Friday Fiction: The Corpse (Part 2)

>> Friday, March 18

Hello, loyal readers, and welcome newcomers!! You may remember (or you may not know) that, many moons ago (somewhere around three), I embarked on a journey to write a novel (yikes!). But, because I declared my intentions (publicly, even!), I've found it "impossible" to persevere. Weird, I know, but true. I've experienced it over and over again. I've learned that if I really set my mind to do something, I CAN'T tell anyone about it or it will never come to pass.

I'd like to break that trend, but I need your prayers!! As motivation for myself, I'm posting PART 2 (YAY!) of my future novel (yes, I said it), tentatively titled "The Corpse".

To refresh your memories, or to read it for the first time, here is a link to Part One, and how it came to be written.

To God be the Glory,
Cat


The Corpse
Part 2

Ripping off her mask with one hand, Callie grabbed up her cell from the desk behind her and thumbed in speed-dial #3 with the other. Alfie picked up after a half ring.

“Alfie. Where are you?”

“Right outside the morgue. I thought you might need me.”

“So, you know?” Callie nibbled at the cuticle on her thumb, worrying the already tortured skin until she drew blood.

“I don’t know what you think I know…but I do know…the dead guy I called you about this morning? He looks just looks like….”

The door to the morgue wooshed open, and Callie spun around.

Alfie’s one word echoed both in the room and over her cell.

“Chuck.”


Chapter 2

Callie closed her phone and slid it into her pocket, never taking her fiery eyes off of Alfie. “You knew. You knew when you called me.”

Alfie held his hands up in self-defense, the left one still gripping his cell phone. “Whoa, Callie. Yes, I knew what you would think when you saw him. And I tried to warn you on the phone but you didn’t want to listen.”

“You should have made me listen.”

“Cal, believe me, a swat team with tear gas and Tasers couldn’t have made you listen to me this morning.”

Callie brushed off his condescending remark, but a twinge of guilt gnawed at her. “Alfie, can we go somewhere and talk? Somewhere where the dead ringer for my dead husband isn’t laying on a slab laying in front of me, waiting for me to cut him open? I’m ready to listen now.”

Alfie pocketed his own phone and moved to put a protective arm around her. He pretended not to be hurt when Callie pretended not to notice as she ducked and turned around.

She spied Kevin, frozen in place and gawking at them.

“Kevin, I thought you were going to go do something. Crimenently.” Callie threw up her hands and stormed towards the door. “I need some air.” She tore off her gown and hat and tossed them in the barrel. The automatic door slid open as she approached it, sucking the pressure from the room with a silent whisper. Callie swiveled her head to eyeball Alfie.

“Are you coming?” she asked, and stormed from the room.

Alfie looked at Kevin, hoping for a little moral support, but Kevin just shrugged his shoulders, mouthed, “Sorry.” Alfie sighed, slid his phone into his hip holster, and followed in Callie’s wake.


© 2011
Photo credit: tuonela (www.sxc.hu)



Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)


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