First Comes Love

intro

          

 
 
 
                                  The bloom    
 
 
Reflective beams bounced and bent around leaves and limbs until they danced upon a soft and faded quilt. Small granny squares shaded in reds and pinks muted by time welcomed the senses. Green fringe tickled its curves and contrasted the tender blades of grass that shivered beneath the breeze. Airways carried ‘Angel of Mine,’ filling the night, perfecting the ambiance of this rondeau.  
 
 
Two Dixie cups crowned the wicker basket layered with port wine cheeses and chocolate-dipped Strawberries. Sweet champagne lazily laid in the corner; this chilled nectar of romance longed to be tasted.  Pink petals salted the lovers’ quilt which had neither occupant, or crease from a tryst, but amongst the trees, soft coos embraced the night, asking a dove to sing.
    
A red-bud slowly bloomed staining white silk. A pink rose slipped from slender fingers and crumbled to the earth those fingers mingled with crimson. A tiny frame silently folded, and that knowing glance exchanged, as the sounds of a Spanish guitar played.
 
“You haven’t won... I claim my right... my last rite...” were words so soft. Softer still were her last words, “and knit our souls as one.”     
     
       
                       
                              The Heartless
 
A casual stride moved through the trees, cutting a path back toward the clearing. No thought was given to the deed; blue eyes searched for a place to stage the tickler. Downed logs? No good. The cleft of that rock? Still no good, the river, hmm to good, but there. “Yes, right there.”   
 
 
Two young redbud trees intertwined at the base like lovers. Half a smile widened, the heart-shaped leaves such a fitting touch, and just like a queued soundtrack ‘I’m Falling For You,’ began. The killer approached, and a recess between the stocks matched the curving blade. Now in its wooden sheath, a new thought took its place.    
 
    
A silent march to the SUV for a towline. A pause by the quilt allowed for a moment of indulgence. No reason to waste the lovely basket. The chocolate kissed berries were removed and tasted the sweet coating mingled with a silent tear, and the wafting aroma of honeysuckle. A small click in play allowed Sledge to sing, ‘When A Man Loves A Woman.” Then a heavy foot stomped out the music breaking the MP 3, and only a lone dove sang. A carefully selected text transmitted from the victim’s phone to the sender’s messenger. The Samsung J7 waited miles away at home, for the tower ping, and an alibi.    
 
 
...help! 10:10
... Rose-garden 10:12
... date no-show, 10:13
… Swan pond, 10:15
...someone following, 10:18
   
   
   
   
                     The Liar   
 
The old black receiver was firmly lifted after the first ring, “Sheriff’s department.”    
 
   
“Hello, this is Jo Taylor, please send an officer to Miller Park Rose Garden, somewhere near the swan pond. It’s my friend… Sandy… she sent me a texted someone is following her. She asked for help, but I can’t get to her. I’ve taken an Imitrex and a PM.”    
 
   
“Do you know why she would be there so late at night?” Asked the full bass.
 
   
“Well, her text said she was meeting a date.” Jo rubbed thumb to index finger with a nervous itch, too late now to form a different plan, as the 4-7-8 breathing technique slowed the heart rate. 
 
 
“Have you tried to raise her on the phone since you found the text?”
 
 
“Yes, sir several times. Her phone goes straight to voice mail. I’m terrified that something has happened, please hurry.”
 
 
 Dispatch, quickly entered the information to generate a call; Charlie-9 and Charlie-10 were assigned the call, ‘check on the well-being,’ The call-taker muted the phone, placing them 10-6 (on assignment), and the call time-stamped 2301, with a ten-minute ETA. 
 
 
“I have two units en-route they will check on the situation. How long ago did she text you?”    
   
 
  “I’ll check,” Jo nervously fiddled with the cell phone before speaking, “forty minutes ago.”    
    
 
A curt tone spoke, “Why did you wait so long to call us?”    
   
 
“I was sleeping off a migraine, it took that long for my phone’s alarm to wake me. Thank goodness the beeping did.” An awkward pause followed the statement.
 
 
“Keep your phone close; the officers will have questions. After they clear the park, they will swing by to speak to you. So, keep an eye out for them. One last thing, what does Sandy look like?”    
 
   
That simple statement assaulted Jo’s memory. Sandy’s blood-soaked dress stabbed Jo’s conscious. Guilt strained the answer elevating words just a little too harshly. “What kind of question is that? How many people do you think they’ll find in the park at 11 PM... uh... but I’d say she’ll be the only woman there in a white silk dress?”    
 
 
“Tell me, how do you know what she’s wearing?” A stern command demanded.
 
   
“Oh...well...just a guess. I saw Sandy leaving Maxine’s boutique around 6 PM, in that dress.”     
   
......................................................................................................    
 
  
Two loud wraps hit the front door of the Taylor’s. Lights glowed from the living room window, blending with the porch light showcasing two well-built deputies wearing starched tan uniforms with matching GLOCK 17’s, and crew-cuts.
 
 
 Jo opened the front door without a trace of surprise, fully dressed, and ready to get this over with.
 
   
  “Jo Taylor?”    
   
 
“Yes.”    
 
   
“I’m Officer Murphy, and this is my partner Officer Jenkins.” 
 
 
Jenkins nodded in correlation with his name. “May we come in? We need to ask you a few things?”    
 
 
“Yes, please do. I have been dreading your knock. I got dressed right away in case you needed me for confirmation of any kind; phone numbers, addresses, identification of bodies. I know the drill. I watch all the true-life cold-cases.” Jo said, straightening a thin frame then rubbed sweaty palms over 501 Levi’s, and noticed a patch of dried mud across the hem. 
 
 
“Well, that’s partly right, we found a body. Do you know Shawn Taylor?”    
 
   
“you found…a… body?” Jo’s face chalked white, deep blue eyes dilated, and a gaping mouth fell open…    
 
   
“Yes, ma’am, only one. Are you alright you don’t look so well?” Officer Jenkins said, still standing in the doorway, with his left palm resting on his mag light. 
   
    
“I, I don’t feel so well.” Her knees buckled as she turned to find support. “I need to sit down. You found Shawn, my Shawn, so, where’s my friend Sandy, where is she?”    
      
 
Josephine staggered toward the floral wing-backed chair struggling for balance and a piece of furniture. Images of the crime danced in her head. There was no way Sandy walked away from the park. Her mind and words merged, as she mumbled. “Shawn alone.” 
 
“Yes, Ma’am.” One of them said, but through the spinning room, the words were muffled. 
 
A towering fern stood between her, and the chair. One small step allowed her to see the other half of the room. That’s when she spied the pink rose on the corner of the end table, a full bloom speckled in crimson.
 
 
Jenkins followed behind Jo. Murphy swung wide for a better angle of the room. The two men accessed their surroundings, cutting a pie with their eyes. Murphy made a mental note of the room. An orderly space with no clutter, freshly dusted, and the carpet looked freshly vacuumed. Odd she would have time to clean but didn’t take time to put on clean pants, and... 
 
 
“The rose,” Jo chocked out, “and blood,” she mouthed with no sound, while the bottom fell out of the room.
 
 
Officer Greg Murphy yelled, “Mike, catch her, she’s going down.”
 
  Mike lunged, he reached for Jo. His fingertips brushed against her peach linen top, but he couldn’t stop her forward motion. 
  
                                           
 
 
                                                                                                                                                                                 The Bluff
  
 
  
A piercing light invaded dark recesses awakening pain that poured over Jo’s left temple, the starch-white room pushed out all shadows, and Jo carefully touched her forehead to find stitches. Her mind still floating amidst the light, let an image playout. 

 

The deed had indeed been premeditated; the towline, Bob’s knife, and gloves. Those damning items Jo found in a box marked ‘Bob’s’ leftovers gathered up and stacked in the corner of Sandy’s garage. She knew right then what she was going to do. The promise breakers made their choice, and so had Jo.  She beat them to the park and waited, hidden in the dark as anger killed out reason. 
 
 
She had listened to their sickening baby talk that lover’s do; need you, miss you, love you… Ever since her miscarriage, Shawn had stopped looking at her. She hadn’t realized his need for her was dead, not till that very moment there in the park. 
 
 

Shawn had stopped watching her, watching Jo dress or undress, do yoga, dry her hair.  Here in the dark, she watched how he watched Sandy. Drawing blood while biting her lip as desire fueled their kiss she took in the moment. That spark of rage set her in motion. Tears stung her eyes, but she couldn’t look away, traveling hands only added to her pain. 

 
Jo sported a cheater bar in her right hand and a knife in her left. She advanced. Shawn never knew what hit him, but Sandy knew, the tart, who claimed to be her friend, her best friend. This fact pleased Jo as she watched Sandy’s life slip away. 
 
 
A ragging headache and the smell of antiseptics ended her memory, she blinked in rapid succession. As the looming figure took shape, and Deputy Jenkins came into view. 
 
 
“You gave us a scare passing out that way.”   
 
    
Jo spit out a slurred, “what?”   
 
    
“You passed out... back at your house. You were trying to make it to your chair, and went down like a ton of bricks,” he pointed at his temple, “you fought the table, and the table won. We’ve been here for about thirty minutes, give or take...” Officer Mike Jenkins said in a monologed voice and stone-faced.   
    
 
“… the house.”   
 
   
“Yes, ma’am.”   
 
   

“...the rose, I saw her rose.” Jo blinked trying to sweep out cobwebs. Her eyes flashed wide as she realized what she had said.  

    
“You’ve been muttering about a rose off and on the whole time, I guess you meant the rose garden, but I couldn’t make heads or tails, of it.”   
   
 
“Wasn’t there two of you?” trying to change the subject, but her thoughts returned to the blood-splattered rose perched on her end-table. She wondered how the two officers had missed it. 
   
 

“Yes ma’am, Officer Murphy had to return to the rose garden to meet the Watch Commander and Detective Thomas. I followed the ambulance here, as soon as I get the okay, I’ll take you back home. I’ll try and wrap-up my questions so you can get some rest before the detective swings by later today.”    

   
“Thank you... Officer… can I ask you a question? Did anyone ever find poor Sandy?”   
   
 
“No, not yet, but we are looking for her, we found her ID and her car. So, we know she was there. Your husband, however, did not have a vehicle anywhere in the park, and his keys were on his person...”   
   
 
“...and my husband is?” She asked in a timid voice. D****t to hell, her mind screamed, his keys I forgot about his keys.
 
   

“I’m sorry ma’am, we tried to tell you earlier tonight, he was murdered. Mrs. Taylor, do you have any idea who attacked him?”   

 

   
“I don’t know. I’m not sure.” Silence hung in the room. “Well, maybe. Around three weeks ago, I felt like he was having an affair, just a feeling you know. After eleven years of marriage, you get to know a man.” 

 

“Yes, ma’am I guess you do,” Stone-face said.  

 

“...but I had no idea he was meeting Sandy; She and I are best friends. I mean, we were best friends. We all met in college, we rushed together joining the Delta-House.”    

   

“Go on.”    

   
“A month ago, she kicked out Bob Goodman, the bum, her twice removed boyfriend and started seeing someone new. I always could tell when there was a new man in her life. New hairdo, you know? ... anyway, I’m shocked, and a little sickened to find out the new guy… was.... my Shawn,” Jo scratched the scar on her index finger, and lowered her eyes as she continued, “I never thought either one of them would hurt me that way, or that it would end like this. Sandy and I were like sisters.”   
 
   
“Ma’am the possible suspect?”   
 
   
“Sorry... I think it might be Bob, her ex. A real piece of work, he’s plenty smart, but never would keep a job. No time for working spent all his time watching Sandy. He’s been on her heels since high school… crazy jealous, following her around like a super-spy,” Jo said through a strained tear. “You might check that angle, he stays at the Plaza, with his brother.”
 
.. and find Shaw n’s truck, complete, with the lover’s basket, she thought victoriously. Josephine masked her satisfaction as she visualized that moment. “It’s a strong possibility Bob followed them to the park; He and Shawn never did get along.”   
 
“How so?”
 
“Well, they did get in a fit fight a few years back. Shawn always said Bob was the type to jump a man from behind.”
 
   
“Could be, he did just that, I’ll look into it.”   
 
   
“Do you think he’s taken her?” Jo did her best to look frightened and worried, but she was no actress, and could not rate her performance, not against Mike Jenkin’s poker face.
   
 

“At this point, we haven’t ruled anything out,” he paused to breathe, “the truth is it’s possible Sandy killed Shawn and is now on the run.”    

   

“Oh my...” She blinked hard… “I never considered that, no… not that... not at all.” Dead men... well… dead cheaters… tell no tales, Jo thought. Then she added, “he must have used his spare.” 

 

Jenkins’ stone face vanished as he looked confused, “Ma’am?” 

 
“I’m sorry. I was thinking about Shaw n’s keys. There’s always a spare in the ashtray, if someone took the truck, I’m sure they used his spare.”
 
“I see.” 
 
She watched him write for several minutes and wondered what he could be writing from such a simple statement?
 
   
Officer Jenkins studied Jo. She sent mixed signals. Genuine shock overwhelmed the woman when they gave her the news at the front door, but somehow her timing seemed off. That moment of shock also out of step. Her reactions were not what he expected, but they seldom were. Plus, just now, when speaking, she looked up and to the right, a true tale of a liar.  
 

                                                                                                                                                                               The Runner  
    
Bob Goodman dropped his can of ‘Pabst’ in a cold sweat he leaped off the sofa. His high school sweetheart was missing, Bob jumped into jeans, and boots, he lifted the keys to ‘The Judge’ and slammed the apartment door. Beverly called looking for Sandy, begging Bob to say her only baby girl was there with him.

 
 “I’m sorry, I haven’t seen her in days, Mrs. Evans, I got ‘a go,” is all Bob said and flipped his phone shut. Cops or no cops, he would find her. 

 
He took the steps two at a time, then planted his arm on the rail, and hiked over the last four. Bob always thought they would get back together. He and Sandy had been off-again, on-again, since the tenth grade. He sprinted around the corner to the parking lot running toward his parking space where the ‘slick-purple-candy’ Pontic waited. It was his graduation present that came in a dozen pieces, every inch a memory of their early days together. How many days had she sunbathed as he tinkered with that car?  His mind drifted back to the last time they spoke, terrible things were said, not his finest hour. The memory vanished, parked next to his car was Shaw n’s old Chevy. 

 
His heart raced, and the air felt thin. This was not right. He eased up to the window. On the passenger’s side a basket, immediately he spotted his leather gloves, a blood-soaked linen napkin. He moved in closer to see a cheater bar in the floorboard, with what looked like dried blood on one end. His lungs could not draw in air; inflamed panic raced up his left arm exploding around his heart. A shaking hand opened the pillbox on his keychain. 

 
Bob popped alprazolam under his tongue, hopped behind the steering wheel turned on his police scanner just in time to hear his address being relayed to Charlie 20.  A full-blown panic attack swept over him as the 409 screamed, wide-whites squalled laying black down, the GTO blurred thru the wall of smoke, and Bob raced into the night.  
    

               The drive home
 
The deputy drove Jo home; they talked most of the way back. Still, he could not get a good read from her. He stopped his unit at the curb. “I have one more question. You did not seem shocked when we told you we found your husband there, why was that?”   
   
Jo met his gaze as she considered her words. A crucial moment, what to say, more importantly, what not to say. “At the time, I guess it just didn’t register with me. You know, what him being there meant.”  
  
   
“I see.” He took a careful breath and continued. “Mrs. Taylor stay close to home today. Detective Thomas will have some questions later today. Until then, you should get some rest.”    
  
She closed the door and nodded. As he drove away, he keyed up the radio, “Charlie 10, switch,” (turn to the talk-around channel to the talk).  

“Charlie 9, 10-12” (is your passenger still in the vehicle?)

Mike Jenkins, “Negative,”

Kirk Murphy, “start my way,”

“10-4” Mike grimaced, Kirk’s tone told him they had found the woman.

Jo walked a crossed her driveway then up the stairs to her covered porch. She froze in place, the blood-coated knife planted in her welcome mat. Wild images attacked her thoughts; tiny steps backward inched her against the porch-swing her knees buckled, as she melted into the swing, white knuckles gripped the swing’s edge, “how is that possible,” who did that, she thought.
 
 
Her eyes transfixed on the object; if examined by the authorities, none of her prints would be on Bob’s blade. Jo had even used his gloves, which she tucked in the basket as she ate the berries. None of these things made sense; the missing body, the rose, and now the weapon. She rubbed her thumb over the small scar on her finger and stared. Adrenaline screamed through her veins, as her hands tremored, prickly pins assaulted her nerves, and her spine straightened.  
 

A normal person would suspect Bob of messing with her mind, he could have been hiding in the park that night, and now setting her up for blackmail. Somehow that did not ring true.  
 

“Sandy,” she whispered, then rubbed the scar on her finger, as a patch of white flashed by the curtain, she stiffened, “knitted as one,” she whispered as she remembered the blood oath silly college girls had made fifteen years ago leaving the foursome with a small scar on the index finger.                      

 
         
  
                                                                The Knife’s Edge 
 
 
 

Jo’s eyes darted from the lace curtain back to the knife. The sound of tires crunching gravel caused her to lift her head to see a silver Honda in her driveway. 

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Jo closed her eyes, and hung her head, hoping she could get rid of them. 

  
 
Two nicely dressed women waved at Jo, then headed her way. The sound of their car doors slamming ignited her heart. Her pounding heartbeat echoed off her eardrums, she had no idea what they were saying, her own thoughts outweighed the voices of her good friends. Jo sprung to her feet to tuck the knife away.
 
 

 Desperate fingers bound forward covering the blade’s hilt. The connection complete electric impulses fired off neurons and spasmed her hand. Upper and lower teeth snapped together. Every muscle in her body contracted, as a vision of Sandy on the dangerous end of that knife appeared, hazel eyes gazed into her own. The connection slowed time, and Jo held her breath, terrified to breathe, fearing Sandy’s spirit would invade her own. The two women rounded the corner of the hedges, chatting away; their voices mere static to Jo. 

 

“I don’t know what to say to her.” A dark-haired woman said, with a pixie hair cut that fit her petite body and dark eyes.  

 

“We don’t have to say anything, we just need to be there for our friend,” a tall, lean, redhead said with wild curly hair, and pale grey eyes. 

 

Jo pulled free of the vision and straightened, a stray curl fell free of her ponytail, settling between her eyes. Her chest heaved with heavy breath, beads of sweat burned across the base of her neck. There was no knife in her hand. Jo held that pink rose, a dark mist enveloped the rose. Just like morning fog it dissipated, until her hand only held her keys, and without warning, she threw-up.    

   

“Oh, honey,” Margarette sighed.    

  

“Get the keys from her hand,” Janet dictated. “take her inside, and clean her up, while I’ll hose off the porch.”    

  

The two women scurried about, fussing over Jo. One had ice water and aspirin, the other a cold compress and blanket. At this point, Jo wasn’t sure which one had done what.  

 

Jo hand the empty water glass to Margarette, “how about a small brandy instead?” Jo asked. 

 

 

“Sure thing... Janet, how about you?” 

 
Janet held up her thumb and index finger, giving the symbol for a small drink. The three women sat on the sofa and quietly drained their tumblers. The house's silence felt heavy.
 
 
 
Janet cradled her glass, running a finger around the rim, “sweetie, we came as soon as we heard the terrible news.”   
 
 

“Yes, Sandy’s mother called me. Beverly, the poor dear, was a hysterical mess a deputy knocked on her door looking for Sandy, he told her about Shawn, she called me, in a panic. I called Janet…” 

 
“…and here we are. Have you heard anything new?” Janet asked tugging at her brown yoga pants.
 
  
“No," she said with a deep sigh, "nothing new, not yet anyway,” Jo wanted them there, she even needed them, but she feared they would see right through her straight into her soul, “I love you both so much, but right now I need quiet and rest.” Jo hoped they would take the hint and leave. She sat her glass on the table as a hint.    
 
  
“Of course, you do go upstairs, take a hot shower, then hop in bed. We’ll run off any buzzy bodies that show-up and run interference with the media.” Janet said as both women nodded.  
 
  
“The media!” 
 
  
“Yes, dear, it’s all over the radio. They’re calling it ‘the tragic, triangle.’  “Janet sighed.  
 
  
It’s true, KHITS has all but accused Sandy of killing Shawn in a lover’s rage, then ran off, the radio seems to have the story on all the local stations.” Margarette said as she studied her friend. Jo looked frail, tired, and so very worried, but her eyes were clear, and tear free which felt all wrong, but decided shock had Jo off-center, and passed it off.
  
 
Jo silently considered what her friends said, as she did the sterling silver frame caught her eye, itched across the top of the frame F.F.F.  Four young women posed in the picture, all four had tossed their caps in the air, holding diplomas. Their bright smiles declaring an even brighter future. Janet and Margarette followed Jo's gaze, all three women looked at the picture. Three sets of glassy eyes blinked back tears. Jo walked in silence. She stood on the first step and looked at her two friends. She nodded at them, then headed upstairs in silence for a shower and nap. Jo knew a hot shower couldn’t fix this disaster. 
 
 
The four women had been friends since college. They met on the first day of rush. As a matter of fact, the three of them were the reason Jo moved to Sheldon, and their new job was how she met Shawn. Jo frowned as she remembered the magic she felt when she laid eyes on the dreamy scientist. Sandy too was smitten with the handsome stranger, she had raised her eyebrows at Jo, and the battle for his affections began. He was a six-foot-six, brown-eyed mystery, who just a few days ago broke Jo's heart destroying her world. She wasn’t sorry, but she was uncertain if she could make peace with what she had done. 
 
 

 Sandy, Janet, and Margarette all grew-up here, and the four of them worked at the lab as researchers. As she ascended the steps, she rubbed her thumb to her index finger to relieve an itch. The tiny scar reminded her of the night the four frat-sisters promised to be faithful, friends, forever, and knit their souls as one. 'All for one, and one for all.'

 
“I didn’t break our promise,” Jo mumbled, “it was you… not me.”
 
 Jo was surprised to find the hot shower did help, it made her fell much better. Wet hair was quickly braided, and she slipped on her running cloths. With two Tylenol PM’s in hand, she nestled down on the pillow, hugging it. Her nerves were wired as the silent reel to reel scene played in her head. Soon the images faded, and 'When A Man Loves A Woman,' took its place. Jo felt like she would never sleep again, but within minutes deep rhythmic breathing pulled her into a deep dark state of rest. The faint sound of footsteps invaded her sleep, echoes of whispers danced. Soft sobs grew becoming more pronounced, the rose garden played in Jo’s mind as her friends’ words mingled with images. 

 

 "I never dreamed someone I know would be murdered, little lone two people, I know and love."

“It's terrifying, I feel so bad for Beverly. I knew Sandy was no killer, but I always thought we would find her,” Margarette whispered, then blew her nose just outside Jo’s bedroom.
 
 
“I guess this turn of events makes Bob the prime suspect, the b*****d,” Janet whispered. 
 
 
“I always thought he would do her harm, Jo and I talked about that very thing last week.”
 
 
“Officer Murphy said it looked like Shawn didn’t die right away, he tried to get help. He made it to the parking lot, that’s where they found him, and why they didn’t find the second body right away.”
 
 
Jo’s thrashed under the weight of the words. She fought to wake but could not get free of the darkness.
 
                   The Raven 
 
“Jo, we’re going to lock-up the house. We must go downtown with Officer Jenkins. There’s more bad news, they found Sandy. Jo, dear, can you hear me?” Janet asked as she tapped Jo’s hip, Jo twitched but never opened her eyes. “You rest, we’ll do what’s needed, then come back, okay.” Jo didn’t answer, Janet turned on the little table lamp, the girls left a note on the nightstand, then left.   
 
 
 
It’s odd, but sleep and time seem to battle one another. It felt like a short moment later, Jo could hear a far-off sound that rousted her from slumber. Now in a twilight of rest, not quite awake but no longer in restful sleep. A sound rose to her thoughts. A metallic jiggling sound, a short-repeated popping.  Possibly a locked door trying to be opened. Her friends must be out-front. “I bet the key is stuck again,” a sleeping voice muttered.
 
 
Jo tossed the light airy afghan aside to let them in. Just as soon as she stepped into the hallway, she could tell the sound emanated from her linen closet. Mr. Coffee, her long-haired ‘Big Maine Coon Cat,’ must be locked in. “Mr. Coffee, you bad cat, you woke mommy from her nap, didn’t you?” Once before the silly cat got stuck in the linen closet.
  
 
Jo shuffled down the hall, the repeated popping sound joined a light scratching. A tapping that began to grow louder chimed in; She had lived in this house with Shawn for nearly ten years, not once had she been afraid, but now in the cover of predawn a wave of cold washed over her, while fear stifled her stride. She blinked a few times, rolled her neck to free some tension. She shook her arms as if shaking off bad vibes, and continued walking.  
  
 
“Crazy Cat,” Jo glowered with each word. Firmly latching hold of the doorknob, that familiar, feeling of electric impulses charged her senses. The scent of roses and ‘White Shoulders’ perfume made her mouth turn dry as her insides churned.
 
 
Sandy, in that blood-soaked dress, linked her spirit to the current. Quickly Jo closed her eyes to escape her friends gaze, but the image of the woman met her there in her mind Sandy’s left eye, a white milky mess, “Jo,” Sandy called. 
 
 
Jo shook her head no, forced her eyes tighter as if that would help. “Jo,” she said again only louder, beautiful mocha hair suspended in the ‘nothers’ of Jo’s mind pulsed and moved Jo could not look away from the milling motion. A fluttering sound of feathers began, and a part formed. A blackbird shot out. 
 
 
Screams tore free from the pit of Jo’s churning stomach. Her eyes flew open.   
 
 
“You killer!” The Sandy’s shade screamed snapping unhinged teeth in her old friend’s face. 
 
 
Jo ripped her hand free, the unlatched door swung. Tumbling backward, Jo fell. Feverous sounds of terror exploded. Those screams spilled down the stairs, and outside into the street.  
 
 
There was no Mr. Coffee in that closet! A burst of black feathers rushed out. Four soulless ravens jetted from the dark, pecking, flying, darting in Jo’s golden curls. Talons covered her pale lilac top in a mixture of clay and blood. Pecking at her stitches, had warm blood flowing. Sharp pain burned through her brain. A large raven met her eyes to soul-gaze. Judging her very essence damned. Then pecked at her eye.  
  
 
Jo’s screams never stopped, but only grew. Instinctively she covered her eyes. She laid in the hall, writhing in pain. Kicking her feet. Contorting her body. Pleading, pleading with the now empty space. The hall light flipped on. Her two friends ran toward Jo. They could see their friend with her back to them. Kicking and screaming, like a small child having a meltdown; screaming Sandy’s name. Screaming for mercy. 
  
                           
                                                                                                                                                                              The Condemned Confess   
 
 
 
Again, Janet and Margarette bond up the stairs to flip on the bedroom light, to find Jo sitting up in bed, screaming. This was the fourth night she had this same nightmare. The overhead light tore away the veil of the damned, and Jo wept.  Her friends sit one on each side of her. They stroked her hair and whispered in her ear. Then the three friends just sat there in silence.   
 
 
 
Finally, Jo’s sobs stopped, “it’s true what the Bible says in Genesis 4:10... ‘Your brother’s blood is crying out to me from the ground.’ Sister’s blood in our case. The slain, do cry out.” Jo said with her rosary beads wrapped in her hand. 
 
 
“Oh Honey, you have to give this some time, the police will catch up with Bob.” Janet nodded in agreement as Margarette spoke.  
 
 
“Bob’s a fool,” Jo hissed then began crying again, “I don’t know why the stupid man ran?”  
 
 
“The guilty are desperate people,” Janet said, then sighed.  
 
 
“The guilty are desperate... Desperate for peace of mind and forgiveness,” Jo laid down the rosary, and reached for both of their hands, “please, go to work today, I need some time to myself.”  
 
 
 
Janet started to protest, but Margarette shook her head at her old friend. The two women rose. “We’ll be back... tonight... right after work. Okay?”  
 
 
 
“That’ll be fine, I’ll leave the front door unlocked for you.”  
 
 
 
The smile the three women shared trembled, barely turning up the corners of the mouth, but just like ‘three on a match’ it got the job done.  
 
 
 
Jo removed the cap to her medicine tapped some out, and with a big drink of water took the pills. She dialed Officer Mike Jenkins’ cell phone. It took several rings for him to answer. “Mike, this is Jo, Jo Taylor.”  
 
 
 
“Yes, ma’am what can I do for you?”  
 
 
 
Jo rubbed the scar on her index finger. She drew in a deep breath, then spoke, “Well for starters, you can have them stop looking for Bob,”... 

 

 

                                                                 
 
 
                                                                        
 
    
                          

Author's Note

satisfaction is at hand! well maybe not satisfaction but the end :) well, maybe a revision of two upcoming :)

Reviews

[emmajoy]

# '.. The lover’s quilt had neither occupant or crease from visitors, but amongst the trees, whispers traveled. '

At first, such a peaceful introductory element.. beautiful surroundings, plans laid, and then.. Will say only a change of direction and atmosphere cleverly yet alarmingly added.

The change of mood was/is clever but do I feel cheated or.. perhaps excited, Cherrie? As always you write with great skill.

[Cherrie Palmer]

I have a habit of jumping in the middle of a pursuit, and I had a idea of a tender moment being invaded, and I wanted the image of the attack to sneak into the scene. I was affraid it didn't work.
I'm glad it did I'm going to mingle a couple of real crime details and then hopefully take it in a different direction.
I'm really not sure if I can well see.

[emmajoy]

Why do you say it didnt work.. it did and it has. Do understand however, did the same with a post earlier today with a serious intention of developing it. Had to set it aside to sort at a later date when my mind's clearer. Might take a century but.. ! :)

Perhaps do the same?

[Cherrie Palmer]

Yes, I think so I'll let it stew a bit

[Patricia Wedel]

The 49'ers found gold in California, but they could not take it with them... so they haunted a cherished poet site on Memorial Day weekend. Amen Pat

[Kent Rawski]

The ride. home Mike grimmaced

[Cherrie Palmer]

thank you :) I thought I fixed that. I hate having this as one long story it is hard to manage.

[Kent Rawski]

Crazy how much you've improved I have to read this from start to finish again a lot of time invested going to publish?

[Cherrie Palmer]

maybe if I can tweak it a little more.

[Robert Trakofler]

You write story with with a prose voice and it is a distinct one. Your inner dialogue is so natural in its flow and (I guess it is from reading all of your poetry the familiar rings) but it is as if your story voice is also your poetic one. As I have told you before I love a good Ghost story it really does bring the kid out of me:) the nightmare is very familiar to me of a recurring one i used to have that i wrote about a while ago but it was a giant bird that pecked at me reading my thoughts it would tear a piece of me if i thought negative thoughts about the bird:) Your weave and story line are wonderful and as you already know I like your writing voice and you have a way with the macabre. Its hard to believe this is the same writer when you write for your grand kids:)

[Cherrie Palmer]

I like the scary twist of a ghost story marked somewhere in the middle. Scary but not too scary.

[Kent Rawski]

fine finish but you don't seem to influence us that shes gonna commit suicide or do you? either way her goose is cooked I like this story even more so because I got to see your writing process thanks cherrie

[Cherrie Palmer]

I thought I would let the reader decide on the suicide.
To hokie or does that work?

[Cherrie Palmer]

Lots of time I'll put something down to hold the idea even though I know I'm going to change it. Then I just keep blending till I'm happy with the flow. Sometimes I'll cut the piece out altogether. It becomes something I know about the story that no one else knows.

[Shep]

you have always surprised me with a good story and just like that this one was a head spinner. great character interaction and great detail. love the mystery on how to put all together. well done

[Cherrie Palmer]

I can never plot this style of story, I have to let it play out in my head.
I almost always start in the middle of action. So I love the beginning's surreal opening. I'm not completely sure it blends together.

[Kent Rawski]

Omg that's a brutal homecoming reminiscent of Carrie this turned macabre on a dime riveting!! Thanks for the read of this episode, you could kind of see this thing building but then it exploded! Amazing story it flows so well your details in weaving this story. I think this comes naturally to you confused on one thing last 2 headings are The Ravens and next the Raven. Do you have 1 more episode in this? And you should be very satisfied how this came out

[Cherrie Palmer]

in truth I am more of a 'Arsenic and Old Lace' fan, but Sandy is very unhappy. The dead always are. I do have one last episode :)
I like to try and tell a scary story, really not my forte (I don't think I have a forte), but every now and then I take it for a walk.

[Aurora]

A descriptive and fetching tale of fall. Love it.

[Cherrie Palmer]

thank you very much Aurora

[Kent Rawski]

Your editing of your story not only solves typos it renews refreshens the. story line and plot I had said you could polish a story another way of saying it might be you clean up nice , improved nicely

[Cherrie Palmer]

You're a real trooper, thank you

[Cherrie Palmer]

I finished the section called the Raven. I think I can close with one more.

[Kent Rawski]

Go for it girl!

[Sethnicity]

That was an interesting read. Nice and meandering but not scatterbrained more like riding on a horse-drawn wagon through a small town at the most opportune time. I like the subheadings for each scene It guided me through the story easily and the Liar was the best segment! As soon as I finished that section I almost SCREAMED LIAR!

[Cherrie Palmer]

Hey there long time no see :) thank you for wading through this. I really need to put this in the book format for ease of reading. I know eventually I will.
I kinda like the little heading too. A little hint to each wave.
I think I have the story set enough to transition to the haunting. I can't decide about the two women (the old friends). I'm learning toward a silly blood pack that kids do (blood sister/brother things we did around the 3rd grade) and bind them to the truth that way. I guess I'll be surprised alongside everyone else.
:)

[barleygirl]

I finish reading thinking: this story MUST be continued. Surely this is not the intended end. But I also have to say, I was very much looking forward to finding out who murdered Shawn. Your well-crafted suspense definitely draws the reader along with a dying urge to untangle this story. You seem to lead us to think Jo is being clumsy & not covering up well, so it must be her . . . but I don't think it is Jo becuz you seem to be trying too hard to make us think that it is Jo. But I also don't think it would be Sandy. In short, I'm confounded & that's exactly how a reader should feel at this point in such a suspenseful tangle. This does feel rushed & a little sketchy, but you say you are still working on it, so I'll overlook that. All in all, the twists of this tale do feel compelling & interesting (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[Cherrie Palmer]

I do need to dress up a few areas, I'm still waiting forward right now,but I did want to see if it a sense of balance

[barleygirl]

I had this in my reading library, so I'd forgotten that I'd read a previous, much shorter version. As I read, I felt this was the first time I'd ever seen the entire story here. This is one of the best stories of yours I've read so far. There was uncertainty as to what happened & you use dialogue & behavior very convincingly to keep the reader suspecting but also guessing. Actions & conversations felt very believable in every case. The opening description of the picnic quilt setting was exquisitely lyrical & then the impending murder investigation turned that first impression on its head. Also the crazy-cat-b***h-feathers scene with Jo toward the end -- that is so dynamic & creepy & believable! I'm so glad I put this in my reading library so I would come back to it after you extended the storyline (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[Cherrie Palmer]

Ya know Margie, I wanted this story to unravel, slowly. I like starting a story in the mist of conflict but I really wanted this to float across the readers mind, even as the murder occurred, I wanted the poetic flow to continue.
I worked very hard to not reveal who the killer has, and then to conceal who Jo was until the first ma'am was tossed out. I'm still tinkering with it, adding some sprinkles to the cake here and there.
(I cant help myself) Just a tinker of words I guess.
I really hoped the three elements messed together; murder, haunting, the police. I am really glad you liked the crazy cat scene, I wanted it to have that bad dream vs. haunting (without feeling like it was just added to wake the reader).

[barleygirl]

To me, the entire flow felt like an organic part of the storyline . . .

[Cherrie Palmer]

Well I'm happy to hear that. On a personal level i liked the flow (but writers can't be trusted to judge our own work).

[Neville]

Still hauntingly beautiful but chilling too.. the makings of an epic, he hopes.... N

[Coyote Poetry]

I loved the story dear Cherrie. The characters in the story came alive for the reader. You create life, situation and possibilities. A outstanding introduction.
Coyote