Tag: serial killer

Story Jots # 11 (b) – Red Door, Blue Cadillac, And A Murder

Here’s where this story began…CLICK HERE!

Friday was gone. Saturday was coming up with the sun, and Ryan had still not been asleep. His acute insomnia was expected after he travelled. Triggered by past traumas. Any variance in his life could bring on his curse of no bedtime, sometimes it’s a week before he feels any sign of tiredness. It’s three days into his house swap, one of those life variances that was suggested by his sister, Laura. She has been telling him forever how it would be a good idea for her brother to get away for an extended period of time. To see and to get to experience another part of the country. A difference in atmosphere could be exactly what Ryan needed. An opportunity to leave that place behind for a bit. It’s been long enough with those bad memories. It’s time to heal.

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Story Jots # 12 – Signal Red

I’m bitten…

I will become one of them any minute. It can’t end like this. I promised. That day he took them from me. That monster, Roșu. I called him Red. He was the first one and started all of this. I called him that because it was all I could see when I thought of him. And it was all he wanted. Nothing, but red. Red everywhere. To feed his parasitic reign. An eternal starvation for existence and undying life sustained by the veins of human prey. Prey fooled by his dark fluence of sultry words and reverie. Like it did when he stole my family. It was his bloody thirst that started this hunt. Started my journey to find and destroy him. But, now I need him. I must stay alive a little longer. I have to signal Red. For a choice. A choice my loving husband and dear daughter never had. If he gives me that choice, it could be my last chance.

to be continued…

The Red Journal – Emotional Handicap

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Need a recap? Please visit The Red/Black Journal Page

Saturday, 8:00 A.M.

Any second now Ethan would be pulling into the curb with his third degree primed and ready to go. This made Sarah’s head pound even harder as she stood outside her apartment building anxiously awaiting the barrage. It had been just over twenty minutes since she had returned home from Scott’s loft apartment. In that short time she had managed to grab a shower, put on some clean clothes, and throw some food down her throat. It was a piece of whole wheat toast that was not doing its intended job of settling her stomach. The more she thought about how the follow-up conversation would go after her brother-in-law’s stern text, the faster the tiny vein in the middle of her forehead would involuntarily throb. As the wince left her tired eyes, she spotted the Monte Carlo appearing from around the corner. Another throb. 

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Story Jots # 11 (a) – Red Door, Blue Cadillac

Well, we’re home. This is me. 

Hey, sweetie. You awake? 

Oh, right. Of course, you’re not. You had that last drink now, didn’t you? With a little something extra from me. I knew you couldn’t say no. None of you do. My looks are a curse, I swear. Anyway, let’s go in… shall we? 

A man lifts a young woman out of his blue Cadillac and shuffles her half-limp body along with the weight of his own toward the front door of his house. She is wearing a short black dress that sparkled each time a streetlight caught her sequins a certain way. She was semi-conscious. She had no shoes, no purse, no phone, and because her makeup had long melted away you could tell she was half the age of the man she was now draped over. With her petite frame shifting over his shoulder with a step, her head drifts next to his. The man smiles and whispers something into her exposed ear.  

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The Red Journal – Shots in the Dark

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

Need a recap? Please visit The Red/Black Journal Page

Friday, 11:50 P.M.

Officer Dusty Salad had been given strict orders to bring Detective Sarah Wilson directly home after the Burnside Country Club investigation wrapped up. No stops, no detours, just straight to 126 Maple Road. The address of Detective Ethan Frost and his wife Susan. Only, Officer Salad was not following the orders he was given. He was not on his way to 126 Maple Road. No instead, instead, he was driving his police cruiser in the opposite direction. And, in two short minutes, with the key party to those orders in the backseat, would be pulling up to Lochlan’s Pub. A bar located a few short blocks from the precinct that catered mostly to cops. It was the perfect place to blow off a little law enforcement steam and a place Sarah was a regular.

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