Jasmine's Ghost - Updated Version - Writers Forum

SeattleGhostWriter · 01-01-2006, 07:18 PM

Here is the updated version of a work that I am still working on (among many) in the line of the Mickey Chandler mysteries. I have lengthened the first chapter and it is still going to have more. I will post more as I have time. Thank you in advance for your critique and suggestions.

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Jasmine's Ghost

Chapter One

The memory of that night plagued me. The gruesome scene battled for dominance on the field of my mind. Disinterested in the seagulls playing tag with the boat, I leaned against the rail. Seattle’s skyline grew closer with each passing minute as the ferry lumbered across the black waters of Puget Sound. I took one last drag of the coffin-nail before tossing the butt into an overflowing ashtray. Exhaustion pulsed through my body, raw emotions draining me as images flashed in my thoughts. I attempted to push them back into the dark recesses of my mind, but to no avail.

Two years had passed since the murder of my wife Jasmine. Shadows haunt the stage of my thoughts. Mindlessly, I rub the finger where I had once worn a gold band. Since her death, which was on our anniversary, I would go visit her grave once a year. Her killer was still loose somewhere, hiding in the urban jungle of the city.

Defeated, I turned away from the approaching skyline and made my way to a row of unoccupied benches. They were set up like pews in a church. I sat, awaiting the inevitable. Closing my eyes, the events came into focus regarding that tragic night. I had to let the memory take center stage.

“You’re never home,” She complained. I remembered her voice. It was soft and sensual. “I don’t know what the hell you’re doing!” She was crying. I knew I had blown it. Our anniversary and all she had asked was for me to take some time off from work. Unfortunately, Detective Stolsky and I had received a tip concerning the location of a serial rapist. We both wanted this scumbag behind bars. When the tip came in, we headed down to Portland, Oregon to take the guy into custody.

“Jas, I’m truly sorry,” I recalled saying. I had learned not to rationalize with her. Limping through the front door of our home, she softened when she saw that my knee was in a support cast. Stolsky had to drive me home from the King County jail. The trip back from Portland was grueling.

“What happened?” She came to my side, having helped me over to the couch. I settled down on the couch, resting my injured left leg on the coffee table, Jasmine curled up next to me, tucking both her legs behind her.

“I took a bullet,” I said. “Stolsky located the guy in some club downtown Portland. I got the luck of the draw to pick him out from the crowd. Stolsky wanted to take to the alley, just in case.” I winced at the pain scorching along my leg. “I caught sight of the scumbag. Since I had the front entrance blocked, he took to the back door. Davey was waiting for him out back and when I saw the flash of the iron the prick pulled from his coat pocket, I knew Davey was going to need some help. With his gun ready, he bullied through the back door.” Sighing, I rolled a cigarette and lit it. “By the time I reached the back door, he had his weapon trained on Dave.” I took a drag and continued, “I slowed my breathing, I could hear the jerk yelling at Davey. I knew Davey wasn’t quick enough for a guy like this. I snuck through the back door, missed stepped and the guy took a quick drop on me. He fired, I dove. He got lucky when the bullet shattered my knee.” I didn’t tell her that I had popped off a shot that took the rapist in the chest. He had died before his body collapsed to the ground.

Shaking the chills that crept up along my spine, my eyes popped open when I could have sworn I felt a familiar slender finger had traced along my jaw line. I stood and stretched my legs. The memory wouldn’t retreat. The screen of my thoughts raged with kaleidoscopic explosions as I made my way back to the railing. The skyline of Seattle loomed even larger than the first time I had stood at the rail. Rain fell in a curtain of mist, the wind blowing more than usual. Gripping the green railing, my knuckles turned white as I attempted to shove the memory out of my mind. But it wouldn’t budge. I had to let the remainder of the memory flood me, consume me like a raging fire that is unquenchable. I recalled what had happened later that night.

The blast had torn through the front door with a shower of splintered wood and metal. Jasmine and I were asleep when the rude awakening occurred. Seconds had past when bullets hissed through the air. Eternity whispered its dark secret to me as a round whistled past my ear. Grabbing Jasmine, I pulled her to the floor, tipping the coffee table over. Jasmine, in the process of being forced from the couch to the floor, had knocked over the lamp. This left the intruders blind for only a few beats of the heart. They were not familiar with the room.

It took that one-second for me to chamber a round in the maw of my forty-five. I had skinned it from the holster. Another second passed. Gun leveled, I took aim. Two lousy seconds and they were still squeezing their own triggers wildly.

My first round nailed the assassin on the left, exiting the back of his head. Bone and flesh fragments sprayed against the white of the kitchen wall. I swallowed the fear away and squeezed the trigger. The weapon kicked wickedly in my hand. The bullet went wide, shattering the living room window. Jasmine was screaming, squirming beneath my bulk as I covered her with my body.

The remaining assassin had moved further into the living room. He fired twice; hot lead sliced through the muscle and tendon, causing pain to mushroom. The bullet exited from the back, shattering the lamp behind me, sending shrapnel of glass everywhere.

Forcing a slow gradual pull against the panic that licked at me like a hungry wolf, I squeezed the trigger of my iron. I watched the second killer crash through the kitchen table. The stench of blood and cordite filled my nostrils as I stood, helping Jasmine up. Blood flowed from the wound of my shoulder as she took her blouse and ripped it into bandages.

“We’ve gotta get you to the hospital.” She had told me. I raised my smoke-wagon as I held her in my arms. The second intruder struggled to stand, getting a drop on the two of us. His eyes danced with death when he and I fired our weapons almost simultaneously. I couldn’t get Jasmine out of the way when the bullet punctured her from behind. I could hear the sirens scream like banshees, Jasmines breathing had become shallow.

“Stay with me,” I cried, struggling to stay conscious.

It was while in the hospital, I learned Jasmine had died in my arms that night. A rumpled, unshaven Detective David Stolsky gazed at me from beneath a sweat stained fedora. I tried to chuckle, having slowly realized I was in the hospital. He had narrowed those eyes even more. I was chuckling at a flick of powdered donut sugar in the corner of his mouth.

I pulled my mind back to the present. It was when I turned away from the skyline, that I saw a woman standing there looking me over. For a moment, I thought it was Jasmine standing there with her trademark smile. As I approached, the ferry started to slow. I could hear the engines growl in a mechanical protest as the boat approached the quay. The strange woman was closing the distance as I looked her over.

She wore a black fur coat, her golden locks of hair contrasted against the dark material of her warm jacket. She wore a beret, cockeyed on her head. Her face was a soft oval school girl face. Her lips were painted red, moist and full. Her eyes were very intoxicated as I looked into them, cool pools of blue that would stare right through to your soul.

“You must be Chandler, Michael Chandler.” She offered an innocent smile.

“I am.” I tipped my fedora in a cordial and gentleman like manner. I knew my weakness for dames, especially since I had hardened my heart after the death of Jasmine. Many women have tried to soften my heart, this one didn’t need to try, and she seemed to be a natural with those eyes of hers.

“You don’t remember me do you?” She asked, holding out her right hand. I took the kind gesture and shook her hand. “My condolences regarding your loss,” She drew closer and the smell of rose lingered on the rain soaked breeze, a scent I recalled, but could not place. “You haven’t changed a bit.” She whispered in my ear. Then, her lips pressed gently against the curve of my neck. They felt soft and warm like a cotton shirt freshly drawn from the dryer.

The Captain came over the intercom, instructing all walk on passengers to make our exit through the main deck of the Ferry. The mysterious woman curled her arm around mine and we started walking down to the main deck and through the terminal before finding ourselves out onto the upper level of a walkway. This walkway extended to a cement skyway that led to Second Avenue. As we walk, I was mulling over images of women I had known, ladies I had crossed paths with, and couldn’t match any of them up with the one that clung to my arm.

“Shall we grab something to eat?” She asked when we reached the corner of Second Avenue and Cherry.

“We could, I am a bit famished myself.” I then flagged down a taxi. “Zoe’s bar and grill.” I handed over a couple tens to the cabbie and he snaked his way along Second Avenue, to Virginia. He turned right and followed Virginia up to 7th Avenue. From there, he turned left and within a couple blocks, he pulled to a stop where Zoe’s was.

“I haven’t been here for so long. Lot has changed since I last seen you Mick.” She then kissed me softly on the lips. Her gloved hand touched my firm jaw line. “How I have missed that.” She smiled and then took my hand into hers and we made our way into Zoe’s.

The place was sparse with patrons as a waitress approached. “Two, for smoking.” The woman I was with had definitely taken control. Me, I was merely bidding my time, still searching my memory bank for a familiar face that I may have passed over. Nothing had proven fruitful yet. We walked the length of the joint when we were shown a booth in the far back. I sat across from the lady in the fur coat, formulating how I would approach this. When the waitress dropped off the menu, rattled off the specials of the day, and then took our drink orders, I leaned back, smiled, then pulled off my fedora and dropped it on the table.

“Look kid,” I began, leaning forward and clasping my fingers together in my hands. “You’re a beauty, and I know I wouldn’t forget a face, or a body like yours.” When I said this, she had removed the fur coat to reveal a body that seemed to have had a pale green dress pasted onto her frame. The fabric clung to her shapely and curvaceous body. The waitress brought over my cup of coffee, and the lady’s cup of tea. When the waitress left, I formulated for the appropriate words to speak next. “What’s this all about? You in trouble or something?” I asked.

“Now, that is just like you Mick, wanting to always come to the rescue of a damsel in distress. Tough as you are, I am the only woman who knows how to tame you.” She took a sip of her hot tea after having stirred in some sugar and some milk. She had me baffled.

Raging_Hopeful · 01-01-2006, 07:48 PM

So far I like it a lot. You are of course, a talented writer and you write this genre particularly well. I would make a couple of suggestions though:

"“I slowed my breathing, I could hear the jerk yelling at Davey. I knew Davey wasn’t quick enough for a guy like this. I snuck through the back door, missed stepped and the guy... " This part sounds more like a narrative than dialogue. It was difficult for me to envision someone actually saying that in a conversation. And I think you're looking for the word misstep?

“I am.” I tipped my fedora in a cordial and gentleman like manner. I knew my weakness for dames, especially since I had hardened my heart after the death of Jasmine. Many women have tried to soften my heart, this one didn’t need to try, and she seemed to be a natural with those eyes of hers."

If he had indeed hardened his heart, how could he have a weakness for women? And the last sentence isn't very clear to me. This whole paragraph could use some further clarification.

Otherwise, the story flow is solid and the writing is good. I look forward to reading more!

SeattleGhostWriter · 01-02-2006, 07:20 PM

Here is the full Chapter of Jasmines Ghost. Please feel free to comment, disect, terrorize the grammar. I would really like to polish this up for possible publication. I will post the second chapter more fully once this one has a good look through with some critical pair of eyes.

************************************************** *********

Jasmine's Ghost

Chapter One

The memory of that night plagued me. The gruesome scene battled for dominance on the field of my mind. Disinterested in the seagulls playing tag with the boat, I leaned against the rail. Seattle’s skyline grew closer with each passing minute as the ferry lumbered across the black waters of Puget Sound. I took one last drag of the coffin-nail before tossing the butt into an overflowing ashtray. Exhaustion pulsed through my body, raw emotions draining me as images flashed in my thoughts. I attempted to push them back into the dark recesses of my mind, but to no avail.

Two years had passed since the murder of my wife Jasmine. Shadows haunt the stage of my thoughts. Mindlessly, I rub the finger where I had once worn a gold band. Since her death, which was on our anniversary, I would go visit her grave once a year. Her killer was still loose somewhere, hiding in the urban jungle of the city.

Defeated, I turned away from the approaching skyline and made my way to a row of unoccupied benches. They were set up like pews in a church. I sat, awaiting the inevitable. Closing my eyes, the events came into focus regarding that tragic night. I had to let the memory take center stage.

“You’re never home,” She complained. I remembered her voice. It was soft, trembling on the verge of sobbing. “I don’t know what the hell you’re doing!” She was crying. I knew I had blown it. Our anniversary and all she had asked was for me to take some time off from work. Unfortunately, Detective Stolsky and I had received a tip concerning the location of a serial rapist. We both wanted this scumbag behind bars. When the tip came in, we headed down to Portland, Oregon to take the guy into custody.

“Jas, I’m truly sorry,” I recalled saying. I had learned not to rationalize with her. Limping through the front door of our home, she softened when she saw that my knee was in a support cast. Stolsky had to drive me home from the King County jail. The trip back from Portland was grueling.

“What happened?” She came to my side, having helped me over to the couch. I settled down on the couch, resting my injured left leg on the coffee table, Jasmine curled up next to me, tucking both her legs behind her.

“I took a bullet,” I said. “Stolsky located the guy in some club downtown Portland. I got the luck of the draw to pick him out from the crowd. Stolsky wanted to take to the alley, just in case.” I winced at the pain scorching along my leg. “I caught sight of the scumbag. Since I had the front entrance blocked, he took to the back door. Davey was waiting for him out back and when I saw the flash of the iron the prick pulled from his coat pocket, I knew Davey was going to need some help. With his gun ready, he bullied through the back door.” Sighing, I rolled a cigarette and lit it. “By the time I reached the back door, he had his weapon trained on Dave.” I took a drag and continued, “I slowed my breathing. I could hear the jerk yelling at Davey. I snucked through the back door, misstepped and the guy took a quick drop on me. He fired, I dove. He got lucky when the bullet shattered my knee.” I didn’t tell her that I had popped off a shot that took the rapist in the chest. He had died before his body collapsed to the ground.

“Mick, you promised me that you would retire.” Her eyes welled up with tears as she clung to me. “I don’t see you and you come home all banged up.” She sobbed in my chest as I held her in my arms. Deep down, I knew she was right. I had to retire from the force. I know what it was doing to our marriage, but I didn’t want to admit that to her or myself.

Shaking the chills that crept up along my spine, my eyes popped open when I could have sworn I felt a familiar slender finger had traced along my jaw line. I stood and stretched my legs. The memory wouldn’t retreat. The screen of my thoughts raged with kaleidoscopic explosions as I made my way back to the railing. The skyline of Seattle loomed even larger than the first time I had stood at the rail. Rain fell in a curtain of mist, the wind blowing more than usual. Gripping the green railing, my knuckles turned white as I attempted to shove the memory out of my mind. But it wouldn’t budge. I had to let the remainder of the memory flood me, consume me like a raging fire that is unquenchable. I recalled what had happened later that night.

The blast had torn through the front door with a shower of splintered wood and metal. Jasmine and I were asleep when the rude awakening occurred. Seconds had past when bullets hissed through the air. Eternity whispered its dark secret to me as a round whistled past my ear. Grabbing Jasmine, I pulled her to the floor, tipping the coffee table over. Jasmine, in the process of being forced from the couch to the floor, had knocked over the lamp. This left the intruders blind for only a few beats of the heart. They were not familiar with the room.

It took that one-second for me to chamber a round in the maw of my forty-five. I had skinned it from the holster. Another second passed. Gun leveled, I took aim. Two lousy seconds and they were still squeezing their own triggers wildly.

My first round nailed the assassin on the left, exiting the back of his head. Bone and flesh fragments sprayed against the white of the kitchen wall. I swallowed the fear away and squeezed the trigger. The weapon kicked wickedly in my hand. The bullet went wide, shattering the living room window. Jasmine was screaming, squirming beneath my bulk as I covered her with my body.

The remaining assassin had moved further into the living room. He fired twice; hot lead sliced through the muscle and tendon, causing pain to mushroom. The bullet exited from the back, shattering the lamp behind me, sending shrapnel of glass everywhere.

Forcing a slow gradual pull against the panic that licked at me like a hungry wolf, I squeezed the trigger of my iron. I watched the second killer crash through the kitchen table. The stench of blood and cordite filled my nostrils as I stood, helping Jasmine up. Blood flowed from the wound of my shoulder as she took her blouse and ripped it into bandages.

“We’ve gotta get you to the hospital.” She had told me. Her face was stained with mascara and tears. I pulled her tight against me, turning as I simultaneously raised the smoke-wagon. Holding her in my arms, I took aim. The second intruder struggled to stand, getting a drop on the two of us. His eyes danced with death when he and I fired our weapons instantaneously. Both weapons roared like an Abrahms on the battle field. I couldn’t get Jasmine out of the way fast enough when the bullet punctured her from behind. I could hear the sirens scream like banshees, Jasmines breathing had become shallow as I lowered her to the floor. Her blood flowed over my hand as I struggled to cover the wound. The bastard was lying on the kitchen floor, already on his way to hell.

“Stay with me,” I cried, struggling to stay conscious.

It was while in the hospital, I learned Jasmine had died in my arms that night. A rumpled, unshaven Detective David Stolsky gazed at me from beneath a sweat stained fedora. I tried to chuckle, having slowly realized I was in the hospital. He had narrowed those eyes even more. I was chuckling at a flick of powdered donut sugar in the corner of his mouth.

I pulled my mind back to the present. It was when I turned away from the skyline, that I saw a woman standing there looking me over. For a moment, I thought it was Jasmine standing there with her trademark smile. As I approached, the ferry started to slow. I could hear the engines growl in a mechanical protest as the boat approached the quay. The strange woman was closing the distance as I looked her over.

She wore a black fur coat, her golden locks of hair contrasted against the dark material of her warm jacket. She wore a beret, cockeyed on her head. Her face was a soft oval school girl face. Her lips were painted red, moist and full. Her eyes were very intoxicated as I looked into them, cool pools of blue that would stare right through to your soul.

“You must be Chandler, Michael Chandler.” She offered an innocent smile.

“I am.” I tipped my fedora in a cordial and gentleman like manner. I knew my weakness for dames, especially after the death of Jasmine. Many women have tried to soften my heart and tried to replace her. They, in the end, always failed. This one didn’t need to try and I knew from the moment I looked into those pools of blue eyes, I was in trouble. She seemed to possess natural look of seduction with eyes like hers.

“You don’t remember me do you?” She asked, holding out her right hand. I took the kind gesture and shook her hand. “My condolences regarding your loss,” She drew closer and the smell of rose lingered on the rain soaked breeze, a scent I recalled, but could not place. “You haven’t changed a bit.” She whispered in my ear. Then, her lips pressed gently against the curve of my neck. They felt soft and warm like a cotton shirt freshly drawn from the dryer.

The Captain came over the intercom, instructing all walk on passengers to make our exit through the main deck of the Ferry. The mysterious woman curled her arm around mine and we started walking down to the main deck and through the terminal before finding ourselves out onto the upper level of a walkway. This walkway extended to a cement skyway that led to Second Avenue. As we walk, I was mulling over images of women I had known, ladies I had crossed paths with, and couldn’t match any of them up with the one that clung to my arm.

“Shall we grab something to eat?” She asked when we reached the corner of Second Avenue and Cherry.

“We could, I am a bit famished myself.” I then flagged down a taxi. “Zoë’s bar and grill.” I handed over a couple tens to the cabbie and he snaked his way along Second Avenue, to Virginia. He turned right and followed Virginia up to 7th Avenue. From there, he turned left and within a couple blocks, he pulled to a stop where Zoë’s was.

“I haven’t been here for so long. Lot has changed since I last seen you Mick.” She then kissed me softly on the lips. Her gloved hand touched my firm jaw line. “How I have missed that.” She smiled and then took my hand into hers and we made our way into Zoë’s.

The place was sparse with patrons as a waitress approached. “Two, for smoking.” The woman I was with had definitely taken control. Me, I was merely bidding my time, still searching my memory bank for a familiar face that I may have passed over. Nothing had proven fruitful yet. We walked the length of the joint when we were shown a booth in the far back. I sat across from the lady in the fur coat, formulating how I would approach this. When the waitress dropped off the menu, rattled off the specials of the day, and then took our drink orders, I leaned back, smiled, then pulled off my fedora and dropped it on the table.

“Look kid,” I began, leaning forward and clasping my fingers together in my hands. “You’re a beauty, and I know I wouldn’t forget a face, or a body like yours.” When I said this, she had removed the fur coat to reveal a body that seemed to have had a pale green dress pasted onto her frame. The fabric clung to her shapely and curvaceous body. The waitress brought over my cup of coffee, and the lady’s cup of tea. When the waitress left, I formulated for the appropriate words to speak next. “What’s this all about? You in trouble or something?” I asked.

“Now, that is just like you Mick, wanting to always come to the rescue of a damsel in distress. Tough as you are, I am the only woman who knows how to tame you.” She took a sip of her hot tea after having stirred in some sugar and some milk. She had me baffled.

“There was one other.” I spoke flatly, holding my cool.

“Who?” She asked curiously. The simple question caught me off guard.

“I thought you knew all about me?” I rebutted with a smile and then took a drink of coffee.

“There are probably some things that I don’t know about you, but for the most part, I do know who you are and what you are all about.” She winked as her hand reached under the table and patted my knee. She allowed her hand to rest for a moment.

“Listen kid, I don’t know who you are…” She placed a gloved finger against my lips, quieting me.

“Hmm, trust me, if you don’t recognize me now, just wait till tonight. I’ve had a long trip and am just aching.” She smiled and pulled her hand away from my knee.

The waitress returned and I was musing over the events since I met this mystery woman. Something in the back of my mind began to nudge. The uneasiness it always seemed to bring tortured me until I realize the truth. The only problem was how I am going to explain all this to Trinity. Depositing the bill, the waitress disappeared as I fumbled through my wallet for a couple greenbacks for the coffee and tea.

Almost as if reading my mind, “How is Trinity by the way?” she asked. She had taken out a long slender cigarette and was already inhaling it slowly.

“How do you know Trinity?” I asked, my curiosity piqued more now than the past hour-and-half.

“Mick, you can be funny at times. Pretending you don’t know who I am.” She rolled her eyes then leaned forward. Holding the cigarette between her left forefinger and wedding finger, she traced her right forefinger under my chin. Taking her hand, I stabbed out my cigarette, and hurried out the joint. She was trailing behind me, laughing.

When our feet hit the pavement of the sidewalk, I stopped and turned in one fluid motion. She bumped into me as I stared deeply into the depths of her eyes. She didn’t back away from me.

“Who the hell are you?” I demanded. She only smiled, stood up to my height and kissed my lips lightly. She then turned and rummaged through her hand bag, pulling out a tainted gold band. A man’s gold wedding band. She then took my hand and turned it palm up, depositing the ring in it and closed my fingers around the metal.

“You don’t recognize your wife?”

SeattleGhostWriter · 01-03-2006, 02:12 PM

Still seeking good critique on this piece of writing - thank you very much in advance for any good thorough critique. Deadline is approaching for possible publication and need to polish this first chapter