The Devil You Know, Part VI #52weeks52stories


#52weeks52stories: Week 16

Word prompt: tuna

Word Count: 2167


Part I    |     Part II    |    Part III    |   Part IV   | Part V

(All links open new windows.)

Connie Pierce stormed across the walkway to her apartment.

Walt Stokely could be such a dumbass!

She fumed as she slammed her front door.

It wasn’t a big deal. All she asked him to do was go into Gary’s apartment and retrieve her laptop.

And he refused, spouting privacy concerns and the probability of getting sued.

Walt has also proposed the idea the laptop may not be in the apartment but with Gary, wherever he was. He needed a better reason to invade the man’s privacy.

Connie wanted to smack the man. He wasn’t worried about privacy when she caught him outside her bedroom window.


She paced around her dining area praying Gary would show up any moment.

Privacy was a major concern… and problem for Connie Pierce.

She was okay with falling behind on blogging and missing out on group chats. But when her boss announced a security breach during the staff meeting this morning, Connie had to school her features when she realized she was the breach.

Or rather, her old laptop was.

The laptop she’d loaned to Gary Sievers.

She knew there was no actual threat to client information as Gary would have no interest in the senior care file database stored on the laptop. All he had to do was turn the laptop on and the access point connected with files in the local Medico office.


Harlan Woods had ranted and railed during the staff meeting about the breach. Hackers and the Dark Web were making billions of dollars selling stolen identities. If an employee of Medico Insurance is found to be engaging in such illegal practices, the result would be hard prison time.

Connie shuddered at the thought of going to jail even though she knew she’d done nothing wrong.

Yes, she should have deleted Medico’s access point from the old laptop, but she didn’t see it as a big deal. The old laptop could serve as a backup… just in case.

Not only had just in case arrived, it bought its ugly sister, you’re-screwed.

Connie had to fix this.


Sally Bennett paced around the small seating area in the coroner’s office.

“There has to be some mistake. You’re wrong, Dr. Lacy. The first thing you said was this office made mistakes.”

“Mom, please calm down. We just left the hospital.”

Sally glared at Carolyn but turned her attention back to Pax Lacey. “Tattoos and surgical scars don’t just disappear, doctor. Explain yourself.”

The coroner stood, his head bowed. He tapped the file folder against his thigh, weighing his options. He didn’t know how or why, but the truth of the situation was growing at a rapid pace in his mind. At last, he met Sally’s angry gaze.

“Mrs. Bennett, did your husband ever break any bones? Arms? Legs? Ribs?”

Sally couldn’t have reared back faster if he’d slapped her.

“Never! Up until Frankie’s bypass surgery, he was healthy as a horse. What do broken bones have to do with this?”

“The body you autopsied had multiple past breaks, didn’t it?”

All eyes turned to Darrin.

“How do you know this Darrin?” Sally’s head swiveled back and forth between the coroner and her son. “Someone please tell me what is going on!”

“Your son is correct. The body I examined had suffered multiple breaks in the past. The right arm was broken several times… as many as four. The legs were broken but from the wear and tear, I could tell they weren’t broken at the same time. And the ribs… all the ribs were broken at some point… many times.”

Sally collapsed onto the couch. “You are not listening. My husband… Frankie never broke any bones.”

Darrin approached his mother and knelt at her side. “I think what Dr. Lacey is trying to tell us, mom, is the man he examined… isn’t dad.”


Connie massaged her stomach. The tuna-on-rye sandwich she’d called dinner refused to cooperate, churning and bubbling, preparing for a revolt.

She was making herself sick with worry.

Dusk was approaching and there was still no sign of Gary Sievers.

Connie knew she was out of time and options and needed to do whatever it took to save her job.

She grabbed her cell phone, opened a browser and did a search on breaking and entering. She found the credit card method to be the easiest way to bypass a locked door. Probably too easy. She didn’t have that kind of luck. After reading through a handful of results, Connie created her burglary toolkit: screwdriver, ice pick, a spray can of vegetable oil, a dishcloth, and rubber gloves.

Steeling her nerves, Connie opened her door and peeked out for signs of her neighbors or jackass Walt.

Satisfied the coast was clear, Connie grabbed her toolkit, headed for Gary’s.

Before closing her door, she paused, looking at her own lock and door frame.

No way. It cannot be that simple.

She ran back into her apartment and grabbed her wallet. She removed a credit card… thought better of it and took out a supermarket rewards card instead.

Taking her keys, Connie stepped outside her apartment and locked the door. Holding the doorknob, she slipped the plastic card between the door and frame and swiped down.

The door opened!

Oh my god, I’ve so got to move! Is it this easy to break in? So quick and silent?

Focus, Pierce, focus!

She closed her door and took the few steps to Gary’s apartment.

I cannot believe I’m doing this.

Repeating the steps, she’d taken to open her own door, Connie swiped the card downward… and the door opened.

For a fraction of a second, she hesitated feeling guilty.

Then she entered her neighbor’s apartment.


Sally stared at her clasped hands laying in her lap. She spoke without raising her head.

“I fell to the floor next to Frankie’s body in Graciela Ramirez’s bedroom. I stared into his face. It made me violently ill to find out the man I loved was the man who tried to kill me. Now you’re telling me I don’t even recognize my husband.”

She raised her head, glaring at Pax Lacey.

“I want to see my husband. Now.”


Joanie’s anguished cry filled the office.

Sally was unmoved.

“I want to see my husband.”

The coroner went to his desk and made a call, speaking in low hushed tones. He hung up and walked to his office door.

“Follow me, please.”

Sally was behind him in an instant without a backward glance to her children.

She knew she couldn’t handle the looks on their faces.

She followed the coroner down the same hallway, in the opposite direction. Perspiration trickled down the back of her neck.

A tingling sensation raced up her arms to meet the throbbing sensation in her head. Her legs threatened to give out with each step, but she forced herself to keep up with Dr. Lacey.

They stopped in front of a set of double stainless-steel doors.

Sally knew her children had caught up from the sound of Joanie’s soft sobs.

Pax glanced back at Sally, his eyes apologizing for what he was about to do.

He pushed opened the door and stood aside for the family to enter.

Everything in the room was stainless steel, glass and sterile. But the lingering scent of death Sally remembered from the reception area was strong and pungent here. Several empty gurneys lined one wall and stainless-steel drawers filled the rest.

A gurney sat in the center of the room covered by a white sheet. A young African-American woman stood on the other side of the gurney.

Pax Lacey introduced her.

“Mira, this is the Bennett family.”

A silent, respectful nod was her only response.

Sally approached the body, but Darrin jumped in front of her. She squeezed his arm and smiled. “He can’t hurt me anymore, sweetie,” and she stepped around her son.

She stared down at the covered body, then pushed her shoulders back and returned Mira’s silent nod.

The coroner’s assistant folded back the sheet, revealing only the face.

The Bennett family gasped in unison.

Darrin, Carolyn, and Joanie gathered around their mother to stare down at the man who’d given them life… or so they thought.

Sally’s mind somersaulted.

She wasn’t sure what she expected, but it wasn’t a ghostly yellow version of her husband. She looked around for Dr. Lacey.

He approached from a corner desk, having donned a lab coat and gloves.

“Why is he yellow?”

“This man was severely malnourished and jaundiced. Only recently, had he began received adequate nutrition.”


All fear and doubt left Sally and she grabbed the sheet, uncovering the right arm and shoulder.

There was no tattoo.

Fortis et Certus. Over a pair of rifles. It meant Brave and True. Frankie got the tattoo after his first deployment.”

“Mrs. Bennett, I don’t even know where to begin with this. There have been mix-ups with bodies before, but only because a tech wasn’t paying attention to body tags and identifying features. We still don’t have a fingerprint match. We began this case based solely on your identification from the crime scene.”

She pulled the sheet down farther. There was no bypass scar, only the remains of the internal examination by the coroner.

Sally dropped the sheet and began to step back but froze and stared at Frankie’s face.

The nose was bigger, and the lips were thinner.

Was that because of death?

She reached out a hand to the face, and Darrin grabbed her arm.

She gave him another motherly smile, and continued on, caressing Frankie’s face and running her fingers through his eyebrow. Her heart leaped into her throat.

“Frankie had a sebaceous cyst on his right brow. His doctor said it was non-cancerous and non-life threatening and best left alone. There is no cyst. No tattoo. No surgical scar. This isn’t… my Frankie.”

She broke on the last word, getting caught by Darrin before she could collapse to the floor.

Sally looked into her son’s face, new tears blurring her vision.

“Who is this man? How did he get my Frankie’s face?” Her tone rose as hysteria threatened to overtake her. “Darrin, where is your father?”


Connie flicked on the wall light just inside the door of Gary’s apartment and froze.

The room had been destroyed.

Gary didn’t have much but whatever he did have was broken and overturned.

Someone had a terrible fight in this room.

The apartment was a mirror image of her own, and Connie could see everything but the bedroom.

Watching her step, Connie went to the small bedroom and peered inside.

Her face scrunched up in confusion.

The room was immaculate, the bed unslept in.

She retraced her steps to the front door, wondering what had happened here… and where was Gary Sievers?

The small dining table where Gary used her laptop was upside down near the kitchen counter.

Connie took hesitant steps toward the table, looking over the debris-strewn floor for the laptop.

She reached the table and her heart sunk.

The laptop wasn’t there.

Wherever Gary was, he had the laptop with him.

A wave of clarity hit Connie as she backed toward the door.

She was going to lose her job, and after she reported the state of Gary’s apartment to Walt, she’d be out on the street.

Goodbye, Marbury, Pennsylvania. Hello Cheboygan, Michigan, population, five-thousand. That number included Gladys Pierce, Connie’s overbearing, controlling mother who would be thrilled to see her only child return with her hand out.

Already mentally packing, Connie turned to leave and froze at the sight of a pair of feet sticking out from just beyond the love seat.

Connie panicked.

She wanted to get the hell out of there, but her curiosity won, and she approached the feet. As the body came into view, she could tell it was a man lying face down.

Steeling her nerves, Connie reached down, grabbed the man’s shoulder and rolled him over.

It was Gary.

His face was bruised and swollen from the obvious fight, but it was the large, open gash over his forehead that drew her attention. She knelt next to him.

“Oh, Gary. Who did this to you?”

Her hand rested on his chest as she hung her head, tears flowing for a man she hardly knew.

Connie thought she heard a low moan and raised her head.

She heard the noise again, but this time, Gary’s chest heaved once.

Startled, Connie fell backward.


She scooted back over to him, replacing her hand on his chest and two fingers on the pulse point in his neck.

Gary’s heartbeat and pulse were faint, but he was still alive.

Patting her pockets, Connie realized she left her cell behind in her own apartment.

“Pierce! What the hell? What’s going on in here?”

Connie said a silent prayer, grateful for once to see her grouchy landlord standing in the doorway.

“Shut up, Walt and call 911! Now!”




©2018 Felicia Denise, All Rights Reserved


The Devil You Know, Part V #52weeks52stories


#52weeks52stories: Week 15

Word prompt: decor

Word Count: 1462


Part I    |     Part II    |    Part III    |   Part IV   |

Sally sat on the edge of the hospital recliner, her back ramrod straight.

The nurse was nearby completing Sally’s discharge orders.

Joanie, Carolyn, and Darrin stood by in silence, each casting worried looks at their mother.

Carolyn knelt at Sally’s side.

“Mom, please reconsider. The doctor said your vitals are stable, but you still need to be careful. He’d signed off on one more night’s stay in the hospital.”

She reached out and caressed her daughter’s cheek.

“And what good would that do, Caro? Laying in that bed for another night would change nothing, including me. The police have questions and so do I.”

The nurse walked over with a clipboard of documents and went over the doctor’s discharge instructions. Sally signed the forms, and the nurse left to retrieve a wheelchair.

“At least let us take you home, ma. There’s no need for you to go to the morgue…” Darrin’s voice was pained and broke on the last word.

“Yes, there is.”

She knew her children were dealing with lesser degrees of shock of their own, but she had to be firm.

“If my losing consciousness from the sight of your father dead on the floor of Graciela Ramirez’ bedroom floor isn’t enough of a positive identification, then I will walk into the morgue and make it official.”

Joanie stood at Sally’s other side.

“Any of us can do that, mommy. It doesn’t have to be you.”

“It does, baby. For this… it does.”

“Your chariot has arrived, Mrs. Bennett.”

Sally smiled at the young aide and moved to the wheelchair. She glanced at her children giving them a smile full of confidence she did not feel.

“Let’s get this over with.”


The entrance and waiting area of the county morgue could have been mistaken for a lounge in an upscale hotel bar.

The modular black and chrome sofas had a European flavor. Sally sat down, surprised by the sofa’s comfort.

Carolyn walked around inspecting the room. “This is nicer than what I have at home and Dave almost keeled over when he saw the cost.” She caught herself at her choice of words, but her mother gave her a knowing smile.

“Definitely expensive,” Joanie added while trying to lift a chrome floor lamp. “This thing must weigh a hundred pounds.”

Sally stroked the arm of the sofa. “I tend to tune out politicians, but the next time Commissioner Yancey is on the evening news whining about the county going broke I’ll believe him… and know why.”

“Nothing but the best when taxpayers are paying for it,” Carolyn quipped.

Sally smiled, taking in the rest of the room.

The area was beautiful. But, despite an attempt to marry trendy and upscale with comfort, the nasal-stinging scent of disinfectant and the sickly sweet smell of death still joined together and broke through the haute decor facade, refusing to be masked.

Darrin returned from the check-in window carrying a clipboard.

“They’re preparing the body for viewing, mom, and you don’t have to go into the actual room. There’s a camera setup and you can view from a monitor across the hall.”

“I’ll go into the room.”

“Mom- ”

She cut him off. “What’s the clipboard for?”

Frustrated, Darrin exhaled roughly.

“They need… d-dad’s information. The only thing they have is his name and your name.”

Sally held out her hand. “I’ll fill the papers out.”

“You don’t have to do- “

“Yes, I do.” Her words came out harsher than she intended.

“Listen. I am thankful to have you all here. My world has been turned upside down and I don’t know why. But my children cannot shield and protect me from this. You can’t babysit and coddle me when you have families who need you.”

Her eyes filled with tears.

“I’m not superwoman or made of steel. This thing has shaken me to my soul, but it’s not going away…ever. I need to deal with it to find some answers… some understanding. Or, maybe one day, some peace.”

Darrin gave his mother the clipboard and planted a kiss on her temple. “You always were the strongest woman I know.”

Sally smirked. “I had to be strong. You were no walk in the park growing up. And military school was a real option during your teen years.”

Carolyn and Joanie covered their mouths to hide grins as Darrin hung his head, embarrassed.

“Go, all of you. Check-in with your families while I handle this.”

Pulling out their phones, the Bennett children separated, each claiming an isolated seat. Within seconds, they were all involved in conversations. Sally was relieved for the normalcy.

She looked over the intake documents. Date of birth. Place of birth. Military service. Surgeries. Injuries. Body marking/tattoos. Daily medications.

Sally entered the information that spanned a lifetime.

Frankie’s lifetime.

A wave of emotion threatened to surface, but Sally took several quick breaths to calm herself and stay in control.

She didn’t know what to believe anymore. What part of her life with Frankie was true? Was any of it?

Sally returned the finished papers to the receptionist. Carolyn and Joanie both had ended their calls when she reached her seat. Darrin rejoined the group sitting on the sofa’s arm next to his mother.

“Merri sends her love and support, mom, and she said just say the word and she’ll pack the kids up and be here in a couple of hours.”

Joanie nodded. “Rick said the same thing.”

“Dave said you could come stay with us for as long as you want… move in even,” Carolyn added.

Sally Bennett closed her eyes, so overcome with emotion. When she opened her eyes, Sally looked at each of her children.

“I am a blessed woman to be surrounded by so much love. I’m not saying I won’t visit with each of your families, just not now, but soon.”

Just as Sally finished speaking a middle-aged man dressed in surgical scrubs exited a door next to the reception booth. He looked over the stacked clipboards, chose one, and walked toward the waiting area.

“Bennett family?”

Sally almost bolted from her seat. “I’m Sally Bennett.”

“I’m Pax Lacey, Mrs. Bennett, the county coroner. I appreciate you being here to do this. I know you’ve not only suffered a loss but the circumstances which led to it.”

Sally couldn’t imagine the number of the times this man had said those same words to another grieving family, but the warmth in his dark brown eyes proved his sincerity.

“This has to be done, Dr. Lacey… by me.”

Her children gathered around her and Sally reached out and squeezed Joanie’s hand.

“But I have the best support on the planet to help me get through this.”

She introduced her children to the coroner, then he led them all through the door and across the hall.

Remembering Darrin’s words about the monitor, Sally turned to the coroner.

“Dr. Lacey, this won’t be necessary. I’ll go into the viewing room.”

He didn’t respond, distracted by what he was reading on the clipboard.

“Dr. Lacey?”

“Hm? Oh, excuse me, I’m sorry, Mrs. Bennett.”

Turning abruptly, he walked down the hall and opened a door several feet away.

“Could I speak with you and your family in here?”

Sally and her children followed, exchanging curious looks.

The decor of the room matched the modular furniture in reception area except for an over-large, walnut desk. Several framed diplomas covering the wall behind the desk announced Paxton William Lacey had met or exceeded school requirements to receive a degree.

Dr. Lacey motioned toward a small sectional couch and two upright Victorian chairs in the corner.

Sally sat in one of the chairs, and Darrin, Carolyn, and Joanie all gathered around her, as though to shield or absorb bad news.

Pax Lacey sat on the edge of the couch, leaning toward Sally. The clipboard lay on a low table in front of him and the coroner held a file folder in one hand.

“Mrs. Bennett, the coroner’s office, like any business entity, is far from perfect and has made its share of mistakes.” He gestured to the clipboard. “But there are serious discrepancies between the information you provided,” he held up the folder, “and the findings of my autopsy examination.”

Sally frowned, holding his gaze. “Serious discrepancies? Like what?”

“I knew our meeting this afternoon would be difficult, but for very different reasons.”

Frustrated, Sally chuffed. Darrin gripped her shoulder firmly and glared at the coroner.

“Dr., is something wrong? Please just say it. My mom can’t take much more.”

Pax picked up the clipboard.

“You’ve listed a tattoo under body markings and a bypass procedure under surgeries.”

He looked at each of the Bennett children then focused on Sally.

“The body I autopsied had neither.”



©2018 Felicia Denise, All Rights Reserved


The Devil You Know, Part IV #52weeks52stories


#52weeks52stories: Week 14

Word prompt: military

Word Count: 1090


Part I    |     Part II    |    Part III 

Seven hours and two attempts later Sally Bennett sat up in bed. Though she’d vetoed any further sedation, a low dose of Xanax flowed through her I.V. to stem any new bouts of hysteria.

Joanie and Darrin were still at her bedside, joined by oldest daughter, Carolyn.

The tear-filled eyes of her girls and the devastated look on Darrin’s face broke Sally’s heart. When she thought of the cause of their misery, her chest tightened, and she thought each breath would be her last.

Sally focused on Darrin’s words and not how flat and strained his tone was.

“The police are still trying to sort things out, mom. There’s still so much unknown, by them… and us.”

When Sally didn’t respond, Darrin cleared his throat and continued.

“We’ve always believed…d-dad… was given birth to by a fifteen-year-old girl in upstate New York and adopted by a middle-aged couple from Maine. Mom, no record has been found of a Florence and Bob Bennett anywhere in Maine. An initial search on dad’s fingerprints also found no record. The police are baffled.”

Sally rested her head back on her pillows. “That’s not possible. Your dad served in the military, had a driver’s license, and had been bonded.” She looked down, fidgeting with the bed covers. “When we met, he told me both his parents had passed on.”

“We know, mom.”

“So, they don’t know why he…” Her voiced trailed off. She couldn’t say the words.

“No. And it’s still not certain he committed the other attacks.”

Her head throbbed. This was insane. Why would Frankie attack elderly women? Her husband wasn’t some deranged psychopath, was he?

Sally caught herself when she realized the man she’d been married to for almost thirty-two years was probably in a drawer at the morgue waiting for the coroner’s scalpel.

How had she not known? Had she missed obvious signs? Except for business trips with Bill, Frankie was always home. No unaccounted absences. She raised her head, addressing Darrin.

“Has anyone talked to Bill?”

“His flight lands in a couple of hours. Wish I could meet him. Poor guy seemed as hurt and baffled as we are.”

Sally’s pulse raced. She wanted to scream, grab her hair, claw at her skin… anything to wake up from this nightmare. But the Xanax had a gentle, but firm hold on her. She squeezed her eyes shut, concentrating on her words.

“Did Bill say why your dad wasn’t on the trip with him?”

“He said you were sick.”

She remembered Frankie’s offer to cancel his trip and stay with her because the Senior Citizen Rapist was still free.

What a joke.

He’d never intended to stay home with her.

He’d fooled her.

But how?

She wasn’t some empty-headed drone going through the motions of life. She could read people and was a fair judge of character. Her years as a military recruiter, teacher in the classroom, and working with the public taught her much.

But not enough obviously.

Sally shook her head, frustrated. There had to be more to this! People don’t wake up one day and decide to become criminals, do they? Frankie had been a wonderful husband and attentive father…

Sally bolted upright. It was too fast for her medicated system and empty stomach. She gagged, then leaned over the edge of her bed. Carolyn was right there with the emesis tray.

“Mom? Should I call the nurse? Are you going to be sick again?”

Joanie cleaned her mother’s face and Sally sagged back into the bed.

“The twins. Has anyone talked to the twins?”

“We haven’t been able to reach them yet, but their unit commanders are aware of what’s going on.”

Twenty-six-year-old twins, Cameron and Cheryl, were both on active military duty. Cameron, an Army warrant officer, was somewhere in the middle east.  Cheryl, a sergeant with the National Guard, was due back in two weeks from a support mission to the Horn of Africa.

Despite her sedation, Sally could feel the dull roar begin behind her ears. She breathed through her mouth fighting against more nausea.

She didn’t want the twins to hear about their troubles through some abbreviated news report or offhand remark.

Born premature, Frankie had sat at their incubators for three solid weeks, stroking their backs, pleading and encouraging them to fight and breathe on their own. When Cheryl and Cameron improved and were moved to cribs, Frankie was still there—cuddling, rocking, and singing to them.

The bond formed when they were only weeks old was unbreakable. It withstood the arrival of baby Joanie two years later and starting school and making new friends. Even the rebellious teen years never found the twins at odds with their dad.

The news about their father would break them both.


Connie Pierce knocked on her neighbor’s door for the fourth time in as many days.

Where is he?

Gary Sievers had only moved into the quadplex of studio apartments a few weeks ago. The shy, middle-aged man kept to himself, and Connie didn’t think he ever left his apartment.

Unable to pry any details from complex manager, Walt Stokely, the bold insurance agent knocked on Gary’s door late one afternoon and introduced herself.

She thought the tall, broad man was handsome, but the haunted look in his eyes made him appear pensive and frightened.

After thirty minutes, Connie still didn’t know anything about Gary other than he hoped to get a laptop computer soon. Thinking it a way to get to know her neighbor better, Connie ran next door to her apartment and returned carrying a laptop.

“It’s not new. I bought another one about a year ago and this one’s just collecting dust. You’re welcome to use it until you can get your own.”

This won Connie her first smile from Gary.

While he still wasn’t forthcoming with much personal information, they settled into an easy friendship and had shared an early dinner twice in Connie’s apartment. That’s how she found out Gary wasn’t a night owl and went to bed early every night, usually before eight.

She glanced back at his door.

How does someone who appears to never go out suddenly disappear?

Connie decided to check with Walt in the morning. Losing her laptop to a computer virus put her in a bind. She needed to retrieve her old one from Gary. Even if Walt had no information on the man, she hoped he would at least enter the apartment to get her laptop.

She’d deal with her absent neighbor later.


©2018 Felicia Denise, All Rights Reserved


The Devil You Know, Part III #52weeks52stories


#52weeks52stories: Week 13

Word prompt: narcotic

Word Count: 606


Find Part I here and Part II here.

Sally laughed as Frankie spun her around in circles, elated over the news she was expecting their first child.

The scene changed before a confused Sally… and she and her husband were sitting in Mañana’s. She remembered that’s where they had dinner to celebrate their tenth wedding anniversary.

Her head throbbed as the scene changed again and she was staring at herself in the mirror of a large bath.

She knew this place too. The linen wallpaper covered in delicate coral shells and the porcelain wash basins covered in the same shells had been two of the things she most admired at the Montage Kapalua Bay resort on Maui.

Sally didn’t understand what was happening to her. Seven years had passed since she and Frankie celebrated their silver wedding anniversary in Hawaii.


Sally rushed into the bedroom, breathing a sigh of relief when she saw her husband resting in bed.

His back was to her and she snuggled up close behind him.

“Sorry, I took so long, honey. I’m back.”

Receiving no response from Frankie, Sally rose up on one elbow and peered over his shoulder.

“C’mon, Frankie. You can’t be asleep already.”

Annoyed, she grabbed his shoulder, rolling him onto his back.

The scream froze in her throat as she stared down into her husband’s lifeless eyes.

Sally couldn’t get away, she couldn’t move, and she couldn’t look away from Frankie.


Her head throbbed as her hysteria built. Trapped, Sally knew death was about to take her too when she felt someone touch her.

“Mom? Mom, it’s okay. Calm down, mommy. You’re having a nightmare.”


The sound of her youngest daughter’s voice helped soothe Sally Bennett. Her breathing slowed as she worked to open her heavy eyelids.

Bright lights assaulted her eyes and Sally jerked her head to the side, causing the pain in her head to worsen.

She heard other voices in the room and felt Joanie take her hand.

“Try again, mommy. Slowly.”

Fighting her panic, Sally raised her lids and exhaled. The lights were dimmed.

She looked up into Joanie’s face.

Sally’s vision was blurred, but she recognized her daughter.

She tried to speak, but no words would come from her parched throat.

“It’s okay, mommy. You had a nightmare. Don’t try to speak yet. Give it time.”

Sally frowned, confused. She mouthed the word where. Joanie understood.

“You’re in the hospital, mommy.”

For the first time, Sally noticed the machines next to her.

She mouthed the word why.

Joanie hesitated.

Sally squeezed her hand.

“Tell her, Joanie.”

Sally recognized the new voice as her oldest child, Darrin, but she couldn’t see him. She squeezed Joanie’s hand again.

“You… you went into shock and lost consciousness, mom, after daddy… after daddy…”

Joanie couldn’t say the words, but she didn’t have to.

Memories flooded Sally’s mind and her hysteria returned.

Frankie. Dead. The Ramirez home.

Her husband had tried to hurt Graciela Ramirez, and then her.

Unable to sit up or speak, Sally’s body convulsed. Her silent sobs rose to become pitiful wails. She tried to pull away from Joanie, but her daughter tightened her grip.

Someone else grabbed Sally’s right hand. She yanked and pulled, but her weakened conditioned worked against her.

Endless streams of tears blurred her vision even more and Sally didn’t see the nurse inject a sedative into her IV.

The effect was instant. Sally slumped in the bed, knowing she couldn’t fight the narcotic numbing her brain and her body.

She made one last attempt to look at her daughter, but sleep took her back into the dark void before she could even turn her head.




©2018 Felicia Denise, All Rights Reserved


The Devil You Know, Part II #52weeks52stories


#52weeks52stories: Week 12

Word prompt: assailant

Word Count: 2698


Find Part I here.

Exhausted and annoyed, Sally Bennett wanted answers.

Two hours after fighting a masked attacker for her life, three different detectives approached her three different times asking the same questions.

But no one would answer her questions.

Who was the attacker?

Had he been arrested?

How did he get inside the Ramirez home?

Why did he seem familiar to her?

She understood they had a job to do but it didn’t annoy her any less.

Sally was comforted knowing Graciela was safe.

She interrupted the attack on Graciela before the intruder could do any real harm, but at Sally’s urging, the gutsy senior citizen allowed paramedics to take her to the emergency room at the hospital where Estelle worked.

Her adrenaline rush gone, Sally sat like a leaden weight on neighbor Nina Ahrens sofa wrapped in a blanket.

The kind woman who’d pulled Sally and Graciela inside her home misread Sally’s earlier shivers for cold instead of fear and had been trying to keep her warm ever since.

Two of Sally’s interrogators stood near the door taking furtive glances in her direction as they spoke.

The embers of anger smoldered in Sally’s chest.

This was their job.

They did this every day, but violence in her life was something new to Sally and she didn’t appreciate being treated as though she did something wrong.

She wanted to go home.

No, that wasn’t true. Frankie was away, and she’d be alone with her thoughts at home. She needed her husband, or one of her children, or at least one familiar face who knew her before the worst day of her life began.

A third detective joined the two watching her.

Sally didn’t recognize him, but he also stared at her while trying to act like he wasn’t.

Her jaws tightened as her anger grew.

He walked toward her, taking a pad and pen from his jacket pocket.

“Mrs. Bennett, I’m Det. -”

“No, I didn’t know the man. No, I don’t know how he got in, and no, I didn’t notice anyone watching the house earlier in the evening.”

She smirked at his surprised reaction.

“I guess my detectives have been pretty thorough tonight.”

“Only at asking questions. They suck at giving answers.”

Sally knew she was being rude, but her frazzled nerves were at the breaking point.


He sat down on the sofa next to her, resting his elbows on his knees.

“I’m Det. Sgt. Gavin Marks and I do apologize if it’s seemed like my squad is ignoring you, Mrs. Bennett. We’re still trying to sort things out.”

His apology did nothing to calm her.

“Like what?”

“Well, the city’s been on edge ever since the attacks on elderly women began. At first glance, Mrs. Ramirez’s case fits.”

“At first glance?”

“Yes. While the other victims were alone in their homes, they were all senior citizens in poor health or recovering from illness or surgery. This case fits… except for your presence.”

“Me? What’s this got to do with -” She froze, realizing what he meant.

“So, you’re saying the attacker expected Graciela to be alone? But how? I was subbing for another woman from our service. And we were only needed because Estelle Ramirez couldn’t change her shift.”

Det. Marks considered her before continuing.

“That narrows things down even more.”

Sally let the blanket fall from her shoulders as she scrubbed her hands over her face. Confusion wasn’t mixing well with her fatigue.

Then she got it.

Her mouth gaped open at the thought. No, it wasn’t possible.

“Det., you think Graciela was targeted through Angels Assist? That’s crazy.”

“Like I said, we’re still sorting this out, but I’m trying to keep an open mind.”

“But there aren’t many men associated with the agency—no male volunteers, and all the male staff members are up in age too. They work as drivers and deliver meals.”

He made a few quick notes.

“No one’s mentioned that to me tonight. It’s worth looking into.”

Sally bit her lip lost in thought, trying to figure out the connections.

Marks cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry, Det., did you say something?”

“I’m sure you’re exhausted, ma’am, and I promise to get you home soon. But, please, walk with me through this to see if we’re missing anything. Okay?”

She exhaled roughly. “Okay. Fine.”

He glanced at his notes again before beginning.

“Estelle Ramirez made the eye surgery appointment for her mom twelve days ago. She also put in a request for the week off from her job the same day.

Human Resources approved her time off the next day, with the exception of the current shift because the other two charge nurses were already scheduled off. The HR department posted the shift on the hospital extra-duty website for three days, with no takers. Before committing to the rest of the time off, Estelle called the eye clinic to if it was possible to move her mother’s appointment. It couldn’t be done, but one of the nurses there told her about Angels Assist… and that’s where you come into the story.”

“Well, not me exactly.”

Marks frowned, puzzled. “I don’t understand.”

“I work part-time as a services scheduler for the agency. There are two of us. Mona Ingram set up Graciela’s overnight with Kristen, one of our volunteers. After the last attack, her husband insisted she quit. Her call was routed to me yesterday and when I couldn’t find anyone… I took the position.”

Marks was silent for several minutes, adding to his notes before continuing.

“You do that often, Mrs. Bennett… cover appointments?”

Sally shrugged. “Once or twice a month—depends on the workload versus personnel.”

Gavin Marks rubbed his brow, mulling over these new details.

“Is something wrong, Det.?”

“Remember I said this case fits the attacker’s profile at first glance?”


“Well, it’s a wide glance. After two months, we still haven’t found a connection in the first four attacks… or a lead.” He stood. “But I’ll get my people on this when the city wakes up.”

He signaled to a uniformed officer in the foyer. The large African-American man walked over standing next to Gavin Marks, acknowledging Sally with a nod.

“I know you’ve declined medical treatment, Mrs. Bennett, but I don’t think it’s a bad idea for you to go in and get checked out.”

“I’m fine, Detective, really. He didn’t hurt me. Just rattled my nerves.”

“Then I’ll let you go, but I’ll try to answer some of the questions you asked my detectives.”

Sally frowned.

“Your attacker was carrying no identification, so we don’t know who he is. Crime scene techs found the framing around the dining room window stripped away. He probably used a crowbar or screwdriver. And no ma’am, he hasn’t been arrested because he’s dead.”

Her stomach dropped. The slight buzz humming behind her ears since she ran from the Ramirez home roared. Sally thought she was going to pass out.

“I don’t understand. How? The two neighbor guys who ran into -”

“No ma’am. You fought him with a cane? Mrs. Ramirez’s cane?”


“This isn’t official yet, but the coroner believes the cane fell to the floor during your struggle. When you ran from the room and he tried to come after you, his foot hit the cane. His body rolled forward and he tried to break his fall, forgetting about the butcher knife in his hand.”

Sally shuddered and pulled the blanket tighter around herself, not for warmth but more as a shield to ward off the panic threatening to consume her.

Marks continued. “He fell on the knife, piercing his aorta. By the time Parley and Fulcrum, the two guys from the neighborhood, entered the house, the guy had bled out.”

The horror of such a violent death rose up in Sally, bringing the metallic bitterness of bile and waves of dizziness.

The detective bent towards her. “Are you okay, Mrs. Bennett?” He and the uniformed officer exchanged concerned glances, unsure if the woman would become ill or pass out.

“Mrs. Bennett?”

Sally couldn’t respond, the buzzing behind her ears blocking everything but thoughts of the man lying dead on the floor of Graciela Ramirez’s bedroom.

The man who tried to hurt them both killed himself.

Her emotions warred with each other as her sense of justice was met head on with heartfelt sympathy.

For the dead man.

The man who tried to kill her.

Parting her lips, Sally slowly drew in air in deep gulps as she tried to calm her racing pulse.

“Mrs. Bennett?”

She looked up into the detective’s face.

“You really should let the EMTs take you in.”

“No… no, I’m okay. It’s just… just finding out the man who tried to kill me killed himself is almost as big a shock as finding him in Graciela’s room.”

“Please. At least allow them to check your vitals in the ambulance… just to be safe. You’ve been through a lot tonight.”

On cue, the churning in her gut quickened, accompanied by a tightness in her chest. Knowing she wasn’t fine, Sally relented. “You’re right, of course. I will let them check my vitals.”

“Good… good.” He gestured toward the uniformed officer. “This is Officer Brian Holland. He’ll take you out to the ambulance. If you’re cleared by them, Officer Holland will escort you next door to get your things. If you can drive, he’ll follow you home. If you can’t, he’ll drive you and arrange to have your car delivered to your home. If you want him to stay with you a while, he will. He might even cook if you ask him.”

Detective and officer shared a short chuckle. Sally glanced back and forth between them, confused but calmed by their easy manner. Marks explained.

“This is Officer Holland’s last week in uniform. He’s earned his detective shield and joins my squad on Monday.”

“Congratulations, Officer Holland. I guess I’m in good hands.”

He tipped his head toward her. “Thank you, ma’am. Just let me know what you need. But, Ma’am… you don’t want me to cook.”

She joined the men’s laughter this time, feeling normal for the first time in hours.

“Someone will contact you by late afternoon, Mrs. Bennett, to come in for a formal statement and signature. Officer Holland will leave his cell number with you and can get you to the station if you’re not up to the drive.”

Sally admonished herself for her earlier anger and annoyance. These people dealt with violence and death on a regular basis, but they were treating her with kindness and compassion.

Detective Marks reached his hand out to Sally and she allowed him to help her up from the sofa.

Caught off guard by stiff joints and a wave of vertigo, Sally stumbled. “Guess I need to get to that ambulance sooner than later.”

Marks watched her with concern as Brian Holland offered her his arm. “Ma’am?”

She gripped his arm with two hands, grateful for the assistance.

Holland led her to the front door, but Sally stopped abruptly, glancing around until she saw Nina Ahrens standing behind Det. Marks.

“Thank you so much for helping us.”

Nina smiled. “You’re welcome. Take care and I hope all of this is cleared up for you soon.”

Sally returned her smile and allowed Officer Holland to lead her from the residence, unsure if it was possible to clear up her night.


Sally tried to relax as she sat on the tailgate of the ambulance.

The paramedic who’d introduced herself as Ruby, frowned while taking Sally’s blood pressure.

Sally attempted to lighten the mood. “Will I live?”

Ruby continued to frown.

“Your blood pressure is running low and your pulse is rapid. Not unusual for what you’ve been through, ma’am. But add the nausea, fatigue and enlarged pupils, and I believe you’re suffering from mild shock. You should be seen by a doctor.”

Overwhelmed and on the verge of tears, Sally Bennett pleaded. “I believe you, Ruby and I’m not trying to be difficult, but I just need this night to end. I don’t think I can handle anymore sitting, waiting and endless questions.”

Ruby glanced from Officer Holland to her partner, Mackie and back to Sally. Her face softened. “I understand, ma’am. But you should also know shock can mean blood isn’t reaching your organs the way it should and can trigger a cardiac episode hours or even days after a traumatic event.”

“I understand, but I just want to go home. I promise if I feel worse, I’ll get to the hospital. And even if I don’t, I’ll call my doctor as soon as his office opens.”

Ruby held the clipboard while Sally signed the refusal of transport document, then turned to Holland. “Take care of her and don’t let her drive.”

“No driving. You got it.”

He helped Sally from the tailgate and they approached the Ramirez home. “I’ll find an officer inside to follow us in your car when I take you home.”

Sally didn’t hear him.

Three feet from the front door she froze in her tracks and Officer Holland felt her body trembling.

“You don’t have to do this, Mrs. Bennett. Tell me where your things are, and you can wait with Ruby while I get them.”

Several minutes passed before Sally responded, staring at the front door.

“I’m going in. Graciela and her daughter have to come back here and live. I can go in long enough to get my things.”

Allowing her to set the pace, Officer Holland entered the home behind Sally.

She was floored by all the activity.

Sally had only seen the Ramirez home in the muted and subdued lighting required by Graciela’s vision problems. Now, every room light and lamp appeared to be on. People moved around rooms, drawing on notepads and taking pictures. She entered the hallway, finding it also full of members of law enforcement. However, all eyes focused on Sally and moved to the side, allowing her to pass.

Making sure Officer Holland was right behind her, Sally headed for the guest bedroom.

Sally swiped a hand over her ear as the buzzing returned.

The hallway appeared to stretch out in front of her, making it take twice as long to cover the short distance.

As she passed Graciela’s room, Sally’s stomach rumbled, and she pursed her lips staving off another wave of nausea.

A flash of light from inside Graciela’s bedroom caught her attention and before Sally could stop herself, she turned and looked inside.

Her attacker’s body still laid on the floor at the foot of Graciela’s bed surrounded by the coroner and his staff.

Sally’s view was obscured by the crowd and all she could see was his head.

His face was turned away from her as more photos were taken to identify him.

She looked at the thick, wavy chestnut hair with fine strands of gray and a sense of familiarity returned.

She knew this man.

Sally entered the bedroom, but Officer Holland grabbed her by the hand. “Ma’am, you don’t want to do that.”

She pulled from his grasp. “I have to,” and before anyone could stop her, Sally Bennett pushed her way through the crowd and stared down at the dead man.

The buzzing in her head roared.

She opened her mouth to scream but there was no sound.

Crime scene techs tried to cover the assailant’s face, but it was too late.

Brian Holland strode through the crowd trying to get to his charge, but Sally backed away into the corner.

The boiling bile in her gut would no longer be denied and erupted from her as she turned and faced the wall.

Sally slumped to the floor clawing at her chest and the burn left by the offensive acid.

Officer Holland tried to help her up, but she scooted away… toward the still body.

The small crowd looked on in confusion and horror as Sally stroked the dead man’s hair.

Her voice returned, and mournful, pitiful wails filled the room.

Sally’s mind snapped and surrendered to the comfort of the darkness as she stared into the lifeless eyes of her husband, Frankie Bennett.




©2018 Felicia Denise, All Rights Reserved


The Devil You Know, Part I #52weeks52stories


#52weeks52stories: Week 11

Word prompt: assailant

Word Count: 3634


“I don’t like leaving you alone with that maniac still on the loose. I’m calling Reynolds to cancel.”

“You’ll do no such thing, Francis Bennett!”

Sally grasped both of her husband’s hands in her own, clutching them to her chest.

“You and Bill have worked hard for this. No one believed a couple of baby boomers could compete in today’s marketing madness of social media. You’ll proving all the naysayers wrong. You two beat out national companies to get this meeting and you will not miss it.”

She kissed his hands.

“And besides, even though the thought of this guy still out there in the shadows unnerves me, I’m more concerned for my clients, the poor dears. I don’t fit his profile.”

The list of women attacked by Marbury’s Senior Citizen rapist now numbered four—all 69 to 89 years of age; all widowed; all in poor health or recuperating from illness.

Francis ‘Frankie’ Bennett pulled his wife into his arms.

“I know, honey, I know. But no one knows what drives these sickos… better safe than sorry.”

“And I promise I will be safe. Now go finish packing. If you miss your flight, you know Bill will have a mental break.”

Husband and wife shared a laugh before Frankie kissed Sally’s forehead and left to pack.

She retook her seat at the breakfast nook. She gave the article about the Senior Citizen Rapist another read before closing the browser on her tablet.

Sally didn’t know Pearl Wright, but her heart went out to the eighty-one-year-old grandmother of twenty-three.

Plagued with heart problems, Pearl was a regular client of Angels Assist, the home-care agency Sally worked part-time for as a services scheduler.

It was Angels Assist volunteer, Leanne Brinkley, scheduled to prepare breakfast and do light housework, who discovered Pearl’s battered and bruised body.

Awed the elderly woman survived the brutal attack, Sally also worried about Leanne.

After calling police, paramedics, and Pearl’s family, the perky volunteer went into mild shock and was hospitalized overnight.

Angels Assist staff and volunteers were all concerned with their safety. Staff was requesting security escorts and volunteers were canceling late evening and early morning assignments. Any more schedule changes and Sally would have to add herself to the schedule. She didn’t mind though. With Frankie away, she liked to keep busy, but there was no way Sally would tell him she may have to do home visits. He’d cancel his trip for sure.


After completing her weekly reports, Sally emailed the new schedule to supervisors and Blanche, the owner. She uploaded all the documents to the office server and powered down her tablet, grateful for the technology which allowed her to do most of her job from home.

Pouring another cup of coffee, Sally opened her journal and went to work on their upcoming anniversary banquet plans when the phone rang. The name ‘Kristen’—an agency volunteer—flashed on the caller ID.

“Hey, Kristen. How are you?”

“I’ll be a lot better when I know you don’t hate me.”

Sally’s brow knitted in confusion.

“Hate you? What’s going on, Kristen?”

“I-I… have to cancel my hours of availability.”

Sally’s hand shook as panic gripped her. The thirty-something Kristen was pregnant, expecting her first child after she and her husband tried for years.

“Are you okay, Kristen?”

I’m fine, Sally. Midway through my second trimester without morning sickness or heartburn anywhere in sight.”

She paused.

“It’s just… these attacks on elderly women.”

Grateful mother and child were fine, a hint of annoyance niggled at Sally while Kristen continued.

“I don’t know Mrs. Wright—was never scheduled with her and I only know Leanne as another agency volunteer. But my husband knows Leanne’s family. Her dad was his supervisor years back when he first got hired into the fire department. After he heard what Leanne went through… well, he kinda lost it and insisted I stopped volunteering.”

“Kristen, it’s okay. We’re all unnerved by these attacks and to have one hit so close to home is terrifying.”

“I know, Sally, but – “

“No buts. I hate to even think what could have happened if it had been you instead of Leanne who found Mrs. Wright.”

“That’s what Rory said. We’ve tried so long for this baby, and at my age, the shock alone might – “

“Enough, sweetie. Don’t allow your mind to go there. We’re all grateful Leanne is better and pray for the same for Mrs. Wright.”

“Thanks, Sally. I only had one assignment on this schedule—an overnight tomorrow with a woman recovering from eye procedures for glaucoma. I took it because it was light duty and Rory was scheduled for a four-day shift at the fire station.”

“We’ll get this covered, Kristen, please don’t worry over it.”

Sally pulled up the current schedule.

“This was your only assignment this week. I’ve got next week’s schedule done and you were on for two four-hour respite visits near the end of the week. I’ll have no problem getting those covered. You just concentrate on that sweet baby you’re carrying and putting your hubby’s mind at ease. We’ll all breathe easier when this psycho is caught and behind bars.”

She could hear Kristen exhale over the phone.

“I agree, Sally, and thank you. I’ll be in touch when I can help out again. Take care.”

Sally Bennett smiled as she ended the call. While she hoped the maniac terrorizing the city was caught soon, she doubted Kristen would be volunteering again anytime soon. She’d be a new mom in less than four months, and free time would no longer exist for her.

Sally red-lined the two shifts under Kristen’s name on the new schedule then opened the staff database looking for someone who could cover tomorrow’s overnight assignment on such short notice.

Sally entered the hours of coverage needed, pressed enter, and groaned when no names appeared on the screen.

She’d have to take the assignment.

Sally was good with it, though. She subbed once or twice a month, and Frankie would be away, it would give her time to keep her own caregiver skills sharp.

She was jotting down the address and contact information for Graciela Ramirez when Frankie bounded back into the kitchen.

“I can take you to the airport.”

Frankie Bennett pulled his wife from her seat into his arms. “We are not going to start that again, Sal.” He kissed her forehead. “It’s an hour’s drive one way, parking costs a small fortune, and you can’t go past the security check-in.”

“I know, I know. It just seems as though I’m always telling you goodbye lately.”

“Well, this is the last trip for a while and you know what happens when I get back, right?”

He began to lead her around the kitchen in an exaggerated waltz. “We have an anniversary to celebrate.”

Sally giggled as he spun her around.

“Yes, thirty-two years and we’re still on speaking terms.”

“And don’t forget the fabulous five.”

“As if they’d let us. I know they’re cooking up some big surprise for us. Joanie called, and I could hear it in her voice.”

Frankie laughed. “Five kids and the one who can’t keep a secret is the one who calls the most.”

Sally laughed, but stopped suddenly, running from the kitchen.

When she returned, Frankie was closing a browser on her tablet.

“Doing my job for me, Bennett?”

“No, my sweet sunflower. Just making sure my flight’s on time. Where you run off to?”

She held her hand up, a medicine bottle balanced on her palm. “I knew you forgot these—one bypass surgery is more than enough. We don’t need to go through that again. And what did I tell you about calling me sunflower? Can’t you think of a more feminine flower?”

“Ah, yes, my love. There are more feminine flowers, but they’re also fragile and wilt under pressure.” He stretched his arms toward the ceiling. “But the mighty sunflower is strong and resilient, rising up in the field to provide beauty, shade… and a tasty little snack.”

Giggling, Sally threw the medicine bottle at him.

Frankie caught the bottle of Lipitor. Stashing it in a side pocket of his suitcase, he backed toward the door leading to the garage. “I’d better get out of here while I’m still breathing.”

Sally Bennett grabbed his lapel, kissing him deeply. “Good luck with your meeting. You guys got this. And stay out of trouble.”

He wiggled his eyebrows. “Aw, sweetie. Don’t I always?”


Estelle Ramirez showed Sally around the large well-kept home.

“Mom’s vision is still blurred from the surgery, so even though her television is on, she can’t see the screen. She never misses her Spanish-language novellas, though.”

Sally smiled and nodded once as they approached Graciela’s bedroom.

“I made her favorite dinner—albondigas soup—but she didn’t eat much. There’s sliced fruit in the fridge and sweetbreads on the counter.”

“You done all the work, Estelle. What did you leave for me?”

Estelle Ramirez smirked.

“Trust me, Sally. The queen will keep you busy. She’s independent and spirited. My grandmother and great-grandmother lost their sight to glaucoma. Mami knows she is blessed new medical procedures may help her avoid that.”

Reaching for the doorknob, Estelle tilted her head toward Sally. “That doesn’t make her any less grouchy, though.”

She opened the door and Sally followed her into the darkened room. Even with the low lighting, she could tell it was beautifully decorated in golds and reds with a Latin flavor.

The large queen-size bed was empty, but looking past the bed, Sally saw her charge for the evening.

Graciela Ramirez sat in a gold brocade high-back chair. Sally pursed her lips to hide her grin as Estelle’s reference to ‘the queen’ came to mind.

Despite her diminutive size, the senior Ramirez was regal in her appearance. Her iron-gray hair, swept over one shoulder, was long enough to reach her lap. Long, slender fingers rested on the arms of the chair. Already dressed for bed, Graciela’s winter white robe could put some ball gowns to shame.

Sally’s grandson, Mark, would say Graciela Ramirez was large and in charge.

“Mami, this is Sally Bennett, from the home-care agency. She’s going to stay with you tonight.”

“I do not need a babysitter.”

Sally was struck that despite the thick accent, Graciela’s voice was strong, deep, and clear—not frail and wispy like most of their clients in their seventies.

“Do not start, mami. We’ve argued about it enough. This was the only shift I couldn’t switch this week, and I’m not leaving you alone. I’m grateful for places like Angels Assist. You should be too.”

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

Dragging her hand through her short, dark curls, Estelle then gestured at her mother.

“As you can see, she’s stubborn.” Estelle turned her head, speaking in Graciela’s direction. “But I’m sure she will be show all the grace of her name and the manners she instilled in me.”

“I’m sure we’ll be fine, Estelle.” Sally’s voice held a confidence she didn’t feel. Graciela was a force to be reckoned with, even with limited sight.

“Mami is tricksy too with her language. She likes to play poor old Spanish lady and will refuse to speak English. Ignore her until she does.”

Sally covered her mouth too late and her giggles escaped.

An indignant Graciela raised her hand and pointed in Estelle’s direction.

“Oh, mi hija.”

Resting her fists on her hips, Estelle shot back, “Don’t you ‘oh my daughter’ me.”

Estelle went to her mother and knelt at her feet. She cupped Graciela’s cheek while speaking in a low hushed tone. The senior Ramirez smiled and leaned into her daughter’s hand.

Sally could see the love between mother and child. Their banter was part of that love.

Rising, Estelle kissed her mother’s cheek and turned to Sally.

“She’ll be good… for the most part.” The two women shared a laugh as Graciela feigned a look of innocence.

“Her next meds are due at nine and she must take them all.” She picked up two small bottles from the dresser. “Two drops of each in each eye. They sting and blur her vision even more, but the stinging passes quickly.”

Replacing the bottles on the dresser, Estelle reached for another containing pills.

“She also gets two of these… no matter how she feels. Mami doesn’t have a blood pressure problem, but it has been elevated since her procedures. The doctor doesn’t want to risk any break-through pain exacerbating the problem and wants her to take these as prescribed until he sees her on Thursday.”

Graciela crossed her arms, mumbling and pouting like a petulant child.

Estelle threw her hands up. “I’m going to work, she’s all yours. Call me if you need anything.” She headed for the bedroom door but turned before leaving. “Thank you, Sally. You’re a lifesaver.”

Removing her cell from her back pocket, Sally opened the Angels Assist app and entered the names, dosage, and time for Graciela’s meds.

Sally didn’t have to look up to know the senior citizen was staring at her, sizing her up. Closing the app, Sally gazed out the window at the beautiful twilight caused by the setting sun and knew she was in for a long night.


Graciela Ramirez did not disappoint.

Between numerous requests for snacks and drinks, Sally had caught the spry old woman stumbling through the house three times.

Saying a silent prayer, Sally was grateful when the hall clock chimed at nine.

A new argument started when Sally sat Graciela on the edge of her bed to put in her eye drops.

The client refused to open her eyes.

Sally snapped at the old woman before she could catch herself.

“Mrs. Ramirez! Didn’t your mother and her mother both lose their sight? Is that what you want to happen to you? It seems to me someone as independent as you would do everything they could to keep their sight. And that includes taking your meds.”

Sally saw the look of shame on Graciela’s face as she opened her eyes.

“I-I… am sorry, Sally Bennett. I’m acting like a sullen child. But the drops do burn, and those pills make me fuzzy in the head. I don’t like not being in control of myself.”

Sally Bennett’s heart broke at the sadness in Graciela’s eyes.

“So many of my friends have passed on. And the one who are still here? They wear diapers and have to be spoon-fed. They use mobile chairs and hospital beds.”

She pointed to the foot of her bed.

“There’s a cane there somewhere near the foot of my bed. I stumbled over my house shoe a few weeks ago and Estelle rushed out and bought it for me. I feel like I’m being rushed to the grave sometimes, and I’m not ready for that.”

“Sounds to me like Estelle doesn’t want that either.”

The older woman squinted, trying to focus on Sally’s face. “How so?”

“I don’t think Estelle bought that cane because she thought you were getting old and frail. I believe she bought it for support—to help you with your balance and keep you from falling and injuring yourself… to keep you here with her longer.”

A lone tear slid down Graciela’s cheek, betrayed by the huge grin on her face.

“You are a wise woman, Sally Bennett. I’ve been so busy arguing with everyone, trying to get my way, I never stopped to consider anyone else’s feelings. Especially my sweet Estelle. Thank you, Sally Bennett.”

Graciela then tipped her head back and waited for the eye drops. After Sally finished, Graciela held out her hand for the pain pills and water, taking her meds without argument.

She crawled up into the center of the large bed and Sally was struck by how much the septuagenarian looked like a child in her parents’ bed.

“If you’ll hand me the remote, Sally Bennett, I’ll listen to my novellas until the pills make my brain thick.”

Laughing, Sally passed her the remote.

“Estelle put me in the guest bedroom two doors away. I’m going to read a while then come check on you. If you need me before then, just call out. I’ll leave the door open.”

“I like you, Sally Bennett. I hope you’ll come visit me when I’m not a client.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“I suppose it is.”

“Then I’ll be here.”

Sally smiled as she made her way to the guest bedroom. Graciela Ramirez was a lot like Carol Jean Munson—Sally’s mother. Strong, proud, and independent, she felt both women saw accepting help as weakness.

Grabbing her reader from the side of her overnight bag, Sally snuggled in the easy chair next to the closet. The muted lighting of the Ramirez home had grown on Sally and she reached over and turned off the lamp, choosing to read by the illuminated light of her ereader.


Startled and disoriented, Sally bolted upright. She looked around the dark room, trying to get her bearings.

She laughed at herself after glancing toward the hallway.

Real good, Bennett. What kind of caregiver are you falling asleep on the job?

A swipe of her ereader provided light and the time.

12:50 am.

My word! Has it been almost four hours since I gave Graciela her meds? I’d better see if she’s sleeping or needs them again.

Sally held the reader over the edge of the chair, looking for her overnight bag. She reached for it but froze when she thought she heard a large thump.

What was that noise?

She sat motionless on the edge of the chair listening for the sound again. Hearing nothing, Sally grabbed the bag and tossed it onto the foot of the bed. Reaching for the table-side lamp, she heard the noise again, louder and closer.

No, no! I hope Graciela isn’t up trying to get her own meds. Why didn’t she call out for me? Damn it! Maybe she did, and I was asleep.

Feeling her back pocket for her cell, Sally raced the few steps down the hall to her client’s room.

She froze in the doorway.

A dark figure was on top of Graciela.

Without thinking, Sally charged the bed, launching herself at the assailant. She heard a sharp intake of air as the intruder fell toward the foot of the bed.

Sally took the few precious seconds to drag the small woman from the bed. Not able to tell if Graciela was wounded and too terror-stricken to speak, Sally pushed her toward the bedroom door, screaming one word, “Run!”

With her arms out in front of her, the spry senior bolted for the door, feeling her way down the hall.

Before Sally could follow, she felt a hand grab her arm, pulling her back to the bed. She whirled around, swinging blindly with her free hand. Her punch connected with the intruder, but he didn’t let go. As he pulled her closer, Sally bit the hand clutching her arm. Muttering a curse, he let go and Sally flipped onto her back, kicking her legs wildly.

Her attacker leaned down, grabbing the front of her shirt and flung her from the bed. She crashed into the dresser, slumping to floor.

Praying Graciela had found her way out, Sally knew her time was growing short. Her heart raced as she looked up at the shadowy figure approaching, blocking her path to the door.

His breathing was hard and labored.

Sally froze. Something about him was familiar.

She could see him raising his arm and the hallways light behind him allowed Sally to see he wore a ski mask… and the glint of his knife.

Adrenalin barreled through her body. Sally Bennett would not hand this killer her life.

She kicked out both legs, catching the masked figure in the knee.

As he doubled over in pain, Sally leaped from the floor, throwing herself across the bed and toward the door.

Her assailant recovered quick enough to grab her ankle.

Clawing at the bed, Sally struggle for purchase. As he dragged her across the large bed, Sally grabbed at the low bed railing, but its surface was too smooth to hold on to. Sally still clawed and groped until her fist wrapped around something.

Graciela’s cane!

The middle-aged woman was tiring, but holding tight to the cane, she swung around towards her attacker. The blow made him let go and allowed Sally to turn and get in two more good swings. The intruder stumbled backward to avoid the blows.

Sally launched herself across the bed one last time, this time falling to the floor on the other side.

She popped up, threw the cane toward her assailant and dashed out the bedroom door. She heard the cane clatter to the floor and knew the man was rounding the foot of the bed, but she refused to waste time looking behind her.

Barreling down the hallway, Sally thought she heard the killer stumble and fall, but it was Graciela’s screams that guided Sally to the front door.

Graciela Ramirez had made it out the house and stood in the front yard screaming. Lights came on in several houses, and Sally grabbed her client and headed for the closest one, still not looking behind her.

A woman opened the door and called out to Graciela by name.

It was only then Sally looked behind her… and saw two men from the neighborhood run into the Ramirez home.

She called out to them. “Be careful he has a knife!”

The woman pulled the two women inside and closed and locked her door.

Sally Bennett and Graciela Ramirez stood in the foyer clutching each other tightly, grateful their nightmare was over.


©2018 Felicia Denise, All Rights Reserved


Touch #52weeks52stories


#52weeks52stories Writing Challenge: Week 10

Word prompt:  friend

Word count: 1193


“Hey mom, look at my rock.”

Jill Morgan, distracted by dinner preparations, responded without looking at her eight-year-old-son.

“That’s nice, Jeffie.”

“And it’s cool, mom. It changes colors, see?”

Jill glanced over her shoulder to see the glow of the smooth orb in her son’s hands change from green to red.

Potato and peeler fell from her hands to the floor.

“Jeffrey Alan Morgan!” What did your dad and I tell you about messing around near the old rock quarry?”

She rushed over to him.

“They shut that place down and walked away without any notice. We have no idea if there are open shafts or toxic chemicals in that place.”

Grabbing the rock from his hands, Jill’s face went blank. The glow was gone, and she held a plain piece of gray slate. She tilted her head down to her son. “Are you playing a trick on your mom?”

His eyes locked on to the rock, Jeffie shook his head. “No, mom. Honest. It changed colors. You saw it, right?”

“I saw something, I’m just – “

Sizzling pops behind her grabbed Jill’s attention.

“Dang it!” She raced to the overflowing pot but was startled by the ringing land-line phone.

“Oh, for the love of…” Sliding the pot from the burner to the counter, Jill stomped across the kitchen to the phone, tossing the stone back to Jeffie.

“You take this thing back to wherever you found it, Jeffrey Alan, and come right back here for a hot bath, just to be safe.”

Rock and child were forgotten as she answered the phone to get a health update from her husband about his dad. Jill didn’t see the red glow return to the rock cradled in Jeffie’s hands.

Frowning, the eight-year-old walked out the back door and sat on the steps. Why did the colors stop when his mom touched the rock?

Jeffie Morgan needed answers. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he hopped from the porch steps, headed for the far back corner of the backyard—the corner on the side of the garage shrouded in bushes and trees.

He ducked down and crawled under the lowest bush, scooting forward until his body cleared the thick branch. Pushing himself to his knees, Jeffie sat up in the small hollow created by the bushes. The denseness of the foliage kept the pocket cool, allowing enough light to stream through the brush so the child could see clearly.

“I know you’re here, Hypo.”

At first a transparent outline, Hypo faded into corporeal form.

The alien sat in the dirt, his thin lower limbs crossed at each of his two sets of knees.

“Why didn’t the rock work for my mom, Hypo?”

The Hypogean extra-terrestrial extended his upper limb to Jeffie, who placed the rock in his two-digit hand.

The stone flashed a bright yellow, rising into the air. As it hovered, Hypo reached out and touched Jeffie’s arm.

Jeffie Morgan wasn’t afraid. He learned soon after finding Hypo near his favorite tree swing two days ago touch was the only way he and Hypo could communicate and hear each other.

“The globule illuminates only for the one who created it and the one it was created for.”

“But why, Hypo?”

“When we met, you were despondent because you thought your elder was losing his life source. I filled the globule with my energy to help you feel better.”

Arthur Morgan, Jeffie’s grandpa, had a heart attack three days earlier and Jeffie’s dad flew to San Francisco to be with him. Grandpa Art was better and would leave the hospital soon, but Jeffie, afraid he’d never see his grandpa again, had sat in his tree swing and cried.

“When my people experience distress, it disrupts their life force. Sharing our energy helps to calm the disruption. I believe your people would call it a boost.”

“I think I understand, Hypo.”

The globule ceased to spin and lowered back into Hypo’s palm. He gave it back to Jeffie.

“Our life forces are different, and this will serve you well into your later years. But, I must caution you again against sharing the knowledge of it. Your people are impetuous and act before knowing the facts.”

“You haven’t told me how you know so much about us, Hypo.”

“We’ve been watching you for thousands of years, Jeffie. In some ways, your people have made great strides. Your technology, though crude, serves you well, But the minds of humans… your thought processes, still hold you back.”

Hypo’s body, a pale coral in color, morphed to deep, dark red.

“I must go now, Jeffie Morgan. The lunar eclipse approaches and it is the only time we can exit your world undetected.”

“What? No, please. Can’t you stay longer? You can stay in my room so you don’t have to worry about the sun.”

Hypo’s coloring returned to his normal shade.

“No, Jeffie Morgan. Even if we didn’t have to avoid direct sunlight, extended exposure to the atmosphere of Etieran—this place you call Earth—would weaken us over time. The moon has no atmosphere, but still has solar exposure. That is why we live inside it.”

Jeffie hung his head.

“Why does your energy darken, Jeffie Morgan?”

“I liked having a friend.”

“Please explain.”

“We haven’t lived in Southbrook very long. My dad’s job sent him here. In San Francisco I had friends and people didn’t care my mom is black and my dad is white.”

A single tear rolled down his cheek.

“Here, they treat me like I’m the alien.” His face brightened at his joke.

“I understand, Jeffie Morgan. It’s something else we’ve witnessed about your kind that bears no logic. The separation of your species based on how your outer surface appears. The mistreatment and alienation… wars fought and life forces lost. Hypogeans do not have this.” His deep-set emerald eyes blinked sideways. “Nor do we want it.”

“I get it, Hypo. I just have so many questions. There’s so much I want to know.”

Hypo’s coloring flashed to deep purple.

“I must go. Hypogeans are in danger of discovery. That can’t happen.”

“But I know about you, Hypo.”

“Yes, you do, Jeffie Morgan, as do many others. When there’s no sense of danger detected, we interact.”

Hypo’s touch on Jeffie’s hand lightened as he faded from view.

“We will see each other again, Jeffie Morgan, and be encouraged. The elder—your grandpa Art—and your parents will be with you for many years to come.”

Hypo’s departure paused and he gripped Jeffie’s wrist with his two digit-hand.

“Take care… my… friend.”

Jeffie was sad Hypo was gone but happy they’d met.

Spreading a few branches on the ground, he placed the globule on them and covered it with a few more. He would follow Hypo’s instructions and keep it hidden.

Laying on his belly, Jeffie crawled from the dark hollow.

He didn’t need the globule right now anyway. Hypo said grandpa Art was going to be fine and that was enough to make Jeffie happy.

Heading for the back door, Jeffie began to run.

He didn’t even mind having to take a bath.


©2018 Felicia Denise, All Rights Reserved

Priorities #52weeks52stories


Cinna’s designer heels clicked against the pavement as she left the office building.

It had been a long day. A long disappointing day.

After seven weeks of knocking herself out, the promotion she wanted more than anything went to someone else.

Cinna didn’t deny Elsa had more experience and more seniority at Langley, but the woman’s natural bad attitude and inclination to pick a fight over the most trivial office task would only lead to endless headaches for the accounting department.

She wasn’t looking for more headaches, Cinna wanted to buy a home. The increase in pay for department manager would have made that possible.

Clicking the remote on her car fob, Cinna opened the door to the Lexus and dropped into the seat as though she bore the weight of the world on her back.

Selling her condo would still get her the down payment for a house, but she’d planned on hanging on to it as an investment and lease it out.

Dammit! Nothing ever worked out for her.

She would be thirty-three-years-old next month and wasn’t where she wanted to be in life. She didn’t have her own home… or a husband and children to share it with.

Cinna sent Art Clarey on his way early last year.  After four years together, Cinna knew the hapless optometrist didn’t hold her happily-ever-after.

In no mood to cook, Cinna stopped at Boston Markets, but after several minutes could only decide on an order of macaroni and cheese.

Her mind raced as she returned to her car. What would she do now? She didn’t have a plan B. Cinna wanted forward movement in her life. She thought about checking what positions were available in her field when she heard a noise. None of the other customers coming and going didn’t seem to notice, so Cinna continued on to her car.

She heard the noise again.

Something slammed shut, and someone cried out.

Turning, she followed the walkway to the edge of the storefront.

Glancing toward the back of the parking lot, Cinna saw a woman and two young children. One of the children–a boy– was holding his hand and crying as the woman lifted the lid of the trash bin.

A mother and her two children… hungry and looking for food.

A myriad of emotions washed over Cinnamon Hinkley… shock, disgust, anger, pity… and shame.

She didn’t have the things she wanted, but she had everything she needed. She didn’t have to wonder where her next meal would come from or where she would sleep each night.

A mother and her children.

Cinna didn’t know what led them to this moment in their lives rummaging through a trash bin, but it didn’t matter.

She went back into the store and placed a different order… a much larger order. She couldn’t solve all their problems, but they would not eat from a dumpster tonight.


©2018 Felicia Denise, All Rights Reserved




“Burned” #52weeks52stories

Dark Alley


#52weeks52stories: Week 8

Word Prompt: Cocaine

Word Count: 3205


“You know the D.A. is going to plead this down or toss it altogether, right?”

Sinclair glared at Tompkins, ready to explode but caught himself. They were both exhausted and pissed off and it wasn’t Tompkins’ fault. And he was right.

“Yeah, I know, dammit. The war on drugs turns into a polite request to cease and desist when your daddy’s rich.”

He laughed as he finished the case notes.


They’d spent the last six weeks tracking down a new shipment of lethal cocaine that was leaving a growing number of dead bodies in its wake. Weeks of interviews and stakeouts paid off in a whole lotta lip and even more contempt. But from the trailer park to the barrio to the hood, they hassled everyone and got a lead on the supplier—a guy named Spence.

Not able to get any more information on the guy the detectives believed they were being played when one of Tompkins’ paid informants called in with a tip which changed everything.

Supposedly, Spence was pulling up stacks and leaving town… and having a going-out-of-business sale and delivering the last shipment himself to customers.

Only a drug dealer would turn illegal activities into a money-saving event.

After sharing the info with their captain, Sinclair pulled all available bodies for backup. As he left the office, he tossed a Kevlar vest to Tompkins. “Please don’t get shot, and if you get shot, please do not die. I hate paperwork.”

Tompkins chuckled and tossed up his middle finger… and the car keys. “Just for that, you drive.”

The tactical team was in position at the stake-out—behind the public library–when, as promised, an assortment of thugs and lowlife began to arrive. A pimped out gun-metal gray Impala pulled up and Tompkins swore under his breath as the riders got out. They were all known felons.

“Can you believe this shit? They can’t live in the same neighborhood or sit down together for a meal, but they have no problem calling a truce over drugs.”

Pat couldn’t believe it as members of a big numbers cartel talked amiably with men from the Irish mob. A pumpkin orange Hummer joined the group, and Court-Case, aka Courtney Casey, stepped out. The head of the local Crips gang was accompanied by two enforcers.

“What the hell did we stumble into, Tomp? No one has mentioned any of these guys. With the lack of information on the street and the number of deaths involved, I figured we were dealing with amateurs. These guys are no amateurs.”

From his position just inside the library, Sinclair glanced around the area, glad there was plenty of backup. The crew assembling in front of them were always armed and thought nothing of shooting a cop.

The last vehicle to arrive was a late-model black Yukon.

A skinny blonde kid not old enough to be out this time of night hopped from the rear passenger door and open the front door.

What the hell?

With a mop of tousled, dark curls and skinny jeans, the last guy to exit the vehicle didn’t look old enough to be out alone either.

The baby-face was familiar but neither Sinclair or Tompkins had arrested him before.

The kid and Skinny Jeans greeted the group of law-breakers and ushered them to the rear of the Yukon. Skinny Jeans’ driver, a muscle-bound weightlifting type, was already pulling out and stacking bags of what Pat assumed were the drugs.

His voice low and clear, Pat spoke into his hand radio.

“Alright, people. I doubt it’s going to get better than this. We’ve got some true bad-asses out there so when I give the signal, move in fast, hard and loud and don’t stop until everyone’s in cuffs. Units 9 and 13, hang three steps back just in case some of these guys have their own spotters hidden -”

Before he could continue, Pat heard Court-Case laugh and watched him slap skinny jeans on the back.

“You’re stand up for a white boy, Spence. Been a pleasure doing business with you.”

Spence? This kid was the mastermind behind the drug operation that killed seven people and had his whole department on overtime?

Gripping the radio, Pat removed his Glock 22 from its holster.

They all watched as the skinny blonde kid offered Court-Case a sample.

Sinclair growled into his radio, “Move in!”

Law enforcement stormed the drug deal. Team members charged from darkened doorways, parked cars, and two even popped out of an abandoned dumpster. Three sharpshooters were focused on the melee from the library’s roof.

Court-Case, the blonde kid, and the Irish Mob guy all froze their hands in the air. The kid was terrified, and the two older men were no strangers to the drill. They knew it was better to not resist, use any info they had as leverage for a deal and live to see another day.

The Latin guy and Court-Case’s two enforcers weren’t as smart and fired at police.

None of them would live to see another day.

The muscle-bound guy tried to make a run for it. He thought he had a chance when he saw the tactical team member chasing him was female. Puffed up by machismo and steroids, he turned and barked at the fast-approaching police officer. “Don’t come any closer, little girl, you don’t want any of this!”

Thirty-nine-year-old Yvonne Baker almost smirked as she caught up with the arrogant bastard.

He swung one of his big meaty arms at Yvonne, which she ducked with ease. After a kick to his shin, a fist to his solar plexus, and an open palm to his nose, the man was laid out on the ground wondering what happened.

Skinny Jeans leaned against the Yukon, arms folded across his chest. He was too calm for Pat Sinclair’s liking.

“Sure, is a lot going on, officers. Who are these guys?”

Pat was almost too stunned to speak. This idiot was going to play the innocent victim.

“Turn around, hands against the truck, feet apart.”

Skinny Jeans feigned a crestfallen look. “Why? What did I do?”

Wayne Tompkins had enough. “You heard him, turn around!”

“Hey, Not so rough! I’m an innocent party here.”

Tompkins completed his search as tactical team leader, Larry Brent, passed the IDs of the dead suspects to Pat. “They’re all tatted, connected, and very dead.”

Pat shrugged. “All their choice. Your team good?”

“Donner took a round through his sleeve and is bitching about having to buy a new uniform shirt. I told him it was better than his wife buying him a suit to be buried in. That shut him up.”

Tompkins made Skinny Jeans sit on the ground next to the Yukon. Without a word he walked over and handed Pat the young man’s driver license.

Pat’s face fell. “Shit. Are you f-”

He was cut off by Luca, Brent’s second-in-command.

“Detective, you want to see this.”

Still reeling from learning Skinny Jeans’ name, Pat stepped to the rear of the Yukon and looked inside. His brow knitted in awe and confusion.

“What the hell is going on?”

The vehicle was filled to the brim with cocaine.

“Creighton has a drug problem, but this town just isn’t big enough for this kind of weight. Is it pure?”

Luca hefted a bag back into the truck. “We’ve checked three bags so far… it’s the real deal. If all the bags are pure and the same size… we’re looking at close to six million street value.”

Tompkins let out a low whistle. “I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore, Toto.”

Sinclair looked at the college student sitting on the ground. “There’s no freakin’ way he’s the Wizard, either.”

The coroner signaled he was done with the first body and moved on to the second.

“Brent, make sure I get photos from every angle and a sketched layout of the entire location.”

“You got it.”

“Come one, Tomp. Let’s get these guys downtown and try to figure this puzzle out.”

Pat brainstormed as he made sure all suspects were securely in police vehicles and headed for the station.

Connected gang associates, a new body count of ten, more cocaine than Creighton had seen in his entire career, and a nerdy rich kid playing dumb.

Things would get worse before they got better.


Two hours later, Pat Sinclair hadn’t made one connection in the case. Court-Case and the other suspect, who turned out to be Shane Peters, had lawyered up and weren’t talking in anticipation of some kind of deal. The blond kid, sixteen-year-old Elliott Olds—a runaway with no prior criminal record, was turned over to juvenile detention. The only talking forty-two-year-old Harvey Newsome was doing was to complain about “that bitch” breaking his nose.

It was no small shock to everyone to find out ‘Spence’ was Cecil Spencer Delk, a candy-ass junior at the local college with a Breaking Bad complex, and his dad was none other than local millionaire businessman, Cecil Delk, Sr.

Pat sat across the table from junior and senior Delk and the sly, slick, and wicked attorney of the local moneyed crowd, Jay Coolidge.

Wayne Tompkins stood in the corner, glaring at the threesome.

“Detective Sinclair, this has gone on long enough. My son has done nothing wrong and we’re leaving.” Delk, Sr., resplendent is a tailored Tom Ford tux was more annoyed at being pulled away from his gala event than his son being a drug trafficking suspect.

“We’re not done here yet, Mr. Delk. Your son still hasn’t told us what he was doing with known gang members and a vehicle loaded with cocaine.”

The junior Delk slammed his fist down on the table. “I told you Harvey is my personal trainer. After our workout, he was giving me a ride home and said he had to make a quick stop. I had no idea he was mixed up in drug trafficking.”

“Yet, it was you, not Harvey I saw talking with one of the other suspects.”

“Hey, I’m a friendly guy.”

Coolidge decided to join in and earn his retainer. “You have no evidence against my client, Detective. This is an unfortunate situation, and I applaud the Creighton Police Department for its fine work in seizing that drug shipment before it hit city streets. But my client, an earnest, trusting young man from a good family only exercised poor judgment in friends.”

Pat’s anger rose at the smugness of the trio. “If you were coerced or blackmailed into dealing, Cecil, now would be the time to tell me You cannot play with people like this. It’s like playing with an open fire and you will get burned.”

“Are you deaf or just stupid? I told you my son is not involved in this nasty drug business… and we’re leaving.” Delk Sr, stood just as the door to the interrogation room opened. Rick Morgan, precinct captain strode in.

“I’m Capt. Morgan, Mr. Delk, and I’m sorry but Cecil isn’t going anywhere tonight.” He motioned to Wayne to put Cecil back in cuffs.

Coolidge went on the defense. “What is the meaning of this? You have no grounds to arrest my client.”

“Your client was in the company of known felons at the scene of a large-scale drug buy. Conspiracy to traffic and distribute is a good start and will hold him until the feds show up.”

“This isn’t a good career move for you, Capt.” The threat in his tone and words did not go unnoticed.

“Thanks for your concern, Mr. Delk, but you let me worry about my career.” He motioned for Tompkins to remove Cecil from the room.

“We’ll have you out the second you’re arraigned, Cecil, don’t worry,” Coolidge offered. “They’ve got nothing.”

Pat Sinclair looked on in silence, racking his brain for some type of connection in all this for Cecil. Coming up empty, he played his last card.

“Detective Tompkins, just a second, please.”

Wayne paused at the door with the angry young man.

“Cecil, you do know those guys you were with? They’re not friendly guys like you, and they’re also not street punks. They run the streets for their local gangs, but it doesn’t end with them.”

Arrogant to the end, Cecil smirked. “You trying to make a point, Detective?”

Slipping into some arrogance of his own, Pat Sinclair leaned against the doorway. “My point is we picked up two million dollars in cash, and coke with a street value over six million. Your new friends? They deal in hundreds… maybe thousands, but millions? There’s someone bigger at the center of this and they didn’t get the drugs and their money was lost. Someone will have to answer for that.”

“Are you trying to intimidate my son Detective?”

“No, I’m trying to prevent any more lives being lost, Mr. Delk. If your son would just tell us where he got his coke from-”

Cecil kicked the door, pulling against the hold Tompkins had on his cuffed wrists. “I told you it’s not my coke!” With a glare over his shoulder at his father and attorney, Cecil Delk leaned toward the open door. “Get me outta here.”

Pat exchanged a knowing look with Tompkins and their captain before Tompkins took his suspect to booking. Rick Morgan followed close behind.

Delk and Coolidge also headed for the door.

“You must be desperate, Detective, using scare tactics on my son.”

“I’m not desperate and they’re not scare tactics, Mr. Delk. You’re a businessman, think about it. You negotiate for a product and end up without the product and payment. You’d be upset, right? And probably seek legal recourse, right?”

He walked over to the table and gathered his notes.

“People in the drug business don’t take legal action, Mr. Delk, they take lives.”

Delk’s smug facade faltered. He shot a glance at Coolidge, tilted his head toward the door and left without responding.

Pat hoped he was wrong, but Delk’s reaction spoke volumes.


Morgan sat on the desk across from Tompkins.

“Unless we get something solid on that kid, he’s going to walk or get fluff charges.”

Pat shook his head. All that dope and dead bodies… and he wasn’t going to do any hard time for it.

“As it stands now, Casey and Peters will get deals if their info on a couple of cold case murders pans out. Newsome’s going to be stuck with the hard federal time—life—unless he decides to give up his real boss.”

“I don’t think he knows, Capt. I think he believes Cecil is the boss.”

“Then it sucks to be him.” He stood. “But it won’t be our problem for much longer. DEA will show up sometime tomorrow to get the coke and Newsome. I’d love to have you both on-hand, but the commissioner is crawling up my ass about overtime hours. So officially, you two are off for the next two days. I hope this thing is just a bad memory by the time you clock in again.” He waved and headed for the on-call room for a quick nap before having to deal with the feds.

Tompkins scrubbed his hand down his face.

“Damn, I hate this shitty job sometimes.”

“Man, you and me both.” Pat sat up in his chair. “Wayne… before I let this go, there’s one more thing about this case with Delk.”

“What’s up?”

“I believe Delk, Sr. is in it up to his eyeballs.”

Wayne frowned. “Seriously?”

“Not many people in Creighton have the money to do business with this volume.”

“So, he’s guilty because he’s rich?”

“No, because of his son’s reactions.”


“Cecil didn’t say, “it’s not my coke,” he said, “It’s not my coke.” He knows the real owner. And when you took him out of here, the look he threw at his dad was accusatory.”

“Maybe you’re on to something, Pat. But we’ll never know for sure unless something major happens.”

He shut down his laptop.

“I’m gonna head out. Deb’s not over the flu and I need to get the Tompkins crew up and ready for school.”

“Up for school?” Pat glanced at the wall clock.

4:04. In the morning.

“Man, go on. Get out of here. I had no idea it was that late… or early. Last I noted the time was when Cecil’s daddy and lawyer showed up—at twenty minutes after one.”

Tompkins laughed, grabbing his coat. “Well, you could say we’re dedicated professionals more concerned with tracking down criminals than tracking time.”

“No, I think it’s more we’re a couple of schlubs who keep falling for the captain’s “It won’t take long” line.”

They shared a laugh, both knowing they would do anything Rick Morgan asked of them.

“I hope Deb feels better and tell Tyler he owes me a rematch in horseshoes.”

“Dude, I hope so too. Her mom said if Deb wasn’t better by the weekend, she was coming to stay with us to help out.” Tompkins shuddered. “I do not want that!”

“Better you than me! Enjoy the next couple of days off. See ya’ Friday.”

“You too, Sinclair.”

Pat knew Wayne Tompkins was already switching from police detective to husband and father in his head before the elevator even reached the first floor.

He made the last few entries in his own case file notes and emailed a copy to the captain, the desk sergeant, to himself, and to the queue of the records department.

With his part in the case done, fatigue to bore down on the fifty-two-year-old detective. He eased his bulky frame from his chair and stretched. The aches and pains of age joined in with the past job-related injuries and scarring to once again bring thoughts of retirement to mind.

Why do I keep doing this shitty job? I’ve put in my time. Served my community. Tried to be a good cop and make things better. Twenty-seven years is long enough. Let the new guys have it.

Pat grabbed his coat, needing to get home to Carla, the love of his life.


Pat Sinclair was relaxed and in a great mood as he drove into work. The two days spent with Carla were just what he needed. They’d taken a short road trip and made plans for their future. Pat wasn’t looking forward to telling his partner he was putting in his papers and would be gone by his next birthday.

Knowing his quiet time had to come to an end, Pat clicked on his police scanner to get the buzz.

“14, detectives have already left, and on-site cleanup is complete.”

“Identifications, B1?”

“Affirmative. And notifications have been made for the two victims, a white male, late teens-early twenties, and a white male, mid to late forties.”

Pat frowned as the communication continued.

“B1, these were the victims found bound, gagged and killed execution-style last night?”

“Affirmative, 14.”

Pat knew they wouldn’t say names over the police scanner, and he didn’t need to hear them.

He knew.

The Delks arrogance and total lack of street-smarts cost them their lives.

Pat felt bad for the family left behind. But, he had tried to warn them.

If you play with fire, you will get burned.


©2018 Felicia Denise, All Rights Reserved

Forgiving Max #52weeks52stories


#52weeks52stories: Week 7

Word prompt: bench


Having the bench in sight gave Ophelia Brubaker an energy boost to make the last few feet to her destination.

With her cane as support, Ophelia eased her brittle bones down onto the bench, grateful she’d remembered a seat cushion this time.

She loosened her light jacket and wiped the sheen of perspiration from her forehead as she caught her breath.

Ophelia looked around the immaculate grounds. The clover green grass had a uniform cut and stretched out around her like an inviting blanket. The trees, birch and oak, provided shade and comfort, their leaves rustling in the light breeze.

“The beauty of this place always takes my breath away, Max. I won’t say it’s wasted because that would be cold and unfeeling… and just plain rude. But, the city parks department could learn a thing or two from the landscapers here.”

She sipped from her water bottle before continuing.

“I spent a long weekend with Loren and his family. Teresa gave birth to his first grandchild Thursday night, and Carl graduated from Southern Sunday afternoon.” She chuckled. “It was quite a busy time. Made me realize how old and tired I am… but I loved every second.”

Ophelia smile faded, replaced by sadness. She looked around the grounds again, her mind prodding, pushing her to stop evading the subject.

At last, her eyes came to rest on the ornate headstone. Tears pooled in her eyes until they spilled down her drawn cheeks.

“You know, my love, I’ve been coming to visit you for twelve years. Updating you on what our children are doing, sharing the names and birth dates of our newest grandchildren and great-children, and telling you which of our friends to expect to see.”

Ophelia pulled an embroidered handkerchief from her bag and dabbed her eyes.

“But I’ve never talked about what was on my mind… what’s always on my mind.” Her jaws tightened. “And it’s been there for over sixty years. We didn’t talk about it when you were here… and I still have trouble talking about it now.”

She straightened her posture sitting erect, hands folded in her lap.

“But we will talk about it today, Max Brubaker. It’s time.”

She stared at the headstone.

“You and I, we had a perfect life together. I loved you with a fierce passion that scared me sometimes. And you… you could read my thoughts, finish my sentences, tell my moods by looking into my eyes. It was wonderful, my love. More than I dreamed I’d ever have.

“When we started our family, our blessings multiplied. I was heartbroken and guilty for the wives whose husbands didn’t come back from the war because mine did. And I was so grateful, Max. So, so grateful.”

“We had sad times. Losing our parents all so close together was difficult. When your cancer was diagnosed in 2004, it almost broke me. And when I lost you in 2006… Max, it did break me. I wanted to crawl into the casket next to you. Only the grace of God and the wonderful children he blessed us with saved me from dying of grief.”

Scooting to the edge of the bench, Ophelia leaned on her cane and stood.

“Some days it hurts to sit as much as it does to stand.” She hobbled around the bench and leaned on the retaining wall.

“The last true bad spot in our lives, Max, was Kerwin.” The name dropped from her lips leaving a grimace in its wake.

“Some families call members like him the black sheep, but Kerwin was so much worse… a cancerous plague spreading and devouring everything it touched.”

She paced the few steps to the end of the bench. “He almost destroyed us, but I refused to give in.” Her gaze returned to the headstone. “And you refused to admit the truth even though you saw it in my eyes. I couldn’t say the words either, too consumed with guilt, shame, and anger.

“But, when you said you had to take your dad to the specialist in Boston and Kerwin would stay with the kids and me and keep the sidewalks and driveway cleared of snow and ice—I’ll never forget that argument.”


“Boston General says the tests take two days. We’ll be on our way back home by Wednesday afternoon.”

Ophelia’s heart broke at the sadness overtaking her husband. “Do they think they can help your dad?”

He sighed, resting his elbows on his thighs. “That’s what the tests are for—to see the exact location of the tumor, how fast it’s growing, and if it’s operable. The only thing Dr. Minor would say for sure is if they do nothing, dad will lose his sight by fall.”

“I’m so sorry, my love. I know Dell is glad to have you with him.”

“I know, Lia. I’m glad I’m here for him too.” Max stood and grabbed another cup of coffee and before standing next to his wife at the counter.

“That winter storm they’re predicting could hit before we get back. I’d feel better knowing you and the kids weren’t here alone, so I asked Kerwin to -”

“No.” She grabbed more vegetables from the fridge.


“I don’t need… I mean there’s no need to inconvenience Kerwin. We’ll manage.”

Sitting his cup down, Max slid his hands around her waist.

“Inconvenience? Honey, he’s my brother. Of course, he’ll help look out for my family.”

She pulled away. “No, Max. It isn’t necessary.”

“Honey, I know you’re not the biggest fan of my brother since he tried to kiss you at Christmas dinner, and I’m sorry for that.”

Max couldn’t see her knuckles whiten as her grip tightened on the butcher knife.

“But he’d celebrated with a bit too much spiked eggnog, is all. He apologized to you when he sobered up.”

Ophelia stabbed at the potatoes and rough-chopped the carrots as though swinging a machete.

“Max, you’re talking about two days. TWO days. We’re two blocks from the children’s school and I’ll postpone any appointments I have. There. See how easy that was? No driving while you’re gone.”

Max stepped away from her, dragging his hand through his stiff buzz-cut. “Don’t mock me, Lia. I’m being serious about- ”

“I’m serious too, dear. The boys walk to and from school every day. If a foot of snow falls, it will take them longer… because they’re kids, and they will play. I can shovel a path to the sidewalk and walk down to the corner and wait for them. See? We’ll be fine.”

“Kids playing?” Max shoved his hands deep into his pockets, stomping around the kitchen. “You’re determined not to take this seriously, Lia. I get it, you don’t like Kerwin. But, remember that storm from last winter? It was supposed to be three to four inches and ended up being nineteen? The city was shut down with power and heating outages everywhere. We were all here together and things still got bad before streets were cleared and power restored.” He slumped against the refrigerator. “I have to know my family is safe. I’m sorry, but Kerwin will stay here.”

Slamming the knife down on the counter, Ophelia Brubaker whirled around to face her husband.

“You’re sorry? You’re sorry?” She walked toward him. “I have to tolerate Kerwin at family gatherings. And I’ve spent years listening to your family make excuses for his bad decisions.” She stopped mere inches from Max, her body shaking from rage.

“You are a wonderful husband and father, but you’re blind when it comes to your brother.” She took two more steps. “I will not have his presence forced upon me in my own home… not even for you. If you think the storm will be a problem, reschedule your father’s appointment- ”

“You know I can’t do- ”

“… then I’ll take the boys out of school for a couple of days and go to my brother’s.”

Stunned by her plan, Max Brubaker grasped for words.

“Lia, I’m just… I need you to work with me. I can’t be two places at once.” He held his arms out to his sides, his brow knitted in confusion. “I don’t know what else to do here, Lia. You act as though you’re afraid of my brother.”

Ophelia didn’t respond, but she held his gaze, fighting to keep her body from shuddering.

But she couldn’t keep the pain from her eyes.

She knew Max saw her pain when recognition dawned on his face.

The seconds ticked by as the couple stood moored in silence.

Embers of relief and hope grew inside Ophelia and calmed her soul. Max knew. At last, he knew. No more hiding her pain. No more fake smiles.

But Max Brubaker held his hands up in front of him… between them… backing toward the kitchen door. “Okay, Lia, you win. I’ll tell Kerwin your brother is coming here instead.”

He turned and walked out of the kitchen.


Tears streamed down Ophelia’s face, remembering that fateful day.

“You broke my heart, Max, and my spirit. If it hadn’t been for the boys, I’d have killed myself. It was too much to live with. Knowing you knew and did nothing. Like your parents, you covered up and ignored Kerwin’s sins, and defended him to anyone who held him accountable.”

She pointed an accusing finger at the headstone.

“Your brother raped me a month before you were discharged! He was smug and arrogant and knew your parents would protect him.” She twisted the handkerchief in her hands.

“I didn’t know what to do… who to tell. I felt responsible for letting him into our home. But he was your brother, Max. I didn’t think…” Her voice trailed off. After several minutes, Ophelia cleared her throat.

“I didn’t want your homecoming ruined, my love. I decided to say nothing until you got home. But even then, I could never form the words. The shame and guilt were just too great.”

“But years later… that day in the kitchen. You realized what I’d been hiding… and ignored it.”

“You put your brother ahead of me… and I hated you for it. Hated you! Do you hear me, Max?”

She clawed at her chest, trying to stave off her own hysteria. She buried her face in her hands, massaging her brow. When she raised her head, her calm had returned.

“I pretended things were okay—normal, even. I’d had a lot of time to perfect fake smiles and false sincerity. The only time I let my guard down was with my children.”

“You pretended too, my love. Pretended you didn’t know—like we’d never had that argument. But, you changed. You never left me alone with him after that and didn’t invite him over the way you used to. I was grateful for that.”

Ophelia paused as a woman a few years her junior walked by.

“Give him hell, honey. He can’t get up and leave.”

The two women shared a chuckle as the younger woman made her way to a bench and headstone of her own.

“We went on, Max. It was hell for us both, but I believe our love is what saved us. My head told me to walk away but my heart wouldn’t hear of it.” She grinned. “So glad I listened to my heart.”

“It all began to make sense right before your dad passed, in a dysfunctional, chaotic way. When Kerwin was arrested for assaulting that woman at his job, your dad stopped all his medical treatments to use his savings for Kerwin’s defense. When the woman dropped the charges, I realized the defense was to pay for her silence.

“It was the admissions your sister made to me when I spent the week in Seattle with her after the Cesarean that brought all the pieces together. I’d often wondered why Katherine made infrequent visits home but figured she was a busy wife and mother. But when she said it was hard for her to visit because she hated her brother, I knew which brother and why. After she told me Kerwin molested her when she was seventeen, and your parents blamed her, your reaction made sense.”

“You weren’t protecting Kerwin with your silence, you were protecting me. If your parents didn’t believe their own daughter, I didn’t stand a chance.”

“It was a bitter pill to swallow, but I did. The aftertaste came back several times over the years, but at least I didn’t blame you… or hate you.”

She took another sip of water, dabbed her eyes one last time and returned her things to her handbag.

“I’ve chided myself dozens of times since you’ve been gone for not telling you, Max… for not forcing the conversation. I just couldn’t make myself do it.”

“Katherine called me last night both happy and angry. Happy because Kerwin died two days ago of heart failure. Angry because he died at home in his own bed. No pain, no suffering. He went to bed and never woke up.”

“Katherine didn’t think it was fair after all the pain he’d brought to so many.”

“I understand why she feels that way, but odd enough, I found an easy peace in your brother’s death. I haven’t seen him since your funeral, yet I always felt as though he was behind every closed door or hiding in the dark waiting for me. It took me sixty years to put everything into place but now I know I was shackled by fear. I hated Kerwin and thought I hated you… but I hated myself more for being afraid.”

A sad smile formed on her face.

“I knew I would come here today and tell you what’s worried my heart for so long.”

Ophelia scooted to the edge of the bench and hoisted her weary body up, braced against her cane. She hobbled across the short narrow path to the granite headstone. She pressed two fingers against her lips then touched the grave marker.

“I miss you, my love, every day. And I forgive you, Max… for allowing me to hide my own pain. It gave Kerwin too much power over me for too long.”

Slow, deliberate steps took her back to the bench. She gathered her things, and with one last smile at Max Brubaker’s headstone, Ophelia left the cemetery for the last time. She would return thirty-seven days later to rest next to her husband… in peace.


©2018 Felicia Denise, All Rights Reserved