Short stories, Flash fiction, and Novel Excerpts

Posts Tagged ‘Crime’

Male-order Bride

In Writing on December 11, 2009 at 1:32 am

It looked like Christmas exploded and took an elf with it.  Bubble wrap, shredded paper, and cardboard littered a room liberally splattered with blood.

“Sergeant?  Over here,” one of the tech-monkeys called to me.

Pulling latex gloves over my rough calloused hands, I weaved my way over to the circus.  Flash bulbs flickered, swabs dabbed, and men with tweezers plucked; what else could I call people who made a carnival out of death.

I stopped short.  This was the wrong way to go about the investigation.  She was my EX-wife.  Be objective and do your job, I told myself sternly.  Not that I ever listened.

I continued down the hall, passing my mother’s china cabinet that I lost in the divorce.  Skirting the trail of blood down the middle of the hall, I stopped at the door of the last bedroom.  The smeared trail ended in the center of the king-sized bed.  But not the blood.  Strings of red painted the walls and ceiling.  Stalactites of dried blood fell leaving crimson streamers to follow at their leisure.

I studied what was left of the man on the bed.  “We got an ID on this guy yet?”  I asked.

“Not a guy anymore,” the tech laughed.  “But so far nothings come up boss,” he said.

“Who did the dust-up?”  I asked.

“Don’t know, why?”  He hedged.

“You see any fingertips on this guy?  Looks like they were cut off.  We need an ID, do his toes and get back to me,” I told him and walked away.  The tech’s muttered  comments questioning my ancestry didn’t bother me, this time.

I’d only been to the house once, but I remembered the lay-out.  Reaching over I snagged a different tech, a pretty little brunette, and asked, “Where any other bodies found?”

“Sir?”  She asked in an annoyingly nasal voice.

I asked her again, cringing on the inside, and she told me to look in the basement.  Left, right, right again and I was there, with another body.

“Charles Dammar, 48, 6’3”, 185lbs.,” Suez told me without preamble.  “You knew him Calloway?”

“Not really, only met him the once,” I said shaking my head.  “Seemed like a nice enough guy; told’em he had guts.  Sherri doted on him though, blinded him to her real nature.”

Suez walked around the corpse hanging from the rafters taking notes.  “You think he had help getting up there?”

“I don’t know,” I said.  “Any sign of a struggle or another body?”

“No, that’s what’s fishy about this whole set up.  Ya see…”

I didn’t let her finish as I ran back up the stairs and through the house.  Crashing through the back door I tripped over some over-zealous pathology clinicians.  If I was a little younger I would have sprung right up, but now I just clawed my way to my feet.  After a few stumbling feet I got enough momentum going to keep me on my feet and entered the back shed.

My hand shook as I hesitated to lift the lid of the deep freezer.  No matter how much I’d convinced myself that I hated the bag, I didn’t want to see her dead.  Both hands trembling the lid resisted my interference then gave way suddenly.

There she was, all neatly packaged up.  Her bloodless face staring through me.

Suez ran through the door, “What the hell are you—“  She cut herself off as she noticed what was in the freezer.  “I’ll be damned!  It makes a gruesome kinda sense now.  Here,” she shoved a cardboard square at me. 

There was writing on it:

I took what she did to my heart and did for her.  Now she’s like her own heart.  The Bitch!

I turned the note over and saw the label:

Заниматься проституцией

65 ulitsa Marata,

103009 St. Petersburg

Russian Federation

“What the hell is this?”  I demanded of Suez. 

She turned from her inspection of the icebox and said, “It seems that Sherri had been in the market for a new husband.  Only she failed to let the old one know he was being replaced.  That,” she pointed at the cardboard in my hand.  “Is a company that sells Male-order Husbands.”

“Don’t you mean Mail-order?”  I asked

“Did you see how big he was?  No, I’ll stand by my man,” she defended.

“You’re odd, you do know that don’t you?”  I inquired.  Suez turned away huffing and returned to her inspection.  I left the property and headed back to the station to write-up my report of the Male-Order Bride.

By: Ben Pollard



In Writing on December 11, 2009 at 12:57 am

“I Love you I Love you I Love you,” Jeff said quickly.

I touched his bruised and battered face, “What’s going on?”

“Hush, I don’t have much time,” he said ending with a tender kiss.

I tried to speak, but he laid a gentle finger across my lips.

“I have to go away for a while. If anyone asks say we’re divorced, I left you, I’m missing, anything! But that’s your story, stick to it, and stay alive. I’ll see you again,” he said gripping my shoulders his intensity frightening.

He put his arms around me and pulled me to his blood soaked shirt. I wept into his shoulder hugging him tight.

He whispered into my ear, “When the sun warms your face, it’s me, smiling because you’re happy. When the wind plays with your hair, it’s me, reminding you of the joy that is life.”

Guards appear, shocking in their sudden appearance. Each guard holding him by an arm, they haul him roughly away.

************************************************** ********

“What did he say to you?” Agent Casto asked again.

“I already told you! He said he had to go away! I don’t know why,” I cried huddling in on myself.

He nodded, as he had for the last two hours, “So you’ve said.” He tapped the table looking at me, through me. “Alright, what did he whisper to you?”

What my husband said to me wasn’t any of his business. Jeff’s words, like his love, were mine! But I had to tell him something, especially after they’d shown me the video of us together. They probably had audio as well.

“He told me that he loved me. Now please, tell me what’s going on! You take me from my home, blindfold me, question me about my husband, show him to me, and then take him away. What is this all about?” I didn’t care how demanding I sounded.

Getting up from his chair, studying my tear streaked face, my limp stringy hair, he said, “Your husband did some terrible things. He’s charged with Treason.”

No!” My chair scraping across the floor as I stood, I refuted the absurd charge.

Agent Casto, turning from the door, said, “You’re free to go Miss.”

I find that the harder I work, the more luck I seem to have. –Thomas Jefferson