- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per week
- Online Availability
- I have a shifting work schedule, so My online times will be random.
- Writing Levels
- Adept
- Advanced
- Prestige
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Female
- No Preferences
- Genres
- Fantasy, scifi, futuristic modern, fantasy modern, Action/adventure, Mystery, Fan-based,
A cold rain pounded on the windows barely visible against the darkness of the early morning outside. The house stood lonely and isolated on the hilltop surrounded by trees, but there were several police vehicles stationed outside including two ambulances, their drivers waiting patently as the bodies were loaded into the back on stretchers. Two more police cars drove away their passengers held in cuffs.
On the front stoop of the mansion stood two men. One a younger fellow who kept playing with his badge looked nervously at the pavement in front of him as an older gentleman with salt and pepper hair shot question after question at him barely waiting for one to be answered before he asked the next, only occasionally remembering to remove the pipe from his lips as he spoke.
"Tell me, sergeant," the older man growled finally, "who was it? Who started this whole fiasco? Who killed Jerome Butler?"
The questioned seemed to echo in the night as the sergeant looked at his shoes, "I – I'm sorry chief. It's going to take some time to explain."
"Then explain!" the Chief of police barked.
"Well," the sergeant mumbled finally meeting his superior officer's eyes, "let me start at the beginning . . ."
5pm the day before:
It was a drizzly day in the Hills as Jerome Butler flipped through his newspaper. He could hear the maid, Cynthia, humming as she dusted the parlor and the sound helped him feel entirely relaxed, not caring for an instant that this was the day that had made headlines around the world. This was the day he invited several virtual strangers into his home to . . . well he wasn't exactly sure what we wanted to do just yet. Present himself as himself that was sure. Let them see the man he truly was, that he was human and not just a figment of rumor.
It was an interesting collection of guests that was for sure. Some he knew hated him, some he believed just wanted to be entertained by him, and some might believe they were here to entertain him. It didn't matter. Within a few hours they would all be seated around the dinner table over an award winning meal, prepared by Alice his chef, and everything would be made clear.
On the mantelpiece over the fireplace in the study an old clock ticked away the minutes until finally there was a chime at the bell. Jerome smiled as he heard the footsteps of his loyal butler, Nigel, rushing to the front entrance hall to answer it.
On the front stoop of the mansion stood two men. One a younger fellow who kept playing with his badge looked nervously at the pavement in front of him as an older gentleman with salt and pepper hair shot question after question at him barely waiting for one to be answered before he asked the next, only occasionally remembering to remove the pipe from his lips as he spoke.
"Tell me, sergeant," the older man growled finally, "who was it? Who started this whole fiasco? Who killed Jerome Butler?"
The questioned seemed to echo in the night as the sergeant looked at his shoes, "I – I'm sorry chief. It's going to take some time to explain."
"Then explain!" the Chief of police barked.
"Well," the sergeant mumbled finally meeting his superior officer's eyes, "let me start at the beginning . . ."
5pm the day before:
It was a drizzly day in the Hills as Jerome Butler flipped through his newspaper. He could hear the maid, Cynthia, humming as she dusted the parlor and the sound helped him feel entirely relaxed, not caring for an instant that this was the day that had made headlines around the world. This was the day he invited several virtual strangers into his home to . . . well he wasn't exactly sure what we wanted to do just yet. Present himself as himself that was sure. Let them see the man he truly was, that he was human and not just a figment of rumor.
It was an interesting collection of guests that was for sure. Some he knew hated him, some he believed just wanted to be entertained by him, and some might believe they were here to entertain him. It didn't matter. Within a few hours they would all be seated around the dinner table over an award winning meal, prepared by Alice his chef, and everything would be made clear.
On the mantelpiece over the fireplace in the study an old clock ticked away the minutes until finally there was a chime at the bell. Jerome smiled as he heard the footsteps of his loyal butler, Nigel, rushing to the front entrance hall to answer it.