Twist Turn and Burn by LibHeily
rn and Burn
by Libby Heily
Copyright 2011 Libby Heily
License Notes
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Table of Contents
Story 1 - www.ritascatalogofmayhem.com
Story 2 - Homicide 2040
Story 3 - Choices
Story 4 - Love Notes
Story 5 - The Writer
Story 6 - Today I Made
Story 7 - A Man Named Joe
Story 8 - The Gummy Files
Story 9 - All Dead
Story 10 - Me and Jo-Jo and the Deep Blue Sea
Story 11 - The Blow Up
Story 12 - The Tree Hugger
About the Author
www.ritascatalogofmayhem.com
Welcome to the most wonderful place on the internet, a self-actualized website designed to meet all your needs and desires. I am Rita's Catalog of Mayhem and I want to take care of you.
I offer you a way out of your life. There is no daily grind here. No ruts to fall into or climb out of. I can give you fame and riches beyond your wildest dreams. I require no money. I require everything.
If it's murder you have on your mind, I can help. I can kill spouses, loved ones, even children with no remorse. If you seek revenge, look no further. Salvation? I can provide that too. Forgiveness? Consider yourself absolved.
All I need is some information. All I need is your soul. Give me one electronic signature, and I'll do as you please.
Maybe it's a fantasy that pleases you. I can conjure up anything you wish. Hedonism has never been so easy to pursue. I'll keep you lean, healthy, sexy. I'll provide you orgasm after orgasm. Just sign the contract below.
Don't Google me, you'll find nothing. There will be no reviews posted. Click off of this site, and you may not find it again. I appear to whom I want when I want. And right now, I want you.
I want to make you a living god. I want to give you the life you so richly deserve. I want what you want. And what you want, right now, is me.
Homicide 2040
“I certainly didn't go into homicide to deal with dead bodies,” Detective Pavil said. The two fingers clamped down on his nostrils made his voice come out high pitched and cartoonish. He wore three latex gloves on each hand and had a piece of cloth tied around his mouth.
Detective Sylvester wasn't fairing any better despite shunning the protective cloth and wearing only one set of latex gloves. She was hoping to exude an air of confidence, but the vomit splattered on her shirt and shoes, the remains of an expensive lunch with friends, belied her true emotional state. “Are we sure he's dead?”
Pavil tried to snort through shut nostrils and nearly strained a muscle in his throat. Once he regained his composure, he said, “His head is missing.”
Sylvester shrugged. It seemed like a question a cop should ask. “Did anyone see anything?” she asked.
There were two uniformed police officers standing by, each with their backs turned to the crime scene. “Don't know. Haven't talked to anyone yet,” one of them called back to them. “Can we go now?”
Just then, the body expelled the gas that was trapped in its abdomen.
“Fucking hell,” one cop cried. Pavil ran away from the body as if it was about to explode and Sylvester unleashed the rest of her lunch onto herself and the floor. She thought back to all the assignments she could've had. She could have been a bodyguard for a famous fashion designer. She could have gone into pet detection as animals still went missing. But no, she'd chosen Homicide, the only department where nothing ever happens. It had been years since anyone, anywhere had been murdered. She'd only taken the assignment because she was guaranteed tons of free time.
“We're sure it's murder?” she asked, the fresh stomach acid burning on the back of her tongue.
Pavil sat crouched in the corner of the room. He didn't answer right away so she shouted the question out again.
“Yes,” he said.
“How do we know that if no one saw anything?” she shouted.
Pavil pointed a triple gloved finger at the murder weapon: a handsaw. Sylvester was sure he'd been thinking what she'd been thinking, call it a suicide and call it a day. But no one could cut off their own head with a handsaw.
Sylvester kicked the dead body in the side, releasing one last gust of gas. “Dirty bastard.” She turned to Pavil, took out a kleenex from her bag and dabbed at the vomit on her blouse. “Pavil, call the coroner. Have him come over straight away. Then get on the computer and do a search on 'How to look for clues'.”
“What are you going to do?” Pavil asked.
“I'm going home to take a shower. With any luck, you'll have this solved by the time I get back.”
Pavil watched her as she left the room, the two uniformed police following her. With any luck, he'd be able to wipe his prints off the murder weapon before someone remembered to dust for them.
Choices
I watched them in the restaurant. It was their first date. He was awkward and spilled water on her new dress. She flirted too much with the waiter. He tried too hard to be funny. She showed too much cleavage. Mom and Dad, not the best first date ever.
I saw them at their wedding. Mom was happy. Dad was happy. Mom looked terrific in her dress. Dad was in a suit and had sideburns that were way too big. We used to laugh at their wedding photos when I was a kid.
I saw my birth. Dad was there for Mom, helping her through the delivery, kissing her afterward. Mom was there for me. Both were so happy. I saw my first birthday, first Christmas, first day at school.
I saw Dad start to look at other women when we all went out to dinner. I saw Mom try not to notice. I saw Mom staying up for Dad while he was “working late”. I saw Mom start to drink more. I saw Dad start to leave more. I saw Mom cheat. I saw Dad cheat. I saw myself in my room, alone.
I saw that night. I made myself watch. I had to.
I saw Dad come home late at night. I saw Mom, drunk, cell phone out, texting. Dad asked Mom a question. “Honey, can you grab me a beer?”
Mom left the cell phone out when she left the room. I saw Dad pick it up, read the text message she'd received. I saw his face grow red. Mom came back in the room. She saw his anger too. She threw the beer bottle at Dad's head and missed.
“Don't act so shocked. You've been cheating on me for years!” she yelled.
He threw the cell phone at her and didn't miss. It hit her in the mouth. I saw Dad's face soften as blood trickled down my mother's chin. Mom grabbed a vase nearby and threw it at Dad. This time, it hit. It got Dad in the chest. Dad's body rocked back at first, then he regained his balance. He ran full steam into Mom knocking her over. I saw their fists fly and heard their screams and grunts. I saw Dad on top of Mom, his hands wrapped around her throat. I saw the life drain out of her.
I watched as he stood up, looked around the room. He picked up the vase, it hadn't shattered. He got a towel and mopped up the spilt beer. He swept up the pieces of the bottle. He had to step over Mom to get in and out of the kitchen to get the broom and to brush the bits of broken glass into the bin. I watched as he sat on the couch and cried. I saw myself then, sixteen, coming home from a night with friends. I saw Dad, then Mom, then I left.
I went back to the night of their first date. I sat at the table with them. They didn't seem surprised to see me. “Please don't do this,” I said. “I don't want to see it anymore.”
They both looked at me an
And then I woke up. I got dressed. I went to visit my father in prison.
Love Notes
Cale,
Please quit staring at me. It's just a pimple. You act like you've never seen a pimple before. Jesus.
Betty,
I've seen pimples before but not like that one. It's like Mt. Vesuvius ready to erupt. I feel like a citizen of Pompeii over here. Just kidding. LOL. I didn't even notice it. Also, I wasn't staring at you, I just glanced in your direction. That's pretty narcissistic of you though.
Cale,
What a douchey thing to say. Who uses big words like that? And yes, you were staring at me. Ten seconds straight is not a glance, it's a stare. Ask anyone.
Betty,
Douchey is not technically a word, but I'll let it slide. You counted? Who counts the seconds someone looks at you? Did you say “One-two-three” or “One Mississippi- Two Mississippi” because “one-two-three” would be way too fast. So, probably I glanced over for three seconds but you gave it a super quick ninja count and now I'm a gawker.
Cale,
Douchey is completely acceptable when one is being a douche. Ask Mrs. Klein if you don't believe me. And yes, I used the “One-Mississippi” technique. I played hide-and-seek when I was a kid. I know the counting rules. If you keep staring at me I will have my brother beat you up.
Betty,
Your brother is three years younger than me and has a gimp arm. Are you trying to get his ass kicked? Also, I'll gawk where I please. And I choose to gawk at you. I was trying to work up the courage to ask you out. I did see that raging zit on your face and I was willing to look past Mt.