Page 7 of Slaughtered Firefly
Smack.
I wailed as the hit slammed into my behind.
“Behave sweetheart, we are going somewhere else now,” Daddy’s voice had lost its warmth as he punished me.
“B-but, bu-ut I want momma to wake up,” I cried loudly into his ear, still not understanding.
“Stop it darling, she’s not waking up. She’s dead,” He said as another smack landed on my butt.
I sniffled loudly as the shock and pain started registering in my brain. It was so slow, like someone had put everything in turtle mode.
My cries still came, but I had stopped trying to get out of Daddy’s arms, and he readjusted me over his shoulder, carrying me past the living room and out the doors again.
The rain felt colder as he made his way back to the shed. The yellow light was on now, and my fear got the best of me. I desperately clung to Daddy as he marched us right to the door and inward.
Present day—June 26th
I feltsomething cold touch my arm and the thudding in my brain started; it was getting hard to breath and I needed to get away, there were voices speaking to me but I couldn’t hear them, and I dared not open my eyes, I kept pulling away from the cold, not ready for what I knew would come next, my mind was a battleground, every thought was screaming at me to escape.
My limbs felt too tired, and as I jerked away from the cold once again, I felt the strap clamp down on my wrist, not again.Awe, don’t be like that, little tiger; we haven’t even gotten to the fun parts.I panicked. Adrenaline spiking, my eyes flew open. It was too bright, and I squinted against the harsh lights, discombobulated. I looked around, and there was someone grabbing my arm, and the voices grew louder. I saw it there in the cabinet, my escape.
I kicked out at the person holding me and flung open the cabinet, grabbing the scalpel, and tried to plunge it into my captor. Something pricked the back of my arm, and the scalpel clattered to the ground. No! I thought as my limbs couldn’t support my weight as I toppled down my vision blurred into blackness.
4
FRED’S
Present day—June 26th
“Run everything, blood work, toxic screen the full works,” My head pounded, and I wasn’t in the mood for fuck ups. This was the closest we’d gotten to nailing down Midas and keeping him in prison. I couldn’t let my personal problems interfere with my work. This woman was a criminal, a beautiful, taunting criminal who made me feel things I had long given up feeling, but still a criminal. Fuck me, I was pussy-whipped after one weekend.
I turned towards the local PD officer, “One of our guys will be in to process her soon.” He nodded his understanding, and I walked out of the room.
“Fucking Addams is here already,” groaned Simmons, who was staring into the waiting area with distaste.
“If he’s here she must be someone important whoever she is, I’m sure Addams wouldn’t be here for your run of the mill criminal otherwise,” I observed.
As if my words had caught his attention, he looked up, catching me mid-stir on the hours-old coffee the hospital still hadn’t replaced. The man looked panicked, to say the least; his medium-brown complexion looked pale under the fluorescent lights; his thick curly hair, which was normally styled to perfection, fell in disarray and he was sporting a five o’clock shadow instead of his clean shave.
I took a bitter sip of the drink, raising an eyebrow as Addams rushed forward.
“You look like shit, did the plane smack you on the way here?” Simmons asked from her perch. I choked on the coffee, not expecting her to pop off like that. Addams screwed up his face in disgust as I sat back down. I still had an amused smile plastered on my face.
“Now you know as well as I do you can’t question my client without my presence detectives,” Addams spat out.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, she’s still unconscious, the paramedics had to sedate her for trying to stab one of them when they tried to touch her, but you’re welcome to wait out here with us,” I said as I flipped open the case file, willing the stress to leave my tired bones. “Your client committed a crime, Addams, found at the scene as a matter of fact. How did you even know Miss Doe was with us?” I was grasping for a lead to the identity of this woman. The name she gave me last weekend was a fake; there’s no ‘Mia Thompson’ despite my wishing for there to be.
“You’re not getting a name out of me if that’s what you are playing at. I’ll wait here until she’s awake and make sure you don’t question my client without me,” Addams scoffed, satisfied, and took one of the remaining seats.
I rolled my eyes as the man dropped his briefcase and a duffel bag.
Last week—June 21st
I had just tossed backthe fourth round of whiskey as I sulked in the corner booth, my favorite bar in this cityFred’s. I should have called a cab an hour or two ago, but I was still here, still drinking.
“Another round sugar?” Tiffany called from the bar in question, and I nodded my appreciation.
Tiff may have been living in the city for the last six years, but she still had that southern charm and the accent that never let go. I chuckled to myself remembering the first time she had called me hun or sugar or something like that. I thought I was special, like it was my little invitation into her pants. I quickly realized that I had been mistaken when a shotgun was promptlythrust into my nuts, the hammer back ready to go. It was the last time I let my dick make the moves. I should have cited her for the illegal firearm, but she would have put up a fight, and now knowing what I do now about Tiffany, I would have lost. I don’t fuck around with those crazy Southern mommas.
