Redhood (Sneak Peak)

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Review Chain
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This is a sneak peak at my Newest story.

Submitted: May 10, 2017

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Content

Submitted: May 10, 2017

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“What do you mean I'm fired?!”

“I mean what I said. We can’t have you on our team anymore.”

A fan whirred in the background, a low hum filling the office. All other sounds in the office had stopped. No staplers slamming their teeth into papers, no distant side chatting in between work, no gurgling of the coffee maker filling someone with energy, no distant howling of inmates, only the repetitive white noise of the desk fan.

I looked at the captain, my eyes wide with fear, “Y-you can’t fire me! I have a home! A kid!”, I slammed my hands on the desk in front of me, “It can’t be because of that case!”

He looked into my eyes with a sort of unwavering certainty that told me I was losing the battle, “You know damn well it’s about that case. Tampering with evidence is strictly against the law,” He jabbed his thumb back at the temp-lockup cells, “Your lucky your not in there with those howling wolves. Since I like ya, I'm just firing you,” He jabbed his finger in my chest, pushing me back, “So get out of here or you WILL be in there with them.” He grabbed my badge off the table and stormed off.

“But… I would've hated myself if I hadn't had given that man a chance! I knew he didn't do it, it's just…” I looked down at my shoes.

“I don't care if you had to save your daughter by tampering with that evidence, it doesn't matter! You did more harm to that man's case then good,” he bellowed, “Now get out of my station or you'll regret ever working here!”

Suddenly the fan shut off, and the office filled with noise.

Well, s#%@.

 

My hands trembled as I turned into the driveway. Sweat dripped down my brown, chills ran through my spine making my body go cold. I reached for the handle, slowly opening the car door. The idle hum of the car filled my ears. My thoughts ran wild, bouncing around inside my head, synchronizing with the noisy whir of the car. I put my head in my hands.

What have you done?

My face went red.

Why?

Tears streaked down my cheeks, wetting my already sweaty palms.

Why me?!

I screamed, slamming my fist into the dashboard, pain racing through my spine. But I didn't care. It didn't matter.

What the f@#* am I doing?!

 

“I'm home.”

“How was your day?” I looked at her, my 16-year-old daughter.

How will you tell her?

 “Pft. Megan can go F*&$ herself.” She threw her bag down, slumping onto the couch next to me. She grabbed the remote, turned the tv on, and flipped out her phone.

“Stacy Morgan! We don't talk that way in this house.” I weakly declared, my voice wavering.

“Yeah, okay, sorry.” She murmured under her breath while she tapped away at her phone.

The ceiling fan shook as its blades spun, adding a small rattling to the chorus of fan whirs and light buzzes. A girl on the TV screaming, throwing a piece of cake at another girl with makeup caked on her face. The whir of the fan filled my ear, entering my thoughts.

You can’t just outright say it. She doesn't respect you already. This won’t help.

I know but-

No buts. You've lost your wife, your parents, you live in a tiny 4 room apartment, and now you've lost your job. You can’t tell her.

I have to.

Fine, it's your choice. Just heed my warning.

Yeah. Thanks.

 “Well then. Stacy…” I drummed my fingers against the armrest, “How do I put this…”

Oh my god. You're actually saying it!

Shut up!

 “Spit it out, dad.” She kept her eyes glued to her phone.

“Well, ok,” I took a sharp breath in through my nose, “I was fired.”

Everything went silent. Stacy’s fingers stopped moving, her hands gripping her phone like vices.

“What’d you say?” Her voice was quiet and shaky.

“I was fired,” I looked down, “I no longer have a job.”

The fan whirred. The TV blared in the background.

“Lost your job?” Her voice was quiet she set down her phone, “I’m going to my room.”

“Look, Stacy-” I desperately reached for her hand. She ripped her hand away, looking at me like a monster.

“You think this is something we can just blow over?!”Tears rolled down her cheeks, “First you lose your wife, then our house, and now your JOB?!” She threw her hands in the air, “Why can't you keep stable for even a second?! You always end up f#$%ing things up! This then that then this- Its always the same with you! You wallow in self-deprecation and meaninglessness instead of pulling yourself up and DOING something about it!” she screamed, “You wanted to ‘fight crime’, but all you do is screw everything up! I’m ashamed to even call you my father!”

For a moment I sat there stunned.

Wow. That was a LOT of exposition for a 16-year-old girl. How long has she felt this way?

Um, if you ever pay attention to her, she’s felt this way for a WHILE.

Really? Huh. What set her off?

Maybe the fact that she has a deadbeat dad that ruined her life and is now unemployed?

Yeah, that'd do it.

Maybe you should say something?

Yeah… I should.

No. No not what your thinking. No stop!

“Well, if I'm such an existential deadbeat, then why don't you go live with your friends!” I howled.

She glared at me, “Well fine! I will!”

“Good!!”

“GOOD!” She stormed off towards her room.

Well, you've done f@#$ed up.

 

The street lights glared down, overseeing and judging every move, every flinch. The orange eerie glow spreading across the sidewalk, yet shying away from from the dark recesses of the alleyway. Cars passed every once in awhile, adding to the symphony of humming lights, shuffling feet, and feral meows. And there I sat, between an apartment center and a bank, sipping on a flask, with a small draft flowing over my shoulders from a vent above. A musty smell of rotten food and rancid cat urine wafting by my nose. I leaned against a trash can with the wall of the bank to my left. A man in a trenchcoat stood to my right, talking to a well-dressed businessman.

I looked at the duo, listening in to their conversation.

The well-dressed man backed up a few steps, “Come on, don't be like that...”

The trenchcoat man chuckled, stepping closer to the man, “You didn't bring me my money,” A flash of flicked through the air, “I feel you should pay me, one way or another, S%#@face.”

“H-hey. Let's not get too hasty here… Come on,” The well-dressed man backed up even farther, pulling out his wallet and throwing it on the ground, “here, I have $500 in there. Take it, just don't hurt me, it's my son's birthday.”

“Oh, so you were holding back on me?” Suddenly he had the man against the wall, holding the steel blade to his neck, “Listen here, scumbag, no-one pulls one on me,” spit flew from his mouth as he screamed in the man's face, “Nobody!!”

“Hey, don't be like that!” He whimpered, cowering back, “I was always a loyal customer! This once, cmon, it was only once.” Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes, rolling down his already grimy cheeks. Moonlight glistened off his tear dressed face. The vent rattled above the man's head, pushing out a stream of air. Drops of water dripped from the vents face, falling on the ground in a Pit-pat-pit-pat rhythm. ‘Trenchcoat’ lifted his knife alongside the man's face, tipping the point under the man's chin. He whimpered, his tears rolling off his chin and down the blade of the knife. A car passed by, illuminating the eerie scene. The man's eyes frantically searched the alley for anyone. I pushed back against the wall, trying not to be noticed. Eventually, however, his eyes landed on mine.

We locked gazes. I stared into his dark brown eyes, full of desperation, fear, and sadness. His eyes were wide with desolation, screaming into mine for help. I didn't look away, and nor did he. He just stood there, knife at his chin, staring into my eyes, while I sat there, watching as this Trenchcoated man threatened to slit this guy's throat.

Suddenly Trenchcoat roared in anger, “Look at me when I'm talking to you!” He pushed the knife harder into the man's chin. He winced as a stream of blood trickled down his neck. With one more fleeting glance at me, he turned his gaze back to Trenchcoat.

 

 


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