Story

[sistactry]

Re: Story

<div class="ubbcode-block"><div class="ubbcode-header">Originally Posted By: Nunya</div><div class="ubbcode-body"><div class="ubbcode-block"><div class="ubbcode-header">Originally Posted By: SistaCtry</div><div class="ubbcode-body">den all now, Nunya, u want a raatid lick~~ </div></div>

Mi knoa say wid fi yuh maaga foot dem yuh nah try lick nobady </div></div>



u see, u ha time fe a trace smaddy, whey de story deh~~

[Nylah]

Re: Story

<div class="ubbcode-block"><div class="ubbcode-header">Originally Posted By: SistaCtry</div><div class="ubbcode-body"><div class="ubbcode-block"><div class="ubbcode-header">Originally Posted By: Nunya</div><div class="ubbcode-body"><div class="ubbcode-block"><div class="ubbcode-header">Originally Posted By: SistaCtry</div><div class="ubbcode-body">den all now, Nunya, u want a raatid lick~~ </div></div>

Mi knoa say wid fi yuh maaga foot dem yuh nah try lick nobady </div></div>



u see, u ha time fe a trace smaddy, whey de story deh~~ </div></div>

yes please tell the mad ooman again

[Lacy]

Re: Story

<div class="ubbcode-block"><div class="ubbcode-header">Originally Posted By: Nunya</div><div class="ubbcode-body">Hiya Nanooky, Nyler, Exced, Applepie and Lacy

But mi si say Lacy stawt story, so excuse me while I go have a read </div></div>

Cho--- mi tory dun.

Nunya...NUnya...NUNya...NUNYa...NUNYA!

[Nunya]

Re: Story

Chapter VI

He tried to remember when he'd restarted the journey. Was it after the last interview, where he'd botched it so badly they'd almost laughed him out of the room? Where his humiliation had almost swallowed him whole? Where everyone junior to him had snickered behind his back at his ineptitude? Was it then? Or had it been the time when Marissa, whom he had thought he loved and was actually considering marrying, had sweetly sighed 'Oh Steve' in his ear when he had thought they were on a plane of such coital bliss that he'd almost cried?

The beauty of the amber was never in question. He had stared at it and into it more times than he could count but it was not the beauty of its colour or fluidity that held him. Sure he'd heard the cliches, the trite sayings about its machinations and witchery. And yes, he believed them all. He should know better; hell, he'd been <span style="font-style: italic">trained</span> to recognise the signs, the pitfalls of its lure, but he was just a man, after all. A man with more burdens than most.

His rage had been building for a while now. He had not left it unchecked. He'd tried to harness it, to use it to make him a better man, a better professional. But it was getting away from him. Sometimes it took over to the point where he wanted to actually kill someone. He rocked his thumb and forefinger and watched the amber liquid sway seductively before settling back into an unsettling serenity. He'd taken up going to the boxing gym with the guys after work. And he liked it, but instead of being an outlet he found that it was fueling his rage.

Twice after leaving the gym, he'd gotten into a fight. Well, if he was being honest, and the amber did tend to compel him to probity, he'd not really gotten into a fight, he'd started a beating on some guy that had deserved it. He tried to remember what it was that the guy (well, both guys) had done, and he couldn't recall. Damn. It was irrelevant really. What mattered was the satisfaction he'd gotten from beating them with his fists til his knuckles split and he broke a sweat. Then his raged and quietened. Then he'd felt a near peace.

Going to the gym, boxing with the bags, had shaped his body, honed his physique to the extent that Marissa had called to say she'd spotted him and that he was looking good. He'd be lying if he said that hadn't pleased him. That she had seen that he hadn't fallen apart after her. He'd had thoughts of showing up at her door, opening his uniform, like those dumb [censored] from that stupid [censored] British show - what was it called? Oh yeah, 'the full Monty' - and taking her right there on the door step. She'd always fancied that [censored]- the little exhibitionist. Betcha, she wouldn't be thinking of [censored] Steve.

Paul threw back his head and downed the bourbon whiskey. He wanted the silk of the liquid going down his throat to linger, but too soon it was down and on his way to warming his stomach. He cocked his head and studied the empty glass and considered getting another, but even at this stage he knew when to call it quits. His rage was banked and he had work to do. Yeah, there was no point in getting a seventh.

Paul slid off the stool, satisfied that he still had his legs and placed some bills beneath the empty glass. He gave Bill the bartender a two fingered salute and headed out the door. It was time to go interview the vic.

******

Mya hadn't shown up to work and Jeffrey was worried. His worry had replaced the anger he'd felt at not finding her home the night before and the anger he'd experienced when after waiting for several hours she'd not shown up. He'd left her place, taking a small souvenir that he felt was owed to him.

Jeffrey had thought it through and had come to the realisation that Mya must have been out on a date. A date that involved more than just a movie. Even a dinner and a movie. He'd been waiting <span style="font-style: italic">that</span> long! The realisation had brought an anger that made his head ache. He'd left his own home to come and see her and she'd had him wait there for so frikking long!

He'd gone through the contents of her small apartment. There really was nothing of interest. She read a lot. Nothing interesting though, just stupid magazines that probably gave her stupid ideas. He'd looked through her closet, for often he'd fantasized that she had tiny skirts and micro tops that she'd wear outside of work, garments that would certainly work for <span style="font-style: italic">him</span>. He'd found nothing of the sort. He'd even been through her underwear drawer.

Her refrigerator was just as barren as the rest of the apartment. Not even a beer. She had some red liquid in a jug and he'd bet anything that it was Kool Aid. That's what they drank after all...

In the end he'd left, boldly using the front door and just pulling it closed behind him. He'd tensed in expectation that he would see her being dropped off by some dweeb. But no such luck. She'd probably spent the night under him and was now too spent to come into work.

But after thinking on it for a while, Jeffrey realised that Mya had never missed a day of work since she'd started there. He'd never gotten the sense that she was the type to be so frivolous with her job as to miss work because of a..whatever. So now he was worried. He wanted to call her, but he didn't know her number. He'd gone through the bosses desk in the ****ty little backroom that they called office, in order to find it, but he'd been unsuccessful. So now he just worried as the day wore on. He'd not even joined in the smoke break speculations as to why she was away. He'd gotten angry again for a moment when he had to help out in the dish pit but the worry returned to gnaw at him. Jeffrey resolved to return to Mya's. It was the only way to set his mind at rest.

*******

They'd kept her overnight for observation. The brace about her neck was a 'just in case' measure. She would be fine, they'd said. She should just rest up for a few days. Mya had felt relief and panic. Relief that there would be nothing more wrong with her than there already was. Relief that she all she needed was bed rest. But she'd felt panic for missing her job - she couldn't really afford to lose it, much as she hated it. But that panic had paled in comparison to the terror she'd felt when the police had shown up and tried to 'talk' to her.

Mya remembered him well, even though she'd only seen him through slits of mist. She remembered that he was the cop who'd tried to hold on to her <span style="font-style: italic">that</span> morning. The one who had given chase. The memory had returned Mya's sense of fight or flight and she'd tried to flee. But where could she run to when she was in a hospital bed, in hospital gown and with hardly the strength of a noodle to her limbs? She'd pressed herself into the bed wishing the hardness of the hospital's equipment would fold over her and hide her from his purposefulness. It hadn't happened. Instead he'd pulled the chair up to the edge of the bed, leaned in and asked her if she was OK enough to answer some questions. That's when she'd smelt the liquor.

[Nunya]

Re: Story

<div class="ubbcode-block"><div class="ubbcode-header">Originally Posted By: Lacy</div><div class="ubbcode-body">
Nunya...NUnya...NUNya...NUNYa...NUNYA! </div></div>

Yuh a trouble mekka eno A hope yuh student dem draw &amp; quarter yuh tiday

a joke... ~lol~

well, not really...

aright aright, a joke man, tap ie cow bawling eena mi aizehole

An as fi de one twangy Nyler &amp; spring-step Ctry...

[sistactry]

Re: Story

arrite, tonight me have it fe read on de train~~

[sistactry]

Re: Story

ooyyy, u drap asleep

[sistactry]

Re: Story

oyyy, whappen man??

wha u waan, we buy de book??????

[Nunya]

Re: Story

Chapter VII

&quot;Mya McKnight.&quot;

&quot;And your address?&quot;

&quot;21 Brock Road, apt 203.&quot;

&quot;Do you live alone?&quot;

Mya drew in a breath. Her inhalation filled her sinuses with the smell of <span style="font-style: italic">his</span> alcohol seeped breath and she regarded him with suspicion. Why did he need to know if she lived alone. She considered lying. It would be like answering the phone. Never let them know you were alone.

&quot;Yes.&quot;

&quot;Do you have any family or friends close by?&quot;

Mya's eyes narrowed, well, mentally they did. They were already slits of puffy flesh before this nosey cop's attempt. <span style="font-style: italic">Now why did he need to know all this?</span>

This time she managed to keep her mouth shut. He waited and then sighed, his irritation puffing out on wings of bourbon. Why did she irritate him so? She was the <span style="font-style: italic">victim</span>! She should be under his protection. Yet her whole small lost body telegraphed distrust. He sighed again and explained.

&quot;We need to know if you have family or friends, someone you trust maybe, close by, so that we can call them. Alert them to the fact that you were in an accident.&quot;

Ah. Mya tried to slow her breathing. Realizing that he was here about <span style="font-style: italic">that</span> accident. The nurse had already told her. Just like the nurse had told her that she could go home soon.

Mya tried to smile. She wanted the policeman to see that though she may be a little bruised, she was fine and didn't need anyone to be notified.

&quot;You don't need to do that,&quot; she managed, her voice sounding strained. She wished for more water. &quot;I am going to be discharged soon.&quot;

&quot;They told you this?&quot; Sgt Westcott looked suspicious.

Mya was tempted to say, 'No I made it up just to get rid of you' but she didn't want to antagonize him and the words would have taken too much from her already raw throat. Frankly, he was wearing her out. She wanted him to leave already and so she closed her eyes in dismissal.

Sgt Westcott stared at her broodingly. Watching her pupils jump beneath slightly shiney lids. He worried his bottom lip with his teeth as he tried to find a way to stay.

&quot;Look,&quot; he began, the word coming out louder than he'd intended. &quot;Look. I have to file a report. I have to get your particulars for that report. There will be a trial. You will be required to be there.&quot;

Mya's eyes flew open.

&quot;Yes,&quot; he continued. &quot;I can't tell you too much about the occupants of the car, but I can tell you that they've been charged, the vehicle has been impounded and I have to get your details so that I can hand it over to legals. So.&quot;

What was with Canadians and ending their sentences with 'so' anyway? The thought had always mildly intrigued Mya, but this time it made her smile. Paul Westcott smiled back and they shared a moment.

Then the smile was gone as Mya realized what was happening. She wanted to turn her head away, but the neck brace prevented her. She wanted to cast her eyes about, but her line of vision was already limited. She took the only other refuge left to her and lowered her lids.

Paul sighed, his smile becoming rueful. He could get the details of her injury from the nurses desk. He had what he needed for his report and really, no need to linger. But still he did, wracking his brain for a reason.

&quot;Uh, why were you out so late at night?&quot;

He watched her pupils move erratically behind her lids. She said nothing for a long while and he didn't mind. He leaned back in the chair.

&quot;I went for a walk.&quot;

&quot;You normally do that?&quot;

&quot;Walking? Yes.&quot;

&quot;I mean, do you normally go for walks at that time of night by your self, in that area?&quot;

He watched her pupils jump.

&quot;Is it against the law?&quot;

&quot;It's against the law of common sense.&quot;

Her eyes flew open and her mother's face was momentarily transposed over Paul's. But then he spoke and the pale masculine visage returned. &quot;It's not a good area for anyone to be especially at that time of night and especially if one is female. You've seen how dark it is there. Something worse could've happened. Not that being hit by a car isn't bad,&quot; he gestured at her face and neck with a flick of his wrist. She pressed back into the hard bed. &quot;But you could've been physically attacked.&quot;

She tried to swallow, but her throat was closing ranks against her. She felt her as though her air vent was being cut off. Maybe there were tubes hooked up to her. Maybe he was pinching them, trying to cut off her air, trying to kill her! Maybe he was saying in some roundabout, psychotic way, that he was the one who'd physically attacked her! Maybe he was just playing cat and mouse with her!

Paul regarded her with concern. Her mouth kept opening and closing. Her eyes were twitching and her jaws were jumping. Her shoulders were shaking and he knew something was happening. He jumped up and the chair fell over with loud clang. Mya jumped and her spasms increased.

&quot;Hello?!&quot; Paul called, both to her and to anyone near by. &quot;Hello? Is anyone out there? I need some help in here!&quot;

The nurse rushed in took one look at Mya and ordered him out of the room.

Outside, Sgt Paul Westcott, paced back and forth. He was nervous with an underlying current of anger. He was missing something. Or maybe he was onto something. What had happened just now? What had triggered <span style="font-style: italic">that</span>? He tried to replay the latter part of their conversation, but his alcohol addled brain was not helping.

&quot;[censored]!&quot; he cursed. The nurse at the station looked up disapprovingly. Sgt. Westcott wondered if he should leave and then wondered at his reluctance to do so.

[Nunya]

Re: Story

<div class="ubbcode-block"><div class="ubbcode-header">Originally Posted By: SistaCtry</div><div class="ubbcode-body">oyyy, whappen man??

wha u waan, we buy de book?????? </div></div>

[DearK]

Re: Story

Nunya's going to be returning to the story later rather than sooner, so i'm removing it from sticky. Hopefully she'll bump it up with some frequency

[sistactry]

Re: Story

<div class="ubbcode-block"><div class="ubbcode-header">Originally Posted By: Nunya</div><div class="ubbcode-body"><div class="ubbcode-block"><div class="ubbcode-header">Originally Posted By: SistaCtry</div><div class="ubbcode-body">oyyy, whappen man??

wha u waan, we buy de book?????? </div></div>

</div></div>

finally, so when a de next installment??

is a pity dat a caribbean magazine no deh bout fe buy all these short stories,