An Excerpt: Tangible

It's probably crazy, she thought, to long for moments lost in time; secret glances from across the room, resonating warmth from the slight touch of hand. She could still see his eyes; dark and revealing, intoxicating in nature. Through tangled sheets, she turns trying to figure it all out. Was it ever real or was it fabrication? 

She feel as though a part of her is missing; the air in her lungs cast upon the clouds. So often, she finds herself reaching for him in her dreams, cultivating treasured illusions that make her feel alive. Crazy, she presumes. Crazy to think that what he felt for her was tangible...

Prelude To A Dream

An Excerpt: Sad Truth

"She realized at that moment that they had absolutely nothing in common. Perhaps she was lying to herself. After all, it was easier to fabricate a story then live with the truth. He was her missing part and she knew she couldn't have him. Lying to herself was the only logical solution."

-Sad Truth, Prelude To a Dream

An Excerpt: 11:59

"The clock read 11:59. Almost midnight, he thought, as he held the photograph in his shaky hands. The numbers were the colors of rubies; a pair of snake eyes burning an image in his mind. With slight hesitation, he took a shot of whiskey, perspiration streaming down his pale face. “Did she ever mention murder?” Her words, much like his past, haunted him. For a moment he sat in confusion, replaying the conversation he had with Detective O’Hara.  It didn't seem to make sense. She had posed as a seductress; a woman seeking his sexual desire. He never got the impression she was in law enforcement, but then again, why would he? 12:05"

-Prelude to a Dream, 11:59, 

An Excerpt: Fleeting Gypsy

"She wanted to place blame, but she was the product of her own actions. She had made the decisions that led her away from everything she could have ever wanted. Her life was that of a fleeting gypsy, and unorganized suitcase, a splatter of her victims blood upon dirty clothing. Silently, she watched him sleep. He remained peaceful; his mind no longer fostering the “What’s next” he had continually asked her since leaving the motel. A part of her, she hated to admit, wished he didn't love her; wished he hadn't searched for her. Their hearts, however, remained as one despite the miles that had seemingly threatened their love."

An excerpt from "Fleeting Gypsy", from Prelude to a Dream

Stay Tuned: Prelude To A Dream

I have finally start writing this book again and I will be posting short pieces of it on my blog. If you need to catch up please visit the link below and click archive. From there you will be able to read the story from the beginning. 

READ HERE

In case you need a little bit of help with the sequence here it is:

Anna

Come Find Me

What He Didn't Know

Late October

It's Not Over

Scarlett

1/4"

Did She Ever Mention Murder

11:59

What She Left Behind

Ghost

A Bourbon

Next

Dawn

Amateur

Fleeting Gypsy

Derail

Allure

Poison

Web of Deception

Charm

At The Corner of Beech & Maple

Polaroid

The Dreams We Paint

Sinister Intention

-Kristina

Anna lost in her confusion, or how I imagine her to look like. whatweareburiedwith.tumblr.com

With a Vengeance

As Damien showered, she found herself replaying the evening in her mind. Somewhere along the way she found herself reminiscing of a simpler time where her slumber remained uncluttered with that of her mistakes. Memories, she concluded, were like the wind. Unexpectedly they effect you in a way you are unprepared to reveal. And as she slipped on her jeans, she realized it was time to tell Damien the truth; she had been married before.

Although she was not proud of leaving him in the middle of the night without explanation, she knew she had to escape the wrath of his endless drinking , verbal abuse, and undying narcissism. Love, she discovered, had the ability to blind the eyes of the enamored, and she fell head over heels in love with his unforgiving good looks, sense of humor, and charm. But as she thought about their first year of marriage, she had to wonder: had she fallen in love with an ideal? After all, she had been the detective's wife; the trophy he clung onto as he received top accolades for being one of L.A.'s finest. Painstakingly she found her mind traveling down a road of deception; the affair, the wounds upon her stomach, Damien...

Matson, was a man of many talents, and she knew he had already began searching for his estranged wife. Despite his flaws, he was a resourceful, intelligent man that sought justice with a vengeance. A secret, especially the one she had kept from him, was enough to fuel his burning desire to reveal the truth. Perhaps it was sheer bordem, she thought, as she stroked her ring finger where a diamond once glistened. Perhaps it was the influx of loneliness that led her to a life she had never dreamed of living. But despite her reasoning, the adrenaline she experienced from running, from hiding, from pulling the trigger, excited her. Little by little she was becoming the heroine of a story she did not write...

whatweareburiedwith.tumblr.com

"Memories, she concluded, were like the wind. Unexpectedly they effect you in a way you are unprepared to reveal."

Sinister Intention

Although Matson had originally planned on going home after meeting Jess at the diner, something about the way she reacted to his questioning intrigued him. And as she slowly drove away in her maroon pick-up, he couldn't help but follow her. Intuitively, he knew she was fostering a secret; a secret he desperately wished to reveal. A sly grin fell upon his face as nervous anticipation boiled throughout his blood. Careful to maintain a safe distance, he watched as the traffic light slowly changed from a pale yellow to a burning red. As he moved his foot away from the accelerator, he chuckled to himself as he watched Jess ignore the warning to stop and coast past the light. But as he sat waiting for the light to change, slight panic dispersed throughout his body triggering his heart to beat irregularly. What if she had seen him?

The possibility, he concluded, was slim. It was 2:30 in the morning and her eyes had been glazed over since the beginning of her shift. Convinced, he had remained unseen, he put his foot on the accelerator and continued down the road humming to the sound of Zeppelin blaring from the radio.

By the time she was back in sight, however, he had grown weary. He had simply followed her to her apartment complex; a place she had mentioned in passing conversation before. The vision of her on her cell phone, however, burned throughout his mind. She had made a phone call to someone, perhaps as a warning, and he wanted to know who she was warning. But as he sat curiously, he grew frustrated as she methodically juggled her keys to lock the truck that was clearly going to fall apart. "Come on, give me something Sweetheart", he muttered as he slammed his fist on the steering wheel. "Just one thing."

Once again, she took out her cellphone. Upon quick glance she proceeded up the staircase. Patience, not one of his finer virtues, depleted as she took each step. And just as he was about to turn his vehicle around, he found the answer he was looking for.

The secret lies behind closed doors...

Photo found on Pinterest, originally pinned from Dustjacketattic.blogspot.com

The Dreams We Paint

Upon awakening, she wondered how her life became that of a romance novel; full of lies, deception, passion, and danger. But as she stared at the tangled sheets where her body had willingly lingered, she couldn't help but feel like this was all meant to be. Lovingly, she watched as his chest fell in a rhythmic trance; a steady rise and fall. The moment, she believed was that of fantasy; a moment to be captured in her future "life", perhaps the fairytale she had envisioned as a little girl. How often in life, however, do we live the dreams we paint vividly throughout our imagination? What if she had made different choices? What if she had simply walked away from temptation? Once again, she was reminded of the scar across her stomach; the memories that haunted her sleep.

Beside the bed, she filtered through the nightstand drawer where she found "Welcome" guides to the motel, a few pens, and an old Bible. She soon discovered that she was in Nevada, right on the border of California. Had she really traveled that far, so quickly? As she stood to get dressed, Damien awoke. "Good Morning Beautiful,"' he whispered; slightly intoxicated by the haziness of a peaceful slumber. "Good Morning, Damien", she replied, smiling. Despite their forthcoming's, they were undeniably crazy about each other. He awakened a sense of romanticism and hope she had once believed seized to exist. "Come here", he moaned playfully. "I just want to hold you." "I know you do Damien, but we need to move. We unfortunately cannot risk getting caught."

For a moment she sat silently, carefully pondering the next move. Damien watched as her fingers ran through her hair; a nervous habit she had once tried to hide from him. Her eyes danced, lost in the depth of her thoughts. "First, we need to get new identification cards, social security numbers, and a vehicle. Do you have any idea on how to obtain any of those things?" she giggled apprehensively. "Well, where are we?" he questioned as he reached for the pamphlet in her hands. "Nevada? How the hell did we get to Nevada?" "Apparently, some time this morning." she sighed.

"I may know someone. He lives about 5 miles from here." "Who?" she inquired enthusiastically. "His name is Parker. He was one of my fraternity brothers back in college. He ran an underground fake ID business. Practically funded his college tuition in a matter of a few months," he laughed. "Well, do you have his phone number?" she pressed on as she wrapped her slender arms around his neck. "I may", he smiled as he positioned his arms around her, "Was there a telephone book in that drawer?"

Pinterest/Love Also found on Weheartit.com

Polaroid

"Her name is Scarlett. She has only come into the bar once or twice; always orders a Dirty Martini. Why are you asking about her Matson?" she inquired; puzzled as she stared at the Polaroid in Matson's hand.  "Tell me everything you know about her", he demanded. "I told you, Matson, her name is Scarlett. I think she may be from out of town, perhaps New York? She's got a thick Brooklyn accent. Definitely, not from around here." "Do you know anything about the man she is with?" "No, I never really got the chance to speak to him, I can give you his drink order if you would like," she replied sarcastically. "How did you even get that photograph Matson?"

"Jess, I am a detective. I have men all over this city digging where they perhaps shouldn't be." "Is that even legal?" she scoffed. "Jess, a few days ago, I lost one of my best snipers; direct shot to the head," he explained as he took gulps of coffee between large bites of pie. "So what do you need me for Matson?" "I need to know who these people are. They seemed out of place and-" he started. "Of course they do Matson! I told you they are from out of town!" "Jess, please do not get angry with me, I just needed to ask you if you knew anything about them." he pleaded as he stared into her tired eyes. "I'm sorry Matson. It's getting late, I better get going. Thanks for the coffee. Hopefully I was of some help." she replied apologetically. "Sure", he sighed. "Would you like me to walk you out at least?" "No, thank you. Enjoy your coffee and pie Matson," she smiled. "I'll see you around."

As she marched away, Matson couldn't help but wonder what information she was withholding. Did she in fact, know something more about this couple? Through the window, he saw Jess run to her beat up pick-up truck avoiding the impending rain that fell from the dark sky. For a moment she sat, lifeless, until the quiet roar of the engine echoed throughout the parking lot. In her hand she held a cellphone. Who was she calling? he wondered as he dug through his wallet to pull out change and a tip for the waitress. Curiously he watched. The phone call lasted a few seconds before she put the truck into gear and slowly drove away.

Dumbfounded, he fetched his jacket, thanked the waitress, and exited the diner. But as he sat in his vehicle, he couldn't help but wonder, What did she know?

Photography by Dallas Nagata (Pinterest)

At The Corner Of Beech/Maple

They met at the corner of Beech and Maple at a tiny diner known for delicious late night food and terrible coffee. He was sitting alone, cross legged, surprisingly engulfed in an old issue of Time Magazine. In his hand was a pen that he twirled nervously throughout his fingers. Perhaps he was completing a crossword puzzle, she thought to herself as she slowly moved towards his booth. It was a smaller booth, perhaps designed for the couple who had no intention of seizing their meaningless small talk, plates of runny fried eggs, and coffee. She noticed that he had ordered a cup of coffee; black, as she had suspected, and a piece of apple pie. The pie however, remained untouched as a steady stream of steam filled the air.

"Hello, Matson." she smiled as she sat in the booth directly across from him. "Oh hey Jess, I didn't see you walk in," he replied as he placed the tattered magazine onto the table. "Have you been waiting long?" she inquired as their waitress appeared with a pot of coffee and a menu. "What can I get for you dear?" "I'll take a Diet Coke, please." "Coming right up", she sang as she waltzed behind the counter fetching a tall red cup that displayed the words "Coca Cola" in white cursive lettering.

She was in her early twenties she assumed; slinging tips to help pay for her college education. Although she appeared tired, her radiant smile brightened the room. She was soft spoken and clearly had no problem meeting men. She was about 5'8, slender, and had long blonde hair that twisted in a braid across her back. "She's a looker, huh", Matson proclaimed clearly aware that Jess was envious of the young waitress. "To have my youth back", she replied as cleared the table of spilled salt. "They seem to have the world in front of them."

"I don't think you have anything to worry about Jess." "And what's that supposed to mean Matson?" she giggled. "It means that you have nothing to worry about. Being young is simply temporary. In a few years she will find herself staring at a younger girl, wishing for the same things you find yourself wishing for. And hell, what are you like 31?" He laughed as he took a long sip of coffee. "Ugh, this coffee is terrible." he concluded as he placed the beige mug onto the table.

"Why did you bring me here, Matson?" she stared, wide-eyed. "I must admit that my motives may not be exactly righteous. I need your help," he sighed. As if someone had slapped her back unexpectedly, air escaped her lungs. Her stomach ached and suddenly she felt her face grow warm from embarrassment. How foolish she thought, to believe that she, a thirty something year old, had a chance with a successful detective! Nervously, she shuffled her feet beneath the table; something she had done since she was a little girl. "Oh, what is it that you need Matson?"

"I hope your not upset, Jess. I don't want to send you the wrong message."  Although his voice was sincere,  she couldn't help but feel insecure, and as she stared deep into his eyes she wished a man would desire her. "No, Matson, don't worry about it! Your not sending me the wrong message!" Oh, I hope you don't realize I'm lying, she thought to herself. As a detective Matson had become keen on body language, and realized she had thought this 'date' was indeed something much more. "Ok, let's talk then", he suggested, clearly aware that he too, was lying.

Pinterest/Diner

Charm

Jessica was in her early thirties, something she hated to admit. And as she smoothed beige powder over her face, she began to wonder what Detective Matson wanted from her. Sure she was attractive, but she wasn't exactly his type. On any given evening, she would spend her entire shift fetching him far too many drinks and unwillingly meeting the demands of the women he planned on seducing. Although she was not the kind of woman to be envious, she would find herself staring at them. They were beautiful, successful, and were in the company of Matson. Secretly, the moment he had walked through the door she had fallen in love with him. He was ruggedly handsome, fit, and had a seductive charm that would leave her weak in the knees. And as she closed her compact mirror she sighed.

Dark circles appeared underneath her hazel eyes. Her hair, long over due for a trim, fell lifelessly upon her shoulders. She had gained a few pounds in her hips and as her jeans pulled tightly across her midsection she began feeling insecure. Matson was a man with exquisite taste, she thought to herself. And as if the remedy for an over-worked single women presented itself in the bathroom, she began searching. Her purse, nearly empty, produced no such results. The last stick of gum? Maybe. But the torn receipts and single dollar bills from an evening of fetching Bud-lights? They were not going to help her.

He had mentioned that he needed to talk to her, and as she applied another coat of lip gloss she envisioned his face as he said it. His eyes had twinkled and a sly grin fell from his lips as he took the last sip of his drink. For a moment she paused, staring at the mirror before her. Although his intentions baffled her, she found her heart racing with rendering possibility. 

Web of Deception

I found this photo on Pinterest: wish I knew the artist...

Although she tried, she could no longer comprehend the thoughts that cascaded dolefully throughout her uneasy mind. And as he kissed her, logic became that of the distance past. Unwillingly, as if her body was not her own, she found her limbs tangled around his warm body. The fear however, filled her heavy heart. It would only be a matter of time, she thought to herself, as she stared at the opulent ceiling above her. Like the familiar road one frequents, his lips traveled the contours of her womanly curves; memorizing every inch of her body.

Why, she wondered, did he have to break down the walls she had built to protect herself? Disaster bared a sense of beauty, but the allurement of love glistened helplessly before her hopeful eyes. When would it crumble before her? When would he realize the pattern of self destruction she had grown accustomed to? The thought alone was a splintering intrusion to her wounded heart.

Her gun laid before them on the nightstand. Once again she was reminded of the mistakes and decisions she had impulsively made. Did she really need the money? The off-shore account that threatened the life of the one she loved?

His mouth moved from her chest to her stomach where a scar presented itself. Although she longed to forget that particular evening, she could still see the knife entering her body and the warm blood that seeped from her blouse. They had threatened her, black-mailed her, and tortured her. She was their prisoner; a puppet within the hands of the vindictive. He would never know of her struggle; the inner turmoil that festered unbridled hatred.

 It had been their second date.

Although she had told herself, "Just a kiss", chemistry and two glasses of Merlot changed that simple promise. After dinner, they had found themselves on her unmade bed passionately intertwined. And as his masculine finger grazed the contour of her scar, she remembers him asking "What happened darling." She however avoided the question, and pulled him in for a kiss.

She later told him it was a simple surgery. Yet another lie to add to the web of deception.

 

Poison

It was always the sweet reminder of how simple his life used to be, that drove him to mere insanity. And as he thought, once again, of the diamond on the nightstand, he unwillingly found himself parked in front of the local tavern. The bottle, was a means in which he could numb the feeling of failure; a means in which he could seemingly convince himself that he didn't need her. But as he pulled the key out of the ignition, he bowed his head in defeat.

As he walked into the bar, smoke formed around him like a thick, desolate fog encompassing the secrets of the broken hearted. Within moments, Jessica, his favorite bartender, presented the poison he so desperately craved; Johnny Walker on the rocks."How are you sweetheart?" she questioned as she crossed her arms over the bar directly in front of him. "You look like you have been through hell. Tough day on the job?"

Although he would rather be consumed in the allure of self-pity, he entertained her question. "I guess you could say that Jess. Crime scene was wiped cleaned. Impeccable, really. Bullet wound right through the chest." "I don't know how you do it Matson", she grimaced in disgust. "But, hell, I guess it pays the bills right?" she replied playfully, retrieving a bottle of vodka. "A whole lot more than what I make!" She smiled, as she walked over to a group of college girls and presented them the shots of vodka.

The bar on this particular evening was uncharacteristically slow, he thought to himself. And as he scanned the room, he saw the usual suspects; the unhappy husbands downing cheap lagers, the women with questionable morals, and of course the college girls who finally reached the legal drinking age. Sadly, he was one of them. "Jess, I need another one", he slurred as he lifted his glass up in the air. 

"Do I need to take your keys away from ya, Detective?" she winked as she poured him his drink. "No, I'll be fine. Either that or I can get one of the rookies from the station to pick me up." He joked. "As long as your safe, darling. Don't get me fired or anything."  She giggled, as he watched her full hips move around the bar. "What are your plans when you get out of here Jess?" he inquired, as he realized that the extent of his loneliness resulted in an offer to grab something to eat with the woman who fueled his addiction. "Me?" she replied somewhat surprised. "Yes, you. What are your plans when you get out of here?" 

"Well, I was just going to go home and go to bed." she whispered. "What did you have in mind? "Want to grab something to eat? he asked. "I have a couple things to ask you." "Such as..." she started. "Well, I'd prefer not to discuss it here. But, I do need to talk to you."

As a detective, he had become acutely aware of his surroundings and on this particular evening a piece of the puzzle, didn't seem to fit. "What time do you get off?" 

Pinterest/Whiskey

Allure

The manor in which her mouth formed those three simple words forced upon a whirlwind of nostalgia. She had been on stage, sitting upon a black bar stool, worn from repeated use; the original wood apparently visible. He had remembered her slight apprehension as she sat cross-legged adorned in a simple corset and stockings as she sang to the unhappily married men before her. At first it was her voice that seemingly induced a trance throughout the club as he watched men seize their conversations and laughter; their drinks no longer quenching their desire to become delightfully numb.
 
As she sang, her ice blue eyes sparkled, dancing to the tune of the unknown. What words pressed from her lips? He could not remember. All he could remember was the way her mouth moved; the tender passionate way they rolled off her tongue. Within moments, she had become an anomaly in an otherwise bland room.


"Come with me", she repeated, unknowingly destroying the images he had vividly replayed throughout his mind. "Damien?" she questioned, grabbing his muscular forearm."Damien, are you ok." As she awaited his response, he stood statuesque silently reminiscing the evening they had spent together upon her last song.


Although eager men had approached her in hopes to bed her, she had ignored their advances; smiling hypnotically with devilish intention. How he surpassed the barrier she seemingly presented to the world? He would never know, but he found himself engulfed in pure bliss as he ran his fingertips over her naked body. He had spent hours tangled within her sheets, memorizing every contour, every curve of her feminine body.


"Damien, are you ok?" She preceded once more. "Sorry", he murmured as he followed her back into the motel room. "I was just remembering." Curiously, she turned about, flipping her hair in a seductive wave. "Remembering what, Damien?" "Remembering this", he started as he pulled her neck close to his lips.


As his lips grazed her tender skin, she found herself surrendering to the burning desire that quickly engulfed her body. Slowly his hands explored her breasts; releasing a sweet moan from her lips. Her surroundings became hazy; a landscape of  pure unbridled passion. Within moments, she found her legs wrapped around his waist; their bodies pressed upon the motel wall. In one swift motion her bra fell upon his feet and she slowly unzipped her jeans welcoming his aggressive advances. A year had passed unwillingly, yet they found themselves where they had left off...within the allure of their tangled sheets.

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Derail

The difference between sanity and insanity were slim, he silently thought to himself. Moments before, he was content, well rested; eager to continue the journey before him. But as he lit his final Marlboro, he felt unbridled rage boil beneath his skin. She was an explosive ball of energy and fury that made his skin crawl yet he continually found himself surrendering to her breathtaking beauty. What was it about her? What was it about her that made him want to follow her? Clearly, she didn't need him. "Fucking women", he muttered as he put out the last of his cigarette.

"Hey man, I hate to bother you, but is everything ok?" a voice echoed apologetically. Before him, Damien saw a man in his late twenties; clean cut, shaven. "What's it to you?" Damien huffed sarcastically. Curiosity, Damien concluded, was a rather insatiable human trait. "Just heard some yelling, wanted to make sure everything is ok", he replied. "But, I will be on my way. If you need anything I will be at the front desk right around the corner." 

Damien watched as he slowly walked away. For a moment he contemplated asking the man for the bus schedule. But, the mere thought of leaving her yet again, left him nauseous. She has, and always will be his destiny; the path in which his heart will seize to derail. 

An hour had passed before she came out the motel room. He had glanced incessantly upon his watch waiting for her. "Are you going to talk to me now Damien?" "Depends," he started, "Are we going to have a conversation like two adults?" 

"Want to know everything Damien?" she whispered. "Come with me."  

Pinterest/Walk Away

Fleeting Gypsy

She wanted to place blame, but she was the product of her own actions. She had made the decisions that led her away from everything she could have ever wanted. Her life was that of a fleeting gypsy, and unorganized suitcase, a splatter of her victims blood upon dirty clothing. Silently, she watched him sleep. He remained peaceful; his mind no longer fostering the "What's next" he had continually asked her since leaving the motel. A part of her, she hated to admit, wished he didn't love her; wished he hadn't searched for her. Their hearts, however, remained as one despite the miles that had seemingly threatened their love. 

Angrily, she pulled the blood splattered clothing from her suitcase and fetched the lighter that grazed the bottom of her pocket. She had to get rid of the clothing, she thought as she tiptoed to the door. Although the sun peeked above the building, she knew most of the motel was still asleep, dreaming. I still have time, she whispered to herself as she zipped her leather jacket and tightened her scarf. 

Abruptly, he awoke. 

As his tired eyes scanned the deteriorated wallpaper that hung lifelessly from the walls, he tried to remember where he was. Like a movie, the events of his evening flickered wildly throughout his imagination. Her embrace, her full breasts, the gun, the dead body, the journey to...he couldn't remember. He, no they, were on the run. He had found Anna.

Who was she now? He wondered silently as he stumbled into the fluorescent lit bathroom. Why hadn't she told him what they were running from? Who was the man she killed? When did she learn how to shot? To kill? The questions left him dizzy; his temples throbbing. Upon relieving himself, he made his way back into the bedroom. Her suitcase laid open revealing more weapons and a passport. Curiously he began rummaging through her belongings. But as he opened the passport, Anna barged through the door.

"What the hell are you doing in my stuff Damien?" she nearly screamed as she ripped the document from his hands. "I-I'm sorry. I was just curious." he replied bashfully. "Let's get one thing straight Damien", she started as she grabbed his face, "DO NOT go through my stuff. Understand?" she demanded. "Anna, what the hell is going on? I am tired of following your ass throughout the fucking desert!" "No one asked you to find me Damien. Why couldn't you just let things be?" she bellowed as she kicked the suitcase aside. "I WAS FINE ALONE! Then you fucking came along, and now I don't know what the fuck to do."

Instead of fighting back, he sat in silence. Words would only make the situation worse. "Well Damien? Aren't you going to say anything? He nodded his head. "No? She huffed. "You aren't going to say a damn word?" Again he nodded and walked towards the bed stand retrieving a cigarette and a lighter; slamming the door behind him.

Pinterest

Amateur

Police arrived at the scene a little after midnight upon receiving a phone call from the owner of the motel. The deceased, a man about 45 years of age, 5'8, 185 lbs; a bullet wound through the chest. "Well Sergeant, who ever shot him had one hell of an aim," Detective Maston grunted as he swung open the door; a bullet hole clearly splintering the poorly constructed wood. "This isn't the work of an amateur Sir."

As he continued searching the scene, he came to the conclusion that whoever shot the man, was not a stranger to being on the run. The bed stripped, the shower wiped clean. The room in fact was impeccable; as if no one had ever reserved the room in the first place. Dumbfounded he ran his fingertips across the dresser searching for a spec of evidence. For a moment he sat scanning the room. Suddenly, he thought of the body.

"Sergent, let's get this body down to forensics for an autopsy." he muttered as he moved out of the hotel room into his cruiser, effortlessly switching it into gear. As he drove down the road he glanced at his watch. 12:45. Last call awaited him, perhaps a young twenty-something with no real desire to fall in love. 

Detective Matson was a man in his early thirties, a son of a retired cop. He was arrogant, cocky, and one hell of a detective. He spent the majority of his time at a local tavern sipping Johnny Walker Red Label pursuing the advances of attractive business women; women, who in fact, were far more successful than he would ever be. Although he wouldn't admit it to the guys at the station, he was growing weary of the drunken evenings, and the countless women who grazed their tender lips across his neck. But, he had nothing left. His wife had left him for a man with a doctorate from Harvard. "A family man", she had told him. "The kind of man I want raising my children." Despite his better efforts, she had left the next day, suitcase in hand, her wedding ring on his nightstand.

As he drove down the main street, he thought of that particular evening and the bottle of scotch that soon ensued upon throwing her ring out of the window on the interstate. He didn't understand, nor would he ever understand.

Dawn

A few hours later, Anna and Damien found themselves searching for a motel in the middle of desolate America. His insatiable need for water however, consumed him, leaving him somewhat lethargic. Anna, on the other hand, pressed on, pistol strapped around her muscular thigh.

Damien assumed that dawn was not far behind them. He could feel the warming temperature of the sun, as it slowly peeked behind the clouds. Just a day before, he was alone in his apartment, lost in a book, scotch in hand, silently weeping for what he had become. Today, he was a few strides behind Anna, watching the gentle sway of her feminine hips. Although she was someone he no longer knew, his heart ached with adoring palpitation. Much of what he believed was no longer relevant as he lit the match to his vehicle, and followed his long-lost love throughout the desert.

Upon quick glance of his watch, he spoke. "Anna if we do not find shelter soon, there's a chance that they will find us." Abruptly, she stopped, collapsing to the sand. "Anna?" he hurried, "Are you ok?" As he took her beautiful face into his hands, he saw that she was crying. "Anna, Sweetheart, what is it?" he asked tenderly. "I didn't want to get you involved Damien. This is not how things were supposed to happen. I have put you in more danger than you will ever know." she managed through uncontrollable sobs. "I love you Damien. That is why I left." But before she could continue speaking, Damien wrapped her into his tired arms. "Stop, Anna. I love you. I always have and always will..."

For a moment neither of them spoke as they held each other, relinquishing the slight glimmer of the rising sun. "Non saprranno mai" he muttered as he brought her closer to his chest. It was then a sly smile broke from her tear-laden face, "They will never know", she whispered in response.

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Next

There he laid, lifeless. His impending future no longer relevant as he fell victim to Anna's unsuspected bullet. Although his pulse no longer echoed the beating of his heart, his eyes seemingly stared deep into Damien's soul sending chills throughout his body. In response, his stomach turned as he covered his nose temporarily masking the stench of the stranger's blood. 

"Anna, what are we going to do with the body? Do you know this man?" he asked between deep, shallow breaths. "Unfortunately", she groaned as she continued retrieving her belongings throughout the hotel room. "What do you mean Anna? Exactly what kind of trouble are you in?" he inquired as he paced throughout the somber hotel room. "I wish I had time to explain, but I don't." she replied annoyingly. "Here, stick this behind your back. Make sure you keep it concealed." "A gun, Anna? Why do I need this?" he questioned in disbelief.

"Listen, Damien. I-excuse me, we don't have time for this. The man I just killed? He is one of many. These men are extremely dangerous and they want me dead." For a moment she paused; engulfed within her own thoughts. "Damien, if we don't leave within the next few minutes, I fear you may be next." Her voice a whisper...

The Original Bad Ass Miss Angelina Jolie...