This is a call to action.

If you like to play video games, finding other gamers, and just talking about that sort of stuff, I beseech you: visit this site.

http://cripplecreekce.com/

I’m trying to get this place up and running again. Nothing has happened on it all year, really. We’ve been busy. But even with my crazy schedule, I can afford some fun every now and then.

We’re just some Christian gamers wanting to have fun. Details on the site and forum. Check it out, and join us if you’d like! Help me get this place going again!

I have included a rating system for the blogs. I’d like to see everyone elses’ opinion on my blog posts.

There are clues in the note that reveal where the killer will strike next. I will reveal the answer in the next episode, but I would enjoy it greatly if you solved it yourself. Write in a comment and let me know!

It had always amazed Dirk how such a seemingly small change in an environment could completely change any number of things. As a child, a new bicycle sitting in the driveway. As a teenager, knowing that the keys sitting on counter were yours. As an adult, a simple name tag on a pair of scrubs. Any doubt remaining in Dirk’s mind was wiped away as he stared at that name tag. These were not random suicides, or even random murders, for that matter. This was a cold, calculated decision by a man purged of any emotion.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Brandon took another deep breath and let it out, slowly and deliberately. He had to focus. He wasn’t going to be good to anyone if he didn’t pull himself together. Dirk walked toward him. He said nothing for a moment.

“That was pretty impressive back there.” Brandon caught Dirk’s eye for a second, looked away, and nodded. Dirk stood for a moment longer, then turned and left.

Brandon stood and crossed the room. He looked into the girl’s face once more. The eyes still haunted him. He looked away, but noticed something. He swallowed his emotion and knelt beside the couch.

“Will someone take a look at this?”A medic crossed to stand beside of Brandon.

“Yes?” Brandon pointed at the girl’s mouth, which was slightly open. The medic snapped on a glove and leaned closer. A neatly folded piece of paper was in her mouth. He extracted the paper and carefully unfolded it. Words scrawled in red ink covered the page.

“You’re catching on! Bravo, good sirs. But, all good things must come to an end. Sadly, my little  game is no exception. Not to worry, though. There shall be more. But my, my, my; don’t get comfortable.

I leave you now. I go to see a Cousin. If you should need to reach me, please call 414-1865. Farewell!”

Brandon carefully read the paper for the third time. He couldn’t wrap his head around it. He pulled out his cell phone and punched in the number. Nothing but an error message saying the number didn’t exist. Of course it didn’t, what was he thinking? So what was the number? He committed the note to memory and began to pace.

What purpose did this note even serve?  Why did this note even exist? Brandon furrowed his brow and began to pace faster. What if the note revealed where the killer would strike next? His eyes widened and he ran a hand through his hair “Think, Brandon, think!”

To be continued…

I’m behind (again) on my weekly series. It’s been pretty crazy around here lately, and I’ve been feeling a bit uninspired for writing. Some big developments are coming up in the series, and I’ve been trying to take some extra time to work them out. This week is going to be pretty crazy as well, so I hope to have the newest episode up by next week.

As some of you may have noticed, I’ve recently added a Fan Fiction section to the blog. I’ll try to update that rather regularly as well. Once again, I would appreciate any thoughts you readers might have.

Monk watched in horror. He rolled his eyes in despair and looked away. He took a deep breath. The cashier…had a cold. A cold! He was coughing, and, and…coughing!He should have stayed home from work. If not, he should be fired. Natalie noticed Monk beginning to fidget.

“What’s wrong?” she said as she continued to put the groceries on the counter. Monk started to explain in no uncertain terms what was wrong, but Natalie spoke up again. “Oh, darn it.” She turned to Monk. “I forgot the pickle relish, would you mind to go and get a jar for me?” Monk hesitated, but saw this as divine intervention. This was his escape from the carrier of the plague that stood not 10 feet away from him. Monk cleared his throat, and turned to go.

Natalie continued, and drew out her checkbook. Monk should be back any time now. In fact, he should have already been back. Natalie waited for a minute more. She checked her watch. 10 minutes since he had left. A crooked grin crossed her face and she chuckled to herself. Monk would have been proud.

“I’m sorry, I’ll be right back,” she offered the cashier apologetically. He turned to blow his nose. She lowered her head and took a deep breath as she waded through the undisguised groans coming from the customers. The line had been growing steadily, and now she was leaving. She was hoping the tires on her car were still intact when, strike that, IF she finished.

It’s pickle relish; how hard could it be? She asked herself the question again, and imagined Monk. She shook her head. THAT hard, she told herself. She knew Monk couldn’t forget where it was, so what was taking him so long?

She rounded a corner and saw two store employees standing in the middle of the aisle. They were chuckling to themselves. Natalie closed her eyes and swallowed. Monk was close by. She walked a little further and, sure enough: Monk had taken upon himself the task of rearranging the pickle relish. He turned the jars until the label faced out; they were in rows of 10, of course. And if there was an odd number of jars on the shelf, he would pick the jar up with his handkerchief and neatly place it back into the box. The employees continued to chuckle.

It was apparent to Monk that there were no employees worthy of their position in this blasted store. He ignored their taunts and continued his task.

Natalie walked over to Monk, picked up a jar from the shelf, and started to lead Monk away.

“Mr. Monk, I only needed one jar,” she said softly. Monk held up his hand and made a face that said, “you really don’t understand, do you?” How Natalie wished that she did.

“But it was…” He stopped the sentence short. They stood for a moment more, then Natalie started to lead Monk away. Monk held up a finger and turned on his heels.

“Hold on, sorry…” He opened the cardboard box. He retrieved a jar, and placed it on the shelf in place of the one Natalie had taken. The crooked grin reappeared on her face. She placed a hand on Monk’s back and began to walk toward the check out line once again.

   He closed his eyes, took a deep cleansing breath, and picked up the phone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

   Two days had passed since the murder of Daniel Chapman. Brandon was still learning the ropes. But, amazingly enough, the tension was somehow eased by his being thrown into the fray, as it were. Galvin had taken Brandon under his wing, which Brandon appreciated beyond words. The cub reporter was the equivalent of a leper in that place, but not for Galvin. He honestly seemed to enjoy assisting him during the transition.

   Brandon continued to dig through some old articles he found online. He knew what he was looking for, and he was pleased that he was at least headed in the right direction.

   Right in the heat of the hunt, Brandon was called away.

   “Yo, chow time,” Galvin called. Brandon saved his search and closed his laptop.

   “Awesome, I’m starving.”

   They walked out to Galvin’s car. Galvin had nearly become accustomed to Brandon’s fascination, nay, obsession for staying on a single topic for prolonged periods of time.

   Something about the Daniel Chapman murder was still bothering him. He couldn’t find much info regarding the man. Why did the name sound so familiar? He turned to Galvin.

   “Had you ever heard the name Daniel Chapman before his murder?”

   Galvin shook his head. “No, can’t say that I have.”

   The Blackberry chimed; Galvin picked it up and glanced at the screen.

   “Sorry, I gotta take this.” Brandon started to respond but Galvin answered before he could.

   “Macguire….what? You’re kidding. When and where? Got it; we’re there.” Galvin ended the call, pulled through a parking lot and doubled back.

   “What’s going on?” Brandon asked.

   “Another person dead. Looks like another suicide.”Brandon’s eyes grew wide.

   “Yeah, 2 suicides in as many days, all in the same part of the city?” Galvin shrugged.

   “Crazier things have happened. But they gotta say what sounds good.” Brandon couldn’t argue with that. There was a moment of silence.

   “Hey, could I borrow your phone again?”

   “Sure, knock yourself out.” Brandon grabbed the phone, punched in the numbers, and waited.

   “Hey, it’s Brandon Quin. Sorry, can’t talk. But I’m calling in a solid ya owe me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

   “I can’t believe you actually did that,” Galvin said with a smile. Brandon had scored them clearance to the crime scene. “A reporter’s 50 yard line” as Galvin called it. “You’re alright, kid.” Brandon chuckled and ducked under the yellow tape.

   They walked into the building and Brandon looked around. Another group of people was scattered outside. Brandon heard footsteps approaching and instinctively turned around. Officer Steele stood in the doorway, a la Hitchcock. His efforts to conceal his dislike of their presence were lacking greatly from their last encounter. He swallowed hard and walked around them. Brandon cleared his throat uncomfortably and continued to scan the room.

   The body was still lying on the couch. No identification had been found. Jane Doe, for now. Each of her wrists were slit, which was the cause of death. It was a younger woman; around Brandon’s age, he guessed. Straight, brown hair that fell just above her shoulders. Cold, and yet somehow piercing, green eyes stared lifelessly at the ceiling. The expression on her face sent a chill up Brandon’s spine. Exactly like Daniel. He gulped and continued to walk around. From the eclectic décor of the apartment, he guessed she really knew her way around E-bay. He noticed a mint green piece of cloth protruding from the side of the closet door. He pulled his shirt sleeve over his hand and carefully opened the closet. Scrubs were caught in the door, and fell back as he opened it. So she was a nurse. He moved closer; her name tag was still attached to the shirt. He pulled out an ink pen and carefully lifted the tag up. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead. His hands started to shake and his ink pen dropped to the floor. This wasn’t a suicide.

   The officers continued to talk, but looked Brandon’s way as the pen clattered. Steele walked over.

   “What’s the matter?” Brandon said nothing, but pointed to the name on the tag. Whatever anger that Steele held toward Brandon now vanished as he looked at the tag.

   Danielle Chapman.

 To be continued….