Tagged: thriller

The Guy in the Clawfoot Sidecar

  • by jenQueer, that.
  • I knew right then it was the same person
  • Jeff’s hairless coconut
  • bent at the elbow
  • fed them molasses

Tune in next time part 571    Click Here for Earlier Installments

The guy in the clawfoot sidecar looked quite solid, even though he claimed to be a ghost. Queer, that. He also looked quite familiar, especially his bald head. Brandita revved the throttle impatiently. Baldy gestured again to the deep end of the tub. “What are you waiting for, an engraved invitation?”

His words made me think of wedding invitations, and of the ceremony I’d participated in a few hours earlier, and of the Viscount whom I had impersonated during that ceremony, and of a photo I had once seen of that Viscount and his missing brother, Viscount Jeff. I knew right then it was the same person in the photo and in the bathtub. This was the ghost of Arlo’s brother. But why on earth was he haunting this plumbing fixture?

I finally climbed into the tubcar and stared at the wound on the back of Viscount Jeff’s hairless coconut. Brandita gunned it and we tore down the driveway. As we sped through the night, I transferred my studious examination from Jeff’s head to his arms. Particularly the left one, which was bent at the elbow in entirely the wrong direction.

I tried to think like my favorite fictional investigator, Transylvania Homicide Detective Regis St Oink Oink, who, before questioning a suspect, always fed them molasses by the bottleful. I had no molasses, but if I questioned Jeff properly, I might be able to get Arlo arrested for murder. And then I’d never have to deal with that dick again.

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A Second Woman in Chef’s Whites

  • by jen“Look, Esmerelda!” she whispered.
  • my angry heart
  • the fire is slowly dying
  • vital, sunburnt, carefree
  • where social graces are never needed

Tune In Next Time Part 20                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

A second woman in chef’s whites approached the craft services table. The first woman elbowed her and pointed at the vital, sunburnt, carefree Tyler as he cavorted around the beach naked. “Look, Esmerelda!” she whispered. A movie set seems to be a place where social graces are never needed.

While the two of them ogled the actor, I cast my eyes back out to the zodiac bobbing in the waves near the pier. Tessa had double crossed me so many times in the past 24 hours I wasn’t sure I could ever trust her again. The woman was maddening, and for years I carried an inferno of passion for her in my angry heart.

“She’s cast her lot with John now,” I said to myself, “and in my heart the fire is slowly dying.”

I shook the metal box, hoping to divine its contents, but the sloshing rattle gave me nothing to go on. I stared at the lock, remembering that Tessa alone knew the combination.

Out on the sea, the ominous fins were circling ever closer to the zodiac and its lone passenger.

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Fletcher Made the Mistake

  • by jenexplosives placed inside
  • regarding the stranger as a harmless lunatic
  • within the system
  • “No grownups!”
  • the sacred lotus flower

Fletcher made the mistake of regarding the stranger as a harmless lunatic, one of those poor unfortunates who can’t really get along within the system of society, but pose no real danger. It was a mistake he would regret until the day he died, even after his mind atrophied and his once magnificent intellect devolved to a childlike state that compelled him to build forts out of couch cushions and yell, “No grownups!” any time a nurse or orderly approached with his medication. The stranger was definitely a lunatic, but he was anything but harmless. The sacred lotus flower he carried past Fletcher’s security post that fateful day had enough high-grade explosives placed inside to flatten a city block, so the circus tent stood no chance. No chance at all.

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The Explosion Occurred at Noon Sharp

  • by jenmouth turned down
  • “See ya later.”
  • his fondness for her
  • nodding in admiration
  • all the gasoline on the island

The explosion occurred at noon sharp, and the fire still raged now at midnight. The sky was a smear of orange and black, like the aftermath of a halloween riot. Mason knew all the gasoline on the island had been stored at the airfield, the one still blazing nearly 12 hours after Cassandra lobbed the first incendiary grenade. Mason couldn’t help nodding in admiration of Cassandra’s efficiency, but his fondness for her professionalism did not bleed over into fondness for anything else about her. The woman was ruthless and now Mason and the very rich man he was paid to protect were stranded on the island with her.

He spoke into his walkie-talkie to his employer, safe in the estate’s panic room. “See ya later.” He hoped to be told to stand down, to take cover and wait Cassandra out, but no such order came.

Mouth turned down in a determined frown, Mason checked his weapon and strode into the jungle.

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Doesn’t Do To Enter A Stressful Occupation

  • k-avatarpressed up close, I’d imagine
  • plagued by depression and anxiety
  • vices are often hid
  • in front of the wall safe
  • that’d be the day!

Doesn’t do to enter a stressful occupation if you’re already plagued by depression and anxiety. But my shrink said what I needed, what would break my downward spiral, was excitement. He was just using me to perpetrate espionage on his chief rival down the street, but he explained it like this: safecracking would be therapeutic for me, and our doctor-patient confidentiality would protect me in the event that my shrink somehow ran afoul of the law.

“You’ll love it, once you try it. The trick will be getting you to stop!”

That’d be the day!

So now I’m curled into a ball in front of the wall safe in the rival shrink’s pitch-black office. I’m pressed up close, I’d imagine, trying to slip into the wall itself in my desperation to hide. I just know I’ve tripped some kind of alarm and the cops are racing to the scene. My shrink wasn’t using me after all. He was just trying to get rid of me. Throwing me to the wolves.

I pull myself together, and pull myself up the wall until I’m standing, staring at the dull metallic surface of the safe I’m now determined to defeat. My hearing is heightened by a lifetime of paranoia, making the action of the lock as plain as speech. Gifts are often hid within burdens, as vices are often hid within virtues. The safe clicks softly open, and I behold the scent of chocolate chip cookies.

The note on the plate is addressed to me.

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