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Slow Poison - Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fourteen Cheltenham. January 14th Since Monday the snow had been falling monotonously, quietly. Blowing in great drifts, filling up the dips between the hedgerows, the wind levelling out the peaks into one smooth layer of white sugar frosting. Around the hollow of the town, tree tips peeked through the hilltop blanketing, like saplings searching for spring. But spring was nowhere in sight as the snow floated down relentlessly from the low grey cloud. In the valley the steady stream of traffic and scuffing children had turned the unique crystals that lay briefly in the streets into a leaden slush that stuck to everything, leaving hardy stains on gloves and shoes and woollen socks.
By David Philip Ireland6 years ago in Criminal
Finders Keepers
It was dark and damp, Sarah noted as she slowly regained consciousness and opened her eyes. Her mind trying to establish where she was and how she got here. Her attention immediately diverting to her head that was searing with pain. Her fingers fumbled to the source of the agony, the clammy and moist feeling of her skin under her fingertips questionable.
By Brooke Hobson-Jones6 years ago in Criminal
Brother Pulled The Trigger.
Daniel Gibbs is sweating. It makes it hard to keep a firm grip on the snub-nosed revolver that he bought recently for a cheap price. So he switches it from his clammy right hand to his clammy left hand, all the while pointing it at Gemma. Her soft, thin and pale hands, not pale anymore, are tied to a wooden chair.
By Rajaroy Joseph Alphonse6 years ago in Criminal
For your next date with a serial killer
As far as dates go, I’d say that my last one almost bored me to death. I wore my favorite yellow sundress with a draping lacy neckline — sexy, but sweet — perfect for my date on a summer’s day in San Francisco. And we all know a summer’s day here was truly a day drenching with fog.
By Jessie Wright6 years ago in Criminal
Startling Discoveries at the Basteel Mansion
Talia twisted the key from one side to the next, but the lock wouldn't budge. "What the hell?" she grumbled. In her hand was a massive ring of keys from her uncle's attorney. She was sure this was the right key. She turned the key again, but the lock wouldn't move. As Talia dug through the massive keyring once more, she noticed an elderly woman peering through the window of a run-down building across the street. "Nosey old bat," she muttered as she continued looking for a key to open the door.
By Rose Fields6 years ago in Criminal
Live to Kill Another Day
While I imagine policing is much different than it appears on television, the interrogation room is exactly as one would expect. Drab white walls, a large one-way mirror, and a simple table-and-four-chair set up in the center of the room. An analog clock, which reads 10:03 p.m., makes the only sound in the room as it ticks forward slowly. I sit opposite the one-way mirror, finding it hard to stop staring at it. My lawyer, Davis Elm, sits next to me, a stark contrast to my anxious, knee bouncing demeanor. He sits straight backed, expensive suit without a wrinkle at this late hour, confidence pouring from his pores.
By Adrienne Rome6 years ago in Criminal
Sandra's Secret
Sandra’s Secret Sandra entered the bookstore, dragging a leg. The bell door jingled, leaving an echo that reminded of the merry-go-round of her childhood when she was going with Andra, her twin sister, to the State Fair. She smiled when greeted by the girl behind the counter and walked stumbling to the room in the back, the one with antiques.
By Cristian Carstoiu6 years ago in Criminal
Number Eighteen
"Hawaii?!" Kathryn said in a half yell. Her hands cupped her latte on either side. Steam rose from the hot drink into the cool autumn air and curled around her face, framing eyes that seemed like they might leap out of her head onto the table below. "Oh Kins, that's amazing! And they're paying for the whole thing? Oh, you're going to have such a great time I'm sure of it."
By Patrick Lee Derry6 years ago in Criminal
The Plan
The Plan Rémy saw the rather large package stuck halfway into the mailbox. He tried to extract it, but the outer brown paper was ripped. He pressed the contents slightly and felt rigidity. He noticed there was no return address. Only his name and address, written by hand. By hand? That’s odd, he thought, before realizing that in fact, he knew the handwriting.
By Dominic Cerga6 years ago in Criminal
The Driver
Bill was not massively against the idea of dying. I mean, it’s not the best thing that can happen on a Thursday morning, but it’s not the most hideous idea in the world. As an atheist, he always thought the idea sounded kind of peaceful, you know? No more nagging mothers, no more accidentally touching something icky when you’re washing the dishes, no more walking into the changing rooms of the clothing store you work out at the end of the day to find out that another goddamn person seems to have mixed up the goddamn changing rooms and the goddamn toilets.
By Abby Probyn6 years ago in Criminal
