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Aug. 4th, 2005 10:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seymoure“Scars on the Soul”
Despite himself he could not get the image of the boy out of his head.
It wasn’t just the horror of what happened, but it was something about the whole picture that was wrong. Something he had noticed before, but he couldn’t really put his finger on.
He found a “Huh” sneaking out of his mouth. That was because of a realization he had had. He thought most of the things he might come up with the F.B.I. had already found. Even with that, they had never come up with a single suspect.
The first thing he was going to have to do was revisit the evidence.
But, that would be in the morning. He was going to give himself the rest of the day to wrap up all the things he was doing that wouldn’t be dealt with now. This murder was going to be the number one case in his life.
Damn, he hated that. Wouldn’t it be better if he was preoccupied with something like the size of bass to throw back. Instead he had to think about 18 dead boys.
He arrived at his own home, and got out of the sqaud car. He walked up to the front door, waved Tooley on, and found only the screen closed. Through it he could see Mahitabel sitting on the couch shelling green beans. It almost seemed she was trying to ignore him.
As he came in, the snapping didn’t stop, instead it started going faster, and possibly louder.
He took off his hat, threw it on the ottoman. He then sat on the couch. He reached in his pocket and took out his wallet and tossed it on the end table as he had done a thousand times before. This time he missed. As it flopped on the floor, the snapping stopped.
“That’s why I never played basketball,” He said.
She looked up at him, trying not to be amused.
Another mammoth silence drove through the room.
She picked up another bean. “Are you going to do it?” She said without looking up.
“There’s nobody else.” He said and she looked up angrily.
“You want to leave it to Tooley?” He countered her look.
“I want it not to be happening.” She began breaking beans again.
“Me too, Darlin’, me too.”
The rest of the evening contained less than a hundred words.
© 2005 by C. Wayne Owens
