I stumbled on a new blog late last night. Or early this morning. It's called Sunday Scribblings. Each Saturday they post a prompt and you write using the prompt.
I know a lot of people hate prompts. With everything to choose from I end up not choosing anything. Prompts help me to focus on what I'm doing. And in that I gain freedom to do what I would want. Make sense?
Anywho, it's been so warm and humid, I haven't been able to really focus on anything to write. To many things swirling around in my head. And none of it forming anything. So I was very happy to find this site.
Most people put up the prompt first then the writing. I don't like that idea. I'll be putting the writing first, then the prompt. Hell yeah. I roll like that!
Be ready. It's a long one! Also, only the second short story I've ever written. There is blood so if anyone gets queasy , you may want to skim through that part. I've warned you.
In The Apartment
Removing the overcoat, he gently draped it over his arm.
The dark woodwork in the hall was rich with golden tones in the lamplight.
He took a step down into the living room, careful not to touch anything. Even though the soft suede called to his hand to glide over it. He resisted. He had been doing this a long time. And he didn’t want to accidentally brush away a hair or fiber.
The long curtains skimming the floor were still open wide, framing the twinkled lights of the city fading out before him.
He looked over the room. Uniforms bustling about, brushing, photographing and writing. They wouldn’t find anything in here. This room was clean.
He left the busy uniforms to do their jobs.
He entered the hallway again and walked down it’s narrow path.
There were painting on the walls. Not by anyone famous, but bought just because they liked the look of the artist. He took it all in, the paintings with the golden woodwork.
He smiled to himself as he continued on.
At the end of the hallway stood two men. They were dressed much like he was, suit, tie, coat.
They were younger than him. He had only been working with them for about a year now. But they were fine men and even better detectives.
They stood in front of a wooden door leading to the office. But he would see that soon enough. First he wanted to see the table just past them.
He gave them a nod in greeting and then gestured for them to carry on as he walked by them.
The table was small with the usual on it. A lamp, lying on it’s side as if taking a nap, and several pictures in brushed silver frames, all scattered about.
He put on a glove and picked up one of the pictures.
Two young men in their early twenties. One was Matthew and the other was Seth. They were posed enthusiastically for the camera, while leaning on the hood of a sporty blue convertible.
A graduation gift from Matthews’s mother. He personally thought it ridiculous to give such an item to a someone so young, but who would argue the wishes of a mother? Obviously not their father.
He wasn’t looking at the car anyhow. He wanted to see their faces. Young and excited to be heading out on their own. Making their way in life. Hopes and expectations high. He tried to reconcile these faces with the destinies that played out. He shook his head and righted the picture on the table.
He could put it off no longer. It had to be done and by him.
He patted one man's back as he went past him to the heavy wooden door that had waited.
The door was ajar slightly, but he didn’t see anything on that side of the room. He hoped it wouldn’t be as bad as he thought.
He pushed the door open and went in. He almost went out too.
“Oh my fucking God.” It was almost a whisper.
There were two bodies lying there. One was face down, the other on his side with his back the door.
The carpet was black with blood that reached out for the window, perhaps to escape the horrible scene. Blood was on all the desks and walls. It was just everywhere.
They were looking for something. No doubt about it.
He stepped carefully over to the bloody prints, studied the closest one first. He was pale and crunched up, his arm extended upward over his head. Gone was the hope that was in his picture.
He looked over the other body. The man was much older than Matthew. He stood up to walk around to the second victims face.
“Shot first.” A voice from the other side of the room spoke up.
The voice had surprised him. He hadn’t realized how deep in his own thoughts he was.
“The bodies were shot first. See they tried to crawl away. Then they cut the throats. See?”
Another new worker bee. This one was quite new and very young. Only been working with them for six weeks. He was still very green.
But he was spot on about this. He could see the stain spread out on the backs of the bodies.
Perhaps the young man sensed his discomfort over this one,
“Don’t worry. We’ll be done here soon.” he told him.
He wasn't listening to anyone before. Being occupied by his own mind.
He was listening now. To many voices:
“Are you sure?”
“Seth Watson. Covered in blood from head to toe.”
“Who moved this? Don’t move the evidence for fucks sake!”
“Found drugs and needles. He’s smacked up high as the clouds.”
“They got a hold of her at the courthouse. She’ll meet us.”
“Fifteen minutes ago.”
“The make and plates match the victims vehicle”
"He'd be proud we caught him so quickly. They both would."
The young man walked over to him and placed his hand on his shoulder.
The sun must have been coming up already, because light was gathering by the window, they both looked at it for a moment,
“ Come on. We're all done here. It’s time to go Dad. It’s time to go home.”
Sunday Scribblings: 120 prompt: Ghosts