New Stories

So I've been thinking about a few books I plan to write and thought I'd take a stab at beginning one of them. So here is the opening scene from The Wicked (maybe):


“I’m glad you’re here, Sheriff,” Deputy Martin Dobson said as he reached the top of the dusty ravine with his lungs burning from the climb. 

Sheriff Richard “Granite” Johnson observed his overweight prodigy with barely a glance knowing the man fluctuated between gaining and losing the same forty pounds every year throughout the course of the last decade. Instead, he took in the scene with a stern expression. Of course from his position he couldn’t see much, but he didn’t have too. He could smell it, the stench of rotten flesh on stagnant air. Fighting back the bile in his throat, he tried to breathe out his nose to vacate the putrid air from his nostrils, but it lingered until he was almost forced to gasp for air.

“I know, sir,” Martin acknowledged. “It’s pretty bad.”

This time Granite looked at his deputy wondering how the man could stand there without covering his nose. “How can you stand it?”

Martin chuckled softly for a second. “I’ve lived with Carla’s cooking for fifteen years now, so this isn’t that bad.”

“Glad you can keep up your sense of humor right now.”

“Sorry, sir,” Martin apologized now realizing this was not the time for his normal quick-witted humor.

“That’s quite alright,” Granite corrected the man. “It’s best not to lose yourself in times like this. Just be aware that others may not be as understanding as I am at your seemingly blasé attitude.”

“Yes, sir.”

“So what’ve we got?” Granite asked as he tried to forget about his reoccurring gag reflex and focus on why he was here.

“I’d have to say it’s an older woman, probably in her sixties as best as I can tell,” Martin answered as a pure guess.

“How would you know that?”

“Her jewelry, sir. My mother wears the same style.”

“Well, let’s not jump to conclusions, but it’s a place to start,” Granite said with a nod. “Anything else?”

“No, sir. We’re still trying to locate the pieces.”

“Pieces?”

“I…” Martin started then closed his mouth for a second gathering his thoughts. “I didn’t want to blast it over the radio, sir, but it looks like the woman was cut into pieces before being dropped out here.”

“Couldn’t be coyotes?”

“I don’t think so, sir. Some of the cuts look too clean, at least from what little flesh remains.”

Granite observed the man closely wondering how the man, who’d never investigated a possible murder before, could come to such a conclusion. “How would you know that?”

“I watch a lot of television, sir. CSI. Bones. Can’t get enough of the shows.”

Granite frowned. “Let’s hope by the time this thing is over you’ll be broken of that habit.” Then he glanced over the edge of the ravine. “So what’s the easiest way down?”

A few minutes later the two men were at the bottom crossing over the police tape into the area. Of course Martin was huffing and puffing from the descent, but Granite didn’t say a thing feeling tightness in his own muscles which meant he couldn’t really chastise the man for his weight. Unfortunately, he wasn’t in the same shape he’d been five years ago as a slight beer gut started to show on his usually tone physique and it upset his slightly because his paunch didn’t reflect his nickname. Then again, this town somehow bred laziness. It promoted the simple life mentality which even affected him. It’d slowed him down whereas his previous assignment as a New York City cop had kept him in better shape. Now, back in his home town of Walsenburg, Colorado, where he’d thought he could relax in what he considered an early retirement, he found this scene. And even with just a moment’s observation he knew this murder was going to interrupt his plans of being a lazy small town sheriff. 

Stepping around the area trying to find a place which was upwind of the body, he took it all in. He’d seen dead bodies before, plenty of them. He’d even come across a few semi-decomposed ones, but none of them made him want to hurl like he did now. Besides the stench, there seemed to be a ring of blood drawn around the remains which brought in a swarm of flies and gnats. Beyond that, the shadow of vultures circling above cast an odd swirling pattern over the ground. And then there was the body itself, a mangled mess of rotting flesh strewn about in an odd pattern as if creating a piece of obscene modern art. Taking in every detail with only a scan of the area, Granite could easily the whole place buzzed of death.

Worst of all, he knew this wasn’t going to be the first one, as a cold dread filled his thoughts.