Loss of Morality

Amongst the daily lives of stressed individuals, Tray Horn has hardly had a speck less than glorious and exotic. Charity work is his main concern, especially to a few selected humans who desire things as much as him. Tray’s generosity hits a few of the town folk’s pockets, giving them the things they have always wanted such as money, recognition, and even death to others. Elizabeth Murning, Johnathon Aguilera, Rebecca Conerly, Lila Donning, and Michelle Williams are a few of the lucky winners, but were they lucky after all?

A lovely invite to his private island, a fear of being hunted, it only takes a few days before they realize Tray Horn’s lovely donations are more than what meets the eye…

Chapter ONE

1

Morality was missing.

Not missing as in it could be found once again, but as in completely lost, like losing a wedding ring in a sewer drain, or even accidently murdering your best friend in a car accident. It was something that just simply could not be found in certain individuals or even the general society if one looked around enough.

Morality was missing, and there was nothing one could do about it.

Elizabeth Murning gripped the steering wheel of her car so hard her knuckles turned white. The fake acrylic of her nails was digging into her palm. Her teeth clenched. She was too impatient to understand three people in car wreck four cars up was battling life or death. The only thing on her mind was how she was going to get to work on time with a backed-up schedule. Or even how she was going to explain it to her nosey coworkers who were too busy with the latest gossip than working at their law firm.

Just five minutes. Her voice rang through her thoughts, clean and crisp like the clothes she wore. Her finger tapped with the hum of her car. So impatient… Her job was going to officially start without her, and that never happened. Her perfect record was being tarnished, and for what? A shitty driver and two other shitty drivers?

Finally, the other cars in front of her began to move, and just like that, she was on her way again. Glancing at her watch she had calculated she had wasted a good fourteen minutes in traffic. Nothing too much, but someone with a busy schedule such as Elizabeth had, fourteen minutes might have been fourteen years.

Her car started up again, and hurriedly went through the rest of town. Elizabeth peeked through her rear-view mirror one last time, taking in the damage that had occurred between two small cars and a pick-up. The smallest of the bunch, a mini-smart car that looked to only fit a torso, was beaten in like a soda can—crushed. Elizabeth could see where the car swerved, tracks burned in the tar. Red marked on the hood of the truck, and a shattered window to go along with it.

So, a shitty driver who didn’t wear a seatbelt.

Her mind refocused on the road in front of her. She did not want to be the next car wreck that morning—heaven only knows what that would do to her schedule.

2

Rebecca Conerly punched in the last remaining numbers she had and called it a day. Sipping her fresh coffee from the gas station, she propped her bare feet on the desk, and switched her browser from work, to cat videos found on the internet. It wasn’t even eight a.m. but having night-shifts at the Police station only lead to two things, going home just to eat breakfast and go to bed, or if you were Rebecca, staying for an extra few hours for the morning shift by watching videos off YouTube.

As she took in one more sip of coffee just as a cat failed to jump over a couch, a knock ran on her office door. Without glancing up, she bellowed, “Come in.”

The man that had walked in was a little over six feet, a briefcase in hand, suit fixed to a t. Rebecca glanced over the lip of her mug, placed her feet back down on the floor, and gave a smile.

“Good Afternoon Mr. Aguilera, I didn’t expect you so soon.” She chirped, placing her cup on a stack of newspapers and old filings. The young apprentice for the District Attorney was finally in Rebecca’s office. The graduate with a high list of honors, a sure bookcase of medal and trophies, and the pride of Hispanic lineage showing through his accent. Johnathon Aguilera, the beacon of prime achievements, was standing in her office once more.

“Officer Conerly,” He took the seat in front, placing his briefcase at his feet diligently. “I have heard you harbor a Miss Jasmine Creek in your cells?”

Rebecca tried desperately not to roll her eyes. “Yes, we do. Tried burning down a library in protest, it’s like Fahrenheit 51, but a lot less interesting. Do you have any idea what she’ll do again if you take her out?”

Johnathon shook his head, knowing fully-well Jasmine was a hopeless delinquent who would one day get herself in prison permanently. Just a fifteen-year old girl who had a life of hardships, but sometimes that didn’t mean you had to go burn down two buildings and attempt a third. If anything, she was going to go back to the little Juvenile Delinquent Facility just west of the town, and the moment she got out, Jasmine was going to go back to her old ways.

“Yes, but until she commits something like murder or she’s eighteen, she can’t be put into anything more series than what we’ve been doing.”

“You don’t call attempted burning of a building full of children and adults serious?”

“She only burned two old warehouses and attempted at a library. The fire didn’t start, but I’m sure we can get her committed as an adult if we investigate it more. Maybe a few months in jail because of her age, but that’s possible the worst that might happen.”

Rebecca took one more sip of her coffee, completely bewildered Jasmine was almost free once more. If Johnathon or Elizabeth couldn’t successfully trial her as an adult, all the judge would do would send Jasmine away, and give or take, a few more years before they repeat anything. Luckily before then, she’ll hurry up and turn eighteen so they can do justice.

“So, what are you doing this time?” Rebecca asked.

“We’ll, of course, be looking into the case a little further. If we’re lucky, we might find something that will convict her, but we can’t guarantee anything.” Johnathon picked at the wrinkle on his knee, smoothing it out in his thousand dollar suit he prized so much. “We don’t have actual witnesses or anything to convict her. It’s all he-said-she-said, they’re not going to even file anything if it comes down to it.”

“But she has a record.”

“Lots of people have records. That doesn’t mean they continue with their old ways.”

Rebecca slammed her cup on the table, “you’re not actually saying she didn’t do it, are you? Or is that just my tired ears hearing different.”

“Under the city’s attorney, we’re looking for charges. Until then we don’t have anything solid. We’re going to have to live with it until something comes up.”

Rebecca sighed.

“Besides,” Johnathon grabbed his suitcase and prepared himself to leave, “Jasmine’s usual lawyer is here, I don’t think you could keep her any longer unless you had her covered in someone’s blood.”

3

Located west of the city, fifteen people hurried inside the Juvenile Correction facility. Teens ranging from 14-19, all in for various crimes such as arson, frequent-aggression, and most even going as far as drugs. Lila Donning took a bite of her bacon and stared at the wall, white and emotionless, just as she thought she felt. Being sixteen and incarcerated in a child’s prison did nothing more than just realize how much she fucked up, but also show how much of a bitch she was a year ago.

Wishing for a cigarette, the olive-toned girl picked up her cup of water and drowned her thoughts in the chlorine-tasting tap water the cooks had given her. Two more years and she could leave. Two more years of tasteless food, dirty water, and perverted officers giving her dirty looks. Just a little more longer, and she would be able to go back home with her mother.

“Donning!” Officer Meara, the butch woman who could have made a UFC fighter piss his pants, called out to Lila who was still munching on the squishy fat of her bacon. “Breakfast time’s over, give me your tray.”

Lila did as she was told and slid her bland tray of half-eaten food through the hole in the door. The loud stomps of Officer Meara did nothing to scare her, but it sure did make her realize she needed to hurry up and be good. If she stayed in isolation she would have further time added, and that was not what she needed.

Aggression was her enemy in the tiny cell at Northwest’s Juvenile Facility, but she knew it would only lead to further detention. Pulling her hair into a high bun, her washed out red streaks still maintained a raunchy orange, and her roots badly showing, she crawled back onto the tiny cot. Curling herself into a ball and daydreaming was the only choice she had. Just picturing the outside world, constantly remembering all she had before then.

Maybe stabbing that man was not a good idea, call it self-defense, call it murder, she still got him right in the neck with a screwdriver that day. Maybe it also wasn’t the best idea to do it right in front of his wife and child.

Maybe she shouldn’t have had witnesses.

Still, Lila was in for another two years, and she couldn’t change that.

4

Michelle Williams dusted her hands off her pants before placing on latex gloves. Her fingers barely grazed the body bag, lightly pulled, and revealed a scene she had seen only three times in her life.

Poor man, only a few years older than her, shot in the head from a .38 caliber pistol. Not much of a wound, but it sure did kill him quickly. How long was he dead before they had arrived? From what Michelle could tell, a little less than four hours ago he was still kicking and breathing.

If there wasn’t a bullet hole in his head, she may have figured he was still sleeping. The stained pillow still coated in red said otherwise.

“Wife said she was sleeping next to him when it happened,” her partner took a grizzly stare over her shoulder and continued. “We put her in custody, no way in hell she slept through that.”

As she pulled off her gloves, Michelle turned back to John Panthers, the only detective in the Northwest state of Oregon that could handle Michelle’s bossy attitude and knack for undermining authority. Sometimes she could hear him sighing behind her back, or even whispering under his breath as she did her job silently. However, it was the better qualities of John, everything else about him usually smelt like light alcohol and a state of depression.

“Well, that case was fairly easy, what about their little girl?” Michelle asked, remembering herself passing the bedroom of flowers and pink, little girl dresses on the floor, a few dolls hidden in every corner of the house. Obvious evidence of a child. She wondered if they had only one, they’d be lucky if they only had to deal with a single child.

“She’s with her grandmother, deputies called her as soon as they arrived.” John’s fingers ran through his brown hair, obviously bedhead from his early morning call. “Such a shame. How would it feel to have your own mother kill your father?”

Michelle shrugged, tossed her blood-stained gloves in the crime-cleaners bags, and wondered off back to her car.

What a crazy morning it has been, a bloody car wreck, a juvenile suspected of arson, and now a murder? Michelle didn’t know what else was in store, but if it was something big, she had better see it soon. The day was already full of wild stories and it barely hit eight o’clock.

5

Katherine Latcher sat in the back of the ambulance, completely lost, completely still. She held onto the blanket wrapped around her form, the scratchy texture barely grazing the small bruises and large cuts across her skin. Her fingers, battered from the shattered glass, were shaking as she stayed staring.

Paramedics attached rods and needles into her brother, who laid lifeless in the gurney in front of her. He was barely breathing from the looks of his chest, even the EMTs were surprised he had lasted if he has. He obviously was trying to live, but all Katherine could do was stare. Everything they could do for him in the ambulance was happening, connecting oxygen tanks, pumping adrenaline shots, slowing the bleeding. She was obviously in pain, but the pain her brother was experiencing was something else entirely.

As she peered down, Katherine could see her once pretty heel. The white color was now soaking in dried blood. She couldn’t tell if it was his or hers, but she didn’t want to know.

Before she had realized it, the ambulance was pulling into the emergency room, and everyone quickly poured out. From where she still sat, her brother covered by doctors and nurses, and pulled him into a ward. The only paramedic that wasn’t working helped Katherine out, took her to a bed, and sat her down alone.

She was in shock. Her only brother was dying in the other room while she came out nearly unscathed. Barely anything, the worst being a cut on her nose from the glass that had shattered.

“Ma’am,” one of the nurses touched Katherine’s shoulder, drawing her out of her dazed state. “The doctors are doing all they can for him, okay? Is there anything you need?” The male nurse had asked, but Katherine simply shook her head no. She didn’t care, not now anyway.

How had it happened?

They were driving, and the next they weren’t. The two drivers that had squished her smart car were nowhere to be seen. She knew for sure, the owner of the pick-up was no longer living, no one could live after that. His head had split open flying through the window—no seatbelt they figured. The other driver seemed fine, just dazed and drunk from an early morning bender. However, her and Christian Latcher were perfectly sober, perfectly okay, perfectly normal.

Why was he the one to be plummeted by the drunk?

“Ma’am,” the same nurse from before came back, holding a small plastic cup of water. “Here’s something to drink, it might cool you down from the shock.” Katherine gladly took it, drinking it as best as she could at the moment. “Your brother is in critical condition, but it’ll be another few hours before we get anything solid.”

Katherine took a sip.

“Is there anyone we could call? A mother, a father?”

Katherine shook her head no.