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The Slave Quarters: Chapter 15 – The Wrong Man (Detective Mystery)

Posted by Rock Kitaro on November 12, 2018
Posted in: About the Author, Cloud Beaudry, Slave Quarters. Tagged: , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

Cloud is alone, alienated, and outnumbered. Jessica and Leanne are convinced they have their Slave Quarter Killer in custody but Cloud isn’t convinced and he’s called back to Atlanta. The ladies lay it on thick, scolding Cloud for striking out on his own and not being a team player. Considering the facts, he has no choice but to submit to their logic and starts to second-guess himself…that is until he runs into KeNedra’s ghost.

Chapter 15 - The Wrong Man

The Slave Quarters
Chapter 15 – The Wrong Man
By Rock Kitaro

Since 1:30, I’ve been sleeping in a hospital bed on the 3rd floor of Augusta Medical Center. I have the whole room to myself. The alarm on my phone is set for seven. A strip of light floods the floor from the base of the door, getting brighter in the darkness. It wakes me up fifteen minutes earlier than expected.

It’s cold. My blazer is resting on the back of a chair but I’m still too tired to get up and get it. Thus, goosebumps prick up and proliferate my arms, causing me to slip my frigid hands into my pockets.

I’m staring at the ceiling with brooding eyes, dissatisfied, annoyed, disheartened. Nothing seems to be going my way. Now here I am, laid up in a hospital bed with the bumps and bruises stiffening my joints.

Meanwhile, Griffin’s the celebrated hero. Thanks to his “hunch,” he located the bodies of five missing girls. He’s rallied behind the judgment of my colleagues to settle on the idea that Jacory Godchaux is the Slave Quarter Killer and thanks to his provocations, he backed the poor fool in between a rock and a hard place.

Jacory’s shootout caused a stampede of protestors that resulted in five more injured civilians. He then led the police in, I would say a “high speed pursuit” but in downtown Augusta with its old narrow roads and stop signs galore, it was more like a game of cat and mouse. Either way, a victorious Griffin and his sidekick Jessica captured him without a single civilian casualty. They have every right to believe Jacory is the Slave Quarter Killer after everything he’s done.

I shouldn’t blame them…but I do. Especially Griffin.

After Jacory smashed his father’s SUV, he was brought to this very same hospital for emergency surgery. His right leg had to amputated and due to heavy blood loss, he hasn’t been conscience since. Right now, there were two officers stationed outside his hospital room down the hall from me. He was cuffed to the bedpost…as if they figured he’d try and hobble away on one leg.

Jamar and O’Shea Thompson received a police escort back to Coventry where their mother Amarah laid into them real good. The Thompsons, something about that family pulls at my heartstrings. They’re a good family. If KeNedra was still alive, I imagine she would’ve fared well with the lot of them backing her. I wish I had a family like that…little brothers, a sister, a mother who preached forgiveness but had the resolve to use the rod when the situation calls.

“Your mom is dead right?”

Jamar’s question comes out of thin air as clear as when he first said it.

“Are you glad?”

It wasn’t out of malice, I’m sure. Jamar was just curious. But still, why on Earth would he ask me that? My brows furrow at the thought. It’s in times like this that I could usually count on Maggie turning up to get a rise out of me, but at present, she does not reveal herself. She’s letting me rest, letting me think.

…

…

Focus on Griffin. He’s my guy. My next move is to lure him into a trap. Make that oaf give himself away. He’s out in front of everything, which means all eyes are on him. So what are you worried about? This should be easy for you, Cloud. So think…How do you get him?

Someone’s calling my phone. It lights up the room. A fiery sting spreads across my neck as I reach over to pick it off the nightstand. It’s Miranda. She’s been blowing up my phone for the better part of the afternoon, eight calls and twelve text messages.

“Hey, missy.” I groan.

“Cloud, what happened? Why aren’t you answering your phone?!” Miranda stresses with touching concern.

“Dude, you’re not gonna believe…” I’m just about to get started when suddenly I’m blinding by the overheads. Leanne whipped open the door and flipped on the lights as if she’s trying to wake a suspect for questioning. Jessica is right behind her, carrying a bag of fast food and sodas in foam coasters. My eyes are squinting with a confused grimace. Comical, I’m sure.

“Mm-hmm! Who ya talking to? One of your lady friends?” Leanne asks.

“Could be a guy,” Jessica smirks.

“Nope. All of Cloud’s friends are women. Trust me, I know.” Leanne points out as they drag over screeching chairs to sit in front of me.

I wince to sit up with the phone still pressed to my cheek. “I’m gonna have to call you back. I’m fine, Miranda. I promise.”

“See. Girl!” Leanne brags.

I’m a little embarrassed for the ladies to see me so disheveled. My hair looks like a blond fire that’s been hit by a freeze ray. My wrinkled white shirt is unbuttoned halfway down my chest and I have pillow lines engraving my red cheeks. I’m sure I smell or at least my feet do. My shoes are off and I have to move like an old man to keep my feet from touching the women. Jessica’s laying out burgers but from the way she keeps her chin tucked, I can tell she wants to laugh.

“Just got off the phone with Chomsky. He wants us back in the office by tomorrow afternoon,” Leanne says.

“Afternoon? We haven’t closed the case yet.”

Leanne and Jessica shoot me the same scathing stare.

Leanne continues with, “The local authorities can take it from here, Cloud. Chomsky’s been briefed. It’s a done deal. You should be glad. And you should know that while it was tempting to tell him about your gallivanting off by yourself and getting beat to a pulp, I refrained. We’re partners, you see. I wouldn’t throw you under the bus. Contrary to popular belief.”

“Thank you, Leanne.”

I say that bluntly. Now I have a time limit to catch the real killer. The ladies just swept the rug out from underneath me and I’m struggling real hard to hide my frustration.

Leanne senses it. She bats her lashes and leans back to cross her legs. Once settled, she gives me a long hard stare as if I stole her money and she’s still waiting for me to fess up. I don’t react. I’m starving. After putting on my shoes and buttoning up my shirt, I dig into a platter of burger and fries.

“Cloud, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you. Why exactly did you ask to join this case?” Leanne starts in.

I’m sipping on lime soda through a noisy straw.

She continues with, “Ever since we got here we’ve been carrying you on our backs. I mean, seriously. What exactly have you done? We told you to come with us to the other plantations. You didn’t want to do that. We asked you for a hand in profiling Jacory. You didn’t want to do that. It shouldn’t have been Griffin in their questioning Jacory. It should have been you. But no! You had to go off and get yourself damn near killed. Yet, I’m the one who needs the partner! See! This is why I can’t stand this, condescending, patriarchal society. Meritocracy, my ass! It’s sexism at its finest!”

I sigh as I stay chewing on my burger. Leanne…Don’t worry. For all your talk of misogyny, I certainly see you pair on you. That’s what I’d like to say. What I do say is:

“Leanne…I hate to keep coming back to this. Fuck it. I need to know what time Griffin left your hotel room last night.”

“Cloud!” Jessica snaps.

“Un-freaking-believable!” Leanne shouts at the same time.

“That’s none of your business, Cloud. It’s extremely rude!” Jessica says.

“Thank you! Geez!” Leanne adds.

The purpose of my question isn’t to shut her up and get her off my back. I really need to know. My stubborn brown eyes are locked on Leanne. She’s munching on a fry but she knows I’m waiting.

“It’s none of your business when he left my hotel room, Cloud. That’s just none of your business.”

“What if I told you it’s pertinent to solving this case?”

“Alright, you need stop right there!” Jessica objects as her hands coil into a clenched fist.

I’m suddenly gripped with suspense as Jessica removes the box of fries from her lap, gets up and paces around while massaging the back of her neck. I’ve never seen her like this. In my own fantasies, I always imagined her anger as a source of arousal…not terror.

“Don’t tell me you think Griffin did this. And before you answer, consider this. Your line of questioning is extremely disrespectful and unbecoming. You’re insulting our intelligence and demeaning all our efforts, the integrity of our investigation. Believe it or not, you can’t always be the smartest person in the room. Jacory confessed!”

“To statutory rape, Jessica. Not murder.”

“Yeah and it adds up! You’re not a certified behavioral specialist. I am. The first victim, Alisha Collier, the arrangement of her body was positioned in a congenial state. That’s postmortem. She’s on her back with one hand resting over the other, on top of the navel. That tells us the killer was either racked with guilt, remorse, grief, or regret. All emotions displayed by our suspect during interrogation. Maybe if you had enough sleep you would’ve seen it for yourself instead of sitting there all high and mighty as if wisdom speaks only to you. Seriously, it pisses me off more than I fucking can stand!”

Jesus…I can almost see the steam fuming from her shoulders, her cheeks quivering with rage. From the way she stood in the center of the room with that arch in her back and those glowering eyes, feels like I just poked and prodded a caged jaguar whose on the verge of snapping. Even Leanne was surprised. To her, Jessica was still a newbie to the GBI.

I contemplate telling them what I know about Griffin, the racism and how it makes more sense that the Slave Quarter Killer could be a cop. But even if I did, all they’d see is the color of jealousy. Because honestly, I am a little jealous. It’s pointless to deny it. Jessica thinks she has the right man and after her little tirade, I’m starting to believe she might be right.

“I think you owe us an apology, Cloud.”

Chapter 12 – Ghosts of the Old South (Paranormal Mystery)

Posted by Rock Kitaro on October 23, 2018
Posted in: About the Author, Cloud Beaudry, Slave Quarters. Tagged: , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

Agent Cloud Beaudry ventures out to the crime scene in the middle of the night. As expected, he sees remnants of the Old South, ghosts of the slaves and slave owners tilling the fields and haunting the big house. He interrogates the most prominent Master of the house, seeking clues that could lead him to the Slave Quarter Killer. What he didn’t expect was to have a run-in with the killer himself.

Chapter 12 - Ghosts of the Old South

Chapter 12 – Ghosts of the Old South
By Rock Kitaro

When the crickets go on like this, I do wonder if it’s the middle of their mating season. I left my rental car on the side of Waynesboro Road and trekked through the field of crunchy branches. The beauty of the full moon is about the only thing that makes the crickets tolerable. It casts a dim light over the glistening field of white cotton, creating silhouettes out of the trees and the big house.

After the first two minutes, my eyes adjust and beyond the fields I see a massive wall of black that make up the towering woods reaching up to mesh with purple stardust.

I shouldn’t be here. I confess, I’m a little afraid. But there’s something about the suspense that’s making me a bit giddy. At any given moment someone could come up and stab me from behind and I’d just die laughing, thinking about Miranda’s advice and how she told me to wait till daylight. For all intents and purposes, she’s right. It’d be insane for anyone to come out looking to find a tiny silver barrette in the middle of the night.

However, I’m convinced KeNedra’s spirit is bound to the barrette. Which means if the barrette’s here, KeNedra’s here. I’ll ask my questions and solve this mystery. Case closed.

Each step I take is with caution, touching toes first before planting the rest of my sole. I keep looking over my shoulders. It’s a little after one on a weeknight so I don’t expect anyone to drive by, but you never know.

Approaching the slave quarters, I emerge from the dense thicket of brittle branches into a clearing of softer flat soil. A car hasn’t passed by in over fifteen minutes so I’m comfortable enough to take out my smartphone and activate the flashlight app. A small needlepoint bulb shines a beam, carving through the darkness and crawling along the soil. That’s when I hear it once more. Gospel music.

The chirping of the crickets fade out. It gives way to a soulful hymn that gradually picks up in volume. It’s the tune of people making the best of a bad situation. I hear footsteps in the bushes behind me but I’m not startled. Instead, something strange washes over me. A cool breeze penetrates my sweater and massages my chest like a refrigerated ointment.

Given in to some inexplicable compulsion, I’m brought to my knees. I close my eyes and let go if just for a moment. Gospel music is so therapeutic. Well…I say it’s gospel but for all I know it could be the blues.

More than twenty deep voices hum in blended harmony while ten tenors sang lyrics I couldn’t quite understand. So badly, I wish I could make out the words. Only one was discernible. God. The way they enunciated “God” with such passion, over multiple octaves. I never knew Gospel music could have such a psychological effect. It’s similar to the way metal helps me cope with the rage. Gospel seems to heal. I can’t remember the last time I felt so transported.

Slowly, I open my eyes and I’m awaken to a forgotten scene that obliterates the serenity. Around the slave quarters, I see dozens of dark billowy apparitions toiling in the fields. Their movements are drawn-out and perpetual, like seaweed swaying in a murky lake. There must have been thirty of them and that’s just what I saw in front of me.

Scanning my surroundings, I observe the length of three football fields teeming with paranormal activity. Hundreds of slaves continue to till but with no taskmaster. I heard no crack of the whip or racist taunts driving them on.

The closest to me is a large male raking a stretch of sand. Most of his form is that of dark smoke but his eyes are yellow. He can sense I’m staring and rewards my curiosity with a resentful scowl. His face gains solid definition with a hardened rough texture. I see the grooves of his nostrils snarl like a hostile Rottweiler about to lash out.

I avert my gaze, not out of fear, but sadness. I want him to know, I want them all to know that I’m not their enemy.

A spray of dirt scrapes over my shoes. I looked down to see dozens of small gray wisps, curious faces blended with animosity. High pitch laughter squeals out as the mischievous children realize they’ve been caught. As soon as I see them, they scurry off in all directions. Some disperse in thin air.

Even inside the slave quarters, I spot yellow eyes glowering at me, some with contempt and others with concern. They stare at me for close to three seconds and then fade back into the shadows of the roofed shelter.

“AYYYE!!!!”

A piercing scream sends shivers down my spine. There’s a scuffle, a struggle over life and death emanating from inside the slave quarters. My eyes gloss over with rage as I’m immediately reminded of what happened to Tiquasia Payne. Her pleas, her wailing, the vision of her being brutally manhandled and raped, it stokes the fire inside and snaps me out of this stupid melancholy.

KeNedra. Where are you? If your barrette is here, so should you. With that strong indomitable spirit, one would think you’d be the first to show yourself and steer me in the right direction. Were you really possessed by some evil spirit? Is that why you committed suicide? Were you driven mad? Demoralized?

I sit down on the frame of the doorway facing outward towards the cotton fields. Amidst the whimpers and bludgeoning thuds, the whacks of Tiquasia getting hit over and over again, my eyes stay open. I’m glowering at the fields and any resenting ghost that’s staring my way.

Screw that! I refuse to believe KeNedra was possessed. No! I won’t have it. KeNedra was strong. She stood up against injustices fully aware of the consequences. So what happened? Where the freak are you?

“Kill Crystianne!”

Great… Just what this situation needs, an entitled little schoolgirl from the 1950s showing her pale face for all to see. Maggie steps out of the other doorway ten paces to my right. Her arms are crossed and she’s wearing that signature squinty-eyed scowl of a rich girl who wants to play with the poor girl’s toys. We lock eyes. Both defiant. I bounce my eyebrows as if to say, “Problem?”

“GO KILL CRYSTIANNE!!!” she screams.

A wave of frightened wisps scurries off into the cotton fields. Even the larger slave kept his eyes down and suddenly timid as if he had a drunk Andrew Jackson bearing down his back. Maggie starts in an angry approach. Her face convulses and glistens as sweat and black mucous oozes from her pores.

“Why are we here?! Crystianne is still out there! She’s still alive!!!” She screams, adding monstrous bass in her voice like the growl of a mastiff.

“Damn it, Maggie! For craps sake, quit your hollerin. For the past few days you’ve gone on and on about wanting me to kill Crystianne. You know I will, so hold your fucking horses!”

“NO! SHE’S THE WORST!”

“Then why didn’t we kill her first? Hmm? I made you a promise, didn’t I? When have I ever let you down? When have I ever gone back on my word? Against my better judgment I’ve done every-goddamn-thing I said I was going to do for the sake of keeping my vow! So how about you get off my back and try helping someone else for a change! The sooner I solve this case, the sooner you can go back to hoarding all my undivided attention for yourself. Alright? ALL RIGHT?!”

It’s explosion of frustration and fury that takes her by surprise. She backs up and literally clean up her act. At once, her sweat ashes up and returns to the chalky complexion that was her default. I stand up. Everything I told her was exactly how I felt, save for one minor detail. I honestly don’t want to kill Crystianne so soon after the death of Florence Leach. If anyone picks up on the fact that these two senior citizens were in the same sorority, it could make things a bit difficult. A little patience could go a long way but it looks like Maggie’s fresh out of all that.

 

Slave Quarters: Chapter 9 – A Suspect (Mystery Fiction)

Posted by Rock Kitaro on October 1, 2018
Posted in: About the Author, Cloud Beaudry, Slave Quarters. Tagged: , , , , . Leave a comment

The six Slave Quarter victims have been identified. But before the police chief holds his press conference, the team goes over the grisly details surrounding their deaths. They have a suspect in mind, but as per usual, Cloud isn’t satisfied. He takes a moment to reflect.

Chapter 9 - A Suspect - Maju Bellucciartwork by Maju Bellucci

Chapter 9 – A Suspect
By Rock Kitaro

“So apparently, Griffin’s a racist. Who would’ve thunk it?”

“I knew it. That’s probably why he ain’t take me seriously when I told him Joe was the one who killed your mom!”

It’s closing in on six and I finally have a moment to myself. It’s outside the four-story police department in historic downtown Augusta. The pastel skies cleared up for a gorgeous golden sunset over the Savannah River. From my spot on the 2nd floor terrace, I can see clearly the shimmering waters and the Carolinian townhomes lining the banks of the other side.

This 2nd floor terrace was where ranking officers came to eat lunch or enjoy a smoke break. Since it’s after five, the picnic tables are vacant. I’m twenty feet away from the doors and there’s a rustling breeze brushing against the façade like a current. I have the floor to myself, thus I feel safe to give my one confidant a call and speak my mind at ease. Miranda hears the wind and thinks she has to shout to overcompensate.

“To be honest, the decision to put myself on this case was kind of spur of the moment. I suppose deep down, knowing Griffin still exists, potentially botching cases galore just didn’t sit well with me. And looks like my premonition isn’t far off. Seems he’s still a living, breathing miscarriage of justice. And to think I was so close to forgiving him.”

“Boy, please. You weren’t about to forgive nobody. Not over your mother. It’s the reason why you’ve been doing what you’ve doing. What exactly did the bastard say?”

“He said he doesn’t like black people. Pretty clear, cut, and dry about it. Although, you’ll forgive me if I hold back certain details.”

“NO! I want to know everything!” Miranda shouts.

I shake my head and chuckle. “No, Miranda. By the way, you better not be smoking.”

“You took my last pack, bubblehead! I don’t get paid till tomorrow.”

“I’m doing you a favor. You don’t want those good looks to go down the drain, do you? How else are you going to find a good man?”

“I got men chasin’ me. Don’t you worry ‘bout it. Anyways… How’s the case coming? Almost done?”

“I don’t know. I mean we’re on the right track. I think. We’re about to have a briefing to discuss a new suspect and everyone’s salivating to sink their teeth in him. The haste is alarming and I can hardly stomach such half-assed investigating. Not to mention, there’s still the business of KeNedra’s suicide. It’s so freakin weird.”

“What do you mean?”

“Everyone keeps talking about how strong-minded she was. Strong people simply don’t commit suicide. I can’t believe that. I don’t want to accept it. Dude, I…I don’t want to say it. Friggin Jimmy Coolidge planted this idea in my head. Maybe KeNedra was possessed,” I say whilst loosening up my collar.

“Well, that’s not unusual. Not in your world. Not sure what I can say over the phone, but didn’t you say that’s how Maggie got business done?”

“Maggie’s different. Besides, she only works on individuals who are already terrified to the state that their mental capacity is diminished. That’s when their realities can be manipulated and toyed with. Actually, we should probably stop talking about this over the phone,” I say with a careless chuckle.

“And you don’t want to believe she was possessed?” Miranda asks again. Her tone suggests that I’m refusing to believe the truth, like a child who doesn’t want to believe Santa Claus is a lie.

“This case. Feels like there’s something I’m overlooking. Something that’s staring me right in the face.”

“And how are you gonna handle Griffin?”

“I have to work with him. He’s not a bad person. He’s just…you know. Normal. He and Leanne have been texting each other all day like a couple of schoolgirls trying to be discreet but failing miserably. Anyways…as long as Leanne has her sights on him, I don’t have to worry about her watching me.”

“And your lovely dovie?” Miranda asks.

“It’s not like that. I might be wrong about Jessica. She’s proven herself to be nothing but courteous and professional, very insightful and dedicated. Five years is a long time. We’ve had a president come and go. I’ve grown up. I’d be silly to dismiss the idea that she has not.”

“So you’re just going to forgive, Griffin? Just like that. What if he came out and said he don’t like blond haired white people?” Miranda questions.

“Miranda…He’s not a killer. Just an idiot.”

“And how many Cloud Beaudrys has he created by letting his prejudice fuck up the case?”

“Wow, Miranda. If I didn’t know any better…”

“Hey, baby. You can lie to yourself all day, sugar. But you can’t lie to me. I don’t believe for a second that you get any satisfaction out of doing what you do.”

“I made a promise, Miranda. A man keep his word.”

“And I’m saying! If Griffin did his job in the first goddamn place you would’ve never had to make any promises to begin with.”

“Miranda! I hear what you’re saying. Honestly I do. But you talk about not lying to myself. I’m telling you, my world ended the day my mom died. Handling Griffin or anyone else will never change that. The least I can do is keep my fucking word!”

“To a ghost, Cloud! Do you know how crazy that sounds?”

“Alright, Miranda. I need to go.”

“Hang up on me if you want to.”

“I need to go!”

“Let me tell you one more thing. See, ya pissed off cause you know I’m right.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Miranda, I had a conversation with KeNedra’s mother today. She could’ve given a paid exclusive worth thousands of dollars to any one of the top media outlets in the country. She could’ve cashed in her grief for fortune and fame but she’s wont. She’s exercising forgiveness. Forgiveness, Miranda. Her daughter was abducted and died in police custody. She’s not crying out for retribution.”

“AND?!” Miranda barks.

“And I’m saying, who the fuck am I? That I lash out and put everyone down who crosses me!?”

“Why are you comparing yourself everyone? This ain’t like you, Cloud.”

“I always question myself, Miranda. Just not out loud.” I say, hopelessly leaning over the rail.

Miranda sighs. “Cloud, you’re not happy. Even when you’ve come back from keeping ya fucked-up promise, I see you. You’re miserable. You know what I think you need to do? Help this family. I know you have all your secret agendas and Maggie crawling up your ass, but help this family. Griffin gon’ be Griffin. Flush out all that noise and focus on getting justice for the little girl’s family. Your justice.”

I didn’t expect this conversation to get so sentimental. She’s striking a nerve on so many levels. It’s been a long day and this is mentally draining. Miranda Burnette… She likes confrontation way too much. You won’t conquer her with compliments and confections. What she craves is conflict, as per usual. Maybe I’m the same way. I did volunteer for this case after all.

“Anyways! Let me get out of here. Meetin the girls at the gym for a spin class.” She brags.

“That sounds…like a lot of scraping. Hey, Miranda. Do me a favor. Download some gospel music for when I get back.”

“What kind of gospel music you want?”

“I don’t know. The kind that makes you feel good in this rotten world. I defer to your judgment.”

“Alright, boo. I got you.”

– Click to Read the rest of the Chapter

The Slave Quarters: Chapter 8 – Majorettes (Mystery Thriller)

Posted by Rock Kitaro on September 23, 2018
Posted in: Cloud Beaudry, Slave Quarters. Tagged: , , , , , , . Leave a comment

Investigating KeNedra’s death, Cloud and Griffin interrogates her family and the high school majorette team she was a part of. Cloud works his magic, his gift of persuasion to try and get information out of the grieving mother, but Det. Griffin throws his weight around as an officer of the law, careless to tense history between African-Americans and law enforcement. Well…Cloud thinks its carelessness…until Griffin makes a provocative revelation that threatens to jeopardize the entire case.

Chapter 8 - Majorettes

Chapter 8: Majorettes
By Rock Kitaro

It’s a quarter past twelve when Griffin and I pull up to a middle class home in the subdivision of Coventry, only a fifteen-minute drive from the Waynesboro Plantation. I’m annoyed even before I’ve step out the car. As if the pending interview isn’t daunting enough, another nuisance has presented itself in the form of a rugged middle age hippy in a brown leather jacket, chain-smoking on cigarettes as he leans against his busted up yellow bug.

“Alright, now who the hell is this?” Griffin asks.

“Jimmy Coolidge. A persistent nut-job blogger working for one of Atlanta’s most widely read outlets. Mark, you’re looking at a man who thoroughly believes aliens walk among us. That’s Jimmy. Welcome to my life,” I groan before exiting.

Griffin’s never met the guy, but sticking to the “bro code,” he mirrors my displeasure. Jimmy’s scruffy appearance, from his ponytail, to his beer-stained eyes and that peach fuzz of a goatee…it’s like he forgot to fade along with the rest of the 70s. No, he didn’t forget. It’s more like he saw opportunities to throw a monkey wrench in the same corporate machines all his old friends sold out to.

He wheezes in his laughter, letting the cigarette drop from his fingertips before starting off in a jab-step approach. Griffin stops in the middle of the sidewalk and stares in bewilderment as if he was watching a mime performance. I’d like to continue on to the front door but halfway there, I have no choice but to turn around and confront the inevitable confrontation.

“Sir! You need to go.” Griffin says, pointing off down the street.

“Hey man. Hey. Hey. Hey. This is public property, fella. I’m not on the resident’s lawn. I have every right to be here. Hahaha! Howdy, Cloudy! See you caught yourself another doozy. Funny how these bizarre cases seem to keep falling right dab in your lap.”

This S.O.B… He’s way too loud to be spouting that crap. Exercising restraint, I approach Jimmy with my palms pressed as if I’m about to pray. Jabbing my spear-like hands at the center of his chest, I whisper, “What do you want, Jimmy?”

“Screw that. You don’t owe him a damn thing,” Griffin grunts.

Jimmy laughs, “He don’t know bout’ me, do he?”

“Oh no, you don’t know bout’ me!” Griffin asserts. “But you gonna find out real quick if you don’t get the fuck out of here.”

“I saw the suicide video,” Jimmy says. “Weird, right?”

“What the hell you talking about?” Griffin barks.

“The girl’s behavior. KeNedra. I’m here for the exact same reasons you are. I want to know if she’s displayed these strange signs before.”

“What are you talking about!?” Griffin barks as I play the buffer.

Jimmy snickers, “Cloud knows what I’m talking about. Look at him. It’s why he’s here too. He’s thinking the same thing I’m thinking. KeNedra Thompson was clearly possessed. That’s right! Possessed by an evil vindictive spirit. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Tell him, Cloud.”

I shoot my sights to the front of the house. I’m checking the blinds and the windows, scanning for any movement. I really hope no one heard Jimmy’s little theory otherwise the questions I had lined up would’ve been a completed waste of time.

“Are you insane?” Griffin asks him.

“Yes! Like I said!” I blurt out in an explosion of angry whispers. “Look, Jimmy. I don’t know how you got your dick-grabbing hands on that suicide video and I don’t want to make a thing of it. Right now, I need you to leave. You know me. If there’s anything crazy or supernatural, I’ll give it to you. All right? But right now you gotta let me do my job. Now, get the hell out of here. Please!”

Jimmy backs up with puckered lips as he returns to his jalopy. “Aight, Cloud. But hey! I’ll be around.”

“Supernatural?” Griffin asks as we watch Jimmy’s backfiring vehicle scoot off down the road. “You think KeNedra was possessed?”

“No. Of course not. That’s absurd.”

“Seriously, though. You don’t believe in that kind of crap do you?”

“Mark, I swear to you. I only believe what I see with my own two eyes.”

The Slave Quarters: Chapter 6 – Pleasantries (Mystery Thriller)

Posted by Rock Kitaro on September 10, 2018
Posted in: About the Author, Cloud Beaudry, Slave Quarters. Tagged: , , , , , , . Leave a comment

Cloud and Jessica are returning to their hometown of historic Augusta, Georgia to investigate the Slave Quarter murders. It’s a complicated reunion on so many levels as Cloud has to get used to working with his old crush and an old enemy. Detective Mark Griffin is the lead working the Slave Quarter murders. He’s also the same officer who bungled his mother’s case five years earlier, prompting Cloud to take matters in his own hands and start down a bloody path, a path that’s relentlessly ate at Cloud’s conscience ever since.

Chapter 6 - Pleasantries

Chapter 6 – Pleasantries
By Rock Kitaro

“Kill Crystianne. Don’t forget!”

Maggie’s been whispering the same damn thing all night. I suppose she wanted to get in one last reminder just before daybreak. I’m sitting in the backseat while Jessica sits shotgun and Leanne drives like its Talladega on I-20.

It’s too early to be blasting AC/DC, but Leanne is amped up and excited. Remarkable. Her demeanor would have me believe we’re on our way to cash in free passes at an amusement park. She’s laughing at all of her own jokes, cutting off Jessica, and dominating the conversation with theories about the mainstream media being in the pockets of the Liberal politicians. Whether I agree with her or not is irrelevant. I only know that providing any feedback will only encourage her ceaseless oratory. Jessica, on the other hand, has yet to learn that critical lesson.

Leanne assumed Jessica and I were happy for our homecoming. She asks what it was like growing up in Augusta. And of course, as soon as Jessica opens up, Leanne cuts her off to talk about her own rough upbringing in New Port Richey, Florida. Yep, I get to hear replays of stories I’ve already heard as she narrates with the same spite about backstabbing boyfriends, an overbearing mother, and old co-workers who doubted she’d ever amount to anything.

In between bursts of laughter, Jessica sips from her coffee and glances back at me. She’s curious. She wonders if I’m always well groomed in my black slacks, blazer, and white collar. I’m not tired. I expect it to be a long day. There’s an energy shot in my bag just in case.

In my hands is a computer tablet. They think I’m taking the time to better acquaint myself with the case but that’s only half correct. In truth, I want to know what Det. Mark Griffin’s been up to since botching my mother’s homicide five years ago. I still remember it like it was yesterday. It was my crucible.

Back then, Det. Griffin had only recently transferred to the Athens Police Department. Taking that into consideration, I couldn’t place the blame entirely on him, not as much as I did his veteran partner. Det. John Hart was everything I hated about old school law enforcement. How they lingered to stereotypes and put everyone in a category. To Det. Hart, my mother was no exception.

Even at her funeral, I could hear Det. Hart calling my mother a whore who got what was coming to her. When they first questioned me, they made it point to bring up my family’s history with mental instability, reaching for that suicide theory, noting that no one in my family has ever lived past the age of forty-five. Then, days later, Det. Hart called himself trying to put me in my place when he told me he was closing the case and dared me to hit him. When I refrained, that fat bastard chuckled thinking he got the best of me. That was just an hour before I met Maggie.

I see…

It appears detective Hart and Griffin managed to botch another case not long after I graduated and left Athens. I scroll through the local news sites and learn that Det. Hart manufactured evidence to justify shooting an unarmed African-American. I guess he didn’t count on the rising trend of everyone taking out their camera phones. A neighbor recorded the whole thing.

Hart received a three-year sentence and was now bound to wheelchair in an assisted living facility after suffering a stroke in prison. The disgraced Det. Griffin transferred out of the precinct, somehow finding his way to Augusta of all places.

I should be satisfied but I’m not.

The Slave Quarters: Chapter 5 – The Next Case (Mystery Thriller)

Posted by Rock Kitaro on September 5, 2018
Posted in: About the Author, Cloud Beaudry, Original Stories, Slave Quarters. Tagged: , , , , , , . Leave a comment

On the outskirts of Augusta, Georgia, the bodies of five young women are found on the slave quarters of abandoned plantations. Initially, Jessica Arroyo and Leanne Donaldson of the Georgia Bureau of Investigation are assigned to investigate but Cloud insists on getting involved. It’s not that he doesn’t trust the ladies to handle a case of this magnitude, but he recognizes the name of the local lead detective. The last thing he wants is for history to repeat itself.

Chapter 5 - The Next Case

Chapter 5: The Next Case
By Rock Kitaro

It’s half past one when I return to the 4th floor of GBI headquarters. It looks like Jessica has claimed the cubicle next to Leanne, just one seat away from me.

…Splendid…

While I was at the library, Leanne gave Jessica the grand tour of GBI facilities. Leanne went to great lengths to impress the new recruit with her clout and extensive knowledge of statistics. They seem to have hit off like old besties united.

Jessica…It’s been five years but I can tell the prime of your life will carry well into your fifties. From her awkward smile and kind laughter, Jessica’s already figured out that Leanne’s inappropriate workplace humor doesn’t just stop at the occasional one-liner. Like everyone else, Jessica made up her mind to get used to it. Wise, Ms. Arroyo. Very wise. You have indeed matured. And here I am, gawking at you from the hallway with hooded eyes like a hungry velociraptor stalking a foolhardy zookeeper.

“You’ll get used to how loud everyone is on the phone. And if you really need to get away, I usually step into one of the conference rooms. Hahaha! You might need to do that from time to time,” Leanne says, speaking twice as loud as everyone else.

Jessica is still unpacking to decorate the cubicle as she replies with, “That’s good to know. I’m not too worried about it. I grew up in a house full of women. You had to learn to sleep through loud raggae-ton playing all hours of the night. This doesn’t even compare.”

“Oh? So you have a big family?”

“Oh yes!” Jessica says as she sets a picture of herself and another young woman.

“Is that your sister?”

“My baby Angel. Haha, literally. Her name is Angel. She’s starting her final semester at Georgia Tech.”

“Kudos! I have sisters. But ones a stingy bitch and the others a coke whore. So what are you going to do?” Leanne says as if she’s talking about spilled milk.

“Oh! That’s not good,” Jessica says, keeping her chin tucked to hide her high brows.

“Tell me about it! I was on assignment when my mom died two years ago and by the time I came back, these airheads had already squandered our inheritance on a busted up house on the Southside. They wanted to flip it and turn a profit. But really, what they meant was that they wanted me to do all the work, hire the contractors, coordinate with HOA. Girl! I don’t have time for that?” Leanne says, giggling at the absurdity.

“So what did you do with it?” Jessica asks.

“I fixed it up a little and let them live in it. They’re paying rent until I recover on the construction costs.”

“Very smart!” Jessica nods with an approving grin.

“That’s right. I might be an old bird but I still know how to make lemonade out of life! Hahaha!” Leanne boasts.

“You’re not old, Leanne,” I say, approaching with sweat beginning to muster.

The ladies turn in unison. The instant I lock eyes with Jessica, time stops. Sparks fly and that warm sensation of heartfelt adoration washes over. That’s not to sound romantic. I’m not trying to be romantic. I’m trying to stay on my guard. My poker face is rock solid. I don’t know what she’s been up to all these years and I don’t want to give her the upper hand by showing all my cards like I used to.

However, this is unexpected. Here I am, thinking some unsettled dispute would surface. But Jessica’s caring eyes settle on me with such joy. It’s like she actually missed me. A snort escapes from her cupped laughter before the woman glides over and wraps me in an embracing hug. So warm. Her smooth cheeks press against mine. I feel the air in her lungs, the heartbeat against my chest. Even as I raised my arms to hug her back, I exercise caution. My palms graze the toned muscles in her back ever so lightly and I confess, I simply melt.

“What uh…what’s going on here?” Leanne asks as she and several onlookers were dying to know.

Jessica releases me. I straighten out my blazer and try to get a hold of myself.

“I’ve known Cloud since forever. He’s like the brother I never had. Seriously, he’s probably the most decent man I’ve ever met. You probably noticed, right? Let me guess. Annoyingly polite. Always apologizing. Self-sacrificing. The kind of guy who would give up the last chair just so you could sit. The epitome of chivalry. I’m sorry! Hahaha! I’m just so happy to see you! I can’t believe it!” She says, cupping her mouth with jovial laughter.

“Jessica. Good grief,” I mutter in a deep blush.

The office curiosity is satisfied. Her description of me settles in their mind that I’m locked in the “friend-zone,” an idea they’re more than willing to tolerate.

The Slave Quarters: Chapter 4 – My Equal (Mystery Thriller)

Posted by Rock Kitaro on September 3, 2018
Posted in: About the Author, Cloud Beaudry, Slave Quarters. Tagged: , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

The brilliant Jessica Arroyo has just transferred into Cloud’s unit at the Georgia Bureau of Investigation. Ever since he was fifteen he’s had a crush on this girl who’s bested him at everything he wanted to accomplish. Back in high school she was the valedictorian. The popular girl who could get any man she wanted while he was the odd bookworm voted most likely to shoot up the school.

Now…she’s back in his life again. Cloud isn’t the man he used to be and he’s still got business with Maggie. In his heart of hearts, Cloud knows Jessica’s inquisitive enough to figure out what he’s been up to for the past five years. It’d be a shame, really. If something were to happen to her.

Chapter 4 - My Equal
The Slave Quarters
By: Rock Kitaro

“Jessica Arroyo is a woman who…”

It’s odd. How to describe her? My honesty opinions and the facts might disagree with each other. So I opt to tell Miranda everything and trust that she’ll understand and tell it to me straight.

“As you know, I don’t particularly have a fond opinion of my fellow Millennials. I believe we are easily influenced. I believe we are forgetful of significant history. And I believe we think we are selfish individualists who refuse to see the big picture if it goes against our own personal ambitions. That being said, I don’t see myself as one of them. You’re probably the only person I’ll admit this to, but yes, I honestly do think most Millennials are beneath me. However, there is but one of my fellow peers who I can honestly say I see as my equal. Her name is Jessica Arroyo.”

“And she is?”

“An infection, a persistent virus that never truly leaves the body. It’s only suppressed and contained by isolation and time away from irritant exposure. Jessica and I graduated from the same school, always competed academically. I’ve had a crush on her since I was fifteen, which was depressing as I watched her date asshole after asshole. She was one of the most popular girls in the school, magically excelling at everything while I was the fat loser who kept my nose buried in the books. If that’s not bad, she even beat me out to take the valedictorian spot while I was salutatorian. And to make matters worse, by pure friggin happenstance, she ended up attending the same college, enrolling in the same programs, same classes, the same degree. It was horrible. Alright, it wasn’t horrible, but it was tormenting.”

“I’m confused. Are you jealous of her? Or are you in love with her?” Miranda asks, making light of the predicament.

“Neither! I think every man has a certain point in which they’ve seen the love of their life passed between too many dudes. That ship has sailed.”

Miranda starts to snicker but I continue in a mindless prattle.

“That ship has sailed! Moreover, beauty like that has a way of ensnaring a man. The problem resides in the fact that, like me, she’s a natural born detective. You should have heard her thesis in our criminology classes. With every answer she gave, it’s like she was taking the words right out of my mouth. People always seem to be so puzzled. It confounds them to understand the motives of killers and con artists, but like me, Jessica just gets it. This leads me to believe that beneath her happy-go-lucky façade, her heart is just as dark as my own. She’s just better as hiding it.”

“I’m telling you, Miranda. Her immense beauty belies the fact that she is extremely intelligent. She knows me. More than that, she always used to think we were friends, which freaking sucks because it’s with types like that where if you push her away it’ll only create more questions in which she won’t stop until she gets to the bottom of it. She was there the morning after Maggie’s first kill. She was there when I came back from my mother’s funeral. If I’m not careful…”

…I want to say I might have to get rid of her but I refrain.

“Sounds like all this went down years ago. What? Is the bitch back?”

“Yes. Leanne’s probably finishing up the grand tour as we speak. I saw her, Miranda. She’s still so flawless,” I say, utterly hopelessness.

Miranda chuckles over her lime soda. “It ain’t easy being Cloud Beaudry, is it? Would you like my advice?”

“Please,” I invite with open palms.

“Sounds to me like you just need to get it out of your system. Hit that once and you’ll be all right. Trust me. Won’t even look at her the same way.”

It’s not what I wanted to hear.

The Slave Quarters: Chapter 3 – Meritocracy (Mystery Thriller)

Posted by Rock Kitaro on August 27, 2018
Posted in: About the Author, Cloud Beaudry, Original Stories, rock kitaro, Slave Quarters. Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

For those still scrambling for the pieces, allow me to introduce special investigator, Cloud Beaudry. When people think of spoiled, entitled, Millennials with bad work ethics who complain about everything…let’s just say that Cloud forces everyone to rethink those stereotypes. And it probably has something to do with the fact that he’s tormented by a curse that allows him to hear and see ghosts all the friggin time. And of course, when you know secrets that are supposed to be buried, you tend to make enemies among the living.

Five years ago his mother was killed and the local police was quick to pass it off as an accidental suicide. It was a dark, depressing time in his life where Cloud was on the verge of ending it all. Then he met Maggie. And for seemingly no reason at all, she helped him avenge the death of his mother. Cloud was grateful. So grateful, in fact, that he vowed to hunt down those responsible for killing Maggie back in 1959. And unfortunately, there are still names on the list.

Chapter 3 - Meritocracy

Chapter 3 – Meritocracy
By Rock Kitaro

It’s a brisk morning, just before the auburn glow makes its ascent. I was once told that this is the best part of my day and it goes downhill from here. But that’s just a matter of perspective, one I choose not to entertain. There’s nothing like busting out a 5K at five in the morning. There’s no one around. Barely any traffic. With Korn’s “Take a Look in the Mirror” album blasting through my earbuds, I’m reminded of how far I’ve come. It doesn’t make me proud, it just… it strengthens my resolve. And I need that strength. Else I would have killed myself a long time ago.

For those still scrambling for the pieces, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Cloud Beaudry. Ever since I was a child, I’ve always been able to hear, see, and feel the presence of the dead.

It started with my ancestors during the Salem Witch trials. The family matriarch wasn’t a witch herself, but was hanged for speaking up in their defense. Since then, a wretched curse has been passed down the Beaudry line from generation to generation.

This curse…you can call it a curse, however, I choose to believe it’s just some twisted sick coincidence. For instance, every generation in my family gave birth to just one scion. Every family member died before they reached the age of forty-five. And nearly everyone has been regarded by his or her peers as crazy or delusional. I’m probably the first to embrace the paranormal instead of letting it drive me insane.

To me, the traditional concepts of weird or normal are no longer relevant. I’ve trained this ability to interact with the dead so well that it’s now about as familiar as my sense of sight or sound. I know. It sounds unbelievable. That’s why there’s only one person on Earth I’ve told this to.

I’m only thirty but the atrocities I’ve faced have advanced me well beyond the years of any average Millennial. That might sound like I’m bragging but I’m not. Dread doesn’t even begin to describe my life. When I was growing up, I couldn’t remember a single night that I didn’t hear people screaming for help. Dark twisted faces, weeping dead children, relentless murderers and the toe curling sounds of ripping flesh and wet hacking…I wouldn’t wish that upon anyone.

Dark eye circles of sleep deprivation stayed with me until I was at least twenty-one. It was during that year that something snapped in me. My mother. She was raped for the second time and nearly beaten to death. I’ll never forget sitting by her hospital bed with a permanent scowl lined with crusted dried tears. I never had any best friends. I never had a social life where people sought me out. But paranoia and fear followed me every day of my life almost as constant as the sun and the moon.

It was fear of letting shit like that happen to my mother again, the paranoia of forever being a loser, the butt of the jokes, and everyone’s punching bag. It was fear of failing to make something out of myself. The fear of going mad by watching the rotten assholes move up in the world while decent honest hardworking individuals are stepped on because they lack “ruthless ambition.”

I won’t say I embraced the fear. I only use it as motivation. I turned this negativity into a fuel for production. It’s what prompted me to take my fat ass in the gym and shed 140lbs over the span of four years. I dropped from 320lbs to a healthy, athletic180. Working out and martial arts became a source of therapy for me, an outlet for my frustration. It was fear that prompted me to stay in shape, which is why I’m on this exhilarating jog around my subdivision.

As far as my encounters with dead people, I’ll not go so far as to say I’m no longer terrified, but it’s more like I gradually adopted an air of defiance. I strengthened my mind and stopped worrying about what ghosts could or couldn’t do to me. I laid awake on countless nights watching the blinds rattle and the shadows crawl along the ceilings. Then I’d close my eyes and drift to sleep, fully aware that I may never wake up again. If any demented phantom stared at me from the fog or through some milky reflection or behind that dead tree in the distance, I’d glare right back at them.

If they wanted to kill me, they were more than welcome to try.

After my mother was raped, I switched majors and enrolled into law school. I would’ve preferred to send assholes off to prison as a prosecutor, but defense attorneys made way more money. The idea was to get a good paying job so my mother could quit waitressing and stop sleeping with every flannel-wearing cowboy who just so happens to throw a wink at her.

That plan went up in flames just days before I was about to graduate. After four years of endless studying, of sacrificing the holidays and weekends to climb my way to the top of my class, someone went off and killed my mother. Her body was found floating beneath a bridge on the outskirt of Athens.

The police heard about her promiscuous reputation with men. They also heard from neighbors and co-workers that she believed in aliens and claimed she could speak to ghosts. Eventually, the detectives ruled her death as an accidental suicide. They said she got drunk, bumped her head on the railing, and tumbled over to drown. She was only forty-two.

I can’t even begin to describe how livid I was. My worst fears had come true. This woman was my life! She was the reason why I toiled so hard, put up with so much shit, why I sacrificed so much. Nothing else mattered. We had come so far! Only for it to end like this!?

No one showed up for her funeral. It was just me and fifty white chairs on a cold rainy day. The rage in my heart, it forced me to ask questions no decent human being should ever need to ask themselves. The police were wrong. I knew it from the get-go but as a mere law-grad I was powerless to do a damn thing about it. The outcry of inner demons demanded an audience and to be honest, I was about ready end the torment once and for all. Perhaps it was hitting rock-bottom that lured me to Maggie.

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