Lucky 13 - Part 3

‘Sex, Drugs and Rock-and-Roll’ – That’s how I define the last eight years of my life. I had an introduction to alcohol at 16, drugs at 17 and women at 18. I’ve gone to the darkest places one can imagine; borrowing money I could never repay and stealing things I didn’t need just so that drugs could flow through my veins. Even during Colonel’s funeral, I was lying in some alleyway with a needle stuck in my skin. If it weren’t for my connections in the department, no one would’ve even considered giving me a try.

Jason gets off his laptop, and is met with the disapproving look in his father’s eyes. The near 25-year old didn’t wait for another moment, pleading his case to his father, who looked happy but his son knew he was anything but.

“Dad, it’s been over a year since I touched any of my vices, and I plan to never go back that route. It’s been quite a struggle but I feel like I finally have some control over my life. Of course, Becky has been helping me get through all of this. She’s the one who gave me the push I needed to join the police department. It’s where you spent your final few days working, so it’s fitting. I want you to be proud”.

As Jason plays back, in his head, what all he just said, he moves his hand towards a photograph placed on the shelf, right in front of a large group of books. He picks it up and slowly stretches his arm, so the picture is at a proper arms-length from him, and right in his eye line. Spending a brief moment staring at the picture, he murmurs – “I wish you had seen this side of me. I wanted to make you proud”.

As soon as he finished his statement, he heard a familiar voice at the foot of the room. Turning around with a bright smile on his face, he let go of the sad tone his voice had earlier. Becky was the only person who meant something to Jason. She was a neighbour, but was closer than any family he had. While everyone else had given up on him, she reminded him that his life mattered. He was in love with her since the first time he saw her, but never found himself capable of asking her out.

“Oh, you are already up, and here I was perfecting my ‘Wake Up, Poop-head’ chant”, the tall, pale, ginger figure of Becky laughed walking towards Jason. “Whom were you talking to this time – your mom or Mr. Leigh?”, she asked genuinely curious to know. This had happened numerous times before; every time Jason was in trouble or took a step ahead in life, he would talk to his parents as if they were standing alongside him.

“I will never understand why you refer to my dad as ‘Mr. Leigh’, when you are very comfortable referring to mom as ‘mom’”. Jason already knew the answer, being constantly reminded by Becky’s father to call him ‘Mr. Harvey’ because he took part in the Civil War re-enactment from time-to-time.

Becky walks into the kitchen, and Jason follows. She had been preparing breakfast for him almost everyday, so it was nothing more than a daily routine. Those two months when she was out of state were as hard on him, as they were on her. She couldn’t wait to get back to him, and he couldn’t wait for something other than McDonalds and Burger King. Out of practice, Jason is almost at his seat awaiting his food, only to be stopped in his tracks. “No, no! There’s no time. You can have your breakfast on the way, in the car. You are expected at the shooting range in twenty minutes. I'm driving you there."

Lucky 13 Part 2.

Wheee. The brother returns with part 2. Time to give him atleast a new tab on the blog, I think. You can find all of his work on this blog here. 

Find part 1 here.

“You have got to be kidding me, Gwen! Seriously, why can’t you just get off the phone and answer the door for once?”

Forcing her feet to make loud thuds signaling her anger about her room-mate’s laziness, Sarah Dawson comes down the stairs. She sneaked in a quick glance at the mirror, followed by tying up the last few loose hair-strands. She didn’t know who was at the door, but that wouldn’t stop her from looking her best.

They say, for police officers, knowing justice is being served is good enough, but not for the new-age detective. It’s not only about finding the criminals, but also looking good while doing it. But today was something extra special – it was Sarah’s first day as a homicide detective. Obviously, she wasn’t the most experienced officer out there, but with a series of unsolved murders and a serial-killer out on the loose, exceptions had to be made, new recruits had to be brought in. She had traded in her faded, worn out patrol uniform for off-the-rack suits – reminiscent to a “rags to riches” story. She had never considered herself to be poor, and let’s face it, even the top detectives don’t get to have all the luxuries in the world, but this was about earning respect. Sarah had worked her way up, from the bottom. Law-enforcement seminars, self-defense classes, weapons workshops and slogging it out in the real world, she had done it all. Although she was a small fish in a very big tank, full of people telling her she was too pretty to be in the police, too nice. Surrounded by so much of negativity, there was never a moment where she gave up hope. A life-long dream was finally going to come true today.

As the door-bell rang again, her thoughts were brought to a screeching halt, and on opening the door, Sarah hoped she could just disappear of the face of the planet. Between the young, vibrant and energetic Sarah and the equally vibrant and colourful spring morning, stood her aunt - Michelle Rose. Michelle and Rose – both words have such a tender, beautiful feel to them. When you put them together, you can imagine feminine grace and the capability of painting such a pretty picture. Sarah’s aunt though, was the complete opposite. A tall, bulky woman, dressed in a black “Metallica” t-shirt and cargo shorts, Aunty Michelle was a professional wrestler in the old days, under the name ‘Monster Mama’. Hitting her early fifties, it would still take more than one Sarah to take her down – and that’s exactly why Sarah sighed loudly. If only her aunt was the petite figure that her name portrayed, she would’ve simply run over her and deal with the consequences later.

Sarah had a pretty simple way of behaving with people, and there were no exceptions – If you are nice to me, I’m nice to you. If you are not, I do not care. Every time she considered joining the forces as a fresh graduate, and after every promotion, it was the same ritual. Her aunt tried persuading her to find something better to do in her life. She told her how this life wasn’t for her, but coming from a successful woman in a heavily male-dominated industry, Sarah never paid heed to any of her advice. She expected another anger-filled tirade from Michelle, which usually ended with the niece demanding that her aunt leave immediately and never show her face ever again, but evidently, it didn’t ever work.

This time, the young detective was prepared. She sat through dinner last night, thinking of all that she would say to her aunt as her she bursts up into flames like every other occasion. With a curled up fist, solid as a rock, the very confident Sarah was waiting to pounce on her aunt with a barrage of her own; ready to go to war. But after a brief, yet intense stare, something unimaginable happened. As Sarah gave her eyes momentary rest with a quick blink, the near 6-foot tall Michelle was on her knees. The smirk and arrogance replaced with a meek, exhausted look.

“Please, Sarah, please don’t ruin your life. Get out while there’s still time”.

Sarah was quick to reply, without any emotion or distress, “After years of trying to force me, you’ve finally found a more innovative way, but that doesn’t mean its going to work.”

“Sarah, darling, if you keep going along this path, you’ll open doors which have to be kept closed. All those secrets have to be kept untouched. Otherwise, your life will be ruined”.

“What secrets are you talking about? How can my life be any more ruined than it is right now? I have no family – my dad’s dead, and my mother is spending the rest of her life in prison for killing him”.

Lucky 13 Part 1.

Disclaimer : This has been written my brother, Akash. If you like this work more than mine and you tell him so, he might consider making a blog of his own. Till then, he shall leech off my space.

“Believe me, I had nothing to do with it.”, he shouted out. The bright lights make his pupils dilate, and still, the lights pierce his eyes. Moving his head up for a breath of fresh air, he can’t help but wonder whether “karma” had done him in. His lungs cannot take another dip into the icy cold water, but the San Francisco Police Department officials wanted answers. 34-year old, business tycoon, Roy Jefferson has had many visits to the SFPD office – on charges of fraud, extortion and even solicitation, but always managed to hide behind the best legal team money could buy. The large abundance of green paper in his back pocket had made him quite a few friends in the Police Department itself, but this was one deal, neither his money nor his shrewd business mind could get him out of. Found over his wife’s body, with her blond locks and blood all over his hands, he was caught red-handed. An anonymous 911 call had cost him dear. His lawyers tried their best to get their employer out of the mess he had gotten himself in, and in reality, it was extremely easy for the ‘Cutting-Edge Realty’ owner to entice the district police force with a not-so-hefty depression in his bank account, but with the global media fixated to their TV screens and gunning for Allison Jefferson’s killer, the police couldn’t afford any bribery allegations.

27-year retired veteran in the force, mother of two and regarded as the best female law enforcement officer in the country, Melinda Thomas had managed to reach her bed, after pretty much not knowing what sleep was for the three decades that went by, and as soon as she shut her eyes, her phone started ringing. “Sweet Home Alabama” was an appropriate ring-tone for Thomas as she was born, brought up and even served the force in her home state, before an obsession with a serial killer earned her a transfer twelve years ago to Illinois, from where she retired last year. This obsession had ruined her marriage, her social life, almost her career and, definitely, her life. Her daughters had no time to call an absentee mother – an absentee even when living in the same house, her mother had passed away without having her only daughter read her eulogy because she was busy running down a wild goose hunt and her ex-husband who found himself alone on all his vacation, her police years had been difficult for everyone around Melinda. With no friends and a dreadfully distant family, she spent her, now free, Saturday nights and Sunday Mornings watching Alfred Hitchcock classics or getting her old case files out of the closet and attempting to catch the one-man who got away. So, when Roy Jefferson was found over his wife’s lifeless body, the SFPD knew who to call, because of her reputation around the law enforcement circles - The woman who had dedicated her life to finding this man, and failed. Thomas had been in this same position the last time four bodies had been found in her state of Alabama, same M.O., in the span of two weeks

.

Alistair Lee – 40-year old, Male, Caucasian, investment banker. Amanda Johnson – 22-year old, Female, African-American, waitress. Andrew Peterson – 8-year old, Male, Caucasian. Anna Petrov – 32-year old, Female, Russian Immigrant, Housewife. Different ages, different social circles, different ethnicities and all of them had no enemies. Then, what got all of them killed? They all couldn’t have been in the wrong place, at the wrong time & killed using the same M.O., all in a matter of ‘thirteen’ days. The figure of 13 days can easily be mistaken for 2 weeks, but not when it comes to this serial-killer. The police departments across the country have a compartment in their file cabinet dedicated to who the media termed as the ‘Lucky 13 killer’.