Saturday, February 26, 2011

Black Out Part Two

Not to mention that the person who had killed her had virtually painted the walls with the blood. Some of it looked to be spatter patterns. Some of it was smudged hand prints from a very violent struggle. The more she thought about it the more she thought that she should just skip a trial and ask them to put her down as soon as possible.

To her the death penalty coming as quickly as it could come would be better than rotting in jail for years to come. She knew that she should call her family and tell them. Or at least her parents. When ever she tried to think about how she would tell them it just sounded so ridiculous. Mom, Dad, I have something to tell you. Apparently I've blacked out twice in the last two days and killed at least one person, that they can prove any way.

The first time I just woke up in a bed covered in blood that wasn't mine. They can't prove anything with that one. This second one, well it’s a dozy. See I blacked out again and when I woke up there was a dead lady cop in my bath tub. Did I mention that she was one of the cops that had talked to me the first time? So how are you guys doing? Other than the dead cop in my bath tub I'm doing fine.

That just wouldn't go over well with her well to do parents. They were pillars in the community and had actually completely disowned her older brother for being a gay musician. The fact that he was a tree hugging vegetarian was a big enough embarrassment to her parents. His views on politics appalled them and his long hair was more than they could handle. Add the fact that he played guitar in a band with a bunch of dread locked hippies that always smelled of tea tree oil and patchouli had been the breaking point.

So you can imagine how they reacted when he came home with some golden beach boy and told them that he was gay. She wondered in the back of her head if they might not take this a little better. She was still their perfect daughter with the alcohol addiction and a deviated septum from snorting her allowance up her nose for five years straight. The only difference is now she apparently had killed a person or two.

Her thoughts were cut short when she saw her lawyer coming down the hall towards her. Even in the face of this great tragedy and emergency he was still perfectly composed and his hair was still coiffed with not a hair out of place. And why shouldn't it be? It was her neck on the chopping block, not his. He would still get paid either way. Then again, losing her to the electric chair would soil his perfect record.

He really was her only shot at figuring this out. They talked for a long time outside his car. He didn't have to say it but he was afraid that she would smear the blood on her hands all over his perfect interior of his Bentley. That just wouldn't be acceptable. Together they stood in the rain discussing what happened from every angle. Of course Samantha kept her bloody hands stuffed in her pockets. After twenty minutes of scouring her brain they accomplished nothing. Finally they decided to do the only thing that they could do. Samantha had to turn herself in. There was nothing more that could be done for the situation.

He made some calls and a deal was made. Samantha would turn herself in the following morning. He told them that she needed to tie up some loose ends before she made a plea bargain. He told them that she’d cut a deal as long as the whole deal was kept out of the papers to spare her parents the embarrassment.

They knew who her parents were and quickly agreed. That would be the best thing for all involved, except Samantha. She was going to go down for a murder that she didn’t remember committing. The writing was on the wall. Technically it was blood on the wall but this was no time to argue semantics. He checked her out of the hotel and moved her to another one. She was instructed not to drink and not to leave the hotel room.

Samantha was intent on drinking but she had a plan. She would not be leaving that room any time after she started drinking and she promised him that she would make sure of it. So they went to the store. Against her better judgment and perhaps his, they purchased a bottle of vodka. The next stop before they went back to her hotel was a sleazy sex store a few doors down from the hotel where she'd be spending her last night of freedom.

There Samantha bought a pair of handcuffs. When they arrived at her hotel she had him handcuff one of her hands to the head board, leaving the other one free so she could get the bottle to and from her mouth. He also left an empty trash can in case she had to pee in the middle of the night. Once she was all set he took the keys with him and he left. Samantha felt confident that nothing could go wrong tonight. No more beds full of blood and no more dead lady cops in her hotel bathroom.

With a heavy heart Samantha started to drown out all that had been for the last few days in a sea of cheap vodka. It didn't matter that she felt ill every time she took a gulp. It didn't matter that it smelled like rubbing alcohol and that it didn't taste much better. She tried instead to think about any good times that she'd had in her life. Of anything good at all really that she could cling too before she was put to death. There was no way to escape the fate that lie before her.

In the morning Samantha awoke once again feeling sick in every way possible. She leaned over the bed and threw up into the trash can. Then she lay in bed wondering what time it was. Her lawyer was supposed to come over at ten am. to deliver her to the cops. Figuring that there was no reason to rush to her death Samantha rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. It wasn't going to happen. There was something poking her in the side that wasn't painful, just uncomfortable enough that she couldn't seem to wrap her arms around blissful sleep. Maneuvering one hand down Samantha was surprised to feel something that felt like a pair of keys. What the hell?

Cautiously Samantha brought the object before her eyes. There in her hand were the keys for the handcuffs. Her mind slammed around her brain as she uncuffed herself from the bed. Fear branched out into her system and she was dreading getting off the bed. Closing her eyes she got off the bed and felt her way to the bathroom. When she arrived she was relieved to see that there was no dead body in the tub. There was no blood on the bed and everything seemed in place. Confused she started to walk back to the bed. On her way there she encountered a wet spot in the dark carpet.

Samantha froze. It was coming from the closet. The carpet was too dark for her to tell what it was, but she already knew. Lowering her head and taking a deep breath she slowly opened the door. The bloody and disemboweled body of her lawyer slumped to the floor toppling on top of Samantha's feet. After all she'd been through Samantha couldn't even feel horror any more. She couldn't feel shock. She didn't really feel anything at all. Dead bodies seemed to just have become a normal part of her life.

Walking to the bed she sat down to think. Every so often she'd look at the body and back at her hands. They didn't seem like they should be capable of this sort of thing. Samantha had always had a bit of a nasty temper. She'd been in a bar fight or two and a dozen more screaming matches that came close to blows. She'd never been violent and never had killed anyone that she was aware of.

Then again there was a lot going on in her life lately that she wasn’t aware of. At this point she had two choices. She could sit there and say that she hadn’t killed her lawyer and Detective Anti-freeze, or she could embrace the fact and move on with the business of living. Without warning an onslaught of news reports and articles came flooding into her brain.

For the last five years there had been rashes of random murders. Each one was bloodier than the last. The cops were baffled and had only recently started linking them to the same person. It was driving law enforcement crazy. For awhile people were terrified. There was never any real connection between the victims. Robbery, greed, or revenge never really seemed to be part of the equation. When Samantha took pause really thought about it all the murders seemed to coincide with times when she went out drinking to the point of black out. Every time there was a lull in the murders it was around a time when either Samantha was drying out, or simply not drinking.

With this knowledge Samantha formed a plan. If the cops weren't onto her yet then there was no reason that she shouldn't just run. There was the matter of the dead lady cop. Samantha really felt bad about that one. The detective was already dead and she couldn't do anything about it. Samantha walked back to the closet and gently rolled the body over. Digging through his pockets she dug out his keys. The clock on the wall read 6 am. It would be a few hours before they started to wonder where Samantha was. By then she'd be in the wind. With her parents money Samantha could run for years. If she could just stop drinking maybe it wouldn't happen again.

A year later Samantha was doing well. She'd relocated to a small town in Indiana. Bluffton, what a peaceful place to live. It was small, calm and beautiful beyond words with its never ending stretches of corn fields which swayed gently in the summer winds. She hadn't had a drink since the night before she'd found the great and undefeated Thomas F. Geraldi in her hotel room. Life was good. She loved her job and had made a few friends.

One fateful night Samantha was hanging out with a new friend that she'd made at work. They had a nice dinner and Tina suggested that they move to the couch and have a few drinks. Samantha's heart hitched. It sounded so good but she knew it was so bad.

"I'm sorry Tina, I don't drink anymore."

Tina nodded her head understandably. She didn't want to pry or ask why. So she got up and started to put her bottle and the glasses away. Guilt settled into Samantha's heart. Her problems shouldn't become Tina's.

"Hey just because I can't doesn't mean you can't. I want to but you wouldn't believe the things that I've done. When I wake up in the morning its always a bloody mess."

Tina smiled and poured herself another drink. An hour went by and Samantha couldn't resist it. It looked good, smelled good and probably would taste a million times better. The bottle was calling to her. Premium vodka that was ice cold and reaching out to her.

Grabbing for Tina's glass she smiled and said in a smooth voice, "Well I guess one drink wouldn't kill me".

The Press Democrat
Petaluma, California
Mysterious Killer Strikes Small Indiana Town
By: Theresa Hall

Today police discovered the badly mutilated body of Tina Mitchells in her house when a concerned co-worker called the police after Mitchells failed to show up at work this morning. Robbery didn’t appear to be a motive and the people who knew her best were stunned. Neighbors and friends couldn’t see anyone wanting to hurt the gentle woman who always had a smile and a helping hand for anyone in need.

Tina Mitchells was popular in the small town community and didn't have any enemies, according to her family. More shocking was the fact that the murder took place in the sleepy agricultural town of Bluffton, Indiana. It was only after entering the details of the murder into a national database that it was connected to a string of murders that had been plaguing California off and on for a five year stretch.

Police believe that the suspect had been in hiding. They aren't sure what triggered the assailant to start up again after a one year break. But according to Police chief Denise Rogers that was part of the pattern. There would be as much as a year and as little time as a day between the brutal murders.

They are not sure if the killer will continue to terrorize the folks here in Bluffton or move onto another town. Since the murders have moved from California to Indiana the case will be passed onto the FBI. Roseanne Burton from the FBI field office in Fort Wayne assured the public in a press conference held earlier today that the FBI would be putting all available agents on the case. She also promised that the FBI would be working with authorities here in Indiana and back in California where the rash of bizarre murders began.

"Rest assured that we will find this person and they will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law,” Burton said during her statement.

Today marks the beginning of what is shaping up as the biggest manhunt since Ted Bundy or the Zodiac Killer.

Officials had hinted at the possibility that they were looking at a suspect from two murders in California last year. They wouldn’t say outright that she was a suspect but it was heavily hinted at it more than once during the press conference.

Unofficially they are looking at Samantha Williams from Petaluma, California as their number one suspect. As stated earlier she had already been suspected in the deaths of one Detective Cynthia Nichols and of her own lawyer. They also danced around the possibility that she was responsible for as many as fifty other murders.

She was supposed to be turning herself in the following morning after she discovered the body of detective Cynthia Nichols in the hotel bathroom of Ms Williams last year. Even stranger is the fact that she’d checked herself into the hotel after waking up in her bed which was soaked in blood. Police still haven’t solved the mystery of just who the blood belonged to. She was never charged with anything on that case.

When she didn’t turn herself in at the appointed time authorities went to her hotel room to find the body of her lawyer Thomas F. Geraldi, laying halfway out of the closet. They immediately launched a massive manhunt for her but these details of the case where only made public today.

Police suspect that her parents, Paul and Nina Williams might be aiding her financially, but they’ve been unable to prove it. At a time like this one must wonder why her name was kept out of the news in connections to the murders until today. Even now they are being careful not to come right out and point a finger at Williams. Some sources have speculated that her parents wealth and prominent positions in the community might have played a part in keeping it quiet.

Anyone who might know the whereabouts of Samantha Williams are encouraged to immediately contact the FBI.

Friday, February 25, 2011

Black Out Part One

Samantha woke up feeling as if she'd gone ten rounds with a heavy weight champion in the boxing ring. Her muscles were all taunt and she could barely move her neck to the side to check the time. She wasn't sure what she'd done the night before but she hoped it was fun.

She didn't see how there was much fun that it could have been, her face felt like it had met with the business end of a baseball bat and her head was throbbing. She had abrasions on her hands and a few minor cuts. Shit, she thought, maybe she’d gotten into another one of her famous bar brawls.

She had the strangest feeling that she was laying in a bed of syrup. Focusing her eyes on the clock she used her hand to push her hair back away from her face. Feeling something sticky Samantha pulled her hand into front of her hazy eyes. What she saw froze time for a moment. Her hands were covered in blood.

In a panic she flipped the covers back to see where she was bleeding from. A scream pushed forth so violently that the sound of her own voice made her jump and recoil back away from the mess. Her bed was covered in blood. Panicking Samantha picked up the phone and called 911.

As calmly as she could she explained to the operating that she wasn't sure what was going on but she was laying in a bed that was soaked in blood. No, she wasn't bleeding. No she wasn't aware of anyone else in the house. No lady, I don't have any fucking idea where the hell it came from. Just get here now.

The operator wanted her to stay on the phone so she threw on her robe and ran outside, caution be damned. Standing outside Samantha tried her hardest to remember the events of the night before. It was no use. Her brain had shut down.

She'd drank too much and had blacked out again. Every muscle in her body hurt and she really wanted to get the blood soaked shirt and boxers off of her body. She wanted to take a shower. There was blood matted in her hair and she didn’t like the feeling of it on her skin.
Relief started to course through her when she heard the sirens rushing towards her house.

The cars pulled up and came to a sliding stop in front of her house. A young male officer and his older partner jumped out of the car and came towards her with their guns drawn. They yelled again and again, ma'am are you alright. She couldn't answer. The words were glue in her throat. She didn’t think she was bleeding and that scared her to death. Samantha had no clue as to where the blood came from. Whoever it came from had to be dead. The thought of a dead corpse somewhere in her house caused her stomach to lurk belligerently.

This whole thing was more than she could handle. All she knew is that she'd been out partying the night before and she woke up covered in a bed that was immersed in blood. Another patrol pulled up soon followed by an ambulance. The officers rushed in the house and Samantha sat on the bumper of the ambulance trying to explain to the paramedics the night before, and what hurt. The officers came out and asked questions. Samantha was taken to the hospital. And after she was cleaned up it was determined that the blood was not be hers.

She was bruised and some wounds on her arms and hands but there was no injury that could have produced that much blood. She was allowed to go home and put on clothes with a female officer watching the entire time. After she was dressed she was taken back to the station where a team of detectives asked her the same questions repeatedly over the span of several hours. It was beyond frustrating.

It was the same set of questions asked fifty different ways. Samantha could tell that they were trying to catch her in a lie. She was going to get the last laugh all the way to the court house for her first hearing. See there was no catching to do. Samantha honestly could not remember anything. The police weren't buying that line. Why should they? It was one she had heard time and time again.

Whose blood is it Samantha? Is it your boyfriends? Did ya catch him cheating Samantha? Did he try and hurt you? We can't help you until you tell us what happened Samantha. Where is the body Samantha? Who were you drinking with? How come they say they weren't with you last night?

What club were you at Samantha? How come the bouncer doesn't remember you? Oh no, he knows you Samantha. He says he knows you well. He also says he hasn't seen you and that nasty temper for a week and a half. So what happened Samantha? No, you aren't under arrest Samantha. Sure you can go home as soon as they are done collecting evidence.

The questioning was a blur. The detective that seemed to be in charge was an old man with black, slicked back and oily looking hair. His face was really red and all Samantha could focus on when he spoke to her was the bright veins that covered his nose like red spider webs. He was a portly man with stubby legs and hairy arms that looked like giant slabs of beef hanging from his body.

He had putrid breath and kept slamming his hand on the table to try and scare her. Samantha didn't remember ever having a hangover as bad as the one she was suffering through right now. Every time his decomposed breath hit her nostrils her stomach rocked. She'd thrown up several times. He would shove a garbage can at her and sneer at her while she attempted to remove the smell of his breath from her nose and from her memory. After the third time she was basically dry heaving. There was nothing left in her stomach to come out.

His partner was this baby faced woman who didn't say much. She didn't look like she was even old enough to be out of high school, much less be a detective. She must have been a cheerleader with those big blue eyes and that pretty blonde hair that she had pulled back into a sleek and sensible ponytail. She was of average height and her body was slender.

Her voice was very soft and she spoke to Samantha in a tone that indicated that they were friends. That they were going to figure this out and Samantha shouldn't mind her neanderthal of a partner. Her soothing tone and soft hand upon Samantha's shoulder tried to tell Samantha that boys will be boys but this was just between the girls in the room. It was a secret moment where Samantha could just let all the details go.

Her questions were almost motherly in tone and concern. Are you okay Samantha? Are you in any pain? Do you need something to eat? How much did you drink last night? Just tell me what you remember, okay? Are you sure that’s the bar you were at? Give me the names and numbers of your other friends.

The one's you gave us say they weren't with you. Samantha honey, you blacked out last night. Just give me the names of all the bars and clubs you frequent. Maybe it was self defense Samantha. If you took someone home and you said no then that’s how you want to put it to the D.A. No means no, Samantha if he got rough you had every right to defend yourself. Think Samantha. Think hard. Okay, well you can go home. Here's my card if you remember anything at all.
Samantha went home and took out her cell phone. Sitting on the couch with a piece of paper and a pen she called everyone she knew. No one had seen her the night before and they didn't know where she'd been. Samantha pulled out her little black book and called all the guys that she kept cataloged in there. No sorry Samantha, they said, you must have flown solo last night. No one seemed to know where she had been last night. And no one had seen her at all.

Frustrated and crying so hard she couldn't sleep she took her cell phone and checked into a hotel room. There was no way that she could sleep in that bed tonight. The day had been so crazy Samantha had not eaten anything. Pulling the ancient phone book out she called out for delivery and took the card of the female detective out of her pocket.

Something deep in her told her that she shouldn't trust this woman. All her soft words and comforting pats seemed to be dripping with a sweet poison that would kill Samantha no matter how sweet it tasted. Samantha decided that this woman was anti-freeze. Looking at the card she flipped it over and over until she couldn't stand to stare at any longer.

Her stomach was still upset and her head had not forgiven her for what ever she'd done to it the night before. She stretched out on the hideous plastic feeling bedspread that covered the bed. Sleep was not an option right now. Lying down did help relieve some of the pain and nausea she was feeling.

Once the food arrived she pushed it from one side of the paper carton to the other, knowing that no matter how hungry she was there was no way she was going to be able eat tonight. Instead she turned on the t.v. and lay there gently probing her mucked up mind for details from the prior night. She wasn't sure when she fell asleep. It was a transition that was so gentle that she didn't even feel it coming. That night was thankfully devoid of dreams. It was simply a black curtain that fell in front of her eyes and kept her wrapped in its forgiving arms until the sun dripped into the room from the edges of the curtains.
When she awoke Samantha stretched feeling a hundred times better than she had the day before. For a brief moment in time she wondered where she was and why she wasn't at home. The memories from the previous day rudely slapped her in the face. Throwing her legs over the edge of the bed she sat up and rubbed her eyes. Pulling them back she frantically searched them and the bed for blood. The sheets were rumpled, but clean. Her hands were just as she'd left them the night before.

Once again she scoured the beat up old phone book. This time for a lawyer. She hadn't been charged with a crime yet. The police had no real proof that any had been committed except the blood. If they couldn't match the blood to a victim or to a body then there was nothing to charge her with. For all they knew at this point the blood could be from an animal. Maybe Samantha had been partying with a satanic cult. Not that Samantha had hung out with those types. She'd been so blasted that night that she couldn't even remember where she'd been drinking.

After an hour with no good results she finally found a lawyer. When she went to meet him she immediately didn't like the guy. Everything about him screamed slimy. Samantha knew she'd give him the job. His voice was smooth and lubricated. His hair was perfectly fashioned, with not one hair out of place. His smile was amazing and his suit was flawless in the way it hung off his nicely toned body. This guy was a shark, a predator in the court room and she could tell all this just from the way he smiled at her and said hello.

Thomas F. Geraldi. He was the man for the job. Of course Samantha still wasn't sure if the police would actually bring a case against her or not. She was sure that they would try. She wanted to be ready if that nasty hammer dropped on her. They talked for an hour. About what could have happened. They spoke of defense possibilities if she had killed someone and how the case would go. When she left she felt confident that Mr. Geraldi would be able to catch what ever the police threw their way. In fact she was sure that not only would he catch it, but he'd throw it right back at them.

When she got to her car and started to put her key into the door the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, before she ever heard the clicking of heels behind her. Before she even turned around she knew that it was Detective Anti-freeze. Whipping around with her keys in her hand she wasn't surprised to find the innocent looking woman standing near her, demurely clasping her over sized purse against her side.

"Hey Samantha, can we talk for a minute? I feel really bad about how my partner treated you."
She flashed an shy smile meant to disarm. Once Samantha's eye's met hers she looked down, as if the guilt were stopping her from holding eye contact with the woman that her partner had treated so roughly.

Yeah right. Samantha wasn't going to fall for that act. Not today, or any other day for that matter. She was smarter than that. Besides her lawyer had told her never to talk to the police or anyone else without him there. "Um, sorry detective. I'm not supposed to talk to you without my lawyer present."
The woman acted shocked. As if she hadn't seen Samantha enter and leave the office of the famous court room great white. Samantha watched her closely and caught the movement on the detectives face. It was so slight that she had almost missed it. But she didn't miss it. The woman had narrowed her eye's at Samantha. Well she could be pissed all she wanted. They wanted to pin a murder on her and since she wasn't aware that she'd done anything wrong she certainly wasn't going to help them.

Assuming that the conversation was over Samantha got into her car and drove away, not saying anything and not every attempting to even look Detective Anti-freeze in the eyes. She drove back to her hotel and tried not to think about anything. On her way there she swung her car into a grocery store parking lot. She needed to get a few things if she was planning to stay at the hotel for awhile.

With the way things were going she was going to need too. The list was short. She needed liquid body wash, some shampoo and conditioner, some razors and lotion. Last but not least she grabbed a bottle of vodka and a bag of ice. She knew that she shouldn't be drinking. But with all that was happening Samantha really needed a drink. Besides, she thought to herself, she wasn't going anywhere so she'd be fine.

Once she was back in her room she took a long hot shower to try and wash the last few days away. When she got out she made herself a vodka on the rocks and turned the t.v. on. When she started to feel the effects of the booze kicking in she got up and hid her keys from herself. Samantha knew from experience that once she was plastered she couldn't find her own nose on her face, much less something that she'd hid from herself. God help her when she needed them in the morning. That was an inconvenience that she was willing to deal with. It would be worth it to not to be so painfully sober tonight.

A few drinks turned into the whole bottle and Samantha slipped off into the Sandman's arms while still holding an unlit cigarette and the almost empty bottle. She'd probably have to fall from the bed and break her head before she let go of that bottle. Samantha was serious about her drinking. In her life she found that people come and go, but her magical crutch also known as a bottle of vodka would always be there. Time and time again she leaned on it when nothing else was there to pad the fall.

In the morning the sun didn't shine through the dingy window of her hotel room. She could hear the rain falling outside and Samantha was glad. It seemed fitting that on a day like this the weather would reflect how she was feeling inside. Rolling over carefully so as not to rattle her throbbing head Samantha lit a cigarette.

Two puffs later and she decided that she didn't need the nicotine that badly. She slowly made her way to the bathroom leaving the light off. She was sure that the bright overhead lighting would be the trigger that would detonate the bomb sitting in her stomach. But on second thought she turned it on. Maybe throwing up would make her feel better. At the very least she could just get it over with. When she turned on the light she immediately turned it off while puking in what she hoped was the sink.

"No, no, no, no, no!!" She screamed as she stumbled out of the bathroom.

Her chest felt like it was caving in. Pins and needles attacked her limbs and she felt the room twirling out of control. The ground seemed to tilt and come from under her at the same time. Crawling across the floor she grabbed her purse and dumped it on the floor to call 911.

She couldn't believe what she'd seen. It couldn't be real. There is no way that what she saw was real. She stumbled back to the bathroom and flipped the light back on. When she'd flipped the light on the first time she had seen the body of that lady cop in her tub. It was still there. Samantha couldn't seem to grasp that it was real. She had thought that maybe when she turned on the light the blood and the body would somehow be gone. How Detective Anti-freeze had gotten there was beyond her.

There was blood every where. Not just in the sense that it was in the tub and on the floors. It was everywhere, literally. Samantha couldn't even breath or function enough to dial the proper numbers. Gripping the side of the bed Samantha hoisted herself up and went back to the bathroom to turn on the light. She looked carefully at the woman and after staring for a long time she could tell. The woman was dead. She wanted to go feel for a pulse. She couldn't do that though.

She didn't want to touch the blood in any places other than where she already had. Not like it would make much of a difference. They had her this time. She didn't even know what happened. All she knew is that there was a dead cop in her bath tub in the hotel room that she had rented in her name.She banged her head against the floor ignoring the pain that splintered through her head.

What had happened? Think Samantha, think. She had gone to get a lawyer. Then she'd exchanged a few words with the lady. Not angry words. Not really words that mattered. There were no emotions. They had simply been words. She'd left and gone to the store to get toiletries and that damned bottle of vodka which lay on the floor next to her bed along with an unsmoked cigarette. Samantha remembered falling asleep with it in her mouth. That was it. End of story. That’s all. So why was there a dead woman in her tub? Why was there a dead cop in her tub?

There was no way that she could say nothing happened. Even though as far as she could remember nothing had happened. Samantha had gotten drunk and passed out. Or that’s what she thought had happened. Obviously something else happened. It had too. Because dead cops just don't magically appear in bath tubs over night. That same thought kept running around in her head.

The more she thought of it, the more her head hurt. She was screwed either way. It was a cop. A fucking cop. Shit, Samantha thought. Wiping the blood off of her hands and onto her shirt she leaned against the wall and slid to the floor. Resting her head on the top of her knee's Samantha took a few moments to think.

An hour later and Samantha did the only thing she could think of. She called the big gun in her corner. She picked up her cell and called the great and undefeated Thomas F. Geraldi. He told her to wait outside her hotel and not to touch anything else. She hadn't planned on it, but at the moment she was sure that it was the best advice that he could think to give her. Its not every day when one of your clients calls you to tell you that she awoke to find a corpse of a dead cop in their bath tub.

Thursday, February 24, 2011

Insomnia or Something Like it

Sleep was eluding her again. It must have been painful the way her body twisted and turned. Her legs would contract and then stretch out again. First on her left side, then on her right. She'd toss, turn and then bolt up in bed only to flop back down again. She couldn't seem to stay still as her body jerked around the bed, twisting up the sheets and kicking the blankets off of her and off the bed.

But even these unconscious acrobatics were nothing compared to the soul shattering whimpers and moans that escaped through brittle lips. A whimper, a moan, a strangled cry. All coinciding with a kick of her quivering leg or a flail of her sinewy arm. She was at war with herself and she was at war with sleep. Sleep was winning yet again.

As she cried out and rolled about she was aware that it was happening. It wasn't really sleep, but she wasn't quiet awake. She was caught in a suspended state of non wakefulness blended with a torturous dash of near sleep. Throughout the night this carried on, and on. When the sun came out and drably painted birds perched on her window to herald the new day she covered her face with her hands and cried.
It was inhumane. These long nights that lacked the deep sleep that brought rapid eye movement and dreams were becoming more than she could bear. It was more than anyone should have to bear in her mind. All she wanted, all she craved, desired and yearned for was a night where she simply slept.

Dreams would be nice. Nightmare might even be welcome as long as they preceded sleep that left her feeling as if she had actually slept. She longed to meet the Sandman. She wanted to have him blow his magical dust into her weary eyes. She needed to close her blurry eyes and have rest for them, and for herself. Her soul needed it. Her mind needed it. Every inch of her being desperately needed it. A peaceful period meant to restore, was the too much to ask? For her, apparently it was.

Her body ached and seemed to revolt against her as she chased sleep from one end of her bed to the other. Sometimes her brain was so beaten and tired that she would often forget her own name and address. Or what she'd been doing mid task.

Laying in bed any longer was pointless. There was no chance of her going back to sleep. If you could call what she did during the long nights sleeping. She did not have a name for it. It wasn't insomnia. But it was not sleep, either. It was slow death, it was maddening. It was an obsession. It was all that. But it was not sleep.

Getting out of bed she went through the motions of being normal. She showered, got dressed, ate and drank her tea with sugar and cream. At eight a.m. she drove to work on auto pilot. Once she was there she tried her best to hide her hate for her co-workers. She wondered if they even knew what they had.

After another long day she headed home. And though sleep tugged at her eye lids she fought it off and forced them to stay open. Gravity and cruel irony seemed to work against her as she waged war against this evil temptation to cat nap. Getting off the couch she started to clean, then to crochet. She would not lose this battle, oh no tonight she would sleep!

If she didn't fight off this forbidden fruit than she'd suffer ten time more than usual. As good as that solid thirty minutes of unadulterated sleep would feel the suffering that would follow would hardly be worth the momentary relief. When the clock struck ten o'clock and she crawled into bed she'd be wide awake.

Her eyes would burn and her muscles would protest. No matter how much she struggled she'd be unable to even close one lid. Not for one second. Instead they'd water, and the tears of exhausted eyes would turn into tears of frustrated exhaustion. The hours would stretch taunt like an over extended rubber band. The birds would come like clockwork to usher in the new day, and usher her out of bed.

Some days she wanted to snap. She'd tried everything to cure this ailment to no avail. Sleeping pill, sleep serums, smelly salves and magic spells. Pleading with God and deals offered earnestly to the Devil. There wasn't anything that she hadn't tried. And if something else came up there wasn't anything that she wouldn't gladly try, no matter how ridiculous it seemed.

She felt that she was running out options and out of time. If something didn't give she'd give in, and give herself over to an uncertain forever. She'd already had a foot over the edge. It would be so nice to just let go and go over. If she were to simply overdose then that would be eternal rest, the deepest sleep. With her luck it would turn out to be eternal damnation for her soul, which would never sleep.
The days turned into months, the months gave into years. Nothing changed, it stayed painfully the same. With each passing year she felt all hope leave her body. She gave up and just wished for death. Sweet death with its unawareness. With the blessing of not feeling, or thinking, or being alive spending all her time pleading for sleep.

Then one day all that changed for her. It was the weirdest thing, because when it happened the lights came on in her head she finally understood. This would not get any better and it would not end. This was eternity and she was caught in its painful grasp. She was at work one day and she finally reached that point. That breaking point where someone decides that they have suffered enough. Getting up from her chair she left the office and climbed up the stairs to the roof.

Looking down she let go. Finally just let go and jumped over. Feeling the wind wrap around her was unreal. She was not afraid and there was no sorrow in her heart. As the cement approached quickly she closed her eyes and waited for the pain and fatigue to leave her body. Instead she found herself laying in her bed. Confused she looked up, and looked around. She was in her bed, unscathed and untouched by her ten story tumble.

Swinging her legs off her bed she looked around the room, her brain pondering the strange dream she'd had. She didn't remember falling asleep and she didn't feel rested. A piece of paper next to her bed caught her attention. Intrigued she picked it up and quickly read the words.

You can not kill yourself and you can not die. You died many years ago.
Putting the note down she had vaugue memories of holding this same note in her hands many years ago. Not completely sure what to do she got dressed and made her way to work.

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Whispers of Love

Sometimes as I lay in my bed at night I can hear them. Faint whispers that swirl around my head. They are never really clear. They run together like raindrops that join the rambling river that flows through my brain. Touch him touch him. Feel his pulse can you taste his life force? Touch him touch him touch him. I try to ignore them, these whispers. But they will not go away, they are always there.

Like the sky above my head, and the air in my lungs they are always there. Omnipresent. While I go along through my day they are quiet, as if they understand that I need to concentrate. But as soon my head hits that pillow they are back, whispering, conspiring to do something, but I'm not sure what. I can hear them and it disturbs me. He'll do it. Just watch. Just push a little. Touch him. Push him. Touch him again.

Sometimes if I am really still I feel their icy and slimy fingers like the tentacle of an octopus run all over me. Over my face, over my chest and across my stomach. Lips like pieces of liver gently brush against mine. Can you taste his life force? Kiss him its so strong.

They use their lips and fingers to explore me and learn the curves of my body. If I listen hard enough I can feel them searching my mind, holding my memories in those icy hands. Rolling them over. Tasting them and committing them to their own memories. I feel violated. They are taking what is private, what is my own and trying to make it theirs.

I know I am not crazy. This is too insane, too real, the feeling too unshakable for me to think that I've lost my mind. Inside these murmurs that travel up and down my body I have found what it is that you think I've lost. Can you hear them? Touch him. Kiss him. He needs more. Not strong enough. We need him to do it. He needs us to tell him. Touch him more time. Kisses like rapture.

They are my salvation and I am theirs. You must think I am unstable. You must think me daft. But if you could hear them, feel their gentle caress you'd know what I know. I don't see anything that you everyone else can't see.

Sometimes I wonder where they came from and what they want with me. They are scheming and I know it is not good. I know that they make me glow with an unhealthy light. I know that I should cast them away, my precious whispers. But I can't. I am a part of them, and they now have taken over me.

On one of these long sticky nights spent lying in my bed with them I felt the pressure start to become too much. I longed to reach out and touch them. What would they look like? Would they be heavenly creatures with long flowing hair and a body that only some ancient artist could have envisioned then chiseled into marble? Or would my eyes fall upon some ungodly, unearthly monstrosity with to many arms, not even eyes and snakes sprouting across their head like Medusa?

When the whispers became too much, and my sickened passion rose to heights that was starting to crush my brain I pushed myself out of bed and put on my clothes. As soon as I was outside beneath the effervescent and scintillating stars they were quieted. Not a peep, or should I say not a soft murmur that fondle and pet my brain, came from them. They had no domain once I was away from that bed in which we've spent so many nights together.

Walking through the neighborhood I saw the world and the night through fresh. That is when I saw her. She was my Aphrodite. She was perfect and unfamiliar to my eyes. As I walked by the world I as I knew it started to spin. How I longed to touch her. To smell her and run my fingers through that lush blond hair. And those eyes! Where did she ever get those eyes? They shone and sparkled with such vigor that the stars above surely would be jealous. Perhaps she stole a piece of sky and put it into her face. Her eyes were the same unbelievably free and uplifting blue.

As I passed her, barely able to keep my heart in my chest she spoke. A voice of an angel which floated to me on a sweet wind laced with Jasmine and honeysuckle. "Hello."

Oh agony! How can I continue to live without her? How could I have lived so long without knowing that this dim world contained such hues, such shades, tints and tones of beauty? Oh mercifully God let me have her or let me have death. Soon as I was home my companions, my constant confidantes through the night were back. And they had a plan. They are here for me. There are here to help. To give me what I need and make no mistake I need her like I need oxygen in my lungs. I need her like the earth needs the sun and the moon.

They had a plan. Yes, they had an idea. They needed her too. Touch him. Push him. Tell him. He needs her. We need her. Did you smell her life force? So sweet and strong. Push him. Touch him. Kiss him. All through the night I didn't sleep. I couldn't sleep I had to listen. I had to have her. For me and and for them.

They murmured, whispered, cajoled. In the morning I went to work as usual, but it was not usual. There was a new fever about me. A new sickly, yet energetic bounce to my step. Oh yes, they told me it all. Everything I needed to know to make her mine.

The next night I could barely contain myself. I couldn't eat, I dare not lay in my bed. The passion was building up. The hunger for her was overflowing. The urge to satisfy them, to satisfy myself was intolerable. This was a fire that didn't need to be fueled. On autopilot I walked out the door and retraced my steps from the night before. Soon I smelled it, the enchanting smell of jasmine and lavender. It was her, my undocumented angel, a Goddess among mere humans.

She barely fought. It was no problem at all because my desire was stronger than her will to survive. I quickly took her back to my house and laid her upon my bed. Oh joy! They were elated. They were beyond ecstasy in their rewarding words and touches upon my body. As they kissed and touched her, while kissing and touching me I finally understood. I needed her life force to live, and they needed mine.

I didn't feel bad about the shell that was left behind. She was my only one. I loved her, and the whispers love me. For the next few weeks everything was as it should be between us. Murmurs in the middle of the night in my ear. Touch him touch him. Feel his pulse can you taste his life force? Touch him touch him touch him. Can you taste his life force? Kiss him its so strong.

All too soon the pressure is back, and the rapture is starting to fade. My body is feeling weak and my heart is lonely. I know what the whispers need. And I know I need it too. Off into the night I go, and even though I am not laying in my bed they are out and about in the night with me too. Me and my whispers. Out to find another love.