. It was scary representing real clients when we hardly had any clue what we were doing, but it was amazing. My first client was interesting.
See, he was homeless - so little things like notifying him of his upcoming hearing were an adventure. We couldn't call him. I sent him letters to each of his last known addresses. Then I went out with another student and tried to find him at each of those addresses, the local soup kitchen and when all else failed, we went hiking through the snow covered woods to the areas where Concord's homeless were known to frequent. It terrified me when Jeff grabbed his gun out of the car and started making his way through the woods with the thing aimed in front of him, ready to shoot the hell out of anything that looked at us funny. (We never found the client nor did Jeff get to shoot anything.)
I showed up in court without my client and had to explain to the judge why there was an empty seat next to me at counsel table. He asked me, "Well, didn't you notify your client he was supposed to be here?" What could I say? "I tried, Your Honor. But my client is homeless - that makes notification a little difficult." I was a wise ass during my first court appearance and I continue that trend today... Shocking that my mouth can get me into trouble, right?
On that note, I think that's enough rambling for one evening. Have a good night
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Smiling Through the Tears
So, I don't want you to think that I'm just some bitter hag who got a little pissy because the waiter brought me cold soup or because I had a hair or two in my salad, ruining my Valentine's dinner. This is the lovely story of how I spent Valentine's Day and the past week... If you're looking for a fun, uplifting post, this probably isn't it. Blogging is cheaper than therapy and so I'm taking this opportunity to spill...
My parents called last Monday night. My grandpa had a doctor's appointment and, although I still don't know what actually happened at the appointment, the news wasn't good. His heart was giving out and he wasn't going to make it. We had planned to go out there on Sunday to see him, but his condition deteriorated rapidly during the week. We picked my sister, Allison, up at the airport Saturday night and drove straight out to Long Island.
When we got there, my grandma was fighting back tears. Like all women in our family, she is a tough cookie and seeing her so rattled really threw me. I climbed the stairs to their bedroom with a tremendous sense of trepidation. Although my parents had prepared me the best they could, I still wasn't sure what I'd encounter inside the room. And though words are my business, I had no idea what to say to him.
Like most of my best speeches, I still have no idea what came out of my mouth. I think he knew that I was there for him. He opened his eyes briefly and squeezed my hand. When I kissed him goodbye, he sighed and in that moment, I knew I'd never see him again.
The call came around 5 in the morning. So my Valentine's Day began bright and early and so heartbreakingly sad. I've been out on Long Island ever since trying to hold it together for everyone else, trying like hell to hold everyone else together when they were falling apart. The funeral was on Tuesday in the middle of the snow storm.
The last few days at my grandparent's have been tough. As I sat in the kitchen, I remembered my grandpa trying to teach me the lindy hop. The man was a fabulous dancer and had remarkable patience as I trampled his feet because I wouldn't let go and follow his lead. Instead, he'd usually twirl me around the floor a couple times and get Alli to do the right steps.
When I walked into the dining room, I couldn't help but think about all the family dinners we've had at that table. The passover seders, with my grandpa mispronouncing the same words every year. He'd hide the affikomen in the same place every year and pretend to be shocked at how quickly we could find it. How he quickly adopted hubby into the family, giving him money for not finding the affikomen just like everyone else.
It was so strange being in the den and seeing grandpa's empty chair. The one he'd always fall asleep in after dinner. I kept turning the corner and expecting to see him there.
But hardest was going into the basement. That basement was many things... Where he taught me to play bounce penny. Where my dad's drumset was banished. Where he taught my sister to throw a wicked jab.
The basement was grandpa's space. Grandpa taught himself to be an amazing jeweler. He started out reading books and then toying around with cheap stones, trying out new techniques until he perfected them. Then he'd upgrade the stones and make the most amazing things, the designs, the pieces.
He loved to see his girls in sparkly things. If I had forgotten to clean my jewelery, he would always look at me, shake his head and tell me it was disgraceful how dirty the diamonds were. Then he'd smile as he unclasped my necklace and take it downstairs, run it through the cleaning machine and come back with a perfectly sparkling necklace.
He was the same way when he made my engagement ring. He designed it, spent weeks going to the diamond district until he found the perfect piece of blue tanzanite for the center stone. When he went to pick up the ring, it had a small scratch in the right corner. Grandpa refused to pick up the ring until they had buffed out the scratch and the ring was absolutely perfect for me.
His negotiating tactics were legendary. I had the opportunity to see him in action when hubby and I went to get our wedding bands. We met grandpa in the diamond district and he took us around. We already knew what we wanted, having scoped things out at the local mall (horrifying my grandfather because when you have a family member "in the business" you do NOT buy retail...EVER) and had a ballpark idea of what it would cost us.
My grandpa went into a store and got a horrified look on his face when the guy quoted us a price. He pulled the guy aside. The first thing he said was, "I'm in the business. You're going to do better than that. This is for my granddaughter." I tapped hubby on the shoulder and whispered "watch this." Grandpa haggled the guy down to the point where we were getting 2 rings for less than the price of 1 in the mall. Then grandpa came back to us and apologetically told us that he could have done better if it wasn't a holiday weekend and did we want to come back another day. We bought the rings and the jeweler told us, with an obvious sense of awe, that my grandpa was a hell of a negotiator and that he was very proud of me, his lawyer granddaughter.
This is grandpa's desk, with his sweater that he'd always wear in the basement because it's ice cold down there. He always used to hide pieces he wanted to give us in the upper right hand drawer.
Being in the basement tonight brought tears to my eyes. It didn't quite feel like his space anymore. It was colder, emptier. But I could almost see him wrapped in that sweater, reaching into the desk drawer with his huge smile and pulling out a silver bracelet. I could hear his voice, clear as a bell, telling me that there was one for me, one for Alli and one for our cousin when she was old enough to wear in.
I miss him terribly and no family gathering will be the same without him. No Thanksgiving will be the same without him in his white apron carving every last morsel of turkey off the bird, slipping pieces to the dog when he thought we weren't looking.
And though it breaks my heart that I won't see him again, I also know that I've been tremendously blessed by having him in my life for this long. So I'll smile through the tears and know that somewhere, my grandpa is there, watching over us, and driving people crazy going on endlessly about his granddaughters...
__________
So this isn't much of a "bell" post, but it's the best you get from me this week...
My parents called last Monday night. My grandpa had a doctor's appointment and, although I still don't know what actually happened at the appointment, the news wasn't good. His heart was giving out and he wasn't going to make it. We had planned to go out there on Sunday to see him, but his condition deteriorated rapidly during the week. We picked my sister, Allison, up at the airport Saturday night and drove straight out to Long Island.
When we got there, my grandma was fighting back tears. Like all women in our family, she is a tough cookie and seeing her so rattled really threw me. I climbed the stairs to their bedroom with a tremendous sense of trepidation. Although my parents had prepared me the best they could, I still wasn't sure what I'd encounter inside the room. And though words are my business, I had no idea what to say to him.
Like most of my best speeches, I still have no idea what came out of my mouth. I think he knew that I was there for him. He opened his eyes briefly and squeezed my hand. When I kissed him goodbye, he sighed and in that moment, I knew I'd never see him again.
The call came around 5 in the morning. So my Valentine's Day began bright and early and so heartbreakingly sad. I've been out on Long Island ever since trying to hold it together for everyone else, trying like hell to hold everyone else together when they were falling apart. The funeral was on Tuesday in the middle of the snow storm.
The last few days at my grandparent's have been tough. As I sat in the kitchen, I remembered my grandpa trying to teach me the lindy hop. The man was a fabulous dancer and had remarkable patience as I trampled his feet because I wouldn't let go and follow his lead. Instead, he'd usually twirl me around the floor a couple times and get Alli to do the right steps.
When I walked into the dining room, I couldn't help but think about all the family dinners we've had at that table. The passover seders, with my grandpa mispronouncing the same words every year. He'd hide the affikomen in the same place every year and pretend to be shocked at how quickly we could find it. How he quickly adopted hubby into the family, giving him money for not finding the affikomen just like everyone else.
It was so strange being in the den and seeing grandpa's empty chair. The one he'd always fall asleep in after dinner. I kept turning the corner and expecting to see him there.
But hardest was going into the basement. That basement was many things... Where he taught me to play bounce penny. Where my dad's drumset was banished. Where he taught my sister to throw a wicked jab.
The basement was grandpa's space. Grandpa taught himself to be an amazing jeweler. He started out reading books and then toying around with cheap stones, trying out new techniques until he perfected them. Then he'd upgrade the stones and make the most amazing things, the designs, the pieces. He loved to see his girls in sparkly things. If I had forgotten to clean my jewelery, he would always look at me, shake his head and tell me it was disgraceful how dirty the diamonds were. Then he'd smile as he unclasped my necklace and take it downstairs, run it through the cleaning machine and come back with a perfectly sparkling necklace.
He was the same way when he made my engagement ring. He designed it, spent weeks going to the diamond district until he found the perfect piece of blue tanzanite for the center stone. When he went to pick up the ring, it had a small scratch in the right corner. Grandpa refused to pick up the ring until they had buffed out the scratch and the ring was absolutely perfect for me.
His negotiating tactics were legendary. I had the opportunity to see him in action when hubby and I went to get our wedding bands. We met grandpa in the diamond district and he took us around. We already knew what we wanted, having scoped things out at the local mall (horrifying my grandfather because when you have a family member "in the business" you do NOT buy retail...EVER) and had a ballpark idea of what it would cost us.My grandpa went into a store and got a horrified look on his face when the guy quoted us a price. He pulled the guy aside. The first thing he said was, "I'm in the business. You're going to do better than that. This is for my granddaughter." I tapped hubby on the shoulder and whispered "watch this." Grandpa haggled the guy down to the point where we were getting 2 rings for less than the price of 1 in the mall. Then grandpa came back to us and apologetically told us that he could have done better if it wasn't a holiday weekend and did we want to come back another day. We bought the rings and the jeweler told us, with an obvious sense of awe, that my grandpa was a hell of a negotiator and that he was very proud of me, his lawyer granddaughter.
This is grandpa's desk, with his sweater that he'd always wear in the basement because it's ice cold down there. He always used to hide pieces he wanted to give us in the upper right hand drawer.Being in the basement tonight brought tears to my eyes. It didn't quite feel like his space anymore. It was colder, emptier. But I could almost see him wrapped in that sweater, reaching into the desk drawer with his huge smile and pulling out a silver bracelet. I could hear his voice, clear as a bell, telling me that there was one for me, one for Alli and one for our cousin when she was old enough to wear in.
I miss him terribly and no family gathering will be the same without him. No Thanksgiving will be the same without him in his white apron carving every last morsel of turkey off the bird, slipping pieces to the dog when he thought we weren't looking.
And though it breaks my heart that I won't see him again, I also know that I've been tremendously blessed by having him in my life for this long. So I'll smile through the tears and know that somewhere, my grandpa is there, watching over us, and driving people crazy going on endlessly about his granddaughters...
__________
So this isn't much of a "bell" post, but it's the best you get from me this week...
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Be My Valentine
I'm an equal opportunity Grinch. I don't just save it for Christmas. I also have a profound distaste for the silly Hallmark holiday that has become Valentines Day.
I know there are tons of people out there who absolutely love the day, love the celebration of all that is hearts and flowers and...well, love. But if you need Valentines Day to let your significant other know how you feel about them, YOU'RE DOING IT WRONG.
We've had our share of failed attempts at romance on Valentine's Day... Illness got in the way of our first one together. The next was wrecked by the horror of our moot court brief being due on February 15. Nothing says romance more than being up at a charming b&b in the White Mountains in a massive suite with a fire place, jacuzzi, flowers and champagne...and our laptops, printer, five reams of paper, 100 criminal law cases and about 15 drafts of a brief that ended up placing 4th in the country...
But this year, there was no way that the trend would continue. We were going to do this stupid holiday right. My parents were set to watch the munchkin so we could spend some quality time together for a change.
And my darling husband took full advantage of the situation. He showered me with diamonds...
And delicious chocolates...
Dozens of roses...
And the obligatory very romantic candle lit dinner.
*sigh*
If only that was how we spent our night...
I know there are tons of people out there who absolutely love the day, love the celebration of all that is hearts and flowers and...well, love. But if you need Valentines Day to let your significant other know how you feel about them, YOU'RE DOING IT WRONG.
We've had our share of failed attempts at romance on Valentine's Day... Illness got in the way of our first one together. The next was wrecked by the horror of our moot court brief being due on February 15. Nothing says romance more than being up at a charming b&b in the White Mountains in a massive suite with a fire place, jacuzzi, flowers and champagne...and our laptops, printer, five reams of paper, 100 criminal law cases and about 15 drafts of a brief that ended up placing 4th in the country...
But this year, there was no way that the trend would continue. We were going to do this stupid holiday right. My parents were set to watch the munchkin so we could spend some quality time together for a change.
And my darling husband took full advantage of the situation. He showered me with diamonds...
And delicious chocolates...
Dozens of roses...
And the obligatory very romantic candle lit dinner.
*sigh*
If only that was how we spent our night...
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Jersey Devil
Nestled deep in the woods in New Jersey's Pine Barrens is a large white house. The place has been there as long as anyone can remember yet the house has never aged. It never needs repair and remains as pristine as the day it was erected, protected from the passage of time by some ancient magic spell.
A large ornate mirror hangs in the great hall. Built into the wall, it can not easily be removed. The glass cannot be broken, though many have tried.
The mirror also carries a terrible curse. Demons live inside the glass and came out to play at night. If you are unfortunate enough to gaze into the eyes of a demon, it will possess you.
The rumors of the mirror were the stuff of urban legends. Everyone knew someone who knew someone affected by its curse. Old man Jones hazarded a glance one fateful night and instantly went mad. Lady Katherine was found in the morning by her attendants transfixed, staring unblinking at her reflection. When the chamber maid tapped her shoulders, Lady Katherine broke her gaze. The Lady's eyes were fiery red. Nails grew into claws as she growled for them to get away from her. Then poor Lady Katherine threw herself off the balcony to the hard, cold marble below.
Every owner of the house met with a tragic accident or some inexplicable evil befell a member of their family. Death. Suicide. Murder. Insanity. No one could contend with the evil which resided inside the mirror.
The house remained vacant for a long time. The town breathed a collective sigh of relief. It had been fifty years since the mirror claimed its last victim.
Then one day, a carriage arrived in front of the house. A young couple stepped down into the sunshine, laughing heartily. They embraced and the man scooped up his bride, carrying her across the threshold. Rumors of the new couple spread like wild fire. The townspeople felt it their duty to warn them of the mirror's dangers. A small group of them went to the house.
The minister spoke first, explaining the evils that resided within their home. The couple looked at him like he was mad and burst into hysterical laughter. The seamstress was distraught and plead with them to hang the special cloth she made before the mirror. It would keep the demons at bay, she explained. The thatcher offered to hang the fabric for them.
The couple dismissed them all as raving lunatics, throwing them from their home. The couple's first week in the house was unremarkable. No bizarre noises in the middle of the night. No inexplicably odd occurrences. Nothing even remotely out of the ordinary. They continued to laugh off the town's mutterings that they lived in a haunted house.
Then, one night the wife heard strange noises coming from downstairs. Voices, calling her, beckoning to her to come closer. Her husband rolled over, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her closer. She resisted the urge to find the source of the noises, enjoying the feel of his arms around her.
A thunderous crash forced her to spring out of bed. She raced down the winding staircase and threw open the doors to the great hall. The mirror loomed in front of her.
The glass was so strange. Swirling colors of smoke gray and vibrant red. The wife found herself drawn closer, involuntarily moving across the floor until she stood before the mirror.
Its surface suddenly went black. Then two red eyes appeared. Small little beady eyes, which grew larger and more haunting as the wife stared unable to break her gaze. Soon, the eyes filled the entire mirror and wicked laughed rang through the great hall.
It was the laughter that roused the husband from his bed. He immediately noticed his bride was not laying next to him as she should have been. Again, that evil laugh. But slightly different this time and higher in pitch.
He raced from the room, slowing only to grab his pistol. He threw open the doors of the great hall, expecting to find all kinds of horrors inside the room. Instead, he only found his wife standing in the middle of the room.
He lowered his weapon, once again marveling at her beauty and his luck. She looked so small and fragile standing in the middle of the large room, staring at her hands as if they belonged someone else. The floorboards creaked under his weight as he stepped into the room.
She whirled around, eyes blazing red. Her nails lengthened before his eyes, each one becoming a dangerous razor-sharp weapon. She was on him before he could blink, moving with superhuman speed, claws wrapped around his neck.
He had whispered to her softly, trying to reach the woman inside the beast. Even as she squeezed the life out of him, claws piercing his flesh, he still tried to bring her back to him. But the woman no longer existed.
His eyes hardened and he reached for her face. Looking straight into her fiery eyes, with his last breath, he cursed her. Cursed the Devil.
When his corpse hit the floor, the demons inside the glass cheered her first kill and motioned for her to rejoin them, to come home. Arms reached out to greet her, pull her back inside the mirror.
She fled from them. From that cursed mirror. From that damned house. She raced into the woods and was never heard from again.
The legends say she resides there still, deep within the Pine Barrens. And late at night, when the moon is full, the still demon comes out to play...
__________
Check out the other Theme Thursday mirror posts here.
A large ornate mirror hangs in the great hall. Built into the wall, it can not easily be removed. The glass cannot be broken, though many have tried.
The mirror also carries a terrible curse. Demons live inside the glass and came out to play at night. If you are unfortunate enough to gaze into the eyes of a demon, it will possess you.
The rumors of the mirror were the stuff of urban legends. Everyone knew someone who knew someone affected by its curse. Old man Jones hazarded a glance one fateful night and instantly went mad. Lady Katherine was found in the morning by her attendants transfixed, staring unblinking at her reflection. When the chamber maid tapped her shoulders, Lady Katherine broke her gaze. The Lady's eyes were fiery red. Nails grew into claws as she growled for them to get away from her. Then poor Lady Katherine threw herself off the balcony to the hard, cold marble below.
Every owner of the house met with a tragic accident or some inexplicable evil befell a member of their family. Death. Suicide. Murder. Insanity. No one could contend with the evil which resided inside the mirror.
The house remained vacant for a long time. The town breathed a collective sigh of relief. It had been fifty years since the mirror claimed its last victim.
Then one day, a carriage arrived in front of the house. A young couple stepped down into the sunshine, laughing heartily. They embraced and the man scooped up his bride, carrying her across the threshold. Rumors of the new couple spread like wild fire. The townspeople felt it their duty to warn them of the mirror's dangers. A small group of them went to the house.
The minister spoke first, explaining the evils that resided within their home. The couple looked at him like he was mad and burst into hysterical laughter. The seamstress was distraught and plead with them to hang the special cloth she made before the mirror. It would keep the demons at bay, she explained. The thatcher offered to hang the fabric for them.
The couple dismissed them all as raving lunatics, throwing them from their home. The couple's first week in the house was unremarkable. No bizarre noises in the middle of the night. No inexplicably odd occurrences. Nothing even remotely out of the ordinary. They continued to laugh off the town's mutterings that they lived in a haunted house.
Then, one night the wife heard strange noises coming from downstairs. Voices, calling her, beckoning to her to come closer. Her husband rolled over, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her closer. She resisted the urge to find the source of the noises, enjoying the feel of his arms around her.
A thunderous crash forced her to spring out of bed. She raced down the winding staircase and threw open the doors to the great hall. The mirror loomed in front of her.
The glass was so strange. Swirling colors of smoke gray and vibrant red. The wife found herself drawn closer, involuntarily moving across the floor until she stood before the mirror.
Its surface suddenly went black. Then two red eyes appeared. Small little beady eyes, which grew larger and more haunting as the wife stared unable to break her gaze. Soon, the eyes filled the entire mirror and wicked laughed rang through the great hall.
It was the laughter that roused the husband from his bed. He immediately noticed his bride was not laying next to him as she should have been. Again, that evil laugh. But slightly different this time and higher in pitch.
He raced from the room, slowing only to grab his pistol. He threw open the doors of the great hall, expecting to find all kinds of horrors inside the room. Instead, he only found his wife standing in the middle of the room.
He lowered his weapon, once again marveling at her beauty and his luck. She looked so small and fragile standing in the middle of the large room, staring at her hands as if they belonged someone else. The floorboards creaked under his weight as he stepped into the room.
She whirled around, eyes blazing red. Her nails lengthened before his eyes, each one becoming a dangerous razor-sharp weapon. She was on him before he could blink, moving with superhuman speed, claws wrapped around his neck.
He had whispered to her softly, trying to reach the woman inside the beast. Even as she squeezed the life out of him, claws piercing his flesh, he still tried to bring her back to him. But the woman no longer existed.
His eyes hardened and he reached for her face. Looking straight into her fiery eyes, with his last breath, he cursed her. Cursed the Devil.
When his corpse hit the floor, the demons inside the glass cheered her first kill and motioned for her to rejoin them, to come home. Arms reached out to greet her, pull her back inside the mirror.
She fled from them. From that cursed mirror. From that damned house. She raced into the woods and was never heard from again.
The legends say she resides there still, deep within the Pine Barrens. And late at night, when the moon is full, the still demon comes out to play...
__________
Check out the other Theme Thursday mirror posts here.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
The Defendant
Yes, my last post left you guessing what happened to our poor little prosecutor... This story builds off that one - so if you didn't read the first part yet, click here.
_________________
Jim watched her in the courtroom. The cocky bitch played to her jury with fake sympathy for a woman too stupid not to protect herself against a thug. Rebecca's words rang hollow in his ears. Sitting in the back of the gallery, he glared at her with unveiled hatred. The big bad prosecutor.
Fucking whore.
He knew her weaknesses. Every last one of them. Before he was done, he'd exploit them all.
He had been the one to make her afraid. Make her flee. Make her change her fucking name.
But she couldn't shake him. He found her every time she changed cities. She made it so easy because she had to have the damn spotlight in the courtroom. She wasn't always the prosecutor. Sometimes she was the hot shot criminal defense attorney.
And when he knew her, she was just Rebecca Long. Mousy little college freshman. The sweet innocent little girl that it was so much fun to corrupt.
Rebecca's closing droned on. Her mouth was moving, but he no longer heard her words. He fixated on her lips. Beautiful red lips which would be much better served wrapped around his cock. Her pink tongue. It should be stroking his shaft from base to tip... A low growl escaped from his throat at the memory of her down on her knees before him. Before he blew the element of surprise, he left the courtroom.
As the doors slid closed, he turned to watch Rebecca one more time. He knew she felt like she'd hit her stride by the way she strut across the courtroom. Her bitch walk. Too bad it wouldn't matter.
Her defeat was a foregone conclusion. He'd seen to that. It was so easy to threaten and bribe the jury. Forget a hung jury. The defendant would walk with a straight acquittal. The man was fucking guilty as sin and him getting off would eat at Rebecca, throw her off her game and keep her very much off guard.
Jim Dowd strode through the courthouse toward the exit. He found Rebecca's car easily in the parking lot. She always drove a midnight blue Mercedes, another thing which made her such an easy mark. Despite the unseasonably warm weather, he slipped his hands into black leather gloves before reaching into his pocket.
Her removed an envelope, running his gloved fingers over the creamy ivory fabric, before sliding it under a windshield wiper. He couldn't wait for Rebecca find it. He would enjoy watching her reaction, the fear that would quickly flash in her eyes before she could reign in her control. Jim slipped into the shadows and waited.
He was soon rewarded with the telltale sound of Rebecca's stilettos clacking against the pavement. He could see her fishing through her purse for her car keys. Then she saw the envelope on the car. Jim smiled smugly when Rebecca could only hiss "no" upon seeing his little gift for her.
Shaking hands tore at the envelope. She drew out a square of hard ivory card stock. A piece from her own collection. Written in blood red letters was his message: "YOU CAN RUN, BUT YOU CAN'T HIDE."
Rebecca's lips opened in shock and a scream ripped loose before she could stop herself. Jim's letter floated to the ground as Rebecca fled to the safety of her car. The tires squealed as she peeled out of the parking lot. Jim knew she spent the entire ride home looking for him in the rear view mirror.
He waited a day before his next contact, letting Rebecca regain some of her balance. Then, as a Rebecca was climbing into bed, he hurled a rock through the bedroom window. The screams were music to his ears.
The games continued over the course of the next week. Jim leaving little presents for Rebecca. His favorites were the dead animal on her doorstep and the wilted roses delivered to her office. It was time for them to meet face-to-face again.
Rebecca was working late at the office. He knew she was seeking sanctuary there, thinking that no one would harm her if she was in the hallowed halls of the courthouse, surrounded by police and sheriffs. While he was a lot of things, Jim was not a stupid man. He had to lure her outside to the parking lot where he would be waiting.
Jim pulled out his phone, linked to an account that would never be traced to him and sent a quick email. Nothing fancy, just enough words to elicit the desired effect. Watch your back!
His efforts were quickly rewarded. He could already hear the Rebecca's towering heels clicking against the sidewalk. He began following her, letting his footsteps match the pace of hers. Rebecca broke into a run toward her car. Damn, that bitch moves fast Jim thought as he pulled the gun from the small of his back.
Rebecca was almost to her car. He couldn't let her get away from him this time! He planted his feet and took aim. The Beretta felt good in his hand, heavy and deadly. A quick squeeze of his trigger finger and the first shots rang out.
Jim didn't want to kill his prey, yet. He just wanted to wound her, slow her down so he could capture her, bring her back to his place. That short trip alone would torture her... Oh, Rebecca would die tonight - but not here in the parking lot.
The bullet hit its mark, tearing through Rebecca's side. She fell to the ground, pressing her hand to the wound. She was a tough bitch, he'd give her that. He watched her pull herself along the ground, open the car door and start rooting around inside.
He slowly stalked toward Rebecca, gun trained on her. She had backed herself against the wall of the parking garage, still bleeding profusely. He stopped in front of her, staring down at the weak creature before him. "I told you before. You can never get away from me." His cold voice echoed through the garage.
Then the stupid bitch pulled a gun on him. When the hell did she get a Glock? Who cares? Jim was an expert marksman and Rebecca? She would never hurt a fly.
She glared up at him, face a mask of pain and fear, and whispered hoarsely, "And I told you before. We are over. Now. Get. Away. From. Me."
Jim laughed at her. "You'll never shoot me, Becky." He taunted her, gun still aimed at her heart. Rebecca aimed the Glock at his head. "Wanna make a bet, asshole."
They both fired. Gunshots echoed through the night. Sirens wailed as the police drew closer.
Jim lay on the ground on the other side of Rebecca's car. He squeezed off a couple more shots. Rebecca answered back with her own rapid fire.
Jim chanced a look at Rebecca. She cowered against the wall, bleeding profusely. She had multiple gun shot wounds. Her blue eyes blazed as they met his. Then her long lashes fluttered and her eyes closed.
Pressing his hand against his own wound, Jim grinned. At least the bitch died before he did. Jim sputtered and gasped his last breath.
When Officer Valentine arrived on scene, he couldn't believe his eyes. Blood was everywhere. Gun in hand, he crept closer to inspect the bodies. He stepped over the gun casings, careful not to disturb the crime scene.
Valentine knelt next to the first body. The man had lost a lot of blood and was suffering from a shot to the gut. A Beretta lay next to the man. Valentine quickly kicked it out of reach with the toe of his boot before pressing his fingers to the man's neck, looking for a pulse. Dead.
Valentine turned his attention to the other side of the car. A woman was propped against the wall, gun still in hand. He carefully moved closer and knelt before her. The woman was unconscious, her breathing shallow and labored.
He knew her instantly. "Shit, Becks. What the hell did you get yourself into?" Valentine whispered. Then he radioed for an ambulance and hoped they weren't too late...
_________________
Jim watched her in the courtroom. The cocky bitch played to her jury with fake sympathy for a woman too stupid not to protect herself against a thug. Rebecca's words rang hollow in his ears. Sitting in the back of the gallery, he glared at her with unveiled hatred. The big bad prosecutor.
Fucking whore.
He knew her weaknesses. Every last one of them. Before he was done, he'd exploit them all.
He had been the one to make her afraid. Make her flee. Make her change her fucking name.
But she couldn't shake him. He found her every time she changed cities. She made it so easy because she had to have the damn spotlight in the courtroom. She wasn't always the prosecutor. Sometimes she was the hot shot criminal defense attorney.
And when he knew her, she was just Rebecca Long. Mousy little college freshman. The sweet innocent little girl that it was so much fun to corrupt.
Rebecca's closing droned on. Her mouth was moving, but he no longer heard her words. He fixated on her lips. Beautiful red lips which would be much better served wrapped around his cock. Her pink tongue. It should be stroking his shaft from base to tip... A low growl escaped from his throat at the memory of her down on her knees before him. Before he blew the element of surprise, he left the courtroom.
As the doors slid closed, he turned to watch Rebecca one more time. He knew she felt like she'd hit her stride by the way she strut across the courtroom. Her bitch walk. Too bad it wouldn't matter.
Her defeat was a foregone conclusion. He'd seen to that. It was so easy to threaten and bribe the jury. Forget a hung jury. The defendant would walk with a straight acquittal. The man was fucking guilty as sin and him getting off would eat at Rebecca, throw her off her game and keep her very much off guard.
Jim Dowd strode through the courthouse toward the exit. He found Rebecca's car easily in the parking lot. She always drove a midnight blue Mercedes, another thing which made her such an easy mark. Despite the unseasonably warm weather, he slipped his hands into black leather gloves before reaching into his pocket.
Her removed an envelope, running his gloved fingers over the creamy ivory fabric, before sliding it under a windshield wiper. He couldn't wait for Rebecca find it. He would enjoy watching her reaction, the fear that would quickly flash in her eyes before she could reign in her control. Jim slipped into the shadows and waited.
He was soon rewarded with the telltale sound of Rebecca's stilettos clacking against the pavement. He could see her fishing through her purse for her car keys. Then she saw the envelope on the car. Jim smiled smugly when Rebecca could only hiss "no" upon seeing his little gift for her.
Shaking hands tore at the envelope. She drew out a square of hard ivory card stock. A piece from her own collection. Written in blood red letters was his message: "YOU CAN RUN, BUT YOU CAN'T HIDE."
Rebecca's lips opened in shock and a scream ripped loose before she could stop herself. Jim's letter floated to the ground as Rebecca fled to the safety of her car. The tires squealed as she peeled out of the parking lot. Jim knew she spent the entire ride home looking for him in the rear view mirror.
He waited a day before his next contact, letting Rebecca regain some of her balance. Then, as a Rebecca was climbing into bed, he hurled a rock through the bedroom window. The screams were music to his ears.
The games continued over the course of the next week. Jim leaving little presents for Rebecca. His favorites were the dead animal on her doorstep and the wilted roses delivered to her office. It was time for them to meet face-to-face again.
Rebecca was working late at the office. He knew she was seeking sanctuary there, thinking that no one would harm her if she was in the hallowed halls of the courthouse, surrounded by police and sheriffs. While he was a lot of things, Jim was not a stupid man. He had to lure her outside to the parking lot where he would be waiting.
Jim pulled out his phone, linked to an account that would never be traced to him and sent a quick email. Nothing fancy, just enough words to elicit the desired effect. Watch your back!
His efforts were quickly rewarded. He could already hear the Rebecca's towering heels clicking against the sidewalk. He began following her, letting his footsteps match the pace of hers. Rebecca broke into a run toward her car. Damn, that bitch moves fast Jim thought as he pulled the gun from the small of his back.
Rebecca was almost to her car. He couldn't let her get away from him this time! He planted his feet and took aim. The Beretta felt good in his hand, heavy and deadly. A quick squeeze of his trigger finger and the first shots rang out.
Jim didn't want to kill his prey, yet. He just wanted to wound her, slow her down so he could capture her, bring her back to his place. That short trip alone would torture her... Oh, Rebecca would die tonight - but not here in the parking lot.
The bullet hit its mark, tearing through Rebecca's side. She fell to the ground, pressing her hand to the wound. She was a tough bitch, he'd give her that. He watched her pull herself along the ground, open the car door and start rooting around inside.
He slowly stalked toward Rebecca, gun trained on her. She had backed herself against the wall of the parking garage, still bleeding profusely. He stopped in front of her, staring down at the weak creature before him. "I told you before. You can never get away from me." His cold voice echoed through the garage.
Then the stupid bitch pulled a gun on him. When the hell did she get a Glock? Who cares? Jim was an expert marksman and Rebecca? She would never hurt a fly.
She glared up at him, face a mask of pain and fear, and whispered hoarsely, "And I told you before. We are over. Now. Get. Away. From. Me."
Jim laughed at her. "You'll never shoot me, Becky." He taunted her, gun still aimed at her heart. Rebecca aimed the Glock at his head. "Wanna make a bet, asshole."
They both fired. Gunshots echoed through the night. Sirens wailed as the police drew closer.
Jim lay on the ground on the other side of Rebecca's car. He squeezed off a couple more shots. Rebecca answered back with her own rapid fire.
Jim chanced a look at Rebecca. She cowered against the wall, bleeding profusely. She had multiple gun shot wounds. Her blue eyes blazed as they met his. Then her long lashes fluttered and her eyes closed.
Pressing his hand against his own wound, Jim grinned. At least the bitch died before he did. Jim sputtered and gasped his last breath.
When Officer Valentine arrived on scene, he couldn't believe his eyes. Blood was everywhere. Gun in hand, he crept closer to inspect the bodies. He stepped over the gun casings, careful not to disturb the crime scene.
Valentine knelt next to the first body. The man had lost a lot of blood and was suffering from a shot to the gut. A Beretta lay next to the man. Valentine quickly kicked it out of reach with the toe of his boot before pressing his fingers to the man's neck, looking for a pulse. Dead.
Valentine turned his attention to the other side of the car. A woman was propped against the wall, gun still in hand. He carefully moved closer and knelt before her. The woman was unconscious, her breathing shallow and labored.
He knew her instantly. "Shit, Becks. What the hell did you get yourself into?" Valentine whispered. Then he radioed for an ambulance and hoped they weren't too late...
Friday, February 5, 2010
The Prosecutor
Rebecca stood, smoothing a shaky hand over the lines of her suit. She moved behind Ruby, giving her a smile and reassuring pat on her uninjured shoulder. Rebecca knew that the jury was soaking in her every movement and soon would be hanging on her every word.
She began quietly. “You may not approve of Ruby’s actions, obtaining then dropping multiple restraining orders. But how many of you can truly understand how she felt? Do you know what it’s like to be afraid to leave your home because there’s someone always lurking in the shadows – and yet be terrified to stay locked in your room because he always finds a way inside? Do you know what it’s like to have the person you love also be the one you fear more than anything else in the world? Because until you do, you can never truly appreciate the situation Ruby found herself in.” Rebecca whirled around, so she could face the defendant. “The situation that man created.”
Rebecca walked the jury through the crimes. Stalking. Burglary. Assault. Attempted murder. She set the scene perfectly. She wove a very convincing tale of a desperate man, one who swore that if he couldn’t have Ruby, no man ever would. He very nearly succeeded in carrying out his threat. Months later, Ruby’s dislocated shoulder was still in a sling, her arm still in a full cast and her once beautiful face now hidden behind nasty scars.
So to win this case, Rebecca had to sell the jury on Ruby. Right now Ruby was not helping her cause, glaring at the defendant like she was about to kill him, rather than playing the demure victim. Rebecca only hoped Ruby didn’t flip the defendant off mid-closing.
Much as she had tried to keep the past firmly behind her, it kept creeping to the surface. These cases always brought the demons back. Rebecca hadn’t slept or eaten much during the trial. When she walked to her car at night, alone in the parking lot, she could hear the echo of footsteps behind her. The pace always matched hers, even when she sped up or slowed her steps. She felt like she was losing her mind sometimes…
It only took 2 hours for the jury to come back with its verdict. Fast deliberations were never good. Rebecca squeezed Ruby’s hand as the foreman began to read the verdict. “On the charge of attempted murder, how do you find?” the judge asked. “We the jury find the defendant…not guilty.”
“On the charge of assault, how do you find?” “We the jury find the defendant not guilty.” It went on the same for each count of the indictment. Not guilty on all charges.
Ruby collapsed in Rebecca’s arms, sobbing into her shoulder. Where the hell was this emotion when we needed it? Rebecca thought bitterly while trying to sooth Ruby. The defendant approached them, grinning wickedly. He didn’t say a word, but mouthed, “You’re dead bitch.”
The signs were everywhere.
Threatening notes left under her windshield. The rock thrown through her bedroom window. The dead animal on her front porch. The odd sensation that she was being watched everywhere she went. Rebecca’s guard was most certainly up, her eyes carefully watching for the first sign of anything not quite right.
That night, Rebecca was the last to leave the office. She had other cases to prepare which she had been neglecting while getting this one ready for trial. Rebecca was about to pack up for the night when an email hit her inbox. She knew she should ignore it and just head home, but something had her instincts humming. The email was from an unknown address and the message contained just three words. Watch your back.
Rebecca jumped out of her chair, knocking the thing over as she bolted from the office. She ran to the car as quickly as her legs would carry her. Her only thought was getting inside the car and driving the hell out of this town. The door handle nearly within her grasp…
With a crack of thunder, the bullet tore through her side. Couching behind the car, Rebecca opened the door and began frantically fumbling under the seat. She withdrew the Glock as she heard the footsteps racing toward her. She slid back against the wall of the parking garage, leaving a trail of blood in her wake.
Rebecca held the gun steady into the darkness, waiting for the first sign of movement. Her breath was ragged and eyes frantic with pain and fear. The footsteps slowed to a stop and Rebecca found herself looking down the barrel of a Beretta.
Shots rang out. Sirens wailed. And the world went black...
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Bloodlines
This week's theme is RED. So how could I not spin a vampire tale? I teamed up with Otin for this story, which is not part of my normal vampire series since someone threatened to kill off my vampire... Anyway, Part 1 appears here on my blog. When you're done, head over to Otin's for part 2.
_____
The room was dark, lit only by a few flickering candles. Their small table was in the very back of the room, where they would never be overheard. Two goblets rested on the table, filled to the brim with dark red liquid.
They each had different reasons for being here. For wanting revenge against a common enemy. Hatred rolled off them in intense black waves, the feelings so strong their mood was palpable.
She closed her eyes and saw the events clearly, the nightmare once again playing through her mind. Julie had been a girl that everyone envied. She was a rare beauty and talent. Though she was married to one of Hollywood's elite, she was rich and famous in her own right.
Then she met him. He was so different. Not the typical LA bore with the fake tan and abs sculpted by surgery rather than hard work, only interested in what you could do for his career. She was drawn to him in a way she could never explain.
Such a fool. She thought he loved her. Instead, he plunged his fangs into her neck, nearly draining her dry. Then he bit into his arm, pressing the bleeding flesh against her mouth. He held her head firmly in place until she had no choice but to part her lips.
The taste... She'd never forget that taste. A heady elixir, smoky and woodsy and at that moment, just what she needed. She drank him in greedily with deep, urgent swallows. His essence filled her and she felt his power coursing through her veins.
He pushed her away cruelly and took flight, leaving her terrified and alone. It was a mere hour before dawn and, while she couldn't understand what was happening, she knew she had to find shelter from the sun. She could never return home. Could never again be a part of her past life.
Through the blood tie they shared, she could still sense him. Felt him taunting her. She knew every time he took another innocent. She had to stop him...
Robert watched Julie from across the table. Her eyes were closed, but a dark shadow had crossed her angelic face. She never shared her reasons for meeting him, nor had he divulged his reasons to her.
His family had been destroyed by the same vampire that turned Julie. He came home early from work that day to find the front door not only unlocked but wide open. His heart thundered in his chest as he climbed the steps three at a time. Robert found the vampire leaning over his wife. The vamp let the body fall to the floor. His white shirt streaked with red from his feeding frenzy.
The vampire stalked toward him. "Please," Robert begged. Without his family, what did he have to live for? He wanted to die by the vampire's hand, just like his wife and children. The vampire laughed wickedly. As he passed Robert, the vampire slashed Robert's wrists with his claws.
Robert fell to the floor, dragging himself to his wife. He wrapped his arms around her, prayed for death to claim him quickly so they could be together again. Robert lay bleeding on the floor for hours. But death never came. His wounds healed. He rose, larger and stronger than ever.
The vampire's blood had been on those claws, mixing with Robert's, leaving him not quite vampire and not quite human. He had fangs and claws, but did not need blood and darkness to survive. A deadly hybrid mix.
Robert and Julie stared at each other across the table for a moment. They raised their goblets to each other. "There will be blood shed tonight," she whispered. Both drained the contents of their glasses and stood.
Julie strapped a harness around her shoulders, filled with silver blades and wooden stakes. Robert slipped an extra pistol into his boot. The bullets were special - silver and dipped in holy water.
Their jet black eyes flared and fangs grew in preparation for the hunt. The blood of their maker still flowed through them, calling them home. And this time when they met the vampire, they would be prepared.
_________
Now go visit Otin for the end of this story...
_____
The room was dark, lit only by a few flickering candles. Their small table was in the very back of the room, where they would never be overheard. Two goblets rested on the table, filled to the brim with dark red liquid.
They each had different reasons for being here. For wanting revenge against a common enemy. Hatred rolled off them in intense black waves, the feelings so strong their mood was palpable.
She closed her eyes and saw the events clearly, the nightmare once again playing through her mind. Julie had been a girl that everyone envied. She was a rare beauty and talent. Though she was married to one of Hollywood's elite, she was rich and famous in her own right.
Then she met him. He was so different. Not the typical LA bore with the fake tan and abs sculpted by surgery rather than hard work, only interested in what you could do for his career. She was drawn to him in a way she could never explain.
Such a fool. She thought he loved her. Instead, he plunged his fangs into her neck, nearly draining her dry. Then he bit into his arm, pressing the bleeding flesh against her mouth. He held her head firmly in place until she had no choice but to part her lips.
The taste... She'd never forget that taste. A heady elixir, smoky and woodsy and at that moment, just what she needed. She drank him in greedily with deep, urgent swallows. His essence filled her and she felt his power coursing through her veins.
He pushed her away cruelly and took flight, leaving her terrified and alone. It was a mere hour before dawn and, while she couldn't understand what was happening, she knew she had to find shelter from the sun. She could never return home. Could never again be a part of her past life.
Through the blood tie they shared, she could still sense him. Felt him taunting her. She knew every time he took another innocent. She had to stop him...
Robert watched Julie from across the table. Her eyes were closed, but a dark shadow had crossed her angelic face. She never shared her reasons for meeting him, nor had he divulged his reasons to her.
His family had been destroyed by the same vampire that turned Julie. He came home early from work that day to find the front door not only unlocked but wide open. His heart thundered in his chest as he climbed the steps three at a time. Robert found the vampire leaning over his wife. The vamp let the body fall to the floor. His white shirt streaked with red from his feeding frenzy.
The vampire stalked toward him. "Please," Robert begged. Without his family, what did he have to live for? He wanted to die by the vampire's hand, just like his wife and children. The vampire laughed wickedly. As he passed Robert, the vampire slashed Robert's wrists with his claws.
Robert fell to the floor, dragging himself to his wife. He wrapped his arms around her, prayed for death to claim him quickly so they could be together again. Robert lay bleeding on the floor for hours. But death never came. His wounds healed. He rose, larger and stronger than ever.
The vampire's blood had been on those claws, mixing with Robert's, leaving him not quite vampire and not quite human. He had fangs and claws, but did not need blood and darkness to survive. A deadly hybrid mix.
Robert and Julie stared at each other across the table for a moment. They raised their goblets to each other. "There will be blood shed tonight," she whispered. Both drained the contents of their glasses and stood.
Julie strapped a harness around her shoulders, filled with silver blades and wooden stakes. Robert slipped an extra pistol into his boot. The bullets were special - silver and dipped in holy water.
Their jet black eyes flared and fangs grew in preparation for the hunt. The blood of their maker still flowed through them, calling them home. And this time when they met the vampire, they would be prepared.
_________
Now go visit Otin for the end of this story...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
