lord-writer-blog - Tumblr blog

lord-writer-blog · 8 years ago

Text

Scene 2

QUANTICO, VIRGINIA, 5:20 P.M

"How much longer?" Cody, an experience Air Force Federal Agent, panted. Sweat dripping from his cocoa skin as he worked an old, warn rake into the wet leaves scattered around the yard.

His heavy breathing and glistening forehead made a woman, not much younger than him, laugh.

"Man up Marine, we have a few more hours of yard work," she taunted as she continued to rake up the leaves and twigs rustled up by the recent Spring storm.

"I'm not as young as I used to be, Kim," he sighed, cracking his back and neck to emphasize his point. "The Corp got the best of me. I'm wounded." He patted his left shoulder, building up his argument.

Kim smirked, "Then tell me, Cody, if this is pure torture for an old wounded vet, such as yourself, then why did you volunteer?" She tugged off her gloves to expose her sweat-covered, calloused hands.

"The same reason I volunteered for the Corp." He said vaguely. He knew that his co-worker and close friend for six years and counting would understand him, without him having to waste any of his precious breath to explain.

She rolled her eyes and guessed, "Karen?" With his nod she dared to venture into the conversation, "So what's up now?" She didn't really need to ask the question, but she would allow the wounded vet some time to vent.

"Same as always." He stiffened and his nose, rubbing dirt into his skin.

Kim nodded knowingly and motioned for him to follow her to the wooden picnic table set out in the middle of the yard. She jumped up onto it, to begin the disposal of her cold-brew while Cody joined her, appreciating the break she was giving him.

"Okay. So..." she took a second to organize her thoughts as she proceeding with a deep sigh, "do you think she's serious this time?"

He looked up, surprised that she had skipped the explaining part of what usually became his weekly therapy session, and went straight to his personal feelings on the matter. He now realized that these sessions were feeling more and more like he was spilling his guts to a shrink, then to his best friend. Each week he could see more of the therapist's pen writing down thoughts while listening to his repetitive story; almost could hear the silent judgment that she hid in her questions; and could almost feel the soft cushion of the shrink's couch soaking in his problems, but he was reminded by Kimberly's soft voice that she was listening, as a friend.

She didn't make eye-contact while she waited for him to reply, just straightened out her white Beach Boys t-shirt and sipped more of her coffee. She was, in the back of her mind, convincing herself to wake up at five, the next morning, to go running. But by the time he replied she had lost the battle and decided to sleep in.

"It's Karen, of course, she's not, but I have to humor her or she'll threaten to get a restraining order... again."

Kim hid a half smile, drawing herself back to the conversation, "It's been three years, maybe you should start thinking about getting a restraining order filed against her."

"Thought about it," he chuckled. "A restraining order won't help her or the boys. They need someone." After Cody caught a teasing look from Kim, he corrected himself, "She needs someone."

"Wait... are you asking me to set her up? 'Cause I know a ton of guys interested in psychotic ex-wives, with 'special' separation issues," she teased, hoping to get a laugh out of him.

He looked down, shaking his head with a chuckle, "That's not funny." He licked his lips, trying to suppress the smile that formed on them.

Her cell started to ring, but they didn't let it interrupt their conversation as he went on to argue.

She slid the phone out of her left back pocket and before answering she responded in a whisper, "I think it is..."

"Kimberly." She cut Cody off as she answered with a chuckle. Her happy-go-lucky expression disappeared and her posture stiffened as she listened to the caller. "Yep. Got it, we're on way."

She hung up then gulped down the rest of her coffee.

"Work?" The Marine set his glass down and stripped off the gardening gloves.

She nodded, hopping off the picnic table and onto the dead, wet grass.

"We got a body in Norfolk." She took off running to her large blue suburban house set back from the others on the Virginian middle-classed street.

"Just think of it. One more hour and Tare's team would have been called in, and we would have gotten a normal weekend." He picked up the two rakes they had left in the grass with a sigh and set them to lean against the picnic table.

"I can't. I get too depressed." She shrugged and grabbed a gray backpack that she had dropped on the steps of her porch when she had gotten home from work that afternoon.

"Can't we change?" Cody asked, rubbing the dirt off his bright red plaid shirt that was tucked into his jeans.

"No time. Boss is already on her way to Norfolk." Frowning, she hopped into the passenger seat of a silver Chrysler parked in her driveway.

He got in alongside her, "Can't we at least take your truck?" he argued, "I don't feel half as bad being dirty in your truck."

She slapped his shoulder offended by his comment, "My truck's in the shop. They said they would deliver it early tomorrow morning."

His Chrysler was clean... very clean. It's black leather exterior and shiny silver frame matched Cody's clean personality like a dog matched its owner. There wasn't any fingerprints or dust blemishing the beautiful appearance of the dashboard or stirring wheel. Kimberly guessed that after spending a tour as a marine in Afghanistan covered in dirt and sweat every day, that Cody became pretty particular about how he looked and smelled.

"Your truck's in the shop again?" Cody tried to make eye-contact with Kim, but she avoided doing so. "Okay. Fine. We'll take my brand new car, but after we've closed this case, we're going car shopping for you."

She frowned teasingly, "Scottie said he'd look at it! I think he can fix it."

"Scottie has already looked at it. I asked him, and he told me it's dead." He smiled gently.

"So what if it's dead?"

"You admit it?"

Kim scoffed. After a few moments, a smirked appeared upon her lips, "I'll consider admitting it's dead... if you let me set up your ex-wife."

Cody stared at her stiffly, waiting to see if she would crack, "No way."

"Fine." She stared back, her gaze unwavering.

"Not happening."

"Okay."

"Not. A. Chance."

"No problemo."

Giving in he grumbled, "...I'll consider it." He broke eye contact and started his car.

Kim cocked eyebrows in victory, "Deal."

#crimewriter crime writing amwriting pilot thechivalrous screenplay miniseries

0 notes

lord-writer-blog · 8 years ago

Text

Scene 1

NORFOLK, VIRGINIA, 4:50 P.M

"I'm sorry Mr. Doodles, I forgot your mess bags!" Frowned Mrs. Birdy, an eccentric old maid whose daily excitement was gained by walking her little black, devil-like, miniature poodle. Her life revolved around the little thing, who was just as loud and intrusive as Mrs. Birdy herself. They both shared an uncanny resemblance to one another, having jet-black curly hair and wide, and excited eyes. Mrs. Birdy did everything with her devil-like dog and most assumed this was because she had no husband that entertained her interesting thoughts, and wild personality

Mrs. Birdy and Mr. Doodles made their way up the hall to their apartment, all the while keeping a steady conversation with each other. The sixty-something woman paused the spill of salon gossip, while she struggled to find the right key to her apartment. Waiting for his owner patiently, Mr. Doodle sat, neck out-stretched and nose twitching towards an apartment door across from theirs. He suddenly started to whine, begging to follow the odor that slowly leaked into the hall.

"What is it Mr. Doodle?" Mrs. Birdy's voice was filled with concern as she watched Mr. Doodles violently scratched at the bottom of her neighbor's door. To Mrs. Birdy's dismay, her little companion's strength was enough to swing the door open a few inches.

"Oh, come now Mr. Doodles! Don't bother Hannah," she ordered, but Mr. Doodles barked up a furious argument.

"Alright, alright. We'll check on her if you're that worried!" She gave in easily, her curiosity begging her to follow the dog's urges. She slowly swung the door open to her single and rather secretive -in Mrs. Birdy's opinion- neighbor's apartment.

"Hannah dear?" She stepped across the threshold. Her eyes narrowed, trying to make out any figures in the shocking darkness. Mrs. Birdy walked a little further into the apartment to only freeze right in her tracks. Her shoe had sunk a little deeper into the carpet making a sound that reminded Mrs. Birdy of squeezing out a sponge. The carpet felt squishy to Mrs. Birdy, which drew alarm to her face. She retracted her foot from the substance and stumbled back through the doorway. She ran her hand up and down the inner wall next to the door, searching for the light switch.

"Hannah!" She called out, her fingers still looking.

Relief finally beheld her when she felt the familiar plastic switch. She flipped it, and as the light illuminated the room, Mrs. Birdy's eyes fell upon Hannah's limp body crouched on the floor. It laid in a pool of fresh blood, drenching the once snowy white carpet to a now cruel scarlet red.

It oozed out of the single bullet wound on Hannah's white pasty forehead, as it also drained from the several stab wounds on her torso. Her wrinkly fingers were wrapped around a half-filled wine glass, sitting perfectly upright on the carpet next to her dead body.

Mrs. Birdy's supported herself against the doorway, blood drained from her cheeks and eyes locked onto the body of her neighbor. For once in her life, no words left her lips just violent gusts of anxiety-filled screams.

#crime amwriting pilot thechivalrous wattpad miniseries screenplay crimewriter

0 notes

lord-writer-blog · 8 years ago

Photo

Prologue

NORFOLK, VIRGINIA, 4:40 P.M

The sirens of guilt blared in the thoughts of Hannah's mind, as she stepped inside the comfort of her apartment, in hopes to escape the deafening noise. Closing the door behind her, she leaned against the doorframe, to breathe in the quiet and comfort of her sanctuary. She kicked off her white muddy boots and sweaty socks, then flipped on the light to find her apartment as welcoming as she had hoped; with the cream-colored walls guarding her against the noise of the bustling city of Norfolk, and the cozy couch and blankets inviting her to join them. She felt like collapsing right there, in the doorway. She thought of letting her white soft carpet soak in her exhaustion, but decided to slip into something more comfortable than her Air Force greens, before turning to such drastic measures.

Hannah's apartment blinds were closed just as she had left them that morning, with the empty cereal bowl still lingering on her kitchen table, opposite of the apartment doorway. She remained on her living carpet, letting her bare feet rub up against it's soft, relaxing fabric. And while Hannah's eyes perused her apartment, an unnerving sense settled upon her, and she knew she wasn't alone. She wasn't one to be paranoid, but lately, her choices had her looking over her shoulder more than once.

Suddenly, Hannah's misty-colored eyes fell upon her mahogany coffee table centered between her couch and armchair. She relaxed, letting her breathing resume a steady course when she spotted a wine glass filled with a scarlet syrup, tempting her with its glistening beauty, sitting on the table. Hannah smiled with delight, taking off her Air Force cap and placing it next to the glass.

"I knew you would come around." She unbuttoning her dark jade Pilot's jacket and brushed back loose strands of her brown frizzy hair.

She rolled her eyes at the silent reply and picked up the glass of wine to recline in her favorite chair. Her eyebrow raised when she heard in the next room, the screeching of coat hangers as they scratched against the metal pole in her closet.

"So, where did you tell your wife you were at this time? New York? ...Dallas?" Hannah probed, waited a few moments as she sipped the gorgeous wine, "Awe, I don't care."

The girl relaxed, leaning her head back to rest against the blue, soft cushion of her armchair.

"This has got to be the most delicious wine that I've ever tasted." After a moment of silence, her eyebrows furrowed, "Where's your glass?"

When no reply came, blood drained from her face, leaving a ghostly pale tint to her Filipino skin. She stood up, a thought trying to navigate through the wild jungle in her mind, as her eyes darted around the apartment. She looked at the glass, paranoia creeping into her sanity. Hannah bent down to return the wine back to its original resting place.

"Charles?..." Her hands started to shake, and she almost knocked the wine glass over, but when she straightened the shaking stopped. Her eyelids slowly closed and heart quickened, as she heard a sharp click of a gun's chamber slipping back into place. She whipped around to face her intruder, staring wide-eyed down the barrel of a damning pistol. The pace of her heart quickened. All she could think about at that moment were the choices that had brought her to this end. Regret and guilt clouded her thoughts and they caused her to not even flinch, as the hand in which held the gun tightened. The intruder's finger brushed up against the trigger. She knew she deserved this. She knew that she deserved to die.

It only took a little squeeze from the beholder of the weapon, for the bullet to propel out of its chamber, down the barrel of the gun, and out into the air like a missile to claim the nineteenth victim.

#Crime Wattpad Writer Amwriting TheChivalrous Currentlywriting dreamer Pilot

0 notes