Graduation

The excitement escalates with promises of cash and a planned out future;
Parties are planted and the seeds grow in number,
Until every day is a new chance for drink, for dance, for music,
For peer-pressured decisions.

At the climax of the mark of a new beginning the celebrations of mediocrity
Develop in size and explode in importance,
Until every person is involved because, what a sin it would be
Not to be there.

The denouement unravels with a breath of weight-lifting relief, but wait:
The festivities come to an abrupt and sudden end
And the real world calls for every person to move, to work, to pay,
To contribute to society.

In the aftermath of the drunken laughter and blinding flashes of party lights
The weight of responsibility comes crashing down
With the impact of a piano falling from a tense cable, everything scatters
Amongst clattering keys.

The stragglers are left floating in limbo under the assumption that they know nothing;
The action-takers are leaping on every opportunity
In feverish panic with too much rush, too much restlessness, too much fervour,
Transitioning simplicity to chaos.

The hunt for foundation and settlement and security is on in high competition,
Caught up in the flurry of planning too much
When there is no way to plan for the unknown, the uncertain, the predictable
And you can only decide to be.

Past the Tip of Your Cigarette

http://juanthemexican.tumblr.com/post/76604175328

Admiring the world

Past the tip of your cigarette,

Watching the embers burn

With memories of regret.

Holding deep inside

Your sorrow and your sadness,

Carrying with you everywhere

The gouging pain and madness

Of this life.

Taking every day

As each one of them comes,

Running head on

Into each and every one.

Grasping at the hope

That mocks you from afar,

Clutching to the feelings

That hold you down like tar

To this earth.

Spare a Coin

A coin clicks down on the palms of diminished value.

Hands held out, pleading for some kind of hope.

Clothes tattered, torn in disarray

Hair unkempt, tangled, matted.

How can we walk passed subconsciously,

Avert our gaze and know we're free,

When all they need is someone to care?

How can we walk passed subconsciously,

When we can see their pain so obviously?

Chapter One: Enter South America

This is a book idea I started a while back. I was wondering if people could help me out with something I'm worrying about. I'm wondering if the trust that Josephine Carmichael uncovers for Elroy Gray happens to suddenly by the end of it? Does she start talking too openly too quickly if you take into account the fact that she rarely speaks her mind, and when she does she speaks quietly and usually only to people she trusts fully? Does their relationship here move to quickly, did I rush the character development here, should I start further back in their lives to first put the characters into place?

Theses are just a few questions you might keep in mind while reading if you plan on giving me feedback afterwards. Would really appreciate the help! Thanks :)

Let's get to it then! Enjoy!:

CHAPTER ONE:

His cup of water was handed to him by a slender, well-manicured hand with red-painted, perfect nails, attached to an arm that was attached to a shoulder, attached to the body of the uniformed stewardess strolling down the aisle with the refreshment cart. The flight thus far had been a peaceful one in second class seats, the three on the right near the middle of the section, by the wing. Each seat was occupied by a person, each person in each seat had a story, and each story had a beginning but no defined end.

Elroy Gray watched the flight attendant closely as she handed him his water and then leaned over to the other side of the aisle to ask the other passengers for their desires. She was pretty and confident in her job. She regarded him as just another passenger on another flight. That was just fine.

The man on his right, large, overweight, was snoring heavily, sleeping soundly, and had been for the last two hours. Gray’s patience rewarded him well here. The young girl on the other side of the obnoxious sleeper, by the window, was the person that he was most interested in calculating at the present.

His gaze drifted towards her, almost subconsciously. She looked exactly the same…

~~~

The hum of the plane was constant. It was probably one of the reasons she’d never been able to sleep on a plane. But aside from that, what disconcerted her the most, was the man two seats away who wouldn't stop glancing at her with those emotionless blue eyes, staring without shame as though calculating her worth. If it weren't for his silver-like hair and clean-shaven pointed face, she never would have actually noticed him in the first place. Aside from the colour of his eyes, this man staring at her from two seats away on the long flight down south looked exactly as she had always pictured her father. He was the ideal man, in appearance, of the father that she’d never had.

Josephine Carmichael always did this in places with lots of people. She surveyed every face that passed her by, and eventually found the ones that looked like her “ideal parents”. This was the first time she’d ever noticed a man who fit her standards so perfectly. It was hard not to stare right back at him, and it was definitely impossible to go to sleep with him right nearby.

She didn't know why she did it; picked people out from a crowd whom she would describe as parent-like, but it was old habit, and habits die hard. It was unreasonable of her. She was only bringing more pain upon herself this way. She had to get over every person she saw who fit her standards enough, and these people always brought up unwanted emotions in her that she had a hard time getting rid of.

Josephine glanced furtively past the large, snoring man next to her to look at the ideal father figure on his other side another time. He was dressed between formal and casual in dress pants and a gray jacket over a red button-up shirt with a collar. His shoes weren't altogether fabulous, but they went nicely with his ensemble. He looked very official that way.

She looked quickly away again when his eyes seemed to turn towards her again. Supposedly, she had no right to be bothered by him staring at her when she was also staring right back at him, but the implications of a man staring at a young woman were much more numerous than those of a young woman staring at an older man.

Josephine forced her gaze out the round window by her head. She couldn’t see much past the wing of the plain by blue sky, and perhaps some rolling waves far down below. She needed to focus on why she was on this plane in the first place, she needed to forget her obsession with ideal parent figures and slap herself back into reality, back into the world she lived in, had always lived in, and would always live in, where she had no parents, and no siblings, and no family to care for her; she was on her way down south on this plane because the headmaster of the orphanage was kind to her and thought that an experience outside of her daily life and land would do her a lot of good. She was made out to be a mopey, depressed, and dark person in general, even though this wasn’t entirely true. She did not have a bright personality, but one shouldn’t exaggerate. She was on this plane for a new experience, she needed to forget her old habits for the time being…but it was difficult to forget them with such a perfect match sitting so close by, even if she’d probably never see him again after getting off of the plane in South America. She would probably end up being distracted by the thought of him for a long time after this was over.

The flight attendant was passing back with the cart after having passed through once already. The father figure had received a water from her but Josephine hadn’t asked for anything. As she was passing by their seats, the father figure stopped the stewardess and murmured something to her. She smiled and eventually handed him a second cup of water even though he still hadn’t finished the first cup from before. As she backed away with her cart, the father figure turned in his seat and held the second cup out to Josephine, over the snoozing middle-man. He offered Josephine a slightly amused smirk.

“Juice up. You should keep hydrated,” he said quite simply.

Josephine didn’t know whether to be surprised or offended, but she chose surprised and accepted his offer with a nod.

“”Flying by yourself?” he enquired. Was he just curious or did she have the right to be suspicious of him?

“Yeah,” she answered quietly after taking a sip of water, “You?” she found it difficult to look at him now that he was talking to her.

“Yeah,” he seemed at as much of a loss for words as she was. Either that, or he was just a naturally quiet person – like she was. And she wasn’t sure what the reason was, but he gave off a pleasant aura of sorts, in his tone of voice, his amused smirk, and his mannerisms that she’d taken note of so far. She liked to think that he looked trustworthy.

“I’ve been sent away on a vacation,” she found herself saying to him, with a hint of a smile at the memory of the headmaster telling her it was time to get out of the city.

“You too, huh? I didn’t think you were old enough to be told to go take a vacation. I get told to every month, but I’ve never agreed…”

“You’re out on business, then…” Josephine noted.

“You got family down in Santiago?” he asked her. She shook her head. She supposed she should have thought of this kind of situation beforehand, what with her travelling alone, but she didn’t usually talk to strangers. When she did and they asked her about family, if she told the truth they usually portrayed expressions of pity and said they felt sorry for her. She didn’t like hearing those words, seeing those faces, so she didn’t like talking about it. But she didn’t have a solid cover-story in place and she wasn’t sure what to say to him.

“Just a bag, some cash, and a hotel room with my name on it,” she smirked sheepishly. She wasn’t telling him the name of her hotel, now, was she? And unless he followed her, it wasn’t like it was a problem. She wasn’t being naïve now, was she?

“Well, if you’re just trying to get away, I guess that’s the way to do it,” he shrugged.

“What about you, here for a business opportunity or money issues?”

“You could call it both, but I prefer to think of it as criminal justice,” he clanked overhead for a moment and then back across in her direction. She smirked.

“You’re a cop?” she asked, though it was closer to a statement than an actual question.

“Federal Agent,” he shrugged with an affirming nod.

“Sounds…exciting,” Josephine decided with an arched eyebrow.

“It has its moments,” he smiled, and then watched her thoughtfully with narrowed eyes, “Now tell me, what would a person like you be doing, going to Santiago on your own like this? It doesn’t seem like the situation is…natural. I’m curious now; you don’t look like a regular working citizen taking some time off because your boss told you to.”

Josephine regarded his question carefully. He wasn’t exactly trying to pry, in a sense. He was a Fed, so he was bound to be good at extracting information out of people. And it wasn’t like she was hiding anything in particular or doing anything illegal. She also had a feeling that if she told him of her circumstances, he wouldn’t give her that look that she hated so much. She felt like she could trust him not to disappoint her in that way.

And she was right.

“The headmaster of the orphanage I live at sent me out to clear my head,” she told him, quite honestly and bluntly. If he was surprised, he didn’t exactly show it. He only nodded and then looked up the aisle a ways, seeming thoughtful.

“You could probably use the time,” he said after a moment. She’d been right to trust him, and because she’d been right, she smiled. She wasn’t exactly in a situation where one would normally smile, but she couldn’t help herself. He was, after all, the ideal father figure; not that it would matter in the long run.

“In your orphanage, is it co-ed?” he asked her after another pause. It didn’t surprise her that he would ask about her lifestyle, and for once, she felt almost comfortable enough to talk about it normally.

“Yeah, co-ed, with the sleeping quarters separated for the girls and boys into two different buildings on campus,” she was already thinking back to the girls’ dorm, to the cramped quarters and the pillow fights on hyper nights…it was, in general, a decent place. Temporarily. Living there for a long time was not ideal. It still had nothing over a real family lifestyle.

“Your Head sounds like a nice guy…” the father figure said to her. The father figure…it seemed a little ridiculous to think of him that way after talking to him for a while.

“He is,” Josephine smiled a little fondly. Everyone loved the old man, the headmaster, who was so much more lenient than any of the other staff at the orphanage, “I’m Josephine, by the way,” she finally said, turning to him with an air of friendliness that she hadn’t had the chance to use up until now.

“Agent Gray. But you can leave out the Agent,” he assured her. She grinned, but slowly adopted a more serious expression.

“Agent Gray…I think I’ve heard your name somewhere before…or at least, a mention of it…” Josephine frowned. The connection seemed to be in her grasp, but…she shook her head and sighed, “I can’t remember where though.”

Gray shrugged, “Wouldn’t expect you too. I’m not a big fan of the media, so any mention of me would be scarce.”

Yeah…just a random mention in the media.

The seat-belt light flashed on overhead and the pilot’s voice interrupted their thoughts over the com to introduce a turbulent leg in their flight.

The first few bumps were the usual, no big deal, a little troubling, but nothing out of the ordinary. The second wave cut out the lights overhead, leaving nothing but the windows on the sides illuminated. Even the seatbelt and no-smoking lights turned off. With the next hit of turbulence, the hum of the plane changed its tune and an alarming sensation in the stomach was felt by most passengers conscious of the changes.

Agent Gray looked nearly ready to jump out of his seat and head up to demand an explanation out of the pilot. His eyebrows had already arched into a slight frown and he was very concentrated on staring up the aisle towards the front.

Josephine had never imagined her entrance to the south this way. Her brain had a way of blocking things out, traumatic things, things she didn’t want to experience again, and it seemed that that was exactly what it was doing then and there. Before her conscious mind could fully process the details of what was about to happen, her subconscious shut down anything that would allow her to recall the even at any time in the future – if she did indeed survive long enough to try and remember anything.

Through blinks of light and fuzzy images, from the sounds around her that she heard as though she were submerged underwater, she knew that she must have managed to follow the emergency procedures indicated. Lifejacket. Check. Exits. Check.

The man between her and Agent Gray had awoken at some point and he was also, albeit frantically, following the flight attendants’ instructions.

Descent…water…no-fuel…malfunction…Screams, wails of “I don’t want to die”, panicky whimpers.

This was how Josephine would remember her entrance into South America. High levels of turbulence, bumps, squeals of distraught passengers all around, the distinct lurch and landing in the water of the Pacific Ocean. The sound of a voice, a distinct voice shouting in her ear, and then the sensation of a firm grip on her right bicep pulling her down the aisle to the exit.

Fresh air hit Josephine’s face like a wake-up call, unexpected and somehow refreshing, just as she was sliding down into the rolling waves of the Pacific. With the cool air and the cold, cold water lapping up against her and soaking her to the bone, it became excruciatingly difficult for her to lapse back into a nonsensical state. Her mind was in a state of utter panic. She realized, hardly, in the back of her mind, that she was having a panic attack while in the Pacific Ocean with nothing but a lifejacket to keep her afloat next to the body of a supposedly malfunctioned plane. Heart pounding, breathing unstable, hyperventilating, there was no way for her to control the way her body was reacting to her situation.

“Snap out of it, Josephine!”

Even over the rolling waves, the voice was back. It was the same voice, she would soon remember, that had gotten her out of the plane in the first place. It was the voice that had kept her alive.

“Land’s that way!” he was hollering above the sound of the sea, just so that she’d listen, and she was listening. Her panic attack was gradually calming, her heart rate slowing, her breathing evening out as much as their situation warranted, “Come on, Finn, swim!”

He was only about an arm’s length ahead of her. The word “swim” triggered her body to follow him, to make her way in the direction that Agent Gray was leading – the direction that everyone seemed to be going in.

Maybe she’d missed something about it in her state of delusion.

The whole way, Agent Gray remained only an arm’s length ahead of her, swimming just ahead to point the way and just close enough to keep her following with morale support. She wasn’t a strong swimmer, but she was swimming. She didn’t have high endurance, but she was enduring. If Agent Gray hadn’t been there, she most certainly would not have made it. Her will to survive wasn’t exactly her strongest point, but he made it her only point as he drove her along to land.

He didn’t seem ready to let a plane crash be the end of either of them. She was glad she had ended up talking to him in that seat, on that plane, even after the thought that she didn’t usually talk to strangers.

How do you know my name?

"How do you know...my name?"
The panic, concealed in anger. So great, the panic, that made me shiver. Tremble. Shake. Me who was such a master of composure...I had failed. For once, I had failed in my objective, after all of the work and effort I had put into it, all the effort I had put into erasing my true self from the world.
He still knew my name.
The darkness surrounding me was not only the nature of the room, but was also clouding my mind, clouding it with the dark prospect of failure. I had been so confident that no one would know, no one would recognize, that I had hidden myself so well, I was a different person.
I had been too confident.
Once upon a time, solving my problem would only have taken a moment, a second, two at the most. A simple slash, or a deathly hold...I could have erased him from the world, left no evidence to tie his death to me, and my plan would have been complete. Except for the vow that I had made. I had made that vow, to myself. That kind of vow was the strongest, the most condemning, and it pulled at my mind as I stood over this man, leaning the palms of my strong hands on the arms of his chair. My hair lightly touched the top of his head, he could probably feel my breath against his shortly-cut hair. I could feel his trembling through the wood of the chair, to which he was strapped, set in the centre of such a desolate, abandoned room. The carpet beneath my feet was worn, the red colour had faded mostly, as had the pattern. My shining black shoes looked rich in comparison. The wooden floor, visible around the carpet in its dark hue, seemed ready to give way. Old, crumbling, it could fall out beneath one's feet without warning. The four poster bed, with its tattered red hangings, sat against the right wall, old, forlorn, and forgotten. A candle, burning and flickering its light across the room, making suspicious shadows, sat on the small table by the door, the old wooden door with its brass handle.
The shadows that flickered over my face gave me an even darker appearance. The man shaking beneath me, so much so that he could not tell that I myself was trembling, had a look of extreme fear on his young, once confident features. My black hair hung slightly over my face, hiding only my eyes due to its shorter length. My eyes, the ones that could tell this man my fears and pains if he could only see them.
I would not let him see them; my dark, sorrowful eyes.
Sweat beaded on my brow, tricked down to the tip of my pointed nose. My pale skin glowed in the darkness, brightened only by that flickering candle flame in the corner. The shadows on my face and my body, fluttering over my white dress shirt with two buttons undone, over my black pants into which the shirt was tucked, onto my black shoes that still shone with polish. And the man here, under my power, saw me as the last thing he would ever see.
But could I live up to that expectation that he had? Could I kill him, alone in this dark room, while he had no escape, even after I had vowed to myself not to take a human life ever again without good reasoning?
Was there ever a good reason to take a life? Did I have the right to take all this man had, all of it, gone in an instant to send him to death's door? I had the means. That was not the question. I had the abilities. The question was, did I have the right? I could kill him. But would I?
"How...do you know...my name...?" Panting now, I asked him, the same question again. How did he know? When I was sure that I had never met him, and that I had erased all traces of myself, how did this man know who I was? "Where did you hear...that name?"
My knuckles were white, gripping the arms of this wooden chair with such intensity and ferocity that the wood began to splinter and crack. The feel, the sound, like breaking a bone...
"How do you know?!"
I had surely lost all composure now, yelling, as my rage took over and I fell back into the mentality that there was no way I would ever be forgotten. I had done to much. I yelled again, at this man, the question that I so desperately and so desperately did not want the answer to.
"How do you know my name?!"
His muted state was nearly too much for me to handle. If I had not needed information from him, I surely would have killed him in that moment. Perhaps I would have snapped his neck...or stabbed him with my knife repeatedly...or beat him repeatedly before killing him by some other way. It was my need for what he knew that stayed my hand and prevented my from breaking my vow to myself. I needed to know what he would not tell me, and since I could not kill him...I would have to extract the knowledge from him.
Then, I already knew, that I would kill him. After I knew what he knew...before the torture even started, I knew that I would soon kill him. Either after I got what I needed...or after I decided that he wouldn't give it to me.
His fate was sealed. And my determination to break my vow...was certain.

Define Beauty

You sit there fuming, when really you're sad.
You give credit to the world for making you mad,
While you pity yourself, think of all that you had,
Disrespect yourself, why don't you think a tad?

The masks you put on are paper thin.
Start peeling them off, stop falling for sin.
Unmask your true self, let the ones who care in.
The ones who care can only try until you want to win.

Beauty shouldn't be defined by how much skin you reveal,
But rather, by the heart you show is real.
Stop yourself from doing something now, feel,
That you know you'll regret later on, deal?

An excerpt from a book I wrote...

Antoinette Valentine slipped gracefully out of her black BMW and walked up the steps into the building before her. Just another day at work. She took the elevator up to the fourth floor of the tall office building and bypassed security with a simple flash of her badge to the security guard. She opened the door at the far left of the hallway by sliding her card through the slot and entered into her familiar office space that she shared with her three other teammates: Ryan King, Noah Jimms, and their "leader" of sorts, Jake Freeman. She was the second person to arrive at work that morning, after Freeman. He was at his desk, actually doing his paperwork for once.
"Morning, boss," she greeted him with a smirk as she settled in behind her own desk and began organizing herself.
"Valentine. No coffee this morning?" he asked, with only a quick glance up from his desk.
"Traffic was awful today - I bypassed. Sorry, boss," she shrugged. She usually brought in coffee for the team, including herself, but hadn't had the chance, "No one else decided to show yet?" she enquired and booted up her computer.
"Not yet. You're second, as usual," he replied.
"One of these days, I'll have to be first," she sighed.
"Then you'll most likely have to stay here all night, but even then, chances are slim," he responded, signing a paper with a flourish and slamming it down onto an increasing stack before him. Antoinette chuckled. The scary thing was, it was true. Sometimes, Freeman never left the office. It was almost like he lived there.
The door beeped and in walked Ryan King, carrying a tray of four coffees.
"I assumed right!" he called over his shoulder and Noah Jimms sauntered in behind him, looking as mischievous as ever.
"Assumed right in what?" Antoinette demanded. He set a coffee carefully on her desk, then on Freeman's, Jimms', and took the final one for himself.
"That since there was so much traffic today, you wouldn't be bringing us coffee this morning," he answered, and sat down behind his desk that sat across from hers and next to Noah's, who's desk sat across from Freeman's. The boss' was situated next to Antoinette's.
Presently, Freeman's cell phone rang. He answered quietly, never taking his eyes off of his paperwork, said yes and okay a couple times, and hung up, grabbing his coffee and standing from his desk in one fluid movement. Antoinette grabbed her small back pack before he could even say "Time to go" and followed him out. Ryan and Noah scrambled after them, coffee in hand, back packs over their shoulders.
"I'm gonna' guess a double murder in an underground parking lot, each stabbed," Ryan said as they hurried to the elevator and descended to the underground parking where their team car awaited, "And I get to drive."
Freeman threw the keys and Antoinette caught them and headed for the driver's seat.
"Guess not, Ryan," she smirked, and unlatched the door and slipped in. Freeman got into the passenger side and the other two hunkered down in the back.
"And I thought my premonitions were on a roll...was I at least right about the case call?" he complained.
"No," Freeman answered simply, not bothering to elaborate. He gave Antoinette the address and fell into pensive silence, no doubt preparing himself for the crime investigation.
"Does the boss seem a little more moody than usual?" Antoinette heard Ryan murmur to Noah. She grinned.
"How would you like to do my paperwork all night, King?" Freeman asked slyly. The backseat fell silent. No secrets were kept from the Boss, "Better prepare yourselves this morning: triple homicide, two of the victims are children and the third is their mother. Ayesha is already on the scene."
"Great..." Ryan mumbled, already apprehensive. No matter how many times you saw or heard about it, you never got used to seeing murdered children. Not that it was any different with adults either. Children were just...harder to deal with as murdered.


Antoinette pulled up to the curb next to the blue gabled house labeled 330283 in black metal numbers on the side and cut the engine. Everyone removed their seatbelts and climbed out of the car. There were a couple police cars out front, two ambulances, and one black car belonging to Ayesha Malestre, their fifth team member who occupied herself with the dead bodies and what had caused their deaths. There was yellow tape lining the front yard. Freeman slipped under it, showing his badge to the cop on the other side, and Antoinette and her two co-workers followed suit. They entered the house and showed their badges to the cop inside the front door.
"Second floor, in the bedrooms. You can't miss it," he told them solemnly. Whatever it was, it wasn't going to be pretty, "And the husband and his daughter are outside," he added.
"Ryan, Noah," Freeman ordered.
"Yes, boss," they said, and headed back outside to question the remaining family members. Antoinette followed him up the stairs and down the hall to the bedroom where Ayesha had already started working. The sight of the body made Antoinette's stomach turn, but she managed to keep her expression neutral.
"Morning Ayesha," Freeman announced his presence to the deeply engrossed Ayesha.
"Morning boss. Antoinette," she called, barely glancing up from her work at hand.
"So...what've you got?" Freeman asked.
"Well, by the looks of precision and care and ritual appearance, we've got a homicidal maniac who had personal connection with this particular victim...but that's only premonition," she replied. Antoinette couldn't help but agree. The way the eyes and mouth had been stitched shut; the position of the hands over the chest. It was definitely ritualistic.
"Time and cause of death?" Freeman questioned.
"Sometime between 1 and 4 in the morning. Cause is yet to be determined, but I'd guess that it was the slit throat," Ayesha replied nonchalantly.
"Tell me when you know for sure. You've already checked the other two victims?"
"Yeah, they were in the other bedroom. I had them wrapped up already and just got to work here," she said, and resumed the pace of her work. Freeman nodded and led Antoinette out of the master bedroom and down the hall to the kids' bedroom. They'd also been assaulted in their beds.
"Remind you of anything, Valentine?" Freeman enquired.
"No, boss," she frowned, "You've seen this before?"
"This is how my sister was found," he responded simply. Antoinette stared for a minute. How could she have forgotten? Of course...and they still hadn't caught the murderer. That explained his silent behavior, "Maybe you can help me solve it this time, Valentine," he murmured, and headed out of the room. She followed him, after snapping out of her initial revelation, and descended the staircase on his tail. He led her outside towards where Ryan and Noah were speaking with a tearful man who was holding a young teenager close to him, who was also crying. They turned and walked to meet Antoinette and Freeman, leaving the crying ones behind them at a safe distance.
"The daughter came home at around eight this morning from a field trip with her grade ten class and found her mom and siblings in...the state they were in," Ryan recounted immediately.
"What about the dad?" Freeman asked.
"He came when she called him. He'd been at work all night. He's a surgeon at the hospital and he was on his break when the girl called. She'd already called the police and was waiting for them to come but she was panicking and all. He came down immediately and arrived shortly after the authorities," he replied.
"They said that they didn't know if it had anything to do with it, but the mother, the victim? She'd been receiving odd phone calls. All she would hear was heavy breathing at the other end of the phone. They reported them in but no one did anything about them," Noah added on.
"Well, you don't have to tell them yet, but that has everything to do with the case," Freeman told them quietly, "This exact scenario has happened before, except that there were no children involved and the woman was single living alone in the country. She got the same calls once a week - they started a month before she was found," he explained, "They never found the killer."
His light grey eyes bored into each of his team's meaningfully.
"It's time we did."

Goodbye

Sit here and cry for a while in my arms.

Don’t hold it in,

Just let it go.

Let the tears flow,

Like a waterfall of sorrow and goodbyes,

Don’t hold it in,

Just let it go.

The worst pain there is,

Is pain of abandonment.

Can saying goodbye compare

In any way at all?

The throat constricting,

Heart is pounding,

Sorrow screaming to be heard.

And they don’t come back,

They can’t come back at all.

Sit here and cry for a while in my arms.

Don’t hold it in,

Just let it go.

Let the tears flow,

Like a waterfall of sorrow and goodbyes,

Don’t hold it in,

Just let it go.

How do you handle

The pain raging in your heart?

Do you cry so quietly,

Lock yourself away?

Or do you scream out to the heavens

Asking why, why, why?

Can you stand it,

Can you take it?

Aren’t you like everybody else?

Sit here and cry for a while in my arms,

Don’t hold it in,

Just let it go.

Let the tears flow,

Like a waterfall of sorrow and goodbyes,

Don’t hold it in,

Just let it go.

And know

That if you need me,

I’m there, forever there.

In you heart,

You can always find me and see,

We’re not that far apart.

But still…

Small consolation…

So you sit here and cry for a while,

In my arms.

You will be,

Warm and safe and dry,

Ready to see.

It’s not forever nor

Forever and a day.

So take your pain and wash it all away.

Please take my pain,

And wash it all away.

The Star Song

I had a plan

That I developed last night

To keep you safe, your world bright.

I had a ploy

That I hang on to even now,

To keep you safe from all kinds of harm.

Do you know

The safest place for you

Would be up in the stars, beyond the trees.

To get you there

I'll have to do what it takes,

Even if what it takes causes me break.

The worst crime

The world can condemn me to

Is letting it touch you and mar your perfection.

So what I'll do

Is take you away from them

I'll send you away and let you live with the stars

And to punish myself, I'll have to stay behind...

Some Random Writing of Mine: Alone

Alone, beneath the moon. The stars. The black void, sparkling above, forever spreading out into the distance. No end to the darkness...The dead of night was the death of sound. Silence engulfed, enveloped, smothered him. He could think of nothing else, and he allowed it to eat away at him, to slowly, relentlessly, eat him up from the inside.

What had he done?

The lapping of waves, just below the rocky cliff. A beam of moonlight shone down, illuminating a patch of water near the cliff, showing the doorway to that deep, dark, not blue but black subterranean abyss. Should he throw himself in? Should he throw caution to the winds and punish himself for his unforgivable sin? Or would remaining alive, with that now empty space in his heart, be better punishment?

What had he done?

He raised his eyes to the sky. The ends of his straw-coloured hair rustled like distant whispers in a breeze. His blue eyes; they had been gentle once; were squeezed shut now. And the tears still flowed down his cheeks, glistening, shining, glittering in the crystal light of the moon against his skin. His pain screamed out as a silent wail, coming forth inaudibly from his wide open mouth – stretched wide from his pain. His self-inflicted pain.

What had he done?

And he finally screamed into the night, breaking the void of silence that had so carefully covered his ears like a stifling blanket. He screamed out to the black sky, the crystal moon, the blinking stars. His throat grew raw and he screamed still. His lungs begged for breath and he screamed still. The sound of the most devastated of men. The most dead of men. Dead while alive. He was dead.

Dead.

          Dead!

What had he done? How could he have…?

And he slowly lowered his head, ashamed that he had been so bold as to look to the heavens after what he had done. And he slowly opened his eyes, wet and misted over with tears, flowing because of his pain. His faze fell upon the water, the black engulfing, washing surface. His gaze fell upon the moonlit patch where the darkness seemed to swallow him whole…

A wave.

          A beat.

A wave was all it took.

          A beat was all that followed.

Scraping the dark surface from beneath, barely reaching for the sky beyond. Was it in his mind? He saw it…the white skin of a pale hand, hardly clinging to life as it fought to surface. It fought for its life, its right to live. It fought for this right, the very way she had…he had snuffed it out, had he not?

What had he done?

          …what would he do?

It was his body and lungs that would scream in protest to the heavens as he leapt, throwing his arms out, straightening his legs. It was his body and lungs that would cry out as the cold water suffocated him, as the waves crashed around, behind him, above him, against the cliff’s face. His body screamed against the cold that froze to the bone, and further as he broke surface. His lungs burned from the exertion, the cold air. The water tried to jump down his throat, to drown him. The waves tried to slam him back into the cliff, to pull him under, over and over, as he stretched out flat and worked his arms, his legs, in desperation. Perhaps he had taken too much time already…but he reached out, despair trying to squeeze the life out of him – whatever kind of life that may be. A great surge brought him to the patch of crystal light. Now only his wet limbs occupied the space.

No…no…no! Where?

Water dripped down his face, his nose, his chin, his hair, stinging his eyes.

Where?

          Where?

                   Where?!

And then there! Left, behind him by about a foot, still floating just beneath the surface. He surged, he dove, he stretched out to reach it as it began to sink – to sink? No! – he reached out and his hand grasped…closed around…something. Solid. Cold. Thin.

Was that…a beat?

He arrived, pulled with one hand, brought the other hand around and found a hold. He pulled up, enveloped it in his arms, as he kicked to remain afloat with this new weight bearing down on him.

Hold on…hold on…don’t sink…don’t sink…don’t die!

His strength balled up and combusted in a powerful blast. His lungs. His arms. His body. They moved together without conscious thought to direct them. The shore to the right of the cliff, licked gently by the waves, was scarred by their arrival. The sand bore the marks of the passage as he dragged it along on stumbling feet, up the shore, the grit sticking to his clothes, his skin, his hair.

Collapsed.

He collapsed in the sand, breathing heavily. Hard. The water coming up in coughs as he strained for breath. His left arm, stretched over the survivor. Was it a survivor? His right arm, crushed beneath him. He breathed in…out…in…out…and finally took the time to affirm what he could maybe have accomplished. His right arm propped him up on his side as his pain lay dormant, while he tried to see if his desperation had perhaps – just perhaps – saved a life.

He had to life his left hand to wipe water from his eyes, his face, and to push back his dripping bangs.

The moon, shining brightly above, crystal in a clear sky, shone down on them, there, on the would-be-white shore. The stars twinkled gently in the dark, through the dark, upon him, as his eyes graced her fallen face. Her skin, pale and wet in the white, pale light, glistening with beads of clear water, curved from a defined jaw to a pointed chin. Her sharp cheek bones sat prominently below closed, lidded eyes. Her long, dark eyelashes tickled her white, pale forehead. Her soaked, black hair, with grains of sand clinging to the strands, splayed about her, fell away from her face, her clear, smooth, perfect face…her divine face, inlaid with the softest of curved lips…the straight, pointed nose at the visage’s centre. The very image of perfection…but for the deathly pallor that infected her. Her thin, slender figure was clung to by a thin, white under-dress. The fabric stuck to her every curve as eh lay oblivious to the world, splayed across the sand like a fallen angel.

He was…too late?

Unworthy! How unworthy was he, to so much as look upon this woman after his failures?! What was he thinking? His pain had clearly ailed his mind! How could he think himself so fortunate to lay eyes upon such a beauty as this, and still live?

Yet once again, he had failed a beautiful woman. He did deserve to die, once and for all. His unworthy eyes graced her figure again. Tears welled up in those hurt, blue eyes once more as he drew himself up, to sit on that white shore, to draw her limp, frail form into his lap, to cradle her delicate, perfect head in his arms.

Why must they encounter this way?

The thought was naught but a whisper, carried by the breath of his lungs into the still air of the night. Her life could have been so filled with beauty and fortune, and yet…and yet…

Was it he, at fault? This woman, the image of perfection, whom he had never met…was her death the consequence to his living? He was…a devil? Destined to rot in hell…was he not?

And yet…and yet! He cradled her with softness, tenderness, in his arms; ere she lay…He could not bear the thought that he had killed her! No!

No!

Again, a whisper, carried from his ungrateful lips, by a breath of wind. And this whisper alighted upon her delicate ear. The voice of a man, dying inside, revived her heart, her soul, from the depths of their slumber. Did she dare believe…did she dare? Only the purest of men could have brought her back. She knew no pure men. Who was this, then, holding her? Crying tears over her like a lover. His tears were what awoke her after all. Glittering, perfect tears…from perfect blue eyes…and a pure heart.

Her watched her eyelids flutter open, halfway, and breath flooded her lungs and her chest rose…fell…a quickening pulse pattered on within her and she caught his gaze, half-aware. Only half-aware…but aware! How unworthy was he as he buried his tear stained face in the crook of her cold, soft neck…a woman he did not know, saved by his unworthy dare…

I am sorry…

Sorry…

So sorry…

For what?

For living…

Don’t be sorry…anymore…

As her delicate arms wrapped around him, he knew he was terribly unworthy, but…he could not deny her her request, could he?

If anyone could save him, she could. And she did.

If anyone could save her, he could. And he had.