This may get to be a bit tedious, but I'm working on a book, basically its a mystery novel with plenty of twists and turns, dont hesitate tyo ask if you don't understand a remark in the story, I'll be happy to explain, some of it is vague, but explained later on soo, i guess tell me what you think.
It is a pale, somber night at the Sherman County Jail. Two vociferous suspects have been brought in for… questioning. A small, dim room is strangely silent, despite its five occupants. Deputy Daniel Marks, a tall, handsome, brown haired young man who was new to the force, surveyed the people in the room, There was the Sheriff, A large, portly man with a thick furry mustache and slicked back hair, he was dressed in a Tan shirt and Khaki pants; there was also the Inspector, a pale, eerie fellow, who seemed half in our world and half in another, he sat in a black trench coat, reading some case reports as they waited. Suddenly, unable to contain himself, Sheriff Friedrich VonBurk shouts “I abhor scumbags like you!” his face beet red, he continues “Reprehensible vermin like you should be obviated!” The squalid prisoners shrink back in their chairs, as far as their chains will let them that is.
“Please, calm yourself” hissed Inspector Wilhelm Dumkopf, in a menacing tone he went on to say “We don’t need a turbulent lawsuit for mistreating our two prime suspects!”
“Suspects!?” the sheriff replied, shocked, “but they obviously did it!”
“The evidence does seem to be piled against them Inspector” added Deputy Daniel Marks
“That means nothing” said the Inspector, “In this country, for better or for worse, ALL are innocent, until proven guilty.”
A thin, sickly light begins to light the horizon to the west, the suspects, heartened by the coming of dawn, steel themselves and begin anew their pleas for release.
“We are innocent! We were simply visiting the museum to see the American Watercolor Society Brush Collection, please believe us, we’ve been implicated unjustly!” Wailed Viktor VanReichert in a thick Russian accent.
“Yes! Innocent” Agreed Nikoli Martini
Pounding his fist on the table with strength enough to dent its thin aluminum surface, Sheriff Von Burk shouted right into the face of Nikoli, “You deceitful Communist scum! How dare you life boldfaced to me! You know, you planted that bomb, killed those security guards, and all those civilians! I hope you rot in…”
“Sheriff!” Screeched the thin, gaunt Inspector, then, shooting out of his chair he hissed viscously, “I will not have you harassing our suspects”
The Sheriff turned blood-shot, rage-filled eyes on the Inspector, his lips quivering in a frightening sneer, for a moment, the sheriff seemed ready to resist, but at last he backed down, grumbling obscenities.
“Now” Continued the Inspector “why don’t you tell us your… version of the story?” he paused a moment before continuing “if your story is convincing, maybe we’ll waive the charges on you, for now. If it turns out you are innocent, we’ll do our best to make amends for your harsh treatment, but as of now, you two stand as a potential terrorist and renegade.If guilty, well, aside from a very long stay in the not so commodious confines of New York State Pen. Where you can expect to be beaten and made a piece of play-ground equipment, your country, your ‘Motherland’ will probably disown you.”
“Understood” replied Nikoli, obviously the brain in the operation, solemnly. “We have, ever since reading about the works of Samuel Morse, a great American artist and inventor, been very interested in acquiring, or at least seeing, every piece he ever created. You might call us art fanatics, and, seeing as he practically founded the American Watercolor Society, this seemed a natural stop to make. We entered the voluminous front lobby of the Museum at around 8:30, I often compulsively check my watch so I happen to know when we arrived, we drove a yellow, red, and black Lincoln town car, and parked a few rows back from the lobby entrance. We started to mingle until the actual show started…”
“Get to the point Nikoli.” Growled the Sheriff, we want to know where you where around 10:30, and what you were doing."
* * * * * * * * *
Kelly Marie Tomalley, had the horrible job of checking vital signs on the victims dragged from the rubble of the burning museum, she was no stranger to death, but the amount of bodies, and parts of bodies coming out of the rubble of the museum was enough to try even her heart of steel.
Kelly was young, some said too young to be in this work, she thought to herself “maybe I just prefer being around men when they’re dead” she felt revolted, what a morbid thought!
Then, her worst, fear, a fireman ran up to her, holding the crumpled for of a child, a little girl, no more than six or seven, she was screaming, a piece of metal pipe, about 30 inches long was sticking out between her ribs, and one of her collarbones had shoved its way through to the surface, she was losing blood very quickly, Kelly checked her vitals, erratic, her heart was beating like a rabbits, she did a quick field blood test, O+, Crap, she had no compatible blood, except, she quickly bound the girls wounds, “Eric” she called “fetch me the scissors, sewing needle, and thread, and a blood transfusion kit, STAT.”A head peeked around the corner of the ambulance and a thin, blond haired boy no older than 20 replied “yes mam.” The equipment was brought to Kelly, she ripped her left sleeve off, stuck a needle into her wrist and hooked it into an I.V. she had already inserted into the girls arm; that should keep her alive for a while, long enough to get her to a hospital. She then set to work stitching and cleaning the poor child’s wounds…
Long, bloody, tiring hours later, after the chaos had died down, Kelly dumped the now sleeping Eric into her car, and began the drive home, after dropping off Eric she decided to go straight home, instead of picking up a cup of coffee like she usually did. Upon arriving home, she parked her car, approached the door, and tried to discern which key was to her front door, finally she found it, and after she examined her kitchen for any extant morsel of coffee, finding none she began to realize just how tired she felt, now that the adrenaline was gone, she felt almost abused, buffeted by countless horrors of the night, her energy gone, she sank into bed. Thus began the first of many nights to come, that would be spent in fitful half-sleep pondering the corrosive cruelty of man…
That's all i have so far, more later.