Short Story

"So, we did a little research about you and found out that you father is really something. And I'm guessing that's what fueled your little act this morning huh?" Now he had a little mocking smirk on and while it looked quite good on him it was equally scary.

His demeanor was stiff and aloof, but inwardly, he was seething. “Don’t fuck with me, Hanson,” he muttered coldly, his dead eyes not quite meeting Tom’s startled gaze. “I’m not in the mood for any more of your games.”

The sun hovered majestically over the edge of the horizon, its rays shimmering a last hurrah before it slowly dipped below the distant California skyline and vanished from sight. Tom sat alone in the Cadillac, his eyes unseeing, his body immobile, his mind locked within the trauma of his recent breakdown. He had fully intended to shoot Holland, to put a bullet straight between his eyes and end the vile man’s reign of terror forever. It had seemed the perfect solution at the time. But on reflection, sitting in solitude as the shadows of the approaching night shielded him from what was occurring within the walls of Holland’s home, Tom realized he had teetered close to the brink of insanity. For a split second, he had lost all rationality, and

A loud ringing penetrated through the haze of Booker’s dream, the shrill peal slowly transforming into the clang of a school bell. As excited high school students streamed into the wide, sunlit corridor, Dream Booker looked around him, his brow pulled tight with confusion. “I thought we were supposed to be pledging a fraternity.”

“Oh yeah about that, thanks for helping me and everything but I thought about it and I think I want all of this to be mine and only mine, and I would keep you alive but I don’t want any suspects!” Juan said laughing.

The question caught Tom by surprise, and he found himself tripping over his words. “T-Tonight? I… ah… I don’t… I hadn’t really thought about it.”

After carefully considering Fuller’s advice, Tom had formally taken a leave of absence for the remainder of the week. As Booker had been due back at work the day he had started his so-called vacation, he had spent each day waiting expectantly for the young officer to make contact. But after enduring an agonizing seventy-two hours pining for the man who now occupied his every thought, he had come to the unwelcome conclusion that the young officer had decided to end their budding friendship, and therefore, whether he liked it or not, he was left to deal with the emotional impact of his rape on his own.

After an excruciatingly uncomfortable cab ride back to his neighborhood, Tom paid the driver, and ignoring the curious stares from the many bystanders going about their Saturday morning business, he hurried into his apartment building. He felt vulnerable wandering around in public in his underwear, and he longed for the sanctuary of his home, free from the scrutiny of prying eyes. While he recognized he had acted irrationally, spurred into action by the ferocity of Booker’s kiss, it was the second time his lover had pounced on him and forcefully tried to demand what should only be given freely, and the uncharacteristic behavior unnerved him. Something wasn’t right, but as much as he loved the dark-haired officer, he was too afraid to hang around and find out exactly what was going on inside his head. He needed space, and although he didn't want to admit it, he also needed time to reevaluate their relationship. A ripple of uncertainty was slowly gaining momentum inside his mind, and he was no longer sure if committing to Booker so soon after his rape was the right thing to do.

“Yeah, did you see her tats? She’s got a wild side, you know what I mean,” he said nodding at the guy next to him, who nodded back with a grin.

"I think I did him a favor by taking this piece of junk." Scarlett laughed.

“Of course they aren’t helping,” Adia groaned, slamming the door to Heron’s Hideaway shut. It was our last midnight patrol for the week of camp, and it was supposed to be easy. But how was cleaning an entire building with just the two of us easy?

Tom’s ordeal greatly influenced the prioritization of his values. He faces a conflict where he has to choose between his work and his life. This conflict leads him to make a tremendous change in his values.

Standing in Tom’s dank, two-room, basement apartment, Booker struggled to keep his expression neutral, but in reality, his heart was breaking. He cast his mind back to when Tom was living a life of drugs and prostitution, and he swallowed a sigh when he realized his friend’s living conditions had not improved. The furnishings were sparse and once again, the only luxury appeared to be a small television sitting on a wooden crate in the corner of the tiny living area. However, unlike Tom’s last apartment, the home was neat and clean, except for a pungent smell that permeated the damp air. Casting his eyes surreptitiously upwards, he immediately noticed several distinctive patches of black mold on the painted exterior wall and around the frame of the small, street-level window. It was a telling testament to the unsanitary state of the cramped rental, and he felt an overwhelming sense of sadness wash over him. Despite Tom’s best intentions and giving up eighteen months of his life in the hope of redemption, his life had not improved in the slightest. If anything, it was worse.

The dialogue has strengths and weaknesses. The dialogue nicely conveys the message about the lives of police officers. It does push an agenda, so be careful of sounding too preachy. Sometimes there too much dialogue. On page 98, the dialogue needs to be broken up vs. long passages. It’s a bit challenging to believe that O’Donnell would also be so sarcastic towards the DA when questioned. He’s a veteran cop, so he probably wouldn’t be so disrespectful.

The smattering of rain on the roof overhead calms me, beating out an irregular rhythm like an anxious child unconsciously tapping his foot. The dim glow of my phone screen washes over me as I wait for the light to return, cut off by the flash flood inducing rain. I look around, and sigh; yet again, the lights on the ceiling are blank, leaving me with nothing to shield myself from the impending darkness.