Blackhawk_t

Author's Note:

This is actually the 'I saw Them' series. But, I wrote it in third person. I know I keep trying to change what worked, but I didn't like it.

So, I took everyone's suggestions and tried to incorporate something a little different. I promise this is the last time I will change it.

Please continue to give harsh and honest feedback. Without you, I don't get better.

Whispers of the Forgotten

It was the morning of Ryan Grogan’s thirty-second birthday, three months shy of the year 2000, and he had just stepped into the shower after returning from his morning run. The hot beads of water soaked into his skin as he closed his eyes, visualizing the rest of the day. It was one of the few luxury’s in life that Ryan took time to enjoy.

After a few short minutes, the water temperature fluctuated, giving him the equivalent of a two-minute warning, and ended the aquatic euphoria in his mind. A pattern he had grown accustomed to. On a good day, and if he was really lucky, Ryan could turn the hot water knob half a turn, and usually squeeze out a few extra minutes of warm water.

Now short on time, he quickly applied shaving cream to his face, and heard a growl suddenly emanate from behind the white tiled walls. Initially, Ryan thought it was the water pipes begging for a reading of their last rites, a common occurrence in the older home. He ignored the sound and began to shave, hoping for enough time to finish. Mid-stroke, he paused, when a second growl came from outside the shower curtain.

The grip he held on the razor turned his knuckles white, and the frigid coldness of the water caused his body to shake. Ryan could feel his stomach churn at the thought of someone on the other side of the curtain, and the only way to protect his naked, shivering body was a dull razor. It wasn’t his first weapon of choice, but it might prove more affective than a bar of soap. He pondered over which suspect would be easier to identify in a lineup-One with a bald streak on the side of their head, or one that was all lathered up. Either way, the odds were not in his favor.

Ryan wisely chose the razor and cautiously peered over the shower rod. The room was empty. After flinging the curtain to the side, he stepped out onto the water soaked rug, checking the door, finding it still locked, and the window securely fastened.

It was at that moment a wisp of air brushed his cheek, followed by a third, more distinct growl. He listened intently, trying to decipher where the strange noise was coming from. It was all around him, never stationary, almost as if it were in his head. Ryan thought that his mind was playing games with him. The style of growl was similar to those of the Gregorian Monk chants, but with an odd pitch, always changing, from bass to falsetto, as if multiple vocalists were singing in unified delirium.

A sharp, stabbing pain in his left ear interrupted the awkward moment. It felt as if the eardrum had burst twice over. Water in the canal was his initial thought, but the throbbing was too intense. Grabbing for a towel to shove in his ear, Ryan expected to find traces of blood, but only removed a small amount of water. He had to do something to ease the pain, and after a search through one of the cabinets, he came across one, lone Q-tip. Dusting off the small fragments of hair, Ryan jammed it forcefully into his ear; later finding out that the manufacturer did not recommend that approach. No matter how much he worked the cotton tip around the canal, the pressure would not cease.

Ryan went to the medicine cabinet, and took three Advil with a glass of water. He continued to get dressed, sitting down occasionally to moan and breathe frustrated sighs. The pain was making it difficult for him to concentrate on the simplest task, even one as routine as tying his shoes.

Fortunately, the stabbing sensation had subsided by the end of breakfast and was replaced by a dull ringing sound. It wasn’t much better, but at least he was no longer wincing in pain, and could finally open both eyes. A roller coaster of nausea plagued him, he knew that it was common for ear infections to throw the equilibrium out of balance. As for the growl, it was now just a muffled inner vibration that would sporadically increase and decrease in intensity.

He knew that his only option was visit a doctor, but he hated them. Only excruciating circumstances would force him to waste any of the eight hundred hours of accumulated sick leave he had worked so hard to earn. The condition wasn’t serious enough to merit that yet, besides, he never knew when he might need it.

**********

Ryan glanced at his watch as he opened the door to his 1992 Chevy Caprice and set a briefcase on the passenger side seat. The incident in the shower had set him back ten minutes, which meant he would to hit rush hour traffic.

With a quick turn of the key, the engine grinded to life and blew a black cloud of smoke out the exhaust pipe. Ryan could afford a nicer car, but this one had sentimental value. He had purchased it in 1994 for an auction house price, plus the cost of some minor repairs from a body shop mechanic. The man sold it to Ryan in a gesture of appreciation for finding eight thousand dollars in stolen tools when he was still an officer with the Roston Police Department. Now as a detective, Ryan used it as a reminder of where he had come from.

The car rumbled down the road and merged onto the highway, then slowed to a near halt as Ryan caught up with the other morning commuters. It wasn’t the amount of vehicles on the road that caused delays, but the fact that Highway 343, which had been laid down in the early fifties, was only two-lanes. It was never widened to meet the rising demand of traffic, but at least they had finally filled in the potholes.

As the highway rounded the outskirts of town, it headed east, directly into the path of the morning sun. The glare added to Ryan’s discomfort, while trying his patience, as car after car inched their way forward. He was half tempted to pull into the left lane and pass the idling ozone depleters, but thought better of it considering his position of authority.


Ryan looked at his watch. It was now a quarter past eight and he was still another thirty minutes out. He was trying to think of some way to explain the tardiness when his cell phone rang. “Hello?”

The answer was a bunch of incoherent mumbles and he held the phone out to see who the caller might be. It read, ‘unavailable.’ It must have been a bad connection and he asked the caller to call back, hoping they understood. Another ten feet down the pothole-speed-bumped highway and the phone rang again. “Hello?”

“Ry…wh…” The caller was a muffled and distorted male voice.

Another bad connection and he hung up. On the third call, not realizing it, Ryan held the phone up to his right ear. “I’m not sure who this is, but if this connection is bad, try and call me again later.” The cell phone irritated him at times.

“Ryan, what is your problem!?” Marcus Nordman, his partner, shouted into the phone.

“Sorry, we had a bad connection.”

“Never mind that. Where are you at?” His voice had lowered in volume.

“Highway 343, I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”

“Instead of meeting me here, take exit twelve and meet me at the building on the corner of Johnson and Eighth.” The sound of a car door slamming and an engine turning over were in the background. “I’m already on my way.”

“Why? What happened?” Ryan could see the exit about a hundred yards ahead of him.

“There was a fire there last night and during their sweep of the building, they found what was left of a body. I’ve got to make some calls, so I’ll meet you there.” He hung up the phone before Ryan could respond.

“What a way to start out the morning.” Ryan said, rolling up the window and turning off the radio. The conversation had distracted him from the traffic and it was then that he realized the ringing sound and pain in his ear was gone. A familiar wisp of air suddenly brushed his cheek.

“You said it.” A muffled growl agreed.

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mwd

General stuff:

This was well written. It drew me in and kept me reading until the end. That said, perhaps I am just being dense, but the ending well.. didn't seem like an ending at all. Is this the beginning of some longer work? Why introduce a crime, and then never have him arrive there, or do anything with it? Perhaps this was simply an experiment, and you don't intend to finish it, which is fine; I just wasn't sure, because at the moment, the ending doesn't really conclude anything (other than his ear infection, but if that's all this story is about, there doesn't seem to be a reason to introduce the supporting character of his partner, or the crime scene itself.)


Specific stuff, and minor quibbles:
green = add
red = take out
blue = comment

Good luck, this is pretty good stuff, IMO. I'd just like a bigger payoff at the end.

gary_wagner

I like it better in third person. There have been a lot of improvements from when I read the first version. It is much cleaner and tighter, and you got some of that dry humor back in there. I'm looking forward to reading more.

Past tense of grind is ground. Actually, I think grinded sounds better even though the word doesn't officially exist.

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cacafire

Excellent stuff. I didn't read the previous parts, but it sounds like a good, solid introduction to the story. Mwd covered the grammatical stuff, soo... peace out.

-Cacafire

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Critique my pieces, and I'll gladly return the favor: Mita of the sky: II, Gloving_Country, Shared Qualms(check this one out!), Gloving country-II, , Capoeira, Father and Son, Silence Come, The Lad I Knew

Blackhawk_t

Thank you all for the advice, and taking time to read this. I will definitely incorporate your suggestions.

Thanks for catching that. I have fixed it.

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kalibantre

hey you. i'm going to take a look at this in the other place, it's on the top of my to crit list I swear.. I just like the reply system better on the other one..

do I need to read the series to understand?

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~kitty

Keystrings

Excellent work. It really left me hanging at the end, and I'm interested to know what happens. I too, like the dry humour, especially the remark about defending himself with either a dull razor or a bar of soap.
Well done.
Keystrings

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Truth bears repetition.

invid

This is great. I love the humor! It really adds a twist to what might have been a somewhat generic suspenseful scene. I like the way you use minimal information to paint vivid pictures of what's going on. The details are great!

Writer87

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