Death On Forgotten Beach

Word count: 2865

Death on Forgotte4n Beach

By 

Shane LaGrange

WordPrompt: Start your story with a character quitting their job or getting fired.

Dove Patterson sat at the breakfast table watching the clock--a Bottlecap clock and sighed. Him and his curios. Her fingernails gently tapping the light blue tablecloth. It was a Friday and her husband, Jackson, was not up yet. Her feet within her slippers began tapping the linoleum floor quickly. They talked about this. Repeatedly. Yes, he hated the neighborhood; yes, he hated his job. It was the only job. Things were tough and getting tougher, even though her family was well off. Still, it was not wise to assume. She read stories about those that had it made; ended up taking their lives for granted and found themselves back on the bottom again.

Back to the clock. Seven thirty now. He neither had coffee, something to eat or her for that matter. The way things were going. That option was fading fast over the horizon.

“Jackson!” Are you going to make me come up there?”

No answer came.

“It is now seven thirty-five. You are going to barely get there by nine.”

She sighed and looked around the Nook before going up and reading him the personal Riot Act. The table was handmade Maple; carved beautifully. The Oak China cabinet, where their good plates, saucers, and cups were stored for guest. The floor, paneled hardwood. Just like she liked it.

She got up and headed upstairs.

“Hey lazy ass!” She cried, swinging open the door. It hit the rubber stopper as it bounced slightly. It twanged as it was struck. She wanted to get rid of it as it was annoying. He said no. It was the novelty of it all. Like that clock.

 She marched over to the double bed where his sleeping form laid on the right side His hand falling over the edge.

She slapped the back of his head sharply.

“Jackson! Get up and get ready for work!”

He mumbled something under the pillow.

“What? What did you say?” She rebuffed. Her arms folded across her ample chest. Her feet tapping the floor furiously.

“I quit,” the mumbling stated again not shifting or moving.

“This is not funny You know how my father feels about slackers.”

“Who cares. I quit. I will find something else, eventually.”

Resisting the urge to smother him with her pillow, she reached down and swung him over his back.

He opened his eyes blinking several times at the rudeness, starting at his wife in her black negligee. A vintage opaque, with open front clasps and ties. Laced with hi lo ruffled lace. Her double D’s barely contained within her bra. The torn fishnet stockings from the night before.

“Why are you still here? I paid you.”

“If you want more of that coming, you will get up, get dressed and get to work. You can pick up something quick along the way to eat.”

“I thought I already did,” he replied with a smirk.

Grabbing his arm and leg she drugged him out of the bed. His bottom smacked the floor hard.

“Get ready. If you aren’t at work. If I receive a call saying you are not at work, don’t bother coming home.”

He made the effort. He showered, brushed and quickly put on his clothes for the day. Black pants, pink shirt with a blue tie and his polished shoes.

He swung down the stair ala Gene Kelly, stopping in front of his wife before kissing her goodbye and taking in the ensemble.

“If you are going to flat-back it, you should rethink those slippers.”

“Get the fuck out! Don’t forget what I said.”

“Sure bae,” he said strutting through the living room shaking his ass at her. He was purely enjoying this. The front door opened, and he stepped out.

She waited, hearing the garage door opening. Another couple of minutes and he would be in the Cruiser. The driver side door opening and closing. Keys in the ignition as it started perfectly. Radio tuned to some forgotten oldie station. Well, she couldn’t fault him for that. They had to have something to disagree on.

With a blare of the horn, he was on his way. She sighed, reaching for her phone. It was getting rather insane. There was nothing wrong with the neighborhood. A pleasant little alcove of subarea. Yes, everything may look alike but it wasn’t terrible. They had friends over for the weekends. He has a good income now. 

Only downer for him, she thought booting up her phone: no kids. She made that clear. Dove was a woman of privacy. Shutters that could be closed so tight not even a wisp of air could get through. She enjoyed strolling through the house in the nude. Especially, after a hot shower.

She turned on the Huband-Tracking App, their tech neighbor, John installed for her. Her frown growing tighter. That’s odd. It wasn’t moving.

Snapping her fingers twice, the garage door started to close. She opened a hidden pantry door in the kitchen leading to the garage. Her black super-charger was there, but in the spot where his car was, she saw a small blinking black box on the cement.

“You bastard,” she muttered through gritted teeth.

Forgotten Beach

Nine thirty am

She would get a call. No doubt about that, he didn’t care about that. Not at the moment anyway. His work clothes off, and shorts and his Nuka Girl tee shirt on. His sandals hidden away in his car. This was planned, as Jackson Clark wandered aimlessly about enjoying the freedom; wondering what else was on the horizon of his life, as he stared over the pristine sand and blue water of the Pacific.

Forgotten Beach. Appropriately name: the community: LakeQuest Community. A land for the well off and those that did not care for children. It was private and gated, so no interlopers allowed. He wasn’t well off but. . . 

Thoughts flashed back to his wife. Daddy’s little girl. The Bosses daughter. An Israeli, they met by chance in a coffee house. Captivated by those large beautiful brown eyes, he stumbled; twisted suddenly around while she was seated working on her laptop and spilled his White Chocolate Mocha into her lap. If that what you could call it. A plaid miniskirt with black sheer hose running up her perfectly formed calves. A men’s shirt that seemed a sized too small for the guns straining against the fabric. If she had a tie on, the fantasy would be perfect. He apologized. They chatted. The rest was, well, you know how that goes.

What was she? Thirteen? She revealed, she was waiting for a date that never showed. What a serious crime he committed. Standing a woman like that up? The thought of role playing never even crossed his mind until they were married. Certainly, threw a lot of spice in the mix. Her parents were the only reason they could live here. At first, Jackson thought it was cool working in the corporate world. However, he was not getting anywhere. That was because, “Daddy,” did not want to seem like he was playing the favorite, often promoting “lesser” induvial instead of him What bullshit.

 He hoped the divorce wouldn’t be too bad. Damn that perfect bone structure and flawless skin anyway. Oh well, he could always find an SRO somewhere; maybe even back in Seattle, to start again.

Spying something down the beach, he clumsily raced toward it. The sand thick and clung to his shoes. Jesus, what is this beach? Manmade? Maybe, it was the fact no one was running and enjoying themselves.

Upon coming close, he stopped. It was a body. Female. He crept closer. A nude female body. Her hair was a bob cut; probably a strawberry blonde he guesses. Eyes opened in a look of terror. Her plump lips blue shriveled and cold. Poor thing. She must have just washed up. Upon further inspection, he saw a large headwound on the base of her skull. 

So caught up in what he was examining he did not see or hear a car pull up alongside the road.

“Hey you? What are you doing down there!”

Oh shit, Jackson thought looking up. The thought of an explanation crossed his mind. But a long figure on the beach with a dead body? Cops loved that kind of shit. It’s that Tunnel-Vision crap/. In the hands of the wrong kind of detective, it practically made their work easier.

He started running up the hill toward the main road. Screw the car. He would lose the. . .fuck, lose what? Where? This was not a city he was in but a closed community. Everyone knew him and her. Still, he could weave in and around the houses best he could; then make it back to his car and out of this area.

“Get him? He is trying to make a run for it!”

“Wait! You are confused! My name is Jackson Clark! I live in this area My wife; her name is Dove Patterson!!”

Damn the fucking sand, it was making it hard to run; the road was almost in sight.

“Who?” The response came. “What kind of man doesn’t make his woman take his last name? That’s stupid.

Oh great. Fresh comers he thought.

Three more men suddenly appeared. Ten twelve and two o’clock. He gracefully spun around, avoiding one but felt the other two violently sandwich him as he bowed around. Like two linebackers targeting a quarterback when Football was Football, and a single game lasted the whole day long.

Jackson felt the pain in his ribs, then an equally powerful blow to the small of his back. Wasn’t necessary but the first must of felt cheated, as Jackson sunk to his knees. 

“Alright, alright!? Jackson cried. “You got me!”

Not the brightest thing to blurt out, but they seemed insistent on further teaching him a lesson. Jackson was not sure how long it went as he quickly passed out. 

He awoke in a hospital bed. He tried to raise himself but both hands were handcuffed to the bed.

“You got me? Jesus fuck Mary and Joseph, I preictally confessed, he thought rattling the bracelets. I am so fucked. 

“Anyone!” He screamed. “I need help! There has been a serious mistake!”

“That’s right and you made it,” a voice boomed out.

Jackson raised his head to see a man come into the room flanked by what he assumed, was his security watch dogs. The man was wearing black slacks, a tan shirt, and slightly scuffed dress shoes. He came toward the bed flipping open a wallet. Jackson caught a glimpse of gold before it shut.

“Detective haloid Fisk,” he boomed again, bringing out a small spiral notebook.

“Haloid?” Sounds like something you take for a bad cold,” Jackson sneered, continuing to rattle the cuffs. “Take these things off!”

“Why should I Mr. Clark? You were seen in the proximity of a dead body. You ran from the scene of the crime. You confessed when caught.”

“I am so fucked,” he said lying back on the bed.

Detective Fisk snapped his fingers, and the two rent-a-security-drones came toward him. One held a gun on him while the other unlocked the cuffs.

“Finally,” Jackson said rubbing his wrists. Those were tight; now can I please get out of here.”

“You are coming with me for the arraignment.”

Jackson rose from the bed.

“A judge? What about the evidence from the body, statements, my alibi?”

“Slowly bitch,” the drone with the gun said. “I heard how you took care of those men on the beach. Some kind of One-Man Army Corp aren’t you.”

Jackson slowly got off the bed and raised his shirt.

“See these bruises?”

“Probably did that yourself for the sympathy vote.”

The detective drew his gun. “Move along. Go out the room and proceed to the elevator.”

“You are walking me out of the building?”

“Why not? You are a perk and the main one at that.”

“The only one it seems,” Jackson said, marching out of the room per the instruction.

Outside, they were greeted by camerapersons, reporter, and photographers. Flashes went off in his face; he tried to shield his eyes as reporter yelled out questions about the Crystal Water Killer.

“Give me a fucking break,” Jackson cried; the detective held up his hand. “The department will release a statement later. . . .thank you.”

“Yeah, fuck you,” Jackson snarled. “That is my statement.”

He was pushed into the back of a van and the doors secured and locked.

Jackson looked at his watch.

“Monday! It was Friday when I quit my job! What the hell?”

Fisk opened a file on his lap.

“You were violent and out of control. They had to sedate you.”

“For the entire weekend!”

“Some of the staff feared for their lives.”

“Me, being handcuffed. A threat?”

“You bit and threw obscene words at everyone. Now shutup.”

“Are you shitting me? Hattie, from NCIS Los Angeles?”

The judge was indeed a small lady; looked like someone placed a bowl over her head to cut her hair. Old, and ready for retirement. Jackson wondered if she had a booster seat for that chair, as she worked her glasses along her nose and looked at the charges.

“Mister Clark. Please approach the bench.”

Jackson got up from where he would sit if he had a defense lawyer. Things were moving too quick for him. It seemed odd, like he got swept up in an alternate Earth somehow. 

“Yes, your honor.”

“You have been a bad boy.”

“How so your honor?”

“One count of murder and half a dozen claims of aggravated assault.”

“Those are false charges your honor.”

“How so. Enlighten the court please Mister Clark.”

Jackson glanced around at the empty room and shrugged.

“Last Friday I decided to quit my job.”

“Really; where did you work?”

Major Animatronic,” he said. “We are a corporation working with DARPA. Handling a lot of defense contracts.”

“I see; your part in all this?”

“Quality Control Inspector. I got the position because I married the boss’s daughter.” 

“You finally snapped under the pressure of being ignored and decided to kill an innocent child barely past her teens.”

“Yes. . .No. . .was she?” he stammered. “I was being passed over for a promotion time and time again.” His speech was getting worse. Like a needle on a vinyl record getting caught on a scratch and repeating. It took him several minutes to say one word.

“Have a care Mister Clark. Anything you have to say can be held against you.”

“He went back to his table; poured a glass of water and tried to compose himself.

He came back to his spot and slowly said, “That is another thing. I was not read my rights.”

“Your honor, the suspect waived his rights upon being arrested.”

“What?” Jackson exclaimed turning.

“You took out those three men and a number of armed police before being brought down.”

“If I said anything it was under duress!”

“Based on the evidence here. . .’

“What evidence! Fuck the evidence! Where is the jury? The prosecutor? The Witnesses?”

“I have no choice but to remand you to a maximum-security prison for the remainder of your life.”

The gavel came down. “May God have mercy on your rotten soul.”

“If you last that long,” the detective said quietly, as the judge slid off her chair. “You know what cons do to child molesters.”

“All I did was quit my job. Now I am in Hell; it’s called The Twilight Zone.”

The judge proceeded to go to her chambers.

Jackson legs went weak. His mouth went dry; he started to shake uncontrollably.

“I swear I didn’t do it!” He shouted, as the drones came up from behind to put a strait jacket on him.

“I will go back to my job, my home and wife! Please judge all I wanted was a damn promotion.”

The judge stopped as Jackson’s arms were crossed, and the jacket secured. Heavy chains were then brought to secure the legs.

“You repented then?”

“More than that. I have seen the light! The errors of my ways.”

She came back and climbed onto her sear.

“Bailiff, bring her in.”

The black male went to the heavy oak entrance doors; upon pushing them open, motioned for someone to come in.

“No!” He screamed. 

“You are awake. That’s good,” A female voice said.

Groggy, he sat up in bed.

“What happened? Where am I?” The lights were dim. The voice was distorted and seemed to be coming from a speaker

“You were exposed to a broken vial, Mister Patterson One that had some kind of psychotropic effect on the brain; making you susceptible to suggestions.”

Jackson tried to get to his feet but was still dizzy.

“The Company thanks you for your participation against the enemies of these United States You will be compensated very well and given a Non-disclosure Statement that you will sign, upon becoming well enough to leave.”

.