Location Tw0 – A Novel Excerpt

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Roland sat up in bed, not sure what had awakened him.  Had it been a noise or just a sense that something was wrong?  He tried chiding himself, but his heart continued to pound, and his dog whimpered in her sleep.  It was quiet enough in his bedroom to hear the whirring of his laptop on the desk across from his bed.  But the quiet didn’t reassure him; it actually made him more skittish.  Swearing to himself, Roland left the bed and went to his closet to retrieve the 9mm.

His mouth went dry when he discovered the empty box; it was missing.  The gun was missing – not his issued weapon.  That one was locked in its case beside his bed.  This was the unregistered gun he had confiscated from a crime scene years before.  He thought he might need it someday.  And now it was gone.

She had to be in the house somewhere.  The IP address of her last email had been one of his neighbors’.  That was what had sent him riding home on two wheels two days before with sirens blaring until he reached his own block.  He could feel his ear drums reverberating in time to the thudding of his heart.  The hair on his arms raised as a bead of sweat rolled from him armpit to his elbow.  She hadn’t appeared, however, so Roland had finally allowed himself to sleep.

“Tsk, tsk officer.  Doesn’t this gun belong in an evidence locker somewhere?”

He turned, and though he had seen her picture numerous times, she was unrecognizable.  The laughing brown eyes that had stared from snapshots were now icy steel.  Her hair was dark instead of the strawberry blond he was used to seeing.  And she was thinner, much thinner.  He watched her hands around the gun for some hint of shaking; shaking would indicate uncertainty.  Her hands were as steady as his had been trained to be.

“I thought it might come in handy one day,” he replied, unmoving.

“And so it has.  Did you bend the rules and beat the drug addict or rapist you confiscated this from?”

Roland nodded quietly.  “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why not?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.  “He did do something wrong.  That means it was okay for you to do something wrong, correct?”

“Jane…”

“Shut up.  Nobody wants to hear you moralize.  Turn around.”

He didn’t move except to move his gaze from her hands to her face.

“Turn around, officer, and put your hands behind your head.”  She cocked the gun.  “Or don’t.”

Roland shakily turned and did as she asked, bile burning his tongue.

“Good boy.  Don’t worry. I know you were blinded by your own hurt, so I’ll be quicker.  And you don’t claim to believe in God, so I cannot hold you accountable for breaking the very morals you claim to believe.  Besides, you are not very smart.  You probably didn’t have a choice.”

Roland flinched at that last part.  He heard her footsteps, and then the end of the barrel pressed coldly against the base of his neck, where his brain stem felt as if it was pulsing.  “Please…..” He heard himself whisper.

“I’m not sorry,” she whispered back.

A loud, smoky explosion filled the room.  Then it was silent.

 

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Cover Me

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You fill my dizzy head with dreams of passion till I’m weak
The heat in my cheeks rising every time i hear you speak
And when I hear sweet music thoughts of you just make me sway
And something in me smiles at hearing from you e ery day

With ever new suggestion I can feel the flame get higher
The subtle, smoldering embers burst into a raging fire
And as I feel my self control is slipping inch my inch
I revel in the blinding heat that only you can quench

So please run down my body, soaking all into my skin
Drown me in your passion, then submerge me once again
Every touch and every kiss just makes me want you more
Cover me and give me wings and make my body soar

Yeah it’s late, but I can’t seem to settle into bed
Thoughts of you and me and longing running through my head
And though I try to soothe the ache I know that just won’t do
Cause nothing I could ever try to soothe comes close to you

So please run down my body, soaking all into my skin
Drown me in your passion, then submerge me once again
Every touch and every kiss just makes me want you more
Cover me and give me wings and make my body soar

Now we both work hard and it’s hard to find the time

To touch each other so I wrote this little rhyme

Just to let you know that I’m ready when you call me and say

Please run down my body, soaking all into my skin
Drown me in your passion, then submerge me once again
Every touch and every kiss just makes me want you more
Cover me and give me wings and make my body soar

Anatomy of a Thunderstorm – A Metaphor

Heavy, humid air

The weight of the impending storm

Pressing down, drawing out

The sky yearning for relief

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Darkened, thick clouds approaching

Rich and deep, with the promise of rain

Rumbling in anticipation

Bearing down in preparation

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And then…

The first flash

The initial burst that opens the sky

Electrifying the laden atmosphere

And lighting the way for what is to come

Fork lightning striking down during summer storm

Drop

By tentative drop

Sliding slowly down a window

Hesitant at first, each patter creating ripples

That flow into one another

Gradually increasing in tempo

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Until the comforting steadiness

Begins to pick up speed

Constant, bouncing off each surface

Soaking the thirsty ground with increasing intensity

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Until the lightning

Banging thunder

Pounding rain

Assault the senses and threaten to flood over

Pressing on and on, louder and louder, stronger and stronger

With blinding flashes and earth-shaking explosions

Overwhelming the earth

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And then…the light

Breathing through the receding rain

Edging away the softening thunder

Quieting the rioting sky

Slowly, softly, gently

Peace

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That Kind of Girl

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That Kind of Girl

 

She’s the kind of girl

Who loves the color pink and twirly skirts, even if it’s cliché

Who Has a set of hot curlers in the cabinet under her bathroom sink…and still uses them from time to time

Who is waiting for hats to come back into fashion

Who still looks around when she puts on white after Labor Day to see if her mom is watching

 

She’s the kind of girl

Who likes her jeans comfy, faded, and sitting just below the waist

Who has too many beloved t-shirts, but she can’t bear to get rid of them

Who takes off her shoes the minute she gets home

Who likes her Auburn sweatshirts too big

 

She’s the kind of girl

Whose favorite book is Jane Eyre

Who knows when Mozart was born and died

Who wishes for a chance to use her antique teacup collection

Who would love to dress up and see a musical on Broadway

 

She’s the kind of girl

Who still cries every time she watched Steele Magnolias

Who forgets everything her voice teacher taught her when she belts Carrie Underwood

Whose grammar gets worse the more riled up she gets

Who likes calloused hands better than smooth ones

 

She’s the kind of girl

Who practices ladylike grace in public

But who likes to be loud with her friends

Who loves a good long hug when she sees an old friend

And who won’t tell who she is when the doors close…because most people probably wouldn’t believe her (smile)

 

Yeah…. she that kind of girl