Forever is a long time to wait for you, but if that’s what it takes then that is what I must do.
You are buried deep in my heart, longing for you I know is only the start.
I would gladly stare into the sun to find you, even if it blinded me from what I know is true.
You have moved on and have gone away, but I know someday you will come home to stay.
This is cheating.
The sneaking around, hiding, avoiding. being deflective in your answers. It’s not even the act itself as the manner in which it’s brought about. For a long time now you knew how you felt, convincing yourself that you can do better than what you had, that the proverbial grass was greener on the other side.
It didn’t start out intentional. You got bored. A chance meeting here, a we’re just friends there, What I didn’t know wouldn’t hurt me you argued with yourself. Then you heard the siren’s call and abandoned what you once promised to hold most dear. You tossed me aside like an old pair of shoes that no longer fit your purpose and pursued the white-hot flame that would bring you something new, exciting, and not me.
The next step will be the awkward separation. The its not you it’s me phase, Then you’ll tell your friends who will wholeheartedly agree with you that it is me and they never understood why you were with me in the first place. You wont outwardly feel guilty. In fact you’ll make it a point to show me indifference and then outright hostility. It will become my fault. I caused you to search elsewhere with my mediocre life existence and then in a moment of guilt you’ll tell me that you never intended to hurt me. I’ll hear that you loved me once, but can no longer bring yourself to be in love with me, or worse yet you’ll get over any remorseful feelings you temporarily have and say you never loved me. You’ll say all kinds of nasty thing to and about me then make your feelings fit your words to get the end result you want. You’ll tell me I was convenient and now it’s time to find your true love and start living the life you always wanted and deserved, that I held you back from.
Silly me. Why didn’t I see it before? Truth is I did. I had a foreboding feeling, a sixth sense if you will that something wasn’t right. I noticed the avoidance, the change in moods and the feeling of ever-increasing loneliness that crept up in my soul as a sign of my future abandonment by you. I just chose to ignore it, quash It down and chalk it up to that you were going through a rough patch and had to work out some issues.
Sure you threw me a bone here and there to throw me off the scent. My brain didn’t want to register your actions as a sign of the end is near. Self preservation I suppose until I caught you red handed in the act. My world imploded with the force of an atomic bomb and nothing would ever be right again.
You knew I was fragile and you tore me down anyways. It was all part of your mental separation plan. Your own self survival mode conniving you into believing that this is the right way. So you became cold and decided to rip the bandage off quickly admitting everything you should have a long time ago before you made your decision to turn to another. Truth is you couldn’t do the separation without a push from her. She told you it’s her or me and you chose new and exciting believing that it would stay that way forever.
Now my own self doubt takes over. I don’t need you to tear me down, I can do that all on my own. I chastised myself privately for a myriad of flaws that I believed caused you to push me away. I’m to fat, I’m to thin, I spent too much money, I ignored your needs, I smothered you, I relied on you too much, I didn’t rely on you enough, I’m no longer pretty anymore (if I ever was), I’m a no talent hack who is just to stupid to live, I grew old.
This is cheating aftermath.
Eventually I will get over the hurt and build myself back up, slowly at first. I will lick my wounds and feel sorry for myself for while, then I’ll reinvent myself while trying to reinvent the wheel. I’ll go back to school, travel, join a gym, change my hairstyle, buy that car I always wanted you said was a ridiculous waste of money, write a book, maybe even move to another city.
l will survive because even though I appear emotionally fragile on the outside prone to easily to tears, inside I am tough as steel. I will have learned not to ignore my sixth sense and will be wary next time, given there is a next time, that requirement is no longer necessary for me to move on from you. I will appear more confident though that will really be a façade for me just not giving a damn anymore. I will trust no one ever again even though I will smile as if I do.
I will think of you from time to time and the silent anger I still carry will burn like a flickering flame threatening to once again take over my being, but instead I will find a way to snuff it out for a while till the day comes when it no longer ignites. I might even say I have forgiven you, but truth is deep down inside I never will.
My friend Cindy is what I refer to as a hot mess. In a good, funny, loving way. It was her birthday and she arrived at my work desk with a couple of pictures to show me. Now Cindy works in another department and made the trip special just to share these pictures. It also happened to be Throwback Thursday and if you spend anytime in twittersphere you know what I’m talking about. Her pictures spoke a thousand words of a young, vivacious, svelte, beautiful woman wearing a daring outfit. The other was her baby picture.
The baby picture was cute, but the young hot Cindy in 1984 is what caught your attention. Cindy is now 61 wonderful years and full of stories about her anything but dull life. Even heading into year so called golden years this woman is living a drama filled, but fun life and she loves to tell you about it. Great fodder for a writer! in fact we even based a character on her in our third book The Body Hunters: Dirty Secrets, Naked Truths . To put it simply Cindy is awesome. I could in no way have handled her life or begin to even imagine being as daring as she was and still is.
To the outsider Cindy can be a mental handful. As I stated she loves to talk and if you don’t love to listen to people then she is not the person for you. Her stories make it all worth it. The celebrity encounters she’s had in questionable situations to even current boyfriends make you drop your jaw and shake your head all the while smiling and laughing with her.
The whole picture exchange took less than 3 or 4 minutes and soon we were all back at our respective jobs and I didn’t think anything more of it. That is till the woman who sits on the other side of my cubicle said something to me over the cubicle wall.
“Why do you attract the weirdest people?” she asked.
“Huh?” was my intelligent response.
“These weird people always flock to you, you need to get some normal people in your life.”
Now this woman, let’s call her Mary to protect her not so innocence, is a 40-ish beautiful black woman, single mom with a teenage son. I have been to 1 outing with her and a couple of other friends to of all movies, a midnight showing of the Rocky Horror Picture Show. You know the one where people dress up and yell comments through out the whole movie? yeah that one. One of my friends that went with me that night is my age and a lifelong friend named Barb who is a musical wonder and a talented artist in paints and any other type of medium she gets her hands on. She’s high strung and like all artists of a high caliber, very brilliant and unfortunately lives in her own world. She is also an alcoholic, severely broke after having made an ungodly amount of money and is having trouble facing her new reality and frail physical and psychological health. She is a real hot mess and not in a good Cindy kind of way.
I will not lie, I prayed Barb would behave on our outing and just for once enjoy herself getting lost in this ridiculous movie. She did for all of 30 minutes and then her addiction and depression struck. She eventually left and found a bar to shoot back a few tequila’s down only coming back at the end of the movie. I was embarrassed for her and for me. Though I am not responsible for her actions, she had begged me take her along wanting the girls night out and I could have said no.
Mary is a former alcoholic. Mary lived a little of Barb’s life and should understand the addiction and what it does to a person. Mary is now sober and a church going upstanding citizen in her own eyes. Mary made several comments about that night and how she could relate to what Barb was going through, felt bad for her ect….which is why it was a shock to me that she made the comments she made.
Back to Cindy. Cindy is not Barb, Cindy holds a job, takes care of her aging mother and tries to make herself fun to be around. Mary’s comment to me about how I attract the weirdest people struck me as odd. Why was she being so critical? and what is she saying about herself? She after all did hang out with me too. She then said to me she thought Cindy was lying about having any current boyfriends. Cindy being 61 is not the skinny woman she used to be and her body no longer lends itself to dressing like a woman of much younger years. Cindy dresses for work in age appropriate clothes for a person on our meager salary.
I asked Mary why did she think Cindy was lying? What reason does she have to lie? Mary told me it was because she needed to compensate to me for lacking in something that I have that she doesn’t. In other words she told me Cindy was jealous of me.
Jealous of me? I am a living large and in charge kind of gal, in other words fat. My manner of dress is relevant to my size and financial situation. For Christ’s sakes I cut my own hair to save money since my husbands medical bills are so high. Why the hell would anyone be jealous of me?
“Ain’t no woman dresses like her and has a man. You have a long term marriage and she’s jealous of that.” she reiterated again I need normal people in my life.
Ok, who’s jealous of my having a husband? Um….her or you?
I mean how critical can you get? Mary as I have learned is very self critical calling herself things like ugly and fat, even complaining about her dark skin color calling her self Aunt Jemima after the pancake syrup character. Wow! How self loathing can you get? I wanted to cry for her and remember, I’m the living large and in charge gal who cuts her own hair.
I have no time for self loathing, self hatred and internal or outwardly name calling. People will do that for me and to me on a regular basis. I told Mary the reason the off center, kooky, crazy, troubled, weirdo’s (who are just normal human beings getting through life the best way they know how) are attracted to me is because I try not to judge and I listen. In them there are several life lessons to be learned and shared. Everyone has value even if you can’t or refuse to value yourself. For a woman who overcame her own addiction just to constantly put herself and other women down is sad. She is not an Aunt Jemima, Mrs. Butterworth or any other sticky syrupy commercially racist character. She is a beautiful black woman who turns men’s heads wherever she goes. I’m guessing the reason she can’t keep a love interest is beyond her beauty. If you can’t respect and love yourself how are you going to love someone else? Cindy is not lying about her life or the men in her life. I believe she still attracts men not because she is still the raving beauty of her youth, but because she is still a fun loving, quirky light hearted individual that loves life and has no problem in sharing it.
So here’s to all my weird, wacky, troubled, artistic, fun loving friends. Keep on keeping on. and to Mary, lighten up your heart already, it ain’t that serious!
For your reading pleasure, here’s an excerpt from the fourth book in our series, The Body Hunters. Titled, The Body Hunters: The Lazurus Effect, this is the opening chapter. You can expect it to hit Amazon within the next few months. As always we’ll keep you posted. Enjoy!
”Well, if you’re not willing to send us a payment, Mrs. Avery, we will have no choice than to pursue further legal action; up to and including garnishment of your wages.” Swiveling in her office chair, Jesse faced the backdrop of downtown Savannah. Still talking on her headset, she turned, watching the denizens of the city scurry about like ants.
“But I told you.” The woman on the other end of the phone wailed. “I’ve been out of work for a year and I just started another job two weeks ago. I haven’t received a child support payment from my ex-husband in months. My kids need food. Just work with me.”
Jesse smiled as she soaked in the euphoria of having dominion over her clients. “I truly sympathize with you, Mrs. Avery, but I have a job to do just like you. My hands are tied.”
The desperate woman on the other end unleashed a ragged breath. “I-I guess I could send something. I’ll see what I can do.”
“I’ll be expecting a payment in the next two days or we’ll be forced to proceed legally.”
“There’s a special place in hell for people like you, you heartless bitch.” The woman told Jesse before clicking off the line.
Smiling contentedly, she pulled the headset off, tousling her long mane of vibrant red hair. She’d rose above the common call center agents several months ago. Jesse’s debt negotiation skills had afforded her several promotions and a corner office at ACS Collections. Her supervisor had once boasted to his colleagues that she could draw blood from a stone and gave her the moniker of the grim reaper, because she was good at closing accounts.
Her fairly new appointment had also scored her leagues of haters. Most of the catty women at the office couldn’t stand her, though she could care less about what they thought of her. She hurled a scowl at one of the office tramps who strolled by looking at her like she was on display at the zoo.
“Can I help you?” Jesse’s voice confronted the woman.
The tramp kept walking on those stilts she called legs, squinting at Jesse as if the sun was in her eyes.
“You’d better keep walking.” She muttered under her breath.
That distraction out of her face, she returned to the Avery case, leaving detailed notes that the client had promised to pay in two days. There were several avenues Jesse could have taken, other than threatening to garnish the woman’s check, but she didn’t care. The woman accumulated the debt so she had to pay it, besides, the other avenues wouldn’t have helped Jesse’s numbers. This job was about revenue, not coddling customers who couldn’t pay their bills.
Typing up her notes, Jesse glanced down at the framed photo on her desk. The man who was the subject of the photo had no idea the snapshot of him even existed. She’d caught him unawares on the street in the downtown area and took advantage of the photographic opportunity. She sighed, reflecting on his gorgeousness.
“That bitch has a lot of nerve taking my man!” Jessie fumed under her breath.
Earlier that day, Jesse had been following, not stalking like her friends so often pointed out, the man she cherished, Aiden Stone.
She and Aiden’s whirlwind courtship had begun several years ago in Washington D.C. at a nightclub. Sitting at a table with her girlfriends, she’d seen him the moment he walked in.
To say the man was fine wouldn’t do him justice. He was six foot four of raw masculinity and muscle, with stunning blue eyes that could make even the strongest woman swoon. His features were exotic, with traces of Polynesian, African American, and Irish, ancestry blending together in perfect harmony. A native of Hawaii, his skin tone was the soft brown of damp sand on a Hawaiian beach.
Once she saw him, she knew she had to have him. And have him she did. They spent one night together in reckless abandon and it was the best lay of her life. When her eyes opened the next morning, he was gone without leaving any way to contact him. He just seemed to vanish from the face of the earth.
Fate intervened a year ago, when she found him licking his wounds in a bar in Savannah, Georgia, over his ex-girlfriend, Danny. The fact that she went by a boy’s name was a clue that the witch was wrong in the head. Seeing her man in distress, Jesse fed him and provided him shelter in his hour of need.
Her friends told her she was a fool, that he was on the rebound and would go back to his girlfriend given the chance, but they were just jealous. They wanted him for themselves and that wasn’t going to happen. She and Aiden were soul mates.
Things between her and were Aiden fine for a few months, though he couldn’t get him to stop talking about his ex. No matter what she did for him, everything that came out of his mouth was ‘Danny this’ or ‘Danny that’. Jesse’s friends of course had to stick their noses in saying that he wasn’t over his ex, and he was just using her to make the woman jealous, but she wasn’t interested in what they had to say.
Just as her friends had forecast, the day did come when the witch decided that she wanted him back.
Try as she might, Jesse couldn’t break the spell the voodoo witch put on him. Things escalated out of control when Jesse confronted Danny at the wedding of one of her snooty friends. The skank couldn’t even fight her own battles, siccing her blond bimbo of a friend on her while she watched from the sidelines. Two months later Jesse was still sore from that brawl. Worse yet, Danny had gotten the police involved.
After a couple months of laying low and staying away from her beloved, Jesse was back to her previous routine. She made a point of driving by their house at random every day, just hoping to get a glimpse of him. Last night, she got an eyeful.
He and that tramp were apparently just coming back from a date. That viper slithered up to him and practically had her forked tongue down his throat. Seeming for some reason to enjoy it, he swept her into his arms and carried her into the house.
Thankfully, her job as a call center debt collector was there to take her mind off things. There was nothing like a customer begging for mercy to get her out of a funk.
A full day of work behind her, Jesse was ready to call it a night. With a bucket of ice cream to drown her sorrows and some trashy reality TV to take her mind off her man problems, she’d be just fine.
“Jody!” A concerned Jesse called for her roommate as she entered the apartment. Jody was supposed to report to work that afternoon, but never made it. It was out of character for her friend, since she hadn’t even bothered to call in.
Mostly a solitary creature, Jesse had let a down on her luck coworker move in a month ago. She and Jody got along harmoniously since she was quiet and tended not to judge Jesse’s personal life.
Jesse slipped out of her heels at the door, flexing her exhausted feet on the plush carpeting. With only the light from the adjacent living room to guide her, she headed toward the kitchen.
“Jody! Are you okay? Why didn’t you call into work? They were looking for….”
Her bare heel slid on something warm on the linoleum and she smacked her butt on the floor. “Damn it, Jody! Why didn’t you clean up this mess you made?”
Still yelling at her roommate, she washed her hands in the sink.
“What did you drip meat all over the kitchen?” She asked, watching the red swirl down the drain.
Huffing, she swung open the refrigerator door, perusing the shelves. In the center of the fridge was a large glass jar filled to the brim with cloudy red fluid. In the bottom of the container was a large chunk of red meat the size of a fist.
“Jody what the hell did you put in my…”
The door was slammed on the back of her head, knocking her out cold.
Pinpricks of light in a starburst pattern formed behind Jesse’s eyelids as she awakened. The back of her head was aching like it wanted to detach itself from her body and crawl away. Her limbs were heavy for some reason and she wasn’t able to move anything but her neck.
“What the hell are you looking at?” Jesse slurred, drool dribbling down the corner of her jaw. “Stop looking at me.”
Attempting to move, Jessie found that her hands and feet were bound to the bed. Her arms were almost painfully stretched above her head.
Her head listed to the side, Jesse’s focus was on the woman with the dark eyes who was blatantly ogling her. For some odd reason the woman was in Jesse’s room, hiding in a corner that was filled with shadows.
“I wouldn’t worry about her.” A man’s voice entered the room.
Dressed in black, he grabbed the staring woman by the hair and brought her face out to the light. Her brown eyes were lifeless, a jagged red streak across her pale throat. The young woman was devoid of a shirt or bra a gaping black hole had been opened below her ribcage.
“J-Jody! What did you do to Jody?”
He threw her back into the corner like an old rag doll. “If it’s any consolation, I regret having to dispatch your roommate. You were the intended target after all.”
Jesse’s anger bubbled to the surface. “You’d better get me out of here you sick son of a ….”
The man continued talking as if she hadn’t uttered a word. “But your roommate did give me a chance to perfect my method.”
He proudly held up the jar that had been in her fridge and thumped a finger against it like it was an aquarium. Sitting in the bottom of the jar was Jody’s heart.
Jessie’s eyes registered pure horror. “Oh my God! Help somebody help me! This psycho is going to kill me!”
Irritably shaking his head, the man covered her mouth with duct tape.
“As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted; when I tried to remove the heart from my first victims, it took more time than I was comfortable with and of course the noise from the saw attracted too much attention. I finally realized what I was doing wrong; the secret is to make an incision here.”
The man pointed to where his diaphragm would be. “And reach upward. That way you avoid the ribcage and you retrieve an undamaged specimen in mere seconds.”
Mascara streamed down Jessie’s face as she begged for mercy behind the tape.
He paid her no mind. “Now your friend’s heart, I’ll be adding to my collection. Your heart on the other hand I’m going to give as a gift.”
Reaching into a duffel bag, he extracted a syringe filled with a clear fluid and a pair of scissors.
“I’m giving you a local anesthesia so you won’t feel a thing.” He told her before stabbing the needle into her abdomen.
Her howl was muffled, sobs wracking her body.
“Now, now. It will all be over soon.” He soothed. “You should be honored. I think your heart will be the perfect present for her.”
While the pain killer snaked its way through her veins, the man used the scissors to cut through Jessie’s blouse and bra at the same time. Once he made his symmetrical cut through the material, he ripped it apart, exposing her naked ribcage. Going back to his duffel bag, he brought a sinister looking blade to the bed.
“This isn’t really personal.” He said over Jessie’s weeping as he made his first incision. “I’m just a man who believes in symbolism.”
Not satisfied with the way the blade was cutting he dipped his blood soaked hands into the bag and pulled out a knife with a serrated edge.
He got back into his gruesome work, sawing through her torso. “The girls I killed. They’re symbols of what she did to me. Oh, she hurt me, she really did; the pain was excruciating. She practically ripped my heart out of my chest and stomped on it. Now I wouldn’t stomp on a perfectly good heart, but you get what I’m saying. Giving her your heart is my way of showing her how I really feel.”
After carving a hole big enough for his hand to slip through, the man reached into the cavity. Jessie thrashed on the bed as he reached upward.
“Ah, here we are.” He whispered, biting his lip.
He grabbed the still beating organ and twisted. Her brain still functioning, the last thing Jessie saw was her heart beating in his hand. Whether from delirium or her approaching death, she found it humorous that she really was a heartless bitch after all.
I hate romantic comedies. Other than a select few most of them are predictable.
The couple meets in some cute way, most times with the desperate and single woman doing something to look like a complete idiot. Maybe she knocks over an entire table of food at a restaurant and he helps her clean up the mess. Or she gets her dress caught in the door of a cab and has to run along the side of it until the hero swoops in and saves the day.
After the cute meet the couple starts to date and all the woman’s flaws and insecurities come to the surface while most times the hero remains as clever and attractive as ever. Everything is fine until some conflict either internal or external threatens to break them up for good. One of the two has an epiphany and realizes they can’t live without their soul mate and by the end of the story everything is neatly tied in a pretty little pink bow and the happy couple lives happily ever after.
No wonder audiences have been staying away from romantic comedies in droves. Who wants to watch a story that’s that predictable? As a reader, it’s a tired formula I’ve seen repeated over and over again in a number of romance novels and it’s the reason I don’t read those types of books anymore.
As a writer, especially with a series, making things unpredictable is something you have to consider, especially when your story has romantic elements. Though the reader may say they want the heroine and her love interest to be happily married with kids, don’t believe them.
I can testify that I’ve thought the same thing with the TV series Castle. As soon as Detective Beckett and Richard Castle got together I was done. That was last season and I haven’t watched it since. After watching two characters who have been pining for each other for years finally get together, it’s boring now that we have what we wanted.
What keeps your reader interested is the tension between the couple. Move their relationship forward slowly. If you put them together as a couple, tear them apart soon after and have them find their way back to each other all over again. Introduce that best friend who’s been yearning after the hero since they were kids. Maybe one of them has an unforgiveable secret? What if her jealous best friend is a liar and spreads a nasty lie that breaks them apart. Unbeknownst to the hero, maybe his lady love has been replaced with her crazed, long thought dead twin sister. The longer you can keep your couple from that happily ever after the more the reader is pulled in. Make them wait!
Just because you’re following the romance formula doesn’t mean you have to play it by the book.
Last weekend, I went to the theater to see Thor. I grew up with my father reading his Silver Surfer and Spiderman comics, which got me somewhat interested in the genre. Its been decades since I’ve picked up a comic, probably around the last time I picked up a She-ra doll, but I’m very familiar with the characters. I may not read the comics anymore, but I like to watch them on the big screen.
It being the first week of release of this particular movie, I decided to get my seat early. Sitting there I had a ringside seat as the other film goers found their seat. I was quite surprised to find that probably half or over half of the patrons were women. True, some of them may have randomly picked Thor, but for the most part I think Chris Hemsworth and Idris Elba were the big draw. That would explain the gratuitous shirtless scene in the movie with Thor. That scene definitely wasn’t for the fan boys, it was a shout out for the ladies.
Going back over the super hero movies that have been released recently, the common factor is that most of them are attractive men. You’ve got Chris Evans, Hugh Jackman, and Henry Cavill as leading men. All of them good looking actors playing superheroes, all of them with a female fan base.
I for one have watched just about anything Chris Evans was in, years before he ever played Captain America. I happen to think he’s good eye candy. Anyone remember Cellular?
And the buzz with the Man of Steel from the ladies over the summer wasn’t about the action scenes, but how well Mr. Cavill looked in that Superman suit. I for one enjoyed the shirtless scenes with the manly facial scruff. ; )
My own mother practically swoons every time The Dark Knight Rises is on TV and she hears Bane’s distinctive voice. She was so crushed when I told her he wouldn’t be in the next Batman reboot.
The trend even spreads outside of the superhero movie genre. I wasn’t interested in The Fast and the Furious until they announced that The Rock would be appearing in Fast Five. As long as he’s in the franchise I’ll park my butt in the seat for every installment. Though Fast Six should be called The Fast and the Furious: Sexy, Sweaty Bald Men in Tank Tops.
I’m glad to see that film makers are paying attention to what women want when it comes to movies. We don’t all want the same predictable rom-com’s and period pieces. Sometimes we just want mindless action and a good looking man saving the day. And speaking of the Rock, he was also the only reason I went to see that awful GI Joe sequel and if he’s in the next one they can go ahead and take my money right now.
Enjoy a sneak peek at the first chapter in the third book in The Body Hunters series. The Body Hunters: Dirty Secrets, Naked Truths by Raven Newcastle http://amazon.com/dp/B00GOZ7ULC/ …
Alistair Brogan’s eyelids cracked open a little after one in the morning. Through sheer stubbornness he continued to lay there, willing himself to fall back to sleep. After nearly an hour of watching the digital digits on his alarm clock mark the passing time, Alistair gave it up. At the moment sleep wasn’t going to allow him to escape the mess of his creation.
He forced himself to sit up. He ran a hand through his tousled grey hair, which stood straight up like muddy icicles. The space in the king size bed beside him was empty; a few blond hairs on the pillow the only trace of the high priced call girl with whom he’d spent part of the evening. Obviously his meter had run out and she’d gone off in pursuit of the next paying client.
Alistair winced as the soles of his feet touched the frigid bedroom floor, the wood cut from some rare tree from the Amazon. He slipped into a pair of handcrafted silk slippers, monogrammed with his initials. He was considering not even bothering with a shower, until his own body funk assailed him.
Alistair shuffled to the bathroom with its heated tile floors, his worries heavy on his shoulders. He gazed at his nude form in the bathroom mirror. He didn’t look too bad for a chap well beyond the half century mark. His eye sight had been corrected with laser surgery so he no longer required the grandfatherly glasses he used to wear. His hair was expertly cut by a stylist known to have clipped the hairs of U.S. Presidents and heads of state. His fingers pinched his waist, finding no trace of the love handles that had plagued him for years, his belly flat and taut like a fashion model half his age. His unforgiving personal trainer had seen to that and the man’s exorbitant fee had been money well spent.
A personal shopper made sure that his walk in closet was overflowing with fine garments and shoes that befitted a man of his wealth and stature. A fleet of fine automobiles filled the garage of his mansion, while a handful of servants waited on his every beck and call. When Alistair talked, people paid attention. Everywhere he went people knew him and wanted to be around him. To the outside world Alistair Brogan was the picture of power and influence, but why did he feel so hollow inside?
When Alistair looked at himself in the mirror all he saw was staring back at him was the face of a con man and a thief. Alistair Brogan, CEO of Capital Securities Associates or C.S.A. was guilty of running a Ponzi scheme. He’d duped corporations, charities, middle class workers, and little old ladies out of billions of dollars. Over the years, he kept telling himself that he’d go on the straight and narrow and clean up the mess he’d started, but as the years went by he only got deeper and deeper in the tar pit of his own making.
Just a few months ago, Alistair had developed a plan that would allow him to pay off all his investors back in full. The plan would take time to pay off, precious time he no longer had. Unfortunately, there was no more sand in his hour glass and two weeks ago the whole house of cards came crashing down.
A legion of FBI agents in their windbreakers descended on C.S.A.’s headquarters in Savannah in search of a paper trail. The SEC had been investigating him for years and finally had gathered enough evidence for a warrant. Like buzzards swooping down on a carcass, the media was all over the story. Cameras and microphones were shoved into the faces of clueless C.S.A. employees and Alistair’s equally clueless friends and family.
Alistair was exiled from his circle of friends as soon as the news broke. He’d gone from a VIP to the most hated man in America in mere days. His victims now paraded outside the gate of his mansion with their torches and pitchforks, calling for the head of the monster. His former friends treated him like he was poisonous, avoiding any contact with him. Alistair felt like he didn’t have an ally in the world.
The arraignment was mercifully quick and his hot shot lawyer was able to get Alistair released on bond and put on house arrest. Thankfully he was able to avoid wearing one of those awful tethers, since the lawyer negotiated the surrender of his passports. Alistair was now confined to his luxurious seven bed room, Savannah, Georgia mansion. With the house empty since he fired his staff, the mansion was even more like a prison. Save for the occasional call girl, Alistair was in solitary confinement with no other human contact.
As he stood in the shower letting the steaming jets of nearly scalding water work over his exhausted muscles, Alistair reminisced over his past transgressions and his pitiful existence.
He’d never been much of a husband or father. He knew now that he was never worthy of his first wife, his one true love, Cindy Good. She was truly a saint who’d put up with his lying and cheating for years, but even saints have their limitations. She’d taken their children and had been living happily ever after for years.
Wife number two was a conniving temptress who was only after his money. She’d abandoned him as soon as she’d gotten word of the charges against him and the possibility of losing everything of which she’d grown accustomed.
The disappointment in his eldest son’s face whenever he looked at him was enough to kill him. It was a wonder that Alistair Jr. didn’t change his name to avoid all association with his fallen father. Luckily he was spared the judgment of his daughter who lived in Europe with her husband and children. It was one thing to be a bad father, another to be publicly branded a crook.
How ironic that the one child he could truly lean on at this time was his problem child, his youngest son Carl, by his second wife. It was Carl, the former drug addict, who comforted Alistair with words of wisdom and encouragement. While he was never charged with anything as serious as running a Ponzi scheme, Carl had seen the inside of a jail cell on several occasions in his relatively short life and knew what they were up against.
Ceasing the ruminations on his children and turning off the punishing spray of water using the digital touch screen panel, Alistair stepped out of the glass enclosed shower. The scent of his musky imported body wash and shampoo lingered on his skin. Donning just his silk bathrobe, he headed downstairs, taking in the things he’d accumulated over the years.
As he passed the baby grand piano in the living room, he reminisced on the items he’d acquired. There was the antique Persian rug he’d acquired in Morocco, the antique vase from Malaysia, a collection of hand blown glass ornaments from Italy. These items he cherished would soon be auctioned to the highest bidder to cover the losses that his clientele had suffered because of his schemes. His bank accounts were already frozen and it was only a matter of time before his property was seized.
His breath caught in his throat as if he could feel the walls of justice closing in on him. His lawyer insisted on pleading not guilty, but Alistair knew that his days were numbered. He was guilty as sin and he was going to spend the rest of his earthly existence and part of the afterlife in a federal prison.
Trying to shake off the stress, Alistair arrived at the room containing his indoor pool. The combination of the chlorine and the heated water made the room hot and the air hard to breathe. Shrugging out of his robe, he stepped into the warm waters. He swam laps around the pool until his arms and legs felt like they’d been injected with lead. The dull pain helped to lower his anxiety level.
“Nice day for a swim, huh?” A masked figure dressed in black emerged from the shadows, a gun gleaming in its hand.
“Wh-who are you?” In near panic, Alistair quickly cinched the robe around his waist.
The intruder never answered, letting the sound of the gunshot speak for him. A jet of red black blood sprayed like a fountain from Alistair’s perfectly tanned neck. He fell to his knees, his hands around his own throat, desperately attempting to stop the bleeding as his life flowed through his fingers. Alistair’s voice was replaced by thick garbled static, the blood in his throat nearly gagging him.
The dark figure stood less than a foot from Alistair’s crouching form and pulled the trigger again. Grey matter and blood spatter made a mess of the white tile. Alistair collapsed in a heap. Death overrode any modesty as his robe fell open, leaving his naked body fully exposed. The intruder fired two more rounds into Alistair’s skull before kicking the dead man into the pool.
A murky red cloud surrounded Alistair as he floated on top of the water like an overfed goldfish. Satisfied with their handiwork, the intruder fled the room, carefully avoiding the blood on the floor.