Submitted to: Contest #158

Maiden Voyage

Written in response to: "Write a story where the law plays an important role."

⭐️ Contest #158 Shortlist!

Crime Suspense Fiction

Vestal, Ohio

The heat. The damn, ever-loving summer heat. It covered like a veil, even at 11:04 p.m., according to the clock on the squad’s dash. A single drop of sweat ran from Officer Todd Fowler’s hairline behind his right ear onto the collar of his navy uniform shirt, which was bear-hugged by a twenty-pound tactical vest that did nothing but absorb all that heat.   

Hell of a night for my maiden voyage, he thought, as his eyes flitted from the clock to the blue-screened laptop in front of the passenger seat to the unopened bottle of Remy Martin. Who even drinks cognac these days? he wondered as he turned onto County Trunk Highway J. That would take him into town, to the station and the temporary holding facility, where he would Mirandize his suspect.

That suspect called himself James. No last name, or was James his last name? Officer Fowler couldn’t get a straight answer out of the wiry, mulleted man with the thin moustache and goatee who quietly sat in the rear of the squad. The shadows created by the passing street lamps traipsed across his rugged, even handsome face, but the man said nothing. He was handcuffed, but at least he was calm. People get funny, which is to say peculiar, when it gets hot out. 

Why this James guy decided to walk into Steck’s Liquors at the edge of town, grab the $100 bottle of cognac, and simply walk out was beyond Officer Fowler. Stupid criminal tricks. When the cashier gave chase, perhaps foolishly, James clobbered him with a right uppercut that broke the man’s nose and left a shirt full of blood. Then he just kept walking down the road into the heart of small-town darkness and didn’t resist when Officer Fowler arrested him ten minutes later. In fact, he had even been polite: “Yes, Officer. No, Officer.”

That had been a relief. Officer Fowler had completed his department’s field training program the week before and was in a squad by himself for the first time. No more shadowing. It was all him, baby. He knew the book and went by it without question. In this case: Absolutely do not engage the suspect under any circumstances, and make sure the squad’s mobile audio/video system is operational. If the suspect makes an utterance before the reading of his Miranda rights, remember what was said and pass it on to the detective, though the system should pick that up. 

Still staring out the window, James said with nonchalance, “You know, Officer, I took a man’s life tonight. I thought you should know that in case you want to investigate.”

Whoa. What the hell…?

Okay, pay attention now, boy, Fowler thought, as the squad trundled down the better-lit County J. The station was about five miles away. Plenty of time for this joker to chat me up.

“I made his heart stop,” James went on, making eye contact with Officer Fowler through the rearview mirror. “I think the doctors call it ‘sudden cardiac arrest.’ Do you know how that works?”

No response; by the book, of course. Officer Fowler goosed the accelerator just a bit. Best get this nutcase to holding ASAP.

“Blood is loaded with oxygen, you see, and when the heart stops beating, it can’t get to the brain and other organs,” James said. Was that the beginning of a smile on his face? Fowler couldn’t tell in the lulls of darkness between street lamps. Sure looked like it, though.

“Death, then, happens in minutes.”

Okay, this guy may be 10-96, he thought. That’s cop code for a mental subject, someone who may not have the mental capacity to realize what he’s said or done. Departments across the country were phasing out 10 codes in place of plain English after the chaos of Hurricane Katrina, but his chief still saw value in them for his rural Ohio department that was set in its ways. That department, by the way, hadn’t had a murder in more than forty years.

Officer Fowler considered notifying Dispatch, but thought better of it, because that might indicate James was getting under his skin. Which, truth be told, he was, but like a middle-school teacher, you can’t show weakness.

“I wonder, Officer, if you’ve ever dealt with a dead body before,” James said, then squinted a bit. “No, you’re pretty young. First night on patrol by yourself, is it?”

Reflexively, Fowler turned his head, mistakenly taking his eyes off the road, because when he turned back, there he was, stumbling across County J. A tall, dark-haired, barefoot man in a torn T-shirt and blue jeans, maybe in his early forties.

Familiar. He had seen the man’s face before. But where…?

“You’re going to stop to help him, aren’t you, Officer?” he heard James ask from the back seat behind the squad’s plexiglass barrier. “Aren’t you legally, and perhaps morally, obligated to do so?”

No response. C’mon, boy. No response.

“Officer? Officer?”

What’s procedure in this situation?

The priority is the suspect in the squad. Don’t leave the squad. Call Dispatch and them know what’s going on. Follow and maintain visual of the subject outside the vehicle. Wait for backup. If necessary, use the loudspeaker to determine the situation.

But the man stopped in the middle of the road and held his hands high over his head. He was sweaty—who wasn’t at this point of the summer?—and he had what appeared to be streaks of bloody cuts across his face and neck. One seemed to stretch like a river from his left ear to his Adam’s apple.

That’s who he is: Father Daniel from the First Episcopal Church downtown. Officer Fowler had met him a few weeks earlier at the church’s summer carnival. They had joked about the pastor’s children, ages nine, five, and three. His wife, a shapely brunette with nice legs, was really good-looking, surprising for a man of the cloth.

They lived out here somewhere, maybe across one of those farm fields. Officer Fowler remembered Father Daniel mentioning that. A parsonage. That’s what it was.

“Help, Officer, help!” Father Daniel’s scream carried across the sultry air as the squad came to a complete stop in front of him. He placed both hands on the hood, and the whiteness of his knuckles was apparent to Officer Fowler even in the shadows.

Father Daniel had obviously been through a lot tonight.

“Shouldn’t you get out and help him?” James asked. “I mean, he’s clearly in distress. Do your job. Help the man.”

Instead, Fowler flipped on the loudspeaker. “Father Daniel,” he said as the volume of his voice echoed voice filled the squad’s cabin, “are you hurt?”

The pastor squinted at the windshield, made a fist with his right hand, and brought it to his lips while pointing with the other. “Devil!” he screamed. “Antichrist!”

It took a moment for Officer Fowler to realize the priest wasn’t pointing at him; he was pointing at James, who said, “I do believe the good Father isn’t playing with a full deck, Officer. Lucifer? Please. He’s a friend, but I’m not him.”

“Shut up!” the officer growled, turning his head to the right, but making no eye contact with the suspect. Breach of protocol, and the system was recording away.

DamnDo not engage the suspect. The suspect in the squad was the priority.

But was he? There were instances, according to his academy instructors, when it was appropriate to leave the squad. Maybe this was one of them…

“Devil! Antichrist! Deviiiiillll…!”

“Will you tell him I’m not Lucifer? I mean, my God,” James started, but this time Officer Fowler turned almost completely around and gave him a look he hoped would have scared the crap out of a gorilla. James simply chuckled and pursed his lips into a tight, malevolent smile.

Father Daniel had taken a few steps away from the front of the squad, while Officer Fowler picked up the squad’s radio microphone and fairly shouted, “Dispatch? This is 311, requesting backup at County J, a mile north of Valley Road. I’m transporting a suspect, and I have an injured subject heading north on J. I’m maintaining visual.”

Nothing. Not even the crackle of static.

He tried again: nothing.

“It seems as if your colleagues have abandoned you,” James said, and Fowler could still see the last vestiges of his corrupt grin before it disappeared.

“Help him, Officer Fowler,” James went on. “Help him. You can save his life if you hurry. Help him.”

Did the suspect just use my actual name? Fowler immediately thought of his girlfriend, Ashley, and their seven-month-old son back at their crummy apartment blocks away from the First Episcopalian Church. He and Ashley were planning to get married in the fall, civil ceremony. Both of them were atheists.

“Look!” James crowed from behind.

Father Daniel had disappeared. Nothing but darkness across the windshield and hood of the squad.

Priority is the suspect: James. Protocol. 

But then his thoughts turned to Father Daniel, his hot wife, and their kids.

Ashley. Their own kid who was probably snuggled in his crib at that moment.

In the dark. In the heat.

Officer Fowler gripped the door handle, stopped, looked at James in the rearview—who was still smiling—opened the door, and leapt out. Protocol be damned.

Father Daniel was sprawled on the pavement beside the broken yellow line that faded into the darkness beyond the range of the squad’s headlights. 

“Father!” he squawked, racing around the broken man’s body so he faced the squad. Just in case.

Immediately, he began a heart massage. That, too, was procedure.

Father Daniel wheezed and moved his lips ever so slightly. Officer Fowler leaned in until his ear was parallel with his mouth. “B-b-banish.” The priest moved no more, and his eyes became glassy slits.

“Sudden cardiac arrest,” came a nearby voice now clearly outside the squad.

James was leaning on his left leg, his left hand on his hip, and the other holding the bottle of Remy Martin. 

“You won’t be needing this,” he said as Fowler’s gun unholstered itself and flew into the cornstalks on the other side of the road. James lifted his left hand, and there was what appeared to be an orange—no white—coal in the palm. He cocked his arm back as if ready to hurl it.

Officer Fowler fell backward onto his ass and pushed himself away from the suspect, who had now skip-stepped forward, apparently to gain momentum.

Now was the time. Banish him

“I command you to leave!” Fowler screamed, recalling something he had read about religious wackos and their so-called ability to cast out evil spirits. Wait, that’s not enough; they always say something about Jesus

Therefore, the name leapt from his throat. And again and again.

“Jesus? You mean my enemy,” James said, “Come on, you don’t really believe in him, do you? I’ve been watching you for years, Officer Fowler. You don’t believe in anything. Neither does Ashley. And neither will your boy. That will be your legacy after you join me in my dwelling. 

“Now, Father Daniel is a true believer, which is why I came to call on him tonight. True believers are tough nuts to crack, but if you apply enough pressure… It was amazingly simple to lure him into the cornstalks from his ‘parsonage.’ I merely whispered in his ear and told him to come.”

A pause.

“And yes, I lied. I am the god of this world. I am he of which the good Father spoke.” James raised his left arm again, and this time the spherical coal in his hand made for Officer Fowler’s chest. 

Maybe my vest will ward it off, he thought. Doubtful. There was no time. 

“Jesus!” he screamed once again.

At that, the hot coal burst into a million tiny pieces illuminated by the glare of the squad’s headlights. They bounced on the pavement between Fowler and Father Daniel, like cigarette ash, before flaming out.

Suddenly James was gone along with the bottle of Remy Martin.

The suspect. The suspect was supposed to be the priority.

A siren began to wail in the distance, getting closer. Backup.

Maybe the radio had actually worked. 

But Dispatch didn’t acknowledge me. How is that possible? How is any of this possible?

There was a cough, a wheeze, really, and Officer Fowler darted toward Father Daniel, who wasn’t moving, but he was alive.

“Officer,” came a weak, thready voice, “help me.”

Fowler crawled on his hands and knees across the pavement to where the Father lie; the bloody marks were still evident on his face and neck. They looked worse up close: clear, precision cuts that might have been made by a doctor with a scalpel or even a mortician or medical examiner. 

He wasn’t going to make it. That was clear.

“Officer…”

“Yes, Father.”

“Let the Lord guide you.”

***

The department’s inquiry of the event, which received assistance from both county and state law enforcement, took a month. Officer Fowler didn’t need the book to tell him that honesty was the best policy in this situation. His mother had taught him that. He truthfully responded to every question, every cross-examination, every angry missive by men who were trained to root out untruth. But they could find none. For that, Officer Fowler received a thirty-day suspension without pay, but at least he retained his job. 

In the intervening time, he attended Father Daniel’s funeral, hugged his widow and their three children, and cried like everyone else. He and Ashley made it through the toughest financial month of their lives with a little help from both sets of parents, and they started planning their marriage ceremony, which would be held the following spring at First Episcopal Church. And a surprise: they were expecting again. Her doctor said it was another boy, whom they decided to name Daniel.

Officer Fowler was relegated to a desk after he returned to work, and that bright autumn day, the receptionist informed him that Father Daniel’s wife was in the lobby. He went up front, and as usual, she was stunning in a pair of white capri pants and a sleeveless blouse. Her youngest was in tow and clearly bored. In her hand was a rectangular package with Officer Fowler’s name on it in black magic marker.

She explained that it had been left on her front porch, and since it was addressed to him, she figured she should drop it off, yada yada.

Fowler opened the box, and inside was a bottle of Remy Martin and a note that read, “I told you I took a man’s life that night.” 

Posted Aug 05, 2022
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36 likes 47 comments

Amanda Lieser
21:35 Sep 05, 2022

Hi Gregg!
Wow! This piece was stunning. I gobbled it up right away because of the incredible imagery and witty thought pieces. I also enjoyed the way that you chose the officer’s perspective and your use of the term maiden voyage. It certainly was a red herring. I am a total sucker for a happy ending with a twist so I enjoyed that last line as well. Nice job and congratulations!

Reply

Gregg Voss
22:24 Sep 05, 2022

Hi Amanda,
Thanks for the kudos, and I'm glad you enjoyed it. The police chief in the town I live in outside of Chicago explained to me the ins and outs of police work, i.e., the nuance, which came in handy as I was writing this story.

Inside info: I'm working on a sequel. :-). It'll be in my next book; the first was The Valley of American Shadow, which is on Amazon if you're interested.

What is your current work in progress? Care to share?

Reply

Amanda Lieser
22:32 Sep 05, 2022

Hi Gregg!
That is so cool! I’d love to hear more about your experience with self publishing? Does the book have a bunch of separate short stories? Or are they all linked together in some way?

I just finished Dream A Little Dream of Me and put it up for this week’s contest. I’d value any thoughts or opinions you’d have to share!

Reply

Gregg Voss
23:40 Sep 05, 2022

Hi, the book is a collection of 16 short stories, including Maiden Voyage, which have as their overarching theme the paranormal, or the strangeness that goes on in America; in other words, it's an American valley of the sinister. I can discuss self-publishing, it was a pretty good experience for my first outing.

Of course I will review Dream A Little Dream of Me ASAP. My story, Rainbow Electric, will come on line later this week, I'd imagine. Another paranormal piece.

Reply

S. E. Mary
15:20 Aug 29, 2022

I can certainly tell why this story was shortlisted. It was suspenseful to say the least and I love the vocabulary in this piece. Each word felt perfectly chosen. It is not often that I read a piece that feels as if not one word is out of place. Great job and congratulations.

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Gregg Voss
15:36 Aug 29, 2022

Thanks. My first book was full of stories like this (16, I think). It's titled The Valley of American Shadow and it's on Amazon.

Reply

T.S.A. Maiven
08:55 Aug 26, 2022

Some excellent descriptions in here. Very good story. I enjoyed reading it. Good job on the shortlist!

Reply

Gregg Voss
10:37 Aug 26, 2022

Thanks so much for the kind words, and I'm glad you enjoyed it.

What is your work in progress these days? Care to share?

Reply

T.S.A. Maiven
23:06 Sep 02, 2022

Right now my work in progress is to keep writing these weekly stories! I think this is a great community for writers. I'm still new.

Reply

Gregg Voss
12:38 Sep 03, 2022

I've been considering that as well, but I am now starting to find that by writing a new story every week, I'm not sure I have enough time to make sure the quality is really there. So I will take a week or two off from time to time to work on other things.

Reply

T.S.A. Maiven
16:45 Sep 03, 2022

I absolutely agree. Usually with me crunch time comes and I'm only beginning to edit so some things feel half finished or sloppy. But the ones I dont submit I have to work on and revise at my leisure. I do write a lot of poetry on the side as well as journaling.

Reply

Feuer Wasser
17:50 Aug 25, 2022

I loved this story. Very well written. Awesome plot. I really enjoyed reading this. Thank you.

Reply

Gregg Voss
18:02 Aug 25, 2022

Thanks so much for your kind comment. Out of curiosity, are you from Deutschland? I am a fan of Bayern Munich. :-)

What is your work in progress these days? Care to share?

Reply

Feuer Wasser
19:55 Aug 25, 2022

Nope, I'm from New York.

A thing I'm waking on is this, Let me know if you read it and I would love to hear any feedback, if you have some. Please take note that I have not edited it, so it might be a lite messy.
Here it is:

Tulsa, Oklahoma - 1957, October

Reckless snorted and crow-hops at the bush, almost like he was afraid of it, but I know he was just messing around. It must be because of the weather outside, crisp, cool and breezy air. He’s a young horse, so of course he wants to just run. I also love to gallop so, to let him know I'm the boss, I slide my left hand down the left rain till it's inline with my knee and firmly but gently bring his head around so that my hand is inline with my hip. Then I squeeze with my left leg until Reckless releases and starts to move his back end in circles. His front feet staying in one place. It basically feels like I'm drifting, but on a horse. As soon as he settles, I give him a squeeze and he takes off, galloping through the woods.
As soon as I can see my house and barn, I slow Reckless down to a trot for about five minutes, then bring him down to a walk for a cool-down. Just outside of the barn I hop down and lead him in.
My little sister, Julia, is in there feeding Ol’ Red and Prince. Julia is about 5’2” and leen and has long, dark brown hair.Prince is her horse, and Ol’ Red is our older brother, Dally’s horse. Dally is about 5’11”, muscular, and has black, short hair. He is also mine and Julia's legal guardian because our mom died of cancer and our dad killed himself with alcohol, (after Mom died.) Julia rides Prince quite a lot but Dally doesn't ride very much at all. “Hey, Uriah. How was your ride?” Julia says. “Good. How you doin?” I say. She just shrugs and tells me she has been having a rough time at school. I ask if she has talked to her teachers about it, and she says,“Nah. It would make it worse.” I don't think much of it at that moment. We finish doing chores together, then go into the house to get ready for school. I run upstairs and change out of my work/ridding clothes into more school appropriate clothes, as in, they're not filthy. Then I go down to the kitchen to find something to eat and see that Dally has made me and Julia some eggs and toast. I wolf my food down and go run through the house to find all my school books and shove them into my back-pack. When me and Julia are ready to go, Dally gives us a ride to school in his truck. He is 23, so he is out of school and has his license. When me and Julia get into the school, I go left and she goes right. I'm in 10th grade and she is in 8th.
I kinda just go through the day empty minded other than thinking about the really good long horse ride I will go on this afternoon. (This morning's ride was barely anything.)
When I get home from school, I get my riding clothes back on, then go ask Julia if she wants to come on the ride. She says yes. We get the horses tacked up, then get going. I notice that when Julia puts her helmet on, she leaves her hair down, covering most of her face. I'm a little confused because she hates having her hair down, but I don't say anything. Later into the ride, when we are on our way home, we decide to gallop across a really flat, straight trail. As we are running, Julia attempts to stifle a grone, but it makes its way out of her mouth. A glance at her and make a double-take. Her left jaw is covered in a blueish-purple bruise, and her face is contorted in pain. I can't stop thinking about what could have happened and when we are done untacking the horses and cooling them off, Julia starts to walk to the house. I say, “Hey, Julie, come here.” (I call her Julie when something is wrong with her.) She turned back and walked back into the barn, stopping in front of me, her head down. I reach my hand out and gently brush her hair from the left side of her face and look at the bruise. She looks up at me, tears running down her face. I pull her into a hug, and hold her there, gently rocking back and forth, quietly saying,“Hey. It's ok. You'll be ok.” when she pulls back, I ask, “what happened? Did you start it or did a little sonofagun start it?”
She sniffs and then starts the story: “Conner, Dillen, and Jacob. 9th graders. They have been bugging me all school year. They like to corner me and taunt me. Today Conner- he's the leader, kinda. Well, he came at me and punched me in my gut. I think I broke his nose. But, when I started punching, Dillen and Jacob joined in. They got me pretty bad.” Furious, I say, “what the hell! Why have they been doing this? What makes them think they can bully MY little sister?” More gently, I say, “why did you not tell me? How bad are you hurt? Can you breathe ok?” “I didn't want you to be mad at me. And, to tell the truth, I'm having a hard time breathing.” “Damnit. That's not good. Julie, why would I be mad at you? I'm pissed at those boys. Turn around.'' She turns and I lift her shirt to look at her back. I curse under my breath. It's that bad. It looks worse than her jaw. Her back is bruised and the skin has even been broken. She was probably kicked a lot. I brush my fingers over her ribs and she winces. Probably broken. “We're gonna have to bring you into the hospital. You're pretty bad.” “Are you going to tell Dally?” “You want me to?” “umm… does he have to know?” “Julia! You need to go to the hospital. He's gonna find out. I can tell him you got bucked off prince if you want.” “Might as well tell him the truth. Thanks though.” We go inside after I feed and water the horses. Julia hangs out in the barn and watches me spill an entire bucket of water down my boot. And then get hay in it. She starts laughing at me but quickly stops, because it hurts too much.
***
Later that night, after dinner and Julia is in her bedroom doing homework, me and Dally start to clean the kitchen. I figur I might as well tell him about Julia getting beat up. “Hey… ummm… Dally?” “Yeah? What's up?” “Umm. well… Julia needs to go to the hospital. Can you bring me and her there tomorrow, before school?” Dally was just picking up a glass to wash it and he stops, quietly standing there for a minute. He then sets the glass down, his hands shaking and sayes, “what happened? She get bucked off?” “Uh. No. She got beat up. Pretty bad, by some 9th grader boys at school. She has some broken ribs. She got punched and kicked all over.” “Damn. Is that why she was so quiet at dinner? Sure. We can go to the hospital before school. I'll skip work tomorrow and bring you to school after the hospital, but I want Julia to stay home from school for now.” “Ok. I'm gonna go check on her, bring her a slab of frozen meat. G’night. Oh hey. Can you not talk to Julia about the fight? She's a little bit shaken by it.” “Yeah, no problem. Goodnight, Uriah.”
I grab a thing of meat and head upstairs to check on Julia. I knock on her door, but she doesn’t answer, so I just walk in. She’s laying down in her bed, staring up at her ceiling. “Hey. How you doin? I brought you a slab of meat, for your face, not to eat” “Thanks. Did you talk to Dally?” “Yeah. We're going to the hospital tomorrow. He wants you to stay home from school.” “Ok. Uriah, it hurts. All over.” “I know. Just try to go to sleep.” “Ok. G’night, Uriah.”
In the morning we all go to the hospital and we figure out that Julia has 4 broken ribs and a very minor concussion, (probably got kicked in the head.)
When Dally drops me off at school he looks my right in the eye and says, “Uriah. Dont do anything stupid.” I don't listen. I know that my grade pasess the 9th graders right after my PE class, which is first period. I love working out and I'm 5’9” and pretty fit. I run twice as many laps as my classmates to warm up than we play floor hockey. I bodyslam one person and trip another. After class, I wait in the hallway for Conner, Dillen and Jacob. When I see them, I walk over to them and grab the caller of Conner's shirt and slam him as hard as I can against the wall. His eyes get really big. I punch him as hard as I can (which is really hard) in the face and then shove his head down so that I can easily knee him in the stomach. Next I grab a fistfull of his hair and slam his head into the wall.
Done with him.
Next is Jacob. He comes at me but I'm ready. I trip him and when he falls I make it so that his face collides with my knee. He covers his head with his arms wich is dumb because I can easaly get his torso. I kick him in the ribs a few times. His face was bleeding a lot, so I move on to Dillen.
He tries to leave, but im not about to let one of the people who beat my sister up leave without a little bit of blood on them. I shove him against the wall and punch him in the face a few times then I knee him in the ribs. Next I pull him away from the wall and then slam him, as hard as I can back against it, and elbow him in the jaw with my left elbow and then punch him as hard as I can right under his ear. He passes out. Before I leave for math class, I quietly tell the three boys, (even though one of them is unconscious) “Don't mess with my sister EVER again. If you do, I'll pull my knife out on you and you won't be happy. You hear me?”
When I walk into math class and sit down I get a lot of looks because I'm like ten minutes late. I'm really smart and I understand my math. I'm even good at it. I just don't care for it, so I never answer the questions in class. It's the same in all my classes. I just get through the day, do my homework and don't get all that streast about it. And that's what I did today. When I get home I walk into the house, throw my bag on the floor and go look for Julia. I find her in her room napping. I sit next to her and hope she will wake up soon. She wont wake up. Even if I stare at her for an entire minute. I lie down next to her and end up falling asleep.
I wake up and Julia is gone. I notice that my knuckles are still all bloody, so I head into the bathroom to wash them off. I find Julia in there examining her bruised jaw. “Nice bruise. How you feeling?” “Good. I still hurt all over. How was scho- what did you do? Why are your hands all bloody?” “Let's just say that those little scum bags should not be bothering you any time soon.” “Really? How bad did you get them?” “Dillen unconscious, the other two on the ground in a lot of pain.” “Wow. Thanks!”
Suddenly we hear loud stomping up the stairs and, “URIAH?!?! WOULD YOU LIKE TO EXPLAIN TO ME WHY I GOT A CALL FROM YOUR PRINCIPAL SAYING THAT 3 BOYS CAME INTO HER OFFICE SAYING YOU ALMOST KILLED THEM?! I TOLD YOU NOT TO DO ANYTHING STUPED!” “Sorry. I had to do it. For Julie. Now she won't be getting bullied any more.” “You have a week-long suspension. Your principal wants to talk to you so I will bring you in tomorrow and then bring you home before I go to work. Also, Julia, I want you to stay home for at least a week. Since Uriah is suspended, I can go to work. Oh. My punishment to you is no riding for a week. No riding for you either, Julie. Also, both of you have to make supper tonight. I'll go do horse chores. Get going on supper. I'm hungry.” Julia tells me to wash my hands because she doesn't want blood in her food, so I turn the water and shove my hands in the hot stream. Julia grabs the soap and squirts some on my knuckles and it stings pretty bad so I cup my hands and fill them with water and splash it all over her face. She screeches and runs down stairs. I finish washing my hands, dry them off then head down stairs. When I get down, Julia is sprawled out on the floor, right at the base of the stairwell. “Julie! What happened? Are you ok?” “Uriah. I Can't. breathe. Very well.” “Hey hey hey it's ok it's ok. I'm going to get you into a chair. Hold on.” I pick her up, one arm under her knees and the other arm around her shoulders, and carry her to a chair and set her down. Then I run as fast as I can to the door and scream, “Dally! It's Julia! She is having a hard time breathing!” He runs up to the house and we go over to Julia. She's having a little bit of an easier time breathing. Dally grabs his asthma inhaler, and helps Julia use it. (Oh yeah. Dally has asthma.) All of that helps and Julia is breathing a lot better now. We ask her what happened and she says, “I fell halfway down the stairs and knocked the wind out of me. Then, it hurt my ribs too much to breathe. I'm ok now.” Dally says, “Julia, I want you to stay sitting for a while. Uriah, you're going to have to make supper by yourself.” We both answer “Ok.” and then I head into the kitchen to start supper. When I open the fridge, I can only find some baloney, mustard, bread and lettuce. I make a few sandwiches with all that and put them on the table. After supper Dally cleans up and I go out to say hi to Reckless. He knickers to me and I run over to him and feed him a treat, saying “sorry, bud. I'm not allowed to ride you for a week. I can do ground stuff with you though. Oh, I know you don't like ground work, but it's good for you.”
The next morning dally brings me to school so I can talk to Miss. Johnson, the principal. When I walk into her office, she looks very disappointed in me. I sit down in front of her desk and she says, “Uriah, you know you're not allowed to fight in school. Especially when you're a 10th grader going on some 9th graders.” “Ummm. Did those boys tell you the whole story? I know that I was in the wrong, but do you seriously think that I would go beat some boys up just because I was bored?” “They just told me that you jumped them randomly.” Chuculing, I say, “oh, ok, heh. Wow. those little scumbags. Ha. Do you want me to tell you the entire story?” “I guess.” “Ok well, my little sister Julia came home two days ago with her left jaw bruised, her entire back bruised and cut, 4 broken ribs and a minor concussion. Those three boys beat her up a lot worse than what I did to them. Also, they are 9th graders and Julia is an 8th grader. 3 BIGGER boys against my LITTLE sister!! THAT is why I beat them up. My sister did NOTHING to them. I think they should get suspended, or worse, but that's not for me to decide.” Miss. Johnson is staring at me with her mouth wide open and a look of pure shock on her face. “Wait, what? Those boys beat your sister up, 3 bigger ones against one smaller one? For no reason? What the-... here, just a sec.” She picks up the phone thing that must be for making announcements and calling kids into her office, and in a very ofishal voice, says, “I would like Conner, Dillen and Jacob, 9th graders, to come to my office immediately.” she grins at me and says, “I think you might want to watch this.” About five to seven minutes later, the three boys come in. They already look anxious, but when they see me, I would not be surprised if they wet themselves. Conner’s face is beautiful. A paint pallet of black, blue, purple and red. His nose is very swollen and he has some medical tape across it. Jacob's nose is hilariously swollen. He looks like a blobfish. Dillen’s face is bruised all the way to under his ear that I elbowed and he has a black eye. Miss. Johnson says, “hello boys. Uriah sure did a good job on you. Would you like to try to tell me the entire story again?” And they do.

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Feuer Wasser
13:20 Aug 28, 2022

Where you able to read my story?

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Gregg Voss
14:50 Aug 28, 2022

Acht - I cover high school sports and football started this weekend, so I was really locked in on that. May I read and comment today? My apologies.

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Feuer Wasser
14:56 Aug 28, 2022

No problem. Yes, you can read and comment on it today when you can. Thank you!

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Gregg Voss
17:07 Aug 28, 2022

OK, here are my thoughts:
1. I love the fact that you set up the story by saying Tulsa 1957, because that sets up in my mind the visual of where we are and what we're doing. Obviously, I have limited perception of that, but in my mind, I see horses, kids making it on their own and other things that matter to the scope of the story. So Bravo on that; it's a little thing but important.
2. One thing I was taught as a writer by multiple editors is to get the story off the "conflict runway" fast. Like a plane taking off. I would say get to the conflict - between Uriah and the boys - faster and earlier in the story. There's lot of setup, but things really got interesting when Uriah beat up those dudes. Again, I could feel his rage, but I would have felt it even more if the conflict was right off the bat.
3. The final paragraph, which starts with "Suddenly we hear loud stomping..." should be broken up into several graphs (though this may be a formatting issue with Reedsy). Use that as an opportunity, then, to build the dialogue between Uriah and one of the boys (the ringleader) to have that one-on-one angle. That's missing but it could be there with some strategic thought.
4. Always, always, always read for spelling. You have several instances where there are misspellings and that takes the reader's focus away from the story, which you don't want. I don't mean to be disrespectful, but I chuckled when I saw the spelling of "chucling." :-)
5. This story has potential. Get that conflict going fast, even through the first few paragraphs. And remember to focus on all five senses during description. Grace Paley said the sound of the story is the first thing you should go for (or something like that). So consider that.

That said, I'm looking forward to Take 2. Keep writing!

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Philip Ebuluofor
08:40 Aug 21, 2022

It unfurled. A kind of James Hardley Chase build-up. Fine work . Congrats.

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Gregg Voss
11:41 Aug 21, 2022

Many thanks. What is your current work in progress? Care to share?

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Philip Ebuluofor
13:33 Aug 23, 2022

Each Friday is my Reedsey day. Saturday morning I don't fail to post fresh work.

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Kelsey H
09:45 Aug 20, 2022

Very interesting story, great build up of tension, I especially enjoyed the police officer struggling between what is the right procedure and what is the best thing to do in this situation he finds himself in. I guess training never prepared him for dealing with the supernatural! The interaction between him and James was great, I like how it started out seeming he was an average criminal trying to provoke police and then when they come across Father Daniel things rapidly get weirder.

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Gregg Voss
11:24 Aug 20, 2022

Weird is the operant word. :-) Thanks so much for the commentary; the police chief in the town I live in advised me on the technical matters of this story, which (I felt) made it seem more realistic.

Keep writing!

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Tod Moran
21:30 Aug 17, 2022

The writing is clear, I followed the plot (to a point) and the tension did build. However, I didn't get the point of the booze showing up. Also how James get out of the handcuffs? Are we to assume he has some magical power. If so, you lost me.
Final test: Would you read the story again? No.

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L.M. Lydon
17:08 Aug 17, 2022

That took a really unexpected turn! You do a great job bringing the narrator, the newb cop, to life. His hesitation and conflict add suspense.

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Gregg Voss
17:13 Aug 17, 2022

It's funny, but this idea (the nugget of it) has been rolling around in my head for years and years. I had a slight heart attack in 2016 and so I decided I better start writing some of this down....

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Kendra Lindholm
15:20 Aug 17, 2022

Wow! So suspenseful! I would love to see another story with Fowler where he has to cope with being followed by James (Lucifer).

I was going to ask if you were a police officer, but I saw the comment before that you did some good research!

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Gregg Voss
17:11 Aug 17, 2022

The town I live in (outside of Chicago) is LOADED with people and places that are really inspirational for fiction. The prior story I wrote, Aisle of Denial, is based (loosely) on the main grocery store in my neighborhood.

My first book is a lot more stories just like that. You can find it on Amazon, it's titled The Valley of American Shadow.

Looking forward to reading your work later this week!

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Kendra Lindholm
17:20 Aug 17, 2022

Small world! I'm also from the Chicago area! I'll check out your other story!

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Gregg Voss
17:23 Aug 17, 2022

Wow, that's wild. I'm in La Grange, in the western burbs.

What are you working on these days? Care to share?

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Michał Przywara
21:09 Aug 16, 2022

This story has a great build up!

We have a rules-focused cop out on his first shift alone, which is already tense. Then he picks up a guy acting erratically. Then the guy drops a bomb, "I took a man’s life tonight."

That's already a massive, tension driving event. But the way he says it is important too. Is he telling the truth? Is he nuts and unpredictable? Fowler doesn't know.

But *then* we get yet another event cranking up the tension, with a mystery man showing up on the road. Someone who needs help? Someone who is a danger? And all the while, the unusually calm James is seemingly in full control, by doing nothing more than talking.

It's a powerful scene, very stressful for a first night out no doubt. What's actually happening gets revealed shortly to us, and then we confirm Fowler was in over his head. Great pacing.

The ending seems like a victory, but is it? "James" still has an interest in Fowler, and every time Fowler thinks of Daniel's wife/widow, she's always "hot". Just a harmless observation? Or perhaps the seeds of sin :)

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Gregg Voss
21:32 Aug 16, 2022

I'm glad you enjoyed it. The chief of police in my hometown sat down with me and explained the ins and outs of police work, so he gets a lot of the credit.

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Michał Przywara
21:44 Aug 16, 2022

Ah, that's awesome :) It's super useful to have an expert like that available. Saved some of my stories from ridiculous "I just assume it works this way" situations.

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Gregg Voss
22:02 Aug 16, 2022

To me, the research is almost as fun as writing. For my story this week, for example, I talked to my friend the local high school baseball coach. He had some insights that are going to figure in prominently to this story.

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Michał Przywara
13:55 Aug 19, 2022

Congratulations on the shortlist!

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Gregg Voss
14:00 Aug 19, 2022

Thanks, I was pleased, but what's kind of weird is that I submitted this story almost on a whim. But kind shows that there are hidden gems if you look hard enough....

What is your work in progress these days? Care to share?

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