Category Archives: Murder By Numbers
Remedy
Before you read this you HAVE to read this: http://thinspiralnotebook.wordpress.com/2012/05/16/let-it-go-to-voice-mail/
Annoying specks of silver lint on the jacket of her black Armani pants suit distracted Millicent Stingley from her task. She picked the pieces and wiped in a tissue that she tossed in a dark green trash can by the bathroom. Three feet away, splayed over the middle of the hotel suite’s king sized bed, her poison victim became unconscious. A grey Walther p22 slipped from Pauley’s limp right hand. Confident she was safe from trouble, Millicent pulled back the syringe plunger and injected medicine into an intravenous tube hanging over the bed that would eventually find Pauley’s helpless left arm.
Millicent dropped the syringe in her Prada handbag. She pulled out a copy of Vogue and sat in a padded red and green chair crossing her long legs. Several minutes passed while she read an article on Kate Winslet. Pauley woke with a gasp. Millicent leaped toward the bed and pulled Pauley’s gun away from her flopping right hand.
“Calm down Pauley. The antidote acts smoother if you breathe in a relaxed fashion. You can use your gun in a couple of hours.”
Pauley’s glossy-eyed stare showed she was far from over her cyanide episode. Millicent placed the gun on top of her bag and sat back in the chair, determined to finish the Winslet profile. Pauley whispered to her peculiar nursemaid.
“Who are you?”
Millicent sighed and closed her magazine. She got up and checked the tube in Pauley’s arm. Her pinkish skin was turning back to a normal light beige.
“The sodium nitrite and thiosulfate cocktail I gave you is neutralizing the toxin. But, if I were you, I’d find a tanning salon to make your skin more presentable.”
Pauley furrowed her brow and craned her neck looking for her gun. Millicent rolled her eyes and extended her right hand.
“I’m Millicent Stingley. Your boss contacted me. You’re lucky I was in New York for a chemist’s conference or the glass of cyanide Merlot you drank would have killed you.”
*****blogger’s note****
This is a special event. My writing friend Tara, pronounced Tar rah, from Thin Spiral Notebook http://thinspiralnotebook.wordpress.com/ and I teamed up my serial killer “Cinnamon Girl” http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/cinnamon-girl/ Millicent with her assassin Pauley. These posts are for Trifecta Writing’s “Trouble” prompt http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/
Today’s song is from Seether. Here’s the rockin’ Remedy:
Ready to Go
Millicent Stingley prepared her perp walk like a supermodel did for a runway. She spent almost two hours picking out something to wear. She settled on her lucky blue Chanel dress that accentuated curves. Tall, hippy and busty, Millicent knew what men saw when they looked at her and a 160 IQ didn’t show in this outfit. One carat diamond earrings that she’d bought for her birthday completed the presentation.
Her attorney Reeve Mattox, her chemist friend John Clemenson, and a bodyguard named Gunny waited in her living room. She smiled in the bathroom mirror and opened the door.
***blogger’s note***
I’m writing a four thousand word short story titled Cinnamon Girl and entering it in a writing contest in December. This is the story’s first (edited) 100 words. I inserted Velvet Verbosity’s 100 word Challenge prompt of “Lucky” so I could participate http://www.velvetverbosity.com/2011/11/23/100-words-and-the-sap-runneth-over/ this week.
Today’s song is from Republica. I know this has become a stable for people workout mixtape and some sporting events but for about 5 minutes I liked it as a real song. It kind of sets an arrogant mood, and Millicent is an arrogant mood. Here’s Ready to Go…
Miss Murder
Last time with Millicent: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/2011/11/22/fly-trapped-in-a-jar/
Four wooden dining table chairs laid on their sides and the table’s middle leaf had come apart. Athough Trever could no longer speak, Millicent felt sure it was pincing his back. She moved off of him then adjusted her underwear and dress. His body settled into a coma from the synthetic drug she’d laced his wine. She kept his pants at his thighs, it would help staging in a few minutes. It took three shoves (He weighed 180 pounds, 30 more than Millcent) but she moved him to the floor onto his back. She could not tolerate disorder so she corrected the table and chairs.
Millicent went through anything in the condominium that belonged to her. Trever had chosen to betray their relationship, so she thought now would be best to get her things. She filled a laundry basket with clothes, earrings, movies, and CDs. Next to the bed she saw a silver iPod. She put on the ear buds and pressed play. She smiled when heard AFI. The ipod definitely belonged to her. Trever didn’t listen to rock music. She went back to condo number six.
The redhead was paralyzed on her stomach; her ear to the floor. Drool had formed near her face and chest. Millicent was satisfied that the younger woman had heard everything. She pressed stop on the IPod when she discovered the redhead’s handbag. A driver’s license read, Britney Cole. She watched Britney’s blue eyes blink incessantly. Britney was regaining feeling in her legs and feet. Millicent smirked and restarted the iPod.
She moved the much lighter Britney, downstairs. She stuck another syringe into Britney’s side and laid her over Trever’s stomach.
Her ex-boyfriend and her replacement would die together, in the morning. The poisons would give her a 24 hour start, maybe more. Millicent got in her car, plugged the iPod into her stereo and hit replay. She headed to the Atlanta airport for a red eye to New York City. AFI’s Miss Murder blared.
***blogger’s note*** This is my response to Trifecta’s 333 word prompt from the word BETRAY http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/2011/11/week-two.html and Write On Edge’s writing assignment of “write about the soundtrack of a pivotal scene” http://writeonedge.com/2011/11/red-writing-hood-soundtrack-of-our-words/#respond
Today’s song is what Millicent is rocking, Here’s Afi’s Miss Murder.
Fly Trapped In A Jar
Last Time with Millicent: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/2011/11/11/cinnamon-girl/
Being obsessively neat, poison was the most fitting way for Millicent Stingley to kill. She knew what she was coming with her boyfriend, Trever Jones. Millicent hadn’t been the best girlfriend, but she thought she had been good enough. Lately, Trever had been distant. He’d made friends with a younger woman who had moved in above him. That hurried the inevitable.
An intelligent and talented chemist, Millicent mixed chemical compounds in her bathroom laboratory. She put them inside beige capsules and white syringes. She showered, picked out the best black cocktail dress for her long legs and curvy hips, then spent almost an hour with her makeup. As she finished, her cell phone vibrated. She read the text message while painting her lips bright red..
“Just meet me at the restaurant.”
She shook her head and said into the vanity;
“The least you could have done, Trever, is treat me right one last time.”
Millicent arrived at Sunset’s at 7:30pm. Trever was already seated. She saw him texting. He had rarely texted during most of their three years together. After the younger woman moved in, two months ago, he texted often.
She kissed him at the table. It was void of warmth. The conversation was as dry as the chardonnay they ordered. Soon, Millicent had enough. Her chocolate eyes narrowed. The low ironic light caught tiny shines in her brown hair.
“Just tell me why you kissed my mouth like you wished it were someone else’s.”
A numbness swept over Millicent’s body when Trever’s face hardened and he spoke.
“I think I’m done. I want to call things off.”
She bit her bottom lip until blood formed in her teeth. He touched her hand across the table.
“I’m sorry, but this is how I feel.”
For the IndieInk Writing Challenge this week, Kurt challenged me with “”Our bodies were laid out. They were laid for fifteen yards. And two feet above each of our heads was a fly trapped in a jar.” -Isaac Brock, “Fly Trapped in a Jar.”" and I challenged Tara Roberts with “”We’re just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl year after year” – Pink Floyd”
Cinnamon Girl
“Tell me about your first time?”
She looked away with sad brown eyes and examined at the door of the small office. It was locked. Her look steeled and she spoke with measured defiance.
“You can’t repeat what I to say to anyone, correct?”
He rubbed his salt and pepper beard with his left hand. With his right, he wrote, “showing off, listen cautiously” in the black leather journal laying across his Haggar slacked lap.
“Unless I think you are going to commit a crime, then no, I can not repeat your words.”
The 25-year-old memory felt fresh and vibrant. She was perversely proud. She shook her medium length brown hair and smiled into his scared blue eyes.
“My father and grandfather were brilliant chemists. “
He wrote “hero-worship, disturbed by memories of family” in the journal, then averted his eyes from hers.
“My grandfather had Alzheimer’s disease. Five generations of people committed to cures and health enhancers, yet an insidious sickness killed a great man.”
He fidgeted in his black office chair, which caused his journal to drop. He sighed relief when it hit the floor face down. She couldn’t read his disdain and fear.
“Forgive my clumsiness.”
She stood suddenly, with intentionally bold posture. She adjusted her eggshell colored blouse and walked to the window. A ray of sunshine came through, revealing her alabaster complexion.
“I would sit with my grandfather on weekends, watching Atlanta Braves baseball games on tv. We’d drink hot chocolate, covered with light film of cinnamon that I made. He called me his cinnamon girl. I loved that. One day I showed up at the nursing home and instead of cinnamon girl he called me “nurse”.
He moved up in his chair.
“What happened next?”
She turned from the window and saw the small man cower.
“I told my father that granddad was different. My father kissed me goodnight and left his cabinet keys at the foot of my bed. I waited until my parents were asleep. I went downstairs and found the potassium cyanide. I took the necessary amount. The next weekend, I went to see my grandfather. The Braves were playing the Dodgers. He called me nurse again. I went to the pantry, made our hot chocolate, mixed his appropriately and watched him go to sleep forever. That was my first time.”
****blogger’s note****
This is some short fiction based on the conversation prompt by Write On Edge, this Friday. On Tuesday, I challenged you to write a conversation.
Using surroundings, body language, visual cues and blocking, in addition to the spoken words, show us who they are and what their relationship is without coming out and telling us! All that, in 300 words or less.
This piece is based on something I wrote last week called Murder By Numbers, http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/2011/11/02/murderbynumbers/ You figure out who is talking to whom.
Today’s song is from the great Neil Young and Crazy Horse. I like the use of this tune with this character. It’s different to say the least. Here’s Cinnamon Girl.
