“What are the chances we can get these two to surrender peacefully and quietly?” Ele and Mort stared at me for a long second. “Come on, I don’t want to kill everybody we come across. They probably aren’t bad guys, they’re just working for the wrong guy.”
Ele gave me a patronizing smile. “They knew what they were getting into when they agreed to guard duty in a secret dungeon. Many long hours of mind numbing boredom, followed by an unforeseen, but quick and inevitable death.”
onesecondglance--Just wanted to throw this out there. I'm arachnophobia and I nearly passed out reading your quote, but I just couldn't stop reading it! Very awesome.
He looked to Teddy, a million miles away. The guy was different. It wasn't in his eyes or face or shoulders even. It was his hands. They moved deliberately and Teddy watched their every motion with reluctant deference. He was something else now, something irreversible. And all because of the cataclysm of Lowell's obsession. He tried to tell himself this was what Teddy wanted, what he asked for, what he was paid to do. Lowell let it go. He had deceived himself too long. It only caused hurt and tragedy—to him and to others.
He felt no pain when the pistol butt smashed consciousness from him. There was only the darkness, beckoning him in blissful silence. He followed it down gladly, embracing it like a long-missed lover. His assailant spat and wiped his brow.
"Get this bastard out of here. He's got some fuckin' explaining to do."
In all her years on the job, Kelli had seen some gruesome crime scenes, but this had to be the worst. Now she felt like a rookie, leaning against the front of the house, bent over and puking. She stood, wiped her mouth and walked back to the road. She needed to put some distance between herself and the carnage inside.
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[/FONT] Police cars now filled the street in front of the house, crime scene tape hung loosely from one post to another, creating a makeshift boundary. Kelli felt a tap on her shoulder and jumped a little. She turned to see Larsen, a sick look on his face.
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Kelli had spent the rest of the afternoon talking to several of the corrections officers at Rikers, finally locating one who recalled the trustee working that night. The man was Victor Sanchez, a small time thief and part time drug dealer.
As she had expected, Victor had vehemently denied passing a note to Jesus, and she didn’t press it. His denial reminded her of a line from Hamlet, except for the fact that Victor was far from being Queen Gertrude, he was protesting a little too much.
Frank wandered out of the building avoiding eye contact with the bullish and the righteously angry. It felt good to feel the cold rain crawling down the back of his collar, felt good to shiver as that river trailed its fingers down his spine. He deserved it. Maybe it would wash the blood off him. Probably not.
As she started to turn, something slammed into her chest and she was thrown backwards, hitting the stone railing of the bridge.
She slumped to the ground and as her vision blurred, her only thought was of Kevin, and how pissed he was going to be that she got herself killed.
Well, the genocide AND the three Angels I was suspected of harvesting while staying in Heaven had been enough to get me banished. That’s why Faith and I were here. She wanted to prove I was innocent of the harvesting charges. I was probably guilty of the genocide though.