Chapter 1: Bully
Tick…tick…tick
The clock clicked loudly in the quiet classroom, counting down the minuets until the student’s of Vicksburg high school’s freedom. Aiden sat at
his desk, tapping his pencil anxiously for the sound of the bell. The other student’s were still writing furiously, while he had already finished.
Hurry up already! He yelled at the clock in his head. The sooner I get out of the school from hell, the better.
He continued to tap his pencil furiously, until the teacher gave him a stern glare. He put down the pencil and pulled out his CD player, hoping to past the time.
The girl in pink who sat next to him got out of her seat, walking gracefully up to the teachers desk, handed her the paper, and walked back, her head held high, setting back down slowly into her seat, her skirt falling into neat folds in her lap.
Morgan. Ugh.
"What ‘cha listening to, Freeman?" she asked him cheerfully, scooting several inches closer to him. Her friendliness was obviously a mockery. Aiden could see straight through her false kindness.
"Nothing," he replied coldly, his eyes looking down at the CD player, rather than her eyes
She shriveled her nose slightly.
"Whatever," she said flatly. "It‘s probably one of those other weird bands you listen to. But don‘t worry, it suits you, a lot. " she smirked, as if she took pleasure in his pain. No doubt, she did.
A streak of pain shot across Aiden’s face. His hurt expression lasted only a split seconds and he went back to staring at the clock.
This is what he went through every day. He had only one true friend since kindergarten; Cassie. She was his only friend, the only one who understood the way he thought, the only he could talk to and not have to guard his words. He had secret feelings for her, but had never had the courage to tell her for fear she would leave him if she knew.
He looked over at her from his desk. She grinned back at him, silently giggling.
Tick…tick…DING!
At that moment, the whole class jumped out of there seat’s and dashed out into the halls. Aiden fought the rampaging crowd of student’s, trying not to be knocked down by their force.
After for what seemed like hours of pushing and shoving, he finally reached his locker. He entered his combination, letting the door swing open on it’s own. He dumped his books on the bottom carelessly, grabbed his backpack, an fought his way outside. Cassie met him at the door. "Hey," she said to him brightly, the electric blue streak in her blonde hair making her easy to see.
"What’s up?" he asked her, sounding surprisingly cheery.
"Math test tomorrow. Ugh"
"Ouch,"
They started for the path home. They had always walked home together, hardly ever taking the buss.
"Got any homework?" Cassie asked him in a laid back tone.
"Uh, yeah. Why?"
"’Cause, you know you’re my cheating buddie." she replied, beginning to laugh.
Aiden laughed along with her. It was true though. Whenever either of them had homework, they copied from each other.
After several more minuets of laughing and joke’s, Cassie reached her house. It was a small blue house, with chipped pain and weathered looking shudders. An orange striped cat lay sleeping peacefully on her front porch, scratching it’s nose from time to time.
"Well, I’ll see ya later!" she called walking down her driveway, waving.
"See you!" he called back.
He turned, and began to walk to his house, hurrying down the path. He pulled out his CD player, tuning out the outside world.
"Hey, Aiden!" someone called from the distance.
Aiden spun around quickly, searching for the person who had called him. But after looking behind him, he wished he hadn’t.
Joel.
If there was any person that Aiden hated the most, it was Joel.
Joel was a giant in size, easily towering of Aiden’s short, slender build. Muscles bulged from his arms, arms that looked as though they could rip apart human body with ease. Long red hair hung down over his face, concealing his dark, beady eye’s. Even though his look’s seemed frightening, he still traveled with a gang, except they weren’t as inhumanly large as Joel.
Aiden sighed grimly. "What, Joel?"
"Just decided to visit my ole’ buddy, Aiden." he replied with a smirk, sarcasm lathering each word. He walked towards him, putting his massive arm around Aiden’s shoulder.
"Don’t touch me,"
"Aw, there’s no need to be like that, kiddo."
"Yeah, there is. Now leave me alone." he said to Joel, pushing his arm off his shoulder.
"Ooohhhh!!!" Joel’s gang burst out suddenly.
The bully noticed the small, black circular CD player hanging in Aiden’s palm. He snatched the CD player from his grasp. Aiden jumped, trying to retrieved one of the only sources of happiness he’d ever known.
"Hmmm, what’s this?"
Aiden jumped again.
"Give that back!"
"Got any CD’s in here, weirdo?"
"No. Now Give it back!"
Joel opened up the CD player. A CD fell down upon the dirt road.
"What do we have here?"
Aiden lunged for the CD, but was pushed onto the ground by two of the gang members.
"My Chemical Romance." The bully said flatly, shaking his head slightly. "Just as emo as last year, eh?"
Joel put the CD back into it’s player, and threw into the dirt. He lifted his leg and brought down with all his strength. The CD player was crushed under the giant’s foot, crumbling to small pieces in the dirt.
"NO! Why’d you do that for?!?" Aiden screamed at the bully, tears beginning to form in his sapphire blue eyes.
"Because I can, freak." At that moment, Joel kicked Aiden straight in the gut, bringing him to his knees.
He cried out in pain his he fell. His breath was cut short by the sudden impact. Now the tears ran freely down his face, dripping into the dirt. Tiny brown spots began to form in the dirt, as if marking the place where he had been tormented.
Suddenly, four of Joel’s gang members picked Aiden up by his arms and legs, and threw him several feet from where they were standing. He landed hard upon his side.
"Hahaha!! See ya later, weirdo!" Joel called as he and his gang walked quickly into the distance
Now, not only had Aiden’s stomach hurt from being kicked, but now his side was seering with pain.
All he could do now was lay there. Lay there and weep, not only because of his injuries, but because of everything.
Just when he thought that he may have to crawl the rest of the way home, he heard the sound of a car driving slowly down the road.
Oh, God, Oh, God! Please don’t let it hit me!
But soon after, the car pulled around the curve. Aiden recognized the car.
It was Cassie’s mom’s car.
Cassie parked on the side of the road, then stepped out and ran to where Aiden lay, writhing.
"Oh, my God! Aiden!!" she said, leaning over him.
"Cassie?" He asked weakly.
"Yeah, Aiden. I’m here now." she replied softly. "C’mon, I’m taking you home with me. My mom’s a nurse."
She helped up on his feet. He leaned heavily on her shoulder. After what seemed like hours, they both staggered into the car. Once in the car, Cassie sped for her house.
Chapter 2: Abuse
Cassie pulled her mother’s car up the driveway. She parked in the garage, pulled Aiden from the back seat, and helped him into the house.
Cassie’s mother turned around.
"Hey cass-" she didn’t finish when she saw what had happened.
"Oh, my gosh. Cassie, what happened?"
"Joel and his gang, that’s what happened." Cassie replied angrily.
"Oh, not again," she looked at her daughter, becoming angry as well.
Aiden opened one eye. "W-what happened? W-where am I?"
"You’re at my house, Aid’,"
"Oh, uh….ok-" he was too weak to finish.
"Take him to the bedroom, honey." Cassie’s mother ordered softly. "I’ll get the first aid kit."
She dragged Aiden to her mothers bed. He moaned softly as his body touched the bed. Within several minuets Cassie’s mother came in with a first aid kit. She took off his shirt, examining his body for wounds.
A large, purple-blue blob had overtaken his side. He winced has she gently touched his bruised ribs.
"Are they broken?" Cassie asked her mother quietly.
"I don’t think so," Her mother said. "Their bruised badly though."
"Should I call his parent’s?"
Her mother was about to say yes, but Aiden interrupted, saying, "N-no, no. You don’t n-need to do that,"
"But, Aiden," Cassie’s mother started. "We have to, honey. Your parent’s need to know about this." She laid her hand on his shoulder.
"No, please, Mrs. Mayer, It’s better that he-" he stopped, he forgot that only Cassie knew about the departure of his mother, but she had always acted as if she as oblivious, for Aiden wanted no one else to know. "I mean they don’t know. Please" he begged.
She looked over at Cassie, as if looking for an answer.
"Alright," Mrs. Mayer finally decided, though she didn’t look pleased.
Mrs. Mayer then took a roll of bandages and rapped them around his torso. After an hour of rest, Aiden could walk almost normally, staggering from time to time.
"Are you sure you don’t us to call your parent’s, Aiden?" Mrs. Mayer asked again hopefully. He knew what she wanted him to say. Yes. But he dare not tell his father that he was in a fight. Well, more so an attack than a fight. But still, it’s better that his drunkard of a father didn’t know about his assault today.
"I’m sure." Aiden replied firmly.
"M’kay then," she still sounded unsure.
He followed Cassie out to her mom’s car. This time he had no trouble stepping into the front seat. She backed out of the drive way and headed for Aiden’s house.
"I can’t stand him," Cassie said suddenly, each word emphasized with anger.
"Who? Oh, yeah, Joel. Don’t worry Cassie, I’ll be fine."
"Fine?! Aiden, he could’ve broke your ribs today, knowing that he could‘ve done much worse, and you tell me not to worry?" she said, frustrated.
"I’m just trying to make you not worry, like I know you will." he said with a surprisingly calm, sly smile.
She sighed, then laughed softly. "Yeah, I guess you’re right."
There were several minuets of silence, then the reached Aiden’s home. It was a tiny, rusted, trailer. Trash lay beneath the steps onto the porch, which was sure to attract rat’s. Aiden knew that he was poor, but he didn’t care. It never really affected him.
"Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow." Cassie sighed again, a sad looking grin stretched lightly across her face.
"Okay, see ya," he waved, limping slightly, walking to his front door.
Cassie knew about what happened at Aiden’s house. She knew about the abuse, the screaming, the cruel words of hate his drunk father used, and when he beat his mother and that she left because she didn‘t care about her only son, when he came to school with bruises covering his arms, when she noticed the small crimson slashes on his wrists. But had never told anyone about it, for she knew what would become of her friend if she told. She may never see him again.
"Oh, God," she silently prayed. "D-don’t let his dad hurt him."
As soon as Aiden stepped in the door, she drove off, fearing for her friend.
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Aiden stepped into his small trailer. He headed for his room, hoping to ovoid his father.
He failed.
His father sat on the couch, the glow of the TV making his skin seem pale and clammy. Empty, discarded bottles of liquor lay at his feet.
Oh, crap. I’m dead, I’m dead, I’m dead!
"Where’sh you been…son?" he asked sluggishly, the smell of alcohol heavy on his breath.
"At a friends,"
"You been hangin’ out wish…that…that…girl?"
"Sure,"
"Don’t you use that tone wish me, boy!" he shouted, wavering as he stood.
"What tone?!"
"D-don’t play dumb!" he shouted again, only louder this time.
"I’m not playing ‘dumb’, dad!" Aiden shouted, his anger beginning to rise. "Just leave me alone!" he turned towards his room.
Aiden’s father grabbed his son’s shoulder, turned his body to face his, and smacked him across his face. The force of the hit knocked Aiden to his feet. A large red hand print began to form on his face.
"That’ll t-teash you. You little l-liar" his father said sluggishly, looking down at his son, his face bleeding slightly now.
Aiden lay there in horrified silence. "I..I hate you!!" he screamed at the drunk, tears welling in his eyes.
"What did you sh-shay to me, boy?" his father asked.
"You heard me! I said I hate you!!"
"Good! B-because I wash never too fond of you either. It’d be…be," he staggered. "It’d be a lot easier wishout you!" he wavered back to the couch, indulging in another bottle of liquor.
Aiden ran to his room, locking his door behind him. He sank to the floor, burying his face into his hands, the tears flowing freely now.
That’s it! he thought. Every day this kind of thing happens. Everyone thinks I’m some kind of freak, my dad is a drunk who beats me, my mother didn‘t want me enough to stay with me, I get the crap beat out of me almost every day by someone other than my dad, I hate it! What kind of life is this anyway? To be unloved, mistreated, and hated by almost everyone? I can’t take it, no, not another day. It seems that everyone seems to think that their life would be better without me, well that’s j-just what they’ll get!
The tears still flowed down his cheeks and down onto his shirt. His hands shook violently. He crawled over to his bed, and reached under the tattered mattress.
His father had always kept pistol hidden under Aiden’s mattress, thinking that his son didn’t know. He had known all along, but his father’s mind had been tainted with alcohol, destroying his brain cells with each can. Many times had Aiden fished his father’s head from out of the toilet, and his father had never thanked him.
Aiden checked the gun. It was fully loaded.
He put it to his head, his hands shaking more then ever now.
He thought for a moment.
Cassie
He hadn’t thought to say goodbye to his only friend. He took the pistol and laid it gently on his bed and grabbed the phone on his nightstand. He dialed her number. It rang several times before Cassie answered herself.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Cassie, this is Aiden."
"Oh, hey. How you feeling?"
"Um, better. Listen, Cassie, I need to tell you something."
"What’s wrong Aiden? Your voice is shaking."
"I just wondering to say that…that…" Aiden stuttered. "I love you like a sister. I’ll never forget you."
Cassie put her hand to her cheek, her face growing pale.
"Aiden, you’re scaring me, what is it?"
"I’m…I’m…I’m going to kill myself. I’ll miss y-you." he swallowed, a small sob escaping from his lips.
"NO!!!" She shrieked. "Aiden you can’t-"
But she was interrupted by the sound of a phone dropping to the floor.
"AIDEN!!!! NO!!!!!" she screamed again, tears now streaming from her face.
Several seconds later, the sound of a gun shot blast from Aiden’s end of the phone.
"NO!!!! MOM!"
Mrs. Mayer came running in from the living room. "What is it?" she asked her daughter urgently.
"Call the ambulance! I think Aiden just shot himself!" she yelled through her sobs.
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"AIDEN!!! NO!!!"
That was the last he heard her say before he dropped the phone. He put the gun to his head, and pulled the trigger.
A loud BANG! rung throughout the room, and with the blink of an eye, Aiden’s vision was black.
Chapter 3: Sweet Dreams
Cassie sat in the hospital’s waiting room, the occasional tear dripping from her face and onto the page of the book she held in her cold, shaking hands. She took her hands and massaged her eyelids, fighting to keep them open. She had seen the ambulance take Aiden away, and she noticed that they never draped a white sheet over his body, which gave her a ray of hope.
She putt down her book as she saw the doctor walking briskly into the waiting room. She stood quickly, waiting for an answer.
"How is he?" Cassie asked urgently.
A small smile stretched to one side of the doctors wizened, aged face.
"He’s alive."
Cassie breathed a sigh of relief, but then became instantly confused.
"But, he was shot in the head," she said. "How could he-" the doctor held up his hand, signaling that he had an answer.
"For some bizarre reason, the bullet missed any of his vital arteries in his head, letting him live. In all the years I’ve been here, I’ve never seen anything like it," the shock never left his voice.
"Can I see him?" she asked him eagerly.
"I’m afraid not. You see, even though he lived, there’s still much left to do. At this point, he can’t talk and he doesn’t remember anything."
Cassie’s face suddenly became deathly pale.
"But don’t worry," said the doctor, noticing her sudden shock. "It’s not permanent. It’s kind of like temporary amnesia. He’ll just like before in about a month."
Cassie sat back down in her chair. A month? she thought. Oh, I shouldn’t complain. At least he’s alive.
"Okay," she sighed. She rested her hands in her hands, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
"You should go home and rest," the doctor suggested.
She looked up at him with her tired, sea green eyes. "I-I guess…" she started, unsure of what she should do.
The doctor rested his large hand on her shoulder. "Get some sleep," he patted her gently, slightly emphasizing each word. Cassie stood and nodded. She picked up her purse and began towards the door.
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3 months later
Cassie pushed Aiden’s wheelchair out the hospital door. A gentle snow flake fell upon her nose as she walked to her car. "Long time, no see," Aiden said to her quietly, a small smile forming on his face. "You can say that again." she replied casually.
"Long time, no see,"
She flicked him in the back of the head playfully.
"Hey, I could call security and say you’re abusing me,"
"I’d like to see you try, Aid’"
They both laughed loudly.
"It’s good to have you back," he said, touching her arm.
"You too, buddie."
They finally reached her car. In the past three months of recovery, Cassie had got her license and her mother bought her a new car. A jeep in fact. It glowed with bright blue sheen.
"Dude, nice wheels. When did you get your license?" Aiden asked her, his eyes not leaving the bright, sapphire blue jeep.
"Thanks," she replied with a hint of pride in her voice. "About two months ago,"
"Of Corse, I was out of it, being useless in that god-awful hospital bed."
"You’re not useless, Aid’" Cassie said to him in an gentle, reassuring voice.
He sighed. "Whatever you say, Cas’, whatever you say…" he sounded as if there was more he wanted to say, but decided to let the words float around in his head a little longer.
Cassie pushed Aiden’s wheelchair up to the jeep, and helped him up into the seat, folding the rusted chair into her backseat. She began to buckle his seatbelt, but he stopped her, saying with an edge, "Do I look crippled, Cas’?" he smiled impishly
"Kinda," she teased back.
Aiden snickered quietly under his breath as he clipped the seat belt around his waist.
Cassie slipped into her car seat, buckling her seat belt, and started up the roaring engine.
She pulled of the parking lot, and headed for the highway.
"Cassie," Aiden asked, his eyes not leaving the road in front of him.
"Yeah?"
"What kept the doctor’s from sending me to the loony house? I mean, I shot myself, don’t they send you to those when you’re suicidal?"
There were several seconds of silence, before she answered his question.
"Well, I lied. I told the cops and the doctor’s that it was an accident,"
"Oh," he said flatly.
"But the only reason we’re not getting you help, is because you’re coming to live with me now-" she was cut off.
"Live with you?! What?"
"Don’t you want to get out of that awful house of yours?" she asked him, her tone seemed too simple, as if the matter was of barley any importance.
"Well, yeah, but, what happened to dad?"
"He got arrested. They found drugs in under his mattress."
"Oh,"
"But I think that once you’re out of that house and away from your dad, you’ll get better. Trust me." she smiled a cheesy grin, her eyes leaving the busy highway.
"Truck," Aiden said flatly.
"What? Oh, GAH!" she shrieked, moving out of the giant log trucks’ way, the jeep nearly falling into the muddy ditch.
The truck gave an angry honk as he sped passed Cassie’s small, blue jeep, splashing mud onto her windows. Cassie’s face turned red as she rolled down her window, swearing loudly at the huge truck which had already passed. She rolled the window back up, fuming, and switched on the windshield wipers.
"You handled that well," Aiden muttered quietly. Cassie shot him a cold, piercing look.
She pulled back onto the highway and continued the drive home.
After another several minuets of silence, Aiden said sleepily, "Well, if you don’t mind, I think I’m gonna take a nap." he leaned back into his seat.
"Okay," she replied, her eyes not leaving the road.
Aiden closed his eyes and let sleep’s dark embrace cover his body.
~An old red, rust tinged truck speeds dangerously down the highway, losing control with every second. The truck collides into Cassie’s car, bursting into flames.~
Aiden woke with a start, breathless, sweat dripping from his forehead.
Cassie jumped slightly. "What is it, Aiden?" she asked him anxiously.
"I-I had this dream. There was this…this red truck, and it was swerving out of control. An-and, it hit us, and the jeep went up in flames." his voice sounded shaky, as if he had actually witnessed the event. "Cas’, I’ve never had a dream like this before. It was…it was…" he stuttered. "It was so…clear. Like I was actually watching this happen" Fear tainted his voice.
A worried look crept across Cassie’s face.
"C-cassie, I have a bad feeling, a really bad feeling…" he trailed off nervously.
"Aiden, it was just a dream, it’ll be-"
She was suddenly cutoff by Aiden shouting, "CASSIE! GET OFF THE ROAD!! NOW!!!!!"
She looked up saw the red truck swerving in giant loops through the busy highway, hitting several other cars in it’s path.
Cassie shrieked as made a dramatic leap off the road. The rusty truck had barley missed them as it crashed into a van further down the road, flames bursting forth from the two vehicles.
Cassie slowly turned her head to face Aiden’s. Her face was a ghostly pale as terror covered every last inch of her face. A single tear fell from Cassie’s sea green eyes as she buried her face into Aiden’s jacket. He tried to sooth her, but was too shaken himself.
After what seemed like an hour of Cassie crying into Aiden’s jacket, she raised up, dabbed the tear streaks from her face, and got back to the wheel. She started up the jeep and pulled out of the ditch. A troop of fire trucks of ambulance’s came rushing past them, hurrying to save the victims of the fatal looking wreck. Traffic seemed jammed, but Cassie seemed to get through, since she was driving the opposite direction.
The rest of journey home was silent has the continued their journey home.
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Cassie’s mud caked jeep pulled into her dusty driveway. She pulled into her aged, cluttered garage. "You’re home," she said with a cheerful tone. "Home sweet home."
They unbuckled their seat belts and unloading all of Aiden’s clothes, new medication, and whatever he packed. The two unloaded all of the luggage into the newly cleaned kitchen floor. Admits all the suitcases, Cassie noticed a large, bulky cardboard box full CD’s. "Think you got enough music here?" she asked in a playful, sarcastic tone.
"You know me, I’m a pack-rat." he replied simply while deciphering two of his medication bottles.
"Really? Geez, I would have never guessed." her tone drawing close to over-the-top.
He smirked as he continued unpacking.
He then a bright yellow shirt, the read Mc Donalds in bold, black letters on it’s pocket.
"You work at Mc Donalds?" he asked her with s growing smile.
"Yep," she sighed miserably, hoping that he would not have noticed. "As least tomorrow’s pay day," her voice brightened at the thought.
Several more minuets of silent sorting continued.
"So, since I’m your new house mate, were am I staying?" Aiden asked.
"In the spare bedroom down the hall," she motioned with her body to a small room at the
end of the small hallway.
"Oh. Cool,"
He dragged his suitcase to the spare room. It was basic, with grayish walls and blue carpet.
"You like?" Cassie asked him from behind.
"As long as it’s not the hospital bed, it’s amazing."
She chuckled as they finished unpacking in his room.
"Where’s your parent’s at?" he asked when heard the awkward silence.
"There went out to dinner, but they’ll be back in an hour or so," she placed a piled of clothes into the closet.
After they finished unpacking Aiden’s things, he let himself fall onto the bed lifelessly.
"You look tired," Cassie commented.
His only reply was a slow, sleepy nod.
"I’ll let you sleep," was all she said as she walked slowly out of the room, turning off the light as she went.
Aiden lie they in the dark room, thinking about, well, everything. How long would this last? Would he get a job? How would he keep away from the luring call of the pistol?
Stop thinking like that! he scolded himself in his head. Things will get better, now that I’m living here.
After he thought things through, he let sleep grab him in it’s peaceful, dark embrace.
~Cassie stands in line at the bank, waiting patiently for her paycheck. A man enters the bank with a black ski mask cloaking his face, a gun at his side. "Everyone down!" he shouts. Not many comply. The burglar tries to take Cassie purse, and she put’s up a fight, not realizing that the man is armed. Cassie’s sharp nail’s sink into the man’s arm. "Argh!" he screams before pulling out his gun. He pulled the trigger, the bullet flying straight into her forehead.~
Chapter 4: Savior
It was 2:00 in the afternoon when Aiden woke with a start, breathless, sweat dripping onto the bed. It was much like the last time when had a dream, but this time, what he saw was much worse. He jumped out of bed, running into the kitchen, where Cassie’s mother was sitting at the kitchen table, reading a book. "Good morning, Aiden," she greeted him cheerfully. "Where’s Cassie?" he asked her urgently, trying to sound too concerned.
"She just called to check on you. She said she was at the bank,"
Aiden’s eyes grew large when heard this. "What’s wrong, hon’?" she asked him, her face growing darker.
"Mrs. Mayer, I’ve got to get to the bank," he ran towards the door.
He caught sight of a bike out of the corner of the cluttered garage. She jumped on it’s seat and flew out of the garage and into the street before Mrs. Mayer could shout to him. He sped through the street, his thought’s racing. Oh, God, please let there be enough time.
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Cassie began to tremble as she was crouched down onto the cold, grey, stone bank floor. Her thoughts began race rapidly. What if she didn’t make it out of this alive? She also feared for the others who were crouched around her, who’s minds were probably thinking the same as hers.
It was then that Cassie made a life threatening decision. She reached into her purse and grabbed a small tube of pepper spray, and began to lift herself off the ground. The burglar was too distracted with trying to get the poor, frightened cashier to give him all the money in the safe. She was scared stiff.
As she stood up, he turned around after the sound of her footsteps. "I told you, lady, get on the ground!" he barked. She lifted the pepper spray with a quick but shaking hand and squeezed the trigger, letting the spray attack the thief’s eyes.
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Aiden reached the bank just in time. Cassie had stabbed him with her nails, and the thief was swatting at her blindly as Aiden ran to the door. "Argh!" the man shouted as he revealed his pistol, aiming it at Cassie. "NO!!!" Aiden screamed, bursting through doors. The man pulled the trigger at Cassie. But before the deadly bullet could reach her, Aiden stepped out in front Cassie, shielding her from the bullet. The bullet hit him square in stomach, as Aiden fell to floor with a sickening thud. "AIDEN!!!!" Cassie cried, running to him.
Not seconds after the robber shot Aiden, The police came bursting through the door, throwing the man to the ground.
"Aiden?" Cassie whispered, tears now streaming from her eyes. They landed onto his shirt, making small dark puddles.
"Hey," he smiled weakly. He coughed, blood splattering is lips. Cassie began to wipe away the blood that was slowly seeping from his quivering mouth.
"Oh, Aiden. You’re going to be-"
"No. Cassie, they can’t save me now. The bullets too deep."
A sob escaped her lips.
"Cassie," he said with what little remaining strength he could muster. "There’s s-something I need to t-tell you."
He began to shake. A pool of crimson blood was beginning to form on the floor.
"W-what is it?" she asked him through her tears. She clutched his shaking hand.
He began to tremble harder now, his eyes looking pitifully into hers. "I l-love y-you," was all he managed to say before the life silently left his cold, dark eyes.
It was then, that Aiden slowly died.
Heavy sobs escaped from Cassie, her whole body beginning shake.
"I-I love you too." her tears fell upon Aiden’s shirt, now tears of grief, sorrow, and regret.
She shook him, but there was no reply. He just lie there, lifeless.
"NO!!" she shrieked madly, her fists pounding the ground. "No! Aiden, you can’t go. You c-can’t-" she choked, unable to finish.
She fell to the floor completely now, wrapping her arms around his blood stained body, and sobbed, sobbed until she barley even stand.
"I love you," she whispered sorrowfully in his ear. An Ambulance had arrived to retrieve him. As Cassie lay weeping, clutching his corpse, a police woman slowly approached her, saying softly, "The ambulance is here, honey. You have to let go of him."
Cassie shot her a piercing glare, her eyes daggers. Then it was fear that slowly replaced the siring anger.
"NO!" she shouted, swatting at the officer. "You can’t make me!!!" her voice cracked, then softened. "I can’t just leave him."
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A cold wind blew through trees that dark September day, wrapping the whole town it it’s cold, grey embrace.
A small group of people dressed in black stood over the coffin of Aiden Freeman. Cassie’s family were the only people who attended his funeral. The priest gave his sermon, his words passionate and meaningful. Cassie peered down into the deep, shadowy hole. Her face icy pale, she watched the diggers slowly his coffin down into the pit. It gave a low thump as touched the cold earth beneath. "Alright, let’s fill it up," ordered the digger to the other two workers once the priest finished his sermon. They shoved their shovels into the earth, throwing the dirt upon Aiden’s coffin.
But something had hit the coffin before the clumps of dirt.
It was the sorrowful, loving tear of Cassie Mayer.
"Give it all to you, reaching as I fall. It’s already over now.
Loving you again, it’s already over, already over now. You’re
What I reach for when I fall.
It’s already over now."
.
Read More..
Thursday, May 21, 2009
The mystery story of the Maya slowly reveals new twists
Don't tell Indiana Jones, but most archaeologists pack spades, not bullwhips, and big discoveries usually come after lots of digging, not looting. Maya
discoveries in Mexico that are rewriting the history of this classic civilization, for example, are coming from years of careful digging, not looted idols.
The classic Maya were part of a Central American civilization best known for stepped pyramids, beautiful carvings and murals and the widespread abandonment of cities around 900 A.D. in southern Mexico, Guatemala, Belize and El Salvador, leaving the Maya only the northern lowlands of the Yucatan peninsula. The conventional wisdom of this upheaval is that many Maya moved north at the time of this collapse, also colonizing the hilly "Puuc" region of the Yucatan for a short while, until those new cities collapsed as well.
But that story of the Maya is wrong, suggests archaeologist George Bey of Millsaps College in Jackson, Miss., who is co-leading an investigation of the abandoned city of Kiuic with Mexican archaeologist Tomas Gallareta of Mexico's National Institute of Archaeology and History. "Our work indicates that instead the Puuc region was occupied for almost 2,000 years before the collapse in the south," says Bey, by e-mail.
Over the last five years, Bey and his colleagues have started unearthing Maya cities in the Puuc region dating back to more than 800 B.C. "It is both the number of sites we are finding as well as that some of them produced large-scale monumental architecture — pyramids and an acropolis — while others have ball courts." At Kiuic, Bey's team has found a large platform that held at least two large ceremonial structures with ceramics. The cities dated back more than a millennium earlier than anyone had thought Maya cities existed in the region.
"This is interesting stuff. The northern lowlands usually get the short end of the stick because all the well-known classic sites are in the southern lowlands," says Maya archaeologist Lisa Lucero of the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, whose own research is in Belize. "There is no doubt that many people went north after the collapse, but, there is a fuller, longer story to the northern lowlands."
The buildings, ceramics and trade items, such as Guatemalan obsidian and Olmec jade, found at Kiuic indicate these early cities of the Puuc were tied to Maya centers further south. Archaeologists had known that people lived in the region for a long time, he adds, but the complexity — large cities with hundreds of thousands of people living nearby — was unknown until recently. In 1980, only one site, Komchen, was known in the Puuc, and now there are hundreds, says Bey. "Part of the problem was that people didn't think it existed, so we were not, until recently, looking for it."
The research paints a picture of the classic Maya civilization as one big connected society from antiquity, and the "collapse" looks more like a series of local catastrophes, rather than a single apocalyptic event (apologies to Mel Gibson for the Apocalypto reference.) "The public needs to understand that the so-called Maya collapse was not an overnight affair that resulted in the total disappearance of the Maya people. The collapse took place over a period of more than 200 years," says Bey. "The result was the breakdown of elite culture and the abandonment of their cities. However, millions of Maya continued to live in Mesoamerica, especially in the northern Maya lowland, as they do so today."
Kiuic's abandonment sometime in the 10th Century is also part of the collapse story. Bey and his colleagues have found large grinding stones turned on their sides at the site, a regular practice for farmers planning to return to them — but more ominously, a large number of spear points as well.
They plan to keep on digging into the mystery. "I believe there is an even earlier occupation than what we have defined thus far," Bey says, perhaps dating back before 1000 B.C. "I may be optimistic, but I think now that we are looking for it, it is only a matter of time."
. Read More..
discoveries in Mexico that are rewriting the history of this classic civilization, for example, are coming from years of careful digging, not looted idols.
The classic Maya were part of a Central American civilization best known for stepped pyramids, beautiful carvings and murals and the widespread abandonment of cities around 900 A.D. in southern Mexico, Guatemala, Belize and El Salvador, leaving the Maya only the northern lowlands of the Yucatan peninsula. The conventional wisdom of this upheaval is that many Maya moved north at the time of this collapse, also colonizing the hilly "Puuc" region of the Yucatan for a short while, until those new cities collapsed as well.
But that story of the Maya is wrong, suggests archaeologist George Bey of Millsaps College in Jackson, Miss., who is co-leading an investigation of the abandoned city of Kiuic with Mexican archaeologist Tomas Gallareta of Mexico's National Institute of Archaeology and History. "Our work indicates that instead the Puuc region was occupied for almost 2,000 years before the collapse in the south," says Bey, by e-mail.
Over the last five years, Bey and his colleagues have started unearthing Maya cities in the Puuc region dating back to more than 800 B.C. "It is both the number of sites we are finding as well as that some of them produced large-scale monumental architecture — pyramids and an acropolis — while others have ball courts." At Kiuic, Bey's team has found a large platform that held at least two large ceremonial structures with ceramics. The cities dated back more than a millennium earlier than anyone had thought Maya cities existed in the region.
"This is interesting stuff. The northern lowlands usually get the short end of the stick because all the well-known classic sites are in the southern lowlands," says Maya archaeologist Lisa Lucero of the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, whose own research is in Belize. "There is no doubt that many people went north after the collapse, but, there is a fuller, longer story to the northern lowlands."
The buildings, ceramics and trade items, such as Guatemalan obsidian and Olmec jade, found at Kiuic indicate these early cities of the Puuc were tied to Maya centers further south. Archaeologists had known that people lived in the region for a long time, he adds, but the complexity — large cities with hundreds of thousands of people living nearby — was unknown until recently. In 1980, only one site, Komchen, was known in the Puuc, and now there are hundreds, says Bey. "Part of the problem was that people didn't think it existed, so we were not, until recently, looking for it."
The research paints a picture of the classic Maya civilization as one big connected society from antiquity, and the "collapse" looks more like a series of local catastrophes, rather than a single apocalyptic event (apologies to Mel Gibson for the Apocalypto reference.) "The public needs to understand that the so-called Maya collapse was not an overnight affair that resulted in the total disappearance of the Maya people. The collapse took place over a period of more than 200 years," says Bey. "The result was the breakdown of elite culture and the abandonment of their cities. However, millions of Maya continued to live in Mesoamerica, especially in the northern Maya lowland, as they do so today."
Kiuic's abandonment sometime in the 10th Century is also part of the collapse story. Bey and his colleagues have found large grinding stones turned on their sides at the site, a regular practice for farmers planning to return to them — but more ominously, a large number of spear points as well.
They plan to keep on digging into the mystery. "I believe there is an even earlier occupation than what we have defined thus far," Bey says, perhaps dating back before 1000 B.C. "I may be optimistic, but I think now that we are looking for it, it is only a matter of time."
. Read More..
St. Valentine's Day Massacre with Pictures - True Crime
One February evening in North Chicago, seven well-dressed men were found riddled with bullets inside the S.M.C Cartage Co. garage. They had been
lined up against a wall, with their backs to their executioners and shot to death. With the exception of Dr. Reinhardt H. Schwimmer these men were mobsters working under the leadership of gangster and bootlegger, "Bugs" Moran. Within a few seconds, while staring at a bare brick wall, these seven men had become a part of Valentine's Day history: the St. Valentine's Day Massacre.
competition between gangster rivals Al "Scarface" Capone and George "Bugs" Moran, bloody warfare was nothing new to the authorities of Chicago. However, investigators on the scene found the Valentine's Day Massacre to be somewhat puzzling. The victims were mobsters, with an endless supply of weapons and well known capability for brutality. Why would they turn their backs and face the wall for anyone without putting up a fight? That was one of many questions to be answered.
Another question came about after an eyewitness gave her account of what happened on that night in 1929. She lived directly across the street and had a perfect view of the garage. She claimed to have seen two uniformed policemen exit the garage while escorting two plain clothed men who held their hands up in the air, as if they were under arrest.
Of course, this comforted the shaken woman, thinking that the loud gun fire that she had just heard had been resolved and the parties responsible were being taken into custody. However, the Chicago police had no record of any such activity at 2122 Clark Street until they arrived on the scene to find the horrifying blood bath.
When it comes to suspects, a murder mystery can run the gamut of possibilities. In the case of The Valentine's Day Massacre, the person with the most motive was not difficult to come by. Although he claimed to be in Florida at the time of the murders, Al Capone was, without hesitation, the one and only suspect in this infamous crime.
Thanks to prohibition, Capone had become the crime czar of Chicago, running gambling, prostitution and bootlegging rackets while continuously expanding his territories by getting rid of rival gangs. Capone's fortune was estimated at $60,000,000. That kind of money gave Al Capone one of the oldest and most common motives in murder mystery history. He had to take down "Bugs" Moran at any cost. But as one of the leading gangsters in Chicago, Moran was not an easy person to get rid of. So in order to get rid of Moran, Capone chose to start at the bottom and get rid of Moran's outfit, leaving him defenseless.
When the bodies were discovered splattered on the floor of the garage, it seemed at first glance, that not one single person could have survived the force of the attack. However, this proved to be untrue, when one investigator on the scene found Frank Gusenberg lying amongst the bloody corpses, breathing heavily and choking on his own blood. Immediately, the unconscious victim was taken to the hospital where investigators waited with anticipation for their only possible lead to wake up and finger the men who were responsible. Their greatest fear was that he would die before they had the opportunity to question him, but eventually he did wake.
When he was asked for the identity of the killer, he simply stated "I'm not gonna talk," before he laid his head back and died. Without Frank Gusenberg's testimony and with only a few eye witnesses outside the garage, the investigators had to return to the scene of the crime and try to piece the murder together with what information they had.
After a re-enactment of the crime, authorities concluded that the two men dressed as policemen entered the garage and acted as if they were police on a routine investigation. The Moran outfit automatically assumed that they were policemen on a routine sting. It was obvious that they didnt suspect anything questionable with the two uniformed killers or they certainly would have never been killed without a fight. But as it was, the mobsters seemed to have cooperated with the costumed officers and consequently let the fake policemen disarm them and force them up against the wall. As soon as their backs were turned, the two men in plain clothes entered with guns and shot them down.
Therefore, the eye-witnesses were somewhat accurate when they claimed to have seen two policemen arresting two men. What they had actually seen was four brutal murderers making their cleverly planned get away. If a neighbor or neighbors looked out after such rapid and explosive gunfire, what better way to calm their nerves, by letting them think that everything was under control. And indeed it was under control. The mysterious killers drove away into the night, long before anyone thought to call the police, because the neighbors saw from their windows that the police were already there.
As any mystery lover knows, a murder mystery would not be complete without a clear and well defined conclusion, but in the case of the St. Valentine's Day Massacre, it has every element of the mystery, but the ending. Al Capone was never arrested for the crimes; the mysterious gun men were never identified and Capone never graced a reader or interested member of the public with an over dramatic confession. Instead, he was blandly indicted for tax evasion some years later and spent seven years in prison only to be released to retire in Florida, where he died from Syphilis in 1947.
In many respects, the Valentine's Day Massacre follows the perfect mystery blueprint up to the end. Although Capone never went into complete detail on the events of the massacre, perhaps he did allude to his future plans for that bloody Valentine's Day in 1929. A few months prior to the murders, Al Capone mentioned to a fellow "associate" his plan to take down Moran. Capone was told by the "associate" that he would have to kill a lot of people in order to get to "Bugs" Moran. It is rumored that Capone replied by simply saying: "I'll send flowers."
. Read More..
lined up against a wall, with their backs to their executioners and shot to death. With the exception of Dr. Reinhardt H. Schwimmer these men were mobsters working under the leadership of gangster and bootlegger, "Bugs" Moran. Within a few seconds, while staring at a bare brick wall, these seven men had become a part of Valentine's Day history: the St. Valentine's Day Massacre.
competition between gangster rivals Al "Scarface" Capone and George "Bugs" Moran, bloody warfare was nothing new to the authorities of Chicago. However, investigators on the scene found the Valentine's Day Massacre to be somewhat puzzling. The victims were mobsters, with an endless supply of weapons and well known capability for brutality. Why would they turn their backs and face the wall for anyone without putting up a fight? That was one of many questions to be answered.
Another question came about after an eyewitness gave her account of what happened on that night in 1929. She lived directly across the street and had a perfect view of the garage. She claimed to have seen two uniformed policemen exit the garage while escorting two plain clothed men who held their hands up in the air, as if they were under arrest.
Of course, this comforted the shaken woman, thinking that the loud gun fire that she had just heard had been resolved and the parties responsible were being taken into custody. However, the Chicago police had no record of any such activity at 2122 Clark Street until they arrived on the scene to find the horrifying blood bath.
When it comes to suspects, a murder mystery can run the gamut of possibilities. In the case of The Valentine's Day Massacre, the person with the most motive was not difficult to come by. Although he claimed to be in Florida at the time of the murders, Al Capone was, without hesitation, the one and only suspect in this infamous crime.
Thanks to prohibition, Capone had become the crime czar of Chicago, running gambling, prostitution and bootlegging rackets while continuously expanding his territories by getting rid of rival gangs. Capone's fortune was estimated at $60,000,000. That kind of money gave Al Capone one of the oldest and most common motives in murder mystery history. He had to take down "Bugs" Moran at any cost. But as one of the leading gangsters in Chicago, Moran was not an easy person to get rid of. So in order to get rid of Moran, Capone chose to start at the bottom and get rid of Moran's outfit, leaving him defenseless.
When the bodies were discovered splattered on the floor of the garage, it seemed at first glance, that not one single person could have survived the force of the attack. However, this proved to be untrue, when one investigator on the scene found Frank Gusenberg lying amongst the bloody corpses, breathing heavily and choking on his own blood. Immediately, the unconscious victim was taken to the hospital where investigators waited with anticipation for their only possible lead to wake up and finger the men who were responsible. Their greatest fear was that he would die before they had the opportunity to question him, but eventually he did wake.
When he was asked for the identity of the killer, he simply stated "I'm not gonna talk," before he laid his head back and died. Without Frank Gusenberg's testimony and with only a few eye witnesses outside the garage, the investigators had to return to the scene of the crime and try to piece the murder together with what information they had.
After a re-enactment of the crime, authorities concluded that the two men dressed as policemen entered the garage and acted as if they were police on a routine investigation. The Moran outfit automatically assumed that they were policemen on a routine sting. It was obvious that they didnt suspect anything questionable with the two uniformed killers or they certainly would have never been killed without a fight. But as it was, the mobsters seemed to have cooperated with the costumed officers and consequently let the fake policemen disarm them and force them up against the wall. As soon as their backs were turned, the two men in plain clothes entered with guns and shot them down.
Therefore, the eye-witnesses were somewhat accurate when they claimed to have seen two policemen arresting two men. What they had actually seen was four brutal murderers making their cleverly planned get away. If a neighbor or neighbors looked out after such rapid and explosive gunfire, what better way to calm their nerves, by letting them think that everything was under control. And indeed it was under control. The mysterious killers drove away into the night, long before anyone thought to call the police, because the neighbors saw from their windows that the police were already there.
As any mystery lover knows, a murder mystery would not be complete without a clear and well defined conclusion, but in the case of the St. Valentine's Day Massacre, it has every element of the mystery, but the ending. Al Capone was never arrested for the crimes; the mysterious gun men were never identified and Capone never graced a reader or interested member of the public with an over dramatic confession. Instead, he was blandly indicted for tax evasion some years later and spent seven years in prison only to be released to retire in Florida, where he died from Syphilis in 1947.
In many respects, the Valentine's Day Massacre follows the perfect mystery blueprint up to the end. Although Capone never went into complete detail on the events of the massacre, perhaps he did allude to his future plans for that bloody Valentine's Day in 1929. A few months prior to the murders, Al Capone mentioned to a fellow "associate" his plan to take down Moran. Capone was told by the "associate" that he would have to kill a lot of people in order to get to "Bugs" Moran. It is rumored that Capone replied by simply saying: "I'll send flowers."
. Read More..
Mystery Poems: The Valentine Box Poem
The Valentine's Social brought Billy and Liz
together when they were just nine.
He thought that her shoebox
of string, tape and lace
was "pretty" and cookies "just fine."
Liz noticed how nimbly his fingers untied
the shoelace that held the lid tight,
and how, though the cookies were burnt to a crisp,
he smiled as he ate the last bite.
Now, poor Liz was from the wrong side of the tracks,
and all the school children did say
that Billy, born on the right side of the town,
was nice "`cause it's Valentine's Day."
Though the Social had brought them together that once,
the social rules kept them apart,
and so they each went to their predestined life
with an empty place deep in their heart.
Now, Liz never married, but learned how to cook,
and she started a catering biz
that served meals at galas and opening nights,
and everyone wanted Ms. Liz.
She was booked for a book-launch -- Valentine's Day.
The author had specified her.
He was Edgar'd and feted -- a writer of note --
so shy Liz was forced to concur.
Liz set out the food as the writer read lines,
then nimbly signed books for the crowd,
but a puzzle it was, how this mystery man
was making her heart beat so loud.
She busied her hands with the lace and the silk,
though they shook as she touched each part.
She turned from the table as a voice in her ear
whispered, "Liz, please be my sweetheart."
He held in his two hands -- this mystery man --
a box that was faded and worn,
and when William Devane smiled at Liz once again
she saw her young Billy reborn.
It's a mystery to some how Billy and Liz
found each other in this strange way,
but to all we who love (or wish for love) it's
the magic of Valentine's Day.
. Read More..
together when they were just nine.
He thought that her shoebox
of string, tape and lace
was "pretty" and cookies "just fine."
Liz noticed how nimbly his fingers untied
the shoelace that held the lid tight,
and how, though the cookies were burnt to a crisp,
he smiled as he ate the last bite.
Now, poor Liz was from the wrong side of the tracks,
and all the school children did say
that Billy, born on the right side of the town,
was nice "`cause it's Valentine's Day."
Though the Social had brought them together that once,
the social rules kept them apart,
and so they each went to their predestined life
with an empty place deep in their heart.
Now, Liz never married, but learned how to cook,
and she started a catering biz
that served meals at galas and opening nights,
and everyone wanted Ms. Liz.
She was booked for a book-launch -- Valentine's Day.
The author had specified her.
He was Edgar'd and feted -- a writer of note --
so shy Liz was forced to concur.
Liz set out the food as the writer read lines,
then nimbly signed books for the crowd,
but a puzzle it was, how this mystery man
was making her heart beat so loud.
She busied her hands with the lace and the silk,
though they shook as she touched each part.
She turned from the table as a voice in her ear
whispered, "Liz, please be my sweetheart."
He held in his two hands -- this mystery man --
a box that was faded and worn,
and when William Devane smiled at Liz once again
she saw her young Billy reborn.
It's a mystery to some how Billy and Liz
found each other in this strange way,
but to all we who love (or wish for love) it's
the magic of Valentine's Day.
. Read More..
Hard Feelings Short Story Valentine Mystery by Barbara D'Amato (part 3)
Figueroa said, "Sir, may I ask what the circumstances were that led up to the fire? We came into a
situation midway-"
"Which is no excuse."
"I'm not suggesting that it is. But the fire obviously started in that apartment, and there were three adults inside who didn't seem to have made any effort to put it out. Why was Mr. Molitor lying in the middle of the living room floor? If he'd been shot, for instance, I would think I'd be entitled to know that. It certainly wasn't the smoke that killed him. He was down on the floor where the air was good."
"I don't suppose there's any reason not to tell you. We have a reasonably full picture, from the statement of the woman and the statements of the neighbors."
The Molitors had begun fighting in the afternoon-a husband, his wife, and the wife's brother. Fighting and drinking, and drinking and fighting. Among the burned remnants of their apartment were dozens of beer cans and the fragments of two bottles that had contained scotch.
By early evening, the neighbors were getting pretty tired of it. Judging by their observations and the wife's story, about nine the husband, who until then had been just shouting and threatening and hitting the wall with his fists, started hitting his wife. She hit back for a while, then fell, and he kicked her. She screamed for help and one of the neighbors, too frightened to go in or knock, called the police.
Meanwhile, the brother had come to the wife's defense. He attacked the husband, who by now was in a blind rage. The husband pushed the brother, who fell over the wife, and then the husband grabbed a can of lighter fluid, ran wild, spraying it along the living room and kitchen walls, and lighted it. The brother surged up off the floor. The wife, terrified, crawled to what she thought was the front door, but she was dazed from several blows, and now smoke was filling the room, and she actually went into the kitchen.
Meanwhile, the brother had picked up a chair and hit the husband over the head, hard. The husband went down.
At about this point, Figueroa and Bennis were pulling up outside. The brother's hair had caught fire. He panicked and ran out of the apartment, where he was intercepted by Bennis.
Wardron continued: "Officer Figueroa, what you should have done after Officer Bennis left with the baby was to attempt to get Mr. Molitor out. You might not have succeeded, but you should have tried."
"I knew the man on the floor was dead. He was cold."
"Officer Bennis, was he cold?"
Bennis swallowed. Figueroa fixed him with her eyes, but he didn't look at her. For a moment he straightened up, squaring his shoulders, as if he were steeling himself to take action. Then his face sagged.
"He was still warm," he said.
Commander Sazerac asked, "Isn't there a way to tell whether he was dead before the fire got to him? You should be able to test for carbon sucked into the lungs. If he wasn't breathing-"
"Commander Sazerac, we appreciate your help," Wardron said, in a tone that made it clear that he didn't. "Believe it or not, we thought of that."
Sazerac watched sourly. He knew there was something wrong with the way they were getting the picture, but he couldn't put his finger on where the problem was. Figueroa would not have left a living man to burn to death. Sazerac had been a commander much too long to make serious mistakes in judgment about his officers' characters. There was a problem with Figueroa, but it was the opposite. Like a lot of short female officers, she had a tendency to put herself in harm's way unnecessarily and play Jane Wayne. This charge against her was dead wrong.
Wardron added, "The entire building was engulfed when the fire department finally made it. Shortly after that, the top three floors of the structure collapsed into the basement. What was left of Mr. Molitor looked a lot like a blackened pipe cleaner."
Figueroa had been staring at the tabletop.
"Wait!" she said suddenly. She knew that wasn't the way to talk to the brass, and said in a quieter voice, "If you'll give me a minute, to go get something, I think I can explain what happened."
She got up.
Wardron said, "You can explain it right here."
"If I may leave for just a minute, sir, I can demonstrate."
"One minute, then."
Figueroa took two Styrofoam cups from the table that held the coffee urn and was back in less than a minute with two cups of water.
"Would you put the fingers of your left hand in one of these and the fingers of your right hand in the other, Deputy Wardron?"
"No. Explain to me what you think you're trying to do."
"Well maybe Commander Sazerac will, while I explain. We can always repeat it." Sazerac, intrigued, did as she said.
"One cup is hot water and one is cold. On the night of the fire, Officer Bennis had patted snow all over the brother, outdoors, and then ran back into the burning apartment. While he was doing that, I was pulling the woman out of the kitchen. She was hot to the touch and felt like she was starting to blister. When I came back, I felt along the hot wall. The instant Officer Bennis returned from outside, we both touched Mr. Molitor."
Commander Sazerac said, "I begin to see."
"Mr. Molitor was dead, but only ten to twenty minutes dead, so his skin was probably about the temperature of mine today. Commander, will you use both hands to touch my forearm?"
Sazerac did so. He smiled. "Amazing. Your arm feels warm to my right hand and cold to my left." Sazerac turned to Wardron. "The same arm," he said. "And it feels entirely different." He gestured to Wardron. "Want to try it?"
Figueroa and Bennis sat in their squad car. Bennis said, "Reminds me of this case I had once."
Figueroa sighed loudly, but Bennis knew she liked his stories.
"Guy decided to rob a fraternity house late at night, on a night when there had been a late snow. Flat, untouched snow leading up to the door. So he says to himself 'If I walk in backward, they'll think it was somebody from inside who stole the stuff, because there won't be any tracks leading in.' "
"Not a bad plan."
"Which he proceeds to accomplish. Picks up a lot of odds and ends, one or two wallets, a ten-inch TV, a boom box, and leaves. Kids get up in the morning' call the cops, we come in, see the tracks. Well, we'd been onto a guy in the neighborhood we knew'd been doing this kind of stuff. Go pick him up. Now he's got a problem. He wants to ask about tracks in the snow, but he shouldn't know anything about it, see?"
"Yup."
"So he says, real cute, 'You'd think you could tell whether it was an inside or outside job, snow like this and all.' "
"Real subtle."
"Yeah. Well, we said, 'We did and we knew by the tracks it was an outside job.' He says, all astounded 'That's impossible! I faced backward, going and coming!'"
Suze Figueroa giggled. "They get cute, but they never get smart."
"So you see, Figueroa, it's like this case with the fire. The way things are is all a matter of which angle you're looking at it from."
"Right, Bennis. Got it. Want to do a movie after work?"
He checked around to make sure nobody was watching and put his arm over her shoulders. "Let me take you to dinner, Figueroa. We missed Valentine's Day."
. Read More..
situation midway-"
"Which is no excuse."
"I'm not suggesting that it is. But the fire obviously started in that apartment, and there were three adults inside who didn't seem to have made any effort to put it out. Why was Mr. Molitor lying in the middle of the living room floor? If he'd been shot, for instance, I would think I'd be entitled to know that. It certainly wasn't the smoke that killed him. He was down on the floor where the air was good."
"I don't suppose there's any reason not to tell you. We have a reasonably full picture, from the statement of the woman and the statements of the neighbors."
The Molitors had begun fighting in the afternoon-a husband, his wife, and the wife's brother. Fighting and drinking, and drinking and fighting. Among the burned remnants of their apartment were dozens of beer cans and the fragments of two bottles that had contained scotch.
By early evening, the neighbors were getting pretty tired of it. Judging by their observations and the wife's story, about nine the husband, who until then had been just shouting and threatening and hitting the wall with his fists, started hitting his wife. She hit back for a while, then fell, and he kicked her. She screamed for help and one of the neighbors, too frightened to go in or knock, called the police.
Meanwhile, the brother had come to the wife's defense. He attacked the husband, who by now was in a blind rage. The husband pushed the brother, who fell over the wife, and then the husband grabbed a can of lighter fluid, ran wild, spraying it along the living room and kitchen walls, and lighted it. The brother surged up off the floor. The wife, terrified, crawled to what she thought was the front door, but she was dazed from several blows, and now smoke was filling the room, and she actually went into the kitchen.
Meanwhile, the brother had picked up a chair and hit the husband over the head, hard. The husband went down.
At about this point, Figueroa and Bennis were pulling up outside. The brother's hair had caught fire. He panicked and ran out of the apartment, where he was intercepted by Bennis.
Wardron continued: "Officer Figueroa, what you should have done after Officer Bennis left with the baby was to attempt to get Mr. Molitor out. You might not have succeeded, but you should have tried."
"I knew the man on the floor was dead. He was cold."
"Officer Bennis, was he cold?"
Bennis swallowed. Figueroa fixed him with her eyes, but he didn't look at her. For a moment he straightened up, squaring his shoulders, as if he were steeling himself to take action. Then his face sagged.
"He was still warm," he said.
Commander Sazerac asked, "Isn't there a way to tell whether he was dead before the fire got to him? You should be able to test for carbon sucked into the lungs. If he wasn't breathing-"
"Commander Sazerac, we appreciate your help," Wardron said, in a tone that made it clear that he didn't. "Believe it or not, we thought of that."
Sazerac watched sourly. He knew there was something wrong with the way they were getting the picture, but he couldn't put his finger on where the problem was. Figueroa would not have left a living man to burn to death. Sazerac had been a commander much too long to make serious mistakes in judgment about his officers' characters. There was a problem with Figueroa, but it was the opposite. Like a lot of short female officers, she had a tendency to put herself in harm's way unnecessarily and play Jane Wayne. This charge against her was dead wrong.
Wardron added, "The entire building was engulfed when the fire department finally made it. Shortly after that, the top three floors of the structure collapsed into the basement. What was left of Mr. Molitor looked a lot like a blackened pipe cleaner."
Figueroa had been staring at the tabletop.
"Wait!" she said suddenly. She knew that wasn't the way to talk to the brass, and said in a quieter voice, "If you'll give me a minute, to go get something, I think I can explain what happened."
She got up.
Wardron said, "You can explain it right here."
"If I may leave for just a minute, sir, I can demonstrate."
"One minute, then."
Figueroa took two Styrofoam cups from the table that held the coffee urn and was back in less than a minute with two cups of water.
"Would you put the fingers of your left hand in one of these and the fingers of your right hand in the other, Deputy Wardron?"
"No. Explain to me what you think you're trying to do."
"Well maybe Commander Sazerac will, while I explain. We can always repeat it." Sazerac, intrigued, did as she said.
"One cup is hot water and one is cold. On the night of the fire, Officer Bennis had patted snow all over the brother, outdoors, and then ran back into the burning apartment. While he was doing that, I was pulling the woman out of the kitchen. She was hot to the touch and felt like she was starting to blister. When I came back, I felt along the hot wall. The instant Officer Bennis returned from outside, we both touched Mr. Molitor."
Commander Sazerac said, "I begin to see."
"Mr. Molitor was dead, but only ten to twenty minutes dead, so his skin was probably about the temperature of mine today. Commander, will you use both hands to touch my forearm?"
Sazerac did so. He smiled. "Amazing. Your arm feels warm to my right hand and cold to my left." Sazerac turned to Wardron. "The same arm," he said. "And it feels entirely different." He gestured to Wardron. "Want to try it?"
Figueroa and Bennis sat in their squad car. Bennis said, "Reminds me of this case I had once."
Figueroa sighed loudly, but Bennis knew she liked his stories.
"Guy decided to rob a fraternity house late at night, on a night when there had been a late snow. Flat, untouched snow leading up to the door. So he says to himself 'If I walk in backward, they'll think it was somebody from inside who stole the stuff, because there won't be any tracks leading in.' "
"Not a bad plan."
"Which he proceeds to accomplish. Picks up a lot of odds and ends, one or two wallets, a ten-inch TV, a boom box, and leaves. Kids get up in the morning' call the cops, we come in, see the tracks. Well, we'd been onto a guy in the neighborhood we knew'd been doing this kind of stuff. Go pick him up. Now he's got a problem. He wants to ask about tracks in the snow, but he shouldn't know anything about it, see?"
"Yup."
"So he says, real cute, 'You'd think you could tell whether it was an inside or outside job, snow like this and all.' "
"Real subtle."
"Yeah. Well, we said, 'We did and we knew by the tracks it was an outside job.' He says, all astounded 'That's impossible! I faced backward, going and coming!'"
Suze Figueroa giggled. "They get cute, but they never get smart."
"So you see, Figueroa, it's like this case with the fire. The way things are is all a matter of which angle you're looking at it from."
"Right, Bennis. Got it. Want to do a movie after work?"
He checked around to make sure nobody was watching and put his arm over her shoulders. "Let me take you to dinner, Figueroa. We missed Valentine's Day."
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Hard Feelings Short Story Valentine Mystery by Barbara D'Amato (part 2)
"Northbound on LaSalle. Driving's real bad, squad," Bennis said, trying not to gasp as Figueroa slewed within kissing distance of a light pole. "But
I'd guess we're just two minutes out now."
"Yeah, thirty-three. Okay. By the way, the news is it's gonna keep snowing until noon tomorrow."
"How nice."
Bennis and Figueroa pulled up in front. They had entered thousands of buildings, not knowing what they'd find. They relied on each other. Each knew that the other would be there, and they even had their own shorthand way of communicating. Bennis pointed a finger to show Figueroa that it was her turn to stand to the far side of the apartment door. Then he knocked. But before he could knock again, Figueroa pointed. "Look."
There was smoke coming out around the top of the door.
Bennis felt the door to see if it was cool, which it was. The last thing he wanted was to start a backdraft. Then he backed up to take a kick at the door. But that instant it opened and a man came running out. His hair and jacket were on fire, and he was screaming. He didn't even see the two cops, but crashed frantically down the stairs.
Bennis spun and went after him, knowing Figueroa would put out the emergency call to the dispatcher. He raced down the stairs three at a time and still couldn't catch up with the terrified man until, leaping, screaming down the cement steps outside the front door, the man fell. The fire on his hair and jacket had spread. Bennis rolled him over in the snow three or four times. Then, thinking to chill the charred flesh and prevent further burn damage, he grabbed up handfuls of snow and slapped it all over the man's head and back.
There was no time to wait and see how badly hurt the man was. God only knew how many people were in the building. Bennis bolted back inside and up the stairs.
Meanwhile, Figueroa had keyed her radio. "One thirty- three, emergency."
"Go ahead, thirty-three."
"There's a fire in this apartment, and it's going fast."
"I'll get the smokiest."
" 'Four."
Talking on her radio had used just six seconds. At the same time, she had been scanning the apartment. She could hardly see anything, the smoke was so thick! but she heard a woman screaming. Figueroa dropped to her hands and knees and crawled fast toward the screams.
She found herself in the kitchen, where a woman, standing up, was rushing into a broom closet, falling down when she hit the wall, rushing in again, terrified and convinced it was the front door.
Figueroa grabbed her. "Get out of my way!" the woman screamed over and over.
Figueroa said, "Hey! Stop it!"
"Get out of my way!"
Figueroa slapped her.
The flames were running along the floorboards now. The woman kept shrieking.
"Come with me, god-dammit!" Figueroa seized the woman's hand, pulled her to the floor. She put her arm over the woman's shoulder and hustled her on all fours toward the front door.
This woman was burned already, Figueroa thought. Her skin felt hot to the touch, and Figueroa could almost believe she felt blisters starting to form.
Pushing and cajoling and bullying, she got the woman into the living room. Crossing the floor, she realized she was crawling over the body of a man lying there unmoving, but she didn't have time to worry about that. She got the woman to the door.
The hall was still cool and the air in it was fresh, so she pushed the woman out and yelled after her, "Warn your neighbors!"
There was no time to make sure she did. Suze Figueroa saw Bennis coming up the stairs. She yelled, "There's a man inside."
On hands and knees she crawled back in, touching the hot wall to make sure where she was going. She found the man, but at the same instant she and Bennis heard a baby start to scream. Bennis was next to her now and he slapped the man's cheek, but the man didn't move.
Figueroa felt the man's forehead. Smoke swirled above him, but he was lifeless and cold. The baby screamed louder, from a back bedroom.
"I gotta get the kid," she said to Bennis. She wasn't sure he could hear over the roar of the fire, but then she found him following her as they crawled to the bedroom.
"How many kids?" she yelled.
There was just one crib.
Bennis stood up, grabbed a little girl out of the crib, put her solidly under one arm, and ran like a quarterback for the front door. Suze stayed to check for another child.
The fire was flashing across the ceiling now. She didn't have much time.
One crib. Hurry up! No other child's bed. No crying. Hurry! It's hot! As far as she could see through the smoke, only girl- child toys in one age group-two soft dolls, one stuffed bear, a play muffin tin, and some plastic spoons. One child.
Part of the ceiling fell.
Taking a last breath of air from floor level, Figueroa jumped up and bolted for the front door. The living room was a hell of flame, and if she hadn't memorized where the door was, she would never have made it. Her hair was singed. She could not even see the man on the floor. He was dead, anyway, and she had to warn the upstairs neighbors.
Outside, fire engines were fighting their way through streets blocked with stalled cars. They didn't arrive until ten minutes later.
"I want to point out," Commander Sazerac said to Deputy Wardron, "that Officers Bennis and Figueroa got the other tenants out of the building. Which, given the weather and the time it took for the fire battalion to arrive, surely saved their lives."
"We understand that," Wardron said, clipping his words.
Sazerac said, "The building was totally involved when the fire engines arrived. And then they had trouble getting water to it. Stalled cars were blocking the fire hydrants."
"We are aware of that."
"When the fire was finally struck at 0330 hours, Officers Bennis and Figueroa were still caring for residents, even though they were four and a half hours past the end of their tour."
"Commander Sazerac, I appreciate your attempt to help your men-ah, people-but we are interested in what happened in the Molitor apartment, not what happened afterward. We'll proceed."
Bennis said angrily, "I personally saw Officer Figueroa rescue six residents from the upper floors."
"Officer Bennis, we'll get your story later."
Commander Sazerac said loudly, "And she was burned in the attempt, Deputy!"
"Not relevant now. We'll take it into account during sentencing."
"Don't you mean if there is a decision to go to sentencing, Deputy?"
"Of course, Commander. This is just a preliminary roundtable. My mistake." He turned his head and addressed the four board members. "We will note Commander Sazerac has questions about this process.
However, we will take matters up in order. We are not going to use this process today as a way for the two officers involved to get their stories straight between them."
Commander Sazerac said, "They could have done that at any time in the last twelve hours. It's their integrity and their unwillingness to alter their reports to say the same thing that has caused a difference in perception to be blown up into this silly-"
"Commander! This is a fact-finding proceeding. It is an inappropriate time to make arguments. Hold them until the charges have been proven or not proven."
Wardron was in charge here, not Sazerac. Departmental structure being what it was, there was nothing Sazerac could do but sit by, just about as useful as the photo of the superintendent on the wall.
He and Wardron held each other's eyes for two or three seconds.
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I'd guess we're just two minutes out now."
"Yeah, thirty-three. Okay. By the way, the news is it's gonna keep snowing until noon tomorrow."
"How nice."
Bennis and Figueroa pulled up in front. They had entered thousands of buildings, not knowing what they'd find. They relied on each other. Each knew that the other would be there, and they even had their own shorthand way of communicating. Bennis pointed a finger to show Figueroa that it was her turn to stand to the far side of the apartment door. Then he knocked. But before he could knock again, Figueroa pointed. "Look."
There was smoke coming out around the top of the door.
Bennis felt the door to see if it was cool, which it was. The last thing he wanted was to start a backdraft. Then he backed up to take a kick at the door. But that instant it opened and a man came running out. His hair and jacket were on fire, and he was screaming. He didn't even see the two cops, but crashed frantically down the stairs.
Bennis spun and went after him, knowing Figueroa would put out the emergency call to the dispatcher. He raced down the stairs three at a time and still couldn't catch up with the terrified man until, leaping, screaming down the cement steps outside the front door, the man fell. The fire on his hair and jacket had spread. Bennis rolled him over in the snow three or four times. Then, thinking to chill the charred flesh and prevent further burn damage, he grabbed up handfuls of snow and slapped it all over the man's head and back.
There was no time to wait and see how badly hurt the man was. God only knew how many people were in the building. Bennis bolted back inside and up the stairs.
Meanwhile, Figueroa had keyed her radio. "One thirty- three, emergency."
"Go ahead, thirty-three."
"There's a fire in this apartment, and it's going fast."
"I'll get the smokiest."
" 'Four."
Talking on her radio had used just six seconds. At the same time, she had been scanning the apartment. She could hardly see anything, the smoke was so thick! but she heard a woman screaming. Figueroa dropped to her hands and knees and crawled fast toward the screams.
She found herself in the kitchen, where a woman, standing up, was rushing into a broom closet, falling down when she hit the wall, rushing in again, terrified and convinced it was the front door.
Figueroa grabbed her. "Get out of my way!" the woman screamed over and over.
Figueroa said, "Hey! Stop it!"
"Get out of my way!"
Figueroa slapped her.
The flames were running along the floorboards now. The woman kept shrieking.
"Come with me, god-dammit!" Figueroa seized the woman's hand, pulled her to the floor. She put her arm over the woman's shoulder and hustled her on all fours toward the front door.
This woman was burned already, Figueroa thought. Her skin felt hot to the touch, and Figueroa could almost believe she felt blisters starting to form.
Pushing and cajoling and bullying, she got the woman into the living room. Crossing the floor, she realized she was crawling over the body of a man lying there unmoving, but she didn't have time to worry about that. She got the woman to the door.
The hall was still cool and the air in it was fresh, so she pushed the woman out and yelled after her, "Warn your neighbors!"
There was no time to make sure she did. Suze Figueroa saw Bennis coming up the stairs. She yelled, "There's a man inside."
On hands and knees she crawled back in, touching the hot wall to make sure where she was going. She found the man, but at the same instant she and Bennis heard a baby start to scream. Bennis was next to her now and he slapped the man's cheek, but the man didn't move.
Figueroa felt the man's forehead. Smoke swirled above him, but he was lifeless and cold. The baby screamed louder, from a back bedroom.
"I gotta get the kid," she said to Bennis. She wasn't sure he could hear over the roar of the fire, but then she found him following her as they crawled to the bedroom.
"How many kids?" she yelled.
There was just one crib.
Bennis stood up, grabbed a little girl out of the crib, put her solidly under one arm, and ran like a quarterback for the front door. Suze stayed to check for another child.
The fire was flashing across the ceiling now. She didn't have much time.
One crib. Hurry up! No other child's bed. No crying. Hurry! It's hot! As far as she could see through the smoke, only girl- child toys in one age group-two soft dolls, one stuffed bear, a play muffin tin, and some plastic spoons. One child.
Part of the ceiling fell.
Taking a last breath of air from floor level, Figueroa jumped up and bolted for the front door. The living room was a hell of flame, and if she hadn't memorized where the door was, she would never have made it. Her hair was singed. She could not even see the man on the floor. He was dead, anyway, and she had to warn the upstairs neighbors.
Outside, fire engines were fighting their way through streets blocked with stalled cars. They didn't arrive until ten minutes later.
"I want to point out," Commander Sazerac said to Deputy Wardron, "that Officers Bennis and Figueroa got the other tenants out of the building. Which, given the weather and the time it took for the fire battalion to arrive, surely saved their lives."
"We understand that," Wardron said, clipping his words.
Sazerac said, "The building was totally involved when the fire engines arrived. And then they had trouble getting water to it. Stalled cars were blocking the fire hydrants."
"We are aware of that."
"When the fire was finally struck at 0330 hours, Officers Bennis and Figueroa were still caring for residents, even though they were four and a half hours past the end of their tour."
"Commander Sazerac, I appreciate your attempt to help your men-ah, people-but we are interested in what happened in the Molitor apartment, not what happened afterward. We'll proceed."
Bennis said angrily, "I personally saw Officer Figueroa rescue six residents from the upper floors."
"Officer Bennis, we'll get your story later."
Commander Sazerac said loudly, "And she was burned in the attempt, Deputy!"
"Not relevant now. We'll take it into account during sentencing."
"Don't you mean if there is a decision to go to sentencing, Deputy?"
"Of course, Commander. This is just a preliminary roundtable. My mistake." He turned his head and addressed the four board members. "We will note Commander Sazerac has questions about this process.
However, we will take matters up in order. We are not going to use this process today as a way for the two officers involved to get their stories straight between them."
Commander Sazerac said, "They could have done that at any time in the last twelve hours. It's their integrity and their unwillingness to alter their reports to say the same thing that has caused a difference in perception to be blown up into this silly-"
"Commander! This is a fact-finding proceeding. It is an inappropriate time to make arguments. Hold them until the charges have been proven or not proven."
Wardron was in charge here, not Sazerac. Departmental structure being what it was, there was nothing Sazerac could do but sit by, just about as useful as the photo of the superintendent on the wall.
He and Wardron held each other's eyes for two or three seconds.
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Hard Feelings Short Story Valentine Mystery by Barbara D'Amato (part 1)
Officer Susanna Maria Figueroa was frightened, and she hated being frightened. It made her angry. Even worse, she was sure her partner Norm Bennis
felt horrible, too. Nevertheless, he had made a serious mistake, and his mistake had gotten them both into trouble.
Suze Figueroa sat on one side of the waiting room, her arms folded across her chest. Far away in the other corner-as far away from her as he could get and still be in the same room-sat Norm Bennis, feet spread, elbows on knees, hands dangling, head hanging. He looked absolutely miserable.
Hell, Suze thought, he ought to. She just hoped he felt guilty as hell, making a stupid mistake and then sticking with it. Stubborn bastard!
But they'd been together so long!
Bennis was her mentor and her friend.
The Police Academy teaches you what they think you need to know. Then the job-and your partner-teach you what you really need to know. Suze Figueroa had been assigned to Bennis just after she finished the initial on-the-job phase of working with a supervisor. She'd been afraid of what Norm would think of her at first. He looked so solid and experienced-like a walking ad for professionalism in police work for the twenty-first century. He'd been ten years a Chicago cop when she came on. He was built like a wedge, with narrow hips, a broad chest, and very wide shoulders. His square brown face, when she first saw it at that first roll call, was set in a scowl. But she soon realized that he thought it was lots of fun being mentor to a five-foot-one-inch naive female.
They hit it off immediately, and Bennis never made fun of her for not knowing whether a ten-young or a one-frank was a "disturbance, domestic, peace restored" or a "dog bite, report filed." He didn't belittle her, as her trainer sometimes had, for not knowing how to fill out a specific form. He knew the department didn't run on gas or electricity, it ran on paper, and he knew when she'd filled out a couple hundred of them, she would remember all the forms.
Bennis was sardonic, but not sour.
For her part, Suze teased him about the long series of women who took his fancy for about three weeks apiece, but she sympathized too. She was divorced. Her ex-husband called her the "affirmative-action cop." By this he meant that she was too short and too female to be any good to anybody.
Bennis thought she was just fine on the job. "You back me up better than any partner I've ever had."
"Hey, Bennis! I'm not just backup. I'm forefront."
"That too."
Suze and Norm and half the First District went to the Furlough Bar for a beer after a tour. Recently, Suze and Norm had taken to going to an occasional movie instead. It was not exactly a girl-and-boy thing, Suze told herself. They were both too embarrassed at the thought of being called just another squad car romance.
And now-now they wouldn't even look at each other.
It was 11 A.M. on February 15, the day after the incident. Two rooms down the hall, a roundtable of inquiry-four men and one woman, including an assistant deputy superintendent, a state's attorney, and the union rep-were reviewing the documents in the case. They had before them the fire department reports and the preliminary findings of the medical examiner and the detectives. But the reports from other departments only explained what happened after the incident. After the point where Norm's story and Suze Figueroa's story diverged.
Their commander, Sazerac, sat with them in the waiting room. He was as unhappy as they were. Finally he spoke.
"There's no way I can stop this. But it bothers me. I wouldn't have figured you for a shirker, Figueroa."
"What do you mean?"
"Don't you realize how they see this?"
"Yes, boss. They know that Bennis and I have two different stories about last night, and so they think one of us is improperly describing the case. So they think one of us is lying. Which would be a reprimand."
"NO, Figueroa. It's not that minor."
"Minor! I've never had a reprimand and I don't intend to have one now! Uh. Sir."
Sazerac sighed. "Listen to me. We're talking separation from the department. Maybe prosecution."
"For what?"
"They think you left that man to die in the fire, Figueroa. And made up your story later to cover up. To make it seem he was dead."
Bennis groaned. "But he was dead, sir! Figueroa would never-"
"And they think you, Bennis, added that diagnosis later, after you realized that your story cast doubt on whether he was dead."
"That's not true. I said he was dead when I wrote it up this morning."
"Not strongly. You 'thought he was dead.' They figure that you said it more strongly later because the two of you have gotten together to save her ass."
"No. NO, sir. That's just not true. Sir, Figueroa is the best officer I've ever worked with. She'd never abandon a living person."
"Are you reconsidering your testimony, Bennis?"
Bennis looked from Suze Figueroa to the commander and back. His face was anguished. "I can't. I'm sorry, Figueroa. I can't lie. Maybe I was temporarily disoriented by the fire. But I have to say what I know. I can't lie."
"You're lying now, Bennis," she said. "I wish I knew why."
Figueroa was seething. Bennis stared away from her at the dead plant in the corner. The commander sighed again, and then sat silent.
The door opened. A man in uniform came one step into the room. "The board is ready for you," he said.
"It was one of those nights that a lot of people call 'real Chicago weather,' " Suze Figueroa said to the board. "It had started to snow at about three in the afternoon, just as Officer Bennis and I came on duty. We knew immediately that the rush hour was going to be hell-uh, was going to be very difficult. People had started coming into town, too, for Valentine's Day dinners. By four o'clock it was snowing so hard you couldn't see across the street. By five there were already cars backed up spinning their wheels on the steeper access ramps to Lake Shore Drive and the Kennedy Expressway. Some of them had run out of gas, blocking the streets, and would be there until Streets and San made it through to tow them."
She was trying to hold in her fear, trying to put out of her mind the thought that she might be fired. Being a cop was what she had always wanted.
"It was constant from the moment we hit the street. We picked people out of stalled cars who were too scared to get out. We found several street people and ran them to shelters. We-"
The ADS, Wardron, chopped her description short. "Officer Figueroa," he said, "get to the incident."
"Yes, sir. But the weather played a very large part-"
"We know what the weather was last night. Move forward."
"Yes, sir." This guy Wardron was going to be trouble, she thought. He looked dike Mike Ditka and used his voice like the blade of a guillotine. She had vibes, sometimes, when she felt sure that another cop didn't like women on the department. She didn't want to think that this guy was out to get her, personally and specifically, but she'd bet if he could prove that some woman cop had run scared, he'd enjoy doing it.
"At 2140 hours we got a call . . ."
"One thirty-three," the radio had said. They were car thirty- three in the First District. Since Figueroa was driving, Bennis picked up and said, "Thirty-three."
"Woman screaming for help at eight-one-seven west on Chestnut."
"You got a floor on that, squad?"
"On the two."
"Caller give a name?"
"Oh, yeah. Citizen. Concerned citizen."
"I know the guy well."
"Gal."
"Whatever."
Because of the snow, all the usual city sounds around them were muffled. In fact, there were virtually no automobile noises, and they heard the dispatcher more clearly than usual. No need to repeat. Bennis said, "Ten-four."
The snow had filled the streets and was still coming down. Figueroa said, "Jeez, Bennis. It's not the traction that's a problem. It's all the abandoned cars."
"You can get around 'em here if you drive on the sidewalk."
"Right."
"Don't clip the fire hydrant."
"Bennis, please! You know what an excellent driver I am."
"Figueroa, my man, I'd trust you with my life. In fact, I do it on a daily basis."
"And you're still alive, too."
"Watch out for the dumpster!"
"Missed it by a mile."
"A good quarter of an inch anyhow."
The radio said: "One thirty-three."
Continue Story
"Thirty-three."
"We got a second call on that woman screaming for help. Where are you?"
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felt horrible, too. Nevertheless, he had made a serious mistake, and his mistake had gotten them both into trouble.
Suze Figueroa sat on one side of the waiting room, her arms folded across her chest. Far away in the other corner-as far away from her as he could get and still be in the same room-sat Norm Bennis, feet spread, elbows on knees, hands dangling, head hanging. He looked absolutely miserable.
Hell, Suze thought, he ought to. She just hoped he felt guilty as hell, making a stupid mistake and then sticking with it. Stubborn bastard!
But they'd been together so long!
Bennis was her mentor and her friend.
The Police Academy teaches you what they think you need to know. Then the job-and your partner-teach you what you really need to know. Suze Figueroa had been assigned to Bennis just after she finished the initial on-the-job phase of working with a supervisor. She'd been afraid of what Norm would think of her at first. He looked so solid and experienced-like a walking ad for professionalism in police work for the twenty-first century. He'd been ten years a Chicago cop when she came on. He was built like a wedge, with narrow hips, a broad chest, and very wide shoulders. His square brown face, when she first saw it at that first roll call, was set in a scowl. But she soon realized that he thought it was lots of fun being mentor to a five-foot-one-inch naive female.
They hit it off immediately, and Bennis never made fun of her for not knowing whether a ten-young or a one-frank was a "disturbance, domestic, peace restored" or a "dog bite, report filed." He didn't belittle her, as her trainer sometimes had, for not knowing how to fill out a specific form. He knew the department didn't run on gas or electricity, it ran on paper, and he knew when she'd filled out a couple hundred of them, she would remember all the forms.
Bennis was sardonic, but not sour.
For her part, Suze teased him about the long series of women who took his fancy for about three weeks apiece, but she sympathized too. She was divorced. Her ex-husband called her the "affirmative-action cop." By this he meant that she was too short and too female to be any good to anybody.
Bennis thought she was just fine on the job. "You back me up better than any partner I've ever had."
"Hey, Bennis! I'm not just backup. I'm forefront."
"That too."
Suze and Norm and half the First District went to the Furlough Bar for a beer after a tour. Recently, Suze and Norm had taken to going to an occasional movie instead. It was not exactly a girl-and-boy thing, Suze told herself. They were both too embarrassed at the thought of being called just another squad car romance.
And now-now they wouldn't even look at each other.
It was 11 A.M. on February 15, the day after the incident. Two rooms down the hall, a roundtable of inquiry-four men and one woman, including an assistant deputy superintendent, a state's attorney, and the union rep-were reviewing the documents in the case. They had before them the fire department reports and the preliminary findings of the medical examiner and the detectives. But the reports from other departments only explained what happened after the incident. After the point where Norm's story and Suze Figueroa's story diverged.
Their commander, Sazerac, sat with them in the waiting room. He was as unhappy as they were. Finally he spoke.
"There's no way I can stop this. But it bothers me. I wouldn't have figured you for a shirker, Figueroa."
"What do you mean?"
"Don't you realize how they see this?"
"Yes, boss. They know that Bennis and I have two different stories about last night, and so they think one of us is improperly describing the case. So they think one of us is lying. Which would be a reprimand."
"NO, Figueroa. It's not that minor."
"Minor! I've never had a reprimand and I don't intend to have one now! Uh. Sir."
Sazerac sighed. "Listen to me. We're talking separation from the department. Maybe prosecution."
"For what?"
"They think you left that man to die in the fire, Figueroa. And made up your story later to cover up. To make it seem he was dead."
Bennis groaned. "But he was dead, sir! Figueroa would never-"
"And they think you, Bennis, added that diagnosis later, after you realized that your story cast doubt on whether he was dead."
"That's not true. I said he was dead when I wrote it up this morning."
"Not strongly. You 'thought he was dead.' They figure that you said it more strongly later because the two of you have gotten together to save her ass."
"No. NO, sir. That's just not true. Sir, Figueroa is the best officer I've ever worked with. She'd never abandon a living person."
"Are you reconsidering your testimony, Bennis?"
Bennis looked from Suze Figueroa to the commander and back. His face was anguished. "I can't. I'm sorry, Figueroa. I can't lie. Maybe I was temporarily disoriented by the fire. But I have to say what I know. I can't lie."
"You're lying now, Bennis," she said. "I wish I knew why."
Figueroa was seething. Bennis stared away from her at the dead plant in the corner. The commander sighed again, and then sat silent.
The door opened. A man in uniform came one step into the room. "The board is ready for you," he said.
"It was one of those nights that a lot of people call 'real Chicago weather,' " Suze Figueroa said to the board. "It had started to snow at about three in the afternoon, just as Officer Bennis and I came on duty. We knew immediately that the rush hour was going to be hell-uh, was going to be very difficult. People had started coming into town, too, for Valentine's Day dinners. By four o'clock it was snowing so hard you couldn't see across the street. By five there were already cars backed up spinning their wheels on the steeper access ramps to Lake Shore Drive and the Kennedy Expressway. Some of them had run out of gas, blocking the streets, and would be there until Streets and San made it through to tow them."
She was trying to hold in her fear, trying to put out of her mind the thought that she might be fired. Being a cop was what she had always wanted.
"It was constant from the moment we hit the street. We picked people out of stalled cars who were too scared to get out. We found several street people and ran them to shelters. We-"
The ADS, Wardron, chopped her description short. "Officer Figueroa," he said, "get to the incident."
"Yes, sir. But the weather played a very large part-"
"We know what the weather was last night. Move forward."
"Yes, sir." This guy Wardron was going to be trouble, she thought. He looked dike Mike Ditka and used his voice like the blade of a guillotine. She had vibes, sometimes, when she felt sure that another cop didn't like women on the department. She didn't want to think that this guy was out to get her, personally and specifically, but she'd bet if he could prove that some woman cop had run scared, he'd enjoy doing it.
"At 2140 hours we got a call . . ."
"One thirty-three," the radio had said. They were car thirty- three in the First District. Since Figueroa was driving, Bennis picked up and said, "Thirty-three."
"Woman screaming for help at eight-one-seven west on Chestnut."
"You got a floor on that, squad?"
"On the two."
"Caller give a name?"
"Oh, yeah. Citizen. Concerned citizen."
"I know the guy well."
"Gal."
"Whatever."
Because of the snow, all the usual city sounds around them were muffled. In fact, there were virtually no automobile noises, and they heard the dispatcher more clearly than usual. No need to repeat. Bennis said, "Ten-four."
The snow had filled the streets and was still coming down. Figueroa said, "Jeez, Bennis. It's not the traction that's a problem. It's all the abandoned cars."
"You can get around 'em here if you drive on the sidewalk."
"Right."
"Don't clip the fire hydrant."
"Bennis, please! You know what an excellent driver I am."
"Figueroa, my man, I'd trust you with my life. In fact, I do it on a daily basis."
"And you're still alive, too."
"Watch out for the dumpster!"
"Missed it by a mile."
"A good quarter of an inch anyhow."
The radio said: "One thirty-three."
Continue Story
"Thirty-three."
"We got a second call on that woman screaming for help. Where are you?"
. Read More..
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