Guardian
Shared on Sat, 01/10/2009 - 09:45Yes, I procrastinated, but who can blame me. It was Christmas -- I had shopping to do, inventory at work, cooking, cleaning, decorating, presents to wrap, presents to open, games to play. But, I finally got around doing my next assignment. Besides a ton of reading, I had to write a short scene involving my main charachter. Easy, huh? Normally I'd say yes, but considering I had just come up with the basics of the plot line so far, coming up with a scene proved to be a little difficult. Hell, I don't even really know these characters yet. I really expected to do a little more development first. Oh, well. I managed to get it done. The scene can take place anywhere in the story, but I just started at the beginning. I had a word count I couldn't go over, so it's a little watered down as far as details. The exercise is more interested in the character's voice, so the final product that will be the real beginning of the story will be a little more explicit. So, here it is, in all its bland glory:
Detective John Dancy stood in the disarranged mobile home staring at the mutilated body lying amidst the mess. It was difficult to tell how much of the chaos was a result of the struggle and how much was just poor housekeeping. He did know the mingling odors of blood and dog piss were giving him a headache, though.
Shit, Dancy thought and pushed his cowboy hat up off his brow. He massaged his temples with his thumb and middle finger in an attempt to clear his head. This shit's supposed to happen down in Dallas for Christ's sake, not way the hell up here.
"What do you got, Bobby?" Dancy asked a deputy as he walked through the front door. "Drug related?"
"Doesn't look that way, Dancy. There's no sign of a meth lab anywhere."
"Who is he?"
"David Patterson. He works at Jiffy-Lube up in Paris, single, divorced from his ex for fifteen years now. No criminal history. He doesn't drink, doesn't smoke. He's just a regular Joe."
"Yeah," Dancy said with a sigh, and reached for his cigarettes in his breast pocket. "Let's step outside, Bobby. I need some fresh air."
He crept down the rickety stairs then lit his cigarette, keeping his back to the north wind blowing across the field.
"Larry's on his way," Bobby said. "He ought to be here any minute now. Maybe he'll find something in his examination."
"Maybe," Dancy said. He took a long drag from his cigarette and glanced around at all the junk littering the yard -- lawn mowers, edgers, trimmers, chainsaws, a couple refrigerators, and a washing machine. Patterson either kept them around for spare parts, or he fixed them up to sell them for a little extra cash. Either way, it looked as though, Mr. David Patterson was just another poor country boy struggling to get by. What the hell did he do to deserve having his guts pulled out of him?
Maybe he owes someone a chunk of money and they got tired of waiting on him to pay up, Dancy thought. Possibly, but not likely. Loan sharking wasn't exactly running rampant in the rural reaches of north Texas.
"Do you think it could be some sort of cult killing?" Bobby asked.
"A cult?" Dancy cocked his eyebrow at the deputy. "In Fannin County? Don't you think that's a little far-fetched?"
"I bet that's what the guys down in Waco said when they first heard about David Koresh," Bobby said.
"Completely different situation. You show me a compound full of nut jobs and I'll entertain the idea. Until then, let's just stick to the facts."
"Like the fact that guy in there is lying in a circle made from his own guts?" Bobby asked with a smirk.
Dancy rolled his eyes and sighed.
"Hey, I'm just saying."
Dancy's cell rang, and he had a bad feeling he knew who was calling. He pulled it off his belt and checked the number.
"Shit," he breathed. He flipped the phone open and said, "Dancy."
"Something's happened… hasn't it?"
"Goddamn it, Rebecca, I don't want you involved in this one," Dancy said, frowning.
"It's too late, John. You knew I was involved the moment you saw my name on the caller ID. Where are you?"
He hesitated, but only for a moment. There wasn't any use arguing with her. Besides, he might really be able to use her help on this one.
"Dial, off County Road 27220," he said, then gave her directions.
"I'll be there in about thirty to forty-five minutes," she said.
Dancy snapped the phone closed and slid it back into the case clipped to his belt.
"Get on the horn with Larry and tell him to get his ass in gear," Dancy told Bobby. "I want that fucking body packed up by the time she gets here."
Dancy knew Rebecca would want to know how the victim was found, though. Then I'll describe it to her, he thought. And if that wasn't good enough, he'd show her the pictures, but there was no way in hell he was going to let her walk in there and see that poor guy lying in a circle crafted by his own entrails.
"What do you think Sheriff Pike will say about her being out here on this one?"
"You can't stop the press, Bobby," Dancy said. "Besides, I think he's learned by now that she won't print anything that I ask her not to."
Rebecca's job as a reporter was just a cover anyway. Pike might not be able to stop the press, but he sure as hell could put a stop to allowing Dancy's personal psychic consultant on crime scenes -- even if she was the widow of a decorated officer.
Dancy dropped his cigarette and crushed it beneath the heal of his boot then mounted the shaky stairs to get back inside and begin the arduous task of searching for clues. Dancy had a bad feeling there wasn't going to be anything easy about this case.
- Guardian's blog
- Log in or register to post comments
Comments
Submitted by dkhodz on Sat, 01/10/2009 - 10:40
Submitted by J-Cat on Sat, 01/10/2009 - 11:00
Submitted by Guardian on Sat, 01/10/2009 - 15:53